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suddencolds · 3 years ago

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Untrustworthy | Genshin Impact

This is a 3k word commission for anon! (I admittedly wrote over the commissioned word count).

Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your kind message 😭This fic was surprisingly very challenging to write, so I’m sorry for the wait; I hope you enjoy!

Requested prompt:

I want Diluc completely miserable with a cold. As much mess as you're ok with. Still trying to function. Until Kaeya can't stand watching anymore and inserts himself as caregiver.

—

It’s subtle at first. Diluc turns away from making a drink to cough tightly into an elbow. Diluc’s gaze pulls uneven as he ducks forward with a barely stifled sneeze into a handkerchief he’s been keeping in his coat pocket. Diluc—when he thinks no one is watching—leans a bit too heavily against the countertop, bracing himself with one arm, and lifts the other hand to massage his temples. as if he’s attempting to drive away a headache that he’s had all afternoon.

It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya pays more attention than people give him credit for. It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya is aware that a cold has been making its rounds through the Knights, many of which frequent the tavern—one severe enough to prompt Jean to actually take a sick day, for once, one that seems especially severe this winter and—judging by the absences in his ranks this last week—difficult to avoid.

Diluc doesn’t fall ill often, Kaeya knows. Even now he barely looks unwell, save for the faint flush of his cheeks, the exhaustion disrupting his usually-perfect posture, the sneezes that he keeps stifling into almost-silence.

Either he’s at the start of his cold—before it’s had a chance to get really bad—or he’s putting in an inordinate amount of effort to hide it.

Kaeya suspects it might be both.

“Master Diluc,” he says, when Diluc conveniently stops by one of the tables next to him with drinks. “When does your shift end?”

Diluc’s shoulders stiffen, though he doesn’t turn around to address Kaeya properly. “Three hours from now.” he says, frowning. “if you intend to involve me in one of your late-night arrangements…”

“Oh? Not this time,“ Kaeya says. He lifts his wine to take a sip. “Even if I were, I think perhaps I would have reconsidered.”

“And why is that?”

Diluc says it flatly—unaffectedly—but he only has the luxury of keeping up that act for a few seconds before he’s ducking into his shoulder with a perfectly silenced stifle. It’s such a seamless performance, neatly contained and expertly quiet—really, Kaeya deems himself unworthy.

“Bless you,” he says, though Diluc scoffs, swipes the empty glasses from the table he’s serving, and starts off toward his usual spot behind the counter. “I do hope you are not falling ill, master Diluc.”

Diluc sets the glasses down on the countertop, diligently averting his glance. “I’m fine.”

“Is that so?” At Diluc’s silence, he presses on. “Perhaps you should close up early, just in case. You look like you could use some rest.”

“No need,” Diluc says. “It’s just— “Hiih… hiIIH-nGK-t! Hiih… HIiIH…-!!.... hiIIh-GKt!” The sneezes snap him forward, his shoulders trembling with the motion. He straightens with an almost imperceptible shiver. “—just dust, snf. Perhaps the Knights would be more efficient if you put more time into work instead of investigating less…” Diluc looks to him at last, his jaw tightly set. “...pressing matters.”

“Ah.” Kaeya laughs. “So eager to get rid of me?”

“Your concern is unnecessary. I already intend to close up earlier than usual.”

That’s surprising, to say the least—Diluc usually never cancels plans to suit himself. “So you really aren’t feeling well,” Kaeya says, suddenly worried. If it’s so bad that even Diluc is closing up early...

He must not be doing a good job keeping the concern off his face, because Diluc just scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not that.” He coughs softly into his raised elbow. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Hmm, to think you said no late night excursions...”

“There’s a banquet tomorrow that I’m expected to attend.”

And yet he won't be closing up for another few hours. And yet he’s here, with the start of a cold, looking exhausted and unwell, and still—for reasons Kaeya can’t fathom—he intends to work late into the night and then spend the entire day tomorrow at some pretentious social event. Kaeya knows that having to entertain strangers is exhausting to Diluc even on regular occasions. He also knows that whatever Diluc is coming down with is unlikely to resolve itself in just a night’s rest.

“For the winery?” he asks. “My, such impressive dedication to the business… surely you can send Elzer on your behalf?”

Diluc’s shoulders tense in a way that suggests that he is as reluctant about attending as Kaeya expected. “I can’t. The host requested my presence.”

“At the very least,” Kaeya says, “You should close up a bit earlier.” He glances over his shoulder to peer through the first floor windows. It’s dark outside—too dark to come to any conclusions, but earlier today, the sky had been too heavy, the air prickling with humidity, the clouds overhead sprawling and dark. “It wouldn’t do you any good to get caught up in the rain.”

“The rain is of no consequence to me,” Diluc says, in the kind of tone that suggests that he doesn’t intend to close up early at all.

“Even with a cold?” “I don’t have a cold.”

Kaeya shrugs. “Well, if you’re certain.” He pushes his mug forward so that it rests on the countertop, right within Diluc’s reach, and counts the mora out beside it. “Goodnight, Diluc.”

He turns on his heels. Years ago, he might’ve stayed longer. He might’ve insisted for Diluc to take care of himself and not left his side until he had.

But it’s been years. Diluc left, and Kaeya tried to muster up the pieces of himself that had existed independent of him—he’d taught himself how to lie, tricked himself into believing that the person he’d trusted most hadn’t left him—and now even though Diluc is back, sometimes it feels as if Kaeya barely knows him at all.

If Diluc won’t take care of himself, then that’s his prerogative. It’s stopped being Kaeya’s problem a long time ago.

—

Kaeya has every intention of leaving Diluc alone.

That is, until he’s at the Knights’ headquarters, listening in on a conversation that he doesn’t quite mean to eavesdrop on but hasn’t gone out of his way not to avoid.

“He keeps taking our work,” one of the Knights says. “It’s awful. Last time we spent all our time finding this one domain—Fatui territory, alright? We had a whole expedition team ready to scout out the domain the next day. Then the next day, we get there and the place is abandoned. Everything’s been scorched. Must’ve been a pyro user.” “How do you know it was him?”

“Trust me, you’d know. How many pyro visions are there in Teyvat? It’s like the legends say. He doesn’t leave any room unturned. He’s more thorough than a team of our men put together.”

“Gentlemen,” Kaeya says loudly, smiling when they startle and turn to look at him in synchronicity. “What are you talking about?”

“The Darknight Hero,” one of the knights offers haltingly. “Last night he took down one of the Fatui strongholds we were planning to deal with. Talk about an annoyance, huh?”

“Oh? How heroic. It seems he lives up to his title,” Kaeya says. His mind is reeling. Diluc? But last night, Diluc had been working late. He’d gone home right after, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t make sense for him to be out last night. Unless, of course...

He would really, really like to believe that Diluc’s self-preservation instincts are better than that.

“I’ve been saying,” says another knight. “We were supposed to be scouting out the area right now. Chances are, there will be nothing left there that’s of any use to us.”

“Seeing as we have nothing to do today,” the first knight says, his expression hardening, “maybe we can conduct a search party for the Darknight Hero instead. See what he has to say about withholding information from the Knights.”

“Let’s not be too hasty here,” Kaeya cuts in, before the other Knights have a chance to offer their assent. “It’s unlikely that the Darknight Hero would be out during the day, isn’t it? Rest assured, I’ll make sure that it’s looked into. In the meantime, have you asked the Acting Grandmaster for a new assignment?”

The knight in question falters. “No, but…”

Kaeya smiles pointedly at him—the kind of vicious smile that, around knights and strangers alike, never fails to intimidate. “Then perhaps you should get to it, don’t you think?”

He waits until he’s sure they’ll be busy with something else. Maybe they’re mistaken. Maybe Diluc had gone to scout out the area on some previous occasion, and the Knights are only now paying witness to his usual efficiency.

Or maybe Diluc has forgone a night of rest in lieu of playing hero to Mondstadt in the pouring rain. And now he’s at a banquet somewhere, with a miserable cold that he’s most likely intent on telling himself he doesn’t have.

It’s been awhile since Kaeya’s been to a banquet. He misses the alcohol, the music, the extravagant decorations. It’s easy enough to tell himself that that’s the reason why he’s going.

—

It’s not difficult to get in. Kaeya is well-acquainted with having to sweet talk his way into lowering someone’s defenses.

Inside the banquet hall, it’s crowded. It is as pretentious a setup as it gets—visitors wearing suits and ballroom gowns, walls adorned with streamers and gold plaques, tables laid out with refreshments of all sorts. The building it’s being held in has at least two floors and too many side rooms to count.

He spots Diluc from across the room—red hair is rare enough that he’s not easy to miss. Diluc is currently engaging in conversation with someone Kaeya hasn’t seen before.

It’s likely that Diluc has found the person who explicitly requested his presence—probably someone with a business deal that he thinks warrants a personal talk with the owner of Dawn Winery. If Kaeya interrupts Diluc while he’s negotiating some sort of once-in-a-lifetime deal, Diluc will never let him live it down. So instead, he grabs a drink as an excuse to get closer and stands a few tables away to listen in.

Up close, Diluc’s cold is practically impossible to miss. His clothes look freshly ironed, but his hair is still damp at the tips—he’s changed into dry clothes, then, but his wet hair seems to only confirm the hypothesis that he was, in fact, scouting out domains last night in the rain instead of getting a wink of sleep. Diluc has always been pale, but now there’s a flush high on his cheeks that Kaeya thinks could only be a result of an impending fever. He is standing with his arms crossed—a last attempt to keep warm, perhaps—with a handkerchief gripped loosely in one hand. Faint shivers break the line of his shoulders.

Kaeya feels a pang in his chest. Diluc looks…

Kaeya watches as Diluc twists away with a soft apology and a wrenching sneeze that snaps him forward at the waist.

...miserable.

“That was merely my expectation,” the man says. “Crepus and I were business partners, do you know that? You don’t seem like the type of person who would choose this profession. I am sure your priorities lie elsewhere.”

Diluc clears his throat. “I have no qualms against upholding the family business.” His voice—though usually smooth and mellifluous—has taken on a rough edge to it, as if from overuse.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,” the man says. “I am sure you’re aware of your options, no? You could make a fortune selling off the winery if you so desired.”

“If you are...” Diluc starts, though his sentence is punctuated by a soft, desperate gasp, and he turns away just in time, ducking into his handkerchief. “hiIh…. Hiih… hiih’GKt—CHhiiew! Snf-!” His eyes stay shut in anticipation, the grip tightening around the handkerchief as his shoulders jerk with another sharp intake of breath. “Hiih… Hiiih… Iiih’DZsshh-iu! haAHH’iIKTch-iIIew!” he sniffles wetly, barely suppressing a violent shiver.

“If you are here to gauge whether or not I intend to sell the winery, I can assure you that I do not,” he says, quieter than usual.

“Ah, of course, just a question.” The man leans forward, lowers his voice. “Truthfully, I am more interested in a partnership. It’s come to my attention that you have an excess of wine sitting in the winery’s cellars. If you can get me the amount of Dandelion Wine I need at a discounted price, I can sell it down in Liyue for a profit.”

“I have no interest in expanding the business any further,” Diluc says. “The excess will sell out easily in the spring when demand rises for Windblume.”

“I urge you to give it some consideration. Dandelion Wine is a specialty to Mondstadt. Think about the profitability of expanding to somewhere where dandelions are hard to come by,“ the man says. “You could stand to double or even triple the prices per bottle. I am only asking to take a fraction of your stock, see? Ten percent would be enough.”

He says it as if ten percent isn’t anything substantial, but Kaeya can’t help but think that there’s something wrong here—both with the presentation of the offer and with its suddenness. From here, Diluc’s expression is unreadable—it betrays only slight discomfort when he turns to the side, muffling harsh, forceful coughs into his suit sleeve, and murmurs a reflexive apology. No hesitation—not the slightest hint of wariness—even though the Diluc Kaeya remembers wouldn’t agree to raising prices so drastically without good reason.

“I can handle all transportation and deliver the profits to you in a few months,” the man presses on, interpreting Diluc’s untelling silence as interest. “My associates have done research on the market in Liyue and where it would be best to sell. You wouldn’t have to do anything differently from your end. All that I ask is for you to trust me with the first shipment and compensate me fairly after I handle the marketing and transportation.”

Diluc sniffles. “Forgive me,” he says, bracing himself with one hand against the table behind him as he ducks forward violently into a raised arm. “hiIh’nGKT-chhiEW! HIih… I do n-not… hhH… Hiih-! hiIH’iiikT-CHhiew! Sdf-! Ugh… hiIIH’NGKT-CHhiew!” He leans slightly into his side, and though the gesture is well-disguised, Kaeya can tell just how much he’s bracing his weight on the table. It’s concerning, to say the least. Is he really too tired to stand upright? “...I do not expect to give out so much wine without a proper assessment of the risk. If you believe the model to be profitable, you are free to… t-to… hh-! to purchase…. hiIH… haAA’iiKTT-CHh!-u! hiIh’iiiTSSHhh’uh! snf-!” The congestion in his voice is evident in all of his consonants, and his gaze flickers down to his handkerchief in unspoken desperation, though Kaeya suspects he’s too polite to blow his nose in front of a business partner.

“...You are free to purchase wine at the same rate as I offer other corporate partners. I cannot - coughcough - I cannot offer such a large first-time shipment for free based on only an assumption that it will be successful.”

Kaeya can see the exact moment the smugness drops off of the man’s face. His eyes harden at Diluc’s hesitation, his practiced smile shifting into the approximation of a sneer.

“An assumption? You don’t trust my ability to see the operation through to the end?” He says, still in the same polite, haughty tone of his. “As a long-time associate of your father, I would have thought I would have earned your trust as well. Unless, of course, you simply don’t agree with Crepus’s assessments?”

Kaeya can see the way Diluc’s jaw tightens at the query. He clears his throat softly, though the brief wince that follows suggests that the action is far from painless.

“His vision for the company is - snf - very important to me,” he says simply.

The man waves a flippant hand. “Or perhaps once he left, you decided you knew better? I mean, you have grown up so much, so I’m sure you feel more than capable of handling his affairs, regardless of whether or not you’re doing it his way. I don’t blame you.”

As the man turns around to pour himself a drink, Kaeya sees a flash of blue and gold tucked into his suit pocket. It takes him another moment to realize what it is.

A Fatui sergeant’s insignia—for identification purposes, or just a habit, likely.

This man isn’t a business partner of Crepus’s at all.

Now, the man wheels around, holding one drink in each hand. Alcohol, clearly—though it sparkles, faintly red. “Ah, well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but your decisions are understandable. A friend of mine has been working on a drink that mixes certain Liyuen specialties and Dandelion Wine—would you give it a try?”

“I don’t drink,” Diluc says haltingly.

“Just a sip wouldn’t hurt,” the man says, raising an eyebrow. “If you are anything like Crepus, you must have developed quite the refined taste when it comes to wine. Perhaps you could speak for the quality?”

“I’m sorry,” Diluc says quietly. “I am… Hiih… f-feeling… hH…. hiIih’iIKT-chHIew! Sdf!... slightly under the weather.” Kaeya blinks at him, disbelieving. Such an outright admission is practically unheard of, when it comes to Diluc—but then again, it’s a convenient excuse, and Kaeya is not under the impression that he really knows him. Diluc lifts a hand to his face, sniffling hard. “I’m afraid I would not be able to taste it.”

“You state the obvious,” the man drawls, and Diluc’s shoulders hunch slightly as he turns his face away, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons why I recommended this drink. It’s made with Jueyun chilis. Should be good for clearing up a cold.”

“Is that so?” Diluc says, still frowning.

“Perhaps you could speak to its efficacy?”

Slowly—hesitantly—Diluc lifts the glass. The man watches him like a hawk—too eagerly, if anything. Kaeya presumes that he either wants Diluc poisoned or too intoxicated not to be swayed, and hauling home a Diluc who can’t hold his own sounds like more than he’s signed up for, so now would be a good time to interfere. Diluc can be mad at him later.

Kaeya, for all he’s attempted over the years, has plenty of practice making his entrances as obnoxiously showy as possible.

“My, my,” he says, striding in with a drink in hand to settle right next to Diluc. “The esteemed owner of the Dawn Winery.” Just for the way Diluc grimaces at the title, his eyebrows furrowing, he decides this intervention has been worth it. “And… who’s this?”

Diluc veers away from Kaeya to stifle—a soft, near-silent stifle that must be exhausting to suppress.

“A business partner,” the man answers through gritted teeth.

“Must be a busy job,” Kaeya says, snatching Diluc’s drink out of his hand and setting it down on the table behind him. “Given, of course, that you have two.” He takes an efficient step forward and swipes the insignia out of the so-called business partner’s pocket.

“I do wonder why the Fatui would be so interested in the Dawn Winery,” he says calmly, ignoring the man’s indignant yelp of protest. He turns the insignia over in his hands, contemplative. “Did you really think the owner of the largest wine business in Mondstadt would be so easy to scam?”

The sergeant swears. “You asshole—!”

Kaeya reaches for the sword tucked into his belt. He knows it wouldn’t be a fair fight, seeing that the man seems very much unarmed, but it’s as good as anything as a threat. “I don’t suppose you’ll try this again?” he says. “I can’t claim to be the best swordsman in Mondstadt—that title goes to the previous cavalry captain, but maybe tonight I can come in second.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh? Do you want to find out if I am?”

“No,” the agent says. “I wasn’t finished having my conversation.”

“Well, what a shame.” Kaeya doesn’t wait for him to think of a response. He takes Diluc’s arm and turns abruptly to haul Diluc towards the exit.

Diluc goes along easily enough. It’s only when they get outside that the frustration—from watching Diluc push himself, stubbornly, to this extent—boils over.

“Diluc,” he says, turning on his heels. “Really? After a late night shift at the tavern, your first thought was to forgo rest to spend all night scouting out a Fatui domain? In the rain, for that matter?”

Diluc turns away, his expression unchanging. “That’s not worth mentioning.”

“Perhaps you’d claim that attending a banquet directly afterwards is not worth mentioning, either? Your hair’s still wet. And that encounter with the Fatui sergeant—what’s gotten into you? Since when have you been so careless?”

He’s almost certain Diluc can hear the unspoken accusation behind it. This isn’t like you. Diluc is hasty—he has a tendency to overestimate himself and involve himself in situations he knows will be dangerous—but he isn’t careless.

“—I knew he wasn’t one of Crepus’s associates.” Diluc explains, with a soft, liquid sniffle. He turns away, lifting an arm to his face. “I would’ve - hhihH-!! - snf, I would’ve recognized him if he were, sdf.” his eyes drift shut; he buries his face into his suit sleeve, sniffling. “Crepus made it a point to… hiIh…-! hIIIh… to introduce him to everyone he - HIiIIih… sdf-!! ...Everyone he worked closely with.”

“Is that so?” Kaeya says, but it’s not enough. “Then why did you entertain him?”

Diluc is quiet for a moment. When Kaeya looks over, it’s to a dazed, bleary expression before he ducks harshly into his raised elbow with a forceful, “hiIh’nNGKT-chHIEw! hiIH’IITCHh-chhUU!! Snf-!”

He doesn’t lift his elbow from his face. “I w-wanted… snf-! more - hiIh-!...information,” he says. “If I were to know more about what he was planning, it would make it easier for me to find any fraudulent - hiIih-!! Snf-! - transactions in the company’s history if I knew what to - hIih-hiIh’iIKTch-IIiu! Excuse me… snf-! -to look for.”

“Bless you. There are better ways to do that,” Kaeya says. “No need to do it when you’re evidently unwell.”

Diluc peeks out from behind his arm, which he still hasn’t lowered from his face. His face is flushed up to his ears—easy enough to dismiss as fever, though Kaeya knows that’s not all there is to it.

Diluc has always been embarrassed about admitting weakness. Kaeya sighs, fishes through his own pockets for a spare handkerchief.

“I have to say, Diluc,” he says, holding out the handkerchief — which Diluc accepts hurriedly, turning away to clean up whatever mess he’s made of his sleeve - “My weekends would be much less eventful -”

“hiiihh’GKTTt-CHh’yyew! snf-!”

“- if I could trust you to look after yourself,” Kaeya finishes, raising an eyebrow. “Bless you, by the way.”

“I know my limits,” Diluc says.

Kaeya huffs a sigh. “But you don’t honor them, do you?”

Diluc frowns, looking away. “I would have been fine if you hadn’t showed up.”

Kaeya stares at him. It’s half in disbelief, half in exasperation—but Diluc has always been like this, hasn’t he? Insistent on his own self-sufficiency. Hesitant to admit he might, in any way, be infallible.

I would’ve been fine.

“You always are,” he says finally, with a smile that he doesn’t mean.

If Diluc so diligently insists on refusing his help, perhaps Kaeya should take a hint. Mondstadt is a half hour away—less, if he hurries. He quickens his pace. It’s fortunate, he thinks, that the rain stopped early this morning, after—

Diluc grabs his arm.

Kaeya wheels around, suddenly worried that Diluc might be feeling much worse than he’d let on, but Diluc’s expression betrays nothing as he lowers his hand to his side.

“Thank you,” he says—a soft, private admission.

Kaeya clears his throat, waves a dismissive hand. “I assure you, I have plenty more handkerchiefs.”

“No,” Diluc says quietly, looking away. “Not just for that.”

#snz #snz kink #snz fic #sneeze fic #my fic #gen/shi/n im/pac/t #i have been working on this for almost 2 weeks straight #longer than anticipated T-T i planned to finish this before moving back #it was really hard to write ngl (more plot-driven than most of my other recent snzfics)#i hope it doesn't disappoint ;;#(prob the last 2k+ fic in awhile unless my time management is insanely good)#i will still write drabbles if time permits! been wanting to write abt ko/kom/i after playing her character quest #(requests are still open as always! or scenarios if anyone just wants to talk!)#this is actually my first time being commissioned for writing and #it really made me happy!! thank you!

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harrypotter-imaginess · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1 Here!

Commission Info for letters from your favorite comfort character here!

A/N: If you want to be added to the tag list for this, The draco muggle series, or the Fred and George Weasley best friends Series let me know!

- “What’s the hurry boss? Where are you heading off to?” One of your co -workers asks as you rush around the store double checking all the locks on the entrances and giving your plants one final spritz

- “Hot date?” The other asks with a suggestive raised eyebrow

- “Yes.” You say simply,

- They both sputter at that

- “What? Seriously?!”

- “With who??” The other shrieks

- And right on cue there’s a light tap on the door

- Cue your employees squealing again

- “Him?!?”

- “The hottie with a dye job?”

- George offers you a smile and a wave and you smile back

- “Ainsley I trust you can lock up?” You ask, pushing the key into their hand

- They only nod

- Henry’s looking at you with his his mouth open as he watches you leave, George and you smiling at each other like a couple of lovestruck fools

- “I told you he had a crush on them” Ainsley says with a grin and Henry has a blush blooming on his cheeks as he pulls a five pound note from his wallet

- “I mean I did too- I just didn’t think he would work up the nerve to actually ask them out.”

- A moment of silence fills the air

- “I bet Ten pounds they find out if that’s their natural hair color tonight” Ainsley says with a grin, and Henry looks at her with a slightly mortified expression

- I mean, the implication of how you would find that out is just-

- “Yeah alright, our boss is a prude there’s no way” he says shaking Ainsley’s hand.

