#i try to appreciate every sort of art but your art is honestly awful. you have neither skill nor meaning. fuck off and die

[calamarispider]

i know if i sleep tonight i will have a nightmare. being awake isnt much better right now though.

[tigerlilywithering]

𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

─────────────────

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌&𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. bradley bradshaw x reader, no use of y/n mentions of alcohol, swearing, allusions to sex, mentions of porn/pornstars, fluff, 18+ only, mdni

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽.

─────────────────

You sigh and roll your eyes as yet another cheesy fake 70s party song comes on. (a.n: yk the songs that arent from the 70s but sound sort of disco-esque so they’re on every 70s party playlist ever. those)

This was certainly not what you were expecting when you decided to go to The Hard Deck’s “70’s themed night” although you scold yourself for not knowing better. 70’s themed nights are never what you hope they’ll be.

You look around at everyone happily dancing, clad in their god-awful hippie and disco costumes and wish you were back home. At least then you could listen to some good music. But you’d already had a couple drinks, and were warm in your barstool so decided to stick it out for a bit longer.

You felt so out of place in your outfit (an actual vintage 70’s outfit) and the music was almost literally making your ears bleed. One more drink you tell yourself. Then you can call a cab to go home.

You swivel your barstool around and ask Penny for another drink.

“Hey, Penny, next time you have a decade-themed night, please let me be in charge of the music.” you tell her, only half-jokingly as she begins making your drink.

“Terrible isn’t it.” a voice says, startling you.

You turn your barstool around to see a tall, handsome man, standing behind you.

“The music I mean.” he continues “Most of it isn’t even from the 70’s.”

As you listen to him, you notice what he’s wearing. He may be the only other person who isn’t wearing a silly costume and is actually dressed like he was from the 70’s. You also notice his thick moustache, which makes you laugh a little. He really could be from the 70’s with that thing.

“I know right.” you answer. “Honestly it’s like no-one appreciates the art that is true 70’s disco.”

He smiles and chuckles, and it makes you smile too. It also makes your tummy flutter. You turn around to get your drink to avoid the embarrassment of him seeing your rosy cheeks.

“So what are you supposed to be? A… groupie for Led Zeppelin?” he asks teasingly.

You turn back around and say:

“What are you supposed to be? A pornstar from the 70’s?” you say, smirking.

That makes him laugh even louder which, consequently, makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter even harder.

“Exactly.” he replies, playing along. “The best in the business.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. I mean, are you surprised? Who wouldn’t want to see all this.” he says while gesturing up and down his body.

“Oh no, I get it” you start, standing up finally. “That moustache just really… does something to me.” you say flirtatiously, not really lying. You wouldn’t mind feeling that moustache in… places.

He smirks.

“Hey well, maybe you could be my co-star then.”

“Bold thing to say when you haven’t even told me your name yet.” you reply.

“Bradley.”

“Nice to meet you Bradley.”

“So what’s your name, baby?” he asks back.

Oh fuck. The word baby coming from his mouth made you weak behind the knees.

You tell him your name almost stuttering as you do so and he smiles his pretty smile.

“How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

“I’ve only been here a few times.” you answer honestly. “I’m sort of, new to Miramir.”

“Well, I’ll bet you’re glad you moved here. Now you can say you’ve met the best pornstar on the West Coast.”

You giggle. He likes that sound. He could get used to hearing it.

“Oh I’m extremely glad… what’s your name?”

“Forget already?” he asks, sort of disappointed.

“No I mean your pornstar name. You gotta have one.”

“Rooster.” he answers quickly.

“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something here.” you say, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No.” he laughs, “No, it’s my callsign.”

“Ohh, I see. You’re a flyboy.”

“Precisely.”

You’re honestly not surprised. Half the population of Miramir (aka Fightertown) is aviators. Plus, you could imagine him being in the Navy. Tall, broad, most likely muscular judging by the way his arms bulge out of his button up.

A silence falls between you for a moment, before Bradley speaks again.

“What do you say, me and you have a little boogie. Show them how it’s done.” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the people currently on the dance floor.

“You know, I really would, but this music is like, impossible, to dance to.” you say.

You cannot dance. And this man is basically perfection. There is no way you’re embarrassing yourself like that.

“Right, yeah fair enough. But just to be clear, if there was good music, you’d dance with me?”

“Of course I would.”

“Okay… you know what, I’ll be back in a second.” he says before hurriedly walking off.

Fuck. You think. He wanted to dance with you and you turned him down. Are you actually stupid. He’s probably not coming back.

You take a long sip of your drink, finishing it off, and just about ready to call a cab, when all of a sudden you hear the start of a familiar song.

You smile as the intricate and funky guitar solo of Get Down Tonight by KC & The Sunshine Band plays.

Then Bradley is in front of you again.

“Wanna dance?” he says, feigning nonchalance, and holding his hand out.

“Fine. But only because I really like this song.”

You take his hand and he brings you ro the dance-floor.

“Just a fair warning though, I can’t dance. Like at all.” you tell him.

“Sure you can baby. Everyone can dance. Did you not watch Dirty Dancing.”

That makes you laugh, and he swears he feels his heart melt a little.

“Just follow my lead. I’ll teach you.” he tells you reassuringly.

At first, you’re hesitant to let yourself relax, but the longer the song goes on, the longer he’s looking at you with his puppy-dog eyes, the more difficult it becomes to stay tense. After a minute or two, you’re lost in the song and the feeling of his hands on your hips goes straight to your head, making you feel more tipsy than you are.

When the song finally ends, you’re hot and sweaty but also extremely giggly and honestly impressed with your and Bradley’s dancing.

He takes you back to the bar, both of you laughing.

“Baby, I thought you said you couldn’t dance! You were amazing!” Bradley tells you.

“It was all you!” you tell him.

“Nah. You’re a stellar dancer, babe.”

“Maybe it was the song. Brings out the best dance moves in us.”

“I knew you’d like it. Honestly thank god you did because I paid that DJ $10 to put it on.”

“You paid him? Why?”

“Well, he told me he couldn’t change the setlist but I wanted to dance with you.”

“Bradley you didn’t have to-”

“Give me your number.” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You know, as a thanks. Since I taught you how to dance and all.” he responds, almost shyly.

He gives you those puppy-dog eyes again, and well, how could you say no?

“Okay.”

He smiles his gorgeous smile for the millionth time that night, and you have a feeling, a nice warm feeling and you’re sure you’ll be seeing that smile a lot from now on.

─────────────────

(top gun) mutuals:

@notroosterbradshaw @sunlightmurdock @floydsglasses @its-dee-lovely @tongue-like-a-razor @teacupsandtopgun @hangmans-wingman @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @southpawbitch @sebsxphia @mak-32

[fenny-self-ships]

hello all right, now i want a prince john, jafar and honest john with s/o artist.

Ooh, I like this one!

Villains with an artistic S/O~!

Prince John~!

This man has clumsy hands, couldn't draw a stick figure to save his LIFE

Regardless, he's a connoisseur of the finer things, and may have an even greater appreciation for art and painting knowing he could never do it himself

The second he finds out you're particularly adept in this area, he'll ask you to draw HIM -- probably not the most considerate request, but if you do, he'll be in awe for weeks

He'd show off your work to anyone who will listen, and would even commission you (for a substantial sum of gold) to paint full-sized portraits to hang around the castle

He will brag about you

"Oh, you're married to the town blacksmith? Well, MY partner is an artist!"

He might come off as a little shallow about your work, but he means well, I promise

Jafar~!

