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renatedagmarmilada · 2 years ago

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grey viz print...roll down

sometimes it is necessary not to say things too openly,

yet not to keep them secret.

.punishment

for giving away the secrets of the powerful is constant

and never subsides..

.They tested remote stuff,

tried and dusted over there.

.but small amounts on many..

Here they use large amounts on a few,

though already tried and dusted

by the States,

for their own purposes.

It is the future of war weaponry.

The War Lords have given permission.

I have to go they say-

because I put it into my poetry.

Renate Fekete

Milada…17.3.07

Averell viz Reuben

> to us from our stampede West

> to where all things and safety lay

> America meant merely A viz R

> we knew both well from home

> we knew and believed truthful Averell

> but his own people doubted him

> we also knew Reuben's ways well

> his showmanship his charm to sway

> ere since on his journeying he began

> battling in an unseen mist

> averell and reuben as we preached

> the winner clear in a smudge to teach

> we sighed

> same methods

> we all knew so well

> maybe we'd better stay where we are

> look behind over our shoulders

> check our backs

> and where was home?

An ode for Colin, Art Lecturer RIP

> We continue to use her poetry

> intime it will blot out everything and pretty

> its for the Ausgust issue

> its one of hers I tissued

> I sent your stuff to the BBC and others

> and even used your very own venues

> I work at the lab, skinny Liz

> took along with friends of the lab and Chris

> and one or two are famous asked their help

> just to ensure you shut up and never yelp

> it is New York lab now robbing and topping

> beamed from england to their lab computer

> here bravery and decency dont count

> we don't mind losing artists and wont count

> and over there anything is fair game

> as long as it has personal gain....

Red Herrings and their ''fairer society''

> We are building a fairer society I quote

> led by the worst criminals

> even our east europeans

> have ever known

> with their wide experience of criminals

> as St Guys watches Hommerton and them

> or maybe we hadn't read the country

> correctly before

> has she shamed herself in your country

> now there's another experience

> the lab whispers in microsound

> We are not talking St Guy's whispers

> is everyone frightened on this island?

> atrocity after atrocity, include injustices

> sorry I made every person you met

> into a lover

> and asked them to study it as real

> you can never answer back

> nor can you stop the punishment

> they hand out

> one student adds

> it is the worst penitentiary ever

> with absolutely no human rights

> the lab tells him

> it is not

> it is an experiment with no bounds

> and no boundaries

> anything goes now

> this is Britain's Auschwitz they repeat

> this country is too small for camps

> every church, every shop, every school

> is your Camp 5

> we begin punishment when ever we wish

> plus the all nighters since November 03.

> why?

> why we messed up

> and Britian is never guilty

> especially when it is britains....

> well death is death,

> who ever metes out the death..

Ø robbery is robbery

Ø DIVORCE

> the wedding was my parent's style

> motivated by what will the neighbours say

> not mine though our love showed through

> quarter of a century later

> a psycho-man persuaded him to freedom

> meant shaking off all responsibility

> only just moved to a new city

> a small town girl and the kids

> couldn't believe he wouldn't come back

> as he always had from south Africa

> from Austria from all his job

> it was CHristmas and we didn't know how

> first I drank a bottle of whisky though teetotal

> then life had to go on

> all proceedings have to go through a system

> I don't remember the day or the time

> I know I sat on a bench somewhere

> and people were very kind and nice there

> a Judge with a soft face and voice said something

> I don't remember what but it was gentle

> solicitor's young man arm around my shoulder

> he wasn't there so you can have the kids

> but I'm still not sure what happened

> and asked for a long time

>another seven and intimidation

> more students in the lab

> doing the same file of constant lies

> spun around and around

> once they say..use your imagination

> (not what you think boys)

> over the tv voice

> the same old made up work

> by the members of the lab

> a book sent to a friend

> sensitive because it tells what they do

> a student gets a first

> he has robbed it

> they have a special letter to get the post

> we just call it fining any crime

> why?

> twenty years ago they split a happy family

> twenty years ago they watched us on screen

> day and night night and day

> every little action

> and certain parts sent everywhere looped

> seen by everyone

> all in the bedroom and the lounge

> adults nothing wrong

> twenty years of life

> common law husband

> the student got a first

> destroy all relationships

> then at the last the torture began

> squeezing arteries why?

> the effect is the same as a severe drug addict

> and pounding the heart like a smoker

> all things never experienced by this little healthy guy

> please see she is dead within this decade

> and I want a heart attack shortly

> last night was hell

> even for the brave and careful

> my skull hurt from the pressure

> and my spine trembled

> of course intimidation

> I'd gone to see a solicitor

> a visit to a solicitor always brings such reaction

> on line torture in Britain

> such a clever solicitor too

> asked you and who

> nay good Sir I aint telling

> you find out yourself...

> looks like London and Europe

> this is no small matter

> though dear madam

> you try to minimalise.

> why and where, what and who

> why and where, what and who?

THE QUEEN

> Fay,do copy this now it is my pet project

> Jacki has taken half their carefully saved funds

> their sophisticated machinery

> over ten thousand pounds out of accounts

> lone mum and mother

> year by year year after year

> Jackie was strapped for cash

> and drinks heavily as he works for the lab

> the lab earn huge wages from taxes

> and take from the accounts at will

> it is a victim they say

> using it so as to distance their crimes

> so you are still hammering her and them

> we can't let it get out

> the Queen is in it

> I don't believe it

> they lied to the Queen

> but the Queen can easily find out

> she has she said so

> the Queen said

> victim sue..and sue ..and sue

> do they think we can't check

> Charles too told twice but we can say nought

> wither way but we know the truth

> and you never say

> Sir, we were brought up in a different way

> we sat silent and watched

> and were rewarded for our loyalty

> by a golden piece by our royals

> the only time we shouted

> the Nazis are coming

> no one listened

> and again no one is listening

> the lawyers say what is criminal elsewhere

> is not criminal here and those know it

> and the public must not know the truth

> or that the Queen is in it..

> though the Queen knows full well

> and more poetry books bite the dust

> I consider my real feelings for once

> but I went to school with them

> I married them, laughed with them

> cried with them, played with them

> was ill in hospitals with them

> gae birth with them

> was even divorced with them

> no not the jews here the english..

> there was once a famous english writer

> who went to Holland to escape

> island corruption!

> so this is the great democratic island

> we had put on a pedestal...

> Renate Fekete

> 66 Lloyd Street

> whether it is a lab or not.

Steve says

> steve says they can't say we used Stanis

> cause Stanis helped us to use Stanis..

> steve says Maxwell was in it and Murdoch too

> it was their choice both they chose you did not

> steve says divorce, death or 'what if..?'

> stanis say you forfeit your post as well as life

> steve says she had an advantage

> healthy, talented we are ordinarying her

> steve says can you put a hole in her heart

> she was brilliant then but then became ' ill'

> steve says yes she is still copying eveything

> the spin doctors are disturbed by the pencil

> steve says the girls can do them by the imprint after

> students say we don't want to come back to the lab

> steve says the Minister was in the lab by invite

> it was amusement watching peoples private lives

>.....> steve says that's why we put

they were seen

> but added all the rest for afters

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bxldrsdraumar · 2 years ago

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Heart of Sword

fangedjustice

It had become something of a habit, when he had the time to do so, for Lloyd to watch the students that were working in the training areas. It was relaxing -- the bygone background noise of training weapons against wooden targets, carefree jokes and tomfoolery -- and it gave him the chance to observe any new techniques that could be useful to pick up. After all, he had a blended fighting style of Bern and Sacae, so he was not opposed to learning new things and making use of them.

There had been a lot of activity today.

Apparently, there were some visiting warriors teaching some techniques from their homelands. A fast, powerful blow meant to cleave a foe in two -- or, at the very least, leave them with a gaping wound or busted armor to make them more vulnerable to a follow up attack.

It was interesting to watch. While heavy handed attacks were of the norm in Bern, Sacaen fighters were built more for speed and a multitude of blows within a short time. This was...somewhat akin to a combination of the two. Enough so that Lloyd could observe from afar and feel that he had a decent understanding of it without approaching to ask questions. It was all about the build up, and then the timing of the release--

There was a ripple of slightly dismayed “aw’s” from one corner of the yard, followed up by laughter and the booming voice of someone who was very clearly not a student.

Young man. Sir knight.

It was still a little strange to answer to such things. Knights had...been more of an obstacle just several years ago to him. And well, he certainly didn’t feel like a young man all the time anymore.

“Ah...Well, I can give it a try, if it helps...,” Lloyd responded carefully, a little caught off guard in his watching to be called upon. The man that had called out to him was definitely not a student, and though he seemed a bit familiar, Lloyd didn’t think he knew the man’s name. Perhaps he was a new teacher...? Or another knight? They seemed to be getting more of those recently.

Borrowing one of the trainer weapons from one of the over-eager students, Lloyd tested the weight of it in his hand with a few, simple strokes; it wasn’t balanced perfectly well, a little light for his tastes, but he could adjust as needed. Then, it was just a matter of copying the stance that was shown -- not at all what he was used to; it felt a bit too still for actual use in a battle, rigid in a way. He slowed his breathing down, mentally pushing away the sounds of the training grounds, the students, the birds overhead.

One smooth, clean strike. No need to rush it. Just focus on the action of it, the sensation -- the feeling -- of losing oneself to the art of the blade. One smooth, fluid motion...

Lloyd twisted as he’d seen the visiting swordmasters do in their demonstration, dull training blade sounding from its sheath and through the air, to cut through one of the training dummies. He made a face at the angle of the cut itself, fingers brushing along the slight curve now cut out in the wood, splinters coming free as he did so. Hm, perhaps he’d not gotten the motion down exact, or his placement had been wrong...

The man he had called over – a knight, surely, for he moved with a surety that did not indicate he was here to learn, his eyes more bright with assessment than eagerness, a trait Sigurd found more common in hard men than young ones – hesitated a bit before giving his acquiescence. He demurred, his tone cautious, quiet, though Sigurd could see from his careful steps a breadth of experience.

The man tested the training sword – surely finding it clunky, awkward in his hand, just as Sigurd did – and took the stance that had been demonstrated, not needing quite the guidance Sigurd had to copy it exactly. Infantry, then, as Sigurd had expected – he had not the swagger of a man used to horseback, but knew what his body was doing when grounded.

The students watched with bated breath, enraptured at having two knights to demonstrate for them, murmuring amongst themselves as the swordsman calmed his breath, came to absolute stillness and -

STRUCK - !

The sword struck true, but not as cleanly as expected, for the other man had carved a chunk out of the dummy but did not carve clear through it. The man's disappointment was as clear as the students' - as they groaned and dispersed to continue their pursuit, the man made a face, his hand coming forward as though to provide himself tangible evidence of the failure.