- So when George meant dinner- he meant dinner

- You’re at the tower restaurant in downtown London

- It’s on the fiftieth floor at a skyscraper at the heart of London.

- He reserved a table specifically next to a window with a view of the canal and the London eye

- It’s quite spectacular

- “Have you been here before?” He asks

- You’re glad you dressed a little nicer than you were originally thinking

- “A few times, once for a birthday and once-“

- You’re interrupted by your server bringing a bottle of champagne

- George gets a puzzled expression, he hasn’t even ordered yet

- “Compliments of the Owner, we’re still grateful you were able to fulfill that order last minute when our other florist backed out.”

- “Not a problem Charles, it was my pleasure”

- When he’s gone George flashes you a smile

- “I feel like everyone knows you” he says, lifting up a champagne flute as you toast.

- “That was just one person” you say with a smile and a giggle

- “You should have been at the store last week, my brother wouldn’t shut up about you” he says with a grin

- “Who’s your brother?”

- George describes Ron, but it doesn’t spark anything in you until he mentions the red hair

- “Oh yes, Ronnie! He comes by every month to get flowers for his girlfriend, I didn’t know he was your brother”

- What a small world

- You should have seen the similarity from the start, the hair was a dead give away really

- How come no one else at the shop had noticed either?

- “Well one of them” George shrugs

- “How many brothers do you have”

- George grins

- “That’s enough for a volleyball team!”

- “We have a sister too, the running joke is our parents wanted a girl, just one”

- By the time the appetizers are being brought out George has got the family picture from when they visited Bill in Egypt out (charmed so it doesn’t move of course)

- “You have a twin?”

- You know the second you’ve asked it that you said something wrong

- It’s not that George looks upset, or that his expression has darkened-

- He just looks so sad

- The kind of sadness that’s as deep as the Mariana Trench, hidden behind a kind smile and the gentle warmth of longing

- “I did have a twin-“ George knew this would come up sooner or later, he just didn’t want to ruin the nice mood you had going so soon

- “He passed away a few years ago”

- George is waiting for the look-

- The wide eyes, and the slight pout. That overly sympathetic look he’s gotten so often, it’s only natural. It happens to everyone, he won’t hold it against you.

- And it forms on your face a little, because you can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone like that. But the next thing that comes out of your mouth is original

- “What was he like?”

- “What?” George is taken aback, he was expecting words of condolence, as is typical for this situation

- “You told me all about Bill, and Charlie, and Percy, and Ron, and Ginny-“

- Now he’s surprised that you’ve remembered all of his siblings names, and correctly at that

- “Now tell me about your twin”

- Your eyes are twinkling when they look to him. All of London stretches out behind you, like something from a painting. Your face is illuminated by the small candle in the middle of your table.

- It feels like something out of a movie, and George is afraid he might cry from the sheer beauty of it

- He never thought he would feel this way again

- “His name was Fred, and he was my best friend”

- He’s talked about Fred before, to his family, to his therapist and old classmates

- But he’s never had an experience quite like this

- “Umbridge? Oh she was the worst, like the bitter old nun who slaps your wrists with a ruler”

- Only worse

- “Anyway Fred and I- we planned this entire thing when we decided to leave school-“

- He tells you about the fireworks in the main hall of their boarding school, and the way they raced through the door and never came back

- “I think I would have liked Fred” you say, a warm look in your eyes

- He would have liked you too, George wants to say

- But that’s a little forward for the first date, he feels like he’s already unloaded enough with his broken family and their loss

- Lucky for him, dessert has just arrived

- “Compliments of the owner, we hope to see you both here again” Charles tells you, setting down two impressive plates of Tiramisu

- “Why do I get the feeling that whatever you did was more than just a last minute order fulfillment?”

- You shrug

- “Well after the whole thing- they started contracting me to do their regular day to day flowers” you shrug, it’s not that big of a deal, fancy places like this use a few different vendors, they probably have a different one for each day

- Which is for the best since your shop can only handle a few days at most.

- It’s not that you can’t produce enough flowers or anything, it’s just you wouldn’t be able to give Ainsley and Henry the leisurely work hours you do now, not while maintaining quality for your existing customers

- And that’s a big no for you

- “I take it business was always this good?”

- With how successful you seem, he honestly can’t imagine you struggling

- You scoff

- “It was tough at first, when I was by myself.” You still remember your family telling you that it wasn’t to late to declare bankruptcy and get a real job. “Things got better when Ainsley showed up- holidays are still tough though.”

- “Ron’s told me all about the hour long line at Valentine’s Day” George says with a grin and you bury your face in your hands with a muffled groan

- “Oh it’s going to be terrible this year.” Valentine’s Day is still a few months away, but you can already feel the dread

- “We started doing appointments only last year- because the amount of people that just show up and ransack the place is just-“

- “Oh I know,” George says. “My store doesn’t even sell anything all that romantic, but the amount of people who show up last minute to buy anything- one time a bloke even bought the decorations I had up.”

- “Have you noticed-“ you voice lowers as you lean forward. “That’s it’s never people looking for things for their significant other, it’s always-“

- “For the mistresses?”

- You nod enthusiastically

- “I thought maybe it was just my store-“ George leans forward as well now, talking very quickly

- “No the same person who ordered flowers two months in advance for their husband, will spend thirty minutes begging for me to put a bouquet together for their special friend”

- George leans back and shakes his head

- “It’s crazy isn’t it? How many people cheat?”

- You sigh, leaning back into your chair shrugging

- “It’s not our place to judge.”

- Especially not when the person in question is shoving fifty quid in your face for a god d*mn cactus and a card

- George knows that, and he knows there have been times that the only reason he was able to keep his shop afloat after Fred left is because of Valentine’s Day

- But still- cheating just irks him

- It’s the most unforgivable thing a person can do, to betray the person they love the most like that

- George knows every relationship is different- and that things aren’t clear cut-

- But he can’t ever imagine doing that to someone

- “I don’t get it though, I can’t even get one lover, let alone two or more” you laugh, and George swears it looks like you’re glowing

- He feels a smile twitch at the corner of his lips, the mischievous streak in him rolling awake after what feels like years of slumber

- “What if I told you I was trying to change that?”

- His arm is on the table, the tips of his fingers brushing against yours slightly

- You feel your face grow hot as his words sink in one by one

- A smile spreading across you face

- “I would say, I’m looking forward to it.”

BONUS:

- “So did you find out if Hottie’s color is natural?” Ainsley asks, a mischievous smile curled onto their lips.

- “Ainsley, his name is George, he owns a hobby store a few lanes over.” You say as you finish tying the bow on an arrangement.

- There’s a second of silence in which Henry and Ainsley exchange a look. Henry’s feeling pretty confident right now, Ainsley might have worked here longer than him, but he feels like he knows you pretty well, and he-

- “And yes it is, so you should both stop calling him Dye Job.” You say with a smile twitching on your lips.

- Henry.exe is broken.

- Ainsley has to hide their joy, internally cheering and wondering how to spend the money.

- “H-how do you know that?” Henry asks, maybe you’re just saying it so he and Ainsley will stop teasing your new love interest.

- You stop, looking up from your arrangement in slight wonder.

- Ah, he was right! It looks like you’re trying to come up with an excuse.

- “Well his brothers all seem to have that hair color, I think they get it from their Dad.”

- Ainsley and Henry.exe have stopped working.

- “YoU mEt HiS fAmIlY??” Ainsley shrieks.

#harry potter imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley headcanon #george weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #goerge adn fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley headcanon #harry potter headcanon #harry potter reader insert #harry potter preferences #harry potter imagine #harry potter

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retiredgremlin · 4 years ago

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is shawn maybe actually psychic pt1

so I just finished watching 6x14, Autopsy-Turvy and that bit in the beginning is very interesting, from 2:13 to 3:15. The bit where Gus lays on the street and Shawn backs up, thinking through the incident presented to them.

Bob White, the victim of the current “case of the week,” was run over by a bus. The bus didn’t see him because a singular street light was out that night. Neat, okay, so Shawn is thinking through that, right?

And then we are shown the light going out, with glass raining down on Shawn, who visually reacts to it. We are shown the shot of where Gus was on the street, only it’s pitch black now. Shawn asks Gus if he’s still there. We get a glimpse of the usual “psychic recreation” then with the bus driving over the spot where the body would have been, showing how the body would be completely invisible. When whatever this is is over, we see the lights come back on and things resume regularity.

I wanna talk about this.

I wanna talk about this because this bit is....unprecedented. I haven’t started my critical analysis yet and I usually need the second pass over a series to burn everything into my memory, but I have no recollection of being shown something like this before.

Typically, we see “recreation visions.” Those show past events and have a grain filter over them, maybe a little desaturation. Notably, Sometimes Shawn’s memories are also shown this way (which hohoheehaaa is a whole ’nother can of fucking worms but let’s stay on track here-)

Let’s do a play by play here.

We are shown the light going out, with glass raining down on Shawn, who visually reacts to it. Shawn states that [the report] says the streetlight directly above the bus stop was out. The camera zooms in on his face before cutting to a set distance away and the light in the scene is shown to flare before we hear the bulb break. The light goes out and glass falls onto Shawn. Shawn is shown physically reacting to the glass with squinting and a slight flinch. The camera zoom and reset indicate a change of scene, despite still just watching Shawn. The following events are presented to us as a physical change to the environment, one that is shown to interact with Shawn who is reacting to this change.

The place on the street where Gus is laying is now in total darkness. Gus is now obscured as there is no light. This further enforces the physical shift to the environment. This also implicates that Shawn can no longer see Gus, just as we no longer see Gus. Shawn then cocks his head to the side, accompanied by a sound suspense sound cue. This body language is often used in media to convey confusion, curiosity, or inquisition. As someone who does this irl, I use it as a visual cue that I’m listening/paying attention if I’m unable to make eye contact during the conversation. At the very least, removing conjecture, it’s a reaction to a stimulus, indicating attention of some sort.

Shawn asks Gus if he’s still there. This is when this starts to hit home, right? This statement all but confirms that Shawn is no longer seeing Gus on the ground at all. This also confirms that what we the audience are seeing is something Shawn is experiencing in that moment. Shaw cannot see Gus currently and thus he asks for a verbal confirmation. We hear Gus respond, exasperated, saying Shawn can damn well see his face on the asphalt. Except Shawn can’t. Instead Shawn is seeing the space as though one of the lights was punched out. Shawn then comments by saying, “That’s interesting.” This is a verbal acknowledgement of what is visually happening in the scene right now. What precisely about this scene is interesting? We could easily infer the explicit lack of a visual Gus while still hearing Gus. Otherwise, why ask if Gus was still there? Notably, Gus’s response reinforces that he is not experiencing the change to the environment that Shawn and the audience are, as he is not reacting to it.

The usual psychic recreation kicks in to show us the bus running through the dark patch. Cue the typical grain filter of the scene. These visuals clearly mark the shift from real-time to flashback/past events, as the show has trained us to read this visual. This is also what we normally see when a scene is revealed to us or facts come together. The show could have just as well have shown us this flash without showing the dark street real-time, but they didn’t Why? Why is this different? Why does this call for a different kind of visual? I would assume because this is different somehow.

The recreation ends and we see the light come back on. The flashback recreating is over and simultaneous with the scene shift back to Shawn’s face, we see the light coming back in again and zooming out from Shawn’s face, mirroring how the scene started. This marks the end of whatever moment was happening.

Taking all of this into consideration, what conclusion are we left to draw from this short scene? Shawn experiences what we just saw: he sees the light flare, hears the bulb break, feels the glass fall around him, and sees the street as though this street light was out. It’s not as though it’s recreating something though, or imitating how a light would have actually burst. The light flares before popping, mimicking how a light would act when it dies. The filament grows thin and puts off a super flash as the filament breaks.

This does not mean the fucking glass shatters though. Conversation does indicate that the light being broken is why it was out the night Bob White was run over though. This is piece of the....”vision,” shall we call it, imitated what would have happened. But for the light to both flash and break? Unless I’m terribly mistaken, it’s usually one or the other that will put a bulb out of commission, not both. This lends additional credence to this being an unnatural occurrence. Given the glass shatters after the flash, to would indicate to me that the light dying somehow lead to the glass breaking? Either way, it’s a bit extreme and unusual, which plays into the entire strangeness of the scene.

It’s like is someone grabbed the space around them and metaphysically punched the street light. Somehow Shawn is experiencing a manipulation of the space around him, enough to alter what he’s sensing in a targeted and specific manner.

Now sure, we could just say what this scene was meant as: a visual built to communicate to the audience what is going on. Psych likes to show us how a situation is being assessed, what information Shawn is taking in and processing. But where’s the fun in that, especially with how they chose ground this short experience through having Shawn experience it.

You want to know something else I find very interesting here?

Shawn’s response is mild.

Listen, I dunno about you, but I probably would have had more reaction to a bulb over my head suddenly bursting and throwing glass at me. I probably would have had more to say if I suddenly wasn’t seeing light when there was light in front of me, especially if it wasn’t that I suddenly lost all sense of light, but that a singular light suddenly and magically seemed to turn off.

Guess Shawn wouldn’t though! He takes this all fairly well in stride. There are two major possibilities here. One is that he’s more focused on the case than anything else so he mentally dismisses whatever is happening and proceeds until it goes away. There is precedent to him acting this way when he gets fixated on something, but we’re not seeing many signs of that here. Option two is that the reason Shawn barely reacts is that this not new or overly concerning because he is aware it is not real.

Shawn certainly recognizes what’s happening as unusual, but he is not panicked or caught off guard. When asking if Gus is still there, his voice does not betray anything strange. He is simply affirming. His “that’s interesting” comment also expresses no concern and he does not dwell on this occurrence, simply makes use of it. This leads me to believe that this is not the first time Shawn has experienced something like this. Something where he needs to see something in a different light (ha), and it just happens. We are not shown this prior because the show had no reason to concoct this sort of occurrence before now, as most investigation could be done through the physical clues given in the state they were in. This is new for the audience, but this is presented as something that isn’t really that new to Shawn.

The thing is, the vision is accurate. The vision is not an exaggeration or unrealistic distortion of the space. It is the space as is, except as if the light went out. Not that suddenly everything went dark or that he can’t see anything. To see the space as it would be with one thing different, especially when that one thing is something that interacts with everything in the space? That’s...something.

Let’s not forget the cinematography and sound cues though. With the scene starting up, we get real close and personal with Shawn’s face before the camera cuts to where it’s zoomed out again. Well, what does a camera cut indicate? Typically the shot is focused on the character relevant to the scene, whatever you should be seeing to line up with what’s happening. We were already looking at Shawn though, so what purpose does this cut serve? They wanted to shift the perspective we were viewing Shawn with. This cut indicates a change to the scene. Directly following this cut, the light bursts. This cut signified the shift from reality into the vision. When the scene was over, the camera cuts to Shawn’s face and is zooming out, clearly outlining the end of the vision. This explicitly bookends the start and stop to the strange phenomena.

As for the sound, we hear a back and forth piano tune leading up to the start of the vision. It starts just as Shawn is backing up from Gus laying down on the street and continues through Shawn noting that the report says the streetlight was out and fades as the glass shatters and finishes falling. This is a leadup, a lead in, an indication of something eerie going on. It lets the audience experience a moment of strangeness as the music disappears when we look back and see the street is dark with no Gus. We get a short violin sting to punctuate Shawn cocking his head and the recognition of something wrong here. When get a softer, deeper version of that sting as Gus responds, accentuating something even stranger going on. As Shawn lifts his arms to mimic a bus steering wheel, get a short orchestral bit that strings into the recreation of the bus driving over Bob White and concludes with the vision. This feels like a carry through, a dramatic reveal piece.

These shots and sounds of this scene do everything to accentuate that something fucking weird is happening here. Please note that I have an education in art, not cinematography or music, so I can give an interpretation of them as a critical consumer, but I cannot speak speak to them in the manner of a trained and educated professional. Take my opinions there with a grain of salt.

What is all of this then? How does this happen? What is this scene telling us?

I have 2 ideas.

1.) His eidetic memory is able to be used to create hyper realistic visualizations wherein the space can be manipulated.

2.) This is a preternatural vision and Shawn has latent psychic abilities.

Honestly, these possibilities can coexist with each other, and maybe they should?

This scene is deliberate, is the funny thing. The way is was shot, the way it was presented, the way the characters interact. Nothing here is a mistake, but it’s out of left field as a totally new way to observe a crime scene from anything else they’ve shown in the series. (I have only seen up to this episode, so if there’s another incident after 6x14, then neat, I’ll dissect that to when I get there.)

In conclusion, this scene leads me to believe Shawn has the ability to see, or is subject to the phenomena of seeing, space in a manipulated manner. The space mimics reality and reacts like reality, where variable can be arranged and shifted. Evidence from this incident would indicate these shifts are based on what Shawn is currently thinking about or puzzling through, showing him the scene the way he needs to see to it rather than how it necessarily is.

I, personally, would like to think this points to genuine latent preternatural abilities that tie into his eidetic memory and how that exists. Mostly because I think it’s fun that the show about the fake psychic is actually a show about a sort of psychic who doesn’t realize he’s actually sort of psychic while pretending to be a psychic. I think is an incredibly fun take to explore. Which I will later because I have a working idea of how this all connects in and functions but this has gone a bit long for a dissection of what is a minute or less bit at the beginning of a single episode.

This is the prologue to my TED Talk: “Shawn Spencer is probably psychic” and in this presentation I will-

#psych #shawn spencer #this got long oops #but this is giving me so many ideas #it really is a damn shame i can't find more fics that have shawn actually be psychic #notably i will be writing my own in due time #the way im thinking of him being psychic isn't the way he's pretended to be psychic tho #please bear with me through this and future installations #but like yo #what the fuck is this scene #what were they trying to tell us #aside from the fact shawn's brain is impossible or that this boy is actually fuckin psychic #i'll never get real answers on this and im not sure if it's better that way or not #because if they give me no answers #i get to make up my own #mine #analysis

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bibbykins · 5 years ago

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Heliophilic Rain and His Pluviophile (M)

Yikes, it’s been a hot minute. That’s my bad. I have been having it a little rough with my job and so I’m in the process of finding another one and that among a billion other things is slowing me down. Which makes me wonder if I were to open commissions if anyone would be interested? I also would like to add there is a scene that could be triggering so proceed with caution, please. Either way, thank you for your patience as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: possessiveness, yandere tendencies, anxiety, unspoken threat of sexual assault, slight violence, oral, penetrative sex, cock warming, toxic relationship (he's yandere ya kno)

Summary: He was the rain just as you were the sun, both too transfixed with watching each other to get any closer. Few things feel more refreshing than drops of fresh rain on heated skin or the warmth of the sun on a gloomy day. It would be a shame to not indulge in the natural wonders of the world before you.

“Her voice was like the wind. I could listen until it was all that filled me. I could listen until she swept me away into the vast ocean of her presence. I would drown if it meant I would drift back to her. Her voice was like the wind. No matter how much I tried to catch it, I would get carried away. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Suddenly, home was wherever she said it was, so long as she did so with that voice of hers.”

“His voice was like the tap of rain against a window. He was asking me to go out to see him, but there was something beautiful about the way I knew he wasn’t referring to me specifically. I was a mere onlooker to his presence. Even so, I would catch a cold if it meant I could reach him, even for a moment. I thought this, knowing I would never have the guts to go outside. I made peace with this until the taps on my window turned into knocks on my door.”

——-

The office had an industrial-chic style about it, filled with neutral tones and the clanging of chains for no other purpose except fashion donned upon its employees. The color palette was gloomy and soothing, just how Yoongi liked it, an aesthetic that his employees gleefully shared with him as well. Each morning, Yoongi would look out his office and admire his growing business, eyes never lingering on one place too long, he loved all of the office equally. This much rang true until he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Hoseok placed his hand on Yoongi’s soldier as he watched you through the glass doors of the conference room you were currently introducing yourself in, “Don’t be too hard on her, she’s competent and hardworking, okay?”

Yoongi could barely hear his friend as he lost himself in the way your eyes crinkled from a genuine smile adorning your face. You were his new host to one of the podcasts his company picked up. From the merger with Hoseok’s company full of his college friends, Yoongi went from popular podcast host and semi-popular producer to a CEO of Min Productions, famous music artists in production and performance, who oversaw the production of music and several podcasts on several topics, and you were what he had initially dreaded.

From the merger, came money, but what also came with it was Namjoon, the PR head of the company Hoseok was a part of, being able to choose one of every five talents for Yoongi to build up, hopefully into fame. Yoongi had just reached his fifth host, the podcasts he chose mostly consisting of music commentary or general life talks from people with aesthetics aligned with his own. However, from the sea of neutral colors and low voices partaking in casual conversation came you.

You were a perky college senior with some light in your eyes still. You were a rare find and had no set style ranging anywhere from pastels to the grunge he was used to seeing, but what never changed was your smile. Your teeth made an appearance at least 10 times a day, judging by the third smile you had just flashed the crew in a two-minute time frame.

Your podcast, however, oddly betrayed your attitude. You ran a sex and lifestyle podcast where you asked questions most people were too shy to throw out into the world pertaining to the unspoken social rules of casual dating and sex. It was interesting, yes, but it didn’t align with the brand Yoongi had been building judging by the synopsis.

The fuss he made to Namjoon ended as soon as he sat down and listened to a podcast of yours.

—–

“I have a formal complaint I would like to file!” You proclaimed as Yoongi found himself listening to your most recent podcast, “Why the fuck can’t I get a sugar daddy my age? It’s almost like… like my age demographic consists mostly of broke-ass college kids living with their parents, in a dorm, or like ya girl, an overpriced apartment and not rich as fuck for no reason. Fucking whack, I’ll say it.” He unwittingly cracked a smile at your charm and sarcasm, “I spent one day on sugarbaby.com and had to watch vanilla straight porn at the number of wrinkly dicks I saw instead of profile pictures. That’s like the most boring porn. So here comes a Patreon plug for the brainwashing I will conduct on myself in case I saw anyone’s grandfather’s penis.” You had an unabashed charm about you that urged him to listen more, maybe just one more episode.

Yoongi found himself listening to your entire discography, even the less promoted music you released once every blue moon, which wasn’t half-bad. However, he couldn’t find a picture of you, most likely because you posted under the alias Sugar Sun. The only pictures of yourself being from behind.

“On this episode of men are trash: men are fucking trash. Hello all, Sugar Sun here, and let’s talk about my day,” Yoongi could feel his intrigue grow, as you kept releasing, your delivery became less forced and more natural, “I don’t talk much in class, believe it or not. I’m a stuttering mess and like two people know my name at my big ass university, so when I do talk and my shit hole of a lab partner yells at me in the middle of a presentation to speak up, I cry, in front of the class. But do I stop the presentation? No, I’m fucking frozen with fear, so I just continue with my tears and the presentation. Bitch, what the fuck I looked like a middle school drama kid doing a monologue in front of her math class for no fucking reason.” You took a deep breath, “In conclusion, I’m sensitive and men are trash. Now, to the podcast.”

You had gained more traction with your commentary on romantic life and general comedy, catching Namjoon’s attention, “Hello again, double S here, with a special announcement. I got like, an actual company to sign me! Wild, I know! I’ll get paid and have meet-ups and stuff, which means you lovely listeners will get to soak in my face and talk to me in person and really experience why the only orgasms I’ve had are self-made!”

—–

“Yoongi!” Hoseok tapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance you put him in.

