#the whole thing about keeping politics out of art and artist owned small businesses is just. bad.

[barksbog]

anyways you can´t run any kind of business without it inherintly being "political". every kind of production has ethics and politics involved with it.

[v-hope]

Sweet Night

Pairing: Artist!Taehyung x Heiress!Reader, Heir!OC x Reader

Genre: Fluff (yes, only fluff today, enjoy), Ex Roommates AU, Enemies to Lovers AU, Arranged Marriage (Heir!OC x Reader)

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Neither you nor Taehyung were expecting you to show up to his art exhibition, let alone when everyone was already gone, for the two of you were well aware that you didn’t have much of a choice when it came to attending your possible future husband’s charity event instead. Then again, neither of you were counting on your brother and sister in law to take your side and drive you all the way over to him so you could surprise him before the day was over.

A/N: Helloo! This is part 24 of my Social Media AU “Belong”, but you can read it as a stand-alone one shot if you want! I would like to make a shout out to my 🇫🇮 anon for giving me the Jimin idea (you know which one, I changed it a bit to make it fit the story better, but still). I hope you guys enjoy!

Looking away from the backseat’s window, your eyes focused on your trembling hands instead — the city lights as you passed them by being the only source of light as your brother drove through the streets of Seoul, which for some reason seemed to be extremely long that particular night.

The light music Miyoung had taken upon playing on the radio from the passenger seat, in an attempt to create a somewhat calm atmosphere for you and the nervousness she was sure you were feeling, had yet to make you actually calm down. If anything, you could feel your shaky hands become sweatier by the second as you felt a tingle of anticipation in your chest.

Although you wanted with everything in you to attend Taehyung’s art exhibition, you had got out of bed that morning being mentally prepared to spend the entire day at the Lee’s charity event.

You had been ready to spend most of the day with your parents pretending that everything in your relationship was alright, perfect even. You had been smiling for the cameras all day, greeting people you were sure were just pretending to have the perfect life as well, and being forced to make small talk with the ones who used to be your friends yet had turned their back on you as soon as they had found out you were choosing a more modest life over the luxurious one — the same so called friends of yours that had to keep quiet about your little secret if they didn’t want your parents to destroy their family’s business. After all, your family was with no doubt the most powerful one in Korea. And honestly? You couldn’t help but see it now as a curse, after having spent a lifetime believing it was a gift.

Not only that, but you had also spent most of the day next to Sungjin, lovingly posing for the cameras and holding hands, making you wish every single second it was Taehyung instead. You were sure that way it would’ve been more bearable. What you hated the most was the fact that you knew said pictures were being posted right away, meaning Taehyung would see them, and you hated the utter thought of having the man you had feelings for see you acting like a happy couple with someone else — even more after you had to cancel on him to attend an event with the one guy he had asked you not to bring with you to his art exhibition to begin with.

And yet, after having to endure all of that, here you were — a little over an hour after Taehyung’s exhibit was done, being driven over there by your brother and sister in law, while Jimin held him back at the gallery, and you not even knowing what you were supposed to say at all once you saw him. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this whole impromptu apparition of yours was a good idea at all. It had been a long day for him, you knew that for sure, and although he had told you earlier that day that he would’ve loved to have you there, maybe by this point he just wanted to go home and get some rest.

You didn’t have much more time to think about that, though, for just as you remained deep in your thoughts, Seokjin pulled up right in front of the address you had given him before. Looking up from your fidgeting hands, you were met by two pairs of eyes already focused on you.

“Do you want us to go with you?” Seokjin asked, hand on his keys, ready to pull them out at your command.

“Um…” you hesitated, leaning closer to the window as your eyes travelled around the rather isolated street in search of any paparazzis, finding yourself to be quite relieved when you saw none of them around. “Maybe just until I find Tae”.

They nodded, exchanging one last look before they made their way out of the car right as you did. Feeling the cold breeze of the night as soon as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but hug yourself, sticking close to Jin and Miyoung as if you were a kid heading to school with her parents after being called by the principal.

Right as you were about to reach the entrance, however, Yoongi made his way out of the building, looking the other way before his eyes fell on all three of you.

“Hey,” he greeted, politely bowing his head, which you didn’t wait to reciprocate. “I came to see if you were anywhere near, Jimin is going crazy trying to come up with more excuses for Taehyung not to leave”.

You chuckled at his comment, imagining just how troubled your friend must have been. After all, and to be fair, you had taken a good while to get there. “Well, I’m here now”.

“That I can see” he sarcastically replied, eyes travelling from you to Seokjin, and then focusing on Miyoung. “Are you all coming in?” his eyes went back to you.

“Is it just the three of you inside?” your brother spoke up before you could nod. As far as he had understood, it should have been only Jimin and Taehyung inside.

“Oh, no” Yoongi denied. “Namjoon-ie is with us, too”.

“Namjoon?” Miyoung wondered, puzzled eyes going up to your brother. Given her reaction, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she knew what the rest of you didn’t when it came to those two.

Seokjin bit the inside of his cheek, giving her a knowing look before his eyes went back to Yoongi. “Actually, I, um… I just remembered Miyoung-ie and I have things to do, so…”

Although your sister in law looked troubled for a split second there, she wasted no time in nodding her head. Looking at Yoongi, she struggled to get the words out of her mouth. “W-We do! So, um…” her eyes focused on you. “We should probably leave. Is it okay?”

“Sure…”

“You’ll be okay?” she pushed it, earning a small laugh from you over his motherly ways.

“She’s in good hands” Yoongi reassured her, receiving a genuine smile from her that only caused his lips to part into one of his own as well.

“Okay” she sweetly replied, giving him a small nod as a sign of gratitude.

Seokjin playfully nudged her, grabbing her hand so the whole marriage thing could at least be a little bit more believable. “Shall we go then?”

“Mhm…” she replied.

“Call me when you’re done here” your brother demanded.

“Oh, I’m sure Taehyung will drive her home” Yoongi’s words got chills running up your spine.

“Okay,” Jin’s eyes travelled from Yoongi to you. “Call me when you’re home then”.

“I will” you obediently complied.

With that said, your brother and sister in law turned around, leaving you alone with Yoongi, who didn’t wait to motion towards the door for you to go inside.

“After you” he politely said.

You smiled, taking in a shaky breath before you took a step in. Suddenly all the nervousness you had felt on your way here came right back to hit you in the face, not knowing at all what to do once you were in front of the guy you had ditched the Lee’s event for — not even knowing how he would react at all, yet hoping he would be happy to have you there.

You didn’t get too much time to mentally prepare, for as soon as you entered the place being followed by Yoongi, you caught a glimpse of the backs of the other three men inside as they faced one of the many paintings that brought some life to the neutral white covering every single wall of the gallery. And it was a matter of you taking a few steps towards them for three pairs of eyes to be set on you. However, yours were only focused on one particular pair of them — those chocolate ones that displayed a mixture of surprise and pure happiness in them.

“You’re here?” Taehyung asked the obvious once you reached their side, causing his friends to chuckle in amusement.

“Seems like it…” you nervously managed to get out.

Silence took over as big smiles were plastered all over your faces — on yours and Taehyung’s, as the two of you were happy as hell to see each other, and on his friends, for they were having a blast watching the two of you awkwardly stand in front of one another with those dumb smiles of yours, not knowing what to do next.

“Come on,” Jimin chimed in, placing his hand behind your back and lightly pushing you towards Tae. “Your girl fooled her parents into coming here, the least she deserves is a hug”.

With a giggle escaping Tae’s mouth, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you when your body was about to collide with his. Feeling your heart going wild at the warmness of his touch, you wrapped your arms around his waist as well, resting your face on his chest and taking in his scent right as he lowered his head just enough to bury it in your neck.

“Thank you for coming” he mumbled.

A light chuckle abandoned your mouth, deciding to say nothing and instead just nod your head and wrap your arms tighter around his figure.

“Okay, I think this is our cue to go” Namjoon’s voice broke the comfortable silence you had fallen into.

“Yup” Yoongi agreed, patting Jimin’s back to catch his attention, as he was shamelessly taking pictures of the two of you to remember the moment his friends somewhat got together. “Let’s give the love birds some privacy”.

Nodding his head, Jimin shoved his phone back into his pocket — neither of them bothering to say goodbye not to kill the moment the two of you were sharing, and just quietly leaving the gallery instead.

Once you heard the front doors being closed, Taehyung pulled away, cupping your face in his warm hands and smiling at the sight of you. “I never thought seeing you would make me this happy”.

“Yah, Kim Taehyung” you called him out. “I’m sure you can be sweeter than that”.

He chuckled, rolling his eyes at how spoiled you had become when it came to him and his show of affection. “I’m happy you’re here, princess”.

You smiled, resting your hands over his and drawing small circles with your thumbs on his skin. “I’m happy I’m here”.

His smile turned sweeter somehow, lightly pressing his forehead on yours before a chuckle escaped his mouth and he amusedly shook his head.

“What is it?” you wondered.

“Nothing,” he laughed, pulling away and letting go of your face. “It just makes sense now why the guys were trying so hard to keep me here. Specially Jimin”.

“Was he losing it?” you laughed.

“Totally” he nodded. “He made me go over the whole exhibition again and explain each one of my paintings at least twice to him” his eyes travelled to one particular spot on the wall right next to the painting they had been admiring when you walked in. “When he ran out of pieces to ask me about he pointed at this small crack on the wall and asked me how I had come up with such a deep concept”.

This time, you couldn’t help but tilt your head back as a throaty laugh escaped your mouth — one that had Taehyung giggling, absolutely loving the sound of your laugh.

“He’s an idiot” you stated. “But he kept you here for me, so…”

“That he did” he smiled, biting his bottom lip as his eyes unconsciously travelled down your body — that pink dress of yours sure did look even better in person. “Aren’t you cold?”

Your eyes instinctively went down to your uncovered legs and then to your uncovered arms, remembering how you had hugged yourself outside minutes ago because of the cold air of the night. “It’s alright in here”.

He nodded his head. “My coat is by the entrance, in case you get too cold”.

You smiled sweetly, yet it didn’t wait to turn into what seemed more like a teasing smirk. “So you told me earlier today that you wished you had got to see me in this dress and now you want to cover it up?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes in amusement. “Don’t get me wrong, princess. I already told you I think you look beautiful and am most definitely enjoying the view right now” his bold words brought heat to your face. “I’m just looking after you”.

“How sweet of you” your sarcastic tone didn’t really match your flustered expression. “I’m okay for now. Will let you enjoy the view for a little longer”.

“How considerate of you” he was quick to follow your sarcastic antics, silently enjoying that particular choice of yours.

“I know, no need to say it” you playfully squinted your eyes at him, later taking a look at the whole gallery. “You think you could show me around?”

He nodded, a bright smile already taking over his face. “It will be my pleasure” his dramatism got a playful roll of eyes from you. “Where would you like to start?”

“This one is alright” you pointed out, moving closer to the painting you already had in front. “So,” you began, eyes tauntingly going to the crack next to his painting. “Tell me about how you came up with such a deep concept”.

“Shut up” he amusedly rolled his eyes.

“No, but seriously now” you smiled, this time staring at the piece of art in front of you. “Tell me about this one”.

Taehyung’s art, you had found out quite a while ago, tended to be on the abstract side. Therefore, it was even harder for you —or anyone for that matter— to interpret.

This one piece, just like the tag placed above it on the wall let you know, was called ‘Winter Bear’. You could clearly see the winter, the palette of colours he had used just screamed cold days and melancholy. Nevertheless, the bear mentioned in the title was nowhere to be found in the painting — instead, you managed to tell apart what you thought was a little boy, somewhat hidden in between all the colourful strokes surrounding his figure.

“That’s me” he pointed out when he could no longer deal with the confusion in your face, managing to draw your attention back to him.

“What?” your bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “What is the word ‘bear’ doing in the title then?”

He chuckled. “It’s art, you dork. You can name it anything you want”.

“I think it must mean something, though…”

Taehyung bit his bottom lip. Of course you would know better.

“That’s what my grandparents used to call me” he confessed.

You nodded quietly, understandingly — not really knowing what to say yet not wanting to stay silent. “You must miss them so much…”

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “I mean, not a day goes by in which I don’t miss them, it’s just that… it’s been years so… you kinda grow used to it” his shoulders moved up and down, in a shrug that tried not to make it seem like a big deal. “The whole exhibit was related to winter, so it naturally reminded me of them and how they used to call me, and… I guess I got too personal with this exhibition”.

You gave him a sweet smile of reassurance, reaching for his hand and holding it in yours. “It’s your art. It’s supposed to be personal”.

The boxy smile that he gave you right then was all it took for your heart to skip a beat, later taking in a shaky breath when he intertwined his long fingers with yours and his thumb drew small circles on the back of your hand.

Your eyes went back to the painting in front, trying your best not to let him know what his touch did to you. “I love it” you stated, much to his pleasure. “Love the way it seems to make no sense when you only read the title, yet it makes complete sense after you explain it”.

He smiled wholeheartedly. “I think it just makes no sense” his words had you furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “Not everyone is lucky enough to know the true meaning behind it”.

You giggled. “Lucky me then”.

“Lucky you” he agreed.

Tugging at his hand, you moved on to the next painting, and then the next one, and so on. Not a second had gone by in which you had let go of each other’s hand as you commented on the different paintings and the meanings behind each of them — the two of you finding yourselves having the time of your lives as you gave him your take on them and he confirmed whether or not it was what he had tried to portray.

That was what each of you liked about art so much, the fact that there was no wrong answer and you could discuss it so freely. Sure, he had something in mind the moment he painted each one of his pieces, but it was always fun to see what the rest of the people would feel when they looked at them.

And, for some reason, it was particularly enjoyable to him when it came to discussing art with you. So he had found out back when he invited you to one of his friend’s exhibits. It was different than talking about it with his friends, and he didn’t know if it was the fact that, unlike them, you actually knew about art, or just the fact that it was you.

Maybe both.

Tightening your hold on his hand when there were only four more artworks left, you moved on to the next one, having your jaw drop at the sight of it.

“Hey, this is the one I fixed” you blurted out in both surprise and excitement, unconsciously moving closer to it and dragging Taehyung with you so you could appreciate it better.

Although you were excited to see it there, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up at the memories it brought back — the fact that you had collided with it and spilled coffee on it, still being both upsetting and embarrassing as hell.

You remembered quite well the way you had ran out in search of an art shop to find the necessary supplies to fix it before Taehyung could get home. Maybe you should have been faster. Not like that would’ve been of too much help, though, for whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not, you knew very well he would’ve noticed something was off with his newest creation right away.

Looking at the different shades of blue and touches of yellow right then brought you back to that night you pulled an all-nighter, meticulously trying to recreate his painting — the hardest part being that you had only got to see it for a split second before the coffee that used to be on your —by then— broken mug had ruined it. You could only be thankful that it had been just a particular part of the painting and not all of it.

Staring into the picture, you had to stop yourself from reaching your hand out to it and trace your fingers over the pair of eyes you could tell apart in yet another one of his abstract works. You had not truly paid attention to them that one night you spent in Taehyung’s living room fixing his painting, for you had been way too invested in the details you had ruined. And you couldn’t help but feel relieved over the fact that the hot liquid had not touched the eyes he had so perfectly portrayed, for although they looked quite familiar somehow, you weren’t sure you would have been able to do any justice to them.

“I didn’t think you were actually displaying it” you mumbled after a few seconds, eyes still fixed on the painting.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he cocked one of his eyebrows. “Not to be that guy, but it’s quite good”.

“Yes,” you agreed in a heartbeat. “But you can tell one part of it is quite different to the rest of it”.

“You did a good job fixing it, princess” he recognized. “No one could really tell the difference”.

“I can tell” you mumbled.

Taehyung laughed under his breath. “Will you just look up to its title?”

Doing as told out of curiosity, your eyes darted up in a heartbeat — feeling them well up with tears when you read what the label above the artwork said.

“Sweet Night”, ft. Ariel.

Looking up to hold back the tears you felt so dumb for even having in the first place, you shook your head as the corners of your lips curved slightly up. “You did not just credit me after being the one to ruin it to begin with”.

“Hey, I wasn’t taking full credit over something I didn’t completely paint” he stated. “Plus, it’s smart, don’t you think? No one will ever know this Ariel person is no other than the infamous Kim Y/N”.

“You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to” he stated.

You bit your bottom lip, no longer being able to hold back your smile and letting it part your lips like it had been threatening to. Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh under his breath over how adorable he thought you were, not even dreaming of stopping himself when he let go of your hand and placed his arm over your shoulders instead, pulling you closer to him as the two of you stared into the artwork in front.

“Why ‘Sweet Night’?” you wondered, leaning your head on his body.

He shrugged. “It’s silly”.

“Come onnn,” you pouted, pulling slightly away so you could look at him. “Out of all the paintings here, you can’t leave out the explanation to this particular one”.

Taehyung sighed, knowing well enough that, one, you were right, and, two, you were not letting this go until he told you.

“It was inspired by that one night I came home to you and Sungjin” he said rather bitterly, remembering pretty well how he had not been fazed at all by the fact that you and said guy had obviously been making out right before, yet feeling his blood boil at the mere thought of it now. “We stayed up late eating lots and lots of sweet popcorn because I had way too many of them and you became addicted to them and how well they went with wine” a small laugh escaped his mouth at the memory. “So I just went with that. Plus, you were being really sweet that night and it was the first time I got to see that side of you, so…”

“That is really sweet” you mumbled, feeling the heat reach your cheeks.

“Don’t” he pleaded.

You laughed. “It truly is sweet, Vante” the way your eyes had softened at the sight of him, had his heart skipping a beat. “What do the eyes mean, though?”

“You just want to torture me by now” he called you out.

“I’m just asking!” you defended yourself with a giggle.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, feeling the heat reach his face as he intently focused on the painting, evading your eyes as he spoke.

“I’ve never been a fan of people having their full attention on me, I don’t like being the center of attention… I mean, I told you today how I was not looking forward to the moment I would have to give a speech in front of all my guests” you nodded, remembering how you had tried to cheer him up when it came to that. “So I don’t really talk about my art… or about art in general, to anyone. I just show it to them and let them interpret it, that’s what art is about, after all. But that one night you asked me a lot about my art and I actually felt like talking about it with you, and I remember the way your eyes were fixed on me almost as if you were scared you would miss some kind of important detail,” he laughed lightly. “And for the first time I liked the attention. I guess that inspired me enough to paint this”.