Sigurd smiled at him, landing a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Ah, my apologies, friend. I see this is a tricky technique, if even a man such as yourself could not complete it." He did not elaborate what he meant by this – it seemed obvious – but he did allow the man an assessing rake of his eyes before continuing. "Perhaps if I were on my horse, the momentum – ah, but that is not the point of the technique, is it? Have you ever heard of such a technique, in your homeland? I am, of course, assuming that you are not from Elyos or Hoshido."

#in character #thread: heart of sword (sword +1)#interaction: fangedjustice #sigurd be like i know what you are eyes emoji

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years ago

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Uhm its my first time asking for the type of suggestions? 😂 Sorry for my English 🎉

If the four lords are died in the game and they will be reincarnated.. what are their professions or what life they get in their 2nd life?

Thank you 😊😊❤️❤️

hey so i kinda went a little off track so this is sorta like a modern au type of thing but i hope it’s okay

Alcina Dimitrescu

The Lady Dimitrescu is nothing short of CEO of her own company.

She’s the owner of a large winery where she produces her own wines and even some spirits but her company is especially known for the “maidens blood”.

Alcina is all class and style with tailor made suits and dresses that she wears to the office.

Her favourite outfits are the expensive gowns she gets to wear at fun raisers and wine tastings that potential business partners host.

Her daughters are all on the board of directors and mange the wineries while she works at the corporate office.

Alcina owns a large house in the valley where they grow the grapes used for the wine. It’s a large house big enough for her and her daughters to stay when they’re not working.

Having lots of wealth means she’s got an acquired taste for art and she loves to collect old renaissance paintings. She even had a family portrait done with her daughters.

Even though she’s a bit of a workaholic and very passionate about her job (especially with her daughters due to inherit the company one day) she’s still in love with having some down time for herself.

A weekend away at her holiday house is spent curled up on the couch in her nightgown, a glass of wine in hand and the fire place going while she reads her gothic novels.

Donna Beneveinto

Donna lives peacefully in a quiet town where works at a tailor shop. It’s one of those old fashioned ones with a bell on the wooden door that rings each time someone steps in and the floorboards creek under her shoes.

She was taken under the wing but the old lady that owned the store and she considers her as something of a mother figure to her. She was sweet and let Donna bring Angie to work with her.

The two spend their days making small talk and sewing on the garments the locals bring in.

They often have tea together, either on their break or in the afternoon where the sweet old lady brings in little cakes while Donna brings her homemade herbal tea.

As apart of the tailoring store, customers can also buy fabrics and other handmade pieces like towels, clothes, curtains and blankets as a way to make money and the old lady is adored by the locals. Donna was instantly included into the local community, getting to go to markets and gatherings.

The old lady even let Donna sell her dolls along with everything else in the store and it was very popular amongst the children.

Donna is very happy in her local community and they make her feel like she belongs and is loved, what more could she ask for?

Salvatore Moreau

Sal is a physician in a hospital in the big city. He’s always had a passion to help people and became determined at a young age that he wanted to enter medicine.

He came from a small town and worked as the local doctor, making house trips and assisting people that he grew up with. It always made him smile knowing that he made an impact and was able to care for people he loved.

Eventually he moved to the city where he could get a higher education and stayed there to work afterwards where he’s found his passion to help others.

He works in the children’s ward and always does his best to make them smile when they come in with broken arms from skateboarding or falling off the trampoline.

When he was a child he had an accident which left him with some deformities on his face and neck. It was one of the reasons why he fell in love with medicine when he was treated with love and care in the hospital himself.

Sal never let’s his appearance get to him and uses it for his advantage when he sees a child crying from their injuries or illness. He always reassures them with a soft smile as he lets them know it’ll be okay, he’s experienced it too and they’re not alone.

On his days off he curls up under a blanket with a block of cheese and a hot chocolate (a weird combination but he loves it) while he watches those cheesy medical shows and the occasional romcom.

He’s got a pet axolotl that he loves and spoils. In some ways it reminds him of himself by his appearance and its like his comfort creature and best friend.

Karl Heisenberg

Growing up was difficult since Karl was a bit of a troublemaker but he was extremely smart and gifted.

He didn’t get along with teachers at school so he ended up dropping out and getting a job at the local mechanic.

Karl immediately had a gift for working with metal, understanding blueprints and instruction manuals with minimal assistance or training.

One day he was working on a fancy car that belonged to a tech giant that owned a company in the big city. When he offered Karl a job working as an engineer he never looked back.

He’s incredibly happy with his job since it gave him the opportunity to get away from his old life that was full of deviancy and troublemaking. For Karl, it’s never been about making money or being successful, all he wants is a peaceful life where he can be happy.

Work lets Karl be flexible where some days him and his small team of co-workers are designing new blueprints while others are spent testing them out in their studio.

Karl owns a grungy apartment in the city, there’s always bottles of beer, takeout left on the countertops and the ashtray is always overflowing but it’s home and he loves it nonetheless.

He owns a cat that he found as a kitten in the alleyway one day. The poor thing was cold and hungry so he brought it inside and dished out the questionable can of tuna in the cabinet.

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau #salvatore moreau x reader #resident evil village #resident evil headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil #asks #prompt

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

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ballorawan740 · 3 years ago

Text

SCP Scenarios: SCP 1678 (Unlondon) x Reader (REQUESTED)

Source: Photo

Requested by: @lilithisfurry

Ok, so I've done it!!! 😃

Before any of you say a thing, I know that there are 2 humanoid 1678s which are 1678-A (Bobbies/Policeman) and 1678-C (Wretch) and an avian type one (1678-B)

The one I'll be using is 1678-A (Policeman) because it takes too much time to write 3 versions of this SCP (But I might consider writing the other 2, but it's highly unlikely)

First Encounter

When you first met this humanoid, you were sent into SCP 1678 for some test

The police humanoid emitted a loud whistle as the speakers screamed ‘‘Police! Halt, criminal!’’

A couple of others who were with you attempted to shoot them with their guns but were quickly shown to be resistant

Luckily for them, they managed to plant some explosives which caused damage

The other 1678-As went in and attacked them which wasn't unusual because of their hostile nature

However, for you, one of them managed to capture you and ran

For some reason, it showed some interest towards you and warded off the other SCP 1678-As off from you

They seemed to understand that you were "marked" and left you alone

That particular 1678-A managed to get you out from harm and back to your foundation

The foundation staff did wonder what had happened and you told them everything with proof since you were wearing a bodycam

They've soon noticed that this particular policeman was softer towards you as you bandaged up its broken arm

Your feelings for him

After the incident, you were sent back down into 1678 for further research and you bumped back into the sane 1678-A

You only remembered that it was him because of its gesture and its unusual markings which distinguished him from the others

Somehow, you both were able to communicate with each other

The researchers realised that they seemed to understand human speech, mainly English, however, they seemed to understand other forms of European languages as well

Moreover, this particular Bobby also understood sign language and used it to his advantage to communicate with you, displaying some fondness for you

The researchers were reluctant to let you carry on with this test as they've noticed that you've reciprocated the same gesture

Let's just say that the researchers and the other Bobbies agreed to the fact that it was strange for you and that special policeman to be dating

His Confession

Over time, as you both became closer, he worked up the courage to sign to you that he cares a lot about you

And you've found that rather cute and returned the gesture

Which then made you both a rather unique type of couple

The other 1678-As were concerned and curious about this new relationship and so was the Foundation

The researchers had decided to borrow your newfound partner and took him to his new room (No, you've basically kidnapped him)

Needless to say, the other Bobbies were somewhat furious while others were glad that he's gone since he betrayed them for not killing you

Your new partner was somewhat homesick, so you've decided to paint some victorian style art for his cell

Date

From time to time, you both were shoved back into 1678 which just so happens to be the main place for you both to date

Some of his friends were relieved to see him and some would even offer you a hug

You obviously returned the gesture for being so flattering and because your man could finally get laid (NGL yall still be touch starved to the point you'd even date strange beings and objects)

Dates with this Bobby would be rather interesting

Like, he'd hold hands, but probably wouldn't start it during the beginning of the relationship because he's just shy (Just like everybody else here)

Since his face is all bandaged up, you wouldn't really be having many kisses

But he'll make it up with hugs instead

His fellow friends would probably enjoy bothering the both of you while you're there and would pull pranks on you both

If you both were in the foundation, you'd be chilling in his cell and talking bout your experiences in life (Not like you'd have much to say, get back to studying/work)

The researchers may poke fun of you both but would generally leave you both alone

When he gets jealous

Now, depending on who he's jealous of, he would react differently

If it was another fellow 1678-A, he would be slightly hostile and assert his dominance over the others

However, if it was a member of the foundation or anyone else that's not 1678-A for that matter, he'd be even more aggressive and would probably try and kill them

Unless you manage to stop him then it's fine

This Bobby would be slightly possessive because you're the only other person who genuinely cares about him other than his 1678 friends/family

If he sees you having a friendly chat with another person/SCP, he would wrap an arm around you just so the other person knows you're taken

I think over time he learns some boundaries so even if he is aggressive, he wouldn't just automatically send the dude you're with to hell

Unless that person is a crappy person then good for them

Yandere!1678-A

This yandere right here would literally kidnap you and take you back into 1678

He'd make sure that you would never find a way back into the foundation which does concern the researchers, so they send a group of D-classes and MTFs to find you

If he was feeling nice, he would let you wander around 1678 but he would most likely be next to or near you at all times

If he was having a bad day, he would tie you up in a random building and made sure that nobody can get in or out

Would most likely be even more hostile to everybody else around you

If you haven't behaved, he'd probs use something sharp to inflict pain on you

If you managed to behave, then he loosens the ropes around your arms, legs and neck

Probs would feed you tiny doses of 1678-D but only a bit because he's aware of how that affects the bodies of ordinary humans

Their younger sister

You and the other 1678-As would literally be families at this point or friends with the ones who are lurking away from the main area of 1678

And since you were rather new, you were treated as the younger one (That's also because you're the youngest one)

Would probably protect you from everything

You would be spoilt to death and wouldn't have to hurt a fly

One of the policemen would get you a 1678-B as your personal pet

And it's rather fond of you so it basically follows you around

Would most likely intimidate your dates if you have one

Even more so if they're a human/SCP from the Foundation

If it was another member of 1678 then they're more chill

However, if you were dating 1678-C, they'd be quite reluctant for you to be in a relationship with her but would let you anyways

When their kids say their name for the first time

Would 100% be crying internally and shocked

Like, it happened out of the blue since you both were just relaxing

Word would spread across the whole of 1678 because of this

And not because you both were a unique pairing in the first place

1678-A would try to teach your child some sign language in contrast to you who would teach them to communicate verbally

Most likely try and teach the kid to defend themselves and probably attack others

But you wouldn't let him because they were too young (Just like you lot!!! Shouldn't y'all be studying in primary or high/secondary schools?)