“Sorry, she’s just-”

“Be nice,” Hoseok warned.

“Like sunshine.” Yoongi could feel the air enter his lungs as you sat down with a smile, “Like, what the fuck, Hobi?”

His friend blinked, “Woah, shit, what?” He stifled a laugh, “You know, there isn’t a no-dating policy, right?”

“I’m well aware.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “But there will be if anyone tries anything.” He spoke nonchalantly and Hoseok choked on air at his friend’s obliviousness while the glass doors of the conference rooms were opened, you pouring out from it, waltzing to Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Hello, Mr. Min and Ho-Mr. Jung, I’m Y/n, or Sugar Sun, thank you for this amazing opportunity.” You bowed as Hoseok shook off his bewilderment for just a moment to give you a small bow with Yoongi.

“I look forward to spending more time with you.” Yoongi spoke in his regular gruff voice, the same one that proclaimed to have your hand in marriage just moments before, “I find you’ll be a breath of fresh air to the company.”

“I also look forward to seeing how your podcasts go, you have a photoshoot in a couple weeks, right?” Hoseok smiled warmly at you as you beamed back to him. Yoongi swore the whole exchange was blinding.

“I do! I’m a little nervous, since it’ll be my big face reveal, and I don’t know how well I model.” You giggled and Yoongi found his new favorite song the moment you did.

Yoongi had a tendency to do this, whether or not he wanted to. He was a passionate man. He craved love and could see it coming from a mile away. Despite being one of the seven main heartthrobs of his college campus, he almost exclusively stuck to serious relationships, and he meant it when he said serious. Yoongi was a little, to put it lightly, obsessive. He was a jealous boyfriend, but he did his best to try not to be too overbearing. He was also excessively protective, and the women he dated were grungy free spirits who enjoyed the chase when all Yoongi wanted was to catch them then hold them for the rest of his life. Despite being blinded by his own passion, he could still see when it wasn’t going to last, having accepted to never find a girl to accommodate and sedate him when needed. However, when you looked his way, or he heard your voice, it was something more than a need being filled.

You felt your heart leap out of his chest, trying not to fall into Yoongi’s hands when you first saw him, and here he was, nonchalantly giving you an inkling of a smile. Maybe it was the lack of a solid fuck or a relationship, but you were definitely breaking some HR rules in your mind.

Suddenly, you became aware of the content you dished out. You talked about your sex life often, and he knows you’re inexperienced and terribly horny. You internally punched yourself in the face. He probably thinks you’re so weird. Yet, here you were, a huge fan of Agust D and now Min Yoongi was staring at you.

Yoongi smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my experience with a face reveal or two.”

You returned his smile, remembering the day Agust D revealed his face. The whole world stopped, and you only fell deeper when you looked at his eyes, “I-I remember, I’m a fan.” You looked down shyly before facing him again.

“Funny, I am a fan of yours.” He spoke lowly as Hoseok had long walked away unnoticed.

You giggled stupidly, “A fan?” Your sunny smile beamed at him. He had always preferred rainy days, but if this was what the sun looked like, he could get used to being a little warm here and there, “I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m gone a lot and yet, your voice has a certain factor to it that draws people in. ” He mused as his eyes trapped you, “I wonder where you’ve been all my life.”

Just like that, the bubble popped. The chimes came to a screeching halt. The rose-tinted glasses were abruptly ripped off of your face. The magic cleared, and you were left with the realization that while you had damn near counted every interaction, no matter how minuscule, and he hadn’t cared to remember you until now.

“Here’s my personal cell,” He hands you a pristine card with silver numbers, “Call me if you need anything, and I mean it.” You take the card with a quaint smile that deflates

He’s never noticed you until now, of course. The answer to his thoughts was that you’ve been right here.

Before Yoongi could register the chill in the air without your smile, Hoseok came back, “Hey Yoongs, let’s go, we got a flight in a few hours.“

“Right.” Yoongi breaks eye contact with you.

“Have a good flight!” You smile, not as wide as before, and Yoongi sees it.

“See you Tuesday, y/n!” Hoseok waves.

“Don’t be late!” You giggle and as soon as they both are out of earshot, Yoongi grills him.

“You know her?!” Yoongi snaps as he enters the town car.

Hoseok blinks at him, confused, “Duh? I thought that was a given.” Upon seeing his friend’s puzzled face remain, Hoseok’s eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you don’t remember her?!”

The older male blinked in confusion, “I’ve never met her before?”

The younger businessman threw his head back as he placed his hands over his face in frustration, “She was in our forensics class and our history class last year’s fall semester and the year before!” He was exasperated, “Remember the super genius sophomore?”

Yoongi racked his brain. Last year? He had been dating some angsty theology major. How could he have let himself be blinded by a temporary fling when the love of his life was right there? He could kick himself at this moment. No wonder your smile faltered, you had remembered him, “Liar, you can’t be serious.”

“Dude, she tutors me to this day in history.” Hoseok deadpanned, “All she requires is I buy her meals that day.”

“How often do you guys have study dates?” Yoongi grits out as his friend snorts at the notion of it being a date.

“Your possessive is showing,” He snickered, “My girl is all I can see these days, no matter how cute y/n is.”

“I will end you if you touch her,” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate, “Especially with the way you treat girls,” His face scrunches in disgust before he grumbled, “But how often?”

“Every other Tuesday.” Hoseok smirked, “And you mean used to treat girls.”

Yoongi huffed in agreeance.

—-

“Hello, party people.” Your voice entered Yoongi’s headphones as he leaned back on his hotel bed, “Sugar Sun here, in my bedroom. We’re calm, we’re casual, it is a Friday night and this one goes out to my fellow homebodies.” You switched off to play a song. Part of the contract you signed was that you are allowed to go live whenever you liked to encourage and tend to fans. You explained it was almost a tradition for you to set aside a Friday night in once a month for your fans and Yoongi found in comforting as he lay alone.

Your taste in music was so unbelievably cute, he couldn’t help but smile at the lo-fi song, “And we’re back, hello all here and all who are joining as I speak. Today I took a tour of the studio my actual podcasts will be recorded in and holy shit, they seem to actually take me seriously as a personality and even artist, so expect some tunes soon.” Yoongi smiled at this, you don’t even know your potential, “I’m looking at the chat now to see if there are any questions, and- oh, yes, I did meet my boss. Yes, the iconic Min Yoongi. He is as dreamy as they say, but I have actually met him before.” Yoongi sunk a little further in shame, “Did he remember me?” You read from the chat, “No, of course not. I’m a voice, but no one will know me if I don’t use it.” You sighed out and he felt his heart clench. He was such a fucking idiot. “Which I don’t much beyond this mic. Am I scared to say this now that he’s my boss?” He held his breath a bit, “No, I doubt he’s listening. He said he was my fan, but he could just have said that to be a nice guy.” You laughed, a hint of sadness evident, “What a fucking disaster I must seem like if he were to, huh?” The sadness in your voice more prominent, “If he is, hi Mr. Min, please erase this from your memory, as well as my sophomore haircut.”

The live went on as normal and Yoongi drifted to sleep to the melodious sound of your voice for the remainder of the flight. However, even in his dreams, you were just out of reach, and he couldn’t begin to put into words how much it killed him.

—-

You don’t know how you got here. You looked around at the shabby setup. This "photography studio” looked a lot, and you mean a lot, like it was a half-assed school set not long ago. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously when you caught sight of a black couch. You really hated your manager.

The jackass was assigned to you and you were too scared to say how uncomfortable he made you. He treated you like a child, but the way he looked at you was too adult for your taste. He was constantly texting you and asking for photos of your face, which you were constantly rejecting. To top it all off, he wants you to call him Big Brother, not Oppa, Big Brother. You opted for Big Bro instead, since he won’t give you his name. No, to top it all off, he booked your photo shoot with a “friend” of his to “save the company money”. He asked you to show up in a dress no longer than your knees and you felt dumber and dumber as time went on for doing so.

You stood in the middle of this studio-warehouse apartment waiting for this great photographer to show up. As you stood here, your initial thought was “how fucking ridiculous is that” but the longer you were there and the more you studied the ropes that were no longer as well hid, something in your stomach began to turn.

You were in actual fucking danger. This situation could not be a funny story if you didn’t live to tell it. Your eyes darted from different red flags in the room. A spot of dried blood scratches on the cheap wallpaper, bare plaster marks against the beige wall, a poorly-concealed camera you hadn’t noticed until now. Your chest squeezed when your phone vibrated.

You could get out of here! All you had to do was send an SOS.

Hoseok: Good luck in the photoshoot from my other half and I!

You smiled lovingly at the snapchat from the male, the more permanent girl in his life with a smile on her face and an encouraging thumbs-up. They were evidently on a date, finally, so there was no way you could call them to come get you. You would hate to bother them.

Mr. Min: Let me know how the shoot goes.

You faltered over the message. He was professional as ever. Would he think less of you if you abandoned a shoot like this?

Yoongi agonized over the three dots that stared him down. He had to remind himself to blink as he watched the minutes tick by that felt like hours. What the hell were you typing?

It had been about a couple of weeks since you’ve been under Yoongi’s company and all had been normal. Your routine was the same, and so was his. Except for this time, you two would exchange polite texts on what the other would do.

Sugar Sun: Great song as always!

You would always send exclamation points or some sparkle emojis, even a sun here and there. Yoongi found himself unable to shield his cheesy grin at the texts you sent him. You were always the first person to praise his new work. He found himself craving your praise more and more, but he forced himself to remain professional.

Mr. Min: Loved your live.

He always used punctuation despite using fragments which somehow added an aura of professionalism that he effortlessly radiated in person. Nevertheless, you would always send back a sparkly thank you which made Yoongi melt. He prided himself on not overstepping boundaries by attempting to control your professional life. His self-restraint proved quite strong as he held himself back from taking you out to lunch or giving you special treatment. This restraint was put to the ultimate test when he found out you were assigned Hyungin as your manager. He was an unfortunate employee with constant reports that would ultimately be rescinded by the female employees.

He was a disgusting piece of shit, Yoongi deduced. Hyungin was the brother of the management agency contracted by his company, per Namjoon’s damn insistence, and he was itching for that contract to end, and soon. Yoongi had to physically hold himself back when he found this information out, trying to respect you by not meddling or keeping tabs on you.

His resolve was a very thin string that was tugged and tugged as the days went on with Hyungin having total control over your schedule and an excuse to contact you 24/7. You were a strong girl and had not made a report. He had to respect that.

Your lip began to twitch, a movement you quickly halted as you shook the fear off. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were being stuck up. You weren’t like Yoongi, maybe you had to photoshoot in shabby places.

You: I’m kind of scared…

You shook your head, erasing the message and locking your phone. You huffed, it was 30 minutes past the scheduled time. Surely you had the right to leave? You heard the back door open and could feel the bile lurch in your throat.

Something was very wrong. You were not overreacting. There were several heavy footsteps and as they thudded through the warehouse, nearing your reaching form, you could not deny the quaking fear that traveled through your veins like electricity.

One? Two? No, four sets of steps. The uneven rhythm proved as much, too many for a measly photoshoot. Too many for you to take on all at once. The correct amount to hold you down. The correct amount to-

“Little sis, are you here?” A sickening voice called out and you realized the steps stopped with only his continuing.

He was trying to surprise you.

“Come on, dear, let’s get to know each other.” You could hear the predatory smirk on his face and you choked on a horrified breath as the fear pricked your skin and pierced your lungs.

You were choking on your own horror.

“Come out, come out,” He called and you were frozen, absolutely fucking frozen.

Run.

You stood up, breaking into a sprint that was a hair too slow. You felt a calloused, obscenely rough handgrip your forearm with a vigorous force and you screamed. He was squeezing, and at this rate, your bones would surely snap, “Not so fast, little girl.” He stood next to you, breath pungent with halitosis. From peripheral vision, you could see his five o'clock shadow and you realized the size difference and the lack of camera. You couldn’t stop screaming, mimicking every cell in your body that seemed to yell,

RUN.

Just like lightning, you struck him with your head, harder than you knew you could stand. His nose gave you an all too satisfying crack and his grip loosened enough for you sprint again, this time more than quick enough to keep going. You heard the clamoring of footsteps and eventually, all you could hear was the sound of the wind as you turned corners you had no familiarity with, running until your legs could no longer carry you.

Your legs finally shook you down to your knees in a part of town you barely recognized. You had passed through here once before as a freshman in college sight-seeing. It was a tourist spot and you exhaled on the sidewall as people stepped around you.

You heaved a breath that you swore you had been holding for hours with a small victorious smile. Your eyes scanned the area of regular people and your hands shaking brought attention to the purse you thankfully still had.

Without thought, you ripped it open, using your phone to call the first person you could.

“Y/n?” His voice was gruff, as if he was whispering whilst trying to talk normally, “Is everything okay?” He seemed confused, you had never called him before.

“Can you… uh…” You faltered after realizing the strangled sound you made, voice raw from the screams you let out, “…please come get me.” You nearly whispered.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Yoongi didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Stay where you are, don’t go near anyone.” He ended the phone call and you followed his directions, dropping your pin. You sighed in relief as you took refuge on the sidewalk, draping the cardigan in your bag over your shoulder, securing it around yourself.

Yoongi shot up from his office chair, looking at his employees mid-powerpoint. His marketing team turned into ice at his gaze. His eyes were much darker than a moment ago, and his jaw was like stone, “I have an emergency to attend to, we will proceed at a later date.” The room nodded stiffly as their boss walked out, all of them unaware why, having been too scared to even try to listen to his phone call.

Never in Yoongi’s life had he sped so recklessly. You were 10 minutes away and something was wrong. Your voice had never sounded so vulnerable. He had never heard it that quiet before. You were in a plaza of popular building, and if you had a photo shoot today, this would not be near any studio at all. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone taking away your light.

He slammed on the brakes when he caught sight of your shrunken form on the sidewalk, your head jerked up at the sound as your entire body jumped. Why were you so scared? Your face had a small streak of makeup on the side of your face and his skin only flared as you scurried into the car and Yoongi began driving to a more familiar side of town.

“Please don’t take me home.” You pleaded, unable to face him due to the shame.

Yoongi chose not to prod, for the time being, only nodding in response as he drove. He could see you stare out the window at the passing building and he watched your shaking for curl into the car seat. He settled on this resolve of leaving you alone all the way up to the inside of his apartment until your lip quivered as you plopped down on the couch, eyes unwavering from its spot at your feet. Then, you began to cry. No, not cry, sob, sob your hardest and just like that, a single tear snapped the ever-thinning string of restraint he had left.

You were pulled into Yoongi’s chest as sobs racked through your body, you clutched his shirt as you soaked it with tears of fear, relief, joy, and you couldn’t stop. Hell, you could barely breathe. Even so, Yoongi held you as his expensive dress shirt crumbled under your grip and stained with your mascara and eyeliner proving not to be as water-resistant as you hoped. His grip was unwavering and when a hand went to stroke your hair, you could feel oxygen reach your lungs again.

“It’s okay.” He breathed, “You’re safe now.” He fought the urge to clench his jaw again as you gripped his shirt harder.

Your breathing began to even as he whispered soft words into your ear until your eyes couldn’t cry anymore. The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, clinging onto one another as he felt the softness of your cardigan against his hands. You eventually broke the silence with a meek, “I’m so sorry."

"Why is that?” He spoke softly, his last intent was to scare you.

“I ran away from the shoot, and I know it’s not professional but…” You shivered, “ He didn’t have a camera.” Yoongi could kill somebody, “He had three other guys with him.” Someone, no, all of them are going to have to pay, he concluded. Nobody involved would leave the ordeal with their lives intact. They would lose everything for trying to take his sunshine away, for making your light falter, for even a moment.

He ripped himself from you, to sternly meet your eyes, “Do not apologize for the swine you encountered.” Your eyes only reflected sorrow, “You’re alive, and that is what matters most, okay?” You nodded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Your voice cracked against your will as you looked up at Yoongi, eyes glassy and begging for reassurance.

He visibly softened, “No, Sunshine, I could never be mad at you.” You nodded in understanding, “But will you let me fix this for you?”

Maybe you should have known from the beginning. You looked at Yoongi, so eager to be your saving grace, eyes intense with intent, and yet his touch was so soft. A man in love was a dangerous man, you once read in a book. Yet, never in your life have you craved such a man before, and if Yoongi’s rage mixed with infatuation could measure close to love, you would take it. He was powerful, he was kind, and he was pleasing to the eye. He was offering you the world in that one question.

“Please.” You cast your pride aside, “They don’t deserve mercy.” An angry tear went down your cheek, “I’m so tired of trying to brave it, doubting myself, denying myself any chance of help.” You could feel the tear trickle with hot fury, “I’m so fucking sick of relying on myself.”

Yoongi was quick to catch the tear with the softest hand you’ve ever felt, “I’m here now.” He spoke with the utmost confidence.

Your relationship with Yoongi from that point for the next couple of months was interesting, to say the least. You had somehow moved in upon his request, him rationalizing it by saying they knew where you lived. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. Hyungin knew where you lived, but within two weeks he and the monsters you encountered were promptly locked in a very dangerous maximum-security prison. You decided not to dwell on how they took such a shitty deal with a well-deserved long sentence.

Some things were above your pay grade, and you made peace with it.

Even so, he didn’t stop there. He could no longer stand on the sidelines anymore. That line blurred beyond recognition the moment he held you in his arms. He was essentially your new manager, stating he owed you at least that much after letting you fall into the hands of such a monster. Thankfully, the releasing of official statements and press conferences were received well. The victim-blaming for the nature of your podcast kept to an obsolete minimum. Your face still had not been released upon your request and you were able to move on, the media no longer covering the story as the sentencing was sealed.

The months passed in a flurry of Yoongi being awfully vague each time you asked about his personal life. He was constantly home outside of work, which you didn’t mind, but you didn’t want him to put his social life on your accord. You also had much less confidence in his infatuation for you then you did a couple months ago. Every time you tried to make a move, which meant a small brush of physical contact, he was not responding. The last time he gave you affection was the hug during your breakdown. The most you got out of him were a couple of head pats.

Like that did anything for you.

For crying out loud, you ran a sex and lifestyle podcast with no sex from the hot man you lived in the same home as.

Hell, the most emotion you see from him is the purest politeness you have ever encountered.

“Hello my listeners, welcome to the obligatory virginity talk.” Your voice was crisp in the mic as Yoongi laid in his bed, headphones in, listening to the newly released podcast. He was still a loyal listener, despite you living in his guest bedroom. He still could not get enough of your voice. If anything, he craved you more and desperately held himself back. He loved having you with him, but never did he think he would have to turn to rubbing one out during your more racy episodes or when he heard you pleasuring yourself in the dead of night.

Not even his thoughts could satiate him with you right there, and yet, out of reach.

“It has come to my attention that many of you think I’m a virgin, not that it’s an insult..” He could hear the smile in your voice, “Alas, I am not, but that doesn’t change my hand being the most impressive thing my pussy has seen, I’ll tell you what.” You giggled at this, “No, I take that back, my magic wand is my BFF.” Yoongi shifted, wondering if you had your toys in your room. He had sent for all of your things after all. God, he could already feel his dick hardening. How pathetic you make him at the very thought of you fucking yourself silly, eyes rolled back, vibrator against your clit. He huffed, shaking away the thoughts, “ Anyhow, let’s talk trends I am late to, rare, I know, but what’s this whole spelling coconut with your hips riding someone business?” You pondered, “I haven’t ridden someone in a good while, and my dildo can’t tell me if it feels good, so I’m at a loss here.” You sighed almost longingly, “God, I miss getting fucked, but also romanced,” You groaned, “It’s been a rough as fuck dry couple of months, which didn’t bother me for a while considering… you know, but the world keeps turning and I stay alone but moving on…” You droned and Yoongi went into overdrive.

Did you seriously want to fuck someone? Like someone else? You were living with him now, why would you feel the need to have relations with anyone else? His fists clenched at the very concept. You couldn’t be talking for show, you were say too genuine. Before he could even stop himself, he marched over to his bedroom door, ripping it open.

Only when he did had did he realize that you were in front of him, hand raised to knock on the door, “Oh, hey.” You gave him a smile as you slowly retreated your raised arm, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Every so often you both would have a movie night in which you would try to understand his feelings with small touches and ultimately fail. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company. Today, you were buying into an article’s advice and watching a scary one. Not that you were terrified, but you were a jumpy person.

At this rate, you couldn’t tell if you were horny or just wanted affection.

Both, probably.

Your crush on Yoongi had only worsened throughout this whole experience to top it off. He was hot and kind who could blame you? And yet, he never made a single move as if he had no interest. God, what if he didn’t have any interest?

Your heart sank for a moment, “If not, I think I was gonna try to go out-”

“No!” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s panicked tone when he cleared his throat, “I mean, I want to watch a movie, so you don’t have to go out.” He muttered and you nodded slowly. He could not have you going out, not after what he heard. You were craving other people. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“O…kay…” You smiled a bit, “Well, I picked a scary one if you think you can hang.” You gave him a sly smile before going to make popcorn.

He smiled as he watched you prance to the kitchen. You were so beautiful and fun and everything he’s ever needed. All that was left was for you to be his, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He had to be a gentleman. He had to wait for the right time. That’s what Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung said. The only issue was that he had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You know, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi.” He was quick as ever to correct you, “Please.” He sounded more desperate than usual and you nodded.

“Right, well I was just going to say that you have absurd taste in snacks.” You said with a chuckle, “All I ever see in you cupboards are coffee.” You wistfully sigh, “I need to go grocery shopping.”

The sound of you being so domestic-made Yoongi break into an ill-concealed smile as he settled onto the sofa, setting the oddly scary movie you chose up, “I can take you on Saturday.” You nodded when you finally found a bag of chips and sat next to the man of your affection with a cushion between the two of you.

You really couldn’t say what the movie was about, you had only seen it between the gaps in your fingers all while Yoongi watched it with a straight face. When it ended he said a short goodnight as always, except something in you, lurched out.

“Actually, I think I may go out after all.” You swore you followed your mouth’s lead as opposed to the opposite. You just said shit and had to go along with it. Fuck, you didn’t want to go out. You wanted to stay home and be scared that there was a ghost in the closet, but now you had to get ready and shit.

“Why?” Yoongi stopped, hand gripping his door handle much harder than usual.

You were taken aback by the question. It was valid, you supposed. But was it? How do you even answer that question? “Well, it’s been a while since I've… ya know…” You clicked your tongue, suddenly too shy to say,

“Had sex?” It was so blunt, and his eyes pierced through you and yet, you could feel your core tingle.

You were nothing but a sputtering mess, “W-W, I-I, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi, y/n.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he stalked over to you. Despite the unconscious steps back you were taking, the couch brought you to an abrupt stop.

“R-Right, anyways, I-” You shut your mouth when Yoongi hovered over you with his presence alone.

“Say it,” He glared daggers into your form, “Say my name.” Before you could even open your mouth Yoongi groaned, slamming his hands on the couch on either side of you in frustration, “God, why do you want other people when I’m right fucking here?” Your mouth was agape at this, “I’m so sick of holding myself back.” He cursed, body pressing against yours.

“What do you mean? Other people?” You mustered and Yoongi let out a chuckle void of humor.