With his steady, nimble fingers, he's an expert calligrapher, but not an 'artist'

He's likely bared witness to all sorts of fancy artworks, given his high-strung job, but never really considered it as anything more than a strange fixation of the affluent

When he discovers your talents, he'll likely treat it as any hobby -- he might even call it 'cute', not quite realising how patronising it sounds

As frustrating as it would be, he'd be the type to lean over your shoulder and ask questions before the piece is done

"Where are their clothes? A little risqué, don't you think??"

Jafar stop being oblivious challenge go

He is, however, very susceptible to having his ego stroked -- draw a nice portrait of him and all of a sudden your 'gift' is all he'll talk about

Try and talk him into getting you some new canvas while he's in one of those moods...

Honest John~!

He honestly seems like he'd doodle for fun -- he can't read or write, so the substitute is crude little sketches in his notepad

These are, however, still crude

He'd NEVER shut up about the artistic talents of his partner, especially when seeing they're better than his own

Of course, he'd try and convince you to sell your drawings... but only so he can "share your talent with the world!!"

He'd loooove to watch the process over your shoulder -- Of course, if you asked him to back up he would, but he just finds it so mesmerising!

The way the strokes turn into a coherent picture before his very eyes, he'd get so excited every time you finish a piece

He might even request that you teach him!

He's very supportive <3

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

dear mootie I read your post and I'm sorry you feel that way :'( I don't really care that much what people will think about me for posting soichello but I see where you're coming from and it sucks, it's not right. Fandom should be the place ppl go to have fun not get bullied or bully others. I've also sort of ridiculed the ship (& myself for enjoying it) at times but only jokingly.. like, that's lowkey part of the package for me, and I thought it was the same for other shippers too. I never considered it might've influenced others negatively, and if that's the case I wanted to apologize. I hope this situation gets better for you, honestly i don't see how anyone could be mad at you, deprecation or otherwise.. liking stuff, even niche ass things, is not the problem, the 'climate' on the internet is.

Anyway, just know that if u want I have soichello art and bad memes ready send and I'm down to talk abt those two absolutely whenever ok? Ofc u don't have to answer this but lmk c: (Also sorry I'm like. physically unable to send asks off anon💀 hope you don't hate me💀💀)

Omg hi um. I’m not quite sure how to respond to this, but first of all: thank you. I actually really appreciate this. Like I don’t think I could put into words how much I appreciate this.

I feel like I should say that I do make fun of practically every pairing I ship. It, too, is apart of the package for me like it is for you. I guess the problem with what I tend to do with soichello is kind of like. Clinging onto the irony of it/ridiculing it to the point where I actually feel mean. I’ve never taken anyone else making fun of the pairing to heart (because, taking everything about them in canon into consideration, it is objectively a little ridiculous), but I suppose I’m so aware of the fact that I have the potential to make others feel negatively that I take what I say to heart, and feel so much more horrible (And in the end I kind of attempt to balance the deprecation so that I negatively affect as little people as possible. I know you can’t please everyone but goddamn do I try 😭😭). But anyways I doubt you’ve negatively impacted anybody, reflecting on the post a day later I think this was just me being paranoid tbh.

It’s been super hard for me to unlearn the shame I have surrounding certain interests of mine, but seeing other people enjoy them makes it so much easier.

PLEASE feel free to send me art/memes/anything soichello related literally whenever. I should mention that I am absolutely AWFUL in one on one conversations and am like. Almost physically incapable of initiating conversations myself (this also ties into my fear of being perceived negatively lol). But if it means I get to talk about them I will try so very hard.

(Also don’t worry about the anon thing, I totally get it!! I usually default to anon myself (although it depends on what the ask is/why I’m sending it), and I definitely don’t hate you.)

[genericpuff]

I appreciate your art style! It’s very confident with strong shapes and great body language. Who are your inspirations and do you have any advice for drawing efficiency because I always get hung up on the small things and it keeps me held back

Aw thanks so much! Regarding my inspirations, I grew up on a lot of manga, animation, and video games, so many of my inspirations are Japanese artists in the gaming and manga industry. Included but not limited to: Takeshi Obata (the artist behind Death Note, Bakuman, Hikaru No Go, Ral Grad, etc.), Tetsuya Nomura (FF VII, FF X, Kingdom Hearts, The World Ends With You, etc.), and Akihiko Yoshida (FF III, Bravely Default, Nier: Automata, etc.)

But honestly? I kinda tend to just grab whatever I can learn from whoever's art I feel like studying. There are a lot of webcomic artists and modern digital artists who I've learned so much from over the years just by observing their art and identifying what they do that almost feels unique to them. Like, the creator of Two Guys and Guy? I always like how he draws elbows. Or the creator of Alfie, I love how he stylizes eyebrows and body proportions of all shapes and sizes! And of course when it comes to those aforementioned inspirational artists, Tetsuya Nomura's line quality is top notch, and I learned a lot about how to color from Obata.

I really rambled there, but inspiration comes from so many places! <3

In regards to the second part of your question, honestly, that confidence just comes from a lot of practice and drawing the same things over and over and over and over and over-

Anyways, I've been drawing webcomics for a number of years now, so along the way I've sorta had to learn tricks and shortcuts to make the process a bit more efficient and less headache-inducing. I think after all that, the core things I can recommend are:

Learn how to draw from the shoulder and elbow vs. the wrist. This will allow you new motions that can accommodate long, confident lines and shape structures. Tiny strokes are great for detailing, but long swooping lines are the best for getting in gesture, form, and line clarity! Plus it's just healthier for your body all around, helps engage your shoulder muscles and reduces the potential risk for carpal tunnel ;)

Keep your toolset simple! I know it's easy to sort of want to just collect and own every single brush out there (especially if you're a digital artist) but honestly, the best way to be efficient is to simplify your kit and process its strongest tools. You can accomplish so much with just a good ole' fashioned round brush, soft airbrush, and blur/blend/smudge tool of your choice - all the fancy ones are simply there to make your life easier after you've learned how to draw the fancy stuff those brushes are trying to replace, IMO (ex. I know how to draw things like leaves and bark with the round brush... so having brushes to do it for me is way handier nowadays! But it's only because I know how to draw them normally that I can ensure I'm using those tools properly, if I'm explaining that clearly ?)

Always be open to trying new industry tools, there is no such thing as 'cheating' (barring blatant theft lol). I don't think a lot of people realize just how many artists across every art industry use tools and techniques designed to make the process more efficient, like 3D models, photobashing, gradient mapping, color balancing, tone curving, etc. to help speed up the creation process and turn an okay drawing into a great one. Of course, none of these tools can substitute for actual skill, you still gotta learn how to use these tools properly in addition to learning your foundations, but those super efficient artists definitely aren't working from the same process that everyone else is, it's different for everybody and it's all about finding what tools work best for you! And the only way to do that is to try 'em :)

Remember that the core of creating and presenting art is expressing an idea to your audience. There's no pre-requisite to how 'detailed' that idea needs to be to be understood, because 1.) your audience may interpret it entirely different from how you intended anyways and 2.) your audience is way better at 'filling in' the details than we give them credit for! One such artist that I can recommend you look at is WLOP, their paintings are well known for being gorgeously rendered and almost 'hyper-realistic' but when you actually zoom in on their paintings, you'll find many of the 'details' are very basic, often times just splatters of a round brush. Here's an example:

From that first glance, it looks like an incredibly detailed hyper-realistic painting, but zoom in a little and you'll see all the messy brush strokes and where they used brushes that are all incredibly simple (I could recreate the same look of the owl with just the transparent watercolor brush in CSP!) Regardless of the details not being rendered out as much as we'd assume, we still assume that what were looking at is completely rendered down to the last pixel, because our brains are doing all the work to fill in those details. WLOP focuses on shape, color, and form first before worrying about nitty gritty details, and their art doesn't suffer at all even when they don't bother with detailing at all. Pretty neat, huh?