“So those are my eyes?” you asked.

He shrugged. “It’s up for interpretation”.

You shook your head in amusement, staring down as you felt your face burning. “You’re the worst”.

Taehyung chuckled, pulling you closer to him with the arm that was still around your shoulders, and using his free hand to place two fingers under your chin and make you look up at him. “Am I now?”

You felt your breathing become heavier the second his nose faintly bumped on yours — his lips only centimeters away from your anticipating ones. Too intimidated by him right then, knowing well enough he had you wrapped around his finger, you managed to shake your head no to answer his question, without taking your eyes away from his for even a second. Or well, that until his chocolate ones travelled down to your mouth.

Staring down into his tempting lips as they slowly came closer to yours, you looked up to his eyes for a split second, just enough to catch a glimpse of the way his remained fixed on your mouth. And then, you saw nothing — eyes instinctively closing when his lips softly trapped your bottom one.

Just one touch of his lips made you wonder how you had managed to go on all these weeks without getting a taste of them again.

“I thought you didn’t do this whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing?” you whispered against his lips, opening your eyes to find his dark ones already fixed on you.

A small, breathy laugh escaped his mouth, leaning in so it would faintly brush against yours. “I’m not kissing you as a friend”.

Your lips parted into a smile, not letting another second go by before you pressed your lips to his, making him smile and cup your face in his hands just like he had done weeks ago with the intention of deepening the kiss.

With your arms wrapping around his neck, you pulled him closer to your body, letting go of the kiss for a second to catch your breath and having him take advantage of your slightly open mouth to trap your bottom lip in his eager ones again, this time tracing his tongue over it and slipping it inside your still open mouth — meeting your awaiting one in the middle just the way he wanted.

Letting go of your face, one of his hands travelled down to your lower back so he could feel you even closer, fingers tracing their way down your bare arms as he did so, and feeling goosebumps form on your skin.

“You’re cold?” he asked, taking one second to catch his breath before his wet lips were back on yours.

You shook your head no, a small, shy laugh escaping your mouth. “I didn’t get chills because I’m cold”.

Taehyung bit his lip, feeling the corners of his mouth curving up and pressing one last kiss to your lips before finally pulling away from you as his eyes were intently fixed on yours.

“I will keep my coat to myself then” he teased you.

“Nope,” you were quick to deny. “I am taking you up on the coat offer when we leave”.

“Okay” he laughed lightly, the hand that was still on your face travelling down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Shall we go?”

You shook your head no quite effusively. “We’re not done with the exhibit yet!”

“I’m hungry, let’s go eat something” Taehyung whined. “We can come back some other day”.

“Yah,” you called him out. “I came all the way here just to see your artworks”.

Your words earned a somewhat bitter pout from him. “Thought you had come all the way over here to see me”.

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at that, tugging on his hand to pull him closer, and then making him replace said pout with a smile when you pressed two chaste kisses to his mouth. “It was implicit” your teasing words had him rolling his eyes. “We only have three more to go and then I’m all yours”.

He smirked, pulling you with him to the next piece. “I like the sound of that”.

“I meant it as in, then we can go get some food” you mumbled, feeling your face burning for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“I know” he pecked your lips. “Doesn’t change that I enjoy the sound of that”.

[crysalita]

Left Behind

Bo Sinclair x Reader

Word Count: 2439

Warnings: Suicide mentioned when Bo is telling the story about Trudy.

I had to admit that I never actually wanted to be here, on a road trip that is, but somehow I had managed to find myself getting an invite from Carly, who claimed there needed to be more girls. I reluctantly agreed to tag along, and so far I was regretting that poorly made decision.

I was a third wheel as I lagged behind Carly and Wade. I felt as if all I had done so far since we arrived in this town was either roll my eyes or sigh at their constant flirting. If I had of known that this is what my day was going to consist of then I would have said no in a heartbeat.

The small town we had arrived in gave me strange vibes, whether it was because the town was oddly empty even though we could hear chatter, or whether it was because of the two men that we had come across.

Bo, the man that works at the gas station, spent most of the time eyeing me down after the run in at the church, I didn’t know how to feel about it.

“So, Y/n. What did you think about Bo? He seems to have taken quite an interest in you.” Carly teased, nudging my shoulder.

We were in the gas station looking for whatever part that Wade needed.

“Don’t be stupid, he was just being friendly.” I scowled.

“Coming from a guys perspective, he definitely finds you hot.” Wade spoke up.

I sent him a glare. “Just look for that part.”

“He’s got everything, but a 15 inch. I’ll just have to use a 16 inch.” Wade grabbed a hold of the strap that he needed, but we were startled when we heard another voice.

“Are you planning on stealing that?” When I turned around, I was met with Bo leaning against the door frame, still in his suit and tie. I had to admit that the suit did look good on him.

“No, we just didn’t know how much longer you were gonna be, and you know, we didn’t wanna interrupt again.” Wade rushed out. “But I left you some money on the counter, but you don’t even really have the right size. You don’t have any 15 inches.”

“I do at the house.” Bo replied, not looking in the slightest bit like he was convinced by Wade’s constant stuttering, I couldn’t blame him though, Wade made us look more suspicious than we actually were.

“Look, I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea that we’re in here.” Carly attempted to ease the tension.

“Yeah, we already feel bad enough after interrupting the first time, we just didn’t want to do it again.” I smiled politely. In return, Bo sent me one of his own smiles and gestured for us to come out of the shed.

“No worries. That was in the past. We can move on from that.” Bo replied as he held the door open for us.

“You keep fan belts at your house?” Wade asked.

“I get things delivered there when I’m not here. Look, if you want to hold onto the 16, that’s fine by me.” Bo was looking more agitated by the minute.

“No, it’s okay.”

Bo led us outside of the gas station and we began our journey to the house that Bo lived at. My legs were already tired enough as it was from all the walking we had done, and I honestly wasn’t trying to do anymore.

“So, is it too late to sign Carly up for that beauty pageant?” Wade asked with a smirk on his face.

“Now unfortunately it is, well at least for you-” Bo turned and nodded in my direction. “-Because you have won, hands down.” I blushed slightly at his comment but shook it off quickly as I looked away.

“Thank you.” I mumbled. My gaze landed on Carly who was giving me a smug smile to which I rolled my eyes at.

“That house of Wax is pretty cool.” Wade changed the subject. This caught Bo’s attention.

“You went inside?”

“Yeah, it was unlocked.”

“I did try to tell them they shouldn’t, but they both happen to be very stubborn.” I didn’t dare step foot into the House of Wax. Knowing myself I would probably end up ruining the art in there, and I would never forgive myself if I destroyed someone’s art that they, more than likely, spent hours trying to create. I did manage to get quick look inside when Carly and Wade entered, and it truly was amazing.

“Everything seems to be unlocked ‘round here, don’t it? Thank you for having respect.” I was rewarded with another one of his smiles that really did compliment his face, although he did use quite an odd choice of words as it made him seem all the creepier.

I shared a look between the other two, who were also very creeped out.

“I did get a look inside though, when they opened the door that is, and the wax sculptures are amazing.” I complimented. I was a bit bummed out that I couldn’t see the artwork up close to see their full detail, but my conscious got to the best of me and now I was glad that I didn’t go in.

“Yeah, people used to come and see it from miles away. Trudy was the main artist.” I could imagine the amount of people that I wanted to see it, but for some reason there wasn’t any.

“What about Vincent?” Carly questioned. “I saw his name on a lot of the work.”

“One of Trudy’s boys.”

“That family must be very talented. Are any of them still around? I would love to meet them, and maybe they could help me out with some of my own art.” I commented.

“Oh- no. It’s a horrible story. Trudy’s husband, Doctor Sinclair, he was a doctor. He got his licence revoked for doing surgery’s on the side, you know, stuff that most doctors wouldn’t do. So, he moved him and Trudy out here to Ambrose, made a fresh start in medical practise and Trudy found her calm with the whole wax sculpture thing.” Bo explained as we walked past the House of Wax. “It was her dream to do something incredible here. Then she had a couple of kids-”

“What’s so horrible about that?”

“Trudy got a cyst in her brain, she just started rottin’ away.” My eyes widened as Bo continued the story. It was really starting to take a dark turn. “Couldn’t work no more, she went crazy, and it got so bad, that Doctor Sinclair had to strap her up to the bed. The whole town could hear her screaming from the house. And Doctor Sinclair was so depressed that he couldn’t save her he-” Bo creates a gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot himself in the head. “Blew his head right off.”

“That’s horrible.” I mumbled.

By now we were approaching the last house on the road, meaning this was where Bo was staying. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, making the situation all the more terrifying.

“Hey, uh, why don’t you three hop in, and I’ll go get that fanbelt for ya’” Bo opened the door to his car and gestured for us to hop in.

“No, we actually have some friends picking us up where the roads washed out.” Carly interrupted.

“I’ll give ya’ a lift there. It’s the least I could do then for making ya’ll wait.” Carly and I both turned to Wade who was nodding his head.

“Could I use the toilet?” I asked Bo as Carly hopped into the car.

“Yeah, of course. You said you need to use the can too, didn’t ya?” Bo faced Wade. He then proceeded to ask Carly the same question before he led us into his house.

The house was nothing less than what I expected, not that I expected much. To no surprise, it was quite messy, but I couldn’t hold that against Bo, as he most likely wasn’t expecting guests.

“So, where ya’ headed too anyway?”

“Uh, where just headed to a football game.” Wade answered.

“Bathrooms just down the hall. Let me get out of this jacket and tie, and I’ll get the fanbelt. I have another bathroom upstairs for ya’ to use.” I followed Bo up the stairs as Wade walked down the hall. I began feeling nervous as now I was left alone. “You interested in football?” Bo cocked his head to the side as he looked at me. I found myself staring a little longer than I should have, which Bo took notice of too, as his lips twitched up into a sly smirk.

“No, not really. Just here for Carly.” Bo nodded his head along with what I was saying before he popped another question, a very unexpected question.

“I take it ya’ single than?”

“What makes you think that?” I stammered.

“Well, considering those two are tied to the hip, that would most likely mean that if ya’ were seeing someone, then they’d be 'ere too.” Bo explained as he shrugged off his jacket. “And if it were me, I wouldn’t let ya’ out of my sight. Especially in a town I’ve never been in.” Bo opened a door that revealed to be the second bathroom he owned. I walked in and closed the door and instantly let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

This man was making me feel all kinds of things, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

I did my business and exited the bathroom to see Bo waiting outside, this time he was dressed in casual clothing, and no longer rocked a suit and tie. I had to admit that this man could certainly pull off both looks.

“Did you need help getting anything? I don’t mind helping.” I offered.

“That would be nice, thank you.” I followed behind Bo, who led us into the garage that was covered in tools and what I could only assume was car parts.

“Is it always this quiet in town?” I watched as Bo gathered some things and placed them in crate he had. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I waited where he had placed down the crate.

“Depends on the day, I guess. Sometimes it can be noisy, believe or not, and some days it’s dead silent. Today just so happens to be one of those days.” Bo mumbled.

All of a sudden the lights were cut off and everything went pitch black. I immediately put my arms out to reach for something to grab a hold of. “Bo?” I held my hand out in the direction of where Bo was last stood. “Bo? Where are you?” I felt his hand come in contact with my own.

“I’m right here, sweets.” I was thankful the lights were off so Bo couldn’t see the blush spread out across my burning face. “I don’t know what happened.” The sound of metal hitting the ground echoed throughout the garage, and then I heard the sound of the horn from outside.

“They must be waiting for us.” I muttered to no one in particular. The lights then turned on and I found myself extremely close to Bo as his chest was almost plastered to my back. “Sorry about that. That was childish.” I apologised I pulled myself away from Bo.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Ya’ get a little scared of the dark, nothing to be ashamed of.” Bo picked up the crate of tools. “I’m going to take this stuff out to the truck. Would you mind finding the wrench for me? It should be in one of the drawers over there.” Bo nodded his head in the direction of where the cupboard filled with drawers were before he exited the garage.

Everything felt scarier now that I was alone and everything around me was silent. I could hear my own breathing with how silent it was, and I hated it.

I searched through the different drawers before I found the wrench that I was looking for.

I began hearing shouting from outside and I quickly made my way outside, only to find the truck driving away and Bo standing outside, the tools scattered across the ground. “Bo, what happened?” I slowly approached Bo who was seething with anger, that was until he turned around to me. His face relaxed as he locked eyes with my own.

“Your little friends just decided to drive off with my truck. I guess they forgot that there was a third one with them.” My mood dulled at his words. How could they just leave me like that? “Hey, don’t let them get ya’ down. You don’t need 'em. Especially after the way they’ve acted today.” That didn’t change the fact that someone that I considered to be my best friend, had just left me behind to run off with her boyfriend, did I ever really mean anything to her. “Listen, I have another truck at the station, if ya’ like, we could walk down tomorrow morning and I could drive ya’ where you need to go.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Bo walked back inside, forgetting about the tools that were lying all around.

“You can sleep on the couch for tonight. I’ll get ya’ some blankets to keep ya’ warm. Did ya’ want something to eat?” Bo yelled out as he walked up the stairs.

“I’m good.” I called back. I sat down on the couch and stared off into nothing, this day was going horrible. I sighed as I placed my head into my hands and tiredly rubbed my eyes.

“Hey, ya’ know. I’d love to see ya’ some more. I wasn’t lying when I said ya’ were pretty. Definitely caught my eye.” Bo placed down the blankets on the end of the couch as he sat down beside me.

I found myself blushing for what felt like the millionth time today. “Really? I’d like to see you more too.” I whispered, looking everywhere but the man beside me.

Bo placed his finger on my chin and guided me to look in his direction. “Look at me when ya’ speak. I want to see ya’.”

Before I knew it, we had spent what felt like hours talking on that couch before I eventually got tired and fell asleep, and that was definitely the only good part about my day, getting to talk to Bo.

[shieldedbythunder]

Hallmark Christmas, Thundershield edition

Big city rich businessman Thor travels to a small farm in upstate New York owned by one Steve Rogers. Steve is a pint sized farmer trying to live independently and keep his tiny farm afloat while also trying to be an artist on the side. He lives on whiskey and whatever he can manage to grow himself, with some help from locals at the farmers market. It's not much, but he likes it.

Thor doesn't know any of this. All he knows is that Steve's land is considered prime real estate for his father's company and that he has been tasked with convincing Steve to sell. What Thor isn't expecting is a pretty, shorter man who's tougher than he appears, like a chihuahua facing down a rottweiler.

How long do you think Thor is able to last before life in a small farming town starts to grow on him?

Okay, I'd watch the hell out of this 😍 Thor drives upstate thinking this is going to be an easy job. All he'll need to do is lay on the charm and sell the benefits of their offer, and Rogers will be eating out of the palm of his hand in no time. The town and scenery are all very pretty when he arrives, a perfect setting for expanding the family business. Everything's already in place - he's got this deal in the bag.

Of course, that's all before he meets Steve. Thor's dealt with all kinds of clients and attitudes over the years, but Steve just... doesn't seem to care about what he's offering. He just hears him out politely and responds with a firm "no" without a moment’s thought every time, utterly immovable. Thor's left baffled, almost wishing the other man would get riled up or nervous since that would be easier to approach and handle. But he's determined to get his way, and manages to book a rental cottage where he can regroup and think over his strategies. Certainly not over the blue of Steve's eyes, or his oddly deep, reassuring voice for one so short and slight. Steve knows his life isn't much to look at from the outside. But it's his, built with his own two hands and the little his folks left him with, and he's always liked it, even if things get a little lonely and monotonous at times. Even if he doesn’t have as much time to devote to his art as he’d like. He's had his share of arrogant, self-assured corporate types trying to sweet talk or intimidate him into selling his land, and he's sent them all packing, so this latest one should be just another annoyance. And yet, there's something oddly endearing about Thor's efforts, the flabbergasted, almost admiring look he gives Steve after some of his comebacks. 

As Thor’s continuing efforts stretch his stay out to a week, then two, the two of them start running into each other around town, leading to more stand-offs and tete-a-tetes. The townspeople are thoroughly amused by the whole situation, remarking on what a cute couple they make as Thor trails Steve down the street or around his farm with his latest pitch. At some point, though, it becomes less about the sale as Thor finds himself intrigued and a little charmed by Steve and this whole place. Business talks are quickly forgotten in favour of the Christmas market, the lighting of the town square’s tree, any number of small town events that light up the serious farmer’s face with a warm smile that always leaves Thor tongue-tied. And even as Steve sends some of those smiles his way, he remains distant and polite.

One afternoon a few days before Christmas, Thor’s stopped by the farm again, but the initial sales talk trails away as Thor watches Steve at work. Thinking over all the good he does in the community for so little in return, and feeling a bit uneasy about trying to take what little he has away from him, even with compensation. Eventually, Thor decides to make tracks back to his cottage, but with the snow starting to come down pretty hard, Steve insists he stay at his place until things clear up.

Once inside, Thor has a little look around while Steve’s preparing supper, and ends up stumbling across his art studio. There’s obvious skill in every sketch and painting, usually depicting scenes from around town as the now familiar faces go about their day, and Thor is pleasantly surprised to find a few sketches of himself in there too, smiling up at the Christmas lights with snowflakes in his hair. Over dinner, the two of them get to talking and find they have more in common than they expected, bonding over their hard-headed tendencies and their desire to do right by their families. There’s something a little lighter about Steve’s eyes and smile as he shyly admits he doesn’t often have company over, but it’s a nice change to have someone else around the house. Thor finds himself feeling a little flushed from more than just the whiskey they’ve broken out.

Of course, once it’s late enough for them to turn in, a problem presents itself. Thor’s too big to sleep on the couch comfortably... and Steve only has one bed, so they’ll have to share. Adding to that, nothing Steve has will fit Thor, leaving Thor to strip down to a pair of snug black boxer briefs that have them both blushing with something more than just any awkwardness in the air. They both settle in for the night, extremely aware of each other on the other side of the mattress, but truthfully, it’s the best night of sleep either of them have gotten in years. Well worth the momentary embarrassment when they wake up to Steve curled up against Thor’s side and nuzzling his bare chest, Thor’s arms a tight, warm, protective circle around him. Christmas grows closer, as do the odd pair as they dance around each other and the purpose that stands between them.

