#and the guy who actually wants to do something is (through the lens of the narrative) unequivocally wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mr-cha-n · 11 days ago

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Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude.

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting.

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital voice. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for.

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it.

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Best regards, The Editorial Team Opus Magazine"

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes.

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.��

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button.

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision.

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Best, Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car.

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here.

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation.

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment.

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion.

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore.

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door.

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect.

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame.

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye.

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air.

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens.

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet.

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors. It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm.

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation.

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you.

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it.

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out.

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him.

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning.

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink.

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag.

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were.

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words.

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease.

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear.

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning.

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

“It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward. But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far.

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera.

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding.

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly.

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster.

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else.

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly.

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts.

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that.

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still.

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants.

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?"

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him.

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves.

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question.

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air.

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure.

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight.

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor.

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours.

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips.

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter.

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you.

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out.

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more.

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him.

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him.

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

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astrobydalia · 3 months ago

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Numerology observations

I've genuinely learned a lot from @novy2sirius when it comes to numerology so much so that it has helped me make so much sense out of many experience in my life. Therefore I wanted to share some numerology observations with all of you.

astrobydalia

People with 9 energy are so deceitful, they are easily seen as innocent. On the contrary people can see 9s as someone pretty suspicious because they have an air of mystery to them and are the kind of person who you think you know but actually you don't like at all. They always hide the most BIZARRE shit, I'm telling you their life is SO weird. This is how I see 9 people tbh lmao

I've never met a 11 life path person that was emotionally okay, but the weird thing is that they tend to want to lie to themselves and pretend they are okay all the time. All the ones that've met had diagnosed depression and spent big chunks of their lives in very VERY low lows like it's truly hard to watch. Also, random note but I've seen that they are secretly very resentful too and have a hard time letting go of things and moving on. Most of the 11 people I've met had Earth Moon or strong Saturn influence in their moon

Also, I met a 11 guy once who would often say "I have no doubt in my mind that I will be famous" lol (11 is rated to fame)

22 is a more chill number. I've seen more developed 22s than developed 11s. 22 people are very mature and level-headed, tend to have very balanced mindset for most things. However they tend to think they're the only ones who know best, they give good advice but suck at taking any.

So one of the things Novy said is that the date you meet someone in will be a significant energy in the relationship you have with them. Every person I've met on a 5 day are people I travel a lot with or people I've had long-distance relationships with (5 is related travel)

I don't have much experience with 2 energy but from what I've seen it is pretty mellow energy. The people with 2 energy are pretty harmless individuals even when they have other intense energies going on

I get along with 7 life path people cause I'm a 5 but something I've noticed about these people is that they really do struggle making genuine connections "from the heart" if that makes sense. They always rationalize getting in and out of a relationship giving more importance to practical/beneficial reasons rather than emotional ones. When they do try to follow their heart they fail miserably cause they confuse making decisions from their heart with total recklessness

Life path 1 people are so.... immature. And have very obvious anger issues. They have the patience and emotional regulation of a toddler, really do embody the Aries stereotype. At their worst they can be pretty intolerant towards other's pov. Yeah life path 1 is very passionate and driven and all and I do get along with them but I also tend to keep at arms length a little cause they're energy is very chaotic and destructive tbh

Let me tell you too that unhealthy life path 1 people are one of the most CRUEL and mean people I've ever seen like... it's giving blood lust (not literally but you know what I mean)

Life path 6 can indeed be caring and generous but I've met a lot of them who are actually very selfish, greedy and materialistic. It's like they see life mostly through the lens of material gain. They literally remind me of this clip fr.

I have good experience with 6 people tho. My manager for example is a 6 life path and I literally don't know what I'd do without him, he's so patient, always there when I need him and is always on my side even when I mess up. 6 people are also very good at setting healthy boundaries too

A lot of the life path 6 I've met had taurus placements or where earth doms astrologically

The number I struggle getting along with the most is 4 tbh. They are huge party poppers even when they're healthy and have more need for control than 8s imo. A lot of 4 people I know are the type to rain on your parade for no reason in the name of being "realistic" but really they're just being bitter imo. I know 4 people have a hard life but I've noticed they tend to often have this attitude of "if I couldn't be happy then you can't either"

What I've noticed with 8 people is that yes they can be controlling but it's not like they go around policing others like 4s do. 8s control in a very subtle and indirect way, it really reminds me a lot of scorpio energy/8th house placements. It's more like they keep in control in any situation by staying low-key and are the kind of people that is hard to knock down, yet they know how to get under other's skin

I'd describe 8s as more domineering. They can be pretty chill, fun and won't mess with anyone as long as they feel like they have the upper hand in situations. That's why they are stubborn af and refuse to be wrong and why they do not react well AT ALL to animosity. This also means that at their worst tend to have HUGE superiority complex and will minimize others and be condescending just to feel superior

One time I witnessed an argument between a 1 and an 8 (it was messy) and even tho the 8 person was wrong imo they made the 1 person back down eventually (which, if you know how 1s are, that's a huge thing) and from that experience I learned that you're better off disagreeing with a 1 than disagreeing with an 8

People with 3 energy have such a refreshing energy I love them!!!! The type to keep a young spirit regardless of their age but like in a good way. Their sense of hope and optimism can't be crushed, all the ones I've met were the kind of people who always knew how to bounce back from difficult situations.

astrobydalia

#numerology #astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations #astro community #astrologer

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louisferrignojr · 4 months ago

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hello 911blr here's another little snippet of my fake dating au. it's going so slowly. but at least it's going!

Buck catches his attention pretty much right away − Tommy’s gaze is immediately drawn to his ridiculously plump, pink mouth, before taking in the rest of the picture. He’s frowning at the camera, almost like seeing his own reflection mirrored on his phone’s screen through the front-facing lens is offending him, somehow, and why would this guy choose that picture to be front-and-centre on his dating profile? Still, his messy, curly hair, and the scruff on his jawline, and − the ridiculous lips − are hard to resist. Tommy taps to check out the rest of his pictures. In one, he’s clean-shaven, wearing a white hoodie, smiling so big and bright, his gaze somewhere behind the camera, probably fixed on whoever was taking the picture; then there’s another frowny selfie right after that, taken inside a car, with a seatbelt across his chest and a black Labrador resting his little head on the guy’s shoulder, and okay, that’s fucking adorable. Tommy can’t help but smile − but that only lasts until he reads the guy’s bio.

hello grindr i’m not gay (but i’m an ally!) anyway i need a fake boyfriend to be my date to my parents’ stupid anniversary party because they told me not to bring “another new girlfriend” so i’m just trying to comply with their request :-) in return you will get an all-you-can-eat-buffet and open bar. or anything else you want (short of sexual favours)

Yeah, that tracks. These wholesome-looking guys always come with at least one red flag. And this is a fucking massive one.

Tommy bites down on his lower lip and tells himself he’s not actually thinking about messaging, but he knows he’s lying to himself. He tries to weigh the pros and cons for all of five minutes before he thinks, fuck it, and decides to send a message. What’s the worst that could happen? With a deep exhale, Tommy taps on the little message button and types out the only logical opener he can think of.

tommy: if you can prove you’re not a catfish, i’m more than happy to be your fake date

buck: how do i prove i’m not a catfish? buck: you can look me up on instagram. i’m buckley92

tommy: hah, nah, that won’t do. it’s gonna have to be a dickpic i’m afraid. with today’s newspaper of your choice.

buck: who the fuck is still buying newspapers buck: fine. give me half an hour

Tommy puts his phone aside with the biggest grin on his face. If nothing else, it’s been entertaining, at least so far. He still doubts this guy is real, or his request for a fake boyfriend isn’t just a thinly veiled excuse for a curious-but-still-firmly-heterosexual guy to go venturing in the most notorious dating app for queer men − which is entirely unnecessary.