The other 1678s would literally yeet their way to meet the kid just so they can teach your child to say more words

And to swear of course

When his S/O is angry

Oh dear

If the foundation doesn't know any better, they'd just assume that all the Bobbies were the aggressive ones

And oh boy were they wrong

You were the one who needs a chill pill

Basically, some guy tried to hit on you and wouldn't stop

So you just casually gave him a taste in his own medicine

Which were a punch in the face and a kick in the nuts (Kids, don't do this to a guy unless he really deserves it)

He somehow got back up and carried on harassing you

Your man was just strolling around the park until he saw the commotion

He had to literally hold you back and made the guy run for his life

Which was a shocker since it's usually the other way around

And of course, everybody inside 1678 heard about the news and cheered on for you while others just ran since they didn't wanna have the first-hand experience with your anger issue

When someone tries to steal you away

Oh this man right here would gather all his police friends as well as the birds to hunt down whoever stole you away

He would be furious to the core and rightfully so

The foundation was informed of this and they didn't blame this SCP

And that's because the person who stole you was from the Chaos Insurgency

Both GOIs hated each other's guts so the foundation just kinda let 1678-A hunt down the guy

And he did along with the MTFs

But was met with you standing over the guy's dead body

Then everybody realised that your man taught you how to protect yourself

And you did it so perfectly that even 1678 was intimidated af

Nobody wanted to mess with you and your partner was relieved that he taught you self defence

When his pregnant!S/O gets hurt by accident

This particular 1678-A that just so happens to be your partner, is rather shy and introverted

Nad although he does his 'job' well, he would rather just stay away from any contact

Until he met you and you became pregnant

This 1678-A would be slightly more protective but would let you have some space

And because of this, you managed to give yourself a papercut

Which was met with a furious policeman

But was cooled down when you explained your injury to him

He was giving you a huge lecture about your safety and how not to get hurt because you're carrying his baby

Wouldn't leave you alone ever again

Even if that means he would have to sit by the corner at all times

Would send his mates to come over to check on you if he wasn't there

Meeting a dragon hybrid child fem!reader

Definitely would be curious about you since they mostly interact with Foundation staffs

Probably would try to attack you but instead got burnt

1678-A would definitely notice your strange appearance and that you cry lava

Would feel bad so he'd try and comfort you

This then leads to you both being rather attached to each other

This particular 1678-A would have to bribe the others to keep you

The foundation realising this would happen

Probably would let you stay there for research purposes

They would most likely help level up your telekineses

Treats you like their own child and would be extremely protective

Most likely would have a heart attack every time you show kindness towards foundation members instead of attacking them

Every time you're in danger, the ones attacking you would soon realise that they've screwed up

Because the SCPs can hear you cry which would summon a whole bunch of them

When he accidentally kills you

He was basically chilling with you until some MTF members arrived to take some samples for testing

They were attacked by the other 1678-As and retaliated

This chill guy would lead you to safety before attacking the remaining MTFs

You realising what has happened decided to try and help out

You noticed that one of the MTF members were about to shoot your guy and managed to throw the gun out of his hand

1678-A notices and tries to attack the member but instead killed you

The remaining MTF members flee as he mourns your death

He would be even more vengeful and aggressive to the foundation members

Which does scare off the other Bobbies

Stayed in one of the abandoned houses to cry alone

Yandere!1678 - A x Evil!Reader

I'd say aside from his yandere self and the fact that he's only more aggressive to everyone else aside from you and giving you some scars, he's pretty dense and thicc in the brain

Probably wouldn't notice that you were working on them for a project in the GOC

You were able to get away with a lot of things because of your small stature and innocent appearance

Definitely managed to fool this yandere!1678-A because of your appearance

You could be just as vicious when you want to be

Yandere!1678-A soon realises that you were just using him for some experiment and were angered to the point of no return

Would most likely try and hunt you down

But since you've already got enough information about this SCP, you were able to devise a plan to leave

Manages to catch up to you but you were fortunate enough to know enough self-defence tactics to ward him off

You never came back to him and he was depressed for all of eternity

Trying McDonald's Sprite

You were requested to bring some ordinary food to 1678 as a test

And you've decided that you wanted to bring some Sprite with some Apple pie, mozzarella dippers and pancakes (They're my soul food from Mackies ok? Don't judge)

When you arrived in 1678, that one particular policeman who is attached to you for some odd reason was curious about the food

Of course, he would need to take off the bandage on his head to taste the food but not before some bribery from you

He reminisced about the food since he loved eating them before he turned into 1678-A

Sprite, however, was slightly different

He never tried them and was surprised with how good they tasted

Most likely would ask you to get more for him though

Foundation staff would be rather conflicted but allowed you to reward him with Sprite and some food

Only whenever he behaved well though

When his kid swears at him

You should've seen the look on his face (oh the irony)

You both taught your kid verbal and non-verbal communications with some common sentences people would say

But never have either of you taught your kid how to swear

Kinda just happened and 1678-A was about to go into cardiac arrest (Pun intended)

Would hunt down whoever taught them that depending on the severity

Like if the kid was using a ton of swearing in a sentence and was directing it to either of you, 1678-A would kill the guy

You were more of a chill type of parent

But would recommend the kid to stop swearing sine it's rude

Most likely wound ground the kind for a week tbh

When the reader scares him (Child!Reader)

Well, let's just say you managed to make the policeman play hide and seek with you

And you were the one hiding since you secretly knew that you were a professional at it

So you made 1678-A to find you

And although he's pretty good at catching his victims, he couldn't find you (Cuz y'all be so short)

Like he was literally in front of you and he still couldn't see you and you even giggled

So you've decided to jump on him

And oh boy was he about to scream out for help

But luckily he didn't cuz the others would whoop yo ass

Probably wouldn't give you a lecture but would need a while for his precious heart to not go yeetus the fetus

He would probably yeet you though tbf

When the reader pole dances/aerial silk dance

1678-A probably would have some ideas on what pole dancing is

Maybe not as much with the term aerial silk dancing but would soon understand when he sees you dancing

Probably thinks that you're trying to fondue with him if you're pole dancing

Definitely would be in awe when he sees you dance with the aerial silks

Would have a difficult time mimicking you if he ever wants you to teach him

Has definitely fallen 1000 times while pole dancing and broke his arms while dancing 10 ft off the ground

If the others inside 1678 see you dancing, he'd be in a blushing mess, especially if you were dancing to certain kinds of songs

Would most likely tell you to dance for him privately so there's no peeking

Having a Pregnant!S/O

Would most definitely be on the guard more since you're carrying his child

1678-A would most likely follow you around like a well trained and clingy German Shepard

You'd most likely have to tell him to tone it down because you're pregnant, not some delicate flower

Would most likely do whatever you tell him to do, even if it means hurting himself as long as you're safe and sound

Definitely would make sure that another 1678 would be around you at all times when he's away from you

1678-A would occasionally rub your stomach and sing victorian era songs

Sometimes he would bring you some of your favourite foods

When you try to commit suicide

When he hears the news he was devastated

He literally ran 69 miles just to see you

Would give you a big boi lecture about doing that

Nearly had his heart jump out of his body

Would constantly follow you everywhere after this

He's basically your bodyguard at this point

Would bandage up your wounds

Makes sure that you're fed well and all and would give you random gifts out of the blue

Would most likely ask the other Bobbies to care for you if he's not there and would even give you 1678-B

Asks the Wretches to keep a lookout to make sure nobody hurts you

Having a hopelessly romantic/easily flustered GN!Reader

This particular Bobby would most likely be just as easily flustered and hopelessly romantic as you

I'd imagine him trying to make the first move and you both being in a blushing mess

You both would exchange little gifts every now and again

Everyone else just teases and ships you both

You both loving each other unconditionally and constantly worrying about each other when you're both away from each other

This Bobby would definitely protect you from the MTFs and/or D-classes from attacking you

You would make a deal with the foundation to keep your guy safe and sound

The foundation witnessing how lovey-dovey you both are and just dies of cringe and sweetness overload (but not as sweet as out 999)

#scp #scp scenarios #scp x reader #scp headcanons #scp x reader headcanons #scp x reader scenarios #scp 1678 #scp 1678 headcanon #scp 1678 scenarios #scp 1678 x reader #scp 1678 x reader scenarios #scp 1678 x reader headcanon

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sinisterexaggerator · 3 years ago

Note

Cad Bane Request? Reader that manages to escape him? Like really wanna read something of a Bounty that fights him back to point of escaping and becomes a real nice cat and mouse chase ;) eventually he finally captures her again ;) the rest up to ya !

Title: Ready, set!

Word count: 2.3K, roughly.

Warnings: A kiss! Rated PG! ( No smut this time, as I was unsure! <3 )

Inspired by: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Vonreg_family

You were a daughter of the prestigious Vonreg family. You had hired Cad Bane yourself, but he was unaware of this important bit of vital information. You had deemed it so.

It had to appear convincing. You wanted to leave your home world of Artisia. You had no interest in the affairs of the Galactic Empire or what your name stood for. You were rebellious, but you didn’t behave as such; there were risks involved you couldn’t take. You wanted to be kidnapped, but that would be near to impossible as you were an heiress to aristocrats.

Your crest was worn proudly by your scions and allies the world over; your family was dedicated to the war effort; they were on the Empire’s side. Your brothers were elite pilots for the Starfighter Corps and had the right to wear bronze finished helmets; you hated all of it.

No one could pull this off, and you couldn’t very well walk out the front door on your own. No one except perhaps a certain notorious Bounty Hunter; a Duros who had won notoriety for his unmatched skills and wide-brimmed Bolero hat; a style reminiscent of ones that humans sometimes wore, though his species was nearly reptilian in nature.

You posed as someone else, offered a heavy bounty; said you wanted “the girl” to hold as ransom for fundamental clues about the Empire; a new Starfighter design that “her” family had access to; the blueprints of something called a TIE. The only reason you knew this much was because your brothers wouldn’t shut up about it around your majestic, garish house. It was supposed to be top secret, but they were gossips; had huge egos. They would be the first to fly them – it made your father proud.

You offered five-hundred thousand credits. Cad Bane thought it interesting. He took the job. Now it was your turn to play another role; the damsel in distress, until such a time would come to reveal to him your masterplan.

You didn’t want to make it too easy for him. You were trained from an early age in martial arts, various weaponry, and how to otherwise protect yourself. It was part of the Vonreg way; even the women were expected to serve one day, unless they married. You were young, unwed, and had no plans to trap yourself; you hated your family, the Empire, and all it stood for. You would test him; his mettle – just to see if he could really get you out of here. It had to be believable, or you would be labeled a deserter, something you could not afford.

You pretended you didn’t notice him. He was lounging with one leg up, curled back against a wall. You were out with friends. You wore a tight ensemble, something you could move freely in. You had ordered Caf at the cantina, and you sipped it as two red, oval eyes stared out at you, a toothpick being chewed upon by a set of crooked, unsettling teeth.