“I listened to your podcast about wanting to be with someone and getting romance and…” Yoongi seriously thought you had been referring to anyone but him? Him? Seriously? The hot man in the place you live? You couldn’t stifle your laugh which caused his rant to falter, “How is this a laughing matter I am-”

“So fucking dense.” You giggled, “I’ve wanted you to at least look my way for the past three years, and you seriously think I want to be with other people?!” You sighed, “I live with you for fuck’s sake, and you won’t touch me!” Now, you were letting your frustrations out, “I brush your hand, I touch thighs with you, I-I scare the shit out of myself hoping you’ll at least hold me!” You heaved a breath, “And all you do is stay still!” You let out a frustrated yell, “The most attention I got from you was when I was almost attacked, is that what I need to do to draw sap from a fucking rock?!”

Yoongi flared at this, “Don’t ever think about putting yourself in danger.” He pointed at you, “I couldn’t take it, and I can’t take you not being honest with me, I thought you never noticed-” He was being a hypocrite, but he didn’t care.

“How could you say I don’t notice you when you straight up forgot I existed until this year?!” Yoongi was the one dumbfounded this time, and you took your chance to push past him, “I will go out tonight because I deserve-”

You couldn’t even breathe the next syllable before your back hit Yoongi’s bedroom door, his hands pinning your wrists above your own, the man breathing heavy. The air was thick with frustration as he gave you a stern look, “You deserve the world, I know,” The anger in you began to dissipate at his sincerity in his words, “And I am so in love with you, that I don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you,” Your breath hitched at this, “But I don’t care anymore, because I would sooner kill someone before they put their hands on you, I’m sure you know I mean business, Sunshine?” You nodded, every cell in your body springing to life as Yoongi drew his lips closer to you, “So?”

You blew out a shaky breath with an equally shaky smile, “L-Love me? I-"

"Say you love me, and I’ll do it.” He was more rushed this time, urgent almost, “I’ll stop holding back, and I will give you all that you deserve and so, so much more.” He was almost pleading.

What the fuck do you know about love? What does it look like? Sound like? Is it the way Yoongi smiles at your dumb jokes in the morning? Is it the way his voice sounds through the walls as he practices newly-written lyrics? He was a good man to you. He was an attractive man. He could give you the world, and all he wanted in return was your love. Could all of this be love? Could it be the way he’s made you feel the past couple of years, especially the last couple of months?

Well, why the hell wouldn’t it be?

“I love you, Yoongi.” You breathed against his lips and he didn’t miss a beat in closing the gap so not even air could come between the two of you.

Electrifying all over again, but so, so different. This wasn’t fear. This was lust lighting a fire within you that Yoongi only stoked further as his silky tongue tangled with yours in a flurry of repressed emotions and endless unspoken confessions. His mouth attached to your neck and you let out a moan, quickly going to cover your mouth.

He ripped your hand away almost instantly, “You’re rarely this shy when you’re in your room, why deny me your sounds now?” He growled against your ear and the pure sex in his voice only made you moan louder. He was the rain you had admired from afar, but now he was pressed against you, and holy shit, were you getting wet.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can wait, I want to cum so fucking ba-ah!” You yelped when his hand went to cup your sex under the long shirt you always wore. You were on your tippy-toes, too sensitive to press your full weight onto him.

“Such an innocent-looking girl with such a nasty mouth.” He squeezed you in his hand and watched in glory as your eyes rolled back, “Since you’re a fan, I’ll be nice.” He teased as he got onto his knees, dragging your panties down with him to the floor.

“Oh shit.” You let out a breath that was quickly stolen when his tongue pressed against your entry. He lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder as his mouth lapped at your clit and you lost yourself in the feeling, moaning mindlessly.

“You taste like deliverance.” He mumbled against your pussy and this only made your eyes roll back at the eroticism in his words. You couldn’t even keep track of what he was doing anymore.

All you could do was feel. His tongue fucked you into oblivion as he held your hips still, determined to make you come with his mouth, and his mouth alone. He let out a lewd suck and you quivered at the sensation and action. He knew how to play you and please you that you did. His tongue entered you again and he let out a delicious moan which vibrated against your folds, “Fuck, you sound and feel so fucking good!” You cried out as his tongue made thick strokes against you that only sped up expertly as he moaned into you, “Can I cum, Yoongi?” You asked, a smart girl, he concluded. He smirked against you, full intention to deny your request until, “Please, my love, I want to cum in your mouth like a good girl.” You begged pathetically and he couldn’t refuse you. You had him wrapped around your finger and hardly knew it. He got to work quickly, tongue entering you again only to flick upwards and you groaned at this. Groans were quickly replaced by increased screaming as he stiffened his tongue and licked all around your sex. You began to scream his name like a mantra as you tighten around the muscle and came the hardest you ever had.

You slumped against the door, chest heaving, “You okay, baby?” The nickname from him elicited a tired smile. You looked down at the man, lips glossy as he licked them. He sat back on his calves and you wasted no time in diving at him on the floor.

Before he could react, you gripped him through his sweatpants and smiled when you realized he was rock hard, “Can I please ride you?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” He growled when you straddle him as he sat, legs spread and back against the back of the couch now. You gave a less than innocent smile as you reached for his member, delicate hands wrapping around him, only to pull it free and closer to your entrance, “Condom?” He questioned.

“Pill, I need to feel you, fuck.” You panted, against logical judgment, but it was lost when you pressed the head against your own entrance, “Shit.” You ground against Yoongi as his head lolled back.

He could hardly handle it as your hips twirled, the tip just outside your entrance. Finally, he had enough, and with strong hands pulled your hips to fill you to the hilt. Your mouth popped open in shock and pure masochistic delight as the pain only added to the high of lust Yoongi gave you, “Sorry, baby girl, I knew you would feel so fucking good.” He emphasized this with a thrust up, “Plus, I could hardly resist being deep inside you immediately.” He growled in sadistic pride as your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Hurts so good.” Your hips moved spastically, chasing another high with Yoongi deep inside you. Not once did you lift your hips. You wanted to stay full, and Yoongi was more than happy to oblige, “So good, I wanna stay like this.” You moaned out as he sucked on your neck, hands going under your shirt to grip your breasts with a fevor you craved.

“You feel like heaven.” He grunted against your neck as he littered it with hickey after hickey. You were his and the way you squeezed around him and clawed at his shoulder only spurred him further.

Yoongi could feel himself twitching inside you and this only made you gasp as you gleefully squeezed around him, “Yes, yes,” You sounded like a prayer to him, “Cum inside me, I need it.” You were nearly screaming as he began to thrust into you at a rapid pace.

“Yeah? You want me to paint those pretty walls white, hm?” He teased you despite the strain in his voice, “Fuck it right into that pretty pussy of yours, no mine.” He grabbed your hips, working your body for his own high, “This is my pussy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it’s all yours, Yoongi!” You yelled and with that, he groaned as he came, ropes of cum that you could feel as his hips made good of his promise to fuck it into you. You milked him as you squeezed tighter before coming undone as you came with a scream that sounded like the next symphonic masterpiece to the fucked out man inside you.

You huffed a small chuckle against his neck as your curled your form around his, “So needy.” He teased as he went to remove himself inside of you only to be met with a squeeze from you that made him curse, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You giggled, “I like how you feel inside of me.” You shrugged before shivering at the empty feeling only to gasp when three fingers were shoved into you. You wiggled in glee, “Fuck.” Your breath hot against his neck.

"You just like to be full, huh baby?“ You nodded shyly, "You’re perfect.” He chuckled as he used his other hand to stroke your back.

—-

“Announcement time, my dear listeners” You spoke in the studio, trying not to sound like it was through gritted teeth. You counted your blessings that you were alone, “As you know, your dear old Sugar Sun has promised a face reveal and I-Min Yoongi!” Well, mostly alone. You heaved a breath as you came against his mouth for the third time.

The man between your legs looked up at you, eyes way too innocent, “What? I’m waiting for my part.” He spoke nonchalantly despite the wetness on his lips.

“I’ll never get there if you keep making me cum and start over.” You glared and the man shrugged, “I got far enough, right, babe?” You pouted and watched his resolve crack, “Honeypie?” You pleaded and he faltered, “Love of my life?” He grumbled as he sat up next to you in front of the mic.

“Fine, go ahead.” He licked his lips.

“…and I decided to go a step further.” You smiled as the man next to you held your hand, “I will be doing a photoshoot to reveal my face and my collab partner to an upcoming song and my boyfriend…”

You looked to him, eyes twinkling, “That would be my cue.” He placed a quiet kiss on your head, “My name is Min Yoongi or Agust D as some of you may know, and I look forward to my career and life with this little piece of sunshine.” You giggled at this.

“So cheesy.” You gave him a bright smile nonetheless, “Crazy news, I know, but I secured the fucking bag, my dear listeners, he’s never getting rid of me."

You were joking for the most part, but you didn’t know how right you were. You would not be away from him any longer. You were his sunshine, his little songbird, and his world all at the same time. He needed you like he needed to breathe. Now, you were his. You were his sunshine despite the rain he embodied. The rainbow between the two of you was too intoxicating to even bear the idea of giving it up. Even for a fraction of second. You were his. Every moment, minute, second, everything would be together. He was yours now and forever just as you were his. Blissfully and eternally in love.

"I’m too crazy to let go now.” You laughed as he kissed your temple affectionately.

So was he.

Buy me a ko-fi (it would make my day)

Masterlist

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts oneshot #bts yandere au #yandere bts smut #bts #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years ago

Text

I’d go so far as to say that the nomination probably saved the site, in fact. For those who need a little background: despite being a small voluntary project the site was nominated for the 2014 Publication of the Year award by Stonewall, the UK’s largest LGBT charity, just nine months after its inception. This was a landmark step in Stonewall’s positive new direction on bi issues. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time Stonewall had specifically nominated a specifically bi publication or organisation for an award. At this point my co-founder, who was taking care of the business side of things, had recently jumped ship and I was seriously considering packing the whole thing in. I won’t lie, I was astonished to read the email.

I’d worked on a publication which won the award under my editorship a few years previously. Unlike Biscuit, however, g3 magazine – at the time one of the two leading print mags for lesbian and bi women in the UK – had an estimated readership of 140,000, had been going for eight years and boasted full-time paid office staff and regular paid freelancers. Biscuit, by contrast, was being dragged along by one weary unpaid editor and a bunch of unpaid writers who understandably, for the most part, couldn’t commit to regularly submitting work.

Little Biscuit’s enormous competition for the award consisted of Buzzfeed, Attitude.co.uk, iNewspaper and Property Week. We didn’t win – that accolade went to iNewspaper – but the nomination was nevertheless, as I say, a huge catalyst to continue with the site. I launched a crowdfunder, which finished way off target. I sold one ad space, for two months. Then nothing. I attempted in vain to recruit a sales manager but nobody wanted to work on commission. Some wonderful writers came and went. There were periods of tumbleweed when I frantically had to fill the site with my own writing, thereby completely defeating the object of providing a platform for a wide range of bi voices.

The Stonewall Award nomination persuaded me to keep going with the site

The departure of the webmaster was another blow. Thankfully by this point I had a co-editor on board – the amazing Libby – so I was persuaded to stick with it. And here we are now. I don’t actually know where the next article is coming from. That’s not a good feeling. But, apart from for Biscuit, I try not to write for free anymore myself, so I understand exactly why that is. As a freelance journo trying to make a living I’ve had to be strict with myself about that. I regularly post on the “Stop Working For Free” Facebook group and often feel a pang of misplaced guilt because I ask my writers to write for free, even though I’m working on the site for free myself, and losing valuable time I could be spending on looking for paid work.

Biscuit hasn’t exactly been a stranger to controversy, in addition to its financial and staffing issues. Its original tagline – “for girls who like girls and boys” – was considered cis-centric by some, leading to accusations that the site had some kind of trans/genderqueer*-phobic agenda. Which was amusing, as at the height of this a) we’d just had two articles about non-binary issues published and b) I was actually engaged to a genderqueer partner, a fact they were clearly unaware of. Now the site is under fire from various pansexual activists who object to the term “bisexual”. To clarify – “girl and boys” was supposed to imply a spectrum and, no, we don’t think “bi” applies only to an attraction to binary folk. The site aims the main part of its content at female-spectrum readers attracted to more than one gender because this group does have specific needs. But there is something here for EVERYONE bisexual. Anyway, it’s a shame all of this gossip was relayed secondhand, and the people in question didn’t think to confront me about it (which at least the pan activists have bothered to do). We damage our community immeasurably with these kinds of Chinese whispers.

Biscuit ed Libby, being amazing

Whilst trying to keep the site afloat, I’ve also been building on the work I started right back when I edited g3, and trying to improve bi visibility in other media outlets. I’ve recently had articles published by Cosmopolitan, SheWired, The F-Word, GayStar News and Women Make Waves and I’m constantly emailing other sites which I’ve not yet written for with bi pitches. Unfortunately, although I am over the moon to be writing for mainstream outlets such as Cosmo about bi issues, it’s been an uphill struggle trying to persuade some editors out there that they have more readers to whom bi-interest stories apply than they might think. It’s an incredibly exhausting and frustrating process.

Libby and I are doing our best with Biscuit. I can’t guarantee that I would be doing anything at all with it if Libby hadn’t arrived on the scene, so once again I would like to mention how fabulous she is. But we desperately need more writers. We need some help with site design and tech issues. We need a hand with the business and sales side of things. We can’t do it without you. And if you know any rich bisexual heiresses who read Biscuit, please do send them our way. 😉

Grant Denkinson’s story

denkinsonpanel

Grant speaks on a panel chaired by Biscuit’s Lottie at a Bi Visibility Day event

So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.  

“I’ve been involved with bisexual community organising for a bit over 20 years. Some has been within community: writing for and editing our national newsletter, organising events for bisexuals and helping others with their events by running workshop sessions or offering services such as 1st aid. I’ve spoken to the media about bisexuality and organised bi contingents at LGBT Pride events (sometimes just me in a bi T-shirt!). I’ve helped organise and participated in bi activist weekends and trainings. I’ve help train professionals about bisexuality. I’ve also piped up about bisexuality a lot when organising within wider LGBT and gender and sexuality and relationship diversity umbrellas. I’ve been a supportive bi person on-line and in person for other bi folks. I’ve been out and visibly bi for some time. I’ve helped fund bi activists to meet, publish and travel. I’ve funded advertising for bi events. I’ve set up companies and charities for or including bi people. I’ve personally supported other bi activists.”

 What made you get involved?

“ In some ways I was looking for a way to be outside the norm and to make a difference and coming out as bi gave me something to push against. I’ve been less down on myself when feeling attacked. I’ve also found the bi community very welcoming and where I can be myself and so wanted to organise with friends and to give others a similar experience. There weren’t too many others already doing everything better than I could.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“There have been great changes for same-sex attracted people legally and socially and these have happened quickly. Bi people have been involved with making that happen and benefit from it. We can also be hidden by gay advances or actively erased. We still have bi people not knowing many or any other local bi people, not seeing other bisexuals in the mainstream or LGT worlds and not knowing or being able to access community things with other bis. We are little represented in books or the media and people don’t know about the books and zines and magazines already available. The internet has made it easy to find like-minded people but also limited privacy and I think is really fragmented and siloed. It is hard to find bisexuals who aren’t women actors, harmful or fucked up men or women in pornography designed for straight men. We have persistent and high quality bi events but they are sparse and small.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?

“I’m fed up of bi things just not happening if I don’t do them. Not everything should be in my style and voice and I shouldn’t be doing it all. I and other activists campaign for bi people to be more OK and don’t take care of ourselves enough while doing so. People are so convinced we don’t exist they don’t bother with a simple search that would find us. We have little resources while having some of the worst outcomes of any group. I don’t want to spend my entire life being the one person who reminds people about bisexuals, including our so-called allies. I’m not impressed with the problem resolution skills in our communities and while we talk about being welcoming I’m not sure we’re very effective at it. I’m fed up with mouthing the very basics and never getting into depth about bi lives and being one who supports but who is not supported. I’m all for lowering barriers but at a certain point if people don’t actively want to do bi community volunteering it won’t happen. Some people are great critics but build little.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Why are we doing this personally? I’m not sure we know. How long will we hope rather than do? Honestly, are there so few who care? Alternatively should we stop the trying to do bi stuff and either do some self-analysis, be happy to accept being what we are now as a community, chill out and just let stuff happen or give up and go and do something else instead.”

Patrick Richards-Fink’s story

085d4de So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.

“Mostly internet – I am a Label Warrior, a theorist and educator. Here’s how I described it on my blog: “One of the reasons that I am a bisexual activist rather than a more general queer activist is because I see every day people just like me being told they don’t belong. It doesn’t mean I don’t work on the basic issues that we all struggle against — homophobia, heterosexism, classism, out-of-control oligarchy, racism, misogyny, this list in in no particular order and is by no means comprehensive. But I have found that I can be most effective if I focus, work towards understanding the deep issues that drive the problems that affect people who identify the same way that I have ever since I started to understand who I am. I find that I’m not a community organizer type of activist or a storm the capitol with a petition in one hand and a bullhorn in the other activist — I’m much better at poring over studies and writing long wall-o’-text articles and occasionally presenting what I’ve gleaned to groups of students until my voice is so hoarse that I can barely do more than croak.” So internet, and when I was still in school, a lot of on-campus stuff. Now I’m moving into a new phase where my activism is more subtle – I’m working as a therapist, and so my social justice lens informs my treatment, especially of bi and trans people.”

What made you get involved?

“I can’t not be.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“I feel like we made a couple strides, and every time that happens the attacks renewed. I hionestly think the constant attempts to divide the bisexual community into ‘good pansexuals’ and ‘bad bisexuals’ and ‘holy no-labels’ is the thing that’s most likely to screw us.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?  

“It is literally everywhere I turn – colleges redefining bisexuality on their LGBT Center pages, news articles quoting how ‘Bi=2 and pan=all therefore pan=better’, everybloodywhere I turn I see it every day. The word bi is being taken out of the names of organisations now, by the next group of up-and-comers who haven’t bothered to learn their history and understand that if you erase our past, you take away our present. Celebrities come out as No Label, wtf is that. Don’t they make kids read 1984 anymore? It’s gotten to the point now that even seeing the word pansexual in print triggers me. I’m reaching the point now that if someone really wants to be offended when all I am trying to do is welcome them on board, then I don’t have time for it.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Stay strong, and don’t give them a goddamned inch. I honestly think that the bi organizations – even, truth be told, the one I am with – are enabling this level of bullshit by attempting to be conciliatory, saying things that end up reinforcing the idea that bi and pan are separate communities. We try to be too careful not to offend anyone. Like the thing about Freddie Mercury. Gay people say ‘He was gay.’ Bi people say ‘Um, begging your pardon, good sirs and madams and gentlefolk of other genders, but Freddie was bi.’ And they respond ‘DON’T GIVE HIM A LABEL HE DIDN’T CLAIM WAAHHH WAAHHH!’ And yet… Freddie Mercury never used the label ‘gay’, but it’s OK when they do it. And he WAS bisexual by any measure you want to use. But we back down. And 2.5% of the bisexual population decides pansexual is a better word, and instead of educating them, we add ‘pan’ to our organisation names and descriptions. Now, this is clearly a dissenting view – I will always be part of a united front where my organization is concerned. But everyone knows how I feel, and I think it’s totally valid to be loyal and in dissent at the same time. Not exactly a typically American viewpoint, but everyone says I’d be a lot more at home in Britain than I am here anyway.”

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crazycookiemaniac · 5 years ago

Photo

I just want to give you guys another update.

I’m really sorry I’m taking so long with delivering commissions. I take medication every day, but am constantly adjusting the dosage because we haven’t found one that helps me 100% yet. This current one is making me very, extremely tired. No amount of sleep I get is ever enough, and my body feels very weak. I often end up sleeping so much I forget to eat, and sometimes I even forget to take my medication itself. I often feel sick and puke what I do eat (sorry for the gross details), so that makes me feel even weaker.

I know I’ve been posting a lot of content recently so it may seem like I’m just making up excuses not to work on them or something, but I promise I’m working on commissioned art as much as I can. The recent art I’ve been doing have been made in-between commissions, and drawing things I love often gives me energy to draw more, so there’s that too.

At the moment, I have 5 commissions ongoing with a total of 10-11 characters or so. I promise I’m doing everything I can to get them done ASAP, but I also don’t want to force myself enough that they end up looking not as good as they would look if I took time to put more effort into them.

5 commissions/10 characters may not seem a lot to some people, but every single person who commissions me has my eternal gratitude, and I feel really bad for making people wait for so long. I’m very, very sorry. If you’re tired of waiting, please do let me know and I’ll do what’s in my power to get it done more quickly. I wish I could give you guys some extra drawings for the wait, but I really can’t afford to do that right now.

I also understand that you guys got nothing to do with me not being well- you paid for my art and I have to deliver it to you. But it’s unfair of me to take all this time and not give you any explanation at all.

The reason I haven’t contacted these 5 people personally is because my exhaustion also applies to me not being able to answer to a lot of DMs, and it’s going to affect my regular posting too because even though I have been posting frequently over the last few days, what I draw and when depends entirely on the specific moment I’m doing it.

My mood and health have been very unstable (due to the current dosage of my medication), so I figured it’s just best if I let everyone know because my life currently revolves around creating art and sharing them with you guys in all of my social media. Your support means a lot to me, so I just want to make sure you know that if I don’t respond to you, it’s not because I don’t want to. I really just can’t.

Some of you who follow my instagram stories might’ve known about all this already, so I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself too much. I just want to make sure it’s known. I am doing what I can to take good care of myself & I’m trying not to overwork either, but I really can’t relax when I know there’s so much work that needs to be done.

I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass to deal with, but I hope you’ll understand. My appointment with my psychiatrist will be in 9 days (as of today, 05/19), and even after it, it’ll take 1-2 weeks for me to see if the new dosage will help me feel better. This adjusting thing has been going on for 2 years or so now, and I’m really tired of having to deal with collateral effects all the time, but I don’t really have much of a choice if I want to have a chance to live like a normal human being.

Thanks for reading this far if you have! I’ll keep on doing my best. You guys take good care of yourselves as well! ♥

#update

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bouwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 10

You and me can make it anywhere, but for now we could stay here for a while.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Jon is, quite frankly, surprised that his friends know Marinette well enough to pinpoint her as his roommate when her name starts blowing up in the late summer. David and Tamias have met her, and Mason’s seen her, but to his knowledge Jesse has never even come close to her.

It’s weird, to suddenly get messages from them all freaking out about how his roommate is Jagged Stone’s all-purpose designer, and, according to one article he reads, honorary niece. Especially since Jesse is the one who starts it.

Maybe having a flimsy pair of glasses and regular clothes as his disguise for the better part of ten years has given him less faith in people than they deserve. They can be surprisingly astute, sometimes.

He fends them off by giving them the basics. “Marinette didn’t even tell me until she had to work on those outfits in our apartment.” Jon tells them. “But yeah, she’s pretty cool, right?”

“Cool?!” Jesse exclaims. “Dude, she’s my hero right now!”

Jon has to fight off the urge to cringe at Jesse’s unfortunate choice of words. Marinette would not appreciate being called that. “Uh, don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“No! Jagged Stone is my favorite, man! And now I know someone who’s roommates with someone who knows him! Personally! I’m like, two steps away from touching him!”

Mason clears his throat. “Maybe don’t touch him.” He says.