He gets to his feet and goes about cleaning up the mess in the kitchen he’s been successfully ignoring for the last 24 hours, and puts a load of laundry on, knowing he’s running out of clean underwear, and he’s settled back on his comfy couch, ready to dive back into Small Town Horror when his phone pings with a new notification, and Tommy grins when he sees it’s another message from Buck.

It’s a selfie of the same man from the profile pictures, and instantly Tommy exhales with relief. He looks a little different in this picture; younger, somehow, and it might have something to do with the haircut he’s currently sporting, and the lack of product in his dark blonde hair, letting the curls loose. Tommy wants to run a hand through his hair, but he files that away into a far away corner of his mind, as his gaze drops to the dramatically pouty expression on Buck’s face. He’s holding a copy of Los Angeles Times, which has the words “TOMMY FROM GRINDR MADE ME DO THIS” written across the front page in thick black marker. There’s a message sent right after the selfie that reads “will this do or… do you still need the dick pic?”

tagging some interested people

@osh-my-prince @apartmentsmoke @repressedqueen @jewishbuckley and i can't remember who else i might have talked to about this???? if interested in future updates drop me a comment and i'll tag you🫶

#bucktommy #fake dating au #my wips

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beddybites · 2 months ago

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hi friends! big rant incoming— i want to clarify this isnt targeted at anyone, im just noticing a pattern and im getting a little upset with some of the requests im being sent ):

something that really bothers me is the babyfication of giyuu tomioka. the fandom infantilizes the dude way too much. and its even worse when you throw shinobu into the mix and have her being a maternal figure to him when she herself is an eighteen year old who has worked as a hashira since she was a teenager. she does not need to be put into these situations where she’s taking care of her older peers all the time

i see this happen a lot and i feel its rooted in misogyny whether people recognize it or not. almost always the male characters are thrown into positions where the female character has to take care of them and its really frustrating

shinobu isnt a maternal character at all. to inosuke and the younger ones, it’s different, but if i keep seeing her being a mom to giyuu im actually going to lose my mind. giyuu isnt some uwu depressed baby who cant stand up for himself. he is just as mean as sanemi and obanai. he trained to survive and operate in horrible situations and fight for his life for years. hes a grown man and a hashira. he would not be babied by anyone, especially not someone who he has known since she was around fourteen years old

you may say “well ghostbite dont you do this with mitsuri and obanai”… sure. perhaps i am a hypocrite. but you must remember mitsuri is just sort of like that. she loves cute things and she loves fawning over everyone and everything. her scenes with nezuko. her introduction scene in the hashira meeting with her gushing over everyone. she hand feeds tanjiro pancakes in the recent season. she refers to people as “cutie.” etc etc etc

the difference with obanai and giyuu is obanai is often characterized as a yandere simp who is a huge bully to giyuu and tanjiro. he’s not. i like to put him in deaging situations a lot because unlike everyone else, he’s been through hell since birth. he’s never, not once, had a moment of peace. he had no siblings growing up to protect him— he had no loving parents, etc. he never felt love and he believes he is undeserving of it and should never reciprocate it. so here comes mitsuri, the epitome of love. he takes care of her. he watches after her. he is devoted to her. if something happens to him, especially if it’s a situation where he’s much smaller and weaker and in need of care, mitsuri would drop everything to help him. if it were mitsuri, obanai would do the same for her. it’s in both of their characters to do this. them being in these situations makes sense

i love shinobu. she would not. she does what a doctor does, looks for a cure, checks in here and there, and leaves it at that. she is not giyuu’s “mama.” she is an eighteen year old girl who has her own bucketload of issues. if you need her in a maternal role then use inosuke or literally any of the butterfly girls— the kids she actually takes in and takes care of. not her 21 year old coworker who is more than capable

if anything i think shinobu should be put in deaging situations. have giyuu take care of her instead. mix it up a little. but people are so attached to the idea of having every single caregiver role go to the woman that it’s unlikely we’ll see that

this is not a criticism on giyuu. i love giyuu. but i need people to stop treating him like a defenseless baby, and for people to quit seeing shinobu as responsible for him as a caregiver or a mother

tdlr: please stop asking me to draw or write deaged giyuu stuff. someone else can do that. i dont like deaged giyuu. tiny 21 trio is essentially on hold because of this ): i keep getting nonstop requests for deaged giyuu and im so tired, especially because people are framing it in a “you should replace obanai with giyuu” lens, or adding “mama shinobu doing x with baby giyuu”

it’s tiresome and frustrating. i love to make content for you guys, and i love when its something that appeals to you in a comforting way, but if you want specific content with giyuu— you’re very much in the wrong place. i hate the fandomification of him and shinobu— it makes me uncomfy and sad.

other people are deaging giyuu and putting him in situations— go ask them instead of me. i would rather highlight misunderstood and underrated characters like obanai and gyomei or my own personal faves (muichiro) then constantly loop the same exact character over and over again

all this to say im doubling down on the babybu and babynai and pintsized pillars aus. if you keep asking for baby giyuu and maternal figure shinobu my spite makes me stronger. hashtag let shinobu be taken care of for once. she’s already the doctor for an entire organization give my girl a break

#askbites #not artbites #bitetalks #rant #demon slayer #kny #giyuu tomioka #shinobu kocho #obanai iguro #mitsuri kanroji #again this isnt targeted #i just rlly need people to stop sending me these things #and im tired of seeing the mischaracterizations and constant misogny going on #shinobu get behind me #mischaracterization #fandom #fandomification

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

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Behind the Lens and the Heart

Word count: 1.4k

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Y/N joins the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team as the new social media manager. From their first encounter, Lewis Hamilton is captivated by Y/N’s charm and passion. Despite his subtle advances and constant attention, Y/N remains oblivious.

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It was Y/N's first day as the new social media manager for the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team. The air was electric with the hum of engines, the chatter of mechanics, and the focused energy of the team. Walking through the paddock, Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was a dream job, and she was determined to make her mark.

As she entered the team's motorhome, she was greeted by familiar faces from screens—engineers, PR reps, and, of course, the drivers. Her first task was a straightforward one: create a fun video to promote the upcoming Grand Prix. She was excited but a little anxious about asking one of the world’s most famous athletes to participate.

"Okay, first day," Y/N muttered to herself, straightening her posture. "You’ve got this."

She approached Lewis Hamilton, who was sitting at a table, reviewing some data with his engineer. He looked up as she approached, and the world seemed to slow down for a moment.

"Hi, Lewis," she said, her voice steady. "I’m Y/N, the new social media manager. I was wondering if you’d be up for a quick video?"

Lewis smiled, his warm eyes locking onto hers. For him, it was as if time had frozen. The moment she walked in, something inside him had clicked. She had a presence that was impossible to ignore—confident yet humble, with an infectious energy.

"Of course, Y/N," he replied, his voice smooth and inviting. "What do you need me to do?"

Y/N’s heart fluttered slightly at his easygoing nature. "I was thinking something fun—maybe a challenge with you and George? It doesn’t have to be anything serious, just something the fans will love."

Lewis chuckled, nodding. "Sounds good to me. Where do you want to shoot it?"

"How about in the garage? It’ll give the fans a behind-the-scenes feel," she suggested.

"Perfect," Lewis agreed, standing up. As they walked towards the garage, Y/N explained the concept, her enthusiasm clear in every word. Lewis listened intently, more focused on her than on the actual content of the video.

When they arrived, George Russell joined them, and the filming began. Y/N directed the drivers through a light-hearted quiz about the team’s history, throwing in some funny questions about their personal lives. The banter between Lewis and George was natural, and the video turned out better than she had imagined.

As they wrapped up, Y/N thanked them both. "Thanks, Lewis. Thanks, George. This was great. The fans are going to love it."

Lewis grinned at her, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. "Anytime, Y/N. Let me know if you need anything else."

She nodded, her mind already racing with ideas for the next video. Little did she know, Lewis was already thinking about how he could spend more time with her.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N settled into her role, creating content that the fans loved. Every time she needed a driver for a video, Lewis was always eager to participate. What she didn’t notice, however, was how he would light up whenever she approached, or how he made a point to seek her out during breaks.