He strolled over to your table - he paused above you and the trio of other girls. They were mildly whispering, gasping, but you remained cold, indifferent.

“Miss Vonreg?” he questioned nonchalantly.

“Yes.” you informed him just as offhandedly.

“You’re comin’ wit me.” he stated simply.

Some of the girls laughed, but Bane didn’t crack a smile. Perhaps they thought he wasn’t serious, though his mannerisms said otherwise.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, feigning curiosity.

“There’sa bounty on dat pretty head o’yours – five-hundred thousand creditss. I intend to co-llect.”

“Can I get a head start?” You challenged him. He took the bait.

“You tryin’ to play’a game wit me, girl?” Bane loved a good back and forth of Loth-cat and mouse.

He withdrew the toothpick from his mouth, taking a step back, just an inch or two. He offered you a way to make your move, a means to an end. An end where he would capture you, no matter your current outlook. He thought you naïve to think you could get away from him.

“Anita!” One of your friends called out, surprised. “Who is this man? What’s going on?!” They seemed concerned, as they rightfully should be.

“I don’t know…” you played it off, though you knew very well who this Duros was - you had hired him.

Cad Bane smirked, the tips of two long, azure finger pads gripping the rim of his leather hat. He tilted it just a fraction and introduced himself. “Cad Bane. Your worst nightmare I’m ah’fraid.”

His voice was mechanical, cybernetic breathing tubes attached to his hollow cheekbones. His accent was thick, illustrious, and he could easily command a room.

More whispers all around.

“I’ll give you five min-utes, lil’ lady, den I’m comin’ af’ta you. You can give up now, make things easier on yourself.”

You were feeling coy; coquettish, you stood and trailed a single finger along his chest, down his leather vest, and he raised the left side of his brow ridge as he returned his chew toy to his mouth, biting down harder than perhaps he meant to on the toothpick - he had snapped it right in half.

“Ready. Sset.”

You took the hint and ran.

Bane sat down in an empty booth, kicking his long legs out. He crossed his arms and waited patiently as your friends gaped open mouthed.

You found yourself in the middle of the street. Your adrenaline was pumping. You made your way towards a residential sector, zipping between small houses along alleyways. You thought to hide at first, test his hunting skills. You dipped down behind a storage crate with nervous anticipation.

When your time was up, Bane exited the cantina, casually, strolling along in the direction you had taken. Mitrinomon thrusters ignited and sent the Bounty Hunter straight into the air, albeit gracefully. He was balanced on his internal axis, nimble, able to steer clear of any and all objects, his lanky form adept at aerodynamics, something taught to him by Jango Fett himself.

He glided along like a predatory bird, zipping above rooftops until he saw the top of your bare head. He pressed a singular button on his right, forearm gauntlet and the boots cut off. He dropped down silently behind you and gave you a gentle tap upon the shoulder. “You bore me, girl.”

You gasped when you were brought face-to-face with him; an outright alien; but your instinct was to run again – you found yourself out on a busy street and you hopped on a speeder bike - it didn’t belong to you. A person yelled, but you blocked it from your mind.

He pressed the link to his comm device, and he spoke to someone as you gained momentum; it was Todo 360, his faithful service-droid. “Todo! – Cut ‘er off. She’s hea-ded in your direction.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bane!”

Cad Bane sauntered forward, watching as you screeched to a halt. A small droid of some kind had nearly flown right into you. He was hovering in midair, his little rounded feet alight as his thrusters kept him airborne. The speeder toppled to one side and you right along with it - onto the ground below.

“My apologies, Ms. Vonreg!”

Bane was looking down at you, the end of that still broken toothpick being chewed. You were panting, and he could only smirk, somewhat amused. “Done yet?”

You scrambled to your feet, but he was too quick for you. He had encapsulated your face between two dexterous digits, holding you there with such strength you were afraid to move. His crimson, elliptical eyes seemed to stare straight through you, and he added. “I need you alive, don’ fret too much.”

Your hands came out, palms flat, and you shoved them straight into his chest. He stumbled back a pace and you swung your fist. He dodged it with ease, bending at his knees. He meant to give you a low round-house kick, but you jumped right over his attempt and returned with a high-kick of your own – he was spry, too fast on his feet for his own kriffin’ good.

Bane did a backflip to avoid the blow, activating his boots again - he remained suspended in the air, set one LL-30 blaster to stun, and took his shot.

You dodge rolled, running into the nearest business. He dropped back down, meaning to follow you, but the appearance of a Landspeeder blocked his path. “Get outta de way!” he shouted, obviously flustered and annoyed.

The driver seemed confused, aghast by this man screaming and took their time perhaps without meaning to. He finally ran and slid over the top of the vehicle by the aid of one blue hand propelling him, Cad Bane dashing forward into what happened to be a clothing store.

You had already snuck out back, careening around corners, lifting up a sewage hatch and hiding below, underground.

Bane was at a loss; downright furious when he checked the back alley and you were gone. He stormed back inside, knocking over a mannequin before exiting out the front – he had swung his heavy duster around too roughly.

He spotted his droid and yelled out to him - Todo came to join him, having been waiting patiently in the periphery for the last few minutes.

“She’s movin' fast. Not sure which direction she’ll wind up takin’. If we meet in de middle we’ll have her right where we want her, I imagine - she’s tryin’ to take de sewers, Maker damn her.”

---

You had waited at least an hour. You didn’t hear hide nor hair of him. You had walked along the sewer, carefully, so as not to fall, finding yourself in another part of town far from your home. Little did you know that Bane had attached a small tracking device along the edge of the utility belt you wore – he had planted it that time he had snuck up behind you that first go round of your little game.

It was impossible to see by your viewpoint, though you caught sight of a tiny, red flashing dot in the reflection of the dirty sewage water at your feet. You reached around and ripped it off, though you weren’t at all surprised.

“Kriff!” you yelled out, scrambling up a ladder to finally be met with fresh air at the surface level.

Your eyes darted to and fro, not seeing the male Duros, but you were unsure which way to go or what to do. He was most likely in hot pursuit. That’s when one stun cuff slapped down on you, but you managed to kick his ankle hard enough from behind that he lost his grip; he had tried and failed to close the other binder.

You turned on him and swung the loose end of the cuff. It struck his face so that he became really mad. Those red eyes narrowed, and he withdrew his bola. He knew you were likely to scamper off again like the little mouse you were.

“I’m gettin’ sick o’dis now, lil’ lady. You’re comin’ wit me dead or alive. I’ve changed my mind.”

You gasped as that hadn’t been a part of your plan at all; you should have realized not to upset the Hunter. He was often times dishonorable, infamous, and you had tempted his bad side, though not that different from the rest of him. He was a scoundrel all around.

You ran anyway and he swung his bola like a lasso. It entwined your feet and ankles, latching on around your calves. He was quick to overtake you, but you withdrew a vibroknife from underneath your shirt sleeve and cut your legs loose in the nick of time.

You were nearly up again when he cinched onto one of your dainty wrists. He initiated a shock to you that was easily strong enough to down a Wookie, but he had readjusted the calibration so as not to kill you.

You yelled out in pain and sudden fear, as your knees gave out beneath you. He brought the loose end of the cuff around and bound you tight.

You struggled relentlessly, so much so he finally gave in, using a trick he still had up his sleeve; saved for occasions just like this; a too rowdy bounty. He withdrew a shiny orb, made to mimic a Jedi mind trick, and he whispered to you as you stared into its hypnotic depths. “Relaxxx. Sleep now, girl.”

Your eyes closed, and you were gone, coaxed into a restful, though temporary slumber, wondering just what it was you had gotten yourself into.

---

You woke up in his ship’s prison hold; he had taken all your hidden weapons and communication devices. He was staring in at you, one hand propped up against a metal panel that was a part of your cell door, though you were separated by a red forcefield that would issue you a shock should you try to leave.

He had a fresh toothpick in his mouth as he grinned in at you, his elongated teeth exposed, somewhat satisfied with himself. “You gave me’a run for my creditss, Ms. Vonreg.”

“I had to. I was the one that hired you.”

He straightened up, glaring now, unsure he had heard you right. “’Scuse me?”

“I’m a Vonreg. I wanted to be kidnapped, but I couldn’t go down easy. It had to be believable, or they might suspect something. Give them a show.”

“I don’ believe it.”

“My comm device, trace the encrypted code sent out over the HoloNet.”

He growled low, churlish, then withdrew your device he had withdrawn from you. He was somewhat shocked when his own comm beeped and bleeped at him, though he didn’t bother to answer.

“Believe me now?”

The red forcefield dropped away, and you stood nearly eye-level with him, though shorter, as his height was towering; somewhat intimidating. He leant in close and whispered. “Dat was’a lot of trouble on my part. I think I should get’a little somethin’ extra for all I had to go through.”

“What did you have in mind?” you asked demurely, kittenish.

“You tell me, little lady.”

You leaned forward for a kiss. His eyes widened but then relaxed. He allowed it for some few seconds, then he pushed you back - much to your disappointment, as you had always wondered what it would be like to kiss someone as dangerous as him.

“Well, since you’re ya’ own kid-nap-per, I’ll be needin’ d’ose coordinates. I suspec’ you have somewhere you wanna go.”

“You suspected right.”

#Cad Bane #Star Wars #Reader Request #Fanfic #Clone Wars #Bad Batch #Bounty Hunter #Cat and Mouse #Chase #Cad Bane x Reader #Cad Bane x You

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remakethestars · 4 years ago

Text

Being Batman’s Daughter Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Listen, Robin. At their core, people are cowardly and self-serving. Trust no one until you know them. And even then, never completely.❞

— Bruce Wayne, “The Lesson Plan”

TRIGGER WARNING: Plant murder. Mentions of drugs/tranqs (stopping dealers), violence/physical harm, broken bones (knee cap), limb dislocation (shoulder), (Jason’s) death, smoke, waterboarding/drowning?

Headcanon masterlist.

You know how every teenager has that paradigm shift because as much as they love the people around them, they’ll never know the inner workings of your psyche? And they realize they’ll never truly be known? And it makes them feel really lonely?

Yeah, you never come to feel like that because you know Bruce digs so far into everyone around him he probably knows you better than you do.

Honestly, he probably reads your diary. At least, he reads the fake one you hide under your mattress. And the second decoy in the A.C. vent above your dresser.

If you’re as paranoid as Bruce, you probably don’t have a diary, and the aforementioned “decoys” are just to mess with him.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was practically your Bible growing up.

You’re torn between giving yourself the tactical advantage of being underestimated & being non-reactive, which — besides giving you the lioness role in the lion–gazelle dynamic — gives you the advantage of having time to think carefully on the repercussions before speaking.

Because, as Sun Tzu said in chapter seven, verse twenty-one, “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”

Seeing as Bruce and Damian both have eidetic memories, I’m guessing you do too.

