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thelioncourts · 5 years ago

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title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 5228 for chapter four (4/?); 20080 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

The next day, their walk to the gallery was accompanied by rain. It wasn’t a hard rain, much more of a drizzle, but it left the sidewalks darkened, the population outside scarce, and the tops of Damen and Nik’s shoes wet.

“Is today going to be like yesterday?” Damen asked from underneath the black umbrella.

“Essentially,” said Nik. “We’re not getting there until eight o’clock because they don’t need to introduce us, and I know we’re photographing a different line than the gold label, but everything else will be the same.”

“Why aren’t you doing the gold label again?”

“They want to see how we work with a bolder color as opposed to the shine of metallics. The lighting to capture the two is so different and it will be a really good way to gage if the photographers know what they’re doing.”

They turned a corner and narrowly missed colliding with a man wearing a suit and holding a cup of coffee. Though they did avoid such a disaster, their umbrellas got briefly intertwined, allowing for rain to fall on them while exposed to the elements. Damen’s right shoulder took most of the water. Unperturbed, Damen shook it off and they got back to their steady pace.

“I remember the first time you really had to work with color,” Damen said.

“Do you?” Nik asked with an amused raise of his brow.

“I do,” said Damen. “Vihaan was getting married. We were invited, of course, and he wanted to hire you as the wedding photographer. You tried to decline, saying that you didn’t have enough experience to be responsible for such a day, but Vihaan insisted.” The gallery was just ahead now and through the windows they could see a few people walking around. “We were about three weeks away from the wedding and you started to freak out about all the color that would be at an Indian wedding. So, instead of letting you freak out, I scheduled a trip for us.”

“Old San Juan,” Nik said.

“Old San Juan,” Damen repeated with a smile. “Puerto Rico had so much color for you to practice with. It wasn’t any surprise that your photos for Vihaan’s wedding turned out as good as they did.”

As he opened the door to the gallery, Nik said, “They wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.”

“Not true,” Damen argued. They both shook off the umbrellas as much as they could before closing them and letting the door close behind them. “They would have turned out great no matter what. I just,” Damen trailed off, looking for the right thing to say, “gave you the placebo you needed to think you could take those kinds of photos.”

There were more people here than there were yesterday, but they both decided that was because of the hour later start time for the photographers. Much like yesterday, however, was where people were. Damen recognized their friend Vannes from yesterday, standing at the beverage station with another delicate black stir stick in hand, stirring it clockwise while she chatted with Audin. Across the way, Talik couldn’t take her eyes off of the female designer, the camera in Talik’s hands long forgotten in its importance. Charls, who Nik had said was even cheerier than he had seemed when Damen saw him, was in the back at the makeup vanities, his joyous laugh carrying through the echoing gallery brightly. Juerre and Guilliame were huddled by the curtain the photographers had disappeared behind the day before, no doubt speaking in French, and, from the fiddling of Guilliame’s fidgety hands, talking something serious; probably gossiping about which photographers wouldn’t get picked for the show. Then they saw a flash of red.

“There’s the answer on what bold color you’re going to be dealing with today,” Damen said. The redhead, whom they had learned yesterday was named Ancel (courtesy only of his agent pleading at him about something) was prancing around with a confidence unlike any of the others, already dressed in clothes that matched the fire of his hair. They seemed to prefer him in sheer fabrics, or maybe he preferred himself in them, but he was wearing a shirt that wasn’t a shirt at all, but red fishnet fabric that went from his neck to the tops of his ribs and all the way down each arm, cinching tight right at the wrists. His pants, shiny red leather, were no doubt similarly cinched around his ankles if the red thigh-high boots he had on were any indication. But the most striking was the simplistic styling of his red hair and the red liner winged on his eyelids.

[Continue on AO3]

“At least it wasn’t something too bright, like yellow or something,” Nik said. He adjusted the camera back over his shoulder, heaved a sigh, and looked at Damen. “I should go start fiddling with my camera again. All my settings are going to need adjusted.”

“Go,” Damen said with a jut of his chin. “I’ll go make a fool of myself again. After a coffee, of course.

“Right.” Nik stepped once then immediately turned to face Damen again. “If you see Laurent anytime in the next hour, try not to sexually harass him. He’s the one person here who can really make or break me. Him wanting to rip your dick off so you’ll stop thinking with it will definitely have him wanting to do the latter.”