One afternoon, after a long day of shooting and editing, Y/N was packing up her equipment when Lewis walked into the media room.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey, Lewis," she replied with a smile. "What’s up?"

"I was just wondering… a few of us are grabbing dinner tonight. Would you like to join us?" He asked, his tone casual, but there was a hint of something more in his eyes.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, caught off guard. "Dinner? With you guys?"

"Yeah, just a small group. It’s nothing formal, just some good food and conversation," Lewis explained, hoping she’d say yes.

"Sure, that sounds nice," she finally agreed. "Thanks for the invite."

As they headed out to the restaurant later that evening, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a casual dinner. But she brushed the thought aside—after all, why would someone like Lewis Hamilton be interested in her?

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, a stark contrast to the fast-paced world of Formula 1. Lewis, George, and a few other team members were there, but Y/N quickly realized that Lewis had positioned himself next to her at the table.

Throughout the evening, Lewis engaged her in conversation, asking about her interests, her life before joining the team, and her thoughts on the upcoming races. He was genuinely interested in everything she had to say, his attention never wavering.

"You’re really passionate about what you do," Lewis remarked at one point, his eyes softening as he spoke. "It’s refreshing."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, a little shy under his intense gaze. "I love storytelling, and this job is a perfect mix of creativity and excitement."

Lewis smiled, pleased with her response. "You’re doing an amazing job, Y/N. The fans are really connecting with the content you’re creating."

Y/N blushed, not used to such direct praise. "Thank you, Lewis. That means a lot coming from you."

As the evening went on, Y/N found herself relaxing, enjoying the easy conversation and the warm atmosphere.

The next race weekend was hectic, with Y/N busier than ever. She was filming content non-stop, managing the team’s social media accounts, and coordinating interviews. But no matter how busy she was, Lewis always found a way to interact with her.

"Y/N, do you need help with anything?" he asked one morning, spotting her juggling a camera, a microphone, and a tablet.

She looked up, surprised. "I think I’ve got it, but thanks, Lewis. Aren’t you supposed to be in a briefing?"

Lewis shrugged, a grin playing on his lips. "It can wait. I’d rather make sure you’re not overwhelmed."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "I appreciate it, but I can handle it. You’ve got a race to win!"

"Fair enough," he said, his tone light. "But don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything."

As the weekend progressed, Y/N noticed how Lewis seemed to go out of his way to be near her. Whether it was offering to participate in last-minute videos, or simply stopping by to chat, he always made sure to engage with her.

But despite all the signs, Y/N remained oblivious to his true feelings. To her, it was just Lewis being friendly—after all, he was known for his kindness and approachability.

It wasn’t until the final day of the Grand Prix weekend that Y/N began to suspect something more was going on. The race had been intense, with Lewis finishing on the podium. The team was ecstatic, and the celebrations were in full swing.

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers filled the air, Y/N was busy capturing the moment on camera. Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Turning around, she found Lewis standing there, his race suit unzipped, revealing the Mercedes-branded shirt underneath. His face was glowing with the thrill of victory.

"Can I have a word?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"Of course," Y/N replied, stepping aside with him.

Lewis led her to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the commotion. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his expression serious but soft.

"Y/N, I need to tell you something," he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "From the moment I met you, I knew there was something special about you. You’re smart, passionate, and you have this energy that’s just… captivating."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. "Lewis, I—"

He cut her off gently, placing a hand on her arm. "I like you, Y/N. I’ve been trying to show it in little ways, but I think it’s time I just say it. I’m really into you."

Y/N stared at him, her mind racing. "But… you’re the Lewis Hamilton. You could have anyone. Why me?"

Lewis chuckled, his hand sliding down to take hers. "Why not you? You’re amazing, Y/N. I don’t care about the titles or the fame. I care about who you are—how you make me feel. And I think… no, I know, that I want to get to know you better. Much better."

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming happiness. "I… I don’t know what to say. I’ve been so focused on work, I didn’t even realize…"

"You don’t have to say anything right now," Lewis said, squeezing her hand gently. "I just wanted you to know how I feel. Take your time, Y/N. There’s no rush."

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fluff #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you

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dailyadventureprompts · 6 months ago

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Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling. So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle.

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good.

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes.

What’s worth Salvaging: While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special.

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm.

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs. Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills.

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers: They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make. Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something.

Artsource

#monsters reimagined #kobolds #dragons #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons

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piningforstan · 4 months ago

Text

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None, just angst

A/N: Don’t ask me why I put characters I love so much through so much heartache. There might be something wrong with me

“You dated him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” You pretended not to be paying attention, wiping down the bar. No matter how many times you cleaned it, it stayed perpetually grimy to the touch. You doing the rag over your shoulder. “Who?”

“Weird guy. Lives in the woods.”

“Pines,” the other guy at the bar supplied. The foam of the cheap beer left a rim around his mouth. The former nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” you said casually, though it was anything but. Dated as in committed every dip and plane of his body to memory, told him about your childhood, envisioned a life unfolding before you with this man you considered your best friend. Until his lies ripped it away.

The two men continued their conversation then as if they only needed you to confirm something they already knew.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t partially want the job at Skull Fracture because you knew it was a notorious house of gossip and rumors, a way to check on Stan without actually having to speak to him. You picked up bits and pieces of what he was up to, how he was, all without actually inserting yourself.

In a small town like Gravity Falls there wasn’t much to talk about, and Stan posed a compelling story every time. You supposed it was a good thing that they never tired of him, speculating about his life and his job and everything else. You were of minor interest, too, since everyone knew you had lived and worked with him. But you never revealed much. It disgusted you, this unwavering loyalty to Stan. What did you owe him?

It became well known, anyway, that you refused to offer much in terms of fodder for gossip. You were intriguing in a vague, less interesting sense, a lens through which they hoped to grasp a better understanding of Stan.

The roar of the bar usually muted those thoughts of him. Music blared at all times of the day, men smoked and fought and cursed, greasy-smelling food wafted from the kitchen, and you facilitated all of it with a plastered smile. You needed money after leaving Stan. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities, and unless you wanted to be stuck in the lumber business you had no other option than barkeep.

Your name floated over the din of drunk bikers, your manager appearing out of the back. “There’s a call. For you.”

You wiped your hands on your thighs and followed him to the phone. “Hello?”

“Doll, you gotta help me out.”

Stan’s voice, deep and rasping, struck you like a slap. Your stomach dropped. It took you a few moments to eke out a response. “Stan?”

“They, uh, got me down at the station. Some bogus arrest.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Stan, you got arrested?”

“Just say you’ll come down, eh?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

A pause on his end, the sound of a door being slammed shut. “I ain’t got no one else.”

You inhaled sharply and exhaled out your mouth, fingers digging into the phone. You could examine your decision making abilities later. “Fine. Fine, Stan. How much is bail?”

“S’not much.”

It s’was much, you came to find out, nearly all of your savings. But for some godawful reason, you still loved Stan, and you knew since his voice rang out on the line that you would do anything he asked. You loathed yourself for this, loathed him for putting you in this position.

Stan was grinning sheepishly and rubbing his wrists as he walked out of the station. Everything you had to say, all of the reprimands and lectures, vanished upon seeing him.

“You cut your hair,” you blurted stupidly.

Gone was the mullet, the unruly curls. You quickly admired the shape of his jaw leading into his neck, his slightly too big ears that endeared you to him even more. He looked younger this way.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Yeah. If bad haircuts were a crime, I would’ve been arrested a lot sooner.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you had loved his mullet, but promptly closed it again. It hurt to look at him, properly, since that night in the basement; the ache you carried in your heart increased tenfold now, throbbing so painfully that you thought you might now understand how people could die from broken hearts. You tore your gaze from him. Suddenly the bushes outside the station held your rapt attention.

“Listen, uh, thanks. For bailing me out. How much do I owe ya?”

“Stan, you’ve forgotten I’ve balanced your books. You couldn’t pay me back even if you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” Stan protested, “the Shack’s been breakin’ even most days. She’s doin’ alright. Not the same without you, though.”