Which means you totally read the dictionary when you were young and whip our big words nobody’s heard of.

Bruce always assured you it’s okay to be scared. As a matter of fact, like he told Dick (seen in flashbacks in “The Lesson Plan”), he taught you to “Let terror embrace you. The better you know fear, the better you can use it against others.”

And we all know Bruce is the paragon of using fear against people.

Take that, Scarecrow!

(See, I chose that gif because earlier in that move, he displays a fear of bats, & in that scene, he summons them to use as a distraction and walks through them completely unperturbed. No? Okay, I’ll see myself out.)

You started into the vigilante business young, a little bulge under the back of Batman’s cape that made the rest of the Justice League in the meeting think Bruce was host to an alien parasite until your little mask-covered eyes poked up over his shoulder.

The League’s known you since you were young, so they kind of all see you as their niece. That just quadruples the amount of people who are overprotective of you.

Eventually, in your tweens, you think enough’s enough and start out on your own — being underestimated may be an advantage, but it’s getting ridiculous — and you tackle unsolved cases.

You set up various safe houses around the world for your own disposal (using the zeta tubes) and anyone who sees the inside of one in an emergency is always surprised. You don’t really understand why; what serious vigilante doesn’t have secure, state-of-the-art safe locations scattered across the planet?

Sometimes, it gets you into danger, but you always get yourself out of it. If there ever comes a time you can’t, well, you’ve got a direct link to Batman, and if communications fail, you can always yell for your Uncle Clark at the top of your lungs.

If the latter ever comes to fruition, you ask Bruce if he’s disappointed you had to call for back-up or that you called Superman instead of Batman, and he says, “It takes a strong person to admit when they’re weak, [Y/N]; if anything, I’m proud of you. Besides … you’re not the only one who yells for Uncle Clark when they get in over their head.”

Your training entailed hacking and mechanics, so you like to fix computers and sell them on the internet Hugh Jeffreys style. It started out with Macs from the dumpster behind Gotham Academy and turned into a surprising side hustle. Large portions of your profits go into either savings or funding your extracurricular activities.

You’re using a MacBook that’s running Linux and an iPhone 4 that’s running your own program.

At some point, your phone falls into the wrong hands, and someone asks why it has such high security. You deadpan and say, “I have three older brothers.” No further explanation required.

One such solo case led you to a ring of drug dealers working in a small town outside of Gotham. You made some tranquillizers and heavy-duty smoke bombs and busted out your shinobi-iri training.

After sliding on a mask covering the bottom half of your face that filtered out smoke, you set all of the bombs off at once in the ventilation system, filling the building and using the infrared in your domino mask to sedate everyone before the cops arrived so no one got hurt (because there would inevitably be a firefight if the cops got involved).

You never go into a situation expecting to go hand-to-hand with someone; you always have a plan to take our your targets quickly an efficiently.

One night, when you’re working on a cold case in Gotham, you stumble across some intel that Poison Ivy’s been stockpiling chemicals and is going to wipe out all human life on Earth.

Luckily for you, Bruce’s paranoia is hereditary; you just happen to carry some white kryptonite in your belt, so you won’t have to go all the way back to the cave to obtain some.

You type out a quick debrief on your wrist computer in case you end up needing to send out an S.O.S., pop on your bottom mask to filter out spores or pheromones she might send in your direction, and bust out your shinobi-iri training again.

Of course, you try the peaceful approach, explaining to Ivy that you agree with her on the tree-hugger front to build rapport (T.B.F., who doesn’t?), but it comes to physical confrontation. You kill every vine that comes your way with a quick punch from your kryptonite ring, toss an expanding polyurethane foam bomb (see Batgirl #38) at her feet, and manage to get an inhibitor collar on her.

Gordon takes her away, and by the next morning, it’s on the news.

“You took down Ivy by yourself?” Bruce asks when you come down for breakfast.

“… Yeah,” you say after a moment, expecting a tongue-lashing.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. She didn’t get a hit in. And before you ask, I had a contingency set up in case things went sideways.”

“… Good job.”

Your dad has the article framed in the batcave, which is the bat-equivalent of having your drawing on the fridge or getting a sticker back on a test.

You’re fighting a grin for the rest of the day.

It bugs you you can’t tell anyone why you’re so happy, so you visit Dick in Blüdhaven while he’s on patrol and give him a play-by-play. You even get a hair-ruffle!

Deathstroke targets you at some point. One of Batman and Nightwing’s worst villains, and he targets you because he knows they love you. You’re the smallest bat at the time, the weakest; he thinks you’ll be the easiest to take.

Boy, was he wrong.

He was trained by the League of Assassins, so you know dropping a smoke bomb’s not going to give you cover (and his mask probably has infrared). His brain processes faster than yours, so tricking him is improbable. He’s probably done enough research on you to know you favor foam bombs and has fast enough reflexes to dodge before they go off.

And he’s jammed your comms so you can’t call for backup. You’re worried he’s got kryptonite on him and will hurt Superman if you call for help.

It’s just you and him.

He has enhanced stamina, so he tries to wear you out. You maintain distance to avoid taking damage and wearing faster.

You always admired Tim for his ability to plan ahead (see, like, the entirety of the Red Robin comics). He doesn’t know how he does it; he just does. He can’t really teach you, so you just watch and learn.

You realize your fight with Slade is just a matter of managing the distance and immobilizing him, so you strike. You duck behind a pillar or grab onto a railing or something and shoot him through the thigh with your grappling gun, reeling him in. He, of course, draws his sword or a knife to cut the line, but you’re already throwing high-density expanding polyurethane bombs.

And, just like that, you’ve single-handedly taken Deathstroke.

It sends a clear message to the rest of the Gotham villains, Blüdhaven’s villains, the League of Assassins — don’t mess with the bat’s little girl. She can hold her own.

Now it’s time for you to come up with another plan to take him down; you doubt the same method will work twice, and you’ve just made a very powerful enemy.

As Wonder Woman’s said, “Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence for an inability to deal with it.” You might go into most situations with a plan to take down your opponent already in motion, but when it comes to an all-out brawl, you’re perfectly capable and don’t pull your punches.

You’re working on an unsolved case in Blüdhaven (Dick’s got enough on his plate) when you get an S.O.S. from the aforementioned along with the feed and recording from his mask. You listen to the mission briefing while you ride back to the cave and then the audio from the Young Justice mission. They got jumped by the League of Shadows in an abandoned factory, and Talia’s trying to coerce Damian into joining the League or whatever.

The usual dropping some smoke bombs and tranqing everyone isn’t going to work on thirty armed League assassins who were trained to fight blind, so you load up on polyurethane foam bombs and call Jason and Cassandra.

The three of you take out the guards outside before splitting up and taking either end of the building (Cass stays with you). You meet in the middle, in the room the team’s being held in.

You highjacked the speakers, so they’re blasting AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” upon Jason’s insistence. You wanted Zayde Wølf or Alice Cooper’s “Hey, Stoopid,” but big brothers will be big brothers.

Jason pops them with rubber bullets from above to slow them down for you while Cass demolishes them and you drop foam bombs, slinging your signature custom shuriken, bonk them over the head with Tim’s staff you picked up along the way, dislocate their arms, or shatter their kneecaps.

You and Jason get a couple slices from swords that got a little too close, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve had before.

When the fighting’s done and the building’s quiet, the team’s, like, “Who the heck are you guys?”

And Dick’s, like, 😏 “They’re our siblings.”

Speaking of siblings, you’re older than Damian, and as such, you take upon yourself the honor of teaching him all things pop-culture.

“I have a lot of amazing older siblings. I want to be a good big sister.”

First things first, you give him one of your refurbished e-waste phones and take him to Target to pick out an OtterBox or a LifeProof case or something that’ll keep it safe in the pocket of a vigilante.

Vigilantes are always coming to you when their phone’s broken anyway; you’ve got a stack of spares you’ve repaired.

Then you help him set up a Spotify account (follow me at @remakethestars 😉) and try to help him find his rhythm.

Poor child’s never had Oreos before, so you drag a pack of Double Stuffs out of the cabinet and a glass of milk and show him the best milk-dunking method you know.

You think about handing him a cookie and telling him to waterboard it until the bubbles stop coming up, but cookie-dunking is something every kid does; it’s sacred, and you don’t want him to associate it with violence.

You show him how you and Alfred feed the bats in the batcave.

And you show him Vine compilations and your favorite shows and movies and as many classics as you can, and you put up with him pointing out the inaccuracies and calling them stupid.

Every time he doesn’t get a reference, you write it down so you know what to show him later.

If anything ever happens to you, Damian finds your list and makes it his personal mission to watch/read everything on it. It makes him feel close to you.

You build a relationship with him that’s similar to his and Dick’s, and he comes to you with things he might not be able to come to anyone else with.

Plus, since you live in the manor still and he doesn’t want Bruce to think less of him, it’s you he comes to after a nightmare.

If you know Alfred has pictures of him curled up in your side, you ask him to send them to you. Not for blackmail purposes; just to have.

You’d never use the need of comfort or the sharing of emotions against him because (A) it’s perpetuating toxic masculinity and (B) you don’t want him to think it’s wrong or confirm any of the stupid “strength” things the League of Shadows taught him.

You gave him a stuffed cat that looks like Alfred (the cat, not the butler) with some of your perfume spritzed on it. He verbalized his revulsion when you gave it to him, but on nights he has a bad dream and you’re not home, it brings him comfort.

Titus comes to get you when Damian’s upset.

Even when he’s not with Damian, he seems to know. Pets are like that.

You’ve learned to trust Titus’s instincts. Damian thinks it’s suspicious when he’s feeling down and you just happen to call.

You never realized it until a long time later, but Ace was acting weird the day Jason came back from the dead.

And he was acting weird the day Jason came back to Gotham too. He ran to the door and began barking. Alfred swept security, but nothing seemed to be off. The whole family was on edge that day.

You were the reason Jason knew he wasn’t completely forgotten; he spotted you through a café window, and you were wearing his jacket.

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

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ac3id · 4 years ago

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The Artist and His Majesty| 18+

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 0 / 5 | fantasy au.

chapter i , chapter ii

pairings: yandere! emperor! shigaraki x female! reader.

warnings: [series] dubcon, exhibitionism, size difference, degradation, masturbation, bondage, reader is also kind of delusional, death, violence (not on reader). (there are more but i can’t think right now.]

↪ for chapter 0: none !!

summary: you come to the big city in hopes of starting your career as an artist but things take a shocking turn when you’re recruited as the court painter for the royal palace.

↪ for chapter 0: a strange man approaches you, offering to buy your painting to which you oblige. little do you know that it kicks of a series of unfortunate events ending with you being trapped in shigaraki tomura’s clutches forever.

wordcount.

a/n: finally !! i started this series. high-key inspired by these two dresses in my wardrobe and @ana-list‘s this drawing ! seriously it’s literally everything. also thank you once again for proof reading this @the-grimm-writer !

taglist: @shigaraki-is-my-master, @deathmemeiverse, @n4dhii, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @mstssister, @nereida19, @prince-zukohere [dm to be added/ removed.]