Eventually, Thor decides to throw in the towel; the land seems to be in better hands with Steve than it could ever be with anyone else, and it would be a shame to spoil the quiet little town with another corporate branch of offices and warehouses. Everyone’s sad to see him go, the businessman having become a part of their town against all odds, but Steve keeps to himself up on the farm the day he leaves. Stubbornly trying to deny his broken heart at the thought of not seeing Thor every day, but ultimately deciding that pain is worth letting a few more people into your life, even if the one person you want there won’t be part of it.

But of course, the angst doesn’t last too long; Steve wakes up on Christmas Day to a loud knocking on the door, stumbling out of bed with bleary eyes to find Thor waiting breathlessly on the doorstep. He’s got a new offer, he tells Steve apprehensively - if he doesn’t want to sell, would he maybe consider a partnership investment in his farm and art? And, he adds on shyly, maybe a partnership in more than just business? The words are barely out of Thor’s mouth before Steve grabs him by the lapels and drags him down for a kiss, laughing with delight as Thor carries him back indoors to warm them both up. 

Within a few weeks, Thor’s moved into town and helping to manage the farm, the two of them working better together than they could have imagined. Thor settles right in with a warm welcome from the rest of the community, perfectly happy with small town life in a way he could never imagined. With the added support on the farm and Thor’s connections, Steve’s art is quick to take off as he makes a name for himself, getting chances to travel around the world and meet some of the artists he most admires, soaking up the new experiences for his work. And still, with all his new good fortune, Steve’s favourite present is Thor’s hand in his as they cuddle and trade kisses by the fire all Christmas morning.

[mitthsyndic]

Here is my second attempt at writing Thrawn, much longer this time! Again if you have any criticisms or feedback then please feel free to share!

Read on AO3.

Summary: Lieutenant Thrawn meets the reader (gender neutral) at the Ascension Week celebrations on Coruscant, and she offers to show him around her art gallery. (Based roughly on the 2017 Thrawn book). 

Pairing: Thrawn x Reader (gender neutral, Thrawn is still a Lieutenant at this point).

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,715.

A Keen Eye

If you'd learned at least one thing from your meeting with Lieutenant Thrawn, it was that he was passionate about art. 

He wasn't simply an admirer or even a collector; he'd told you in detail about how he used an enemy's artwork in order to anticipate their tactics in battle, and ultimately defeat them. From what you could gather from his companions, this proved to be effective far more often than not. Your own companions scoffed dismissively at these claims, and not so politely ushered your group away from Thrawn towards more powerful, influential partygoers. 

However, you believed you could understand where Thrawn was coming from, and you felt compelled to see his analysis in action. After all, it wouldn’t exactly be an inconvenience to you, as he could simply meet you at your own art gallery here on Coruscant. Furthermore, it didn’t take a keen eye for art to notice Thrawn’s strikingly good looks; his dark blue skin and illuminating red eyes caused him to stand out among the other guests, and he was what drew you over here in the first place. If he didn’t appear to be interested in any romantic prospects, you figured you could at least have some fascinating discussions about the pieces in your gallery. 

"I had best follow my companions. However, Lieutenant Thrawn, I'd like to observe your analysis of artwork and the military conclusions you draw in person. Please, take my comm details and contact me to arrange a meeting at my gallery - that is, if you have any spare time." You smiled at him as you offered him your comlink.

His eyes flicked briefly between your face and the comlink, as though he was unsure how to proceed. You tried to read his face; it was unwavering and unreadable. Well, almost. You could have sworn you saw the corner of his mouth slightly upturn into a smile.

Taking your comlink and quickly inputting his details, he responded coolly, "That would be most pleasant. Allow me to check my schedule for my remaining days on Coruscant, and I shall respond with my availability." 

As he handed you back your comlink, your fingers brushed for a brief second. The fleeting contact was intoxicating, yet his expression remained unvarying. It was almost impossible to tell how he felt about the momentary brush of your hands, or if he could tell that your proposition was identical to that of a date. 

"Of course. It was delightful meeting the three of you, and I hope to see you again soon." Politely smiling at Ensign Vanto and Colonel Yularen, you reluctantly trailed after your friends, leaving you with the rest of the evening to reflect on your meeting with Lieutenant Thrawn.

**

It was late; with your thoughts consumed by your encounter with Thrawn, you had left the celebrations and gone to bed at your apartment on Coruscant. Awoken by the faint alert of your comlink, you drowsily sat up and picked it up, allowing the incoming transmission through. 

“Apologies if I woke you. This is Lieutenant Thrawn.” His smooth voice echoed out of the comlink. 

“No, not at all. And, please, there’s no need for titles when we’re alone.” You boldly suggested. From what you could gather, Thrawn was exceptionally good at reading body language and tone, so you tried to convey your desire for a more informal relationship, in case he hadn’t gathered the implications behind your invitation.

“Of course.” You were certain you could hear a smile behind his voice. “This may be of short notice, but I will only remain on Coruscant for another day. There is a lapse in my schedule tomorrow evening, and I leave the following morning. I would like to see the works in your gallery, and hopefully demonstrate my... abilities to you then.”

He was incredibly difficult to read -even more so when you couldn’t see him in person, but you were sure that you could detect a hint of flirtation in his tone.

“Tomorrow evening works for me. Allow me to send you its location. If you need any directions or your schedule suddenly changes, then feel free to contact me. I’ve got my comlink on me at all times.” 

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting you again soon.” Your comlink clicked off, and Thrawn was gone once again. 

You laid back down and allowed your mind to drift off to sleep, thoughts consumed by the mysterious Lieutenant Thrawn and your ‘date’ tomorrow. 

**

You’d spent all day debating on whether or not to close the gallery and give Thrawn a private tour, and, eventually, you decided against it. It was never busy at this time of night anyway, and you didn’t want to appear too forward if you had in fact misinterpreted his intentions, and he really was here to only demonstrate his analytical abilities. Then came the matter of your outfit; he’d provided a rough estimation of his time of arrival, so you couldn’t exactly run off and change into something more ‘date-worthy’ before he arrived, but if you dressed in your regular work clothes then Thrawn may believe that this meeting was strictly business. After much deliberation, you’d settled on an in between that appeared professional, yet a little flirtatious.

Once that was sorted, all you had to do was wait. Many admirers came and went, as did the occasional interested buyer, yet the minutes passed by slowly as you anxiously anticipated his arrival. Normally, you would consider yourself a fairly confident, collected individual, if somewhat an overthinker, but in comparison to Thrawn? You felt almost neurotic. 

Although he’d spent almost a full day now preoccupying your mind, all coherent thoughts dissipated out of your head once he finally stepped into your gallery. He was precisely on time, and wearing simple black garments that had presumably been issued to him by the Empire upon his admission into the academy. From what Colonel Yularen had said, Thrawn had been practically discovered by the Empire, as his home planet was not in a region familiar to you. He also hadn’t mentioned what species he was; at first guess he appeared to be Pantoran, yet his glowing red eyes suggested otherwise. You made a mental note to ask him at some point this evening. Furthermore, you realised he actually hadn’t told you his last name -or maybe he hadn’t told you his first name? As your lack of true knowledge about the man who stood in front of you became more and more apparent, it began to feel like an incredibly stupid idea to invite him here.

Though, it was too late to do anything about that now. I guess I’ll have to make sure I learn everything I didn’t think to ask, you thought as you approached him. His expression was indecipherable, as, you began to suspect, it always was.

“Welcome, Thrawn. May I call you that, or is that your surname? I didn’t think to ask yesterday.” You bit the bullet and chewed your way through the awkward question. 

“It is Mitth'raw'nuruodo. My native language is Cheunh, and Chiss is the name of my species.” He broke eye contact and looked around at the gallery, and you did the same. Currently, it was just the two of you in there. “May I ask how you came to acquire the gallery and its pieces?” 

Though, Thrawn didn’t appear to find it awkward at all. Your eyes locked, and that same small smile you identified the night before appeared on his face. “Yes, you may call me Thrawn. That is my core name, as Chiss names can be difficult for many species to pronounce.”

“Ah, I understand. May I hear it anyway? And, is Chiss the name of your language then?” You asked delicately, although Thrawn appeared unbothered by your questions. 

“Well, I’ve had a passion for art since I was very little, both painting and admiring it. I practiced as much as I could with every bit of free time I had, and I took any even remotely artistic jobs. If a neighbour wanted their walls painted, I’d do it for free and they’d let me keep any leftover paint afterwards. All of my money went towards buying canvases, sketchbooks, paint, brushes, even spray cans. Sometimes I’d even spray paint murals, though I think everyone else saw that as graffiti and vandalism rather than art.” You paused, and the two of you locked eyes again. He was listening intently, so you decided to continue on. “Anyway, as I got older I’d sell my paintings, but it didn’t provide enough money for me to live on, so I begged Zena, the old owner of the gallery, to give me a job here. I did small things at first, like sweeping floors and cleaning picture frames, but eventually I got to lead tours and meet with other artists. When she retired, she left the place to me, and here we are now.” 

Thrawn paused for a few moments, as though he was fully taking in and understanding your words. “How fascinating. Do you still paint now?” Thrawn began to walk slowly towards the closest painting on display.

“Yes, whenever I have any inspiration or time.” You followed close behind, intently watching his focused stare on the painting in front of him. 

He then turned back to you, and stopped just before the painting. “Is any on display? May I see it?” He questioned. 

“No, it’s all in the back in our studio. Plus, I’ve never fought any kind of battle in my life, so I doubt you’re going to be able to observe any military tactics from my paintings.” 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Many do not realise exactly what their artwork can reveal about themselves or their culture as a whole. So, although you may have never fought before, I could look at your work and anticipate your possible movements and strategies if we were to engage in battle, whether that be in a ship or in hand to hand combat. I have demonstrated it in this particular way once previously with a friend.” 

He noticed the slightly apprehensive look on your face, and smiled. “Of course, we do not have to fight. That would not be very typical behaviour on a date, would it?”

[mantistog]

I was wondering if you can take a request for Yandere! Hannibal x reader x Yandere! Will Graham where the reader is very cold hearted so she always rejects Hannibal and Will and so they start killing for her like courtship and they eventually kidnap her and tell her they killed those people for her? Sorry if it’s long and I love your writings keep up the good work!

Bit different than what you wrote, sorry lol. I often get caught up writing, although I hope you still like it. <3

_________________________________________________________

Yandere!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Yandere!Will Graham: Devotion

The first time you rejected them you had been dealing with a sizzling headache for most of the day. It was the kind of headache that spread through the top of your head to the bridge of your nose and to the edge of your neck, making your head heavy and unbearable. The kind of headache that renders you desperate for relief and makes you question if life is even worth it at all. So to say you were irritable was an understatement. They could not have chosen a worse time to try and court you with dinner and fake kindness. 

At first it seemed they had thought your coldness and rejection was a symptom of your vicious headache or your bad mood following it. In reality you were just not at all interested in being part of a weird three way relationship, much less their toxic and gross partnership. The only way to describe it was codependent. It seemed Hannibal loved when people needed him. Or maybe he liked the control that came with someone being under him and having complete control. He did seem like the control freak type. Will on the other hand seemed he needed someone to make him stable. Someone to just handle him, even when he can’t handle himself. 

You needed neither, and you definitely didn’t want it. No one needed to give you a role to make you feel worth something and you didn’t need to define yourself by anyone you chose to date. You were not interested in any aspect of their sick love. Maybe if you had told them that that day instead of telling them politely to fuck off, they would have understood. The next time they had asked you out, it was when you bumped into them by accident. What for you had forgotten, but you needed flowers. Maybe it was a funeral, or maybe it was one of your friends' birthdays. You had never been good with gifts, always giving people things you’d liked. The flower you had chosen was a large bouquet of sunflowers, a big beautiful one that went well with the season. Sunflowers were your favourite, too. When you had bumped into them you had accidentally let that slip, when Hannibal had asked what occasion called for sunflowers. He had always looked far too deep into everything, making him too pretentious for your liking. Who cared if the flower was wrong for the occasion, if it was pretty? 

Either way you had told them in exact words that whatever they were trying to invite you to was not going to happen, and you were not in any way interested in any of them. Hannibal had of course tried to goat you into coming for dinner as a ‘friend’. Will was less tactful, seeming rather distraught. You disagreed, your patience thin. You simply walked away without even a goodbye. A lot of your friends would call you cold, or mean. To you it just meant you didn’t lie or deal with peoples shit. You were okay with being called cold if it meant you didn’t have to bother with putting up fake courtesies. 

When the pictures of the body came to you a few months later, you had completely forgotten the interaction. They had seemed much less pushy in their pursuit and you had to some degree even forgotten they had even tried to court you. In some way, the body was beautiful. The way the skin seemed so pale, like porcelain, matched so well with the vibrant yellow of the flowers. The body wasn’t even the focus of the masterpiece, it was the canvas for which the sunflowers were painted. The body was perched on a set of antlers, and it made you think it must have been the chesapeake ripper. 

But the motive was so different. Violation, cannibalism and the act of murder was always what you saw on the crime scenes from him. But this was not anything violent in nature itself. There was barely any blood anywhere on the body, it looked barely touched. She was almost alive, if it was not for the paleness and cold of her skin. Some of it looked even blue. You wondered what Will would gather of the body, if he would come to the same conclusion as you. 

You were surprised when he claimed it to be a love proclamation, yet still insisted that it was the ripper. Will knew better than you, when it came to all this, so you didn’t bother arguing with him. He insisted something must have changed in the ripper's life. That he must have found someone or something worth his art. It seemed almost unlikely to you, that someone like the ripper could be possible of love. Jack seemed to agree with you, which at least put your mind at ease. 

It wasn’t long before the next body turned up, in the same state as the last. So well preserved it was eerie. The body was exactly the same as the last, but the sunflowers were backed by bouquets of flowers. Just like with the last body, you didn’t connect the dots. But you still briefly thought about how pretty it was. You loved all those flowers, and you had to stop yourself from letting that thought fester. It would be too morbid to find it beautiful. 

Bodies kept turning up like that, so different but all so similar too. And after the 4th one you started to notice a pattern of the things the bodies were adorned with and that it was all things you found nice. But the 5th drove it home, putting it just beyond a coincidence for you. Just a week before the body turned up you had an altercation with your neighbor about a noise complaint after you had some friends over. You were complaining about it for a week, the fact that you didn’t see him again didn’t even cross your mind. You were too busy being caught up in your own spite to notice his absence at all. Until you saw the pictures of his body. Unlike the almost artistic and beautiful vision portrayed through the previous bodies, this one was malicious and predatory like the other victims of the ripper. 

It was like the pictures snapped you back to reality. All those bodies, it was all too close to home. You hadn’t asked for this. All you had done was complain. You went home early that day, overcome with a sense of guilt. You stayed home the next day too, calling in sick. You kept going over who it could be in your life. Will had deemed the killing proclamations of love, yet you couldn’t find one person who had shown any kind of interest in you. That was until you remembered the rejections. The lead was so thin, that you honestly felt bad for even thinking about it, but it was quickly squashed when you thought about it further. You had always found Hannibal creepy and probably capable of murder. And Will was unstable to the point where you didn’t even question his capabilities. 

You went back to work as normal after that. You made sure not to say anything personal, or complain about anyone when Hannibal or Will came near you. It went pretty smooth, and while everything was laying dormant in their relationship and your mind, you focused on trying to come up with a plan to see if it was them. But as mundanity rolled back into your life, you started chatting with your coworkers the same as you always had. And you made a mistake. You hadn’t even noticed Will was in the room as your back faced the doorway of the breakroom talking about a guy you had met at your local cafe. You were interested in him. It wasn’t often you were, and you had just let it slip in excitement. You didn’t even notice until you got spooked by a cough behind you that he had been there the whole time, pouring coffee. You fretted going home that day, scared of what would happen.

You couldn’t remember exactly when you had fallen asleep, but you woke up feeling really tired and stiff, with the faintest of headaches growing in the back of your skull. Yet you felt nice, pulling the duvet closer to your face to try and put pressure on your head and alleviate some of the headache. The duvet was  soft, and it smelled faintly of manly cologne. A cologne that wasn’t yours. Suddenly the gears in your head turned, and you shot upright, looking around suspiciously. The room is unfamiliar to you, but at the end of the bed you see Will, asleep. He’s sitting on the floor, propped up on the bed with his hands reaching upwards towards you, his face down on the sheets. He looks almost cute, like that. You almost consider waking him, to talk to him about this, but you quickly decide not to. Could you even make it to the door without him waking?

You look over at the half open door, at the other side of the room from the bed. But before you can even calculate the chances of your escape the door opens further, creaking in the process and startling Will awake. Hannibal is looking at you with a smile, and your blood runs cold at how creepy and insincere it is. Will scrambles to stand up, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring up at you. His expression was so emotional, mixed with both pity and something akin to happiness. He looks like he is approaching one of his wild dogs, moving very slow and cautiously. 

“Why?” Is all you manage to ask, when in reality you probably had hundreds of questions you wanted to ask them. But you don’t manage to eliquate a good question. It prompts Hannibal to step into the room fully, and you can now see that he is whipping his hands with a small cloth, indicating he was probably making something in his kitchen, like he always did. He cocks his head confused and Will scoots himself closer again. “That’s a very broad question. You’re going to have to reconvey.” Hannibal says. Your mouth scrunches up as the fake smile appears back on his face. It’s obvious you’re displeased, and you can’t help but grow a bit hostile. 

“Why am I here? Why do you murder innocent people?  Why am I alive?” You snap, looking at them with pure anger. It feels good, to finally tell them off again. Hannibal's fake smile drops, and he opens his mouth to reply but Will is already sitting by you, grabbing your hands in his. You’re too stunned to say anything. “We did it for you, can’t you see?” He pleads. But no, you still don’t understand. You will never understand. All you can feel at this point is exasperation. “You’re crazy. Neither of you even know what love means.” 

Will smiles, bringing your hands closer to his face, despite you half heartedly pulling them away. He kisses your knuckles gently. 

“Breakfast is ready.” Hannibal says, as if everything is normal. As if you’re not kidnapped. As if you’re not the cause of over 5 dead people. 