“I have never sexually harassed anyone in my life,” Damen argued, sounding utterly indigent.

“No,” Nik said after some consideration, “but you’ve pursued and never been told “No” a day in your life. Laurent doesn’t seem like a “Yes” kind of guy.”

Damen waved him off, ignoring the call of, “Damen, I’m being serious!” and made his way over to get himself a coffee. After a minute, he didn’t see so much as hear Nik stomp away in a huff of fond annoyance. He was smiling to himself when Vannes said, “And how did your friend survive yesterday, Mr. Influencer?”

She had a smug grin on her face, something that seemed permanent in her disposition, but Damen met it with a steady gaze. “He did more than fine. How are you today, Ms. Vannes?”

“I’m quite well,” she said. It was obvious that she made note of how quickly he shifted the conversation. “I’m reminiscing while seeing pieces from one of our older lines running around here. It speaks volumes into how we’ve changed.”

“How old is this line?” Damen asked.

Vannes hummed. “It was from a winter line we launched three years ago. Many of the models that were here for that line have left the business. The ones still with us have different measurements than they did then. In turn, it’s been a puzzle refitting things this morning.”

The coffee maker, just as yesterday, hissed and steamed.

“Many of the models have left the business?” Damen asked. “Is there often a high turnover rate in modeling? I feel like the same girls have been walking for Victoria’s Secret for the last decade.”

“You would compare this to Victoria’s Secret,” Vannes muttered. “Etoile is predominantly a youth modeling agency. Our models normally range from only the ages of fifteen to twenty. After that, our models’ contracts are up and not renewed.”

“Fifteen? That’s young,” Damen said.

“Laurent was signed on when he was thirteen.” Vannes placed her red mug onto the table. “Laurent is Etoile’s star.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Damen said, his smile telling. “I saw him yesterday.”

Vannes hummed again. “Well, enjoy it. He’s turning twenty-one this year. And I highly doubt he’ll be renewing his contract.”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s the owner’s nephew, right? There have to be some kind of familial advantage that would let him do this another few years if he wanted to.”

“He’s a spoiled and entitled brat,” Vannes said matter of fact. “Over the years, he’s gotten mouthier, refused to listen to his uncle or the Etoile board on what he needs to do to represent us. He won’t re-sign because he doesn’t want to be told what to do.”

Charls voice, like yesterday, interrupted to ring out through the gallery. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to start by thanking you all for such a lovely day yesterday. All your work is much appreciated. None of our designs mean anything if we don’t have the stylists, artists, photographers, assistants, and, of course, models to make them magical.” Vannes waved at Damen with a fluttering of her fingers as she made her way over to where Charls was standing. Audin was doing the same. “Today we have dusted off one of our past winter lines to see how our photographers do with bold color. The day will go much as it did yesterday, with preliminary group photos followed by a rotation of our models in small groups or duos. After a discussion with our photographers yesterday, we are going to double the time of rotation, however. This will, hopefully, allow you all to get to know one another much better and will allow our photographers opportunity to get the best photos. Are there any outstanding questions or concerns to address before we begin?” Charls paused, turning around the room in search for a raised hand, and when no one responded, he clapped his hands together and said, “Then we will begin shortly! Our beautiful models are almost ready.”

“The models might almost be ready, but I’m not,” Nik said to Damen as Damen wandered back over.

“You’re fine. Just like yesterday, you’re fine,” Damen said.

“They’re not having me by the windows for the individual shots today. They’ve moved me over there,” Nik said, pointing over to the wall farthest from the windows he had been at yesterday. There were three columns, large and white, Corinthian styled, and nothing more besides the shadows they casted on the floor.

“So, adjust your settings and kill it like you did before,” Damen said. Nik shot him a glare.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Damen put his hands up defensively. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Walking around felt different than it had yesterday. Already Damen had expectations as to what he would see. The biggest difference today, he noted when he was by the clothing carts, was that there were more clothes leftover than there had been yesterday. Vannes hadn’t been lying when she said a lot of the clothes didn’t fit the current models’ measurements. He was running a hand over a pair of large red hooped earrings when he heard a click of heels. It wasn’t hard for him to realize how like yesterday this was, him at the tables near the vanities.

Laurent was talking to another model, one of the pretty ones with honeyed eyes. The boy was talking with a smile and Laurent was smiling indulgently back and his smile would have been the most distracting thing, was the most distracting thing, but it also drew attention to the other most distracting thing which was the red lipstick on his mouth, accentuating its fullness with the adroitly smeared bit at the right corner as though it was daring Damen to look anywhere else.