He rushed this last part, an afterthought that he wanted to retract but had already brought to life.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you said. Perhaps if you pretended you didn’t hear him entirely, it wouldn’t take roost in your mind.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya —”

“I have to get back to work, Stan,” you said, sharper than you meant to. You couldn’t think with the amount of hurt being in his company afforded you. “Do you need a ride?”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The drive back transpired in silence. Your headlights sliced through the darkened woods like two sabers, finally falling onto the Mystery Shack as you pulled into the gravel lot. You still considered it more home than your place now, a room you rented from one of the locals. You didn’t realize just how much you missed it.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Have a good night, Stan.”

“You should come in. Please. I won’t keep ya long.”

Your resolve, well, dissolved. Not that it was heavily fortified to begin with. You found yourself crossing the lot to the porch and in through the front door, the process a lot like slipping into a familiar piece of clothing. It smelled distinctly Stan-ish, you noticed, though not unkindly. He had kept the place neat since you left. The reminder of that afternoon, dragging your meager belongings out, glared in your memory. Stan watching out the window as you drove away.

“Jus’ one cup. I swear.” He placed a mug of coffee in front of you. Your mug. The one you forgot.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You were grateful for the excuse to do something with your hands, even though the coffee tasted like mornings with your feet in his lap and his lips on your shoulder.

“I hear yer workin’ at the bar now.”

You smiled grimly. “Regrettably.”

“Ya know you always have a job here,” Stan said.

“What’re you doing?” You set down the mug on the table. The anger boiled in you, words escaping like trapped steam with no where else to go. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. Like this is normal.”

“I jus’ wanted to talk,” Stan told you. His throat bobbed uncertainly. “To apologize.”

You stayed quiet.

When he realized you wouldn’t be responding, he forged ahead. “I should’ve been honest with you. From the beginning. But ya don’t understand where I was when I met you — I finally reconnected with my brother after ten years and then I lost him. Again. Because I fucked up.”

His hands formed into fists. Stan took a breath, seemingly to steady himself. “I was lost. I was angry. It was easier to lie. And what was I s’ppose to do? Spill the whole truth? When I first met you, you were a stranger. I had no idea that you would stick around w’me as long as you did.”

“That’s…fair.” Stan looked relieved at this, though it wasn’t long lasting. “But why not tell me the truth when I asked?”

“I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, I…I couldn’t. Would you have had a different reaction, though? I knew you would leave.”

“At least I would’ve heard it from you straight, Stan. I had to find out while you were asleep that you were keeping these huge secrets from me.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end the way they did.”

You bit down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Neither did I.”

“We could try it again, ya know.”

The way he looked at you was so earnest, so genuine, that you had to close your eyes to ward off the image of him as a skinned-knee child, the one who solved problems with his fists and resided just below the surface of this man now.

“Stan —”

“Please?”

You swallowed, your throat thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“The truth is out now. You know everything.”

“But I will never be able to ignore the feeling that you’re hiding something from me,” you said. “So much is still unclear to me.”

“Ask me anythin’. I’ll tell ya.”

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said, “Stop building the portal or whatever you’re doing. Focus on the people — here — in your life.”

Focus on me, you inwardly pleaded.

Stan’s jaw feathered. “I can’t stop working to get him back.”

The swift finality of his words washed over you, a decisive blow to the traitorous hope you still clung to. Coffee not even halfway drank, you stood and rounded the table. Stan’s cheeks were wet with tears as you put your hands to them, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The bar shined. It was never dirty for long, you ensured that when you bought it, ensured that you wiped away every mess. You could even see the door opening in the reflection of the bar, two small bodies stepping through. You looked up.

It wasn’t rare for new faces to visit. It was summer, the height of tourism season, and your bar was preferable to Skull Fracture. Gentle music drifted from the speakers. Bar wasn’t even the right word — you served small meals and drinks of all kinds, not just alcohol. You smiled at the two children as they approached. “Thirsty?”

“Yes!” The girl, buried in a sweater despite the heat, smiled brightly at you. Her braces winked in the low lighting.

“And,” the boy said, her brother, glancing at her purposefully, “we need to ask some questions.”

You nodded. “Ask away. Lemonade okay?”

The juxtaposition of the two, the girl, looking around eagerly, and the boy, doing his best to present himself as mature and composed, brought a smile to your face. He laid a notebook on the bar counter, brows furrowed.

“Where were you the night of June twenty-first?”

“Hm. At home, I suppose.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

You peered at him. Amusement ignited inside you, a flicker of affection. You loved kids, always have. “I live alone, so, no.”

“Did you see anything…peculiar that night?”

“Not that I can recall.” You set down two glasses of lemonade in front of them. “Why?”

“There was a reported sighting of an unidentifiable object in the sky,” the boy said. “We were just gathering information about it.”

The girl wiggled her fingers, whispering conspiratorially, “Aaaaaliens.”

“We don’t know that,” the boy countered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Strange things always happen in this town,” you said.

“You see them too?”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “I do.”

“I’m Dipper. This is my sister, Mabel,” the boy introduced, jerking a thumb at her. “Would you mind telling me stories about what you’ve seen?”

You entertained their questions, recalling the unexplainable things you’d seen over the last thirty years. You refilled their drinks twice. They listened intently to your stories, interrupting only to clarify something specific.

There was something familiar in their shape of their mouths, the keen way that they interacted with their world. Had they been in town before? You knew some families returned to Gravity Falls every summer to enjoy the wilderness and disconnect.

“What did it look like?” Dipper asked, leaning forward in interest.

You had been telling them about the time you swear you saw glowing lights in the trees, floating blue spheres leading you away from the path. “Well, they —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dipper said. “I should be putting this in the journal.”

“Dipper,” Mabel warned him.

Dipper ignored her. “Would you mind following us home? I’d love to write everything down and-and draw a picture, if you don’t mind.”

His cheeks flushed at this.

You gazed around the empty bar, then shrugged. What point was there to owning your own business if you couldn’t close down when you wanted?

“Sure, give me one moment.”

The twins appealed to you. And you were curious to find out more about them. Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone wanted to talk to you. Really talk. You weren’t lonely, per se, but you sometimes missed the comfort of another person. As you closed the cash register and locked up, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you had wanted kids, long ago, but the years slipped away and now the dream was gone.

You liked these kids. Even though you’d only known them for an afternoon, you’d taken a shine to them — smart and witty, perceptive, the right amount of childish enthusiasm. You told them to put their bikes in the trunk of your car and followed their direction back home.

“You live…here?” Your stomach dropped as the Mystery Shack emerged from the dense forest, the S lying precariously on the roof.

“Kinda,” Mabel said, “we’re staying with our Grunkle Stan for the summer.”

Dipper, insisting that he got the front seat, turned to you. “Do you know him?”

“Kinda,” you muttered. “If it’s all the same to you, I might just stay in the car.”

The twins exchanged a look. A pointed, knowing look, like they suspected their uncle had done something to lose your favor. They weren’t wrong, exactly. Dipper and Mabel ran inside with the promise to return shortly. All you could do was stare at the Shack numbly, imagine the man within and the memories you held with him. You should’ve known that he would make an appearance, stomp out onto the porch after his niece and nephew to investigate.

Stan’s expression crumbled.

You couldn’t hear, but he uttered something to them. They gesticulated frantically back. Your heart had leapt into your throat by the time the three of them walked back to the car, Stan lingering a few steps behind.

“Grunkle Stan says we shouldn’t bother you,” Mabel said, pouting.

You finally forced your gaze to him. Stan had aged well, you reluctantly noticed, still unbearably handsome. The same broad shoulders. The features that you knew so well, lined with the years you spent apart.

“They aren’t bothering me,” you choked out.

“You shouldn’t fill their heads w’stories,” Stan replied, refusing to meet your eyes.

“They aren’t stories,” you and Dipper both protested at the same time. You shared a secretive smile with him.

“Jus’ tell the nice person sorry and let them get on with her day.”

Mabel tugged on his suit jacket. “They told us that you knew each other.”