As if you love them.

[narniagiftexchange]

                              THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                    for: @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies.

my best friend, my sibling.           

for @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies

“Why your Majesty it’s such an honor to run into you here,” Lucy curtsied deeply, giggling.

“Oh yes your Majesty, simply divine, what have you done with your hair?” Edmund bowed, keeping a serious expression fixed to his face.

“Brushed it, for once, your Majesty, and I must say where has your famous body odor gone this evening?”

“You mean you aren’t accessorizing with leaves and dirt anymore? Fascinating. You’re quite the trend setter, your Majesty, and if you must know my dearest sister I’ve taken the liberty of bathing today.”

“First time all week! Daring of you.”

“I thought so, yes.”

“Oh your Majesties! What an honor to run into you!” A noble from Archenland walked out into the hall. She was lady something or other, Edmund couldn’t quite remember which made him a little guilty. A little. To be fair, there were a lot of nobles here, and he was only twelve and had many many kingly duties. Like hiding out from the celebration with his little sister because if either of them went into the ballroom, they’d have to meet approximately 80 guests and then be expected to remember all of them. Very serious business, hiding from festivities.

Cair Paravel had finally gotten all fixed up, so they were hosting a huge celebration. It had taken about a year and a half to finish repairs and cleaning and furnishing, and it was good that the work was over and good to celebrate! But being in a room full of stuffy adults wasn’t Lucy or Edmund’s idea of a celebration. It wasn’t the first gathering the kings and queens had hosted since being crowned, but dear god it WAS the largest by a lot. Edmund had snuck out of the great hall and found Lucy sitting by the door making flower crowns, also having escaped from the chaos.

“Yes, good to see you again, madam,” Edmund said politely.

“Oh, your Majesty! Where did you get those divine flowers?” The lady motioned to the crown Lucy had placed haphazardly on her head.

Lucy and her quickly got into a lovely conversation about the flowers until the lady went to go find the gardens for herself. Lucy sent her off with a flower crown of her own and a brilliant smile.

“How do you do that?” Edmund asked.

“Do what, Ed?”

“Make friends with- well with everyone?”

“It’s not everyone, Tumnus’s nephew still hates me.”

“Impossible.” Edmund dismissed the statement with a wave. “Everyone likes you.”

“I’m just nice, I guess.”

“Well, I’m nice!”

“No, you’re polite, Ed. It’s different.” She took a seat next to one of the heavy wood doors.

“Is it really that different?” He sat next to her.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just cuter and sweeter and funnier than you and everyone thinks I’m an angel. It comes with being the youngest.”

Edmund shoved her, she laughed, the door opened, and Mr. Beaver stepped out.

“There you are! You can’t just disappear like that, Susan thinks you’ve been kidnapped. Or assassinated.”

“Oh Mr. Beaver, don’t make us go back in,” Lucy begged. “It’s lasted hours already, and I’m so tired.”

“Who said anything about going back in? Scoot over, I think I can hide away for ten minutes. It’s every creature for themselves at these things. The others can hold their own.”

The summer air in Narnia was heavy and warm, like the mantle of some great beast had been draped over them while they sat in front of a roaring fire. On days when there were no responsibilities to attend to, the teenaged kings and queens would often ride down to the river and swim there for hours, until their whole bodies shivered with the ice of the water. Susan and Edmund started the game of climbing the trees that trailed branches over the water and jumping in, and Peter and Lucy turned it into a competition to see who could make the biggest splash.

Sometimes the river turned their toes to prunes, or they began to fear catching a cold, and then they’d run around the forest, befriending squirrels and tree nymphs, climbing trees and rocks, and dancing and singing in clearings.

“Race you to the top of this tree,” Edmund shouted to Lucy, as she raced to catch up with him.

“No fair! We all know you’re the best at climbing!”

“Sounds like an excuse!” He was the best at climbing and demonstrated this with his graceful ascent into the tree’s lower branches.

“Edmund!”

“Better hurry up then if you want to win!”

Lucy reached the base of the tree, huffing and puffing, with a twig caught on the hem of her dress and dirt caking her bare feet. She jumped up to reach the lowest branch, caught hold of it, and promptly lost her hold. Edmund was seated on one of the middle branches of the tree by this point, watching with amusement.

“You’re the worst!” She called up, but she was grinning.

“Yes, but the best climber.”

“You have to race me later on foot, to make it up to me.”

“Actually Lucy, I don’t have to do anything.”

She caught hold of the branch and pulled herself up.

“One down!” He started climbing again, “only about twenty to go!”

She huffed in response.

They were quiet for a minute, both focusing on not losing their grip as they climbed higher and higher. Narnian trees, even the ones not inhabited by dryads, are particularly lovely. They are exactly the right height, always. They touch the sky or are as short as Peter and either way it’s right. They feel genuine; they make you think, this is a tree that knows, a tree that thinks, and feels. This tree has seen so much and is so beautiful, and being near it feels like being young. Each leaf is its own kind of beautiful, a tiny art piece. And each branch is strong and healthy, and holding onto it feels safe. Or maybe the trees back in England are like this, too. Neither Lucy nor Edmund could quite remember.

“I think I’ve gotten as high as the tree will hold me” Edmund called down after a bit.

“What do you-” Lucy stopped to catch her breath after heaving herself onto a particularly difficult branch, “what do you see Ed?”

“The forest, what do you think?”

“Oh whatever,” Lucy scowled up at him.

“Well, the trees all look plenty green up here. Like a sea of its own. The sky is lovely, it must be about noon, the sun looks to be straight up from here. The clouds look particularly alive today. Oh, is that-?” Edmund carefully stood, clinging tightly to the trunk of the tree, craning his neck to see something closer.

“What is it?”

“It’s a birds nest! Lucy get up here!”

“I’ve been trying! Don’t touch the eggs!”

“I’m not going to touch them, I’m not stupid.”

It was a phoenix nest, the eggs were red and looked hot to the touch. Lucy finally got to the top branch, Edmund giving her a little help by calling directions on where to put her feet for the last few branches, and the siblings stood on the branch together, overlooking the forest.

“We should name them,” Lucy said reverently, studying the three eggs.

“They have parents, you know.”

“Sure, but these can be special names that only we know. Then when they hatch, we’ll see phoenixes flying around and say to ourselves, I wonder if that’s little-” Lucy looked at him expectantly.

“Bartholomew?” He laughed at her scowl.

“You’re the worst. Pick a serious name,” she demanded.

“We should be climbing down, Susan and Peter are probably ready to head home about now.”

“Right.”

“Lucy?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, looked down at her hands instead as she picked at her fingernails. “It’s a bad night.”

It was late; most of the castle was asleep. Edmund hadn’t been, he was finishing the last chapter of the book he’d been reading. And clearly, since she was here, Lucy wasn’t sleeping either.

“Come on in.”

They sat on the floor, beside the mural on Edmund’s wall. They’d painted it for him when he turned 13. It turned out Mr. Tumnus had quite the artistic talent. Trees, tall and strong, the sun shining through the leaves. They’d all helped, and Susan said her favorite part was Lucy’s little squirrel she’d painted in the top left corner.

“What’s bugging you?” Edmund asked her, solemnly.

“Well not- Not bugging me so much as it’s just…” she paused. “No, I guess it is bugging me. We love it here, right?”

“Right.” They’d been over this conversation before, the two of them, and they’d both talked to Peter about it, and Susan, and many times all four of them had spoken about it in tearful tones.

“There’s no place I’d rather be, and it’s home, and we’ve been here for five years, and I’ve never truly really wanted to leave but. Do you ever think about it?”

“The professor’s house?”

“No, bigger.”

“Where our parents are.”

Neither acknowledged that they hadn’t said its name. Neither admitted that they no longer remembered.

“Do you remember what dad was like?” Lucy asked. She looked just as small as she had been, that very first day when they’d found Tumnus’s house empty.

“Brave. Funny. He told us stories.”

“I remember those. Do you remember what mom was like?”

“Worried.”

“And?”

“Kind. She loved us. She used to sing us lullabies.”

“I don’t remember the lullabies anymore.”

“I do. One of them at least. Do you remember anything?”

“A little. Nothing solid. It feels like that place was a dream. Like we were always meant to belong to here instead.”

“We do. We belong there too, but we do belong here.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Do you think they miss us?” Lucy asked.

“Of course they do.” Edmund sighed. He laced his fingers together, remembering being a very small boy and holding his father’s hand to cross the street.

“Do we miss them?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you’d like.” After a minute, he picked up his book again, and Lucy sat quietly, staring off into the middle distance.

“Edmund?”

“Yeah, Lu?”

“Will you sing one of mom’s lullabies for me?”

Edmund hated singing. ”Sure.”

She scooted over to sit next to him, and he hugged her.

“Um, the only one I really remember is this,” he cleared his throat and began to sing, resting his chin on Lucy’s head. “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened the birds began to sing— Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?”

He sang that song, and remembered another so he sang that one too, and another, and another. When he finally looked down at Lucy, he noticed that she’d been crying.

“I don’t remember any of them,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.” He felt close to tears himself.

She was quiet for a long time, sniffling.

“Do you need to talk any more?” He asked gently.

“No. I think I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Probably a good plan.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

When she left he set to work writing down as many songs as he could remember. He wanted them to always have them.

It’d taken teamwork and dedication and a week of trying but Lucy and Edmund had finally figured out how to scale the pillars of the throne room to perch in the rafters. And they were taking full advantage of it.

“Lucy! Edmund!!” Peter called from somewhere a few hallways away.

“Should we go see what he’s after?” Lucy asked, munching on a scone.

“Of course not, he either wants us to do some chore or other, or he found out about the scones.” They were Peter’s scones, he’d baked them yesterday.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have stolen them?”

“Hey, he bakes a whole batch every week and never finishes them before they go stale. We’re helping.”

“Fair enough.”

“Plus he’s being a jerk.”

“That too.”

Peter had been training all week for a tournament with some important noble. It was supposed to just be a friendly match, but Peter treated it like he did any of his other kingly duties, far too seriously. He was tired from training and tired from still keeping up with all his other work, and he’d been far more snappish than he normally was. This was agreed to be, by the two younger Pevensies, completely justified payback for the way he’d been behaving all week. Plus, his scones were delicious.

“LUCY! EDMUND!”

Peter was in the throne room now, stomping around. Magnificent though he was, and extremely kind most days, their brother acted like a toddler when he lost his temper over something petty. Lucy and Edmund exchanged looks. When Peter was below the rafter they were situated on, Edmund drew something from his pocket. Making a shushing gesture toward Lucy, he daintily dropped the acorn in his hand onto their brothers regal head. Both of them gathered themselves, hiding any trailing sleeves and dangling legs from Peter’s line of sight as he looked up. Lucy muffled giggles into her elbow, and Edmund hid his smile behind his hand. The door to the throne room opened and shut. Peeking over the side of the rafter and verifying that Peter wasn’t there anymore, they allowed themselves to burst out into laughter.

“Glad you find it so funny, now what HAVE you done with my armor?”

And there was Peter, leaning by the door. It had been a ruse.

“Armor? Why brother dear, I haven’t the slightest notion of what you’re talking about,” Lucy said sweetly.

“Get down here.”

“Come up and get us,” Lucy challenged, and there it was. Peter was hiding a grin, and soon trying and failing to climb the pillars of the throne room while they alternatively cheered him on and said he would never catch them, and his missing armor was completely forgotten in their laughter.

A good thing too because the smiley face they’d painted on the armor was still in the process of drying.

“I don’t know, Lu, doesn’t it seem a little. Well, risky?” Peter asked, moving a pawn.

“And how is it risky? It’s just a stag.”

“Yes, a magical stag. One that no one knows much about. I don’t think we should risk it.” Susan said, scribbling away on the paper that rested on the arm of her chair. She was writing a letter to someone, had been writing letters almost constantly for months, and no amount of pestering from Lucy or sleuthing from Edmund or curious looks from Peter had gotten answers as to who it was.

“Risk what? A few days away from the palace? Tumnus and the beavers and Oreius are perfectly capable of looking after things, they always have been before, and there’s nothing too pressing going on! Catching the stag could be big!” Lucy kicked her feet against the legs of her throne as she always did when she was excited. She was already dressed in her riding outfit as if she expected to go out and hunt right then.

“I think we should listen to Lucy,” Edmund spoke up from his game of chess with Peter, one that he was about to win by the looks of it.

“And why is that?” Susan sighed, casting an irritated look at her little brother.

“Because she’s never been wrong before,” he answered easily. “Well, other than thinking Tumnus is a good cook.”

“Is this still about finding Narnia?” Susan asked crossly.

“It’s always about finding Narnia. Lucy found our home, Susan, and we didn’t believe her, and she was right. That has to count for something.”

“I’d nearly forgotten about that,” Peter said thoughtfully.

“Me too,” Lucy said, a soft look crossing her face as she looked out the window at the people outside. Their home.

“Well just because she’s been right in the past doesn’t mean she’s always right,” Susan said, but her scowl had softened considerably. She smiled at Lucy. “No offence Lucy.”

“Still, she’s right about this. And who knows, we haven’t gone hunting well… hardly ever, it could be fun,” Edmund moved a piece on the board. “Checkmate! What does that bring our score to, Pete?”

“You’ve won nearly every game for the past year. I’m pretty sure our score is ‘I am solidly losing’” Peter looked at Susan. “What do you think?”

She sighed, fingers playing with the ends of her dark hair. “Fine. Let’s go hunt the white stag. Why not?” Her eyes glittered. She was excited about this even if she didn’t say so.

Lucy shouted with joy, stood right up and did a jig on the spot. “You won’t be sorry! Edmund! What should we ask it for when we catch it?”

“Well, we have to catch it first! I’m going to go to the library to research it.”

“I’ll come with!” Lucy looked out the window again, to the sea, to the people on the shore. She was glad that they were there. She looked at her siblings, the furrow in Susan’s brow as she thought of what to write next, the twinkle in Edmund’s eye as he headed off towards the library, the grin Peter donned as he tried to read over Susan’s shoulder. Yes, it was good that they were there. Very good.

[hannie-dul-set]

saturday came rolling by quicker than you'd expected.

standing near the entrance of the rather expensive restaurant (you swore that even the plants by the door are worth more than everything you were wearing combined) you opened your phone, double checking to make sure you were at the right place that jaehyun's mother messaged you.

admittedly, it was a bit weird that you were hanging our with your new friend's mother whithout the knowledge of that said friend, but even if you wanted to back out, you couldn't because it would be rude to do so.

you returned your phone back into your white sling bag after confirming that this was indeed the place and made your way into the entrance, the restaurant's guard opening the door for you.

the moment you stepped in, you started to feel a bit self conscious. you were only wearing a simple navy blue wrap dress underneath a cream cardigan and a pair of sandals to match— deeming you absolutely out of place inside the fancy interior of the establishment.

to the eyes of the occupants of the restaurant, you probably looked like a lost puppy considering your attire and the fact that you had no idea where the hell mrs. jung was.

"miss, can i help you?"

your search was interrupted by one of the waiters, you assumed.

"oh, um, i'm looking for mrs. jung..?"

were you supposed to say that? at that point you didn't even care— you just wanted this whole lunch thing over and done with.

"ah, then you must be y/n l/n, correct?" you were slightly confused, but you nodded anyway.

"follow me, miss."

and so you did, carefully treading along the restaurant floor. you were afraid if you even breathe in the wrong direction, you'd end up breaking one of the many expensive decorations littered all around the place.

the waiter lead you to a secluded part of the restaurant. sunlight was beaming into the large arch windows that were adorning the walls and there were only three tables set up, all of which were unoccupied save for the one at the very end.

as you moved further inside, the two people that were sitting at the last table had noticed you and the waiter walking in. their heads turned towards your direction and you stopped in your tracks.

one of them was mrs. jung, obviously, but the other one you weren't quite expecting.

"miss y/n?"

"jaehyun?"

amidst your shock, the waiter had already left, leaving the three of you alone. your eyes were frozen stuck on jaehyun dozens of question marks floating around his head.

you were confused, but then you remembered that this was her son, of course he'd be here. but couldn't she at least have told you?

"y/n, dear, it's good that you've finally joined us! i was worried that you wouldn't come."

jaehyun was the first to snap back into reality. he diverted his attention from you to his mother.

"mother," you couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion he was carrying in his voice. "care to explain why miss y/n is here?"

"i invited her, of course," mrs. jung seemed to be completely unbothered by not so pleasant demeanor that her son was baring.

"sorry, i can just leave if you'd like," the atmosphere was unbearably uncomfortable and you'd much rather just leave if you could. you gave them a small bow before turning your heels, hand clutching your bag as you were about to leave.

"no, it's alright—" the screeching of a chair was heard and you felt a hand grab onto your arm, preventing you from moving forward. you turned around and you were met with a rather frantic looking jaehyun. "you can stay."

eyes wide from the sudden close proximity, your gaze moved back and forth from jaehyun's very very close face to his hand that was holding onto you— you could feel the heat slowly rising to your cheeks.

jaehyun must've noticed the situation that you two were in and he let go of you hurriedly, a coughing out a small sorry in the process. from the corner of your eye you could see his mother looking at the both of you with an amusement in her face. mostly because of his son's absolutely uncharacteristic behavior but you weren't aware of that.

"i apologize if my words sounded rude," jaehyun started, finally managing to get himself back together. "it wasn't my intention to send you away— i was just surprised to see you again."

"no it's okay," you gave him a smile of assurance and he visibly relaxed.

you nearly forgot that his mother was actually here (not to mention she was the one who invited you) until you heard her speak up.

"maybe i'm the one who should be leaving?" she teased, jaehyun giving her a disapproving look.

"you're staying. i believe you still have some explaining to do, mother."

much to your surprise, lunch went a lot better that you'd expected, especially taking into account the prior events that took place. mrs. jung eventually told jaehyun everything— the fact that she contacted you last time as well as her reasonings. jaehyun wasn't really upset that his mother was trying to set you two up, he was absolutely flustered to the highest point— cheeks flaring and avoiding eye contact from you as much as possible, you couldn't help but laugh at him, furthering his embarrassment.

"i apologize for my mother's behavior," he tells you (although, his eyes were looking everywhere else except for you).

the evident unease that was present earlier was replaced with comfortable air to which you were surprised, but nevertheless you were thankful. the conversation went on until the topic eventually landed on you.