Still, he eventually did look anywhere else; he had to look at what Laurent was wearing because it was so excessive, so demanding of attention. The red lipstick on his mouth was the only color on his face. It made the color all the more sensual, the appearance of it looking kissed off and ruined. His hair, like Ancel’s, was simplistically styled and that in itself drew more attention to the less than simplistic ruby necklace on his collarbones. It was a large piece of jewelry, the beginning of it a choker that started low on his neck before scooping down to rest on the flat of his chest. Its width was at least four inches at the curve where his neck met shoulder. Damen wasn’t certain how much a necklace like that would go for, but if he had learned truly anything in the last few days it was that Etoile wasn’t cheap; this thing easily had to cost more than ten thousand dollars. But even it wasn’t enough to take away from the red suit Laurent was wearing. The suit jacket, sans shirt, was buttoned just up to the button between the top portion of Laurent’s ribcage. It was a single-breasted jacket with notched lapels and angled pockets, and it was fitted like a glove, so tight to Laurent’s body that Damen could make out the precise movements of his shoulder blades underneath the fabric. There was no vent to the back of the jacket, and it fell far enough to hide the pockets of both the front and back of the pants he was wearing. Even with the pockets hidden, it wasn’t difficult to notice three things: that the pants were made of the exact same material as the jacket, that the pants were tight too, and that Laurent had the most delicately shaped ankles on the planet.

In another life, one where Damen would have most definitely ran into Laurent on his own terms, Damen would have spent the last two days working all of his charms, the exact ones that have yet to fail him, just to see if he could get the blond underneath him in bed. But in this life, the one where Laurent was an integral part to Nik’s first break in the photography industry, Damen knew he had to behave. So, he did.

If Laurent had noticed him staring, he made no effort to disengage such actions. In fact, Laurent seemed to not know Damen was standing in the vicinity at all. After the honey-eyed model had finished talking about whatever had been on his mind, Laurent had said a few words with that same indulgent smile and then turned toward Charls, beckoning the model to follow.

Damen whistled lowly as he approached Nik again. “That blond, man.”

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“Have some faith in me, Nik,” Damen said. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I feel like I need to reiterate it to you as often as possible,” Nik said.

“I promise not to jeopardize this,” Damen said, hand over his heart. “I’ll wait until the big fashion week is over before I tell him all the things I’d like to do with him.”

Nik made a face. “Gross.”

He was at the columns and Damen stepped to the side to allow him to test a few pictures. He tried one, two, three, and he must have done something different on each one with a simple twist of a dial, because he stared at his screen for a few minutes, analyzing the photos. “Hey,” he said after a minute, walking back up to Damen with the screen of the camera gestured out, “doesn’t this look like some of those pictures we took back home a few years ago?”

Damen took the camera and smiled at the memory, and right as he was opening up to say so, Nik’s hand clasped around his wrist in a vice-like grip. “Damen, we haven’t taken any pictures for online. Shit, Damen, I’ve been so focused on this –”

“Nik, relax,” Damen laughed, unlatching Nik’s hand. “I took our scheduled stuff from Italy and changed it to post every other day instead of every day. We’re good for another two weeks. In the meantime, I’ve still been posting my workouts on my story. Those always seem to do well.”

“I forgot you were still working out at hellish early hours,” Nik said. His face screamed of relief.

“Parisian sunrises are pretty amazing. You should try to get up and see one before we leave,” Damen said.

Nik was better after that, better enough to start fiddling with his camera again. It was right after he had taken two more pictures that a clicking of heels and the shuffling of feet alerted them both to movement back at the center of the room. Sure enough, all the models were gathering together in the same places they had yesterday, Laurent, Ancel, and the green eyed one near the front.

“Look at our models,” Charls announced loudly, drawing attention from those still straggling. “This red was such a bold statement for our winter line, and we were thrilled to dust off its vibrancy. If we could have our photographers gather, we are now ready to begin!”

The group photos went just like yesterday; the models all had a unique energy and so did the five photographers. It was fun to watch Nik at first as he tried to find what angle worked best with this coloring, this lighting, and then when he found it, Damen’s gaze was allowed to drift and it found Laurent’s mouth.