“You know what I mean, dude!” Jesse says, practically climbing on Mason as he throws his arm over his shoulder. Jon wonders briefly why they’re even together, until he remembers the both of them are from New York and probably see each other often during the summer. “She makes his clothes! That’s so stinking rad!”

“Definitely!” David says eagerly from another window. “I still can’t believe I know someone who actually knows the Jagged Stone! Like, dude! Why didn’t you mention that?!”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Why should I? I told you, I didn’t even know until she started her last commission for him, and until now she’s been keeping the fact that she designs for him under wraps. She asked me to keep it secret.”

“Aww.” Tamias says. “You’re cute with her.”

David immediately jumps up in his seat. “Yeah! That! You’re adorable, dude. Never change.”

Jon furrows his brow. “For… not telling you someone else’s secret?”

“Ignore them.” Mason says. “We get why you didn’t say anything, is what they mean.”

Doesn’t sound like it. Jon just shrugs and moves on. As Jesse goes on and on about Jagged Stone, Jon gets another call. He hesitates when he sees the name. “Hey, guys? I got to go. I’ll see you later.”

The boys chorus their goodbyes, and Jon hangs up on them so he can accept the incoming call. “Hey, Damian. What’s up?”

“I assume you already know,” Damian says curtly, “but I first want to confirm that you’ve seen the news about your roommate.”

“Uh, yeah, dude.”

“Good. This is your warning. That news has caught my father’s eye. As well as my brothers’. They already know, of course, of your relation to her. I don’t know what they plan or when they plan to carry it out, but you and she should both be prepared.”

Jon wants to joke, “What’re they going to do, commission her?” But then he realizes that yes, with the Wayne family, that is something warranting a warning. Especially since they know she’s his friend. “Ah,” He says instead, intelligently. “Good to know. If you get any more information, let me know and I’ll try to give Marinette a heads up.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the situation. And Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“I know she has navigated fame before but do be careful. Keep an eye on her.”

“Always, dude. She’s my friend.”

He hears the sharp, distinctive click of Damian’s tongue before the call ends. Jon can’t be sure with Damian, but he suspects that second thing is what the call was really about. Damian wouldn’t just call if he doesn’t have any solid information to share. So… he must just be concerned. About Marinette? About Jon? It’s hard to tell. The guy is so cryptic even now.

Jon just sighs and shakes his head. Yes, Marinette is a small celebrity at the moment. That’ll wear off soon enough, but in the meantime, and even in the future, she has to take care to avoid celebrity pitfalls. Things people like Damian deal with every day. People only interested in them for power or fame themselves, scrutiny from the media, Jon isn’t totally unfamiliar with it all himself. After all, Damian is one of his very oldest friends, and Superboy gets his own fame. (That’s different, of course, since he has his identity to hide behind, but the principles are the same. It’s just more pervasive when it’s your regular name that’s famous.)

But Jon isn’t worried. Apparently, Marinette’s old boyfriend was a celebrity in Paris (and, to Jon’s understanding, has both the good and bad kind of fame respectively before and after Hawk Moth was revealed), not to mention she has practice from being Ladybug. Marinette is fine.

And when he sees her in New York again, in their little apartment, and she’s positively buzzing with excitement about the future, Jon knows his instinct is right. Marinette is better than fine. She’s so much brighter than she’s ever been until now. She’s soaring like she’s Kryptonian, glowing with her own sun. Jon jokingly worries to himself that she’ll superpower him. She’s better than fine.

A week passes, school starts, and then one more week flies by before Marinette grins cheekily at him and drags him out of the apartment on their shared short day. Both of them are done with classes by noon, so it’s a rare day that they figure they might be able to switch things up and have lunch together instead of dinner. A little late lunch, given when they get themselves used to eating the rest of the week, but it’s an appealing idea. They like having that down time together, so eating together for lunch means they’ll have more opportunities for other plans later in the evening.

Not that they have to eat together every day, it’s just… after they made that promise last semester to double down on their studies, they both neglected going out for a lot of that. Even during the summer, it feels weird eating without her. It makes him miss her.

But Marinette drags him somewhere he never honestly expects to find himself. To the Fashion Institute of Technology. “Sorry about this,” Marinette says. “I was going to do this at home, but since we have so much time today, I thought you might find it interesting to come over and check out the place. Plus, the equipment here is better. I mean, I’m only fitting, but still.”

Jon just chuckles as he follows her through the building. “No, this is cool. What, uh, are we doing, exactly, though?”

Marinette snickers mischievously. “I made a bunch of mock-ups for you. I’ve never made anything for you before, and I kind of just guessed your measurements, so I want to make sure everything fits. It’s just basic stuff. A shirt, a jacket, and some pants, there’s no real design to them, because they’re just the base so that, when I do make stuff for you, I know they’ll fit.”

Jon feels her pull on his arm to get him moving. The elevator door opens, but he’s still processing what she says. “Wait, you’re planning on making me things?”

With a wink, Marinette says, “It’s a surprise! That’s why you’re going to be trying on everything. You never know what I might give you, or when.”

Jon feels his cheeks warm. “Th- That’s real nice of you, Marinette, but you, like- you have celebrity clients. You shouldn’t be wasting time making clothes for me. Plus, isn’t that expensive?”

“I have a celebrity client, remember?” Marinette says. “He pays me more than enough to afford the occasional gift for a friend. That’s supplies and time included. Don’t worry, I’d make you cookies if making you clothes actually hurt me at all.” Quieter, she adds, “No sacrificing, right?”

Jon nods. “Right.” He says quietly, still unsure. “And, uh, why are you planning on making me anything in the first place?”

“I never said it was for right now. It could be for Christmas, or your birthday, or… I don’t know. Whatever reason I might have to give you a gift. Don’t think of this as a promise, alright? Though, I absolutely am going to make you some better clothes.”

“Better?” Jon mumbles, slightly taken aback as he clutches his flannel shirt protectively.

“It’s just insurance, so that if I do, I can do it right. Okay?”

“…Okay.” Jon says. He still isn’t entirely sure what is spurring this on, but Marinette is happy and excited, so he decides not to make a big deal out of it.

“Okay! In here.” She pulls him into a large workroom and leads him to a table. “Wait here for a moment.” She rushes off and comes back with a large box that clatters when it hits the table. “Alright, here we go. First off, I’d like to actually take your measurements. You ever had that done before?”

Jon nods. “A few times.” He says. He’s never gotten fitted for a tailored suit or anything, but his costume as Superboy really needs to fit. He’s had his measurements taken a few times as he grew up and had to get new suits.

“Great. Stand right here.” Jon watches dumbly as she ducks and dances around him, measuring tape flying this way and that. One moment he has his arms out, the next he’s feeling the tape on his shoulders, the next it’s around him completely, and the next Marinette has her hand uncomfortably close to his crotch. It’s a brief, surreal moment that he thinks should really be a collection of moments, but flashes by so fast that it all blurs together and she’s writing down the last number with a satisfied smile before he even registers what’s going on.

Weirdly enough, the only coherent thought he has is, How often does she do this?

“I think I got close enough.” Marinette says, looking between the measurements and the pile of tan fabric in her box. “I added a little bit more than I guessed, just because it’s a lot easier to take out fabric than add, so these should probably be just a tad big on you.” She goes over to her box and starts digging, laying out on the table three separate items. “As I said, these are all just mock-ups for fit. There’s not much design to them, and they’re just made of muslin. When I do make things for you, I can take the measurements from the pattern for these and make something actually stylish with them. Here, try this on.”

Jon accept the shirt from her. It’s just a simple, tan, cotton shirt. If he is honest, it’s something he wouldn’t have any problem wearing on its own. He thinks it’s probably best not to say that aloud here, though.

There’s a brief moment where Jon hesitates, and looks around the room at everyone else present and working on their own things. There’s no real… privacy. Only a little screen in the corner, that several other people are already crowded behind.

“Jon?” Marinette asks softly. “Are you not comfortable changing here?” She frowns. “This is why I was going to do this at home. Would that be better?”

Jon glances over to the lady across the room who… honestly may as well be naked, and decides to suck it up. This is a fashion school, in a workroom with models who regularly walk around in a lot less. Jon can change his shirt. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lost his clothes in public, anyway. Part of the reason he switched to a proper suit like his dad’s instead of jeans and a shirt. Hero work, when one’s outfit isn’t designed for it, tears up clothes fast.

It’s just the first time he’s doing it willingly and doesn’t have much more important things to think about. It’s fine.

And when he does take off his shirt and realizes barely anyone so much as glances at him (there are a few looks, but they’re fairly clearly more interested in Marinette and what she’s doing than him, though there is one small group of girls that giggle at him), the tension eases out of him a bit.

He slips Marinette’s shirt on quickly. It’s loose and comfortable. Jon thinks it fits just fine. I’d definitely just wear this. He has shirts in his closet he knows are bigger on him.

Regardless of his assessment, though, Marinette quickly gets to work picking at the fabric. No thread evades her scrutiny, and Jon laughs at how she pulls at the shirt every which way as she decides how she wants to approach what, if he’s reading her face correctly, must be some sort of monstrosity. Clearly, I have no fashion sense, so it’s all up to you, Marinette.

“Okay.” She says quietly, to herself. “As I thought, it’s big. I think I added too much to my estimates. Hold still for a moment.” She slips a pincushion around her wrist and gets to work molding the fabric to her will.

It’s strangely entertaining, when Jon thinks of the shirt as some despicable villain that she’s conquering. Inappropriate, given their histories, but a funny image regardless.

“How does that feel?” She asks, stepping back from him for a moment.

Jon lifts his arms and moves around a bit. It’s certainly more fitted than… well, all of his clothes. In a way, it reminds him of his super suit. Just no cape. He’s surprised at how okay with that he is. Though, the super suit is specifically made to be comfortable and to not restrict movement, so he supposes it only makes sense that well-fitting clothes serve the same purpose. “I like it.” Jon says.

“Oh, good. Jacket next, then. Here, let me help you take that off. I don’t want you messing up the pins.” As she helps gently pull the shirt over his head, she mumbles, “And normally, I’d be worried about them poking you, too, but I guess we don’t have to worry about that.”

Jon just giggles. “Nope. I’m good.”

“Alright, I’m going to baste this into place real quick so we don’t steal so many pins.” Marinette says, already threading a needle. At Jon’s hopeless look, she explains, “It’s a real quick, temporary stitch just to hold everything in place. Don’t worry about it. It’ll just be a minute or two.” Marinette quickly makes her new stitch, replacing the pins in the shirt as he puts his own shirt back on. “You can go ahead and put the jacket on while I’m doing this.”

Jon does as asked. “So, is this like an everyday thing for you?”

Marinette shrugs. “Not every day. Most of my classes aren’t much different than yours, I imagine. They’re mostly academic. But a few of them do involve this kind of thing, yeah.”

“Sounds like fun. I guess that’s what you get when you go to a specialized college.”

“What do you not do fun things at NYU?”

Jon thinks for a moment. “I mean, I’ve had fun classes. This is just really different than anything I’ve seen is all.”

Marinette giggles softly and sets the shirt down so she can focus on the jacket. “Maybe one of these days you’ll have to show me around your school. We can invite your boys, too.”

Jon groans. “Be ready to meet Jesse. He found out about the Jagged Stone thing and has been fangirling ever since.”

Marinette spares a moment to cover her face. “Oh, them, too?” She sighs. “Oh, well. I suppose it was inevitable. How does this feel?”

She steps back from her last pin to let Jon move around a bit. “Perfect.” He says honestly. “Ah, wait, maybe just a little tight around the elbow?”

Marinette clicks her tongue and makes a face that reminds Jon a little too much of Damian. Regardless, she pulls some of the pins out of the sleeve and adjusts them without comment.

“So, it is you!” A girl approaches them, grinning broadly. She’s cute, in a sort of cliché, pink, valley girl kind of way. If not for her vibrating in excitement reminding him of Jesse, he’d peg her immediately as a Regina George lookalike. Or, maybe that’s mean. Elle Woods works just as well, and fits her personality better, from what Jon can see.

She’s also one the small group of girls he caught gawking at him when he took his shirt off. Both times.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right? I’m Kasey, we have Intro to Knitwear together! And we had a few classes together last year, too.”

Marinette furrows her brow for a moment as the looks the girl up and down, but the light of recognition appears quickly. That makes Jon relax a little. Enough, at least, to think, Intro to Knitwear? Is that the kind of classes they take here? I’m sure it’s more difficult than it sounds, but… “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you around!” Marinette says with a smile. “Did you need something?”

Kasey rubs her arms awkwardly, “Oh, well, I just- I saw the news over the summer. I wasn’t sure it was you you until I heard you two mention it. That’s so cool that you get to dress Jagged Stone! I just- I wanted to say congratulations!”

Marinette smiles politely. “Thank you. I was really lucky to get that opportunity.”

Kasey nods enthusiastically. “Can I ask what you’re working on now?” She looks over to Jon.

“Oh, nothing in particular.” Marinette says. “This is my friend, Jon. I’m just making sure I have his size right so I can make stuff for him later.”

“Oh, that’s clever!” Kasey exclaims. “This way, all your designs will still be a surprise when you give them to him, right?”

“That’s the idea.” Marinette smirks.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jon! How do you know Marinette?”

Jon politely shakes her hand. “I’m, uh, her roommate, actually.”

“Really? That’s cool! What’s your major?”

“Anthropology. I actually go to NYU.”

Kasey giggles. “Anthropology? You must be so smart!”

“Not as smart as Marinette.” Jon chuckle. “This girl could outwit me any day.”

Marinette glares playfully at him, but rather than commenting on his compliment, she just asks, “Is the sleeve better?”

“Oh, much.”

“Good. You can take that off, then. I’ll baste that, and you can put the pants on. Uh, er… if you’re comfortable with that?”

Jon looks nervously between Marinette, Kasey, the other two girls Kasey was with before, who are now on their way over to them, and the rest of the workroom doing their own things. With a heavy sigh, he says, “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.”

Cheeks burning, he sheds his jeans and replaces them as quickly as possible without resorting to his powers. He’s positive he doesn’t imagine the looks from Kasey and the other two girls, though Marinette kindly doesn’t so much as glance up from her stitching on the jacket. With his shirt, he is awkward just because they’re in public. He lives with Marinette. He doesn’t care if she sees him shirtless. It’s hardly the first time. He’s seen her in nightclothes, too. More modest than him without a shirt, to be sure, but the principle of the matter is the same. That said, he does endeavor to always wear pants. This is awkward for every reason, so he’s thankful that Marinette respects that enough to not ogle him.

“Oh! Sam, Louise!” Kasey exclaims, waving at the two new girls. “Meet Marinette and Jon! Guys, these are my friends.”

Marinette nods politely again to the girls. “Good to see you, Sam. Nice to meet you, Louise. Oh, Jon, uh, apologies in advance.”

Jon chuckles. “No worries, Marinette.” He understands that she’s going to have to be a little handsy with him. When she’s working on a shirt or jacket, that’s a lot less awkward than pants, but it’s just what she has to do to make sure they fit properly. Jon knows this has to happen. It would probably be more awkward if they were alone in their apartment than in a studio surrounded by other designers and models doing similar things. So, he just sends his own greetings to the girls and lets Marinette get to work.

Sam is a striking lady, with sharp features and a general aura of power that would intimidate lesser people than Jon and Marinette. She prowls around them, and pokes at the shirt and jacket on the table. “So, what are you working on, Marinette?”

“Nothing special.” She answers. “Yet. Just sizing.”

Sam hums and her eyes travel to Jon. “You must be something special, for such an accomplished designer to be planning something like this for you.”

Jon shrugs. “Nah, not really. She’s a good friend. And she likes to give gifts to friends. Even when they insist they’re not necessary.”

Marinette rolls her eyes at him. “I told you, you don’t know that I’m doing it for nothing. That’s the point of a surprise! Maybe it’s for your birthday.”

Jon chuckles and leans a little towards Kasey. “That’s like the third time she’s mentioned my birthday, so it can’t be for my birthday.”

“Or maybe that’s what I want you to think.” Marinette says through some pins in her mouth.

“As I said.” Jon says. “She’s so much smarter than me.”

Louise, a stocky, kind-looking girl gives them all a toothy grin. “Aw, you’re so cute! Marinette’s really lucky to have a boyfriend like you!”

“Boyfriend?” Jon blinks dumbly, then shares a look with Marinette. “Aha, oh, no, we’re just friends. We’ve been rooming together for a couple years now, so we’re pretty close. Not dating, though.”

“O-oh!” Kasey says. “So, you’re single?”

“Mhmm.”

Louise grimaces and fiddles with her mousy hair. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” Jon says airily. “No harm done.”

“Speaking of boyfriends,” Sam says suddenly, “I heard you’re dating Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette’s face scrunches up like she’s eaten a lemon. “I am? What about it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Sam says. “It just must have been a blessing to you to have been with such an accomplished model for so long as you were starting out.”

Marinette tenses, Jon can feel from the pull of the fabric, though she doesn’t show it outwardly beyond that. “His advice was helpful, yes, though I was never lucky enough to get his father’s critique except for one contest before we ever got together.”

“Hm. I’d consider that lucky, considering what he was up to behind the scenes.”

Marinette takes a deep breath. “Gabriel is a horrible man, but he does have an eye for fashion. Unbiased, his critique would still have been valuable.”

“I’m sure.” Sam says.

“And for your information, Adrien and I broke up almost two years ago. How does this feel, Jon?”

Jon moves a little again to get a feel for it. They’re more fitted than any pants he usually wears, tapered all the way down to the ankle. “Huh. Not a fit I’m used to, but it’s comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” Marinette teases. “I’ve seen what you wear. I’m just making sure I’ve got my bases covered, this won’t necessarily be the fit of anything I do make you. Anyway, if they’re good for you, you can go ahead and change back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jon chirps, shedding the pants as quickly as he can while not messing up the pins and slipping his jeans back on before he gets too self-conscious.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your breakup.” Sam says earnestly. “That’s such a shame.”

“It just didn’t work out.” Marinette shrugs. “It’s in the past.” She seems casual about it, almost dismissive, but Jon knows how much she loves Adrien. He puts his hand on her shoulder, just as a small gesture of support. Marinette smiles at him and quietly shrugs him off.

“Wait, you dated Adrien Agreste?” Kasey gasps. “What happened? Oh, no, was it because of everything around him after his dad was…”

“No.” Marinette says. “We just drifted apart, is all. We’re still friends.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Sam eyes Jon up and down. “You don’t think he was jealous, do you? I mean, in another country, with you rooming with a cute guy… I wouldn’t blame him.”

“I broke up with him, actually.” Marinette says. “And no, he wasn’t jealous of Jon.” She sighs. “Look, no offense, but I really don’t want to talk about a relationship that’s been over for two years. It’s ancient history. Adrien and I are friends. That’s all there is to say.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” Sam says sweetly. “It’s just with all this news about Jagged Stone, you’re a pretty hot topic right now.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“Hm.” Sam returns her gaze to Jon. “You’re single, though? How’s a guy like you still single?”

Jon nervously looks over to Marinette. “Uh… no reason, I guess.”

“Oh, come on. You must have people throwing themselves at you. You could pick anyone you want.”

Jon sees Marinette narrow her eyes at Sam, Kasey duck her head and turn to Louise, who pats her back consolingly, and Sam herself step in close to him. Not close enough to be weird, weird, but close enough. Jon chuckles sheepishly. “Nah, that’s not true. I’m nothing special.”

Marinette silently arches her brow at him, as if to say, “Really?”

“Honestly, I haven’t given much thought to relationships. I suppose my not looking for one is probably why I never had one.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “Never?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, you poor thing. You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“Nah, but I don’t really care.” Jon says honestly. “I mean, I’ve never even had a serious crush.” He pauses, then cringes. “Well, except for that one really embarrassing one on Damian.”

Marinette makes a strange, strangled sound that distracts him from how Sam and Kasey recoil. “Damian?!” Marinette exclaims. “Seriously? The Damian I’m thinking about?”

Jon can feel his cheeks burning. Should not have said that. Marinette still hasn’t met Damian, aside from the time he showed up in their apartment in hero uniform, but it isn’t that hard for her to piece together that Jon’s childhood friend Damian is the hero that Superboy was partnered up with for so long. She’s not a fan, since he’s notoriously unfriendly especially when they were younger. She trusts Jon that he’s a good guy, she says, but she also says he’s “a real piece of work” which Jon… can’t exactly disagree with. According to her, she likes him well enough, but he understands why the thought of having a crush on him is startling to her. “Hey,” He says. “I said it was embarrassing.”

“You’re gay, then?” Sam asks carefully.

“Bi, actually.” Jon says. “And in my defense, Marinette, Damian can be pretty cool.”

She snorts. “Big can be.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be so hard on him. You haven’t even had the chance to meet him properly yet.”

“From your stories about him, do I want to?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover. We were kids, back then. He’s better now.”

“And yet now isn’t when you have the crush on him, is it?”

Jon blushes despite himself. “…Touché, Marinette.”

She giggles. “Seriously, though, when am I going to meet him?”

Jon recalls Damian’s call just a few weeks ago and sighs. “Probably sooner than you think. I don’t even see him all that much these days, but I was on the phone with him earlier. I’ll tell you more about it later.”

Marinette nods, knowing not to push for information in public. It’s Louise that interjects with, “Wow, it’s super cool how confident you are about it! I wish I could be as casual as you.”

Jon smiles at her. “What, being bi? Honestly, I just got really lucky. I’ve got some of the best parents in the world, so I never really had to worry. Plus, it’s thankfully rare now that you find someone our age that has a problem with it. I know, um…” The memories press down on him as always. There are worse tragedies he’s seen, but that doesn’t erase the very personal nature of those. Or the pain that they cause. “I know a lot of people in bad situations. So, I’ve always been thankful for mine.”

Louise nods sympathetically. “I know what you mean. My parents ended up being okay with me, but I have friends who weren’t so lucky.”

Jon understands, and true to form for him immediately takes to Louise. She’s a mousy little girl, shy-looking and fidgety, and by the nature of queer solidarity, she’s already his new best friend. “What do you do? You a fashion designer, too?”

“Oh, no.” Louise shakes her head vehemently, as if frightened by the very idea. “I’m studying textile development and marketing.”

“Really? That’s sounds interesting.”

“It is! Though, I admit I’m more interested in making textiles than I am the marketing side of it all.”

Jon hums in agreement. “Oh, I feel you. I’m in anthropology, but I’m mostly interested in culture. I still have to take biology classes, though.”

Louise actually perks up. “That’s really cool! One of the things I really want to do is figure out more sustainable ways to make textiles. With materials and processes that don’t harm the environment so much. I’d love to take some biology classes, through that lens.”

“You know, that would be pretty cool. It’d be fun to study history and see if we could learn anything from how they used to do it. I know fabric was really expensive for a long time because it was all made by hand, but there might be some neat little tricks people used to use that could help today.”

“Yes!” Louise bounces with excitement. “We can learn so much from history! What do you think abou-”

“Hey, Louise?” Sam interrupts her, tapping on her phone. “It’s about time for class, isn’t it? We should probably get going.”

“O-oh! Right!” Louise ducks her head. “It was nice to meet you, Jon! I hope we meet again soon!”

“Yeah, you too!” Jon waves eagerly as she turns away. “Don’t let me keep you from class. Bye, Kasey, Sam.”

“Bye, bye, Jon! It was so nice to meet you! See you later, Marinette!” Kasey grins ear to ear as she waves back.