THAT WAS A LOT LOL But I hope that helps ? I try not to keep it at "just practice" because often times that gets misconstrued as just "draw a lot" when if you don't know what you're lacking or what piece you might be missing in the puzzle, then of course it's gonna feel like you're just bashing your head against a wall! It's like teaching someone how to skate or ride a bike or drive a car, practicing will definitely do more than not practicing, but there are additional things you can learn and apply to make that learning process work for you rather than against you.

That's all for now! Best of luck in your journey! Remember that the key is to just take it at your own pace, be comfortable with making mistakes (it's the only way to learn!), and have fun! Being able to make art efficiently is great and all, but having fun and enjoying yourself is definitely the most important thing! <3

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened��almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[depressing-debbie]

Could you do the fluff alphabet for Armin? My favorite :) Loved eren's by the way

Aw I'm glad you liked it! Absolutely <3 

I had a lot of fun with this, but it’s very much unedited, so... yeah, hopefully it’s alright!

POST Time Skip as always

Fluff Alphabet: Armin

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

He plans absolutely adorable little dates, like picnics or hikes. He also loves taking his SO to museums and art galleries, especially if it’s something they’re really interested in. He already has plenty of knowledge on the subject, and he definitely did some research before they left, so he’s fully prepared to point out every little detail and explain the meaning behind everything as they go. Most of all, though, he just likes getting to be with his SO, so he also loves lazy afternoons sitting and reading together.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Armin thinks absolutely everything about his SO is stunning. He loves the way they carry themselves when they’re confident, the way their face crinkles when they laugh, the sparkle in their eyes when they talk about their interests: they’re just perfect. 

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Look no further, everybody, because we’ve found the most comforting man on the earth. His first instinct when his SO is upset is to make sure their surroundings are comfortable, meaning he’ll make sure to take them somewhere quiet if they are in public, or he’ll find lots of blankets and pillows. Then he’ll sit with them, letting them rest their head on his chest while he traces little circles into their hair. If they want to talk about it, he’s down. If they need space, he’s already out the door, checking on them once in a while with some water. But if they just want him there, he won’t leave their side.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He’s really happy thinking about the future, even though it’s not necessarily specific. He loves the idea of building some sort of life with his SO and getting to spend it together. There’s no specific idea in his head of what that looks like, so he’d be happy no matter what as long as they’re together.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

It’s entirely equal. He’s an absolute gentleman, but he doesn’t believe in the way society enforces roles on a relationship. Him and his SO are a team, and they work together in their relationship.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He really hates fighting, and he doesn’t really initiate a fight ever. And, unless it’s something really serious, he would be quick to find a compromise and make up. But, even if it is serious, even though he might be a bit hurt, he still wouldn’t want to fight. They’re a team, and that team is built on a foundation of solid communication, so he’d want to have a genuine conversation rather than just yell at each other. The last thing he wants is for either of them to get their feelings hurt accidentally.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is so incredibly grateful for his SO, and he makes sure they know it. He appreciates them and everything they do, so even if it makes him uncomfortable, he expresses it as often as he can.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

There are no secrets in his relationship. You can’t be a team if you’re not on the same page, and he doesn’t see any reason why he would want to hide things anyway. He would respect if there are things his SO just doesn’t want to talk about, especially if it’s something very personal, but his goal will be to make sure they know they can feel comfortable talking to him. 

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Armin is a pretty reserved person, and he has a lot of self doubt and general anxiety. But, he feels so much more confident and relaxed around his SO; they’ve helped him to become more comfortable with himself and his interactions in general. He can also forget his own worries instantly when it comes to protecting them, which shows him that he is capable of overcoming that fear. He embraces the sense of security they give him, and he allows himself to open up a bit more.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He doesn’t get jealous often, but he does have some self doubt that gets in the way. It’s not that he would blame his SO or accuse them of anything, he just gets a bit insecure. It’s also not hard for his SO to notice, and all he really needs is a few words of assurance and comfort to relax.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Alright, unfortunately, their first kiss was so awkward. Armin was absolutely terrified of messing up, and he probably rambled when he asked if he could kiss them. It was honestly pretty cute, though, the way that he blushed, then got all smiley afterwards. He’s able to relax with it over time, and after a while, he’s a really good kisser. He probably gives his SO a little kiss as a greeting each time he sees them, and he’s absolutely a tiny butterfly kisses kind of guy :)

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Okay, so if we’re talking about how he asked them out, he was SO awkward. His friends had to hype him up for like two weeks, and he definitely rambles when he’s uncomfortable, so it took him forever to actually get the words out. He absolutely did it in person, though, and it was pretty sweet. But, if we��re talking about the first time he said that he loved them, it was more relaxed. He just looked over at his SO one day and though about how amazing they are and how lucky he is, so he told them, and it came out as “I love you”. He was pretty embarrassed afterwards, but he definitely didn’t regret it, especially after they said it back.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

I think it depends pretty heavily on his partner, and he’d be happy either way. He doesn’t rely on a piece of paper to show that they care about each other, so if they don’t want to, he’d be happy. But, if they do want to get married, he would be so excited. He would definitely plan the most thoughtful proposal, in a private place that holds some kind of meaning for the two of them, and it would be so cute. Their wedding would be stunning, he definitely has an eye for design. There wouldn’t be a big difference between dating and married life, just more excuse to be happy together.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He has so many cute little nicknames for them. Definitely calls them “love”, or “sweetheart” when they’re upset. But mainly, his nicknames are super creative and meaningful to the two of them. If his SO speaks a second language, he did some research and came up with a nickname in that language. They probably also reference their inside jokes, so it makes no sense to anyone else, which just makes it that much more special.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s sooo obvious when Armin is in love. He gets embarrassed every time someone brings up his SO, and he keeps getting caught smiling and staring off into space. He expresses his feelings to his SO in every way can, whether that’s through little acts of service, homemade gifts, extra soft kisses, or just flat out saying that he loves them. He never wants them to feel like he doesn’t appreciate them completely and utterly, so he goes out of his way to make sure they know how he feels.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He’s really uncomfortable with PDA, at most, he would probably hold his SO’s hand or rest his hand on their back. Otherwise, he just gets super embarrassed and flustered. He doesn’t mind talking about their relationship, though, especially with people he trusts. He’s not going to brag or share specific details, but he enjoys getting to talk about the person he loves, and he’s honestly happy that people know they’re together.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

This is very random, but he has an endless supply of cozy sweaters and sweatshirts, lots of which are oversized, and he LOVES when his SO steals them. Every time he catches them wearing his clothes, it makes him sooo happy. They’re the coziest couple on the planet.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s incredibly romantic, but not in the traditional way. He just doesn’t understand the cliche romantic gestures and sayings, and he would so much rather come up with his own way of expressing his appreciation for his SO and making them happy. It’s much more personal, and he puts so much thought into all of it.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Armin is completely and utterly supportive; he is his SO’s number one supporter. In his eyes, there is literally nothing they cannot accomplish, and he will do whatever he can to help them get there. If they’re hesitant to pursue something they’re passionate about, he is going to encourage them to have faith in themselves and chase after it, no matter what, because he believes in them completely. And if there’s any way he can help them reach their goals, he’s all ears.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Probably a mix of both. They probably have a routine of some kind set, and he appreciates the peace and stability of that. But, he also loves getting to add to his list of new experiences that the two of them have shared. He loves learning and seeing new things, and especially when he gets to share them with his SO, it makes him really happy.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He knows them incredibly well. He can predict their reactions in different situations, and he can almost always tell how they’re feeling. It’s entirely due to how clearly they communicate, and the way that he observes everything around him. He took note at the start of their relationship of what makes them happy and what upsets them, and he knows so much about them. He can empathize so well because of this.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship is very important to him. His SO means a lot to him, and he’s definitely started to build his routine around them, especially if they’ve been together for a while. He doesn’t really enter relationships without being serious about it, that’s just not his style, so it really is meaningful to him. 