Like yesterday too, Damen was struck by how Laurent posed or, more specifically, how he didn’t seem to pose at all. Ancel was exaggerated with his body, moving it in the obvious way meant for seduction. The green eyed one looked less practiced, but was doing the same, arching his back and drawing attention to the jut of his hip bones. And it worked for the both of them and the others, it did, but Laurent did his own nonexaggerated thing and it was effortless and beautiful.

Damen still couldn’t stop staring at the smudge of red on his mouth.

“I can feel your staring and it’s not even at me,” Nik mumbled. Damen turned his head so no one else would see his grin.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it.”

Charls rushed forward to adjust the collar on the green eyed one’s shirt (Aimeric was his name) and then he rushed right back, his eyes shining as he took in what he had created. Then he announced it was time for the photographers to move to their designated individual places. Nik started to pack up his camera bag when Talik came up to him, and Damen, with a furrow between her brows.

“I’m in your spot from yesterday,” she said. “And I can’t figure out the lighting with the windows though. How did you manage it yesterday?”

“Here are the settings I used,” Nik said, showing her a sheet of paper stuffed in his bag. He had written down the numbers.

She thanked him and left, and Damen huffed. “Giving away your secrets?”

“It’s tough lighting to shoot in over there.”

“Well, wait to give away all your secrets until after you’ve been chosen to go to the Olympics,” Damen said.

Having had already figured out everything for his new place, Nik found it easy to set up. Damen, instead, watched the other photographers set up. He watched Talik adjust her settings to what Nik had shown her, he watched Jeurre’s manager talk animatedly to him under the crystal chandelier, and he watched Charls direct the models in the same groups and duos they had been in yesterday. Laurent went to Hendric first.

The first group sent Nik’s way was beautiful and dressed in silks, silks that draped and flowed like the wind was always caught in their weight. The twenty minutes gave Nik the time to actually pose the models in a multitude of ways, to space them between the columns, to take pictures in the shadows the columns casted, to take pictures of brown eyes against the white stone.

Charls called for the groups to move and Nik was graced with the presence of Ancel and Aimeric. They were a startling duo, Ancel’s pin straight red hair against Aimeric’s brown curls, but both with green eyes. Aimeric lacked Ancel’s confidence but made up for it with the aristocratic curves of his face. Nik asked for them to stand back-to-back, asked for Ancel to bend at the knees ever so slightly so he was at equal height with Aimeric and they could angle their faces up toward the light. Ancel said, with a sly smile on his face, “You two are by far the most handsome strangers I’ve ever had photograph me,” and Nik didn’t say anything other than a low hum of acknowledgment. And when Charls called for the groups to move, Ancel waved flirtatiously as he had the day before.

Then there was Laurent.

His blue eyes were cool as he assessed the columns, assessed the light and the dark, assessed Nik and the camera in his hands.

“Well?” Laurent asked after a moment’s pause.

“Can we do something like what we did yesterday, with you behind one of the columns?”

Laurent moved in acquiesce, his feet quiet against the marble floor, and Nik took a picture of Laurent’s jeweled hand resting on the stone before anything else. They did a few variations there, some photos focused on the contrast of the bold red against the minimalistic background, others focused on the way Laurent could lean a shoulder against the white stone and look more becoming than anyone had a right to. It was when Nik motioned for Laurent to step forward that the blond spoke again.

“I heard your real name is Nikandros,” he said, pressing the palm of his head into the grooves of the column that were equally tall as his own eye level. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Nik said simply.

“Very Greek,” Laurent said. He placed all his weight on the column, bearing it between his shoulder blades. The vent of his jacket was so tight that it didn’t lean away from his body as he arched away from the column. Instead it stayed in place, the lines of it all so clean, even down to the curves of his heels.

“And did you grow up in Greece your entire life?” Laurent asked. Nik snapped another photo.

“Yes. I went to the same schools my parents attended in their youth.”

“Why leave?”

Damen could see it in Nik’s shoulders that he wasn’t sure what to make of what was happening. Damen wasn’t quite sure what to make of hearing Laurent speak; his voice was like cold water splashed on your face after a day in scorching heat. He also wasn’t quite sure what to make of Laurent’s line of questioning.

“I – we – decided that there was more to see of the world than our city by ocean. We wanted to see it before we ended up like our parents, old and sheltered from sights different than the ones we were born surrounded by,” Nik said.

“By ‘we’ I assume you’re talking about your friend over there,” Laurent said as though Damen wasn’t in hearing-distance. “Friend? Brother? More?” Nik glared at his camera screen and adjusted a singular setting.