“I’ll see you later, Jon.” Sam says calmly. “Marinette.”

The three girls take off, leaving Jon alone with Marinette again. Marinette shakes her head and starts leading the way out of the building. “Sorry about that.” She says. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to join us.”

“I don’t mind.” Jon says. “They seem nice!”

Marinette chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. You seemed to get along with them.”

“Yeah.” Jon agrees. “Sam is kind of… forward, though. She kind of grilled me on my love life, didn’t she?”

Marinette stares at him for a second, and then laughs loudly. “Oh, Jon, she was flirting with you. Kasey was, too. Didn’t you notice?”

“…No?”

She snickers. “No wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend. Though, I suppose if teenage Damian was your type, that might be an indicator, too.”

“Okay, lay off Damian at least until you meet him.” Jon rolls his eyes. “He’s a cool guy. And we were partners. I think you can relate to that.”

“My partner was a homeschooled dork who didn’t know smooth if it hit him in the face. Yours was tween wrath embodied in a traumatized emo. I think I get to tease you a little.”

Jon tries not to laugh. He really does. If he laughs, she wins, and he is trying his best to defend his best friend. But still. It’s more justified than her wording makes it sound, but it is true.

He can’t help cackling nearly all the way home.

——-=——-

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @theatreandcomicfreak @toodaloo-kangaroo @too0bsessedformyowngood @justcourttee <3

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #ml x dc #maribat #marijon #ehhtrtd

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michelles-garden-of-evil · 4 years ago

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Ian Martin’s Strange Paradise, Part II: The Top 5 Worst Things

Last week, I listed my top five favorite things about the first 44 episodes of Strange Paradise, when Ian Martin was headwriter and when the show had a very different feel to it than in the final four weeks of the Maljardin arc. But no creative work is perfect, and, despite my fondness for this show, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think that the writing for early Maljardin had several glaring flaws. Unlike Danny Horn, I don’t think that Ron Sproat was a better writer than Martin (actually, I consider Sproat the worst writer on SP), but that doesn’t mean that I don’t also feel that his writing needed some improvement. Note that this entry is specifically about the writing during this period, so things outside his creative control (e.g. the Conjure Man’s questionable casting) will be excluded from the list.

That said, here are my top five least favorite things about the writing in the first nine weeks of Strange Paradise:

5. Cheesy dialogue

More specifically, (1) bad jokes and (2) slang that was already outdated when these episodes originally aired in 1969. This one is #5 because, while these lines are cheesy, I can’t hate them because most of them make me laugh. Even my personal least favorite of Jacques’ jokes, the “pose” line from Episode 18, is kind of funny in an ironic, anti-humor sort of way, like the dad jokes that have become fashionable in recent years. While there are some jokes in this show that I find genuinely funny--Elizabeth’s Song of Solomon joke, for instance, or “the lady doth detest too much”--most others are the epitome of cornball. Sometimes you hear both in the same episode: Episode 21 is loaded with Devil jokes/puns that would be unforgivably corny if Colin Fox didn’t possess enough charisma to sell them, and yet the same episode also features a genuinely hilarious double entendre. The good jokes sneak up on you, sometimes amidst a hurricane of bad ones.

As for the slang, some comments that I’ve read mention that it was largely out of date even in the late sixties. My good friend Steve (with whom I often discuss SP) has told me that “you might not be aware of how campy that slang sounded in 1969 since you obviously did not live through the Sixties--this happened with a lot of TV shows during that period, the most egregious examples being the various ‘evil druggie Hippie’ episodes of DRAGNET.” Apparently Martin became infamous for using outdated slang later on when he wrote for CBS Radio Mystery Theater, putting lines like “I dig a man who’s far-out!” and “I think bein’ around here’s gonna be kicks!” in the mouths of some of his younger characters. Even if he had used up-to-date slang, it most likely would have still aged poorly (as slang typically does), especially for generations born after phrases like “the most” and “making the ___ scene” fell out of use.

4. Slow pace and excessive repetition

This one is also low on the list, because slow pace and repetition weren’t flaws when the show originally aired, but instead have aged poorly because of advances in technology that made them unnecessary. Before the advent of the programmable VCR, you had to be able to catch the program you wanted to watch on time or have someone you knew catch it on time and record it--which, in 1969, would have meant an audio-only tape recording. This meant that only the most fortunate and/or most loyal viewers would have been able to watch Strange Paradise every day, making it necessary to recap all the major events in subsequent episodes for those who missed out. This is also likely the reason why early SP (like most soaps of the time) has a relatively slow pace: if too much happens in one episode, you have to recap more and the people who missed the big episode are more disappointed.

Nowadays, with DVRs, video streaming, and DVD sets--not to mention certain legally-questionable means--it’s nearly impossible to miss an episode of your favorite show (with few exceptions), making extensive recap largely obsolete. Screenwriters can cram as many plot points as they want into one episode and no longer have to write five episodes of the other characters reacting to the news if they don’t want to.

Even so, just because the constant recap served a function at the time doesn’t mean I have to like it. It gets annoying hearing the same plot points reiterated episode after episode. Like I said while reviewing Episode 21, “if someone were to remake this show for Netflix or another streaming service, they could safely ignore about 75 percent of the original scripts and condense the remaining 25 percent quite a bit without omitting anything important.”

And don’t even get me started on the lampshading of absent cast members, like in Episode 9 when Jean Paul and Quito wasted two minutes searching for Raxl just to slow the plot down. It’s nothing compared to Ron Sproat’s “we must search for Quito” filler episode in Desmond Hall (Episode 78), but still, those scenes were pointless.

3. Extreme artistic license with certain historical/cultural details

Although Ian Martin did a surprising amount of research on certain subjects for Strange Paradise, there are some subjects where he either didn’t do enough research, or (more likely) made extensive use of artistic license. The first one is his portrayal of Jacques’ wife Huaco as an Inca princess despite their marriage occurring over a century after the fall of the Inca Empire. I discussed this all the way back in Part II of my review of the pilot, where I invented the theory of Jacques traveling back in time to marry her, but other possible explanations include Huaco being a 17th-century descendant of Inca royalty (as the Quechua people are still alive today), extreme artistic license, and/or critical research failure. I don’t know if we would have eventually gotten a good explanation if Martin had continued writing the series, but we would need a damn good one for the approximate equivalent of having a 21st-century character marry the Russian Grand Duchess Anastasia. I’m willing to suspend my disbelief and accept it considering that this is a fantasy series, but it still creates a lot of plot holes that need to be filled.[1]

Another example of artistic license about which I feel more ambivalent is the conflation of voodoo with the Aztec-inspired indigenous religion of Maljardin, which I’ve discussed before both in my Episode 23 review and Part I of this post series. I’m not sure if this is genius--religious syncretism is a real phenomenon throughout the Caribbean and Latin America, and some people today do syncretize the vodou Serpent God with Quetzalcoatl--or just an instance of Martin playing fast and loose with facts. I would like to think it’s the former, but it could just as easily be the latter (hence why I referenced it on both lists--I have mixed feelings about it).

2. Annoying inconsistencies

Does Raxl know that Jean Paul is possessed by Jacques Eloi des Mondes? Does Vangie? Why does Jacques’ portrait disappear in some episodes after he possesses Jean Paul, but not in others? All three of these things vary from episode to episode, and change annoyingly often as the plot demands. Steve and I have also discussed this subject in the past, and he believes that Martin used this device to make the story easier to follow; if that’s the case, it appears that he used Raxl and Vangie as audience surrogates, especially for new viewers or people who didn’t tune in every day. But surely there were other ways to do that without creating continuity errors? It may have served a function, but that doesn’t make it good writing. What Martin is essentially doing is filling and reopening the same plothole, episode after episode.

Regarding the portrait, I don’t know how much to blame Martin’s scripts for this inconsistency and how much to blame the directors, as I don’t have access to any SP scripts beyond the pilot script and the Vignettes. However, I’m going to assume that he’s at least partially to blame, because at least the pilot script mentions the disappearing portrait (which literally disappears in all three of the Paperback Library novels), Also, while none of the characters ever mention the portrait vanishing (unlike in the tie-in novels), some of his episodes have characters looking at it while Jacques is controlling Jean Paul and commenting on the uncanny resemblance. See also the diegesis tag for more discussion and analysis of the disappearing portrait.

1. Tim’s subplot

It should surprise none of my regular readers that Tim’s subplot is my #1 least favorite thing about the first nine weeks of Maljardin. I’ve already written an entire post about why I dislike this subplot, so I’ll keep my discussion of it here brief. Jean Paul saves the life of artist Tim Stanton when he hires him to paint Erica’s portrait, but then does nothing to make the commission easy for him--which is not a bad set-up for a plot in and of itself, but the execution is terrible. Tim chooses to use Holly as his model despite her barely resembling Erica, and Martin mostly uses their subsequent interactions to drive the old, tired, clichéd plot where two people who bicker and hate each other at first eventually fall in love (or at least he appears to be setting that up[2]). The payoff for the Holly portrait subplot finally occurs in Episode 33, but it’s underwhelming (not to mention barely recapped) and the already bland Tim quickly becomes a background character. In short, his subplot is a boring waste of time and should have either had more payoff or--preferably--been scrapped altogether.

That concludes my list of the worst things about Ian Martin’s Strange Paradise. Stay tuned for my review of Episode 45 within the next two weeks.

{<- Previous: The Top 5 Best Things }

Note

[1] Interestingly, there is a possible (if unlikely) historical explanation for Huaco’s sister Rahua having “skin as white as goat’s milk” and “hair like ripened wheat.” An early Spanish account of the Chachapoya people (aka Cloud People) of the Northern Andes describe them as “the whitest and most handsome of all the people that I have seen, and their wives were so beautiful that because of their gentleness, many of them deserved to be the Incas’ wives and to also be taken to the Sun Temple.” Assuming the Spanish account isn’t made up, this proves that reality is sometimes unrealistic.

[2] Thankfully, given the soap opera genre, it’s unlikely that Tim and Holly would have stayed together forever, even if they had eventually fallen in love during their painting-and-bickering sessions. Even so, that doesn’t make it a good subplot.

#strange paradise #ian martin #maljardin arc #review #analysis #arc review #list #bruce gray was a good actor but tim stanton is zzzzzzzzz #even jean paul agrees ;)

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designsfromtime · 5 years ago

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Is the Customer Always Right?

If anything, I am guileless when it comes to offering all ya’ll a behind the scenes peek at what a “day in the life” of a historical costumer can offer. Sometimes I worry about coming off as ungrateful when I share a problematic situation, but I believe being honest allows me to embrace my humanity, and gives you all permission to do the same. It looks like fun creating all these gorgeous costumes, and it is! - - but there is an unfortunate ugly side to owning your own business: Dealing with entitled and difficult customers.

My career has taken many twists and turns over the last two or three decades. Before I retired in 2012 at 52 and began designing costumes full-time, I was a medical transcriptionist. I owned my own transcription service as well as working for a huge opthomalogical practice back in California. As such, I have taken many, many training seminars in customer service. It’s been drilled into my head that for every one person who is dissatisfied they will tell ten more people.

With those statistics in mind, I have endeavored to focus on customer service both in my tenure as a medical transcriptionist, as well as today in my costuming business. But the fact of the matter is that not every client will be a good fit for your particular business or your personality, but I do feel somehow I have failed clients even when they become overly demanding and, dare I say, self-centered, and I have to cut them loose.

Look, I get it! Plunking down 2K for an entire ensemble is a HUGE investment for any client! I don’t take any of my clients for granted - ever. I endeavor to give each client equally of my time and attention. As a general rule, I am extremely conscientious about responding quickly to messages and inquiries. I go to great lengths to explain my process and educate about cut, textiles, and construction of historical clothing and lay out what they can expect, even though I find myself repeating the same spiel over and over.

I’ve mentioned this several times before, but I have heard the horror stories from both clients and cast mates: costumers (even those touted as scions in the costuming forums) taking a client’s money and receiving their fabrics, only to ghost on them and not respond when the client tries to get them to honor the commission and actually MAKE the gown they paid for, or they do not respond to the client’s requests when asked to refund the money AND return their fabrics only to find this same “costumer” has not only ignored them but used THEIR fabrics for a gown which they put up for sale on Ebay. Another nightmare story is about some of the vendors on Etsy who promise to ship a gown by a certain due date, take the client’s money and when that date comes and goes and the client contacts them they LIE and say, “It’s in the mail!” - Only to learn that they haven’t even finished it! Worse, when the gown arrives it started falling apart the first weekend they wore it at faire and she paid $600 for it! Then there is the account of a vendor in the Ukraine who ran out of velvet to finish a client’s Italian gown and rather than waiting and reordering the fabric, they made the gown but SCRIMPED on the fullness of the skirt and shipped it as is without consulting the client. In THOSE situations I would agree that the customer is RIGHT. I haven’t found myself in the same situations as these “costumers” because I would NEVER treat a client with such disregard - but I have found myself in a nightmare scenario more than once that involves the client becoming difficult for no justifiable reason.

I’ve been fortunate that in the seven years since opening my studio here in WA I have only had FIVE clients who made me want to pound my fist against my computer screen and question why I am in this business. Yes, they were that frustrating! One of those instances I wrote about in a post called “When It All Goes South” I’ll spare you the details of the other four, but usually the common denominator has been that they didn’t respect my time and my busy schedule, or the efforts I made in the consultation process. That sounds very benign, but a to relate a situation that happened this week wherein I spent 1.5 months exchanging 70+ detailed and lengthy messages, and provided them with dozens, and dozens and DOZENS of fabric options and they kept asking for more, and more, hoping that one of them will fall into the Goldilocks zone, it became frustrating. We hadn’t even gotten half way through the consult process because the client was stalled on fabrics. I didn’t mention the fact that after she paid her deposit she changed the style of the gown multiple times. *face palm*

You may be reading this and shrugging your shoulders and asking “What’s the problem?” The problem in the case I just described is that choosing fabric is only the FIRST step in the design process, but also I have deadlines imposed by the clients. If they don’t comply I can’t meet those deadlines. Until a client chooses their main fabric I cannot begin to offer any ideas for the overall design aesthetic, nor can I choose a complimentary color for their sleeves and forepart, not to mention the embroidery pattern to be used, or sussing out whether or not they will need a trim that may take up to 4 or 5 months to ship - such as the case of a gold bouillon trim I ordered from India recently which she stated she was interested in using, not to mention it requires 4 to 6 weeks of hand tacking! The expectation of this client was that I would be an endless fountain of “options” - and because she was investing 2K I should spend as much time as she wanted footering around window shopping for fabrics while her timeline is ticking away. When after a month and a half I began to draw a boundary and tell her I need a decision if she expects me to meet her deadline because there is a ton more work I need to do on her consult, she felt I wasn’t giving her ENOUGH of my time and stated that because I was pressed on time for current engagements I could not offer any additional efforts to her as a client. This, after spending MORE time than is usual with this client, I am to blame?

I learned from an extremely difficult client in 2018 not to allow a bad situation to malinger and hope for the best. In that particular case it went from BAD to WORSE, and I had to dig in my heels and refuse to bend to her ever growing ridiculous demands. If I cannot work with a client in the consult phase, and I’m pretty damn patient ya’ll, then I have learned the actual construction process will only unravel further.

As a side note, normally by the time I’ve exchanged two dozen messages with a client, I have their fabric sorted, and I’ve sourced a complimentary color for their sleeves and forepart, found their trim and/or the embroidery pattern, sketched their gown, and presented them with a design board. Sooooo. . . I offered this particular woman a refund on her “non-refundable” deposit minus my consultation fee of $100 for the hours and hours and HOURS of research I spent over that 1.5 months offering her more and more options to consider. She was pissed that I was unwilling to allow her to take months to decide, and no amount of “explaining” the urgency or my time constraints seemed to sink in. No matter what I said she is convinced that “I” was the problem.

So, is that situation a failure on my part? Should I be willing to set aside another client’s commission to cater to this woman’s demands? What’s more, is the customer ALWAYS right?

There is an oft-quoted catchphrase in the business world that states: “the customer is always right.” I’ve heard that in many training seminars. Lalana showed me comic wherein it stated “The Costumer is always right.” I laughed, but there is a prevalent attitude that WE must meet the customers’ needs even if it means we often go to ridiculous extents to please them. However, treating customers like they are always right can be self-destructive for entrepreneurs like myself and here’s why.

In an article by “Entrepreneur” they offer FIVE reasons why the customer is NOT always right and why:

1. Businesses Have Limited Resources

Entrepreneurs like myself are not omnipotent, neither are employees - or in my case, my assistant Lalana. Most businesses, especially the fledgling ones, operate with limited resources including limited time, funds, and energy. Every business experiences its share of grudging customers, who, no matter what might be done to satisfy their needs, will continue to complain.

Feeling guilty and culpable for such petulance is actually unwise and it affects your business in a negative way. If the necessary steps have been taken to address the issues of a customer, then a business owner should close the matter and move on.

'Businesses are not dependent on individual buyers. It is actually immature to spend all the energy to satisfy someone who does not intend to be happy. It is important to address the requirements of hundreds and thousands of other regular clients, and also show solidarity with the employees,”

2. It Adds Misery to Employees

Any business will invariably have its share of malicious, rude, snappy consumers. Amongst 50 customers there will at least be 5 who will end up rubbing you the wrong way. Now, reacting to such folk with appeasement and guilt is utter naivete!

Making employees believe that the customer is always right, is tantamount to making them feel dejected. Between supporting your employees and taking sides with an intolerable, enraged customer, it is best to choose the former (the employee). Customers must get this message that though they are important they are NOT indispensable, while supporting employees always pays extra dividends.

"With constant support from the owners comes a sense of loyalty amongst the employees who then provide better service to customers. It's axiomatic that happy employees always go an extra mile to make customers happy."

3. Customers Are Not Omniscient

The creator of a business and the team that works with him know best about the product or service they offer. But customers are often upset because the products don't function the way they want them to - or in the case of my costuming business, they may have expectations around how much time I am able to spend in a consultation, or that through no fault of our own we cannot accommodate their specific vision they have of a particular gown. In the recent experience, the client kept asking for color combinations that are not available in the fabrics she insisted upon. All I can do is offer an alternative and try to compromise by offering options. But the attitude that a client knows best leads to an expectation that I be willing to go to any extent when they demand unrealistic or even ludicrous things.

Often customers will try to establish that they know better and try to share opinions or advice on how a product should look or work. Irrespective of the sector of the business, it is risky to give customers the liberty to think they cannot be wrong.

The key is to establish with customers, in a very amicable way, that the maker of the product is the final authority - In my case that would be ME. I go to great lengths to educate customers on my products and service in order to help them understand my expertise or why I use a certain procedure. I won’t take on a project that I am not passionate about, but more especially when my knowledge is discounted and they wish me to create something that doesn’t fit into my design aesthetic I will decline the order because there needs to be a state of sympatico between designer and customer.

4. It Pits Management Against Employees

The message that the customer is always right, is demoralizing, and results in bitterness against management and indicates that the organization favours the customers more than the workforce. In reality, taking the side of the employees generates happier customers because your employee, or yourself, will have a more positive attitude.

5. You Don't Want Every Customer

Not all customers are indispensable and businesses must accept that. It is better to let go of a persistently complaining and abusive customer who only end up creating stress amongst the employees (or myself). This is irrespective of the amount the customer pays for your product.

Disgruntled customers can wear away your spirit, involve a very high quantity of resources, and add to your stress levels. It is sometimes sensible to lose a customer for protecting the company and its workforce.

"To stay in business for a long time, entrepreneurs need to avoid unreasonably disgruntled customers. Getting rid of bad customers might cost a little profit, but it's healthier in the long-term goals of the business,"

The full article can be found here: https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/308548

While these “talking points” are focused on the Management versus Employee relationships, they are valid across the board for a small business owner whether or not you have employees. All of the angst and frustration and demoralization felt by employees or managers who are forced to capitulate to an over-demanding or self-centered and entitled customer is just as keenly felt by me (the owner). It puts me in a grumpy negative head space and it effects my attitude in the studio, which in turn affects Lalana who has to put up with my grumpy ass, and wears down my energy to the extent it affects my usual generosity to the rest of my clients. 2K in commissions just isn’t worth the hassle!

So, while I’m still working through the guilt and the regret of having to cut loose a client as I did this week, I’m learning that my work will speak for itself, and for every ONE client I have a negative experience, I have MORE who actually appreciate me and are reasonable enough to understand I have deadlines and they are 50% responsible for the success of their commission. I may not be in a place of full acceptance that I could not have made this particular client happy, but I feel justified in drawing a boundary that just because a client spends 2K in my store, it does not give them permission to behave like an entitled premadonna.

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cainduboisarchive2 · 5 years ago

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[ benjamin wadsworth, cismale, 20 ] did you see CAIN DUBOIS ? looking as broke as ever. rumor has it HE is usually - BITTER and - TEMPERAMENTAL but is also known to be + QUICK-WITTED and + TALENTED. we’ll see about that. they kind of remind me of SHATTERED PHONE SCREENS, STOLEN CIGARETTES and PAINT STAINED HANDS. maybe because they’re a TAURUS. they’ve been living around here for HIS ENTIRE LIFE. i wonder when they’ll make it out…

hello and welcome back to my channel! it’s jo again, here to introduce you all to one of my favorite muses ever, my lil garbage king cain 🖤

tw: child neglect, mental health issues, drugs, alcoholism mention, underage sex.

cain didn’t get any adult supervision growing up, what with having a drunk for a father and a workaholic/serial cheating mother. the job of raising him instead befell on his brother, romeo. despite being only six years older than cain, the boy was more of a parent to him than any adult ever was. romeo did everything in his power to keep his baby brother safe, fed and happy, to varied results. whether it was taking cain to the hospital, helping him with his homework or teaching him how to skate, romeo was cain’s entire support system.

so when romeo left home to become a professional athlete, 10-year-old cain was predictably heartbroken. though time helped him understand his brother’s reasons for moving out, being left by the one person who cared for him at all changed him.

at first he tried getting his parents attention through good behaviour: getting straight A’s, keeping the house spotless, bringing his father beer when he ran out and whatever else he could think of. but none of it managed to make even a dent in their wall of indifference. it was especially hard to win their affection when his brother was now a star athlete, with enough money and fame to finally catch their parents’ eye.

as infuriating as it was to realise he’d never be as impressive as romeo, it was also freeing to stop trying so hard to be good. his parents didn’t ask any questions about him smoking stolen cigarettes at 13 or the black eyes he came home with from fights picked with much bigger kids. they didn’t even notice when he spent the night out, getting drunk off his ass or sleeping with men twice his age.

despite never mastering the art of basic self-care, cain became very good at surviving. he learned to fend for himself with resourcefulness, a quick-wit and loose morals. he became as good at getting himself out of messy situations as he was in getting into them. failed a class? suck the teacher’s dick! not enough money to get that red bull? no prob, just steal it! when it came to being social, he used his charm to his advantage and developed a biting sense of humor that got just enough laughs out of his peers to provide him with the rush of attention he didn’t get at home.

the other thing he excelled at was art. thankfully, it also happened to be his biggest passion and healthiest coping mechanism. but it wasn’t until high school that he realised that there really wasn’t anything else he’d rather to do for the rest of his life. so, using the money he’d scraped together from his jobs to buy a drawing tablet, he decided to make a career out of it. he’s been selling online prints, doing commissions and whatever freelance opportunities pops up ever since. and even though it’s not the most lucrative job (certainly not enough to live off it alone), getting recognition for his work is enough to keep cain satisfied.