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When he doesn’t get to see his SO for a while, they carve out time in their next meeting to just talk. They get nice and cozy together, and they just spent an hour or two talking about everything they can think of, how their week went, what crazy book they’re reading, some new fact about something they’re interested in, whatever they want to share with each other. Armin loves getting to talk about the things he’s learned and what’s happening in his life, but more than that, he absolutely adores hearing his SO talk about things they’re passionate about. He loves the way their eyes light up and their voice becomes animated. He could just sit there, in their arms, listening to them talk for hours.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He’s very affectionate! Nowhere else does he feel as safe as he does in his SO’s arms, and he loves getting to be close to them. They definitely take naps together after a long day, and he loves to cuddle while they read. If they’re working or sitting together, he’ll rest his head on theirs, giving them tiny kisses on top of their head, or he’ll let them curl up into his side and run his hand gently up and down their back. He loves feeling like he can protect them.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He really hates when his SO is gone for a long time just because their routines are so intertwined, so he’s constantly reminded of their absence. He probably spends more time with his friends and writes down things he wants to tell his SO when they return, which relaxes him.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Armin is the best example of going to great lengths in a relationship. Anything he can do to make his SO happy and keep everything going well, he is more than happy to do. He absolutely communicates with his partner to see what they need, and what they think the relationship needs, and they’ll work together to make sure they are satisfied. His relationship and his SO mean the world to him, so he would definitely do whatever he can for them.

[jostepherjoestar]

Hewwo queen😔if you're still taking requests, could I ask one with la squadra and an artist s/o? Thank you💕💕💕

La Squadra with an artist s/o

sfw // gn reader // First of all... this was the request I mentioned before. I want everyone the address me with “Hewwo Queen😔” from now on!! it make me laugh so hard cause it reminds me of the “then perish” meme thanks for the lovely request <3

Risotto

Risotto admires your talent, often times when he’s trying his best to relax for once, he finds himself looking through your sketchbooks and drawings. He loves seeing your progress and noticing how you always seem to capture the lighting right.

When he gets to your most recent sketchbooks he starts to notice a familiar figure pop up a lot. Himself. Drawn in all sort of poses, his muscles being a great way to study body shapes as you tried to explain with a cheeky grin on your face when he asks you to explain your drawings of him.

On a quiet night you snuck up to your tall boyfriend, as well as you could sneak up on an assassin, with a present behind your back. Excited to see his reaction you handed him the wrapped canvas. Risotto made sure not to rip the pretty wrapping and had a stern look on his face as he saw the surface of the painting. You knew not to expect too much from him reaction wise so you were curious to hear what he had to say.

He just kept staring at the canvas, it was a painting of the only picture you had together. Privacy being a real issue in Passione. You’d asked Melone to take the photo when Risotto was asleep and you posed beside him, kissing him on the cheek. You’d showed him the picture, promising to keep it on you at all times and not to show it to anyone.

“I love it. So much, really darling this- Thank you.” he almost sounded flustered, reaching out to hug you. His reaction was so sweet, you knew he truly loved it. He placed it on the wall near his desk so he could look at it whenever he was working away, like most nights. A couple days later you found a wrapped pencil case on your drawing desk, new pencils, your favourite kind. A little stick man drawn on the card that said “I love you” in a crooked text bubble.

Formaggio

He’s in constant awe of how good you are, constantly praising you and showing off to anyone who’ll listen. He once showed a small drawing you did of a flower he kept in his wallet to a waiter while paying for the meal, embarrassing you to the max.

Seeing you study plants, people, landscapes, buildings, lighting, shadows, basically everything, he tried to see the world through your artistic eyes. He’d never really payed attention to expressing himself that way so he was curious to try.

Setting up canvasses or sketchbooks, all sorts of materials laid out in front of you to experiment with. You set up a still life on the table in front of you, a vase of flowers and some fruit strewn about. Assuring him this isn’t about how pretty or perfect the result is, but about how he sees the setup and wants to express it on the canvas or paper.

After both finishing you’re amazed by the colours he used and how abstract he painted the flowers and fruits. Your complements boosting his confidence. “But you’re still the real artist here sweetheart.” he said as he squeezed your hip as he admired your sketch.

You put his little painting in a frame and set it on your drawing desk, reminding yourself of your number one fan whenever you looked at it. It became a new relaxing activity for the two of you to enjoy with a glass of wine and snacks as you painted and drew together.

Illuso

Illuso loves art, but in particular he loves renaissance art. Whenever you two can, you’ll visit a gallery to admire the large paintings and sculptures. Illuso is quite judgy as well, offering no soft commentary on work he doesn’t enjoy. It’s mostly modern art he doesn’t like.

You try out different styles every now and then whenever you feel stuck in your own personal one, seeing if it could inspire you. To help in those situations Illuso has bought you multiple heavy books on his favourite painters. He isn’t afraid to venture into more recent styles, but he keeps it mostly to Italian or European artists.

When you tried out a more modern style in your newest experiment, he was surprised that he liked it as much as he did. “This is actually pretty good amore.” the complement sounding perhaps more like an insult, but you knew he meant it well.

Illuso himself however couldn’t draw, paint, sculpt or even photograph. He just had a hard time expressing himself in an artistic way, commenting one day that  “Can’t I just be the art myself?” earning a chuckle from you.

Prosciutto

Now Prosciutto likes art, classical paintings and sculptures but he doesn’t pay them any mind for too long. Yes it’s nice to look at but honestly he’d rather spend his time on other stuff. So when he met you he learned to appreciate art more. You’d show him around your workspace and show him the projects you’re working on.

The more you showed him the more he realised that being an artist isn’t just a hobby, it could also be a job as well. He never really thought it about it this way, realising that art is literally all around him. You were able to broaden his view, that you teased was sometimes a little too narrow.

He looks up to you for being able to express you thoughts and ideas and make something beautiful out of them.

As a gang member who has a lot of responsibility he prefers to spend his little amount of free time with the people he loves and trusts, like sitting around reading the paper or a book while you’re working away at your next piece.

Whenever you make him something, be it a drawing, painting, sculpture, and tell him he inspired it he will try his best not to blush. Taking you into a tight hug to cover up his face, thanking you for thinking of him. Honestly he loves that you’re creative and made him open his eyes a little more to the world he thought he already knew so well.

Pesci

The two of you have a cute tradition ever since you started going out together. A couple dates in, he slid you a napkin, face flushed red, with a scraggily drawn Pesci asking if he could be your boyfriend. Of course you happily accepted, having kept the napkin and pinned it to your wall next to your bed. Since then every time you go out and there’s a napkin around the two of you draw each other a funny figure or object.

To the other’s chagrin sometimes, creating way too many inside jokes that they don’t get. What do they not get, it’s a bowl of pasta with cheese on it saying “Cheesed to meet you!”

Besides the cute napkin drawings you store safely in a box, Pesci loves helping you out whenever he can. If you need him to help transport stuff he’ll gladly rent a car and drive, making sure that the ride becomes a cute little date.

He’ll always cheer you on when you feel stuck, doing whatever he can to aid you. Or if you’re having another failed all nighter, fallen asleep on your desk, he’ll come pick you up and carry you to bed. Blushing when you kiss him on the nose to thank him for it.