"y/n," jaehyun's mom started, taking a sip from her peach-colored drink before continuing. "i realized i never got to ask your age."

"ah, i'm turning twenty-one this year," you replied, earning a hum from the older woman.

jaehyun places down his fork, diverting his attention towards you instead. "you must be in school then. do you mind me asking what your major is?"

"oh, no i'm not, actually,"

you continued to eat your food (you asked jaehyun what it was called but it your ears failed to understand the rich language) while the two of your companions promptly stopped, expecting you to continue. the sudden attention directed on you was a bit discomforting, so you placed your utensils down and wiped your lips with the napkin available.

"i can't really afford college so i'm still trying to save."

"what about your parents?" jaehyun asked, concern lacing his voice. "shouldn't they be the one's supporting you?"

"they sort of abandoned me after i graduated high school," you reply, staring at the untouched drink in front of you. "so i had to do things on my own from there."

you didn't really have a problem talking about your situation— you'd always been one to believe that all things happen for a reason, so you don't hold anything against your parents. you were never one to dwell on things; you'd rather choose to just keep on moving forward no matter how many setbacks you encounter. but of course, even though you had moved, emotions from the past sometimes resurface.

"i'm so sorry to hear that, sweetie," mrs. jung tried to sympathize with you. "i hope you're not too uncomfortable talking about this."

"no, it's okay, i've moved on," you pressed your lips together into a smile. "and although i'm not exactly in the best place financially, i'm pretty happy with my life right now. the experiences i've gathered and all of the wonderful people i've met— i'm very thankful for all of that."

after your mini speech, you looked over to jaehyun, who was looking at you with an expression that you weren't able to pinpoint.

"you really are an amazing person, miss y/n."

the words that left jaehyun's lips left you stunned, unable to think of a response. he might've said this to you through chat but this time he was looking at you— looking at you so so intently that you lost your entire train of thought.

"oh— um, thanks," you managed to sputter out before going back to your food.

"you know, dear, i'd be more than willing to help you with your financial situation right now," jaehyun's mother says and you politely decline.

"no, no, it's okay! i've saved up quite a bit already, and on top of my many part time jobs, my art has been doing pretty well recently," you explain. "i don't think it would be right for me to take money from you."

mrs. jung thinks momentarily before speaking up. "art? are you an artist, y/n?"

"i remember her mentioning it to me at one point," jaehyun joins in the conversation.

"well... i'm not exactly well known but i do a bit of freelance work here and there," you meekly mumbled. "i also do commissions."

until now, you couldn't tell what exactly was going on in jaehyun's head, but mrs. jung seems to be elated from your words.

"that sounds wonderful, dear!" jaehyun's mother beamed. "if you aren't too busy, i'd like to commission you, as well."

"really?"

you perked up from hearing her suggestion. you still had a few paintings lined up to be finished, but you'd be a fool to pass up on this opportunity.

"i still have some things to work on," you began. "but if you could wait until those are finished, then i see no problem!"

"there's no rush, dear! work on it as you see fit— we can discuss the details privately in a later time."

"alright, thank you so much, mrs. jung! i'll be sure not to disappoint you."

the day went on and the lunch you spent with the two jung's was over. after bidding then goodbye and thanking them for the nice meal, jaehyun had insistently offered to drive you home, but you politely declined, saying that you can just take the bus instead.

sitting on one of the benches at the bus stop, you pulled out your ear buds, deciding to listen to music as you waited. today wasn't as bad as you expected. jungwoo and haechan were wrong about mrs. jung— she may be a bit excessive and a bit too evasive regarding her son's affairs, she seemed like a genuine and sweet lady, none the less.

amidst your thoughts, you felt someone sitting beside you so you instinctively scooted away. you heard a cough from the said person, so you looked over to them. surprised, you pulled your ear buds away.

"jaehyun?"

"miss y/n," he looked at you. "i would like to formally apologize for my mother's behavior— she tends to cross boundaries without meaning to, i hope you don't take anything against her."

to be honest, you never expected jaehyun to run after you. it appears that the tables have turned seeing that he looks extremely out of place in his expensive looking coat inside the vicinity of the run-down bus stop. jaehyun still looked a bit embarrassed talking about it seeing that his face was painted a light dust of pink, causing a mirthful laugh to bubble in your throat.

"it's okay," you smiled at him in assurance. "i was definitely caught off guard, but i can see that your mother doesn't have any ill intentions."

jaehyun let out a sigh, visibly easing up upon your response.

"thank you for understanding," he gave a you smile and you were taken aback— jung jaehyun smiled at you for the first time that day and holy shit he has dimples.

before you can conjure up a response, the bus came into view and you stood up in haste, moving closer into the street. as the vehicle neared, you looked behind to see that jaehyun was now on his feet but he was yet to leave. the both of you made eye contact and you grinned at him.

"i'll be going now, jaehyun. thank you for today!"

his expression mirrored yours, hands snugly tucked into the pockets of his coat.

"likewise, miss y/n."

you curtly nodded before finally entering the bus. as you sat down, you looked outside the window only to see jaehyun still in the same position as before but he had his phone in his hand, fingers tapping away at the screen. he noticed you looking at him, giving you a small wave before walking away.

your phone buzzed from inside your back and you quickly took it out. a laugh escaped your lips and a wide smile blossomed into your face.

gold painted canvas

the classic rich boy and poor girl love story but with less prejudice and more happiness

13 // safe ride home

a/n: written part!! :D pls enjoy hehet <3

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[gorogorogorochansan]

CP2077 OC ask game *:･ﾟ✧⚔️🤖🔮 [x]

PERSONAL.

1. what is their full name? do they have any nicknames? what are they and why did they get them? His full name is Maximilian Noirceuil Roquentin Vandermeer. Vandermeer to others, Max to his family. His mother just loves French literature and culture.

2. how old are they? how long have they been living on their own? 33 as of 2077. He’s been living on his own for 15 years since he joined Arasaka.

3. what are their astrology signs? sun/moon/rising. He was born on May 2nd 2044, which makes him a sun Taurus, moon Cancer and ascendant Leo.

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them? The Devil.

5. are they religious or spiritual in any way? Not at all. Max is rather materialistic and self-indulgent at times.

6. which of the four elements would you associate with them? Air for intellect and mental intention.

9. which of the nine alignments are they? (lawful good etc) Lawful neutral.

10. which of the myers-briggs personality types are they? ESTJ, the Executive.

11. do they have any cyberware? is it cosmetic or is it weaponry/armor? He’s not into combat much, he prefers doing his job quietly if he can. Better yet - a silver tongue coupled with unsettling look can achieve a lot more than a weapon. Hands: Smart Link; Ocular system: Kiroshi Optics; Nervous system: Kerenzikov; Cyberdeck: Stephenson Tech Mk.2; Integumentary system: Optical Camo;  Skeleton: Endoskeleton, Bionic Lungs; Legs: Lynx Paws.

12. what is their occupation? He likes to call himself a free artist but technically he’s a solo. Murder, sabotage, thievery, recovery, delivery - you name it and he’ll do it, quick & clean. A man of high standards he prefers to be silent, precise and effective about his work. Even during his Arasaka days he never shied away from hard or morally repulsive (to some) tasks. A job is a job and needs to be done.

13. if you were to choose a class for them, what would it be? The closest would probably be a Stealth Solo.

14. what is their weapon of choice? HJKE-11 Yukimura pistols & Electric Baton.

15. what is their preferred vehicle or transportation of choice? Black Quadra Turbo-R V-Tech.

16. how would you describe their style? Neomilitarism. Corpo chic through and through.

17. are they a early riser or a night owl? Normally he’s an early riser but not averse to adapt if work demands it.

18. share three songs you associate with them. Eisbrecher - Verrückt [translation] Dorothy - Wicked Ones Oomph! - Augen auf! [translation]

NIGHT CITY.

19. is your character from night city? if no, where were they born? what brought them to night city? if yes, what area of the city did they grow up? He is from Charter Hill, Night City. His maternal family is from North Oak but his parents moved to something more affordable before he was born. He worked his ass off to stay in Charter Hill on his own but after his boss Jenkins lost the power struggle in Arasaka, Vandermeer had to survive and look for a cheaper place.

20. where do they currently live? describe their home. Watson, Little China, near Sutter Street. He rents a small apartment that satisfies his needs, which turned out to be rather simple - a quiet (as much as possible), clean and efficient space that is suitable for living and working in.

21. do they have any favorite spots around NC? Lele Park in the evening and night. And Dark Matter club.

22. do they like to cook for themselves, or eat out? do they prefer restaurants or street food? and how do they feel about vending machine food? He can cook a few things thanks to his mom but generally prefers street food and restaurants. He finds vending machines repulsive.

23. do they prefer the city or the badlands? The city. He loves comfort, hygiene and availability of things only megalopolis can offer. 

24. what gang/faction/corporation do they align with, if any? He prefers to keep balance and mutually beneficial relationships with everyone strictly for business. He always looks for people reasonable enough to bargain with. 

25. which radio station(s) is their favorite? If it’s a car radio then it’s Vexelstrom most of the times. He likes hearing heavy rhythms in the background. When it comes to listening to music at home he has a variety of genres in his playlists from classics and jazz to heavy metal.

26. if they do merc work, do they have one dedicated fixer? if so, who? It’s Rachel Vogelman (another OC created by @bnbc). They used to be corporate rivals during their Arasaka days. To add fuel to the fire their colleagues believed them to be siblings because of certain visual similarities between the two. When Max lost his job Rachel was the only person he could ask for help. It wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t but they focus on the business side of things. Or at least try to.

27. have they ever had run ins with the badges? He doesn’t like to attract unnecessary attention. Nobody likes when you’re the star of TV news.

28. are they quick to help a stranger in need or do they prefer to stay out of other peoples business? He most likely won’t help unless it can benefit him in any way.

29. do they have any favorite celebrities that frequent or live in NC? how would they feel meeting them? He doesn’t give a shit about celebrities. But he knows Michiko Arasaka, and their first meeting face to face left him baffled to say the least.

RELATIONSHIPS.

30. is your friend a social butterfly or more of a loner? Something in between. He hates useless small talks and fake politeness but understands their necessity when required. 

31. who are their closest chooms in NC? He doesn’t have any. Never cared enough to rely on people and always expected a knife in the back. His most regular stable contact is probably Rachel Vogelman but  they’re not even close to being chooms.

32. do they have anyone they would consider family? His mom and his sister are the only family he needs.

33. what is/was their relationship like with their parents? He loves his mother Jessica who raised him to be a well-rounded personality that can always land on his feet. She’s an economist with a good sense of humor and interest in arts. But he doesn’t have much emotional connection with his father Mark, since the guy is always busy with his retail business.

34. do they have siblings? He has a sister named Brit who is 15 years younger.

35. how would you describe their relationship with their family? Max is close with his family, although they’re all often too busy to meet regularly but they keep in touch.

36. who is their biggest enemy? Detective Marc Sanderson? Hard to say for now because there’s no official lore information on him yet.

37. tell a short story about your character with their best choom. His rivalry with Rachel Vogelman was almost comic at times, which only worked against them as their colleagues called them siblings on purpose. But since the two have mutually beneficial relationships now he can admit Rachel is pretty good at what she does. He won’t tell it to her though to avoid giving her the pleasure. They have both grown up after losing their corporate jobs but some habits die hard.

38. do they have a love interest? if so, who? His current LI is Michiko Arasaka. Initially he'd met her as Ichigo (a Japanese name that means strawberry) in a cyber sex VR club while he still worked in Arasaka. It was a series of encounters they both enjoyed until he abruptly put an end to it during his unemployment. He suspects she started digging info on him because she reached out to him some time after he had made a small name for himself as a solo. 

39. are they in a committed relationship or do they date around? Given the social gap between the two and solely sexual nature of their affair it’s implied they’re in open relationship. Besides it’s unknown if Michiko is still married. However, despite loving sex Max can be picky because he’s slightly fixated on hygiene. Michiko also sparked genuine curiosity and creativity in him with her wild and magnetic personality.

40. has your character ever been in love? if so, with who? No, what is love? He won’t recognize it even if falls in it.

41. do they believe in soulmates? No, he believes in shared goals.

42. do they believe in love at first sight? A ridiculous notion.

43. describe their ideal date. Their idea of romantic evening is to hook up in clubs where it’s noisy and crowded enough to ignore them but also to tickle their nerves. Sometimes they have a follow-up in motels (Michiko knows all the right places) if they can afford it. I don’t mean financially of course. Currently such state of affairs suits both of them perfectly.

44. would your character ever get married? Theoretically he can but marriage is a serious commitment, and right now he’s not interested in making one. And when it comes to Michiko it’s a no-no for a variety of obvious reasons. 

45. what was your characters first impression of their partner(s)? Michiko Arasaka was not someone he expected to see when Ichigo asked for a real life meeting. She definitely enjoyed the effect she made while Max was trying to figure out in his mind if this was a setup. She was bold, straightforward and irresistable - not like anyone he has ever met before. The whole situation felt like getting into a sports car without breaks. Once in a lifetime opportunity, a one-way ticket. And he took it. He suspects he’s not the first and not the last such input for her but life is too short for missing out the fun.

46. are they open about their relationship or low key? how would other people feel about them together? Somewhat semi-open. Max’s mom knows and she’s worried for him, although she knows he can take care of himself. And Michiko doesn’t mind him telling about her to his family as he has no friends and isn’t the type to brag, and she doesn’t care if anyone recognizes her in public. Her social circle wouldn’t care about him, and those who might won’t be able to do a thing about it.

47. share a headcanon about your character and their partner(s). Just one? I’ve already got plenty. • Michiko calls him Max and he calls her Ichigo or Ichi (one) because that’s how they’ve met and it's something of their inside joke, a secret; • Michiko keeps him at distance on purpose. She studied his profile long before they’ve met face to face and probably knows what he wants for breakfast before he even wakes up. So she knows Max has opportunistic tendencies like majority of mid-tier corpos. But another reason is that she also doesn’t want things to get serious and complicated between them because it can ruin the fun. She appreciates he doesn’t ask stupid questions or demands more attention than she can give him; • Michiko likes to подъебывать Max. I guess the closest English equivalent would be to tease - cracking suggestive jokes on him, giving him simple presents she finds hilarious, sending him nudes and demanding payment with his in the most inappropriate times. She is amused Max tolerates her shit so stoically - but she’s never malicious, disrespectful or obnoxious. In return Max knows it’s hard to impress someone who comes from the Arasaka bloodline & that it would be safer not to get on their bad side, so he focuses on making her feel good. And strangely it makes him feel good too.  • Max loves to touch her hair. Michiko always looks flawless when they meet and he adores her for it. • When Arasaka Tower was under attack Max called her until she finally picked up as he was genuinely concerned about her safety. He asked if she was alright and offered to take her home but she refused. She doesn’t know he was waiting outside.

48. share three songs you associate with your character and their partner(s). Garbage - Bad Boyfriend Eisbrecher - Exzess Express [translation] Eisbrecher - Rot wie die Liebe [translation] Bonus: Dinah Washington - Relax, Max - a song Michiko likes to tease him with.

NSFW.

49. name three of your characters biggest turn ons. Mature, confident women who know what they want and don’t waste anyone’s time.

50. name three of your characters biggest kinks. Touching Michiko in public - it’s the kink of kinks.

51. do they like having multiple partners or do they prefer monogamy? He doesn’t like being in relationships. The secret to his successful affair with Michiko is that both are totally free of any commitments and expectations from each other. Normally he prefers flings, BDs and cyber sex. But currently his mind is occupied with one specific woman with blue hair.

52. do they watch porn or braindances? Porn is ancient, BDs are far more superior.

53. would your character ever make an explicit braindance? He doesn’t have the right implant for that. He might though but not with Michiko - he’s not that stupid. 

54. do they have any cybernetic enhancements that serve sexual purposes? He’s no netrunner but he got himself a Stephenson cyberdeck that supposedly prolongs orgasms. Turns out the cyberdeck can be useful for other things as well, even moreso as now he doesn’t have a corpo protection and needs to be more careful.

55. do they have a preference for ‘ganic bodies or do they like modifications? He doesn’t like cheap implants. Other than that he doesn’t care.

56. name three of your characters biggest turn offs. Poor hygiene, naivete and girls who don’t know when to quit. 

57. what is their ultimate fantasy? or ““secret”“ kink? Michiko is his ultimate fantasy now. There’s something liberating and intoxicating about having her at the tips of your fingers moaning your name. He feels like he can try anything with her and she won’t say no, although he is aware it’s an illusory freedom.

58. would they ever use any substances like aphrodisiacs, alcohol or drugs during sex? Yes because why not? It’s not necessary but it can’t hurt.

59. what is their wildest sexual experience? A corpo group sex party. It was fun but he doesn’t like joytoys, even premium ones. Had to do a medical check-up afterwards.

60. are they more submissive or dominant? Dominant. But one time Michiko cuffed him to bed and he didn’t mind.

61. does your character need to have an intimate relationship with someone to have sex? or do they prefer being unattached? Unattached is best at the moment. Though he’s not fully aware he’s currently attached.

62. has your character ever participated in group sex? In the past, during his Arasaka days. 

63. do they like to sext or play over the holo? Why not both, depending on situation. 

64. has your character ever ghosted someone after a sexual encounter? Yes because he doesn’t like attachment. The reason he didn’t ghost Ichigo was that she was always creative during their virtual meetings.

65. how would they react if they were ghosted by someone they like after a sexual encounter? If Michiko ghosted him he’d be probably pissed and then upset. But he suspects she’d tell him first because there’s a certain amount of trust between them.

66. do they prefer kink oriented sex or spontaneous passionate sex? Usually the latter but the former is good too.

67. how do they get down on their own? quick and easy or do they have to romance themselves a little? It depends on a moment.

68. in what outfit do they feel sexiest? how do they dress to impress? Naked is the best. He dresses sharp because that’s how he was raised and also because it makes him feel good about himself. He mostly prefers clean black suits.

69. do they like having music on while they have sex? share three songs they’d play while getting down. He usually doesn’t care but Michiko likes to put on something energetic and loud when they’re in motels. This is just to give the idea of the mood: Fatboy Slim - Ya Mama Beastie Boys - Sabotage Mylène Farmer - Des larmes

[qqueenofhades]

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which  is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends

Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.