“That’s a beautiful painting,” a rough, scruffy voice calls out, jerking you away from your daydreams. Your grip around the color canvas resting in your arms tightens as you glance behind your shoulder to see a well-built man standing right behind you. He’s tall and a lot older than you, he has short grey hair which falls right before his eyebrows along beautiful, matching grey eyes. A cigar hangs lazily from his lips as he occasionally huffs on it, blowing clouds of smoke out his mouth. He’s dressed in expensive robes, a choice of style only people better off could afford. You can’t help exachaning a covetous glance between his expensive suit and your sloppy, knee-length, light green dress. “Thank you.” you murmur shoving him an appreciative look, hoping he’d leave you alone. When you come to the city to complete your studies in art, you mother, father, family and friends had warned you about men like these. Rich, snobby men who liked to lure in young, naive girls. Whispering praises of how they are the most unique on the planet so they pull their guard down form them to take advantage of the helpless beings.

“Can I take a better look? It’s the Emperor, is it not? Your painting. ” You hesitate before turning back to him. Not a lot of people had seen the King to be. He lived humbly in his castle, trying his best to not indulge in the affairs of the common people. “ Yes,” you hold up the slightly small canvas (courtesy of you being broke the entire week and not being able to save up to buy a bigger canvas). To even get an idea of Shigaraki Tomura, you had to go through many people. Not a lot of people had seen his face, he had always kept it hidden under a mask. No one knew why he did so but the many conspiracy throes suggested it was something to do with his personal grief.

You had heard many stories about him. Some made him look like a spoiled brat with a demeaning, ignorant personality who didn’t care for others and as the rumors said: self destructive habits which lead him to tear the skin of his own neck down whenever he got anxious or frustrated.

Others portrayed him as a strong, confident man and a reliable leader who cared for his comrades. You did not know which one of the two personas brought him your attention but you couldn’t complain. Tomura had caught you under a spell, and despite never meeting him (and knowing full well you never would), you were still ready to sacrifice your life for him. He was your King even before he had taken his crown, to you he looked like a shining bright light ready to enlighten you. To you, he was a god. And as years passed by, he grew from a caterpillar into a cocoon which was ready to burst open as a butterfly into the beautiful, mysterious world. And it was happening today, Prince Tomura Shigaraki’s Coronation ceremony. After the passing of All For One, it was his turn to take the crown and fulfill his duty as the ruler of the nation

The entire city was busy, bustling with people. Families, friends and everyone in between gathered around the huge castle walls as they waited for the ceremony to begin. They waited patiently, filled with excitement and joy as they waited to catch a glimpse of the new great King. You were among them. You had come down to the centre of the city with your friends, waiting alongside many to catch a glimpse of the new ruler. The painting which nestled in your hand was something you were hoping to sell today, to a shop or anyone who wants to have it. It was a beautiful painting which had taken you several days to complete, and dare you say it, you were quite proud of it. From all the things you had heard about Tomura, you had managed to sketch him decently. Long white, wavy hair reaching till his shoulder, skin white as snow. He sat proudly on his throne wearing a cape with his vermillion eyes peering through your soul. His face was scarcely detailed as you did not have much idea about it but he still looked ethereal. With little scars running both his eyes and a comparatively larger one on his right. Chapped lips with even more scars running over them wildly, he was not conventionally attractive. No one would call him a pretty boy yet there was something more, something alluring which attracted you to him. His beauty was rare, not in the grasp of many but if it was grasped and held close to the heart, it was hard to let go off. And you found him attractive, very attractive.

The man took a good look at your painting, examining it carefully and for a second you really thought he had seen the mysterious Prince. “It’s quite similar to him,” he sends you a friendly grin and you notice a tooth from his front missing, leaving an uncomfortable gap. “Have you seen him before?” he asked and you shake your head, no. He gives you an amused expression, “I must say, you are very talented, miss…?” you complete your name with a nervous smile. “And you are?” you ask.

You realised that you were getting a little too comfortable with the stranger and it could be a really bad decision but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt as he behaves like a gentleman you can find yourself to trust. “Kagero Okuta but I like to go by Giran,” he says with a lop-sided grin. Giran, you’ve heard the name before but cannot recall where and how. It sounds so familiar but you just can’t grasp it, he looked wealthy so you assumed he was a Noble and that made you even more curious as to why he was speaking to you.

“What are you planning to do with that painting?” he asks, diving a closer look and admiring its features. “I must say, you’ve got it quite accurate but,” you stiffen, your hands growing cold as your heartbeat picks up. You realized your painting must have some complications, drawing a man you had never seen before purely out of your interpretation was a hard and a bold task to do. But to have someone who had actually seen the King for himself pinpoint your mistakes sent a rush of anxiety through your veins.

“He’s not that bony.” He completes and you gulp nervously, looking down at your painting in disappointment. Your eyes are filled with disappointment, all of the time and effort you spent making the piece all for it go in vain just because you missed a small detail. Giran notices your remorse and speaks up, “But that’s quite alright. He looked just like that until a while ago,” he hadn’t meant to offend or hurt you. He still believed your painting was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

“What do you mean?” you ponder, giving him a perplexed look. He leans in closer to you as if to tell a secret, “let’s say the King has been working out behind closed doors.” you blink in confusion. It was a strange thing to say, exactly how well did this man know the Emperor? Who was it that you were talking?

“Who are you?” you can’t help but question, bewildered by such a character. Giran says nothing. He just stares at you with his lips curled into a snappy smirk, holding his cigar between his lips. He was not going to tell you anything. Without wasting time, he quickly changes the topic. “What are you going to do with that painting?” he repeats, his voice growing impatient.

“I am planning to sell it,” you feel a bit taken back. The friendly aura which had Giran had now disappeared for a reason you could not conclude. “Sell it? To whom?” the intruding nature of his tone starts to make you uncomfortable, there’s nothing more you want to do other than get far away from him. Yet you still find yourself answering him, “To anyone who wants it.” he hums at your response, his eyes holding a mocking glint. “Wouldn’t you like to give it to the Emperor himself?” you frown, was he mocking you?

“That’s well...impossible.” you reply, stretching your neck awkwardly. “To you, maybe.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, this man was really testing your patience. A part of you tells you to ignore him and walk away but as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag of coins worth much more than you could ever earn in a month, he has you hooked yet again.

“Hey, let me buy that painting, would yer’?”

“What is the problem now?” Giran takes a seat around the round table. It was late after the Coronation ceremony and the Royal palace was already facing problems. Giran was disappointed but definitely not surprised. After all, he was their personal problem solver and broker. “It’s not that big of a deal.” A curt and hard reply cut him off.

“It actually is, Shigaraki Tomura.” a voice speaks, coming from a man dressed in a black suit with a long, flowy robe covering his entire body. He stands taller than the other two men in the as his head is replaced with a wisp of smoke. He was none other than the trusted and talented magician of the Royal family. With eccentric features and an ability to wield strange magic, nobody knew where he came from. There were many rumors about him; that he was once a normal, handsome man cursed by a witch that turned him into a hideous monster or he simply was a ghost. “What is it, Kurogiri?” Giran rephrases his question, directing it to the other man. “We need a new painter,-”

“Servant.” Shigaraki corrected. He stood in front of the giant windows glancing over his city as his men talked about hiring a new painter for the castle. He couldn’t care less about such tedious tasks, he had his focus set on greater things like expanding his territory, taking back stolen land.

“What happened to Mr. Kyo?” Giran asked, Shigaraki rolled his eyes at the mention of the name and clicked his tongue, “His Majesty eliminated him.” Giran stops himself from laughing out loud. He was certain once Shigaraki would take over the throne incidents like so would double the instant. But he was expecting it to happen so soon. “And why was that?”

“He was breathing too loud, like you are right now.”

A cold silence broke over the room as Giran counted his breath. Kurogiri looked nervously at Shigaraki who still had his back turned to them. The longer the pause grew, the dreadful the atmosphere became. Shigaraki’s threat strung the air loud and clear and Giran was afraid to speak again. “What we are asking for is that-,” Kurogiri started in a calm, slow tone easing the tension in the room. “-we need a new court painter. Do you have any names?”

The murderous sent in the air magically disappeared as a grin stretched across Giran’s face.

“Aren’t you in luck?” He says, running a hand through his hair before taking a puff out of his cigar. “Does that mean you know someone?” Kurogiri questioned. Giran hummed, “You see, I met this beautiful painter today. She’s extremely talented and I know for a fact she will love working for the castle.”

“What’s the name?” growing impatient, Shigaraki asks. “Oh, it was,” Giran pauses for a moment to recall.

“Ah yes, Y/N L/N.”

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therenlover · 4 years ago

Text

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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The University of Novi Grad

Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #fanfiction

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sarahreesbrennan · 3 years ago

Note

You wrote on twitter that you were too young to be published and did fool things you later regretted. I'm curious about those regrets - is there anything you'd be willing to elaborate on?

I do want to clarify I meant I personally was probably too young, and I wasn't a babe in arms when I was published--I was 24, which is an adult! S.E. Hinton was 18 when her first book was published and she arguably invented young adult fiction. Jennifer Lynn Barnes was a teenager when her first book was published and she's always been a genius rock star. Some people are married and having kids and doing great at their jobs at 24, but some people are in college, or learning the ropes of their jobs and full-time work life in general and messing up because it still feels unfamiliar. Most of us, me included, will be making messes until we die, though we can hope for better messes.

My regrets aren't super secret--I would've conducted myself differently online and offline. One thing I've said before: I wouldn't link up my real name and my fanfic identity the way I did back when. That means having your juvenilia out there and judged, and yourself judged in a very particular way! It is hard to sit in the doctor's office and ask him for written proof you have cancer, because the internet will accuse you of faking it. (Yes that did happen. That poor man's face was like, 'Girl, why do you not live your life right.') As I've said, I have an assistant-with-antis who filters my social media and email so I don't have to come upon hostile stuff, and I do wonder if there are ways to inspire less hostility.

But to be clear regarding that example, I think fandom is awesome in many ways, and it's valuable to say you wrote fanfiction, just don't get too specific. One of my most cherished facts about a (fancy, brilliant, very bestselling) writer friend is that she wrote Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction once. Many of my writer friends used to or still do write it! (Fanfic in general... I'm not outing a bunch of writers as avid Sonic fans...) And being open about my identity did mean I had some beautiful supportive readers from the jump, who were sweet to me and made friends with each other (Marmalade fish shoutout). I love that people connect over fiction, and that they connected over mine. My advice to others is to do it like Oscar winner Chloe Zhao, and be like 'yes I write it, yes the call is coming from inside the building, yes creative engaged people engage creatively in many ways, no you'll never know my online name!' And that's mostly how it's done these days--there are masses of fanfiction writers in TV, in movies, working as editors and agents in publishing, and who are writers, because people who are passionate about creativity are passionate about creativity in many ways. A decade ago and nobody was sure how it was going to go: I do think it went well generally, if uneasily for test balloons like me.