Melone

Melone absolutely loves that you’re an artist! He loves analysing art and the way people respond to it, the human psyche just really excites him. Often times asking people what they were feeling or what they interpreted when looking at your work. Like he was asking around for a survey, it was just his own curiosity.

He also loves modelling for you. You want him to sit in the garden on a rock between the rose bushes? No problem! Nude? NO PROBLEM! He’ll suggest it every time you ask him to model, assuring him that you won’t need another upclose muscle study for a fourth time this week.

He’ll be your personal promoter and manager if you want him to be, making sure if you want a personal gallery opening that you don’t get scammed for rent and that you can hike up the prices just a tiny little more on your own pieces. He’ll get you connected faster than the speed of light if you want him to.

But most of all he admires how hard you work and the effort you put into your art. He sees a piece of you in every project. You’ll find him staring at your work, a love struck look in his eyes. He’s quite a sappy guy when it comes to this stuff.

Just be sure to not let him near anyone who doesn’t like your work. Another attempt at murder at a gallery opening is not the publicity you want.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio loves abstract colourful art. Other styles that are too complicated or overhyped just makes him annoyed. He loves the simplicity of it, not paying any mind to any hidden meanings. If you do a lot of stuff in a modern or abstract style he’d pay you for the pieces even though he’s your partner. He just really loves supporting you and knows some people don’t compensate artists enough.

You were surprised at his interest, thinking him to not have the temper for art. Although you did discover, during a visit to a new modern exhibit in a local gallery, that Ghiaccio HATED it when the artists act pretentious and the vision of their work doesn’t match up with Ghiacco’s. Mumbling under his breath how “It’s just a square, a beautiful one yes, but it’s not representing how your mom didn’t love you!”.

You don’t comment too much on the meaning behind the modern pieces, he doesn’t seem like he wants to think about it anyway. So you let him enjoy the colourful shapes in his own way.

For his birthday you’d painted an abstract shapely piece in his colours; icy blue’s and the pop of red from his glasses and shoes. Swirly shapes that represented his hair. When you presented it to him his eyes lit up, earning you a passionate kiss that lasted a little too long, you had the rest of La Squadra waiting to eat the birthday dinner, eyerolls and clearing throats making Ghiacco let go with an annoyed growl. He loved it, since you made it and customised to him, he’ll cherish it forever.  

[lantern-hill]

I have so many random feelings about cultural criticism that this will probably be quite chaotic [ I will try to rein it in though and make it somewhat coherent ]

1. You can love something and also criticize it and it shouldn't lessen your enjoyment of it.

Like of course in extreme cases [ JKR and her TERF rhetoric ] you have to disengage from the media in question because its causing active damage to people. However in many cases a show has its good points and its bad points and it seems almost blasphemous to some fans that you can criticize it and still call yourself a fan of the media.

2. This ones related to the first one in a way. Basically I think everyone's out to find the least problematic media and then stan that and its honestly the dumbest thing ever . Like nothing is unproblematic ? Nothing that has been made has been perfect ; esp nothing that can be considered as art . So this need for ideological purity in art is kinda weird to me ? Every piece of art will have defects and deficits . Its on you as the audience to pick apart the whole thing and appreciate the good and criticize the bad .

3. Stan culture of any sort is set up to fail

4. Continuing a piece [ a novel , a TV series , a movie ] just because its got the ratings is one of the worst things that capitalism has done to art in forever. It has ruined great pieces of media by forcing it to over extend itself to the point of obsolescence which makes zero sense.

5. As a queer person I find it laughable that people think you can create queer media without having queer voices and perspectives be a part of the creation process. The statement holds true if you swap queer out with any other marginalized identity.

6. Show not tell is a great idea when it comes to talking about nuance in storytelling about non controversial topics . But sometimes when youre talking about extremely important things [ racism, sexism , homophobia , transphobia etc] sometimes allegory just allows people to hide away from the inconvenient truth. In those situations " Dont show , directly tell " is the way better method . The audience may not be stupid but most people hate being taken out of their comfort zone unless theyre forced out of it . Great art has the capacity to make you uncomfortable.

7. Just because a piece of media makes you feel "seen" doesn't mean that you can automatically assume that its good. It might be trash.

8. How much ever you think you understand a culture you're not a part of , your opinions about it will never matter more than the people raised in that culture. Accept that and move on.

9. How much ever you think you need to defend your culture remember that each culture on the planet has regressive traditions. Don't get mad when its pointed out . Instead try to engage with it . There is no one perfect tradition . Tradition is borne out of centuries of human endeavor and human endeavor will always have some flaws. That's ok.

10. Believing that art doesnt have a moral obligation and that it can support awful things because "artistic license" is stupid. Art affects society and to believe that it exists in a vacuum makes no sense.

*cracks knuckles* thank you for this thick-ass ask

1. You can love something and also criticize it and it shouldn't lessen your enjoyment of it. Like of course in extreme cases [ JKR and her TERF rhetoric ] you have to disengage from the media in question because its causing active damage to people. However in many cases a show has its good points and its bad points and it seems almost blasphemous to some fans that you can criticize it and still call yourself a fan of the media.

This is very true. I actually tend to be harsher on the media I like because I want it to be excellent, while I don't really care bout media that I just consume mindlessly.

2. This ones related to the first one in a way. Basically I think everyone's out to find the least problematic media and then stan that and its honestly the dumbest thing ever . Like nothing is unproblematic ? Nothing that has been made has been perfect ; esp nothing that can be considered as art . So this need for ideological purity in art is kinda weird to me ? Every piece of art will have defects and deficits . Its on you as the audience to pick apart the whole thing and appreciate the good and criticize the bad .

I haven't met anyone like this which I think is a good sign. But yea that does sound really dumb lol! Especially since you're essentially locking yourself into an echochamber. Even if you're not going to change your views, it's nice to at least know what people are doing that you don't agree with, so you can know that you believe what you do because it makes sense and not just because you were told to.

3. Stan culture of any sort is set up to fail

Oh absolutely. Especially with how more and more, privacy is seen as a privilege and not a right, especially when it comes to celebrities. 14 year-olds doxxing each other and their idols is just a really weird culture and I feel really bad for them & want to call their parents and have a word.

4. Continuing a piece [ a novel , a TV series , a movie ] just because its got the ratings is one of the worst things that capitalism has done to art in forever. It has ruined great pieces of media by forcing it to over extend itself to the point of obsolescence which makes zero sense.

YES and on the flip side, DISCONTINUING CONTENT THAT DIDN'T GET THE RATINGS...

5. As a queer person I find it laughable that people think you can create queer media without having queer voices and perspectives be a part of the creation process. The statement holds true if you swap queer out with any other marginalized identity.

People think this??? why lol

6. Show not tell is a great idea when it comes to talking about nuance in storytelling about non-controversial topics. But sometimes when you're talking about extremely important things [ racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia etc] sometimes allegory just allows people to hide away from the inconvenient truth. In those situations " Dont show, directly tell " is the way better method. The audience may not be stupid but most people hate being taken out of their comfort zone unless they're forced out of it . Great art has the capacity to make you uncomfortable.

Hmmmm yes but also no; First of all, show not tell is not the same thing as allegory. Showing someone being sad instead of having them tell the audience they're sad is not allegory. Second, I think you can have subtext about certain of these issues without intending it to be an educational experience for the uninitiated. It depends on your audience, I guess; you have to pick the right tool to speak to the people you want to speak to. Someone said art comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comforted, so maybe it's a balance. Finally, I think that you can pretty effectively force people out of their comfort zone using show not tell.

7. Just because a piece of media makes you feel "seen" doesn't mean that you can automatically assume that its good. It might be trash.