“We-We did,” Stan said.

You supplied, “A long time ago.”

“Then come inside and catch up!” Mabel beamed at the idea. “You gave us lemonade so it’s only fair. I can make you Mabel-cakes!”

“If it’s fine with your uncle.”

Stan studied you closely. You could only imagine what he saw, your greying hair and swollen knuckles. “Uh, yeah…’course.”

You were both pleased and devastated to see how the inside of the Shack had changed. Judging by the “exhibits” and amount of items in the gift shop, business was prosperous. A redheaded girl at the register waved at you as you passed. Dipper disappeared upstairs to fetch his journal, and Mabel busied herself preparing the pancake mix, leaving you alone with Stan.

“It’s, uh, been awhile,” Stan said, effectively breaking the silence.

You feigned an interest in the water stains on the ceilings. “It has.”

The last time you were together had been almost— what, two years ago? You had knocked. Stan had answered. He touched you with expert precision, years of exploring one another resulting in experiences both familiar and new, somehow each brief encounter over the years never dulling your attraction. You weren’t proud, necessarily, of your weakness in the form of Stan Pines. You had almost overcome it until today; you should’ve known that the twins were Pines.

“How’s the bar?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry if they were botherin’ ya. Kids.”

“They weren’t,” you said, and you meant it. “They seem really great. They’re your niece and nephew?”

“Great niece and nephew. My brother’s grandkids.” When you arched a brow in confusion, Stan grimaced. “Other brother.”

“Oh.” You hugged your arms around yourself. Should you ask him how his search was? You wanted to care, but found it hard when it only brought back painful memories. Clearly it hadn’t been well, not if his brother was still absent.

You bit your lip. “Do they know?”

“No, they don’t.” Stan’s face shuttered closed.

Indignation swelled inside you, pressed against your rib cage. “You haven’t told them?”

“Everyone thinks that —” he lowered his voice, “—that Stanley Pines is dead. Including their parents and my brother.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“What I do with my life isn’t your problem,” Stan snapped. “You made that clear.”

“They’re good kids, Stan.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Don’t push them away, too,” you told him softly. “I-I need to go. Can you tell them I’m sorry? Say that I had to go back to work or something.”

Stan’s words chased you out the door: “Whose the liar now?”

Tags:

@gimmemorecherries @tellybearryyyy

#gravity falls #stanley pines #fanfic #writers on tumblr #writing #stanley pines x reader #grunkle stan #stanley pines x you #stan pines x you #stanley pines oneshot #stan pines x reader

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signedkoko · 10 months ago

Note

omggh iii! if your requests are still open, can i please request some headcannons with val, vox and lucifer being in love with an imp?? l love asmodeous and fizzy soooo yk yk

Lucifer | Valentino X Reader [Romantic]

In which they wall for a hellborn imp, which may not sit right with most higher beings of hell. Reader is genderneutral.

This guy is literally the king of hell, Lucifer himself

Whoever he wants to be seen with is up to him; he's more of a trendsetter than anything else

He loves you, you're so sweet, and you take care of him, so why would where you were born matter?

Even if met with backlash, he wouldn't respond to any of it because it was 'petty drama'

After all, hell is full of murderers, thieves, and cannibals—do we really draw the line at something as stupid as who can date who?

If anyone were to go after you for dating Lucifer, they'd be wiped out in a second

He won't let anyone think they have the right to decide what's best for him

Lucifer is very excited to see hell through your lens, though, and he will travel with you to your ring so he can meet those you grew up with

A lot of hellborns look up to you for breaking the barrier, too

For every demon that hates you, there are three that admire you

Valentino is a mess of a man, he's been in all sorts of controversies and ate them all up

He truly feels that a lack of regret and a surplus of confidence will get you anywhere, and there are so many ruined people who'll follow him despite his wrongdoings

So when word gets out that you're together—and that happens fast—it's not much of a big deal

Since when has Val been afraid to get close to hellborn? Never! The only thing that's new is his dedication to one

There will always be a few overlords or higher-ups that view it as 'dirty' or 'wrong', but when have they ever agreed with him?

And with it being public, it's not like they can blackmail him with the knowledge unless they straight up stole you from him

But he wouldn't let that happen, no, you are his and his alone, forever

If anyone insulted you so badly on the street, he would bury them.

Val only needs one thing to remain pure in his life, and that is you

Author's Note - I know you also wanted Vox but I actually had a oneshot requested of the same thing with him! You can find it here! And of course, thank you for requesting 🖤

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #lucifer #lucifer x reader #valentino #valentino x reader

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warblogs17282 · 2 months ago

Text

Still thinking about the Truth Seekers line where Loona said,

"Blitzo was using a total of zero euphemisms, innuendos, or swears. That means it was serious, which means I don't open it until--"

And now, I'm thinking about all the different emotional and heavy-hitting moments from Blitz, but from the lens of that statement, and I'd like to explore that in a little more depth.

Because I feel like looking through some key moments of Blitz through the lens of that statement helps to add another layer of depth to what Blitz has been saying.

S2 E9:

Blitzo: No, I just- This was the final stop on the apology tour I've been on today.

Stolas: Oh, yes, I recall. Everyone but me is getting your cheap apologies tonight, hm? Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you.

Blitzo: Look, how I acted this morning... It was fucked, okay?

Stolas: This morning? Ugh, why did you show up there? Why'd you show up here?

Blitzo: You already asked that, but look, I-I just really need to... To talk to you, to- to explain.

Stolas: Oh?

Blitzo: I've always been real shit at sorries, 'kay? They're for pussies and no one fuckin' deserves them anyway, but I felt maybe you actually needed one.

Stolas: Ooh, lucky me!

Blitzo: Oh, shit. Okay, what I mean is, I said sorry a lot today and, honestly, didn't really mean any of it. Because the only one I wanted to say it to... Was you, Stolas. I just... This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?

Stolas: Blitzo. There is a crowd full of people here, who cared so much, they'd throw an entire fucking party about hating you, every year! Do you know how much you have to care to do something as stupid as that?

Blitzo: Stolas, you are better off without me. 'Kay? You deserve so much... I don't even know why you would want to be with me.

'I mean you're a fucking prince.' Blitz is technically correct here, but if we consider the Truth Seekers statement, I believe it tells us that Blitz, at least subconsciously, sees Stolas as more than just a prince during this scene, he sees Stolas the man here, not just Stolas the prince. And honestly, that probably makes it hurt more to Blitz, since he's still in disbelief/denial that Stolas has these feelings for him at this point.

Especially considering what it's followed up with, which I'd like to mention doesn't have a single swear word in it whatsoever, telling us even more just how sincere Blitz is when he said that final line.

Verosika: How do you think I felt? When the fun guy I was dating decided to just bail on me because I made the shitty mistake of saying I love... Ugh! It was the most embarrassing feeling. To be vulnerable for once and... you really just know how to send a message in the shittiest, fucking way.

Verosika: The worst part is you still make me feel like a bad person for being angry at you now.

Verosika: But, hosting this party, for everyone else you've dicked over? At least I can help others cope with the shit you did. What? No snarky comeback?

Blitzo: No. You're right. I actually am, ya' know... sorry. I-I don't want to be this way. Not forever.

Verosika: Looks like Stolas is having a good time.

Blitzo: Yeah, well. He needs it.

Again, just pay attention to the fact that Blitz didn't swear once during the part of the conversation I just showed, showing once again even more just how sincere Blitz is being here, to not be the way he is forever, to let Stolas have his good time at the party.

S2 E8:

Blitzo: What?! FUCK you, Stolas! You spring this feelings bullshit on me, are you fucking kidding? Can I get a FUCKING minute to think after everything you put me through, you pompous, rich ASSHOLE?!

Blitzo: Treat me like one of your little butler imps?! You can't just dismiss me like that! I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this EVERY TIME, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as IMPORTANT! Well, I'm not letting you, BITCH! LET'S GO!

Stolas: Blitzo... I think so very highly of you... I didn't realize you think so low of me...