“Friends,” Damen supplied in answer, watching Nik get distracted. Laurent’s cool blue gaze landed on him. The red he was bathed in made his eyes look brighter.

“And you must be the face of the two,” Laurent said.

“The face?” Damen asked, taking a step closer. Nik was still fiddling with the camera.

“You two are the,” Laurent paused, “social media influences.”

Damen couldn’t help but laugh, even if his laugh was an incredulous one. “What is with you all and –”

“I had been trying to deduce which of the five of my uncle’s latest group of experimentees was the Instagram photographer, but I soon realized that looking at the photographers themselves would never do. I needed to look at their acquaintances.” Laurent had lowered himself to the ground without any direction, splaying his long, red-clad legs out and bending one just enticingly enough to look like temptation. “Everything about you screams it.”

“‘Everything?’” Damen asked. “How could everything about me scream something like that? Especially when it’s not true.”

For the first time since the shoot had started, Laurent smiled, and it wasn’t kind. He looked at Damen under blond eyelashes then spent a moment consciously changing the smile to something alluring. The entire display was magic. “You’re either extremely confident in yourself or extremely oblivious about the way life works.” He tilted his head to show off the column of his throat. “Or both.”

“We travel the world,” Damen said, taking another step closer. “We can’t help what it’s turned into, but it hasn’t changed us. We’re still doing this for us and no one else.”

“Everyone is always doing something for the approval of someone else. Even if they don’t think they are, they are.”

“You seem young to be this cynical,” Damen said.

“You seem old to be relying on teenagers on social media for your career,” Laurent said right back. He moved again, laying down, spreading his hair out like a halo on the marble floor, and turning to look at the camera.

“Can you lower your left arm?” Nik asked. Laurent complied.

Damen realized he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. He was pretty sure that lashing out at Laurent would have the same effect as trying to come on to him, and both of those ended with him and Nik packing their bags in two days.

“What is your backup plan?” Laurent asked to neither of them in particular. “Social media is currently what is bringing in the money, but social media didn’t exist in this capacity ten years ago. In another few years, something newer will take over in rank.”

“We haven’t thought that far,” Nik said. He snapped another photo.

Laurent smiled again. “I don’t doubt that.”

Damen ran a hand through his hair and breathed out a laugh, the kind of laugh that was only a breath of air out of his nostrils, and when his self-control was finally slipping away, Charls called for the models to move once more. Laurent, elegant, got off the floor and walked away.

Nik shot Damen a look. “That was unbearable.”

“Yeah.”

Nik got a lovely group of five models to photograph next and, to Nik’s surprise, one of the models, one with a confidence at a level near Ancel’s, suggested they lift the smallest of the five, a beautiful sandy haired one, up over their heads. Nik thought that sounded wonderful as long as they felt safe doing so and he had them stand center between two of the columns and lift. Erasmus, the sandy haired one, giggled. Their shadows were complementary to the shadows of the columns.

To not disrupt anything, there was a rule while the shoot was going on and that was no one in or out of the entry doors. There was everything anyone could need in this main part of the gallery and the entry doors almost always allowed a gust of wind to enter that could ruin the models’ hair. Everyone knew the rule and there was usually someone outside to ensure no one broke that rule. So, when the door opened, everyone noticed.

It was the child from Etoile’s office.

The child was wearing an outfit that cost at least as much as anything any of the models were wearing and the curls of his hair looked to be done professionally. He strutted through the gallery like he owned it, all arrogant in a way that betrayed his age. There were some looks thrown his way, but most seemed familiar or even expectant.

Damen watched, curiously, as the child walked with that never-faltering arrogance all the way up to Laurent. With a petulance befitting his age, he crossed his arms over his tiny chest, and tapped his heeled shoe on the ground. Laurent, for his part, must not have seen him or didn’t want to see him because he kept doing what he had been doing as the child had walked in: posing with his head tilted up toward the crystal chandelier. It didn’t seem to bother him that the child was ruining his shot, not until the child tugged on the sleeve of Laurent’s expensive suit jacket.

Finally, Laurent gave the child his attention. They both wore similar frowns on their faces, near mirrors of one another. The child said something, and his face said that whatever he said wasn’t kind. Laurent said something in return and his face looked the same. The child said something again and Laurent motioned at the door. With a huff, the child turned to go, but not before Laurent ruffled his perfectly curled hair. It was obvious it wasn’t a normal sign of affection and was only done to incite anger. It worked. The child swatted hard at Laurent’s arm.