It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.

And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.

I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.

Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.

Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!

Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.

Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.

I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.

Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.

Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.

Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.

Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.

My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.

We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.

Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.

Comic books are wild, y’all.

Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command,  is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.

Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.

Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.

Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…

Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?

So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.

The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.

Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.

Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.

Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.

I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?

Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.

The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.

Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.

Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.

Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.

On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.

Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!

Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.

Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.

Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.

Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.

Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?

They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?

Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.

Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.

The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.

And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!

No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.

Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?

The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.

Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.

Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.

Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.

Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.

Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?

Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!

This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.

WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG

Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.

The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.

Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.

That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?

Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.

Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.

They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.

It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.

Okay, time for Plan B.

I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.

Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…

I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.

The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!

This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.

Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.

Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.

If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!

Red herring!

Red herring!

Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.

Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.

Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.

Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.

That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.

He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.

And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.

Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?

The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.

Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.

Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.

Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.

Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.

Big oof.

Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.

Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.

Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.

Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.

...Well, shit.

[doctor243]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 9

Firstly, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update, the world has been kinda out of whack. But seriously, thank you to everyone who has been messaging me and commenting and checking in on me. It means the world to me and it motivates me to get off my ass and write. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, May Parker, Ned Leeds

AO3

Fuck. “No.”

“Oh come on, this is gonna be awesome!” Ned laughed, holding up a pamphlet. “Queesnborough Community College Art Show,” he read, but MJ already knew what was written. “Listed artists: Michelle Jones. Yeah, we’re totally going.” Fuck.

“No,” she repeated, threatening his cunning smile with her cold stare. “You’re not.”

“How’d you even get a spot at the art show anyways?” Peter asked through a mouthful of sandwich, and she desperately wanted to pin his lips shut. “I thought they were only showcasing their own students.” Double fuck.

“I am one of their students,” she sighed reluctantly, pointedly staring at her book and avoiding all eye contact. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone? Showing her art to random strangers was one thing – she’d never have to see them again. But her friends? She wasn’t ready for that. “I’ve been taking classes with them part time.” She popped another French fry into her mouth before turning the page on Goodnight Mister Tom. Art was a revelation of the soul, and she didn’t know if she wanted her two friends to see that yet.

“WHAT?” she heard Ned cry out, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

“Oh we’re so going to this show,” Peter piped up.

The conversation immediately descended into chaos as her best (only) friends started yelling about injustices at the same time. It was difficult to keep track of what both of them were saying, so MJ just shut her book with a thud and looked up, effectively silencing them. “No,” she spoke.

“Okay, okay,” Ned laughed. “We won’t go.” She believed him.

“Oh, we’re totally going,” Peter argued, and unfortunately, she believed him too. Triple fuck.

“In fact,” he continued, as only he would dare. “We have to get the flashiest brightest suits we can find to pretend like we’re important art buyers-”

“Art collectors,” MJ interrupted in frustration.

“-you know what I meant-”

“And art collectors don’t necessarily wear flashy loud suits to art shows.” Please just shut up and don’t come.

“Still gonna do it,” he grinned deviously. Fuck.

“The art pieces aren’t even for sale,” she made a final attempt at resistance. “It’s just an exhibition to showcase the school’s students!”

“Still. Gonna. Do. It.” Damn you, Peter Parker, and that goddamn grin that makes my heart do funny things.

She sighed and pinched her eyebrows. “I’m gonna be so embarrassed,” she grit out. She ignored the flop that her heart did at the sound of Peter’s triumphant whoop. Fuck.

 ::::::

MJ plastered a smile on her face at the polite visitors who spared her work a glance. Behind her back, her fingers were nervously finding new ways to imitate spaghetti, and she held her breath in hopes that one would just stop and look carefully. Artists were, after all, contradictory in that manner. They desperately wanted someone to look at their soul on the canvas and understand them, but the chance was so small that they often dared not reveal the art. Please look at my art, they often cried out inwardly. Even though I’m afraid to show it to you.

Where the hell is Peter? She thought furiously, glaring at her watch that read 9 o’clock. Again, another contradiction. She had dreaded his presence at the expo, but now that it seemed he wouldn’t show, MJ felt the disappointment pooling in her gut.

She watched University recruiters and photographers talking to a few of her classmates, and others with their families, smiling and taking selfies with their works. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her watch again, albeit almost in vain. 9:10. There was 20 minutes left, so he probably wasn’t coming after all.

Her neighbours started taking down their canvases, and she saw Professor Latham helping some students clear up. Well, this was an absolute waste of everyone’s time. An evening down the drain. MJ sniffed softly as she felt her eyes sting from the warning of tears. Don’t cry. Not now.

“Aha! There she is! MJ!”

Her breath hitched and she dared herself to hope again. She turned around.

“Peter?” She whispered, almost in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he finally stopped, looking up to catch his breath. “There was a huge thing with the police and a baby and-” she could barely hear him over the thumping of her heart, but she assumed it was Spider-Man business. “Ah I’ll explain it to you another time.” You’d better.

“You came,” she tried to hold back her smile, but it turned into a sort of grimace.

“Of course we came!” He replied excitedly. “We came to see amazing art!”

Wait. Hold up a minute. “We?” MJ wondered out loud. Did Ned come too?

“Hey MJ.”

She spun around again to see the epitome of motherly love beaming at her with pride. “Aunt May,” She breathed. “You came too.”

“Of course, sweetie!” May laughed. “This is important to you right?”

“Well…I mean…Um…” she struggled out a stutter.

“Oh hush,” the older woman pulled her into a hug, and MJ would never admit it, but she always yearned for an Aunt May Hug. “We’re all really proud of you. Now why don’t you start showing off to us?”

“Ok,” she mumbled, eyes stinging even more than before, but her heart infinitely warmer.

She turned to explain a few of her paintings, but Peter was already staring intently at them.

“Holy crap you did oil paintings?!” He whistled. “This cannot be cheap.”

“Yeah I-” How do you know that?

“Dang, these are pretty amazing! Aunt May! Look, it’s Queens! You could see our apartment from here!”

“It’s not-” It is. That’s exactly what I was trying to get.

“How did you get such detail with oils? I just make a messy blur and call it interpretive art.”

“You-” You are overwhelming me with these compliments.

“And this one’s Midtown! You even painted the school?? I thought you hated school!”

“I-” I did, but now I love it because I get to see my favourite people every day. And my favourite person.

May placed a gentle hand over Peter’s mouth. “Let the poor girl talk, you’re overwhelming her.”

MJ just stared at the corner of the Midtown portrait and struggled to regulate her breathing. Be still, my heart, she scolded herself. One, two, three, four…

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am.” Oh good, Professor Chang.

Peter and May turned to regard her teacher. “The exhibition will be closing in 5 minutes. Can I help you with anything before we close?”

“Yeah!” Peter chirped up, the wonderful idiot that he was. “Is purchase of these art pieces allowed?”

Professor Chang smiled again, and was that a wink? “Purchase of the art pieces are between you and the artist,” she replied. Oh no, Professor Chang. “The purpose of this exhibition isn’t for the sale of art, but if the artist agrees, who are we to hinder their budding career?” MJ wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Now she had to go over to the Parker’s residence and see her own work permanently? Talk about being mortified.

“Now, wait just a minut-” she tried to protest weakly, but for the second time that day, to no avail.

“Aunt May! Can we buy one please?” Peter interrupted, eyes shining.

“Okay, Peter,” she smiled. “Just one though, ok?” She warned. Was she allowing Peter to buy candy?

“Peter, you can’t,” MJ protested weakly. “These aren’t any good.”

“What’re you talking about?” He laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best artist in this entire gallery!”

“I’m just a high school kid in a college exhibition,” she mumbled.

“And that’s what makes you amazing,” he replied, and she could tell that he meant every word. He turned around to choose while Michelle quietly struggled to process the sudden influx of emotions.

“This one. I want this one. How much d’ya want for it, Ms Jones?” He teased. She looked up and smiled weakly. Of course he’d choose that one. The New York skyline that she’d painted from her rooftop. From there, she could see Peter’s apartment building, and sometimes, she’d wonder if he could see hers too. The sun was setting, and she’d tried her best to incorporate every colour that had been present, but her oil paints were limited, and the sky was just too beautiful to be captured. Too free and wild to be held still in the four walls of a canvas frame. Too beautiful for one to do it justice. Just like the little spider in front of her.

“Nothing.”

The word popped out of her mouth before she could shut it, and she hugged him before her mind could deny her body. Here goes nothing. “Because I love you,” she whispered. She felt his body stiffen and she and immediately regretted her words. He didn’t speak for five seconds, and that was five seconds too many. Her throat seized up and her heart dropped. The buzzing in her gut turned into a scream and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Abort mission. She pulled away and flicked him on the forehead.

“I’m kidding, loser,” she smirked, even as her chest ached and the colours on the canvas looked sadder than they had before. “It’ll be 50 bucks. Do you have any idea how expensive oil paints are?”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter replied, clearly a little nervous. “Good thing I asked Mr Stark for some cash before coming here.”

“In that case, it’ll be 70.”

“Hey!” he gasped in mock offence, but she’d already hopped forward and given May a big hug.

“I love you, Aunt May,” she said, distinctively more audibly. And she meant it. Peter didn’t love her that way, so it was better if she didn’t give him any ideas that she did. The truth didn’t matter, as long as he was happy.

“Aww honey!” cooed May. “I love you too!” and while the words comforted her, she’d have preferred to hear them in a different voice.

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Coming Soon!!!

Masterlist: Here

Tags: @jmsjssc​ @you-guys--are-losers​ @spideychelleforever​ @spideychelleee​ @spidermaninlove​ @tonystarkissist​ @spideychellefics​ @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle​

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! 

[avengerscompound]

Ronin

Ronin: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x F!Reader

Rating:  E

Square:  @clintbartonbingo - Missing Scene

Word Count:  1954

Warnings:  smut (M|F, one-night stand, vaginal sex, oral sex)

Synopsis:  A strange keeps coming into your shop without an appointment to work on his Ronin tattoo.

Ronin

“He’s back again.”

Joey didn’t even need to say who he was talking about.  You knew right away.  He'd been in a couple of times.  Never gave a name.  Never booked a further appointment.  Yet he somehow managed to show up blind each time when you didn't have anyone booked in.

He was getting a sleeve done.  A skeletal samurai that turned into a snake at his elbow that then wrapped itself around his forearm.  It was in black and green and highly detailed.  You were only about a halfway done, if you were thinking optimistically about it.

The situation was odd but you strangely never felt worried with him.  He was quiet but non-threatening.  Always polite when he spoke and friendly enough.  You didn't mind the drop-ins.  He’d ask if you were free but clarify that he understood if you weren't.  It was fine.  Besides he had gorgeous arms.  It was fun working on them.

“Alright.  I'll get him.”  You said.

“You sure?  I gotta head out.  You gonna be okay alone with the guy?”

You shrugged.  “He seems harmless.  Just lost people.  And really, who hasn't?”

“True that,”  Joey said.  “I'll send him back and lock up.  Be careful though.”

You pulled the design from your file.  “Always am, Joey.”

The guy appeared in the doorway barely a moment later.  “You're sure this is okay?”

You gestured for him to sit.  “Yeah.  I mean if you'd book a time, it’d be better.  But business is a little quieter since… Well, you know.”

He nodded.  “Sorry.  I just travel a lot these days.  Never know when I'll be here.”

You felt he was playing with half-truths.  Maybe that was some of the reason, but it wasn't the whole reason.  It didn't matter though.  He could tell you straight up blatant lies if he wanted, as long as he sat still and paid at the end of the session.  Which he always did so there was no reason to question him.

He took off his coat and sat down in the chair.  You set up next to him and began to prep his arm, shaving it and washing it down.  He smiled and chuckled softly.  You’d never seen him crack a smile once since you first met him.

“Did I tickle you?”  You asked as you dipped the needles in the green ink.

“Yes, No.  Just thinking about how nice the prep feels and then its pain.”

“Metaphor for life.”  You said with a small shrug.

You began to do the shading on his lower bicep.  The muscles in his arm all tensed at once, the vein that ran down his forearm becoming more prominent.  He had gorgeous arms.  You wondered what he did that gave him that particular set of muscles.  They weren’t the bodybuilding kind of muscles, just swollen and worked so that each one is large but none are really meant for anything.  He was muscular in the way that people who used their arms were.  The mohawk he sported said it he wasn’t military.  Tradesperson maybe?  He had been sporting bruises and cuts each visit, so maybe he was an MMA fighter?

Slowly he relaxed as you worked, as usual not really talking.  The first time he had come in he’d asked if it was okay not to talk, so you hadn’t pushed it since.  It was fine with you.  It was much easier to focus when you weren’t making idle chit-chat.

“Did you lose anyone?”  He asked.

The question had pulled you out of a daydream you’d started having about what he could do with those arms and you startled a little.   It took a moment for the question to sink in.  When you realized what he was asking you frowned and focused a little harder on the art.  “Yeah.  Of course.  Who didn’t?”

“Right.”  He said, frowning and tensing a little.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek.  You weren’t a therapist, you were an artist.  It wasn’t your place to try and unpick whatever it was that was going through his head, but he’d never really said boo to you outside of the original tattoo design process.  Now he seemed to want to get something off his chest.

“Who did you lose?”  You asked.

“Everyone.”  He said.

“You lost everyone?”

He gave a curt nod.  “My parents died when I was a kid.  I had a guy take me on a  mentor, he’s gone.  My wife.  My kids.  Even the woman who I’d taken under my own wing.  I lost everyone.”

The way he spoke was that of a man who was trying to show no emotion.  Someone just wanted to be numb from the pain but couldn’t quite manage it.  “They said it was random.  Doesn’t always feel like it.”  You said.  “So you’re alone?”

He nodded and looked down at the artwork on his arm, not saying anything.  You went back to focusing on the tattoo, working methodically down his arm.

“What I don’t get is how can it have taken all those innocent people.  Kids even.  Yet there are still fucking monsters in the world.  You know?”  He said.

“Yeah.  I know.  Also, all those people who got taken out because they were in planes whose pilots turned to dust.  Or the people in fallout zones from power plants that overloaded because suddenly half the staff was gone.  Half of us turned to dust and then a whole bunch died right with them.”  You said.

He scowled and clenched his fists for a moment.  The rest of the time was spent in silence.  It was interesting.  Since half the world was turned to dust, a lot of the people who came in got tattoos commemorating people they’d lost.  Portraits of their wives.  The names of their kids inside hearts or teddy bears.  Symbolic things that meant something special just between them and their loved one.  You felt this samurai was like that too, but there was something darker.  He had no tattoos at all coming in.  Now he was getting this clear sign he was a different person than who he had been.

You supposed you got that.  Who was the same after what had happened?  People kept saying you had to move on.  But how could anyone really do that?

You finished up after about four hours.  It was late, well past when you normally went home for the day.  “What do you think?”  You asked as you washed it off.

He looked it over and nodded.  “Looks great.  Thank you.”

“What you wanted?”

He took a deep breath and let it out.  “Yeah.”  He said.  “Just how I pictured it.”

You covered the new parts with Vaseline and covered it in plastic.

The guy followed you to the register to pay.  “Guess I won’t see you again.”

You smiled.  “Guess not.  Unless you want some more art done.”

“Well, thank you for that.  I needed … something.”

You reached over and touched his arm.  It was familiar and you wouldn’t normally cross that line, but you had been touching him for four hours now.  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

There was a moment where something seemed to pass through you.  You didn’t know what it was exactly, or what made you do it, but you leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  It was like you could tell he needed it.  That he needed some affection, even if it was brief.

He turned his head and leaned into you, like he was going to kiss you, but stopped and hovered there.  You could see the cogs turning as he began to overthink what was happening.  You took the initiative and brought your lips to his.

He reacted quickly, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you hungrily.  Desperately even.  Trying to grab this brief piece of human intimacy while he could.  This safe piece of connection that meant nothing, but he needed with every piece of him.

You ran your hands along his jaw and down his neck as he ground into you against the lockers.  His tongue danced with yours, circling it and running along your lips as you kissed.  You scrambled to open his belt.  The frantic, desperate nature of his movements affected you.  It made you want this just that little bit more.  As you opened his belt he broke the kiss and pulled your shirt off.  He ran his hands up your sides and cupped your breasts, then yanked your bra down so your breasts spilled out.  He squeezed your tits together end leaned down and began to suck and bite at your nipples.  You moaned and wrapped a leg around him, drawing him closer to you, rolling your hips against him.

You pushed his pants down enough to free his cock and you wrapped your hands around it.  He groaned and pushed into your hand.  “Fuck,”  He groaned.  “Fuck, I want you.”

“Then give it to me.”  You growled.

You unfastened your jeans and he pushed them down and barely gave you a moment to step out of them before he lifted you and slammed you against the wall again.  You wrapped your legs around his waist and he ground his dick against you.  You moaned loudly, your cunt wet and ready to take him.

His cock slid up and down your folds a few times before he thrust inside of you.  You moaned throwing your head back and dug your fingers into the corded muscles of his back.  He started to thrust, each one accompanied by the roll of his hips as he kept you pinned to the wall.  He kissed you passionately, making you light-headed as he fucked you hard.  The shelves rocked above you adding to the sounds of your moans and grunts.

 Your whole body began to tremble against him as you felt your orgasm approaching.  You moaned and threw your head back.   He slipped his hand between your legs and rubbed your clit hard and with a loud moan you came.

Clint groaned and bit down into your shoulder as he continued to fuck you through it.  You pulled off his cock and pushed him back.  “Let me.” You said.

He submitted to you quickly, letting you guide him back to the tattoo chair.  You pushed him down into it and crouched between his legs.  You licked up the length of his cock and dropped your head down, taking his full length down your throat.  He groaned and arched his back, his stomach muscles pulling tight as he gripped at the arms of the chair.  “Fuck.” He groaned.  “That’s it.”

You started bobbing your head up and down, sucking and hollowing your tongue.  He moaned loudly as his cock began to twitch and leak precum.  “Fuck.  Gonna come.”

You picked up your pace and teased his balls, letting him know it was okay to let go.  He mewled and with a sudden jerk of his hips, he came in hot, salty ropes, filling your mouth.