Blitzo: Stolas, wait! I'm s-

You know, the amount of swearing in that part of the episode tells me something, that what Blitz said during the peak of his outburst was exaggerated a little. Does Blitz make some completely valid points during that outburst? Yes. Is what Blitz said during said outburst a bit exaggerated because he was in the heat of the moment? Yes. Both of these can coexist, and I do completely understand why Blitz said what he said during that argument. (I'm not choosing a side on who was in the wrong in the full moon argument here, btw)

And, the lack of swearing when the realisation hits to Blitz of what he's just done, right as he tries to apologise to Stolas just further tells me that Blitz did genuinely mean that 'I'm sorry', he said right before Stolas teleported Blitz out.

S1 E8:

Blitzo: Fuck, Fizz was right. I'm gonna die alone, aren't I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered, waste. Will you be there, Loonie?

Loona: Be...where?

Blitzo: I dunno, jus- ...lonely... Die alone...

Loona: I'll be there, Dad.

Loona: Now go the fuck to sleep... okay?

Blitzo: Millie... Moxxie... Stolas...

Again, pay attention to the lack of swearing in that part of the conversation, minus one 'fuck' at the start of it, it just adds to showing us just how raw and genuine Blitz's emotions are during this scene, showing us that Blitz genuinely believes that he's gonna die alone, and also showing us just how much Blitz still cares about Fizzarolli, Loona, Millie, Moxxie and Syolas.

S1 E7:

Stolas: You know, I have some more wine in the house. Octavia's with her mother this weekend. So, we could--

Blitzo: I'm not fucking you tonight, okay? I'm really just I'm really not in the mood, Stolas.

Stolas: We could talk, or... watch a movie, or... maybe cuddle?

Blitzo: Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time. But, I just, I-I can't do it tonight, okay?

Blitzo: I'm sorry.

Stolas: Okay. Goodnight, Blitzo.

Blitzo: Night.

What I find interesting here is that the two times the word 'fuck' is used throughout this scene, it's used to replace the word 'sex', so thinking about this scene through the lens of that statement, it shows us even more just how much Blitz believes in what he's saying, especially when he says "Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time."

Finally, S1 E6:

Moxxie: Do you remember what you said to me after my first day with the company?

Blitzo: ...Not really.

Moxxie: I remember. You told me I did a good job and that you were proud to work with me. I feel like you wanted to say something more judgmental, but... you said that because I needed it... And it helped.

Blitzo: Look, I'm hard on you, because I know what you're capable of, Mox. You care too much about what everyone thinks except for... me, because, y'know, my opinion is correct, but just... keep doing a good job. 'Kay? You shoot 'n kill good, you escape things easy... you can be strategic and cold-blooded when you need to, aaaand don't expect any more compliments; I'm maxed out.

Moxxie: Thank you, sir.

Blitzo: You know my name... Use it.

Moxxie: Thanks, Blitzo.

No euphemisms, innuendos or swears, showing us that when Blitz was talking to Moxxie in this scene, that he was 100% being serious in what he said.

So in conclusion: I have shown multiple examples where if you think about them through the lens of the statement "Blitzo was using a total of zero euphemisms, innuendos, or swears. That means it was serious, which means I don't open it until--", you start to see more depth within those examples I have shown in this post.

#helluva boss #blitzø #blitzo #stolas #stolitz #helluva boss stolas #moxxie helluva boss #helluva boss verosika

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anxietycheesecake · 14 days ago

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I'm sorry that you're being attacked and blocked for having valid criticisms. It's really weird to be new to this fandom and watch it go from a fairly positive space to fans being as nasty to each other as Star Wars fans in such a short period of time, especially when the crumbs people are cobbling together and calling a canonized ship is what we scrape for in other fandoms with ships we know will never be canon and we KNOW we're stretching the material we're given. I love my queerplatonic ships, found families, and platonic soulmates. I can absolutely enjoy Nandermo through that lens, but the gaslighting and mental gymnastics here is raising such a fucking eyebrow and you don't deserve to feel like you've done something wrong for recognizing it.

Being allosexual or alloromantic is as valid as being asexual or aromatic and it's actually so fucking unchill to conflate being gay or pan with being ace or aro just because they are all under the queer umbrella.

Ace =/= celibate, but half this fandom thinks Guillermo is a virgin and I can't help but think that's being bundled into the hot takes that are coming out right now when it's canon that he's uncomfortable due to being in the closet and his Catholic upbringing. Yes, he could be ace, but that means at best were batting 1/4 for aroace Nandermo.

Nandor has sex with Gail onscreen and is very clearly not ace. The vampires would have MINIMALLY mentioned Guillermo being a virgin and wouldn't have eagerly asked about his sex life in Atlantic City if they thought he was one and they practically have radar for it. He was panicking over Jeremy being a virgin and having brought him into the house and the only thing that saved the guy was losing his virginity. Nandor and Guillermo are both romantic in romantic relationships, and both are expressive about it and tell others they love them.

When you speedrun the entire series and the notable interviews with fresh eyes and not over a stretch of years the leap between 'My Nan- Master' vs. best friends, cuddling a Nandor puppet at night, the I'll make you a vampire speech vs. the vibe in the warrior speech is SO visible and it fits perfectly with Simms' public discomfort with fans shipping Nandor and Guillermo. He is openly uncomfortable with them being in a romantic relationship or having sex with each other and uses every homophobic gaslighting tactic in the playback when speaking about it.

“No, I do think there’s a small subset of very vocal people on Twitter who are like ‘We want to see Nandor and Guillermo hook up,’ and we’re always like, I think their love is bigger and more profound than that,” Simms said. “And also do you really want to see that? Do you?”

This is literally how straight people talk when they're uncomfortable with queer shit. What haven't we seen in this show other than that? Is Nadja and Laszlo's love lesser for it?

“Times that we’ve talked about it and explored it, the power dynamics seem so problematic,” Simms continued. “I mean, that’s his boss.”

In a show where the main couple started with nonconsensual sex (it's still noncon if it turns out that they could have had sex without hypnosis) and Laszlo fucks Colin Robinson after raising him for a gag. Sure, keep telling yourselves that the power dynamic is what makes Simms uncomfortable.

"I mean, it's a nice thought, for some...I don't know about these guys" Kayvan says as he nods toward Simms.

I've seen the Harvey interviews and talking heads from earlier seasons on the subject of Nandermo. The 2024 panel couldn't have been more different, and Harvey seemed completely subdued when the others were discussing Nandermo fanart and them being a ship.

This isn't a person who deserves applause for queer representation and it seems toxic af that Harvey has been stuck in a workplace where he has to hear this drivel when he's openly gay. Yes, I am side eyeing the fuck out of this and it's not because I'm crying over wanting my blorbos to smooch.

You can actually have a romantic pair not kiss or fuck or say I love you without pulling a very clear 'no homo.' That would have been totally fine, but they didn't do that. Copy and paste that scene into anything starring Andy Samberg, or literally anything bro centric and tell me it's a romantic love confession. Or rather, try taking it off tumblr and see if anybody thinks it isn't deep platonic male friendship.

It's okay for people to be upset when they've been hoodwinked. It's okay to separate fanon from canon and still enjoy your ships. But ffs stop gaslighting each other and saying non-romance is romance or that non-romance has more worth than romance and that people are shallow for not valuing it when that's not the problem people have with this, and when that isn't the bill of good audiences we're sold in earlier seasons.

The call is coming from inside the house it shouldn't be.

(Also SO sorry for how long this was).

Never apologize for articulating this better than I ever could. I'm too lazy to look for all the recipes I know are out there, so most of the shit I say is like "source: trust me bro"; I'm glad someone else did it.

The aspec thing makes me so mad because, as a writer, I'm always going out of my way to properly and respectfully represent aspec folks. Like, I've got two novels starring an ace woman and an aromantic man. Do I deserve a medal for that? Of course not! It should be normal. But it's kind of infuriating that people are willing to give aspec rep credit to a show just because it made two male characters stay platonic after teasing their relationship for years and call me aphobic for pointing out that's not the case.