“Hey,” Nik said, getting Damen’s attention. Damen waited until the child was walking out the entry doors before he turned back. “Can we go out and get drinks tonight?”

“Name the time. I’ll find us a good place,” Damen said. He was already reaching for his phone. The suggestion sounded more like a plea.

Charls announced for the models to move one last time.

There was a bar called Danico just two blocks away from the gallery. Neither Damen nor Nik wanted to bother stopping by their room, they just wanted to go. And when they got there, it was moody and alive, and they grabbed two perfectly empty stools at the bar. Nik, with his camera still in hand, didn’t even look at the menu. Damen ordered them both something strong, carbonated, and refreshing.

“Tomorrow is the last day of shooting,” Damen said, knowing Nik knew.

“Yeah,” Nik said. “I’ve never been under pressure like this for photography. The last time I felt like this was when we were kids and playing sports.”

“They’re going to choose you,” Damen said.

“I don’t think Laurent likes us very much.” They both smiled politely as their drinks were put in front of them. Nik drank a mouthful and then another.

“Well, I don’t think he likes anyone very much,” Damen laughed. “I think the playing ground is still even there.”

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes, decompressing and taking in the atmosphere of the bar. There were some beautiful people wandering around, all in nightlife wear, and Damen had that look in his eyes that earned him a not-so-easy punch in the arm from Nik.

“I’m trying not to be overconfident, but I guess I should start researching other fashion weeks,” Nik said.

“That’s not overconfidence speaking. That’s reality.”

“Whatever you want to call it, I still have no idea what I’m actually doing.”

“We’ve done really well at faking it this long,” Damen said with a grin.

“What are we even going to do for the two full weeks before fashion week?” Nik asked, ignoring him.

“There’s plenty to do in Paris,” Damen said. “And we haven’t even explored once. We’ll find more than enough to keep us busy for two weeks.”

It was easy to fall into other conversation after that. Damen brought out his phone and they looked at stats and messages and scheduled posts from their last trip in Italy. Then they talked about the phone calls they had both ignored from their families.

“Do they even know we’re here in Paris?” Nik asked, laughing. They had also ordered two more drinks.

“I have no idea,” Damen said, laughing too.

“Let’s tell them,” Nik said. He motioned for Damen to stand.

“Oh, come on,” Damen said. Nik motioned again. “Aren’t you tired of taking pictures?”

#captive prince #captive prince fic #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #capri #capri fic #the mannequin gallery #mannequin gallery 'verse #the mannequin gallery chapter 4

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attackofthezee · 7 years ago

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Welcome to my thesis entitled All Fandoms Don’t Leave Kudos For Shit; Your Fandom Is Not Actually That Bad Comparatively, TBH It’s Actually Probably Pretty Average.

So I was minding my own business, scrolling through tumblr at 3 in the morning as one with insomnia does and I came across it. The post. The post in which the op begged people in their fandom to leave more kudos because ‘as a fandom we’re really picky and leave less kudos than other fandoms guys.’ Which. Great. I love leaving kudos! I wish people left more kudos! I looooove validation! I nodded a little, frowned a little, and kept scrolling. And then my brain went ‘well, no, hold on’ because in my experience all fandoms aren’t that great about things like leaving kudos and comments. We are all, no matter the fandom, in our own special way, picky and/or forgetful bitches.

So the hypothesis? When compared statistically there would be little to no major difference in kudos to hits ratio between fandoms/pairings.

The methodology? Probably flawed. I mean it is almost 6 in the morning and I’ve been working on this for at least a couple hours after only sleeping an hour.

The methodology? I took 7 pairings from 7 different fandoms, used ao3’s filters to sort by kudos, kept it to only works that were complete and in english, and recorded the kudos to hits ratios for 4 fanfics. One on the 1st page, one on the 5th, one on the 9th, and one on the 60th. I then worked out the percentage of kudos compared to hits, and then found the average of those percentages.

The accuracy? Ehhhh, it’s almost 6 in the morning, this is by no means a large sample size, and my brain refused to do math so early/late so I used online calculators for everything. You could probably take 4 different fics from each category and get wildly different results, and honestly I’m curious to see what the data would say if I did this with 100 fics instead, though I have a feeling it’d be at least somewhat similar.