This is true. The two pieces of media I feel most seen by are pretty objectively awful.

8. How much ever you think you understand a culture you're not a part of , your opinions about it will never matter more than the people raised in that culture. Accept that and move on.

Hmm I think this is a cultural relativist take. I agree for the most part, for harmless stuff, like in some cultures it might be polite to do something considered super rude in other cultures; neither is better. But also, if a culture is doing FGM or stoning gay people or something, even if someone raised in that culture says it's okay, I'm still going to think it's fucked up and should stop.

9. How much ever you think you need to defend your culture remember that each culture on the planet has regressive traditions. Don't get mad when its pointed out . Instead try to engage with it . There is no one perfect tradition . Tradition is borne out of centuries of human endeavor and human endeavor will always have some flaws. That's ok.

Oh hey this is what I was saying to the previous one.

10. Believing that art doesnt have a moral obligation and that it can support awful things because "artistic license" is stupid. Art affects society and to believe that it exists in a vacuum makes no sense.

I wouldn't call them obligations, per se. I do agree that it is wrong to portray certain things in certain ways, but I just wouldn't use the word obligation. Maybe responsibility.

send me ur hot takes!

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Prelude

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Reader Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself other than the most shameful of yee-honks.  This was largely just an attempt to break through some writer’s block, but also a little bit of a fuck you to Whiskey’s godawful characterization (get thee hence, canon, thou art dead to me).  In either case I 110% blame @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for dragging me into the Pedro pit and for making the “yeehonk loser” tag funny enough for me to go see what the fuss was about.  Either way, this is unbeta’d and barely edited and is probably just a big goddamn mess.  Which fits, quite frankly. Apologies in advance if it sucks. Summary:  He’s an insufferable, obnoxious blowhard.  Which would be fine if he wasn’t also - some-fucking-how - hotter than a fucking wildfire. Warnings: Drinking, flirting, swearing, Whiskey being the obnoxious prick that we know and mostly tolerate. Rating: Mature (for the moment) Word Count: 1510

You’d met him, of all places, in the hotel bar, shored up over a drawn-out business conference.  He’d turned up three nights running, a brash braggart in a stetson and too-tight jeans that seemed to stroll dick-first around the room, tossing pickup lines at anything that moved.  By sheer luck he’d missed you, leaving the first night with a leggy blonde and the second night with a considerably curvier brunette.

Both times you counted your blessings as you watched him walk out with his arm around the unlucky lady.  You didn’t know the man but you knew the type: the costume cowboys that laid on the charm as thick as their cologne to mask the smell of their shitty personalities.

But now on Sunday, night number three, your luck seems to have finally run out.  Just as you finish your drink the bartender sets down another – whiskey, neat – and gestures at the end of the bar.  “From the gentleman.”

You hardly need to look up to know what you’ll see.  Smug, half-cocked grin.  A gentle tip of the hat.  

Fuck.  Jesus, why.

You grimace out a polite smile out of sheer habit, and before you can even begin to slide the drink back towards the bartender the man has appeared at your elbow like a country-fried jack-in-the-box.

His cologne, at the very least, is not as heavy as you’d expected.  Small mercies.

“Thanks, but-” you begin, already bracing yourself against the bar to stand.

“Oh no need for thanks.”  He rolls right over you with all the practiced ease of a well-oiled steamroller.  His voice is low, with a thick, heavy drawl that feels just a bit too put-upon to be completely real.  “You’ll have to forgive me for being so forward, but I simply couldn’t stand to see a lady as lovely as yourself drinking alone three nights in a row.  Thought I might offer the benefit of some company.”

He extends a broad brown hand.  A tiny blurred bullseye marks the skin between the thumb and forefinger.  “Name’s Jack.  Most folks just call me Whiskey.”

“Whiskey,” you repeat, trying not to roll your eyes at the rather awful joke.

“Yes ma’am.”

You purse your lips, considering, as his hand hangs between you.  You know more than a few ways to cut this little introduction short, though several of them – while wholly effective – might just see you banned from the hotel bar.  And with easily another three days of bureaucratic bullshit on the horizon, you’re really not keen on that happening. Present company aside, the bar’s pretty nice.

 Maybe if you're lucky you can bore him to death.

Begrudgingly you take his hand.  The skin of his palms is thick with calluses.  A surprising thing.  His clothing is more designer than LL Bean, which made you think he was a business man or entertainer – the sort of rich asshole that owned a prized stallion at a private stable somewhere that he rode once or twice a month when he wanted to feel a little authentic.  

But those callouses are hard and smooth.  Not quite a workman's hands, but certainly the result of something a good deal more tactile and involved than pencil pushing.  And that’s enough to make you wonder a little.  Now that he's up close and personal, his face makes you wonder a lot. This is no Kentucky white boy.  Not with eyes that dark, or that curving nose.  And honestly, if it wasn’t for that insufferably cocky look on his face, he’d be a hell of a looker.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, thumb grazing your knuckles before releasing your hand.

"No, you didn't," you say lightly.  "And I'm afraid I don't have much of a taste for whiskey."

He grins, leaning heavily against the bar and motioning for the bartender. "Well now, if my namesake isn't up to your liking, what would be to your taste?"  He hooks the tumbler of whiskey towards himself with a finger – a rather thick finger, and that's one detail you're a little dismayed to find yourself lingering on – and takes a slow sip.

You tap your glass with three fingers as the bartender approaches.  "Tequila."

The man who calls himself Whiskey gives an appreciative whistle as three shots line up in front of you. "Well now ain't that a plot twist.  You must have a hell of a constitution.  Tequila always leaves me flat on my back."  He eyes you up and down, grinning, and the hot flush that brings on isn't half as uncomfortable as you'd like it to be.  "Reckon I can see a similarity or two."

"I just get the feeling I'm going to need something a little stronger than a Cosmo to get me through this conversation," you reply coolly, ignoring the innuendo.  "You have until I finish these shots, by the way."

Whiskey purses his lips, pouting.  "I see you've already jumped to a few conclusions about me.  Hardly seems fair."

You shrug, downing the first shot with little fanfare.  "You've hardly been subtle.  What happened to Friday and Saturday's girls?"

He takes a sip of his own drink, thumb rubbing thoughtfully against the side of his jaw.  You try not to watch the way his throat works when he swallows.  "Now if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were a little sore it took me so long to come and see you."

He positively croons that last, and you tell yourself the warmth you feel kicking up in your belly is just the tequila.  Thank God for plausible deniability.

"Don't flatter yourself, cowboy," you say with a glare.

He chuckles. "Darlin', had I known you'd had eyes on me this whole time I would've come over a hell of a lot sooner," he teases.

You can only shake your head, half in wonder and half in contempt.  "How did you even fit that much ego through the door?"

Whiskey tips his glass to you with a smirk, unfazed.  "Patience, dedication, and a whole lotta practice."

You reach for the second shot, and Whiskey lets out a little sigh.  He puts his hand over your wrist, fingers flat.

"Hey c'mon now.  Slow down, sugar.  As much as I like to tease, I ain't about to put sensibilities or your liver out of sorts for the sake of poking fun."

When he pulls his hand back, reaching for his own glass, it's everything you can do to mask the little shiver that ripples up your back.  He is quite warm.

"I figured you for the sort that'd prefer a girl to be out of her sensibilities," you say quietly, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass.  The skin on the back of your wrist hums where he touched you, and you do your damnedest to ignore it.

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a half-grin.  "Oh, afterward, surely.  But never before."

You roll your eyes.  "An asshole with a sense of propriety.  Now that's novel."