#wwdits #wwdits negativity #nandermo #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #discourse #actually pinning this just so I can point at the sign every time someone comes to my blog with bs

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 1 month ago

Text

Wicked the movie thoughts - spoiler version

I went to see Wicked today! If you want to read a spoiler free edition of what I thought you can do that here but otherwise below the cut I am going to talk in a lot of detail about the show and share my thoughts - they're overwhelmingly positive!! I loved this movie, I love this musical, and I have a lot of thoughts to discuss, I'm welcoming conversations about things I say or about stuff I didn't say but that you want to talk about let's absolutely chat, and this is all the way through going to contain spoilers for the plot but also for specific details, scenes, acting, etc, of the new movie so be warned if you don't want to read that

First of all, the genuine love and care that was put into the show and that can be seen not only in the acting but in the set, the music, in every aspect the care and the adoration for the theatre production was so clear, it was so lovingly crafted from the word go. I also felt like not only Wicked the musical but also Oz, in the original Wizard of Oz novel, in the Wicked novel, in the world and in everything that Gregory Maguire brought to the world, and so on and so forth was being treated with such care and being genuinely revered whilst also balancing well enough that I didn't feel like I was only ever seeing rehashes of existing material or a carbon copy of the past

Even as I was watching and thinking this, and thinking how well they had captured the feeling of watching something on stage, I was still wondering how they were possibly going to execute the Emerald City and the One Short Day performance because it's so iconic and so distinct in the musical but genuinely I was so impressed with the success of that scene. It both captured the essence of One Short Day on stage and added something new to it without taking anything away from the original and they deserve so much praise for that. I'm going to talk a little bit about the nail salon scene later when I discuss propaganda in Wicked (this is gonna be a looooooong post y'all buckle up) but other than that for One Short Day I just need to address, because how could I not, IDINA MENZEL AND KRISTEN CHENOWORTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I didn't know they were going to be there!!!!!!!!!! I was losing my goddamn mind you guys omg

I was genuinely astonished. Like I'd seen them doing press and stuff but I assumed that was just because their names are so synonymous with Wicked I didn't realise they were actually going to be there!!

I really enjoyed the small stage production about the Wise Ones and the Grimmerie it was brilliant in concept and execution for worldbuilding and lore but KRISTEN AND IDINA OMG wonderful oh my gosh. Now was it on the nose? Absolutely. But I don't think that it felt forced, I thought that if you didn't know who they were then even when Chenoworth was singing to Grande and Menzel was singing to Eviro then it still wouldn't have felt strange or out of place, but of course I'm looking at it through the lens of a fan receiving fan service so generally speaking even though I know it's fanservice I'm still going to enjoy it and it's possible that through another's eyes it would feel different. I thought it was brilliant though and nothing will take that away from me

I think it's fair to say that the pacing of Wicked is kind of messed up and I have heard concern that because of that the act 2 movie will struggle; pacing of act 2 does get messy, but I cannot fault them in any way for splitting it into two movies ok because this was spectacular and I would not want to cut a single thing from it so yeah that's kind of all my thoughts on that point; I think that even if act 2 is harder to bring to screen that it can still be done in a high quality and successful way and especially after watching part 1 today I absolutely trust that this production can do that

I'm gonna now hop right back to No-One Mourns the Wicked (the pacing of this post is gonna be worse than the pacing of wicked). I was slightly concerned that Ariana Grande's intense recognisable-ness was going to take something away from the show because it would be hard to see the character she was playing rather than just Ariana Grande singing, if that makes sense, but from as early as No-One Mourns the Wicked my concerns were alleviated. Glinda is not an easy character to play, in my opinion, and she's not an easy character to play because she acts incredibly melodramatic in everything she does whilst her genuine emotions are incredibly subtle. What I saw in both Grande and Erivo was how fantastic their micro-expressions are and how much they can tell the audience with one or two features, often the eyes, alone. In No-One Mourns the Wicked , Galinda genuinely believes and will presumably continue to believe for the rest of her life that Elphaba is dead. And throughout her performance of the song, I more than once found it visibly notable that Glinda was on the verge of tears. She was smiling, she was singing, she was moving gracefully with her typical accentuated and dramatic movements, but the pain in her eyes was remarkable. This was a woman who believed that the only person she had ever had a genuine emotional connection with was dead, a woman who had lost not only someone she had manufactured a relationship with (Fiyero) and convinced herself that she was happy with what she knew was a false pretence of love to receive from, but also the only person in the world who had ever shown her real love and was finally being confronted by the fullest extent of the choices she had made but having to keep everything light and cheerful because of those very choices. Did that make sense? I hope I'm not just spouting nonsense. One of the most emphasised moments of this for me was when this massive effigy of Elphaba and one of the munchkinland residents hands Glinda the torch to light it; there's this blink and you miss it moment where Glinda looks at the torch, at the effigy, then back to the man who held it out to her, who's watching her expectantly, before she turns and tosses it on with a sense of urgency. Not only is this alone powerful, but I also think it's powerful that she throws the torch instead of standing at the effigy and taking care to set it alight firstly because she may not be able to bring herself to do so but also in a way that may be reflective of their relationship and the story: Glinda does not outrightly attack or harm Elphaba but she makes the choices that she makes, she throws her torch and whatever burns will burn.

I also felt that she captured the comedic elements of Glinda fantastically, with one of my favourite moments being when she melodramatically collapses kneeling in front of the bed as though she is sobbing into the quilt but just sits there perfectly still and the camera just stares at her for a few moments before she peeks up over her shoulder to see if Elphie's looking. The difference we can see between these two sides of Glinda's character was very well executed and I think we also see something of her more vulnerable side in some of these comedic moments, because ultimately she does (I'm going to talk about this later) feel unloved because of how shallow all of her relationships are and even in melodramatic, foolish or naive moments like the throwing herself on the duvet cover she is actively seeking attention because she equates attention to love - she so desperately claws her way to attention and popularity because she feels unloved and she thinks that this is love, so when it doesn't give her the feeling she was searching for she becomes convinced that it was because she doesn't have enough of it yet and she needs more. I thought that she was incredibly well captured and presented from all angles with her very many layers being well laid out.

Again with the insane jumping around but let's just dive headfirst into a couple of little details that I noticed whilst I'm thinking about them - during the Wizard and I when Elphaba is imagining her success and her dream she runs through a cornfield!! As though she is running towards Fiyero!!! I loved it. Like it's so tiny, but I love it. Another tiny one - loved the silver shoes for Nessa as a hark to the original book wherein the magic slippers were silver, but then in Popular when Glinda is going through her wardrobe and pulling out all these different options she gives Elphaba a pair of ruby red slippers and then decides against them and throws them away again!! Loved it as a teeny little reference. I also really lovedddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd and this one is more meaningful to the story but when Elphie has her magic outburst at Shiz right at the start where she sends Nessa into the air and stuff gets thrown everywhere, there's a statue on the wall of the Wizard that gets smashed. When it smashes, it's briefly visible that beneath the statue the wall was originally painted with a mural of animal scholars!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVED this detail, I was BUZZING. Like you saw it long enough to see what it was, there were three animals with a bear in the middle and I think the bear was wearing maroon robes and they were all clearly scholars

My personal theories on this is that either they were highly valued intellectual alumni of Shiz or that they founded the school, however there mya be lore standing on them that I am unaware of I started reading the book a long time ago and never finished it (I really want to read it but I haven't got around to it yet. I read enough to know what happened to Dr Dillimond in the book but I don't remember a lot after that)

Speaking of Dr Dillimond, I'm not sure if I just missed a detail or something implicit but I wasn't sure that they gave any real explanation as to why the poppies didn't knock Fiyero out????