You swallowed it all down and licked your lips.  He lay back panting as you got up and pulled your pants back on.  When he finally seemed to come down from his orgasm high he tucked himself away and got up.  “I - Thanks.  I don’t know why that just happened.  But… it’s been a while.”

You came over and rubbed his shoulder.  “I enjoyed it too.”

He looked at you and the ghost of a smile passed over his features.  “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah.”  You said walking him out.  You knew that probably wasn’t true, but you did hope that whatever it was he was looking for he found it.

[ephrampettaline]

tea with jam and bread | iann, freddie, ephram

It would be cheating to bring booze, because Iann would’ve just nicked it from Stonefruit anyway. So in the spirit of melon-Cthulu, instead Iann toted over a slim, well-packaged box of assorted glacé fruit which included small pears, clementines, plums and even a row of chestnuts, apparently. All of it derived in some supernatural way; because Iann wasn’t just satisfied with regular humanish tokens of appreciation. He jabbed at the doorbell of their Jamara mansion, calling out. “It’s me!!”

Ephram had, naturally, left the entirety of guest-preparation – from tidying to menu to decor – in Freddie’s hands. taking it upon himself only to dress himself and sit patiently through a short lecture from Oliver on what would count as proper behaviour during this little … playdate. “Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” Ephram protested mildly. “It’s a proper tea! Ain’t that pretty much the standard for polite gatherings?” Of course Iann chose that moment to ring the doorbell and simultaneously yell through the door and Ollie huffed in what passed in Chin for an amused eyeroll. “He’s excited,” Ephram said, with a firm nod. “I am too. Don’t make fun of us.” 

He went to the door and opened it, flinging it wider than it really required as his eyes went immediately to the fancy box Iann was holding. “Is that for me? Come on in, man, good to see you oh hey is this fruit? And what’s –” Ephram rudely took the box and started prying into it immediately, shutting the door behind Iann with his shoulder and hollering, “FREDDIE! IANN’S HERE! HONEEEEYYYY!”

The door was flung open by Pettaline, and Iann didn’t mind the way the witch grabbed the box. It was for them after all, but now Iann was wondering if he should’ve also brought….flowers or something pretty but impractical. Iann never really understood the appeal of bringing dead flowers to someone’s house as a greeting. At least booze was drinkable, candied fruit edible. If he could’ve brought over a fancy electric drill to help then out with future home repairs, he would’ve. 

“Let him primp,” Iann said with a wave, when Ephram hollered for Freddie. He took off his coat and baseball cap as Pettaline asked about the gift. “It’s like those whole fruit that’ve been candied. The candymaker guaranteed they’d have a crunch and they were juicy. Oh! And they’re all grown in a special fairy farm, apparently. Not in the Otherworld, of course. But in some sort of magical pocket-dimension.”

Freddie, who still didn’t know what to make of this entire endeavour - caught somewhere between touched that it was happening, and waiting for the other shoe to drop - heard Ephram call for him and slipped on one more ring, straightening his watch on his wrist, before coming out of the closet and heading down the stairs, to see his husband and his business partner stood in the foyer pouring over some sort of box in Ephram’s hands. 

“Hello, love,” Freddie said, dragging a hand slowly across the small of Ephram’s back and giving Iann a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he smirked, “-but I see you haven’t made it very far, so I suppose I’m not holding things up too badly. How are you, darling?” he asked, as Ollie trotted out, his nails clicking on the hardwood, to check on their progress.

Ephram held up the box for Freddie to look at, having already prised out a glistening sugary clementine for himself. “Chestnuts,” he supplied helpfully, “magic ones, too. From a fairy farm. I didn’t think there was any fairies in the world who’d have an interest in farming, but then I reckon my view of fairies all revolves around you.” Ephram snickered and sampled the candied fruit, his teeth crunching into it – as promised – and syrupy juice dripping onto the floor. Not that he paid it any mind, tucking the rest of the sweet into his cheek so he could hang up Iann’s ballcap and coat. 

“I know you been here before, Iann, but it’s different when we’re here too, ain’t it? I mean our home ain’t really homey unless we’re in it at the time.” Ephram gestured grandly to the enormous wooden sculpture of a raspberry that was reclining in the middle of their foyer. “Like it? I call it Bigfruit. Freddie thought it would look good there. It’s new since you was housesitting.” As if Iann wouldn’t have realized.

Freddie helped himself to a candied plum, smiling at the rich juicy flavour, chewed politely, swallowed, then laughed at his husband’s assessment of farming fairies. “In all honesty,” he said, “-I’d never have thought of farming as an attractive fae career option either - but it takes all sorts, I suppose. And if this is the crop they yield, it does make a bit more sense to me.” Freddie smiled again, rather proudly this time. “And Bigfruit DOES look good there. It’s a statement piece and it needs space to really be seen and experienced.”

“Good. Cold,” Iann responded gruffly, leaning into Freddie’s kiss before he nodded his chin towards the, well, Chin. “Hey you,” he said, because he’d just seen Ollie at the Stonefruit yesterday. It only made Iann realize then that he hadn’t seen Freddie there. Maybe the fairy was at the Inn yesterday, but Ollie was who Iann remembered. He took a tiny pear from the packet and crouched down, holding it out for the familiar to try as he squinted up at the other two. “Try this one. All types of fairies, all types of farms,” Iann intoned, then squinted between Freddie and Ephram’s legs at the wood sculpture. “Oh, uh. What is it?” Iann asked, his uncouthness shining through.

Ollie accepted the little pear graciously, made an approving sound, and shot a small doggie grin up at Iann, already pleased by how well things were going, then huffed out a put-upon sigh when Iann asked what Ephram’s sculpture was, wondering if this was the beginning of the end already.

“It’s a raspberry! Only big. Bigfruit,” Ephram supplied only semi-helpfully, figuring that from this angle, Iann wasn’t able to make out what the sculpture was exactly. He watched Ollie eat the pear, because seeing the little Chin eat non-dog-friendly food never got tired, and then rumpled the back of his head and asked, “Where we settling down, honey? The kitchen, or the living room? I can get the fire going.” He grinned at them both. “I can even use the magic way to get the fire going, for once. Instead of building one up my own self.”

Iann wasn’t out to be insulting or cruel, it was just he didn’t understand art, and didn’t try because it would be inauthentic. That didn’t mean he couldn’t respect creation, even if his artistic intelligence was low-to-nil. So when he stood up again he went over to the sculpture and pet at the drupelets. “Can I touch it?” Iann asked, even though he already was. “Is this mahogany? That’s a good wood.”

“I was thinking the living room, actually,” Freddie said, “I think we’ll all be happier if we keep things a bit more casual. So if you start the fire, sweetheart, that would be lovely, and I’ll start fetching things out of the kitchen.” He turned to Iann. “You make yourself at home, love, yeah?” and then glanced down at Ollie, fairy and familiar passing a silent communication between them before Ollie herded everyone off to the living room.

Ephram nodded, pleased by how this was all going so far. “Touch away,” he encouraged. “It looks like mahogany, don’t it? But it’s a local wood I discovered tends to fall over a lot in stiff winds, so I reckoned I’d make use of the downed logs. Called smoothbirch. Scratch it,” Ephram told Iann. “It smells like nutmeg.” 

Once Bigfruit had been admired, they meandered to the living room where Ephram flicked at the ensorcelled control panel for the fireplace and flames instantly crackled along the small pile of logs there. “I don’t know what all Freddie made neither,” Ephram confided to Iann as the fairy bustled off to the kitchen. “So this is gonna be a surprise for me too. You'ns got somethang like this at work? At the bistro? We had to shut down a place near the University for having a high tea where they was booked up for months in advance.” Ephram paused, then elaborated, “–uh, on account of one of the proprietors being involved in criminal activities, not because of their tea. I just mean it seems like a popular thing.”

“No shit??” Iann said, perking up and using his bitten nails to scratch at the wood, leaning in to sniff it. “Smoothbirch,” Iann repeated to intern into his memory. “Where’d you find it?? I should ask Ranger Will to find me some, seems useful. Not for carving shit, I’ll leave that to the experts. But I think I’ve seen it mentioned for ritual stuff before. I just thought they meant birch that’s been like, sanded and aged and waxed or something.” 

Iann followed Ollie and Ephram into the living room. He shook his head, then argued with himself at Ephram’s question. “No. Wewll yeah - I mean when it’s booked and arranged for a thing, a function or some special event, ah, special. Not a normal offer on the menu.” He grinned, finding a couch to sprawl onto. “Krizti Kameda, who ran Almond Cream Teahouse, yeahhhhh. I know what she was up to.” Iann dabbed at the side of his nose.

Freddie brought out his first tray of finger and open sandwiches, along with the slow-cooked breast of quail, set it all down, then paused to buss Ephram’s cheek and ask for help with the rest. “The cakes and pastries and the actual tea, love,” he murmured, “I’ll be ages dragging it all out here myself, and I’d rather not leave you and Iann on your own for too long.”

Ephram hopped to his feet, seeing no reason why he couldn’t loudly trail this conversation with him to the kitchen and back again. “Of /course/ you would know Ms. Kameda,” he said with laughing exasperation at Iann. “She’s right up your god dang alley, with her underhanded deals and trades. Don’t drag my husband’s good name down with yours now, y'hear?” 

Ephram cackled to himself as he piled his long arms and big hands with the baked goods and pot of tea, getting it all arranged safely for the trip back to the living room. Freddie’s ‘good name’, of course, being in somewhat the same neighbourhood as Iann’s when it came to sly thievery and dabbling in the illicit and forbidden. “I’ll draw you a map for the smoothbirch after we have tea.”

“His good name, huh?” Iann repeated in mild amusement. He watched Freddie return with a tray of sandwiches, all of them neat and uniform, and what looked like a tiny bit of chicken. “Is that oh-so good name hyphenated by the way? I don’t know if I know. Like, like did you guys go for the whole Watts-Pettaline, or Pettaline-Watts name change thing?” He did nothing, letting Freddie and Ephram do all the to and fro since Iann at least knew how to read situations like this. Trying to 'be helpful’ could quickly become 'awkwardly getting in the way’ and everyone wanted to prevent that. 

So Iann stayed with Ollie, grinning in anticipation at all the food being toted out. “We’re the lucky ones, huh? Don’t have to lift a finger,” he said to the familiar. “Thanks man,” Iann said to Freddie, sitting forward but still waiting until he got the green light to dig in. “It looks amazing. If this is high tea then no wonder we only haul it out for special occasions at the Inn. And no wonder it’s always sold out.”

Freddie chuckled along at the idea of his 'good name’, following Ephram back to the living room with the pot of steeping darjeeling, and making sure everything - including plates, cups and cutlery - was accounted for before finally sitting down himself to answer his friend’s question. “No officially, no. I’m still Watts and he’s still Pettaline - but we do use the hyphen amongst ourselves sometimes. Just for fun.” He waved a hand at the spread laid out before them. “Eat up, everyone - and thank-you, darling for the compliment. You’re right though - high tea is a pain in the arse and that’s why we only do it every so often. Chef would have my guts for garters if I foisted it off onto her every week.”

“Pettaline-Watts, is the going version.” Ephram efficiently harvested at least one of each food item onto his plate and devoured a finger sandwich or two before adding, “–it sounds nicer that way, cadence-wise.” The quail put Ephram in mind of eggs, and he bounced slightly in his seat, saying, “Oh! I can’t rightly recall who I told what plan to, about the Golden Fowl, but we’ll all go together this time, right? Freddie was saying that since the island is hidden with fae magic, all Otherworldish and stuff, then his fairy dust might be able to affect it. We might be able to help that atronach feller was stuck in stone on there, Iann, remember him?” Ephram shook his head dolefully. “So much bird shit.”

“No, I don’t remember him.” Iann replied, but his tone was conversational, like he cared less about the plight of the atronach than Ephram did, but was still amenable to locating the unfortunate fellow again. Iann was too occupied with his plate of sandwiches, looking at them with interest before trying them, then deciding which ones were his favourite so he could go back for more. “Oh really? Affect it how?”

Ephram, shocked that Iann didn’t remember the plight of the frozen-stone atronach, subsided momentarily into a teacake and two cups of darjeeling.

“Well,” Freddie said, giving a bit of a shrug and glancing at his handsome husband for both encouragement, and just the sheer pleasure of looking at him, “-I’m not entirely sure. But being that this island sounds to be an Otherworld outpost, or pocket dimension, and fairies are infinitely more powerful in the Otherworld, I thought maybe that might make a difference. Plus, Ephram told me that you can’t carry more than one bird over the bridge, but I can fly so that seems like a bit of a loophole in and of itself.”

Iann paused with a partially consumed sandwich in front of his open mouth. “Holy shit,” he said, then crammed the sandwich in his mouth and tucked it into his cheek as he spoke. “We could totally try and fly some of those chickens out of there! We could fly like five of them. They probably need to be culled anyway. Not like they got any natural predators on that special little island of theirs. Unless that island exists in another dimension that’s accessible by other fae-kind who happen to like a bit of KFC.” Iann grinned. “Alright - we’ll try and take chickens and eggs. And that help out that atronach fellow as well, sure.”

Ephram crammed in the rest of his cake and swallowed it down with tea, sitting back a little to slow down in eating now that he’d sampled enough to start filling his belly. “Carefully, though,” he admonished the other two, looking between them, their alert, clever faces. He’d had moments of envy when it came to how Freddie and Iann worked together so well – he’d be lying if he said he was never jealous – but when it came down to it, Ephram liked the idea of them. As friends, as business partners; it could get lonely for people of a certain temperament if there was nobody else around who could keep up, engage, lob ideas back. They could get carried away on the shining brightness of their ideas, though, which was why Ephram felt it his duty to say, “We can try with the eggs and chickens and flying, but the very minute it seems like it might be going south, we drop everything and get the hell outta Dodge. Otherworld Dodge Island. Whatever.”

Freddie leaned over and kissed the corner of his husband’s mouth tenderly, laying a hand over his witch’s heart. “Carefully,” he promised, “No foolish risks taken, love. I guarantee it.”

Iann smirked and tried the chicken nugget, which turned out not to be chicken but some other sort of fowl. Whatever, it tasted good and Iann always ate whatever Freddie put down in front of him. Pettaline getting all cautious made Iann smirk (not at the fowl nugget) because Iann didn’t balk at efforts of authority. He rather liked it because either he could just go along with it if it suited him, or skirt around it if it didn’t. But regardless of whether or not he chose to listen (depending on the situation) Iann always appreciated when someone could be a Voice of Reason. It wasn’t easy to take that role in a world full of wannabe rebels and anarchy-geeks. 

“Honestly - has anyone ever seen this guy do anything that could even be within the realm of 'foolish’? But I see what’s going on, uh-huh. 'Foolish’ to rhyme with 'Cardero’, okay, mm-hm, yeah, I’m onto you two. Think you’re subtle, huh. I’ll behave.” Iann reached out to get one of the scone-looking things. “Oh I like this.”

Freddie set the clotted cream and strawberry jam in front of Iann. “Oh, that finger wag was as much at me as it was at you, love,” the fairy chuckled to his partner, and then squeezed his husband’s knee. “But I mean it, sweetheart, I won’t push my luck, hm? None of us will.” Freddie paused for a moment, looking from Ephram to Iann and back again, then said, “Now speaking of luck - namely mine, as I’ve got you both here, getting on like a house on fire - what do I have to thank for this little miracle? I mean, really, yeah? Because this is lovely.” He chuckled again. “Even if I have to admit that I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop a bit.”

“Oh right–” Iann said, reminded by the jam and cream that the scone-things were matched with the spreads. He opened one up and slathered one half with both. When he bit it, cream and jam wet his moustache as well, but Iann mopped his face with his cloth napkin, replying blithely. “Yeah well, it’s not as miraculous as you think. Pettaline showed up at Stonefruit and we talked shit over and then I made him invite me for a snack. But this is a fucking feast, which is even better.” As for the other shoe, Iann shrugged and looked over at Ephram. “No hidden shoe coming from me. I won’t even put them up on the couch, promise.”

Ephram sipped at his tea demurely, feeling very satisfied with his and Iann’s efforts so far. “Ain’t no other shoe, Freddie, come on now,” he said, voice low and warm even through the scolding. “Can’t a couple of fellers decide it’s high time to work through whatever bad business has gone on in the past?” 

He looked back at Iann as the other man turned his glance over at Ephram. “Especially when said bad business wasn’t actually neither of us doing the other one wrong.” Anaxis, possession, branding, metuo sanguis – a morass of horrible things, but nothing that either of them was at fault for. Just uncomfortable associations that got tied to the other one. “I mean, I like it being called a lil miracle, though. But obviously that’s something Iann and me was never gonna agree on, heh.”

Iann nodded, consuming the other half of the scone as he pointed towards Ephram as the witch talked. “Agreed, all of that. That fucking demon,” Iann grunted and then took a gulp of tea. He didn’t really think there was much to elaborate, since he’d explained this before to Freddie, and Ephram already understood. So repeating that refrain would be redundant. 

“Also agreed on the lil miracle thing,” Iann smirked, waving towards Ephram to indicate that Ephram was welcome to claim the title - and far more deserving of being considered a 'lil miracle’, all things considered. “That Cinquefoil really upped the ante, I guess.”

Freddie smiled and held up his hands as an act of concession, happy to be wrong in this instance. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, “-you’ve both made your point. And you’re right - there’s no reason the two of you shouldn’t be able to clean the slate and move forward.” He smiled again, giving a gracious nod. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I’m just glad we’re here, is all. So from here on out, I’m just going to shut up and enjoy it.” He turned to Iann and said sincerely, “I’m glad you’re here.” And then he turned to his husband and took his hand, kissing Ephram’s knuckles, “And I’m glad you invited him.”

Freddie laughed. “It’ll just take a bit of getting used to; that’s all.”

Ephram pushed his knuckles gently against Freddie’s chin, scrubbing them into the growth of beard there. “Don’t shut up and enjoy anything!” he protested. “Or at least don’t shut up, you need to enjoy this vocally. Plenty of talking, Freddie, you know you can hold your own against Iann and me.” 

Ephram was very pleased indeed that Iann was being gracious about the whole miracle aspect of it, saying, “Well, now – you laid the groundwork for the Cinquefoil your own self, Iann, can’t forget that.” Ephram took Freddie’s hand, turning it over to show the prettified markings there that had replaced the ugly scorched brand that the demon had caused, oh so long ago. “God, sometimes it seems fuckin’ unreal, what we went through.”