Overall, as regards regrets, if you're alive, you're making mistakes, and if you're growing, you're learning from them. Often the more you care, the more mistakes you make. There are some things only life experience can teach you, and I've seen people who came into writing with experience from being, for instance, lawyers which they were able to use in many ways, and there were times I wished I'd acquired experience or lost naivety in a job that wasn't my dream job. Sometimes I really didn't know what was going on, and later I was like 'Ohhh! Oh Lord.' I would say a few things I wish I'd known: How to draw boundaries like circles of salt that others couldn't cross. The personal and the professional are going to blur, but it's still important to try and differentiate them. How to pick your battles: recognise the unwinnable, find the most likely strategy for victory with the winnable ones. Know that people won't like you just because you're making life more convenient for them, so don't do it for that reason. OMG abide by contracts and make sure the contracts cover every eventuality. Learn the art of standing your ground calmly. (One day, I'll get it.)

But getting published at any age is complicated: I have one friend who was sure she was going to die after she got her publishing contract because it was her dream accomplished, and what was left? I have more life experience in my 30s, but I also had most of those years totally slain by cancer: my writing went off a cliff long before I was diagnosed, and then I couldn't write, and since then I've been scrambling. If I'd been published first at 30 I might have handled myself in style, but there definitely wouldn't have been two trilogies before the long pause. One very lovely, very talented lady who was first published in the same year I was died shortly after. You don't know what's coming: Margaret Mitchell was hit by a speeding drunk driver and we'll never know if rumours she planned to write a sequel to Gone with the Wind are true. The people whose first books were out in 2020 had a tough time, and I would've freaked out if I'd been in their position and am glad I didn't have a non-tie-in novel out--it was very strange to have two tie-ins out that year as it was! People were reading books in 2020, but it was harder for new books to get on their radar.

I didn't write the tweet to alarm anyone, or say there was a magical time it was best to be published at. Lots of amazing writers aren't published, are published feeling they're too young, are published feeling they're too old. I think my tweet was really to say, there's no precise right time, and no way to execute your dreams exactly right. I do look back on stuff and think, oh lord, me at 30 might have handled THAT better. I hope that I'll look back at me now from 50 and go, I'd crush the stuff that crushed her!

Are there things I would change, sure. But I probably would make different mistakes if it had all happened differently for me. Humans constantly torment ourselves imagining the magic way we could've got everything right, a task exactly nobody has accomplished. I've never lived a perfect life or written a perfect book, and I don't know anyone else who has. I'm really glad I was published, and really proud of all my books. If you've never done something you've regretted, how much have you done? Keep going.

#stumbling through publication #writing #fanfiction

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unabashegirl · 4 years ago

Text

Pax Romana; Part I

Author’s note: Hey everyone, here is the first part of this mini-series. I hope you like it! Let me know if you want to be on the tag list. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN only for H.

DISCLAIMER; I DONT KNOW ITALIAN! (only English, French and Spanish) I clearly used a translator. I am aware their translations are SHIT sometimes. Therefore I am sorry if I butcher it! I didn’t mean to!

masterlist

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Harry Styles, can still recall the first day he was enthralled by her conspicuous beauty. At first, he reckoned he had done the unavoidable. He had moved to Italy for the summer, and he had managed to fall in love with an Italian girl; that he had never spoken to. He had only observed her from afar — too shy to ever think of approaching her. Nonetheless, the young woman was a sight to behold. He promised himself that he would only watch from afar. It felt forbidden and somewhat illegal. The feeling that bubbled within him was enough reason to continue his study of her.

After his first visit to Italy, he had fallen in love with the country. Hence, why he had rented out a house in a coastal town. The country’s natural and effortless beauty inspired him to write new music for his upcoming album. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny mornings, the art, and the food brought peace and tranquility to him. It was the perfect place for him to hide — for a while. It was on one of his morning runs; he first noticed her.

She wore a bright yellow bikini that exposed most of her olive skin to the sun rays. She sat on a striped towel that she had laid out on the hot sand. Her hair was slicked back and wet after she had dipped in the ocean to refresh her body.

Of course, she never caught sight of his dilated pupils or the way he had leaned forward — lured by her beauty. Her attention was preoccupied with a hardcover of Pride and Prejudice; that she had brought along as a source of entertainment for the day. The young woman appeared too indulged in the printed words to notice his existence.

He watched her for a few hours. Now and then he would remind himself of the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t approach. He had even managed to take a few steps towards her. Harry eventually removed himself as soon as it became too much. He had beaten the temptation.

The first time he spoke to her was at a local restaurant. Harry had taken himself out on a late lunch date. He had dressed up nicely and had walked to the bistro. He noticed her presence after taking his first sip out of his freshly served Chardonnay. She sat on the table across from him. This time she wasn't submerged in a book. He could finally admire her natural beauty up close. The fullness of the apples of her cheeks, her long dark eyelashes, her red-tinted lips, and of course light sunburn on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

A few minutes later, her order had arrived. It was ricotta and mushroom stuffed ravioli in a black truffle sauce. She was stuffing her face when they made eye contact. Harry’s lips curved upwards creating a lopsided smile as she scrambled to clean the creamy sauce off her face. He hadn't said anything to her, but she already felt embarrassed.

”Sono deliziosa?” He had done it. He couldn’t just watch her and pray she’d take the first step. It was time to put his Italian to the test. He had been practicing his Italian and even though he already had a few weeks on the Amalfi coast; he still struggled to comprehend. Harry only hoped she would be able to understand him.

”E molto deliziosa” She smiled at him for the first time. She beamed, radiating an intoxicating wave of warmth and happiness towards him. Her lips parted open for a split second but before she could utter a word the waiter approached.

“Hai bisogno di qualcos’ altro?” He was asking her if she needed anything else. She understood what he was asking, but she couldn’t remember how to say cheese.

“Fuck” she said under her breath. “Queso. Fromage. Cheese” She had forgotten how to speak. All her languages had mixed in one and the wires had crossed. “How do you say it?” She whispered under her breath, her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as the waiter tried to comprehend.

“Formaggio. Ha bisogno di formaggio parmigiano, per favore” Harry interrupted, noticing her uneasiness and her inevitable embarrassment. He knew that it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation, but he had to help her.

The waiter turned his attention to the young celebrity. He was also a bit surprised that Harry had spoken for her. He had seen that Harry kept to himself. He usually attended dinner on his own and hardly even bothered to use his phone. “Inmediatamente”.

“Thank you” She thanked Harry as soon as the waiter had left in search of the parmesan cheese that she so craved. Harry’s excessive focus on watching the server carrying out her request had prevented him from realizing that she spoke perfect English. He had to stop himself from gasping when processed her delicate voice. She had an accent. Slight. Gentle. Barely-there and it wasn’t Italian. He would later learn that her R’s made it more prominent.

“It’s alright. It happens” She instantly recognized who he was. Her heart raced for a minute or two, but she restrained herself from making a huge scene. After all, it was Harry Styles. Whom she considered, the most stylish man of her generation. The man could wear a curtain and still pull it off. “I am Harry” He rises a bit from his seat, extending his right hand.

“Catalina” She shakes his hand with a smile. “So, what brings you here?” Even her name was attractive — he wondered.

“Is’not obvious?”

“Not really. Enlighten me” The stranger gives him a small smirk while placing her napkin over her lap after crossing her legs under the table. Harry purges his lips as he uses his index finger and thumb to slightly tug on his bottom lip.

His whole plan to stay away from her had failed. Did he regret it?. Hell no! He just hoped he had chosen wisely.

“The art” He reveals as he watches her cut one of her ravioli before putting it in her mouth. She responds by only nodding; too indulged in the explosion of flavors within her mouth.

“Music?” She hums as she brings the glass of wine up to her mouth. “ I thought you were more of a dolce far niente type of man” her mouth curved into a smile. Dolce far niente means pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. Harry instantly identified the phrase from Julia Roberts's famous movie — Eat, Pray, Love. She remembered reading somewhere that he was a rom-com fan.

“Are you?” He shot back. There was no doubt that he was intrigued by her.

“Si” She shrugged as she pushed around some ravioli.

“Then we have more in common than I thought, Catalina” Her name rolled off his tongue without any strain. It was as if he had been practicing for months. She had never heard her name sound so attractively. Sure, he had an accent, but it was still beautifully pronounced.

Harry’s order arrived moments later. He had ordered the classic spaghetti bolognese. He grabbed his fork and knife and right before digging into the plate, he looked up at her. Catalina had been watching him since silence had fallen upon them. His smirk grew into a soft chuckle as their eyes met. She giggled at him and first noticed his dimples. She now understood everyone's obsession with his smile.

“Would you join me?” Catalina spluttered after a few minutes of mentally debating with herself. She felt her heart beating in her throat and her hands dripping with sweat as other parts of her body. It was all very hot.

Catalina wasn’t the type of woman to initiate conversation. She rarely even texts first!. Her excuse is usually that she doesn’t want to bother or interrupt. In reality, she is scared shitless to make a fool out of herself. Therefore, she was quite surprised by herself to have asked him to have dinner together.

Harry cocked his head with his lips pursed. To her, he looked very pensive as if he was making a big decision. She didn’t blame him. He was on vacation and the last thing he wanted was to be photographed with a random girl and for questions to be asked. Although, he had already agreed in his mind. He just couldn’t come across as desperate. Even though he was. Harry wanted to know more.

His fingers tucked his clothed napkin into the collar of his shirt. A chuckle left his lips as he pushed his seat back and raised on his feet. He held his plate and utensils with one hand while his glass of wine with the other.

“So, where are you from?” Harry was first to ask, as he twisted his spaghetti around his folk. Catalina leaned back on her seat, her fingers clenching around her wine glass as she finished swallowing. “I am English” he laughs as if his accent didn’t give it away.

“Really? Bet my life you were Italian” Catalina bantered

“What gave it away?”

“The facial hair and the good head of locks” Harry grinned covering his face with his hands, feeling his cheeks heating up. He felt ridiculous for blushing at such a minuscule compliment. “But anyway, I was born in South America, but raised in Spain by my aunt”. She revealed playing with the small droplets around the cup of ice water that had been forgotten.

“And what are you doing here?”

“I study here” She had just finished her first semester. “Well not here, but in Rome. I am majoring in art history”.

The not so strangers sat for hours and indulged in one more bottle of wine. Harry encouraged her to pick but she politely refused. She said that she hadn’t spent enough time in Italy to know what was best.