On Fiyero: Johnathon Bailey understands Fiyero so well and it was brilliant. His performance very much took in the different layers of the character and the split between what he presents to the world and the intensity of the emotions he hides. Fiyero experiences emotion so intensely and feels such an intense response to others' emotions as well, and I think that you could really tell that whilst not feeling like anything was being taken away from the charismatic charming persona that you knew he was putting on. One of my favourite moments between him and Elphaba in this was when she siad something along the lines of 'you aren't as shallow and self-loving as I thought' and he replies something along the lines of 'how dare you? I genuinely love myself and I am deeply shallow' and I love this not only because his humour is enjoyable and his defence mechanisms are interesting but also because she immediately breaks through and says no, you're unhappy.

I promised thoughts on Dancing Through Life so whilst we're on Fiyero -> I don't at all intend to say that Bailey isn't a good singer because he is, I just thought that to some degree his voice didn't stand out from the chorus' voices in the same way that Erivo's and Grande's do and so the song did necessarily have the same bite to it as some of the others did/ That isn't to say that it wasn't a fantastic scene, because it was, and I loved the choreography and I was obsessed with the spinning bookshelves and all of it, the bringing the beat of the song in through the movement of the books was brilliant, and again he is a good singer and I think that having the actor's own voice in the movie is almost always the right decision

Okay I am going to make a post on its own about this as well because this is really long and I am so deeply obsessed with this I want to give it a chance to get proper discussion but one of my favourite propaganda-related details of this movie was Elphaba's nails. Yes, you read that right. Her nails.

In all of the imagery and posters of the 'Wicked Witch of the West' she is very often leaning forwards with her hands strangely position in the foreground and then her face behind them so your focus is drawn very quickly to the hands. In these images, her nails are always presented as extravagantly long, sharp, and claw-like. So in a world where animals are discriminated against and being used as the common enemy long before Elphaba is used as that enemy it's so fascinating that the dehumanisation of Elphaba has emphasis on her hands appearing strange or 'unnatural' and it makes me think of the line in Something Bad 'It's enough to give pause to anyone with paws' because that's where the emphasis on this distinction lies with no-one but humans having limbs that resemble hands - having Elphaba presented effectively as though she has claws in a world where animals are discriminated against and actively silenced, especially since she advocated against that silencing. And something I really enjoyed after having noticed the long nails in the posters during No-One Mourns the Wicked is that throughout the movie Elphaba has unapologetically long, beautiful nails that in a truly wonderful subtle aspect of Erivo's acting we get the sense she cares about even though they are never discussed. When she and Glinda go to the Emerald City we see this montage of their day during One Short Day and one of the things they do is go to a nail salon and we see Elphaba excitedly showing off to Glinda her long pretty nails that she loves so much and that make her feel pretty. Again this is such a massive testament to Erivo's acting skills because there's no dialogue about it but we know that she is so excited and we know that this is one of very few times that Elphie has felt pretty, she loves her nails. And they get used so horrifyingly against her. The nail salon is such a brief, subtle moment but it's so very well executed. There's also an earlier scene where she's alone with Madame Morrible practicing magic and when she reaches out to make the hand movements the camera cuts to show the shadow of her hand and it creates this emphasis on the length of her nails and how because of the shape of her hand midway through the movement the image looks like a claw or like a very stereotypical evil witch hands sort of thing. I also think that this moment is particularly powerful bc she's alone with Morrible and everything that Elphie does under Morrible's instruction is perfectly natural but what is seen on Morrible's stationary on the desk below her is representative of the propaganda that Morrible will turn the actions that she forced Elphaba to do into.

Also more propaganda stuff I could talk about the use of the word 'witch' for all goddamn eternity so I'm not going to hark on about it now but I will say that a piece of media like this one cannot be created today without acknowledgemnt of the difference between the word 'wtich' and the word 'wizard' and how they are presented, and I think that this was really interestingly handled in the word 'witch' not being said in the prequel aspect of it until Morrible labels her 'this Wicked Witch'.

Okay I think this is going to be what I finish off with but if you know this account you know that I LOVE a parallel and I was obsessed with the parallel drawn between family dynamics in Elphie's relationship with Nessa and her father, and then with the family that she's looking for and briefly thinks she could find with Morrible, the wizard, and Glinda. Yeoh said in an interview that Morrible's betrayal is realising that the mother figure isn't who you thought she was. Madame Morrible becomes Elphaba's maternal figure, and to her living memory realistically her only maternal figure, from very early on and this maternal view of her that we have through Elphaba's eyes is very much existent by the time we reach Sentimental Man, wherein the idea of the Wizard being able to offer her some kind of paternal love, that she has never felt because her relationship with her father is so fraught, is brought forth. Sentimental Man was very well performed in my opinion, it was the right decision to keep it low and subtle and close because it created this very specific closeness between Elphie and the Wizard and we felt what she felt, which was the exact manipulation that the Wizard wanted her to feel. When Madame Morrible enters the scene we then have both of these parental-style figures present telling Elphaba how precious she is, how amazing she is, how much they believe in her - essentially all these different things that she has been denied her entire life. What I find particularly fascinating about this is that what gets created here is exactly Elphaba's existing family dynamic - because Glinda is there too. This is what Elphaba always wanted - a motherly figure, a fatherly figure, and a sisterly figure - but it still comes at the expense of the sister. Glinda is being actively diminished and put down whilst Elphaba is raised and complimented for the purpose of manipulation and to be used for their purposes rather than existing for herself, just as her father diminishes and hurts her whilst complimenting and idolising Nessa but also manipulating her & never allowing her to live her own life. There's a moment where they're all stood around the grimmerie to get the four of them in shot with Elphie looking over the book, Morrible encouragingly at her side, the Wizard watching on from behind, and Glinda leaning over Elphie's other side to try and squeeze herself into the picture and I think that this still alone captures the entire thing so very well.

In a way, this is why Glinda turned round - without Elphie there, she gets love. When Elphaba had parental figures over her and no Nessa present to be better than her, she felt loved; when Glinda has parental figures over her and no Elphaba present to be better than her, she feels loved. The fundamental difference between them in the moment of choice is arguably that Elphaba's love for others, primarily Nessa, will always be stronger than her need for love from others, whereas Glinda's need for love from others will always be stronger than her love for others, primarily Elphaba.

In this moment, Glinda's warped distinction between love and popularity, as I discussed it earlier, is finally put to direct test and even though she loves Elphie and is loved by her in a way that she has arguably never been loved (we saw just how shallow her relationship with her parents was upon the arrival at Shiz. It's as shallow as her friendships at Shiz and romance with Fiyero.) she chooses popularity because she has somehow convinced herself that superficial love from many is better than genuine love from few. Elphaba's love for Glinda is probably the most genuine affection she's experienced in her entire life - but it doesn't come from authority. Elphaba's love isn't coming from someone who can raise Glina up or give her advantages and ultimately she is always seeking the approval of authority, possibly because she felt like she never received it from the authority that was her parents when she was a child, and she finds that feeling in Morrible and the Wizard, and arguably in the power that Fiyero's family could give her as well.

Okay super quick additions that i just remembered:

I loved loved loved the addition of her falling from the palace and seeing young Elphaba in the reflection and once again so freaking much could be said about the strength of Erivo's acting here it was truly beautiful and I found it like genuinely nerve-wracking even though I knew she obvs had to make it and the song wasn't over yk but yeah it was fantastic

When Elphaba's running from the soldiers & the flying monkeys just after the monkeys have been told to attack her and Glinda is chasing after her. They go through a narrow corridor of the palace lined by windows, and the wall are made of green brick. The sunset beyond casts pink light through every window. Every window is pink, all the walls are green. Elphaba is running and Glinda is following, trying to tell her to come back to the Wizard. As they run the flying monkeys start smashing the windows, so for every pace that they take THE PINK SHATTERS AND ONLY THE GREEN IS LEFT BEHIND. They are running towards Defying Gravity and for every step closer to it they become the less intertwined the colours are. The pink shatters and the green is left behind. It was visual poetry.

Okay I hope that this insane rambling made sense, I was partially transcribing this from voicenotes I sent to my friends when I got back after the movie and they actually got more than this so apologies to them and thank you for indulging me, and thank you to anyone who has bothered to read this lol I hope it was interesting - overall, excellent movie and I loved it!! Already can't wait for part 2

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