SOME FACTZ:

sense of humor to mask feelings how original

an absolute asshole when he wants to be (often)

working as a barista to make ends meet and hating every second of it

in love with animation and comic books. he avoids talking about it too much because he gets very passionate and sounds like a lil nerd and we can’t have that

as a great donkey once said: "you’re so wrapped up in layers onion boy you’re afraid of your own feelings!”. cain wants to be seen as this careless, cool guy without feelings but boi o boi he feels a lot. like a fuckton. deep down all he wants is to be loved and appreciated but feels unlovable.

has absolutely no concept of self-care. this bitch chainsmokes and forgets to eat for entire days and gets no exercise and will either sleep for the entire day or for 5 mins.

is always doodling. do not leave a pen or he’ll draw on your face if theres no other surface available.

sexually attracted to attention though i guess you could also describe him as bi

secretly loves his friends a lot but is too much of a coward to show it, afraid of finding the feeling to be one-sided and making a fool out of himself. still, very loyal and will cut a bitch to defend his friends’ honor.

WANTED PLOTS:

roommates — pls!!!!!! i need!!!!!! possibly more than one!!!!!!

angsty exes — maybe this was the first person cain actually cared for and they broke his heart further reinforcing his idea that people will always disappoint, or maybe he was the one who did the heart-breaking? both highly likely!

chill exes — sometimes you’re just better off as friends

the almost — it could’ve worked out but alas it didn’t because nothing ever does

one night stand — this boi sleeps around so gimme many of these

best friend — someone who’s managed to get past like 2 of cain’s 3423 walls. they might’ve even unlocked his tragic backstory!

stoner buddies — they get together to get high off their heads, watch regular show and discuss conspiracy theories

muse — someone who cain likes to draw often, maybe asks to pose for him

good influence — someone who suggests that hey maybe you should eat something sometimes!!

bad influence — honestly he probably goes after these

ying yang — someone nice to balance him out

people he knows from work — someone who either works in the same coffee shop as him or who frequents it

drinking buddies

friends with benefits

enemies

they got into a fist-fight in a parking lot that one time but it’s cool now

LITERALLY ANYTHING PLEASE GIVE ME ALL THE PLOTS!!!

#crawford:intro #he sucks please love him

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verycleverboy · 4 years ago

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Welcome to October 8th.

Where we are this afternoon:

A game of Telephone

After spending the weekend at Walter Reed Medical Center for treatment of his COVID-19 infection, President Donald Trump returned to the White House yesterday afternoon, where he is expected to continue treatment under quarantine. He returned to the Oval Office late Wednesday afternoon after conducting business from makeshift offices next to the White House medical facilities.

Trump opened his Thursday with a lengthy telephone interview with Fox Business host Maria Bartiromo. More so than usual with his Fox phone-ins, it was an unhinged freeform rant that revealed much more than he intended to. In the latest sign that he's still running the 2016 race in his head, he answered a question about the Barrett confirmation by pivoting without warning into Hillary Clinton's emails. He also returned to his unceasing effort to place the full blame for the virus in America on China, called Kamala Harris a “monster” and a Communist, and (for one last note of disgrace on this oldies tour from hell) threatened to put Joe Biden in jail for being a part of the administration that launched an investigation into a campaign with a suspicious number of Russian ties.

On the political front, his message is what it's always been: everyone is a liar and a criminal but poor pitiful me. So much for the party of "personal responsibility".

But it was when the questions turned to his health and the virus that things went from deeply concerning to highly alarming. If we take him at his word, President Trump doesn't believe he's contagious anymore, and wants to be on the campaign trail right now. Barely a week after he first began showing symptoms, he wants to go back to the densely packed, badly protected campaign rallies which have not only been a signature of his campaigns but his presidency in general.

How he knows he’s gotten over it is anyone’s guess because of the other big revelation about his current health that he blurted out: In spite of returning to a residence in full-blown panic mode over the plague he’s brought back the house, Trump still isn’t getting coronavirus testing on a regular basis.

As a New York Times report mentioned on Tuesday, rapid testing has basically been used in the West Wing throughout this health crisis, often in place of the actual preventative measures which the President openly mocked again this morning. However, the report also revealed that Trump himself was tested infrequently, and so the question still lingers whether he was tested at all in the week before the Hope Hicks diagnosis set this most recent catastrophe into motion. The one thing we do know for sure from last week is that he skipped a pre-debate virus test because he arrived well behind schedule. Everything else is being hidden behind the claim of “private medical history”.

There’s another thing we know about the recent state of the West Wing with absolute certainty: Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, while insisting the President is doing well, has not set foot inside the White House since the beginning of August, and he made his reasons crystal clear, almost to the point of bluntness.

"I actually haven't been to the White House since August the 6 because my impression was their approach to how to handle this is different from mine and what I insisted that we do in the Senate which is to wear a mask and practice social distancing,"

Anyway, that’s the Trump-on-Trump part of this morning’s interview. But if you’ve been paying attention, you already know it gets much worse.

And now, the part that pisses me off...

Now that Trump considers himself an "expert" on the coronavirus, because he's convinced himself that he's completely recovered, his advice has gone beyond depressingly and predictably wrong into a disgusting slap in the face to the people who've lost everything to his inept leadership. "Remember this: when you catch it, you get better, and then you're immune."

The picture above is the funeral service of Freddie Lee Brown Jr. and Freddie Lee Brown III., a father and son who died within three days of each other last spring during the first wave of the pandemic in America. In spite of the "young people are immune" narrative this administration perversely continues to push, Freddie III was only 20 years old when he left this world. They caught it. They most definitely did not "get better".

220,000 Americans are dead from the virus, but none of them are Trumps yet, so he can't be bothered to even mention them, let alone understand what their families have gone through.

A brief ray of “sunshine” in all of this

Trump's insistence that he and Biden do the next debate in person or not at all is promising to derail the remaining debate schedule entirely, the virtual debate format unanimously agreed to by the members of the Commission on Presidential Debates being completely unthinkable to a man who currently carries a deadly disease.

Frank Fahrenkopf, head of the Commission, answered the Trump protest with a shrug, indicating that he’s under no legal obligation to be the enabler for Trump’s worst possible impulses. “There is no law requiring any presidential candidate to debate. In fact, in 1980, Jimmy Carter, president of the United States, refused to participate in the first debate, but he did participate in the second debate. So it is up to every candidate to decide whether they want to debate or not.”

Later in the morning, the Trump team indicated their willingness to delay the second debate an extra week, provided that it’s an in-person format. Meanwhile, Biden’s team has scheduled a solo town hall appearance on the originally-announced night of the second debate.

Biden’s ability to appear both in sound and vision underlines an inconvenient truth in Trump’s medically-mandated nonexistent public schedule. While this morning’s incoherent phone ramble definitely qualifies as “proof-of-life”--and dear God, did it ever--Trump’s last on-camera appearance at that time was a pre-recorded statement on Monday night. The absence of visual evidence since then of a man who never met a camera he didn’t like filtered into the ongoing speculation about how well the President really is, and how deep the cover-up of his condition goes.

(edit: After I finalized this ridiculous post, it turned out Trump released a Twitter video in the early afternoon that, if anything, fed fresh fuel to the fire.)

The coronavirus is not your usual “October surprise”, but in revealing the measure of the commander-in-chief who has suddenly found himself as its target, it’s definitely playing the part of one.

First Lady Melania Trump, who did not join her husband at Walter Reed, continues to rest at the White House during her recovery.

No fresh cases of infection related to recent White House events have been reported since yesterday’s update. If new cases are announced, I’ll post the revised list later.

#Donald Trump #coronavirus #COVID-19

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Pinky and the Brain: A Pinky And the Brain Christmas Review or I Just Think Schotzie’s Neat

Christmas Continues on this blog... and getting away from one set of Christmas commissions and into another, I offered my friend Blahdiddy three commissions as a present. The other two we’ll get to eventually, but with Animaniacs on the brain, heh, due to the reboot, he selected two Pinky and the Brains and one Animaniacs for me to cover. And while I intended to cover this one sometime this month anyway, my friend’s recent and sad covid diagnosis meant i’m bumping this one all the way up to the front of the line so he has some christmas cheer during this rough time. So with that in mind let’s talk about pinky, pinky and the brain brain brain brain brain shall we? Of course we can’t really talk about pinky and the brain without talking about Animaniacs. I absolutely love the series, I grew up with it as a kid and reconnected with it as an adult when it ended up on netflix. It was smart, well animated and most importantly really fucking funny. I highly recommend checking both the original and reboot of it out some time if you have Hulu. Speaking of the reboot while I might go on in full about it at some point it’s pretty good, with some creatvie jokes, some nice updates, with Rita Anita Anrita being a great new addition to the warner side of things. It’s only real flaw is it gets a bit reptitious as for the most part there’s only really the warners and pinky and the brain with a few exceptions one of which DAMN well deserved at least two segments and we all know which one that is.

Bring.. this.. to series. The warners and pinky and the brain segments weren’t bad, but as is inevitible in a screwball comedy some just weren’t as good as others and those fell harder when you’ve already seen 2 or 3 better versions of this sort of skit in the season. They did really find their groove towards the end and if you like both Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain, or even just one or the other, it’s worth checking out. But enough about the reboot let’s talk about those labratory mice whose genes have been spliced. Thanks to wikipedia, I now know the duo were based on Eddie Fitzgerald and Tom Minton, who worked with Tom Rutgeter on Tiny Toon adventures, with menton being the one who came up with Narf, even saying it in one episode of Tiny Tunes. During the creation of animaniacs, Bruce Timm, yes THE Bruce Timm, sketched the two, and Ruetger added mouse ears and the rest was history. Maurice LaMarche was the one who added the Orson Welles to the character, as LaMarche saw the Orson Welles in Brain, ran with it and got the part and a long and storied career in voice acting as a result. In a nice and fitting bit of contrast, Rob Paulsen got the part.. because he was already on the show. Not to downplay Paulsen’s clear talent, I just find it hilarious.

That’s about what I could dig up on the behind the scenes of the show. From what I can tell it was greenlit because Animaniacs was a massive it, and Pinky and the Brain was the most popular segment, so it just made sense. The show would likewise be a massive sucess with both adults and kids, and go on for three seasons and what should legally be considered a war crime.

For those of you blissfully unaware yeah, that happened, no no one people actually LIKED from Tiny Toons was in it. And yeah if you want me to talk about it commission it otherwise not going near this one. While I do need to tackle more bad animation... I’ve successfully avoided watching an episode of this show for 22 years next wedsday, I’m not breaking the streak for free.

But some.. things aside I remembered liking the series as a kid but just never got around to seeking it out as an adult. I had nothing against the animaniacs segments and I even still have a stuffed brain doll I got at a garage sale.. the pinky is sadly missing and persumed dead. I just wasn’t as bit into it as I was the slappy bits rewatching animaniacs and didin’t really see reason to watch the show. Watching this though made me realize I was wrong and I probably watch more of it in the future This special is damn good, i’m pleased ot review it and to revive and old childhood memory. So with all the exposition out of the way let’s talk Pinky, PInky and the brain brain brain brain christmas edition after the cut.

This was indeed a special: while it was presumably produced with season one of the show and is packaged with it both on DVD and on Hulu, where I watched it, the special was aired in prime time and even put on it’s own VHS.. which I found out and of course, like with my review of the Darkwing Duck Pilot, had to use as the art for old VHS’ tapes for cartoons.. was really fucking beautiful and it’s a nice break from my traditional screencaps. So we open with a clever Christmas rendition of the theme, frequently sprinkling in bits of other christmas stuff, utterly fantastic. The intro animation is less impressive as it’s literally just the regular intro but with a stock snow effect over everything. In case you thought Ducktales doing that was a new thing. I do not blame the team however, as apparently they only had a week to get the scripts out, so I highly doubt warner was forking out more cash for the animation than they had to. They still forked out enough to make it LOOK really good mind you, something I wish they’d do more often with their DTV Movies but do do with their animated shows still with certain exceptions so good on them, i’m just saying they clearly cared more about money than having a memorable christmas opening. Given a budget to actually make one, i’m sure the animators would’ve come up with something lovely, and i’m sure the same is true of Ducktales and other shows and like i’ve said, i’m highly in favor of shows actuallly doing unique openings for the holidays, especially since Holiday episodes tend to get reaired every year as long as the show is in circulation on the network. Sometimes even if it isn’t. So it’s fully worth the effort to fork out a little extra for this as while you’ll most likely only use it once, you’ll be using the special for years. You can afford to treat yourself networks come on. It’s...

Just like Pinky, Elmyra and the Brain. But onto the episode itself after 80 years. We find Pinky writing his Christmas list to santa, complete with Narf, a gag I like. As usual for a comedy show, I will try to gloss over as much of the gags as possible, to avoid repetttion but yeah this episode is really damn funny and reminded me just how good these characters are. Maurice and Rob just have perfect chemistry. It’s like Tom and Jerry: It’s a very simple premise, that one being “Cat chases mouse and Mouse beats shit out of mouse”, and pinky and the brain of course being “Super genuis mouse and dimwitted but loveable sidekick try and takeover the world eveyr night”. But a simple premise can be used just about anywhere and adapated for anything. To me a cartoon’s premise only has to be as complicated as it needs to be to work. Sometimes you have a vast complex tapestry behind the world like She Ra, Steven Universe or Avatar with lots of planning and ins and outs and deep character stuff.. and sometimes you just have two mice who get into shenanigans because one is a would be dictator who sounds like orson welles and the other’s a loveable british weirdo/moron. Sometimes simple just works.

Anyways, Brain, noticing Pinky’s distracted and replaces himself with a horrifying poorly made doll of himself called Noodle Noggin, which is both an excellent name and not the only time they’d use the name either, as there was an animaniacs short about Brain making himself a fad to endear himself to the children of the future with the same name. It’s just an inherently funny set of words, but also shows Brain’s genius in a subtle and clever way as he never spells it out, but despite sounding kind of ridiculous for such a buttoned up intellectual like brain... he knows that’s the kind of name kids will eat up. His schemes may often fail, but he’s an objectively brilliant schemer and i’ts often either PInky’s incompetence or his own miscalculation of humanity, either over or underestimating them, that undoes Brain. Back to the plot, so Brain’s plan is to distribute noodle noggins around the world, make it the hot new toy, and as always, take over the world. Problem is naturally two Mice simply don’t have the resources to make the billions of dolls. But PInky stumbles upon the solution in the paper: a want ad for elves! Everything about that sentence except “pinky stumbles upon the solution” has not aged paticuarlly well, but point is they have a plan and we have our christmas special. This does bring me to my one problem with the special.. Brain’s weird inconsistency towards Santa. What I mean is he spends the portion doubting Santa can do anything he’s claimed to despite being proven frequently he can. That part is not all that annoying as it’s in character with him and while yes, he is a talking mouse, he’s also a man of science and reason and Santa is the opposite of that. That would be fine... IF it wasn’t for the fact that said magical bollocks weren’t constantly part of his plans. Despite Brain constantly throughought the special doubting Santa... his plans FREQUENTLY rely on everything we’ve heard about him being right. His initial plan here ENTIRELY runs on the fact Santa has a massive workforce to make the toys yet even if that’s true by Brain’s own logic, he wouldn’t be able to deliver them. Later when the boys need to escape, They hide with the Reindeer despite Brain just saying santa can’t be everywhere in one night.. which if he can’t then the odds are slim he’ll wind up at Acme Labs isn’t it? It would be fine if the special acknowledged any of this outside of one bit we’ll get to, but other than that one bit.. they don’t. IT’s just really frustrating and really sticks out since the rest of the special is perfection, so this one failing bit really grates. That being said, it dosen’t last long enough to really drag the episode down as a whole, just to annoy me a bit every so often. It speaks to the episodes quality that the bad part ONLY drags so much because everything else is so well put together. So our boys head to the north pole with the help of a kooky pilot and a santa dummy, this pilot is voiced by Tress MacNeile and is easily one of the best parts of the special. And naturally given their luck, she asks them to take the wheel so the plane instead jerks and causes them to fall out. Luckily they end up near Santa’s workshop and soon apply for temp work with local head of things and gruff type Shotzie, played by Jeff Bennett. And yes that is his name. I like Shotzie: he’s a goateed elf and Bennett just plays him well.. hard to explain honestly I may just like his name and Bennett’s voice for him, one he used before in animanaics for various bit parts and in shows after this, it’s just a voice i’ve always liked.

They get put to work in the mail room, which is the bit I mentioned: Brain earlier scoffed at Santa answering all the letters with Pinky simply suggesting that Santa had his elves go through all of them. Turns out Pinky was right... while he may be a BIT stupid, one intresting thing i’ve found about Pinky after watching the reboot that ironically the friend who comissioned this and I discussed is that he’s not ENTIRELY stupid, it’s just , much like Dan from Dan Vs his knowledge is just random.. he can not know how a lot of things work, but sometimes like in this instance Pinky generally just GETS something. It’s part of why he and Brain are such a good team despite their failures: Brain is all about planning and thought and research, Pinky is about intuition and gut instinct. He just does things and it often works out. This also makes their recently added backstories all the more brilliant as they explain this well: Pinky started life just being told to find the diffrence in cheeses and thus was taught form childhood to trust in himself and his weird brain. Brain was cruelly torturued with an experiment on learned behaviors via electroshock, and was taught to never give up control again, to always know what’s going on and to always control it. It perfectly sums up who the two are and why they are that way. Brain however quickly pivots, as the mail room ends up being the perfect location to start his plans. Since their job is to file away what each person wants Brain simply adds Noodle Noggin to it and plans to put his plans into the workshop. While Santa and Schotzie are suprised and baffled, Santa quickly adds it to the list. However things hit a snag when Schotzie gets supscious when the two try to sneak into the blueprint room to drop theirs off and he accidently yanks off their disguises leading to a REALLY fun chase scene, as the boys end up in a toy wherehouse and thus try out various toy cars: a barbie dream car that dosen’t have a working motor, a toy truck that dosen’t go very fast, and finally an rc car that while fast naturally just means Schotzie can grab it and capture them. It’s easily my faviorite scene of the episode just for how clever it is and as someone whow as a kid around the time this came out, I applaud the accuracy.. granted I didn’t have any of those personally but I had lots of friends so yeah.

So our heroes are interrogated.. and again Brain brilliantly pivots. Schotzie assumes since they have the blueprints their spies for the easter bunny or the tooth fairy or Herschel, the Hanukah Goblin. Why Herschel never got his own Hannukah special trying to stop Pinky and the Brain from using it to take over the world, I genuinely do not know and that’s something the reboot really needs to adress in the future. Seriously Hannukah needs a mascot and it’s either Herschel or the Hannukah Zombie. Kwanza already has Kwanzabot. I want to see more of Herschel the Hannukah Goblin dammit!. I love goblins. Especially this one.

And this one

And most of all this one

I likes goblins. It’s a thing. So anyway, point is Schotize has the blueprints taken in while our boys slip out and sucessfully make their way outside, though they have to find a way home to turn on the mind control device. They see Santa and brain being a dick refuses to let pinky hand in his letter.. but does as mentioned earlier have them pose as reindeer. So our heroes make their way home and in time to be able to activate the device once santa’s route’s finished!

And.. then land directly on the mind control device thing, meaning they now have to scramble to repair it. Oh and Pinky is inconsolable after realizing Santa didn’t get his letter and Brain is a HUGE dick about it. Easily the worst i’ve seen him just far more focused on his machine than his friend’s wel lbeing especially since ALL he needs from pinky is for him to throw one lousy switch.

But we then get easily the best part of the entire special. As Brain scrambles to rebuild his device while abusing his best friend we get a really nice tense sequence as Brain rebuilds while kids all over the world warmly receive noodle noggin. I mean.. it’s not the creepiest doll I’ve seen a kid enjoy.

Also Bill Clinton gets one because the series apparently really likes “Bill Clinton is stupid jokes” Oh you poor innocent dears who haven’t had to suffer through the president being revealed to be a sexual predator, the one after him being even dumber if not a predator, the one after that being easily one of the best people around, and the outgoing one being a waking nightmare whose both a preadator and dumb beyond all comprehension ina dangerous and soul crushing way.

But yeah onto the good part, Brain, for whatever reason, reads the letter.. and finds Pinky asked for nothing. He just wanted to give Brain the world at long last, recognizing his friend really and genuinely means well for it and that he’s worked hard to conquer it. And with that goal in reach, with the very thing he’s always wanted his... Brain instead uses the device to wish a merry christmas. He sees through his friend’s kindess and selflessness that he himself.. has been selfish once again turning something into a world destroying plot and being cruel to his best friend... when all his best friend wanted was to selflessly make sure he finally got what he wanted. It’s then that Brain, for all his cold and cynical logic and superiority complex, realized the true meaning of christmas, which i’ve said before and i’ll say again: it’s about giving, about giving someone something with your heart and soul just to be nice with no expectation of something in return. It’s about being selfless for once instead of selfish. I’ts about love. And Brain loves his friend too much to destroy his faviorite holiday. For once the world can wait.. and for once they all join in saying merry christmas to one another and in love and camradire. And I know not everyone celebrates christmas, there are other winter holidays and not everyone in the world would willingly do this. I know all that.. but the special has such a well meaning message, I really can’t be mad at that or get into the weeds too much> This isn’t some jackass making an entire movie, of which there have been several, saying “There’s a war on christmas” which instead equates to them just bitching about not everyone celebrating HIS holiday. It’s about a mouse for one moment truly being selfless and putting ihs loyal and faithful friend over his greatest want to give him a nice christmas and to do something nice for the world instead of trying to take it. And that.. that’s really damn heartmelting. So we end on the two exchanging presents, with it being a little extra heartwarming as Brain likely already got Pinky something meaning even before his big revelation, he really does care beneath all the dope slaps. Pinky got him a keychain of the world and rather than be frustrated like you’d think.. Brain just takes it in stride. It is christmas after all.. the world.. it can wait. For now it’s just the two of them having one moment in time, this merry christmas. Final Thoughts: If it wasn’t obvious, I loved this freaking special. It’s funny, clever and has one hell of an ending. There isn’t much more to say other than go watch it if you have Hulu.. you will not regret it and a sepcial thanks to Blah for comissioning this. it was an amazing time and is now a competitor for a spot on my best christmas special list. For now though it’s just really good and I say go check it out. Merry christmas, happy holidays and later days.

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #warner brothers #pinky #the brain #santa claus #christmas #blahdiddy #christmas specials #reviews #animation #kids wb

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huds-hub · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; MUN & MUSE - MEME

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

Stolen from @mrfunnybone. Since this meme has a bias for canon muses, I’m tagging two of my favorite canon writers that I know didn’t fill this out yet: @soulcoerced and @spearslinger (I wonder if a fellow Undyne RPer has a different take on some of these questions? ^^;;). For everyone else, feel free to steal it and tag me if you do! I’m curious to see how OC muns answer some of these questions...