Iann stayed quiet, more than content to watch Pettaline protest to Freddie, in a clearly comfortable way for them both and therefore very comforting to Iann. He didn’t begrudge their relationship, far from it. Iann had known for a long time that the pair benefitted each other continually and why would he try to dissuade his friend from anything so completely good? Rare and special as 'good’ could be for individual people? Yet still, Iann knew he’d still managed to bungle it all up. “Sure, sure. I understand that I’m the one on probation here,” Iann said with a wry smile, as he leaned back and extended his arm across the back of the seat (after wiping is hands clean first). “So take as much time as you need, and, ah, I’ll keep trying to improve myself.” 

He waved aside Ephram’s words. The witch was generous to say it; but then Iann considered Ephram an overly-generous man, particularly to people who didn’t always quite deserve that generousity, like Iann himself. He didn’t want to take any credit where it wasn’t due. 

He looked down at Freddie’s hand, as Ephram displayed his palm, face getting grimmer. “What we went through,” Iann repeated, and then pointed three splayed fingers at Freddie, Ollie, and Ephram. “What you three went through.” Despite the clear cheery afternoon tea, Iann had no compunctions with bringing up such an old grim topic. They’d never all actually debriefed together before, after all.

[breadoffoxy]

Changing Tides | 9

Summary: At a young age you thought you had your life all figured out. You would marry your crush and become a world renown artist. It was perfect. That is until a childhood friend, your clumsy cousin, an intimidating rival, a nosy neighbor, an art prodigy, a beautiful dancer and a perfectionist workaholic destroyed those plans for better or for worse.

Pairing: some f. reader x Hoseok, f. reader x Jungkook, and f. reader x Jimin

Genre: Slice of Life, awkward teenage years to college au, eventual romance, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1874

Warnings: None

Prev | Next

You shift side to side as you wait outside the closed door. Really by now Hoseok should give you a key with how much you stop over. It'll at least help poor Jimin who has to open the door for you all the time. As you think that, said man opens the door wearing ripped jeans and a v neck shirt along with a smile.

"Hey y/n," he stands aside for you to enter. You do so and greet the kind man, taking your shoes off in the entryway. A variety of shoes line the shoe rack, some fancy and others more worn out than others. Seeing two pairs next to where you put yours has you frown. Of course, they are here too. Jimin notices your distaste at one specific set of boots.

"They've been at it awhile today already." Apologetically, he rubs at the back of his head. You sigh as you move through the nice apartment with Jimin following you.

The dancers' apartment is more on the expensive side, either from scholarships, loans, or rich family, but you didn't want to be nosy and ask. It's one of those large overpriced ones right near the edge of campus. Far enough to get some distance but easy to walk or bike to classes still. It made their apartment an easy hangout space as well.

The hard wood floor feels cool beneath your socked feet. The interior is of a contemporary design, filled with white and soft blue furniture and decorations with a dash of warm colors to show off some personality. Them also having the nicest apartment out of your group of friends might have played a factor in it being a hangout spot as well.

"With how much coffee Yoongi made earlier I'm sure they are going to be awhile still." Jimin adds from behind you.

"Then it's definitely time for a break." You don't see Jimin roll his eyes at you but you can certainly feel them. Despite your confidence, it's easy to tell that getting them to go on break anytime soon is a nearly impossible task. No one messes with Yoongi when he's on a roll with a fresh pot of coffee. Its more so disastrous to mess with Yoongi when he doesn't have one, so your glad there's that at least. Generally, no one messes with Yoongi at all, except for you. That's why Jimin is trailing behind as he finds the spectacle entertaining. The two of you have so much in common, but never actually see it because of the one man in common.

When you approach the door, you can hear low beats. It stops for a minute and then it starts back up again with the beats in a slightly different rhythm. A third of yourself hates yourself for breaking your cousin's concentration, another third just wants to hang out with Hoseok, and the last third wants to show Yoongi and everyone else you have no fear. Ok, well slight fear of the genius music student but not that you'll tell anyone. Well ok, except for Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin no one needs to know.

You’re at least polite enough to knock when the music is paused again. A moment happens and there's no response. You give Jimin a questioning look which he shrugs at. Hesitantly you reach your hand out for the door handle, but before you can reach it the door opens part way. All you can see into the room is black clothes, even darker hair, pale skin, and a beautiful face displaying a deep scowl at the sight of you. The way Yoongi is angled hides anything and anyone in the room from your view.

"We're busy, what do you want."

"I'm here to hang out with my friend." You put your hands together in a begging motion and tack on, "I can be quiet I swear, " when Yoongi continues to stare at you. An awkward beat passes and the door is shut in your face.

"Oh, come on!" you slam your fist on the door. Jimin bends over slightly from his laughing.

The door opens again this time with Namjoon standing on the other side. "Give us a few minutes kiddo." He gives you a tired smile, dimples showing, and pats you on the head when you pout. Jimin's toned down laughs rise back up into giggles making you push your cousin's hand off your head.

Jimin and you head down the short hall back to the living room. You lay on one of their couches as your temporary host goes into the kitchen. He puts a glass of water on the coffee table next to you and shakes his own protein drink bottle and sits on the couch adjacent to yours.

"You know they have a lot to prepare for before Hoseok goes on his trip."

You fling your arm dramatically over your head to cover your eyes.

"I know. I just need to get my fill of him before he leaves."

"Remember Yoongi needs his fill too."

"I know."

And that may be the reason the two of you can't get along. Yoongi and you started off on the right foot actually, and were quite friendly towards each other. That is until the both of you learned of each other's not so secret crush towards Hoseok. Instead of handling things like reasonable adults and talking it out, the two of you fight over his attention like children. The only time the two of you are amicable now is when Hoseok goes on a new date, and you two lovesick fools sit together in misery. The tension between you two has increased though after Hoseok announced he would be leaving abroad.

"It'll just be a couple of weeks. The two of you can manage you know. Maybe you could use that time to actually get along."

Your response is a grumble into your elbow.

"Plus, now you two can keep me company."

You move your arm to look at him in the eye.

"Does that mean you’re taking a break."

"Hell no" Jimin tips his bottle towards you before taking a big gulp of it.

"You and Minsuh really need to chill on the practice. You're going to wear yourselves out."

Jimin places his drink on the coffee table and stretches out on his smaller couch to stare up at the ceiling.

"You know she has a lot of stress from her parents about this competition. Once its over we'll get a break."

"Yep, until you immediately have to get started for the next one that is."

"Well how is your painting going then."

You frown at that because he knows you are having a hard time with this one. Your teacher wants you to challenge yourself and try a new style for the next project. However, you may have bitten off a bit more than you could chew with your design. Moving away from portraits, you are aiming to do a kinetic environment painting. You've enlisted the help of Jungkook to teach you how to take long exposure photography shots for reference, and you have been studying Tae's style and application of paints along with other impressionist artists. It is a bit out of your comfort zone, but you are learning a lot during the whole procedure.

"It's going," you lie. Jimin's scoff tells you he knows that too.

The two of you sit in silence, lost in your own thoughts. A couple minutes turn into many and you doze off accidently as Jimin starts humming while reading one of his text books he pulls out. When you awake you notice a blanket covers you and that it’s a bit darker outside than it was earlier. Peeking over the couch arm you see that Jimin’s reading another book. Snacks and discarded wrappers fill the coffee table.

“How long have I been out.” You garble out, voice still thick with sleep.

Jimin glances at his phone, “Maybe somewhere between an hour or two.”

You sit up and stretch your arms over your head and feel a pull in your back. Grimacing, you cuddle back into the soft blanket. You clear your throat a little, “Thank you.”

Jimin smiles and gives you a nod in reply. He turns back to his reading and you pull out your phone to distract yourself. To two of you stay quiet and still except for the sounds of a turning page every now and then. That is until you hear the door down the hall open. Jimin giggles at how much you look like a puppy at that moment when you perk up at the sound.

Hoseok strides down the hall in his beautiful glory and sends you his famous smile.

"Y/N!" He plops down on the couch next to you and gives you a side hug that has you leaning into him. "Weren't waiting too long I hope?" "Nope," you smile back at him and doing your best to hide your tiredness as you cuddle into him even more. "Jimin kept me good company."

"Just good company?" questions Jimin, slightly affronted.

"The best company." You decide to indulge the man who grins happily until his eyes disappear into crescents.

Talented hands weave into to your hair and scratch at your head. The feeling has you closing your eyes in bliss. "Great. I expect you two to keep each other company while I'm gone."

"I'll be fine Hoseok." His roommate complains sourly.

"The apartment won't stay clean if no one comes by to visit." Yoongi states as he and Namjoon enter the room. Both of them are eyeing the littered coffee table.

"He's right about that."

Jimin does his best to kick at the older two from his position from the couch, but they take a wide berth of caution around it to the couch you're sitting at. Namjoon pats your head again as he moves behind the couch to sit on the opposite end. Instead of squeezing in the small space between Namjoon and Hoseok, Yoongi perches himself right onto Hoseok's lap.

"Yah, get your own spot." You push slightly at Yoongi as everyone glances to the other couch where Jimin is stretched out with a look that says he is ready to start kicking.

"It's fine Y/N." Hoseok's hand leaves your hair to help balance the man on top of him as he pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other. Yoongi sends you a victorious smirk that you can't help but make a face at.

"Did you finish for the day?" You ask the man next to you who is smiling contently at his phone.

"Just taking a small break." He pats Yoongi's thigh as the oldest gets more comfortable on his lap.

"Just enough time to finish my documentary." Namjoon exclaims as he turns on the tv.

Its peaceful for a moment until the cutest little crab shows up on the screen.

"Really Joonie, crabs again?"

Namjoon looks at you like your crazy, "What's wrong with crabs?"

"Just you know I think I've seen this one about fifty times."

"She's right on that one Joon." Yoongi adds.

Embarrassed, Namjoon just tells you two to shut up.

[cowonaverse]

The Great Outdoors

Been thinking about this for a while, needed to process what’s happened.

Initially, like months ago when corona first reared up as a Thing to Contend With - the fear and panic was so strong that it pushed aside my depression and background anxiety completely.  I had something very tangible and concrete to Worry About.  Not only that, there was so much unknown that it seemed conceivably cataclysmic, like... it’s all over and done.  That is still in the mix of possibilities, but it’s much more of a mix these days and not so prominent a conclusion.  But still there.  

Anyway, in a home with another person freaking out who isn’t used to freaking out means managing his reactions first.  Securing the food supply seemed primary.  Starting to grow things at home seemed Important.  What I understand is that this is just seeking agency and control in a time of chaos.  But gestures matter, even to myself.  I am not afraid to do for myself if needed.  I grew up on my Grandma’s farm as a young teen.  I spent a summer as an intern preparing and maintaining bean cultivars for study at Tuskegee University.  I majored in Biology as an undergraduate at the University of Maryland Baltimore County.  I have graduate training within a laboratory setting and can pay attention to such needed details that establish and maintain living systems.

This is what I told myself, at least.  All this experience was well over 25 years ago and I’ve since lived as an artist, teacher and illustrator - basically another lifetime.  But I’m confident in my abilities to make - and make do - with my hands.  On the other hand, Saul is an architect.   He is a designer, not an implementer.   His training produces systems that others then render.  He knows how things should work and why things might fail, but it’s mediated through contractors and clients, and according to building code given to him.  There isn’t much tolerance for the scientific method of inquiry and curiosity, or artistic process.  The buildings have to stand and function, the first time, and every time.

So when confronted with chaos and systemic failures, Saul freaks out.  He was having regular, full-on panic attacks at first.  We fought and argued out of fear and then came back together, clinging again out that same fear.  

What I first recalled was my seventh grade science class, when we germinated beans in damp folded paper towels and then grew them to demonstrate basic botanical processes.  I suggested we go through the house for all whole seeds and try this to see what we can grow ourselves.  In retrospect, this is ludicrous.  Farming a few things from the spice rack is not going to sustain anybody, not to mention a household of two people and three cats.

But you have to recall the upheaval and urgency of those first few days.  Hunkering down and keeping busy with anything that seemed to suggest growth and tomorrow was vital, at least to me.  In some ways it was a relief to have to set aside my own neurotic issues to attend to these little mustard seeds and my partner and my cats.  And as the project grew and developed, this was the initial reward: Doing Something Intentional Towards Tomorrow was useful because it modelled the behavior of resilience and hope.  Even if it wasn’t actually practical, it was a rehearsal for a worldview concerned with survival.

I was still teaching students via online classes and it was useful to tell them what we were doing.  The narrative of growing things in the back bedroom was a good story, for the moment - for that very specific moment.

In the end, now, months later: we are participating in a local farm share with actual farmers who know what they are actually doing to produce actual food.  But by now I’ve learned to can and pickle and preserve things, I can bake and sew my own mask.  Here’s the thing: I dabbled in using my art to address my anxieties and it led me to gaining some small set of skills in a variety of projects.  Skills that now I can use For Real.  But what was always in question was who is it all for.  

What I’ve noticed, at least with Saul, is that he doesn’t initiate and get his hands dirty.  But.  Only at first, once I model behavior and demonstrate that there can be a pattern at work, a way of doing and understanding - then he is able to apply his considerable experience with systems and practicality to get it done right and better.  He saw me making and painting, fumbling around with my works and insights.  Then he tried it, made a body of work, participated in open studios, sold some pieces and was able to articulate his artistry in his own words.  I helped him with that, at first directly, then backing off and continuing on my own things but visibly now with him as a peer.

I started growing things and he looked at me doing that, saw it was possible and started doing it himself.  His plants are thriving and doing much, much better than mine.  I helped him with that when he finally wanted to try, he hasn’t done anything like this before in his life.  My earliest memory is reaching out to eat a cherry tomato in the community garden my parents participated in.  We talked about this while working together to sow some radishes he wants to grow. He said he thought he didn’t have a “green thumb” and avoided trying to grow anything.  His radishes are already out of the ground and happily thriving while mine have long since died off.

I have my accomplishments, but I have just as many failures.  I’m trying to be self-aware about what I’m doing and get help and training as I can.  It does help me feel better, day to day - but what I’m seeing is that it is helping Saul feel like he can do it too.  And when he does, he is actually really good at it.  He saw me sewing my fursuit and trying to apply that understanding to sewing my mask for covid.  A few weeks later, I’m helping him make them and his designs are better and neater and fit.  But I sat with him to go over the different options and we looked at the scientific papers about materials and filters and what covid is and how it works and what a filter is and how they work.  Like, we dug for the primary research.  He wouldn’t think to do that, but I’m not afraid of scientific papers and untangling technical things like that.  But he took all that understanding and made a better system of implementation than what I was able to do.  His masks are the ones we use, mine is an interesting sculptural piece and memento of this time.

My efforts to bake and can things worked at first, but the real success is that it prompted him to get involved and do it better.  What I made in the beginning functioned symbolically as self-sustaining, forward looking effort.  What he is doing now puts actual calories into the body better.

We fight over nuance that doesn’t matter, but the broad rhythm of collaboration has been that I do it first: I show that it’s possible which addresses his fear and pessimism, but then he gains confidence and does it better which addresses my impracticality and romanticism.

I am reminded of what I know to be the great biological divide between human beings: those able to tolerate ambiguity and those who can’t.  This is more fundamental than any other means of sorting and categorizing people.  Certain people have brains that light up for clarity and some light up for vagary.

This is the tension between staying in the cave and leaving the cave.  Speaking in prehistoric terms, the basic tension the human animal first knows upon becoming self-aware is how to deal with it’s own mortality.  Staying in the cave is the known quantity: it’s safe because there are no surprises, all issues are obvious and manageable and contained.  The problem of course is that the cave doesn’t have all the things you need to thrive.  Leaving the cave is the unknown quanity: it’s safe because you can be nimble and adjust freely, taking advantage of chance resources and opportunity.  The problem of course is that outside the cave are predators and dangers and the whole chaotic universe out to kill you.

My first inclination to grow food inside the house was basically Chris falling back to staying in the cave.  But as it turns out, plants still fail, the cat still gets in and trashes the crops, not enough light gets in, seeds are limited, resources run out, all manner of chaos still creeps in and undermines the effort.  So many stories have already been told about this.  Eden does not work, the perfect bubble world does not work.  The Island of Dr. Moreau is a horror story.  It is not particularly insightful for me to realize that locking things down to a controlled interior system is impossible or festering and that some tolerance for calamity has to happen for life to thrive.  I was worried about the New England weather wrecking things outside, but our radiator kicking on too high did the same thing.  I was worried about squirrels getting at our food, but our cat did the same.  I’m worried about advertising resources in a racist malignant society during the end times of social collapse and mass hunger, but our neighbors are also properly growing crops in their backyard as are many other houses on our street (and have for years), and our home is right up against an elementary school that also has a happy garden in view from our kitchen.

I was worried so much about the chaos outside that I was blind to the obvious truth that there is chaos inside as well.  The point is that it’s all part of the same messy thing.  Inside the cave and outside the cave are the same.  There is no inside or outside, and that is the point.  At least outside, the plants can get much more sun and so can I, the rain and weather are cooperating.  I had to learn that I don’t actually grow anything, the plants grow themselves, I just have to witness and shepherd that activity, but it’s already gonna do what it needs to do if I let it.

So much about art making seems to be about demonstrating control: over technique, over materials or concept, over a viewer or critic, over a political narrative.  But once you exhaust the resources in the cave, you have to go out and risk and be surprised and find new caves and new vistas and so on.  And it’s not because you know you’ll be safe, but because that is never possible to know.  What I’m learning is to go with another and to sincerely make that effort important and sufficiently rewarding itself.

It is just nicer now outside on the back porch.  The plants that were struggling inside are all booming now.  The wind is nice.  Seeing Saul’s plants pop up and surpass mine are nice.  It’s heading into summer and everything is warm and radiant.  I can hear sirens in the distance and the news is still the news and autumn and winter are right there on calendar, but I’m making my art, learning as I go.  I’m also aware that I’m not unique in any of this, other people have been doing this exact stuff and that’s comforting when I need to feel aligned with others and social.  When I need to look into myself and address my particular quirks I can do that too.  

 The food is better these days.