She told him about her parents. Her father had walked out on her mother after she had told him that she was expecting. Catalina also shared with him how she felt after losing her mother to cancer when she was only ten. She was quite surprised at herself. She had never shared so much with anyone. Let alone, someone she had met that same night. Harry brought her some kind of comfort that she had no idea she needed.

Harry listened to her. She hadn’t finished speaking and answering his previous question and he already had another one formulated. He liked hearing her speak. She allowed him to pick at her brain and he liked what he saw. She was driven, independent, somewhat lonely, but incredibly smart. Catalina was also unbelievably wise for her age.

“What about you? Is fame all you thought it would be?” Catalina asked moments after they had been kicked out of the restaurant. They eventually had to close. Harry held what was left of the bottle as they walked down the isolated streets.

“That’s a heavily loaded question” He chuckled, “It’s way more complicated and difficult. I think I expected to never feel lonely by the continuous abundance of people around me. But in reality, sometimes it feels lonelier than when I was just Harry” Harry shrugged, masking the pain that the vulnerability that he suddenly felt.

“I get it. The screams and faces don’t match the number of people close to you” Catalina was not famous but she could understand where he was coming from. Sure, her aunt had raised her, but she had felt lonely for most of her life. Her mother's death had felt a gaping hole in her life that no one has ever been able to fulfill.

“M’not ungrateful for my friends but I do feel lonely. I guess I haven't found what I am looking for” Harry flashed her a reassuring smile as they walked down to the main road. “Let me help yeh” He had seen her struggling to walk over the cobblestone streets. She wore low heel sandals that complemented the white satin dress that she has opted for. Unfortunately, the heels were thin enough to slip through the stones making her overly cautious where she stepped.

Harry switched the bottle to his other hand and offered his hand for her to take. She stopped momentarily and stared at his massive hands. They were bare. His famous rings were missing as if they had gone on a vacation too. She took his hand and was slightly surprised at their softness. She had expected them to be rough but they were quite the opposite.

“Thank you”

“No problem” He wanted to spend more time with her. He wished that the night wasn’t ending. “I would invite you for some gelato, but it’s quite late. I doubt there is any place opened”

“How long are you staying?” Catalina asked as she noticed them approaching the entrance of her hotel.

“A few more weeks” the splendor of the lights of the entrance of the hotel illuminated her features. Harry couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked.

“I’ve had a lovely time. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“M’not planning on goin anywhere” Catalina reached up, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek.

“I’ll see you around then” She gave him a little wave as she walked her way through the doors. She would later realize that she hadn’t only kissed him because it was part of her culture and tradition but because he managed to ignite a flame within her — that one had ever done before.

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robin-josephette-biden · 3 years ago

Text

A Statement Through Horror: BDG and YouTube

In his video announcing his departure from Polygon Bryan David Gilbert [BDG] stated, “I want to make things that one day people will make a show like unraveled about.” [Paraphrasing here]. Since that announcement he has made some of the most interesting and engaging comedy videos on the platform. On Bryan’s channel, there is a section called “bdg’s scaries” that contains three videos. The first how to make jorts was released April 27, 2019 and will not be part of this analysis, as we are focused on the other two videos. These two videos are Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss which was released on October 25, 2020 (two months before his final Unraveled video and departure from Polygon) and Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97 which was posted March 3, 2021. If you have not seen these videos yet you should stop reading immediately and go watch them both (honestly everything on his channel is amazing, especially the surprisingly compelling and personal Dances Moving! series) before continuing to read this as I will be spoiling both of them. The position of YouTube celebrity has been the source of a good bit of commentary as short form online media has become more and more central in our culture. Bryan has created two videos that I feel do an excellent job of exploring the relationship between youtuber and audience. I should also point out that this is merely my interpretation of these videos and is in no way BDG’s intended message. I’ll start by going over the first video. Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss opens with BDG outside an apartment building, standing in front of a black car. BDG points up at one of the windows and says, “Three years ago I was living in that apartment right there. Third floor, leaky windows, cockroaches, the worst.” I do not know if the real life BDG actually lived in that building, but the 3 years timeframe does line up neatly with his beginning to work at Polygon. BDG continues to bad mouth his old apartment and mentions how he has turned it all around stating, “But just last week I paid off my very first Subaru Impreza. And I own my own house in Nebraska.” This radical change in life-style he credits to, “. . . [working] from home, [making] my own hours, and [being] my own boss. And you can do it too.” I think that it is interesting that BDG’s career up to that point mirrors that of his character, going from newly graduated content creator making small videos in his apartment to one of the most popular creators on Polygon. And all that being accomplished through work that many (rightly or wrongly) would not see as fitting into the mold of the traditional 9 to 5. The idea of making millions working from home, at your own pace, and with no boss is intrinsically tied to the mystique of the YouTube celebrity. Moving into BDG’s office he explains that he makes $20k a month working on spreadsheets. A massive spreadsheet appears behind him that is dated, 01.12.88 (nothing of note happened on January 12, 1988 and the only thing that happened on December 1, 1988 is a large cyclone that struck Bangladesh, January 12, 1888 is the day of the Schoolhouse Blizzard which struck the midwestern US and killed 235 people (remember this for later)) and is filled, seemingly randomly, with garbled nonsense symbols. Many of the cells are the same as other cells and there are empty cells scattered haphazardly throughout the spreadsheet. BDG explains that he got this strategy from Dorian Smiles. In exchange for working on these spreadsheets BDG receives $10k - $20k a month (an amount that lines up pretty damn well with the amount he should be getting through his Patreon page currently, I don’t know if this was true when the video was made though) from Dorian. Wanting to know where the money is coming from BDG asks his bank and they explain that he is wiring the money to himself from another account he has. He grows confused as to the nature of this work and the disproportionately large amount of money it brings in, explicitly mentioning his confusion as to how the money is coming from someone with, “. . . my name and my voice.” and sets about to find and confront Dorian Smiles. BDG sets off for Center Nebraska, which is close to where Dorian lives (a small town in the northeast corner of Nebraska). He states that Dorian’s address hasn’t existed since 1888 (that’s a familiar year isn’t it?) when it was supposedly condemned during an enormous blizzard and is, “. . . just woods now.” The video then transitions to BDG walking through dark woods while his narration talking up the Dorian Smiles program continues becoming increasingly broken. He comes across a figure sitting in the woods that is convulsing strangely, when he calls out to it the figure turns and is him (heretofore named Dorian). Dorian slowly puts his hands over his nose and mouth while staring at BDG at which point the narration cuts out. BDG copies Dorian and when Dorian removes his hands in a flourish, BDG does the same to reveal that he no longer has a mouth. The video quickly cuts back to BDG in his office talking about the program, he asks the viewer, “Why don’t you join me?” and then sits back and smiles while that line repeats without him moving his mouth. The most pressing mystery is who Dorian Smiles is. I think the most likely answer (and one I know I am not the progenitor of) is that Dorian is a reference to The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, the story of a young man that has a portrait that ages and takes on the ravages of the debauched life its subject lives while Dorian himself does not. BDG would therefore be the unwitting recipient of that blessing, reaping massive rewards while his double, Dorian, lives in poverty and solitude. I like this explanation for Dorian, but I find it to be far more mechanical than thematic. On a metatextual level you could read that Dorian represents the character of BDG. The person that is in all of BDG’s videos, and the one with whom so much of the audience forms a parasocial relationship. In this lens the parallels with BDG’s own life make more sense. By this point in BDG’s career it is not difficult to imagine him feeling stifled creatively at work (I feel comfortable saying this given how soon after this video came out that he departed Polygon). His character had grown too large, potentially becoming alien to him, no longer reflecting the art he wanted to make and so he made a video about a distorted version of himself stealing his voice. In this way the video becomes a statement on his artistic integrity and his desire to test new boundaries and go in different directions. In hindsight, with the knowledge of his departure and then success after leaving Polygon, the video becomes almost heartwarming (if it weren’t terrifying) in the same way that a before and after picture of someone improving themselves can be. We will return to the Dorian Smiles system, but now we must move to the second video, Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97. I’ll save you the blow by blow breakdown and aim for a quick summary instead. This video is a simple stationary shot of an old CRT tv. A VHS tape is inserted and a video of a man teaching his, evidently young, son how to use a camcorder plays. It is relatively wholesome and corny in that way that all home movies are and when it ends the tape rewinds and the segment plays again, this time with a few deviations. Over replays the father becomes aware of what is happening and begins trying to reason with Jake through the camcorder begging him to stop watching the tape and move on. The father is menaced by a large shadowy figure that does not speak or move when confronted. Eventually the father resorts to simply taking the camera and recording his own screams of pain. On the final rewind the father simply says, “Attaboy.” before calmly walking out the room and into the dark hallway, a doorway opens at the other end, filled with orange light, and the father walks through and down stairs. The final shot of the video is of the television, showing the hallway, as orange light begins to flicker in the background of the left side of the TV. The sound of the father descending the stairs transitions from the TV to diegetic and a shadow appears briefly in the light. On one level the video is clearly a statement about loss and about trauma. Jake is losing himself by watching these videos on repeat, trying in vain to relive a happier time. In that desperate desire to regain what was lost he is distorting it, making it into something it isn’t, hurting it. At the beginning the father says, “Never ever press the rewind button, otherwise you might record over a precious memory. We always keep the recording going forward . . .“ I think there is an additional, and more personal for BDG, reading however. The father is the modern character of BDG, and we, the audience, are Jake. He is pleading with us to leave the past behind and move on. This was only his 3rd video that he posted after leaving Polygon. It is a plea from him to leave the old character behind and stop trying to make one into the other. To stop obsessively comparing the new videos to the old. To let the future be the future and let the past be the past. He is telling us that his new work will not be like the old, that he has progressed past that and that now his viewers need to as well. The detachment and confusion of Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss has transformed into a desire to move forward. But he needed to ensure that his audience was ready to come with him, and so he made a video about loss and the dangers of sinking too far into it. I know that there are some of you that feel I am reading too much of what I assume to be BDG’s thoughts and emotions into these interpretations, and I am the first to admit that I might be. In no way am I trying to say these are the only interpretations of these videos or even that they are correct. I think there is so much more of an artist that they put into their work than they realise. I do not know the mind of BDG, only he does, but these videos made me feel that I had a glimpse into the feelings of a man whose work I admire. These videos are either longer or a drastically different tone to the material he has put on his own channel and as such they stood out to me. They felt different, and they seemed to ask for a different level of scrutiny. On some level maybe BDGs videos can not be divorced from the story of BDG as a content creator, the same as any modern internet semi-celebrity, or indeed any artist. I guess there was also a part of me that wanted to answer the call to action I heard when BDG left Polygon, to unravel his work. I hope in some small way I’ve been able to do that.

#bdg #brian david gilbert #analysis #youtube #scary #When the dad screams towards the end of Teaching Jake I felt that in my soul.

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