"Part of my charm," he says.  “Bastard by profession and gentleman by nature.  But I mean it.  You are well within every right to walk away.  Ain't gonna harm nothin' but my ego, and Lord knows there’s enough of that to go around.“

You roll the shot glass between your palms.  "And if I walk away?"

Whiskey shrugs.  “Well, then I get to cherish the view as you leave."

"God, shut up."

His grin widens and he leans in, teasing.  "A bittersweet thought to keep me warm, alone in that big empty hotel bed tonight."

The glass almost rolls straight out of your hands.  "I am not fucking you," you sputter, and your cheeks burn as you realize you practically pole vaulted directly to that conclusion with barely any preamble.

The silence hangs after that, heavy and charged.  Somehow you think Whiskey's eyes have gone even darker.  

“I said nothin’ of the sort,” Whiskey says delicately, hands raised in supplication.

There's a cold-burning fire in the pit of your stomach.Some of it's the alcohol.  But most of it is a shameful delight at the way he's looking at you, and the mounting surety that you are probably certainly definitely going to fuck him if you don't walk away and call it a night now. You're not sure whether you hate him more for the assumption, or for almost certainly being right.

He says nothing, just looks you over expectantly.  Waiting to see what you’ll do.

Slowly, you down your second shot.  Fuck it.  If this asshole is going to be your next mistake, you might as well make it on your own goddamned terms.

"So," you say, resting your elbows on the bar.  “Whiskey.  What is it that you do?"

He laughs, full-throated, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in what you suspect might be a genuine smile.  It's lovely, and that might just be the most infuriating thing of all.  

"Oh darlin'.  You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Okay thanks! Then can I request a Shijima Mei with a female reader who starts to see her as an older sister. The reader also draws (but she isn’t as good) so when she saw Shijima’s works she was just in aw.

She is also really bubbly around her and can act a bit childish loving hugs, head pats, and other fluffy stuff! She also go to Shijima when she’s sad and want to vent about life

The reader is alive and also Hanako assistant so they met at the fake world she made and she just stuck with her! (Confused Hanako wondering why reader isn’t like that with him lol)

Thank you! Headcanons please!

(platonic) shijima mei and f!reader

a/n: sure thing!! I haven’t written for her yet (despite my undying love- no pun intended), so let’s hope it turns out alright! You’re so very welcome, and thank you so much for requesting, especially such a cute prompt-!!

warnings: none <3

word count: 1,001

Shijima, at first, is a tad bit confused. After all, she doesn’t typically associate with very many humans. You managed to know the world she created was fake, so she knew it was safe to assume you were close with Yashiro and Kou- but a part of her found you somewhat interesting. Especially when you seemed so enthusiastic to meet her.

Nonetheless, once you returned again and again, she took you under her wing. She even looked forward to your visits, as they always seemed to brighten up her day.

Your cheerful childishness is definitely a reason that she starts to appreciate you as a sister more than just a human. Being alive is one thing, but you somehow just… feel alive? Your grins and giggles warm her heart, and honestly make her want to protect you. The way that you’re childish, especially in how you enjoy such simple acts of affection, brings out some sort of “big sister instincts” in her. Or maybe… you even remind her of the “true” Shijima?

One thing that Shijima also found interesting about you, a reason out of many that she became fond of you, was your interest in art!

While Shijima sees flaws in her own art, when you point out flaws in yours, all she sees are rooms for improvement- not mistakes. As she gives you encouragement and advice for your art, your enthusiasm towards hers makes her smile, even if she doesn’t agree with all of your statements. It really just… warms her heart.

Shijima would feel rather proud of herself should you incorporate her art advice into your art. Every time you bring her a piece, showing it to her with a half-nervous-half-excited grin, she’ll praise you, ruffling your hair affectionately. Should you be especially proud of a piece, she won’t be able to resist hugging you- most likely to your delight. She definitely returns your enthusiasm about your art, often tenfold since you’re bound to criticize your own art.

Offer to give the art to her, and she won’t hesitate to accept, placing it in a spot where she can look at it whenever she so desires.

While she, when upset with her art, grows frustrated and ends up destroying it, Shijima would feel a bit saddened if you did the same. She appreciates the stage that your art is in, and tells you to save it- especially since, as you get older, you’ll be able to look back and see even more improvement.

“It’s an amazing feeling, I’m sure,” she’ll tell you, smiling and trying to remember a point at which she could appreciate improvement in her own artwork. No, she never really got that… but the true Shijima certainly did. This Shijima, the supernatural girl, was sure that she was glad to see those little changes. You had every right and deserved to enjoy that feeling as well.

If you go to Shijima, informing her that something made you feel upset, she’s all ears. Vent as much as you need- raise your voice, cry. Let it all out, because she’s going to actively listen, and most likely get worked up alongside you. Once you finish venting, she’ll offer advice, and comfort you. Hug her as much as you need, as tightly as you need, for as long as you need- she won’t let you go until you’re feeling better.

Even after you’ve calmed down from venting, she usually prefers for you to stay just a tad longer. She’s honestly worried that you’ll leave, then start to think about it and feel sad again. Shijima’s a bit protective over you, and doesn’t want you to feel upset- so, she does anything within her abilities to make you happy/feel better.

She gets so genuinely angry if someone has done you wrong and caused you to need to get it off your chest. If you’re angry about it, she’ll voice her anger as well, eyes narrowing as she tells you that the person that did that is pure garbage.

“I promise you, (Y/N), send that jerk my way. No, no, for real- or send them Number 7’s way. I don’t care if your friend’s an exorcist- tell him to-”

Having someone understand your emotions regardless is nice, and Shijima is glad to be that person. She’s honestly very glad to have you as a little sister figure, and is glad that you consider her as a big sister. Shijima was made to be the more perfect version of the previously living Shijima, so she never personally got to experience family. You gave that joy to her, and she’s so happy that you found her interesting during those fateful events.

(Call her big sister, and she may cry about it later- actually, no, she definitely cries about it later. Then, she’ll proudly refer to you as her little sister. As if treating you like one was where her admiration for you ended!)

Overall, Shijima really is a 10/10 big sister. She cares about you so genuinely, and sees you as a big light in her afterlife. While at once, all she had were her fake worlds and art that never seemed to be good enough, she now had a real person from a real world. You made her feel alive- you gave her a reason to still love the world the original Shijima had been born into. Plus, there’s not a doubt in her mind that, if you met the Shijima Mei who once lived, she’d love you as dearly as the “idealized Shijima”, Number 4 does.

---

“I’m done sweeping!!” You exclaimed, putting the broom up, then turning to Hanako.

“I’m off, bye-bye-”

...

“I just don’t get it, Yashiro. What does Shijima have that I don’t?? She’s my assistant, not hers???? She doesn’t get the opportunity to clean in Shijima’s boundary :(( is that really any fun?? :((( wouldn’t she be bored????? :((((”

Poor Yashiro would sigh, suddenly somehow deemed Hanako’s therapist, while you had the kind Shijima to talk with……

[agent-cupcake]

Third place winner @atomicchocolatecookie asked for a fluffy Yuri scenario where reader was a mage and artist and although this isn’t as fluffy as I kind of intended... I hope you enjoy it? 

POV Yuri x Reader

/

“You called for me, yeah?”