MY MUSE IS: CANON / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [[ The adult version of my muse is canon, but her teenage equivalent is not present anywhere in Undertale / Deltarune. So, uh… canon but kind of complicated I guess??? I like describing my muse as canon-wise. My Deltarune fishies are undoubtedly AUs at most, canon-divergent at least. ]]

[[ Mun’s note: I’m going to cheat on this. For the next 8 questions, I’ll answer for both Undyne as my teen muse AND regular adult canon Undertale Undyne. My thoughts on her counts as something, right? My muse is based on canon! ]]

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK [[ Undyne’s character to the rest of the fandom is unpopular (compared to Sans, Chara, Gaster, etc…). It’s a shame, because her dialogue portraits alone would make great meme fodder. HOWEVER, among Undyne fans, I notice there’s an interest in depicting her early years because she’s one of the few cast members who’s had their childhood explicitly mentioned. ]]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK [[ She’d better not be, because my muse is a C H I L D. As far as I’ve seen, canon adult Undyne is depicted more often as a ‘badass’ than a ‘sexy fish.’ ]]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK [[ Younger Undyne is definitely interpreted to be a determined, tough kid. Of course it’s the same for adult canon Undyne. It’s basically her most distinct character trait. ]]

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK [[ Lordy, Undyne as a whole is entirely underrated by the fandom... ]]

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO [[ OMG... you’re gonna get me started. I’m marking ‘no’ on this question because this is supposed to be about my aged-down muse. But Undyne... sweet violent Undyne’s very important to Undertale’s story! *fangirling START* Besides being the mid-point antagonist in the game, Undyne adds a layer of the theme of DETERMINATION to the game and how it can manifest in monsters if their bodies are strong enough to handle it. In an allegorical sense, she represents extremism in reaction to oppression and how that passion can take on the form of extreme love or extreme hatred depending on circumstance. So HELL YEAH she’s important to the main story of the game! AAAHILoveThisFish!! *fangirling END* ]]

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [[ Same as the previous answer for my teen Undyne: begrudgingly marking this with a ‘no’... It’s a YES for canon Undyne. In all routes, original game’s Undyne is the first character who is purposefully trying to kill the Player. Players can’t get the best ending without helping her hook up with Alphys and not incurring her wrath by killing any monster. In the worst ending, she’s one of the two antagonists that put up enough of a fight to make any player abort the Genocide Route. ]]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO [[ My muse WANTS to be significant to her world. In the original game, Undyne’s only mentioned by others in Snowdin and Waterfall (not counting Alphys in Hotland). She’s described as a “local hero” by Gerson. I get a sense she’s not exactly famous to the people in the entire Underground compared to, say, Mettaton. ]]

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL [[ Oof. Pretty sure my teen fish annoys the residence of Waterfall for being a loud-mouthed little scamp. The only reason she’s not considered ‘bad’ is because it’s pent-up energy and misguidedness, not flat-out cruelty. In canon, it seems like the people who talk about Undyne do it in either a positive or neutral light. You have Monster Kid, Papyrus, and Onionsan singing her praises. The Royal Guard members respect her. Asgore thought of her well enough to have her lead his military. Uhh, for a neutral instance, I remember an NPC in Snowdin saying she’s “loud, rude, and beats up anybody who gets in her way” (I don’t remember the exact quote). To weigh this more on the side of my muse, I’ll mark this answer as ‘neutral.’ ]]

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON? [[ Since I have an aged-down character, canon is literally my END GOAL! I gave her a “starting point” on her journey to the determined, dedicated, and excitable warrior fish we all know and love from the game. I filled in the gaps from there, using parts of her past mentioned in the game to glue the headcanons together. Deciding what she was like when she was younger – What’s her family background? What aspects about her changed as she matures? What internal and external conflicts would she deal with as a teen? – THAT’S the non-canon part. My Deltarune AUs are… different. Canon is my end goal too, but the timelines are all wonky to fit the needs of wanting to interact with the Fun Gang. LOL ]]

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS. [[ This kid is spunky, loyal, compassionate of the plight of her people, and will see through anything she sets her mind to, despite life’s barriers. She’s got a lot of pent-up energy and is searching for what she can do with it to help her achieve her goal of setting Monsterkind free! ]]

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?). [[ The teen fishy has a streak of selfishness and short-sightedness. Being honest, Undyne would be a racial supremacist if she existed in real life. Big yikes. Also, she’s willingly being trained as a child soldier. Another big yikes right there. ]]

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE? [[ Ages ago, I RPed the adult version of Undyne, which resulted in a bunch of headcanons for her past. I had no desire to RP any of them after it ended. A year later, I commissioned an artist for a Gerson vs. teen Undyne piece. That single-handedly made me want to get back into RPing again. ]]

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? [[ My fellow RPers wanting to interact with this silly fishy! When I first started, I expected my interest to peter out over the months. I didn’t expect many RPers wanting to interact with an aged-down character. But here I am, wanting to expand my headcanons further and making AUs so I’m not limited to canon. ^^ It’s all thanks to you guys!! ]]

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO?

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [[ I should do it more often TBH. But I find showing them via story-telling more fulfilling than just explicitly explaining them in posts. Plus, it gives me more leeway if I’m still playing around with an idea. ;) ]]

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [[ I’m not counting the three pending drabbles until I finish them. ^^;; ]]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO [[ She finds a way to bother me! Usually in the form of sudden inspiration for how to respond to RPs. ]]

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [[ Sometimes I wonder if I forgot some aspect about Undyne that’s in canon, or unintentionally exaggerating other less-important aspects of her other characteristics… ]]

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO / SORT OF? [[ Generally, yes. But I do have my days when I suffer from low self-confidence. ]]

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / SORT OF? [[ It depends on what’s meant by that. I’m sensitive to other people’s feelings, so I don’t intend to sound rude OOC, even if I’m expressing something negative about something I think the other did. If this is referring to being sensitive about events in RPs… my sensitivity is equivalent to that of being invested in any work of fiction. I know it’s not reality. I can pull away from the fictional world and it won’t bring down my real life. ]]

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL? [[ If it’s given in good faith and is constructive, sure. ]]

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER? [[ Hell yeah, give them to me! ]]

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? [[ It depends if they want to tell me. I don’t mind either way. Personally, I like hearing other people’s interpretations! ]]

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT? [[ *shrug* It doesn’t matter as long as they don’t harass me. ]]

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT? [[ I’d just ignore it. They don’t need to interact or follow me. If my muse really is a bother to them, they can block my account. ]]

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS? [[ I hope my grammar’s good enough, or else my English degree studies went to waste! But yeah, sure. Fun fact: explaining grammar rules so people can avoid major errors in the future is more helpful than nit-picking insignificant errors without explanations. ]]

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN? [[ As long as fellow RPers aren’t being rude OOC, don’t break any serious rules, or do something that I mention are personal triggers to me, I am easy-going! RPing is fun and it should stay that way for everybody involved! ]]

#mun monday #ooc #long post #yikes that took me a week to finish writing #but it was fun #this post was such a pain to format

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thetravelerwrites · 6 years ago

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To Lose, To Gain (Ebert and Reverence)

Rating: Orange Relationship: Human Male/Fem-Intersex Tiefling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Intersex, Third Person Perspective, Orange, Hurt/Comfort Content Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, Children, Anxiety, Bodily Injury, Blood Words: 3574

Another commission for @ocsmutpocalypse. As Reverence prepares to give birth to Ebert's child in the aftermath of an assassination attempt, Ebert questions both the very idea of having a child of his own and the merit of staying in the village with a price on his head.

The Traveler's Masterlist

Ebert exhaled heavily with frustration. “Mrs. Tomlin, you have to take the medicine I gave you. Making tea with daffodils is not going to cure your gastrointestinal problems.”

“What do you know, Mr. Big-City Doctor Man?” The skinny elderly woman snapped. “I’ve had tummy troubles all my life. Me Ma gave me this tea when I was a sprout every time I got a stomach-ache. It’s the only thing that soothes me and I’ve been drinking it for years. Explain that!”

“The tea is why you have gastrointestinal problems!” Ebert snapped back at her. “Daffodils are toxic! You’re lucky to have survived this long, you stupid old skinbag!”

“I’m twice your age, boy!” She squawked, swinging a walking stick at him. “I don’t need your sass!”

“You called me to treat you,” Ebert said, throwing things in to his medical bag. “If you’re not going to listen, then do me a favor and don’t call on me next time you’ve got a problem. Just drop dead and save me the walk.”

He exited her house and slammed the door behind him, huffing, as she was still shouting abuse from the inside. He hobbled as quickly as he could back to his isolated hut in the woods.

As he was shuffling, a neighbor called out, likely for more medical advice that wouldn’t be heeded.

“Is someone dying?” Ebert asked petulantly.

“Well, no,” The villager said.

“Then it can wait,” Ebert replied darkly, and continued on his way.

It had been about three or so months since Rings and Reverence had convinced him to be more active in the village. Most nights he stayed in Reverence’s house, sometimes with Rings and sometimes without. Rings was her own person and liked to do her own thing.

He still maintained his little cottage just outside the village, where he could keep all his medicinal and magecraft supplies safe and away from prying eyes and grasping fingers. He also used it, as pitiful as it sounded, to escape.

When he had first laid with Reverence, she was determined to become pregnant. She’d succeeded. The tiefling gestational period was extremely fast, even for half-breeds, and Reverence was due to give birth in just another week or two. Ebert hated to admit he’d been avoiding her, but his impending fatherhood scared the living daylights out of him.

He was barely into his twenties, but he never had any intention of marrying or fathering children. His own experiences with his family had turned him off to the thought. But Reverence had a way of getting what she wanted, so there was a baby on the way that would share his blood. His foolish, arrogant, misguided, depraved blood. Gods, this was a bad idea.

He got to the hut and opened the door. He half expected to see Buttons, but she was back at Reverence’s house, in her own fluffy bed and happily chasing the mice about. He took down the herbs he’d put up for drying the week before and made annotations in his journal about either making a spearmint and lime zest tea and telling her it was daffodils so she’d actually get better, or just not treating Mrs. Tomlin anymore. He couldn’t decide which would be less work, since he’d likely catch hell from Reverence if the old bat died.

He missed Rings. She would have made Mrs. Tomlin sit down and take her meds. But Rings was away hunting down intruders. As Ebert was a wanted man with quite the bounty on his head, there was no shortage of assassins willing to take up the job with no qualms about endangering the lives of an entire village.

Two such fellows had crashed into the village, demanding that Ebert show himself. One of the would-be killers was cut down almost immediately by the temple guards, and the second ran with Rings on his heels. She’d been gone about a week and had written back that her quarry had holed up in a cave. She was going to wait him out after having a bit of fun with him first. She was a cat, after all, and did like to toy with her victims.

Reverence had tried to put his mind at ease about the assassination attempt, telling him that the village had its protections and they all looked out for each other, but that had only exacerbated his anxiety and paranoia. It wasn’t just himself anymore. It wasn’t just his own well-being that was on the line. There was now an entire town of people, the two women he loved best, and a child of his own flesh and blood that were going to be caught in the crossfire of future attempts on his life.

Shit. Staying out of the village from the start would have been better for everyone.

At that moment, the window exploded inward and something sharp pierced his shoulder. He yelled in surprise and flung a fire spell reflexively out of the window, catching the drapes as it passed through the jagged hole in the glass.

“Fuck!” He shouted, pulling the drapes down and dowsing them in a bucket of rainwater from the leaky roof. He grabbed his short sword and flung open the door, screaming, “Show yourselves, you fucking cowards!” He flung another ball of fire without looking, and heard a group of kids shriek. They shot out of the places they were hiding and high-tailed it down the trail back to the village. You recognized one or two of them as Reverence’s many children.

Damn it, Ebert thought to himself, trying to calm his breath. He was so jumpy that he nearly set a bunch of kids on fire and burned down his hut. Some father I’ll make, he thought to himself. Not only were people out to hurt him, but he was as much a danger to himself and everyone around him as the assassins.

“I can’t do this,” Ebert said, laying his cane against the table, sitting down heavily, and letting his head fall into his hands. “I can’t be a father. I can’t stay here. They’ve found me. More will come. Everyone here is at risk if I stay.”

His heart rate had not slowed. If anything, it was intensifying to the point where he could feel it in every corner of his body. His mind began to dart back and forth between what had happened, what could happen, and what needed to happen. He couldn’t pin down his thoughts, and it increased his anxiety the longer he sat there. He could still feel the sharp thing in his shoulder, but couldn’t reach it to pull it out.

He stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, and began throwing things into a travel bag frenetically.

“Have to go,” Ebert muttered, stumbling around the hut and grabbing things, trying to stuff it all into the bag, growing more and more frustrated as the bag filled and wouldn’t close. The frustration grew to anger and he pounded the table with is fist so hard that he threw himself off-balance and landed in a corner, hitting his head.

Terrified, angry, and paranoid, he wept, hitting the back of his head against the wood of the the ramshackle cottage in a desperate attempt to focus his swirling, shifting, reaching brain, to no avail.

He just sat there and wept.

Reverence had just come out from a inspection of the Temple while the evening was still high. With all the… fluids… that get sprayed around the place, a regular cleaning was necessary. Twice weekly was the minimum, and Reverence always oversaw the maintenance and upkeep herself. It was a temple, after all. Fysy deserved a temple worthy of her splendor and purity, and the best way to insure it was to maintain it properly. That duty, among many, fell squarely on Reverence’s shoulders. Being pregnant was no reason to shirk her duties. This was her fourteenth child, after all, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t have experience in working around her precious cargo.

She touched her belly fondly. Fysy had given her certain special gifts, especially when it came to conception and birth. She always knew who was pregnant, even before they did. She knew which of the women were looking to get pregnant, and often paired them with the man best suited to give them the child they wanted. She knew the best time for a person to get pregnant, including herself, and could pinpoint the day the child would be born, and even the gender of the infant, including if they were agender, intersex, or nonbinary. She knew her own child, a son, would be born in four days time, sometime in the afternoon. Even though she knew when it was coming, the wait was always hard.

As she was inspecting the cut on the topiary, the shine on the statues, and the cleanliness of the guards’ armor, Reverence’s attention was caught by seven children, all similar in age, running from the woods as if the devil were on their heels. She saw two of her sons running among the herd.

“Herit! Kiata!” She called, and both boys slowed. One looked very much like his mother, with no eyes on his face but on the antlers growing above his head. The other boy looked more human, except that his feet were hooves and his eyes were the same shade as Reverence’s skin.

“Mama! Mama!” They called.

“What is it, dear ones?” She asked, holding out her arms to them. “What’s wrong?”

“The grumpy doctor man almost set us on fire!” Kiata exclaimed, showing her the singed fur on his tail.

“I see,” Reverence said, folding her arms. “And what exactly did you to do to make him set you on fire?”

“Nothing!” Kiata said petulantly.

Reverence looked at her other son. “Herit?”

Herit kicked his hoof and didn’t meet his mother’s eye. “Well… we kind of… threw a rock through his window?”

“Why would you do something like that?” She asked him in irritation.

“Because he’s weird!” Kiata said. “He always yells at us when we play, saying we’re making too much noise when he’s working!”

“I’ve told you, he’s very sensitive!” Reverence said, boxing the little boy’s ear. “He’s been through a lot of terrible things, Kiata! He’s afraid and worried! Remember that pet rabbit you had that was always scared and skittish, and you didn’t realize why until the fox got him one night? Our ‘grumpy doctor man’ is just like that little rabbit. There are foxes looking for him, and all you’ve done is made him more scared and skittish.”

Kiata dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” she said, releasing him. “I’m going to go up and talk to him and tomorrow you’ll give him a proper apology, you and your friends. Now, Kiata, get home to your mother. Herit, your father has been looking for you. I suggest the both of you tell your parents what you’ve done and stay home the rest of the day. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mama,” They said in unison.

“Good. Go.”

The two took off to their respective homes, and Reverence sighed. She could only imagine the state Ebert was in right now. She stretched, cracking her back, and started up the trail to the cottage.

When the cottage came into view, there were indeed some singed spots on the ground and a broken window. She sighed. This was going to require more than a contrite apology.

She knocked on the door. “Ebert?”

“Go away!” He responded.

“Ebert, let me in,” She said.

“Who is it?!” He asked.

“The mother of your child,” She called back calmly.

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” He shrieked.

She sighed an folded her arms across her chest. “I can let myself in, you know. I knocked out of courtesy.”

“Then let yourself in!”

She uncrossed her arms and flicked the door with her middle finger, which made the bolt move out of place with a clunk! She pushed the door open to find him crouching in a corner, facing the wall, his arms covering his head in a defensive posture.

“Ebert, love,” She said, coming to kneel next to him without touching. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

“I’m not safe!” He said. “Could you just pull the arrow out?”

She frowned, her many eyes searching him. “Arrow?”

“Something came through the window and pierced me. It’s in my shoulder. It hurts like a son of a bitch. Pull it out, will you?”

Her search of him revealed no arrow, but there was a sizeable shard of glass from the window lodged in his back. She grasped it and pulled it out, after which blood began to pour freely over his muslin shirt.

“Oh dear,” She said, tugging at his shirt. “Remove your shirt, if you please.”

“Reverence, I’m really not in the mood for that right now,” He said, trying to reach the wound himself.

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” She replied patiently, showing him the shard of glass. “You’re bleeding rather badly. I’m afraid you need stitches.”

“What do you know of medical care?” He asked her curiously.

“Who do you think did it all before you came here, sir?” She asked sniffily as she carefully helped him pull the shirt off and directed him to lie face down on the bed, which hadn’t been slept in in some time.

“Are you saying you did?” He asked a little incredulous.

“You think my only duties are love-making and creating children for Fysy’s glory?”

“Isn’t it?”

She popped his behind, making him jump. “Of course not. Priestess is a parent term for all sorts of little jobs we have to do. We’re doctors, counselors, handmaids, mediators, justice of the peace, and so on. ‘Priestess’ is just another word for a person who has far too much to do and not enough hours in the day.”

“Am I a priestess, then?” He joked.

“You don’t have the patience,” She said snidely.

“I’m a doctor,” he protested.

“My point exactly,” she retorted.

He huffed a laugh. “Strange. I used to do my damnedest to stay far away from religious types.”

“Strange indeed,” She said, swabbing the cut with an antibacterial salve. “Since one of the women you love is a religious type.” She paused. “Unless your feelings on that matter has changed?”

He looked back at her, frowning. “No, Reverence, of course not. You know I love you. That’s not changed.”

She chuckled. “Just making sure.”

Stitching him up took no time at all, but there was no way to salvage his shirt, so she threw it in the fire, which caused Ebert to make a choking sound, and pulled another out of the drawer while he sat up, gingerly putting weight on the injured side.

This was the first time he was able to see her belly clearly. His chest tightened with anxiety and his stomach clenched.

Having a dozen eyes had its benefits, so she could see his obvious discomfort at the sight of her heavily pregnant self.

“You’ve been avoiding me since I started showing,” she said simply, turning him to clean his shoulder properly and apply a bandage. “And you’ve delivered over half a dozen children since you’ve been living here. It shouldn’t shock you to see another pregnant woman.”

“The others weren’t carrying my kid,” He said, gulping.

She helped him put the new shirt back on and looked at him shrewdly. “Does the idea of fatherhood scare you that badly?”

He sighed. “I’ve told you, Reverence. A person like me isn’t… designed to be a father. You said it yourself: I don’t have the patience. To be honest, none of my family should have had children. Our line should have ended eons ago. I shouldn’t even exist. The fact that I, as someone who shouldn’t exist, has created a progeny, a further life that shouldn’t exist, is…” He gripped his already disheveled hair in frustration. “It’s distressing.”

“I’ve already told you that your involvement is not required, if that is what’s troubling you,” She said. “I have decided to raise this child alone. Before you came here, whenever I became pregnant, or impregnated another, I chose parents I knew would be willing to do the bulk of the child-rearing themselves so that I may continue my work as a priestess unhindered, but when I conceived with you, I knew the circumstances would be different, and I was content with that. I thought I made that clear to you.”

“That’s not the problem,” He replied, shaking his head.

“Then what is, my dear?” She took his face in her hands. “What has you looking so burdened?”

He stared at her eye-less face with disbelief. “Does it not bother you that hired killers came into this village, looking to kill me and not worried about who they might hurt in order to do so? Do you not think they might also seek to harm anyone I hold precious to me? Anyone with even a small connection to me is in great peril. Every person in this town is in danger if I stay! They’re in danger if I go! Any person who comes into contact with me has reason to fear for their lives!” He jumped off the bed and started pacing. “You are the leader of this community. Doesn’t the fact that I’m an outcast with a bounty on my head bother you at all?”

To his absolute fury, Reverence began to snicker.

“Really, I can’t imagine what’s so funny about this,” He said with agitation.

“Oh, I can,” She said. “You think I don’t have a price on my head? Do you have any idea how many people in this village are wanted persons for one reason or another?”

This shocked him into silence. “Are you… are you serious?”

She nodded, a smirk on her face. “Ebert, you are living in a village of outcasts. The worship of Fysy is illegal in my native country, which is why I fled and came here. The religious leader before me was a thief in his former life. Mrs. Tomlin, the stubborn woman who drinks daffodil tea, used to embezzle money from rich men while posing as a maid. We all have similar stories, all of which you’d know, if you’d bothered to get to know anyone here.”

“So…” Ebert said, trying to understand. “You just let any old criminal into this village with no thought to the consequences?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Necromancer,” Reverence said, and Ebert blanched. “Oh yes, don’t think I wasn’t aware of that. Having so many eyes allows me to see the truth of a person. I have a standard, of course; I don’t allow abusers or rapists or killers into our midst. We have enough trouble from the outside world to worry about without bringing trouble into the community. No one violent or depraved is allowed within our walls.”

“We don’t have walls,” Ebert said weakly.

“You know what I mean,” Reverence said wryly. “We have all made mistakes, Ebert. We are all misfits. And the best place for misfits is with other misfits.” She kissed him. “That’s why I’m not worried. We all come with danger. We all come with a past. It changes nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?” He asked. For the very first time, he reached out and touched her stomach with his fingertips.

“No,” She said. “Nothing at all. We will live as we always have, looking out for each other. And you are one of us now. And so is your son.”

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. “…son?”

“Yes,” She said with a smile. “By the way, you’ll need to make yourself available four afternoons from now.”

The birth was easy enough. Ebert had been staying with Reverence, and therefore was present when she went into labor. She informed him that her water broke as if commenting on a passing bird. Stuffing down his panic, he helped her to deliver a tiny but healthy baby boy, just as she had said.

Reverence delivered the baby into her own hands while Ebert helped her push the little thing out. Ebert then helped her clean him and wrap him in a small blanket. She offered to let him hold the boy, but Ebert didn’t think he was ready for that just yet. Buttons jumped up, sniffed the baby’s head, and wandered off indifferently.

“What would you have us name him?” Reverence asked.

“Oh gods,” Ebert said. “I hadn’t even given it a thought.”

“Can you think of nothing?” She asked. “I’ve either ‘fathered’ or given birth to twenty-two children before this one, and I’ve named them all. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“Well…” Ebert said thoughtfully. “I did have an uncle named Ethrik. He was the only person in my family that I didn’t have an immense contempt for. In fact, I could even say he was the only decent man in my family I ever knew.”

“Ethrik, then,” Reverence said. “Little Ethrik.”

Rings returned a week after the birth, and showed about as much interest as Buttons had. You were happy to have her back.

“Got him?” You asked her.

“Got him,” She said triumphantly. “Actually, it’s got me thinking: I know you just had a kid and all, but how would you feel about traveling with me for a while?”

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