The results? If you want a higher kudos/hits ratio write Bitty/Jack from Check Please or Poe/Finn from Star Wars. If you want to cry over the ratio of it, but probably get more kudos overall? Write Stiles/Derek. While the former are both in the 12% range, and the latter is in the 5-6% range, the most kudos Bitty/Jack and Poe/Finn have are 5,895 and 8,686 respectively, compared to Sterek’s highest kudos of 28,353 kudos. Which, like, tbh none of this is bad when you think about it? You have to look at the size of your fandom before you put any stock on kudos (not that kudos is the most important thing, either, but I get it, I love validation too and kudos are a super effective and easy way of getting that.) A webcomic like Check Please, or a ship like Poe/Finn that has to compete with the pretty large amount of shipping possibilities that Star Wars offers isn’t going to have the readership that something like Sterek has because Sterek is a fandom unto itself with writers and readers that sometimes don’t even consider themselves a part of Sterek’s parent fandom anymore.

The highest percentage on a fic was 17%, the lowest was 1%. I find it interesting to note that the fic with 1% kudos was also the top fic for it’s pairing. On average though, fandoms tend to leave kudos around 10% (give or take) of the time they read, which to be entirely honest, is what I’ve always figured just glancing at the numbers.

The Conclusion: Aka the TLDR;

Fandoms in general aren’t that great at leaving kudos. They leave, on average, kudos only 5-12% of the time. Which means that not leaving kudos? It’s not a specific fandom problem, it’s an overarching fandom problem where we as fans have either gotten jaded and picky or are too dang lazy to hit that kudos button. And tbh, I understand! For some of us ao3 hasn’t always been the default. The ability to let someone know you loved their work with a click of the button hasn’t always been there. There was no way to leave a kudos on livejournal! You had to be brave and comment if you wanted someone to know you liked their stuff.

So, in conclusion, no fandom is any better or any worse, and the kudos problem is only really a problem if you find it to be one. If you think your fandom is lacking in their ability to share little balls of warm fuzzies in the form of a click then make an effort to leave more kudos, to write more comments, to send authors you like more tumblr messages, or to do whatever you think needs to be done! If you’re fine with it, then continue on with your merry fandom journey cause that’s what it’s here for.

And if you get discouraged by your kudos count, just remember that if you get even close to 10% of the people who read your fic to kudos it? Then you’re fucking awesome. (You’re awesome anyways, but like, statistically you’re great. Keep going with your bad selves and writing that fic, writers)

THE DATA

I straight up used calculators on the internet for this, so if you see glaring innacuries here, let me know. Hopefully gently?

percentages for fics were all rounded up or down accordingly

TEEN WOLF DEREK HALE/STILES STILINSKI

Hits/Kudos

500802 / 28353 = 5%

212070 / 9959 = 5%

72824 / 7413 = 10%

91015 / 3024 = 3%

AVERAGE = 5.75%

MARVEL BUCKY BARNES/STEVE ROGERS

Hits/Kudos

202914 / 19093 = 9%

167776 / 6115 = 3%

78982 / 4611 = 6%

14825 / 1522 = 10%

= 7%

HARRY POTTER DRACO/HARRY

281221 / 22544 = 8%

81623 / 5228 = 6%

48525 / 3000 = 6%

7940/801 = 10%

= 7.5%

CHECK PLEASE BITTY/JACK

53062 / 5895 = 11%

12527 / 1862 = 15%

11377 / 1327 = 12%

3052 / 397 = 13%

=12.75%

BANDOM JOSH DUN/TYLER JOSEPH

400379 / 5690 = 1%

3385 / 458 = 13%

3028 / 329 = 11%

1638 / 104 = 6%

=7.75%

SUPERNATURAL DEAN/CAS

308784 / 11120 = 4%

26483 / 3596 = 14%

108138 / 2777 = 3%

16108 / 997 = 6%

=6.75%

STAR WARS POE/FINN

108170 / 8686 = 8%

9700 / 1673 = 17%

6990 / 1063 = 15%

2293/ 228 = 10%

= 12%

#this is what happens when i don't sleep #i take on meaningless research projects #fandom #not #discourse #but i guess it could be considered something like it #idk idk i'm tired #me me me #writing tag #don't judge my researching skills ok it's too early for that #don't take me too seriously #i'm not a scientist #i have never taken a stats class #i barely passed algebra 2 tbh

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