Yuri’s greeting caused you to jump up from your chair, sketchbook pages fluttering to the floor. He probably should have knocked rather than let himself in, considering the circumstances, but the breach in etiquette didn’t seem to stick to you after the surprise faded. Sometimes you scolded him for such antics, but not today. A pity, you were pretty cute when you were indignant. Then again, he did feel a sort of fondness for the way your eyes softened for him, the way you smiled despite being startled. If he had any doubt as to the reason for you calling for him, it was all cast out with that look. Yuri was good at noticing things. Little things, signs in people’s behavior that gave away their feelings. Not that you ever tried particularly to hide what you felt, or perhaps you just hadn’t recognized the feelings for what they were. In a way, receiving your invitation was a relief because, to him, your affection had been obvious for a while. You cared for him. Loved him, even. Yuri had seen it all before. But in that second, appraising you honestly, Yuri decided that he didn’t mind. It was you, after all. Maybe you weren’t all too different from countless of the other women he’d enjoyed, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’d come to like you quite a bit and after everything that had happened-

Well, every person had a vice. Yuri was more than well aware that he’d never find absolute regardless; what was a petty indulgence on top of that?

“Yuri! You came,” you exclaimed, just a touch breathless. He doubted that you meant for it to be appealing, but the happy relief in your tone was alluring in a way, even if the hesitant concern in your smile was somewhat condescending.  “I didn’t know if you would.”

“With such a cryptic invitation, how could I not?” Yuri responded with a playful confidence to squash the irritation of your tone, dangling the sheet of paper you’d sent to him between two fingers. It was a simple thing, merely inviting him to visit the collection of rooms you’d claimed as a home and art studio whenever you stayed in Abyss, but the lines were clearly drawn up and he was more than capable of reading between them.

“I thought you might want some company. I know you’ve been having...” You paused, chewing on your lip as you carefully selected the right words. Your lip was already red from the treatment, a sign that you’d been stressed. Or nervous. “A hard time.”

Yuri could have laughed at such a massive understatement, but he held off. It wasn’t like there was anything funny about losing dozens of his people in a surprise ambush from hired thugs. It was an insult. A tragedy. An event he should have been able to avoid. Although Yuri knew the aim of the attack was to get him to let off on the nobility, although he absolutely knew that it meant he couldn’t give in, sometimes, between trying to organize aid for the widows of his men and trying to restructure things to fix any compromised pieces of his plan, it was hard to justify to himself. Sometimes the notebook in his pocket was a dead weight, a body count he had to support with every step onward. It wasn’t funny at all but Yuri forced a smile and a confident, if teasing, voice. He was meant to be strong. Besides, weakness would hardly benefit him now. That’s what he always did to get what he wanted, wasn’t it? Lied, pretended. It didn’t matter.

“Aw, you were worried about me,” he cooed, holding your gaze with a winning smile. It had the intended effect, even if you tried to play off your embarrassment. Your reaction was cute. Yuri liked the way your eyelashes fluttered as your eyes leapt around, unable to meet his. The way your fingers danced at your side. You had pretty hands, graceful and dexterous in the way so strongly associated mages, musicians, and artists. They were softer than most, but not without callouses. Yuri would have been a liar to say he hadn’t wondered what they might feel like, if they were as clever as he thought they might be.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you answered. “You’ve seemed different since… It happened. So I wanted to do something to help you feel better.”

“You’re cute,” Yuri said, wondering in an abstract way if you were always this bashful when it came to men or if he was special. “But as you can see, I’m fine. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment.” That was why he’d come, wasn’t it? You could distract him —you were willing to!— and with just a word, with a single touch, he could have you at his complete disposal. And maybe that would help. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he used another to soothe his aching spirit. The self-loathing of his actions hardly even registered. Not yet, at least. “Although,” Yuri said in a lower voice, taking a few steps closer. You were soft, in a way. Guileless and charming in how earnestly you regarded him as you met his eyes. It was a beauty that was all at once shy and overt, and one that he found inexplicably compelling right then. He was close enough to smell the faint fragrance on your skin, close enough to make his intentions clear. “Let’s drop the act, yeah? I think it would be better if we both more honest about what we really want. What I-”

“Wait!” you said, cutting him off. Strangely, you took a step back, an action an odds with your bright eyes and blushing cheeks, clear signs of attraction. “Um, sorry. What I want, why I invited you here, is to give you... I have a gift that I wanted to give you.”

Yuri, caught somewhere between amusement and surprise, stopped and raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“Yes, I painted you something. I thought that it might lift your spirits a bit. Maybe,” you said, your excitement edged with a skittish mania now that the mood had turned so abruptly. You gestured to the easel behind you, one that was covered by a ghostly sheet thrown on top. Yuri had discounted it as a trivial piece of furniture, a seemingly omnipresent setup in your rooms.

A gift. You had never painted anything for him specifically, although he had seen some of your portrait work. Painting people was a special hobby of yours when you weren’t engaged in other endeavors. Sometimes he wondered why you bothered at all with the criminal work, but you insisted that art was a mere fancy.

“Consider me intrigued,” Yuri said honestly, dropping the flirtatious effect. “May I see this ‘gift’?”

“Yes, of course,” you said in an overly bright voice. Insecurity and awkwardness was written into every line of your body, scratched deeply into the furrow or your brow and purse of your lips as your smile fell. Somehow, even this was a little charming. “Right. Well, I guess there’s no point in waiting. So-” You pulled the sheet off the easel, letting it drop to the floor without ceremony. Yuri wanted to say something, make some sort of comment about your behavior, but when you pulled the sheet away from the easel, he was rendered speechless.

What could he say?

“Do you like it?” you asked softly, peeking at him sideways.

Yuri was well aware of his beauty. He primed and projected it in the scathingly vain way only an auctioneer of the self could be. His looks were well documented by every painter and wordsmith who had ever attempted and failed to capture him in some capacity. But you hadn’t painted beauty. Portrait-Yuri wasn’t looking at the viewer, but at something past the edges of the canvas. He was smiling, commanding, but there was something else. His allure wasn’t aesthetic, but transcendent of such a trivial attribute. That man both was and wasn’t Yuri. Like he was staring into a mirror reflecting a perversion of reality.

“Yuri?” you asked when he didn’t answer.

Yuri blinked, clearing his throat and forcing a smile. It was harder this time, with such an obvious reminder of what the genuine article was meant to look like right in front of him. “Sorry, I was admiring your technique.”

You swelled with the almost-praise, your eyes alight as they searched his face for any response. “So you like it?”

Did he? Yuri looked back at the canvas. With the second glance, he was able to understand what was wrong with the image, what troubled him so intimately. You had painted a hero. Portrait-Yuri’s smile held no deceit. In his posture, there was no pretend. The man you’d painted lacked Yuri’s sin. The hands he raised in passion as he seemingly addressed someone or someones unseen were clean of filth. After the sleepless hours he had spent trying to clean up a mess that was a direct result of his wrongdoings, the image was like a bludgeon of his flaws. After being so entrenched in the darkness of the world he’d submitted himself to, the light was jarring.

“You can be honest with me,” you told him when he didn’t answer.

Yuri shook his head, trying to push back the feeling swelling in his chest. “I didn’t pose for this, so I’m trying to remember when this might have been,” he lied. Misdirected, really.

“Oh, it was a while ago. You were rallying support, uh, explaining how you were gonna make the nobles take responsibility,” you told him. It took a second for the event to come to mind, but eventually, Yuri remembered vaguely what you were talking about. Moons and moons ago, then, he couldn’t even recall if the two of you had been close at that point. Yuri had nearly forgotten about that night. “Nobody believed that you could do it. I don’t even think I did,” you added after a moment of thought, staring at the painting rather than meeting his eyes. “You were called crazy and overly optimistic and naive. But when you got up to speak, I realized something.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

You turned to him, your eyes sincere. Intense. “It’s not blind optimism or naivety. It’s not like you lie to yourself that the world is better than it is. In fact, I’d hazard a guess that you see the worst parts of the world more than anyone else. But you don’t submit to such a cruel fate or accept that it’s the way things must be. You want the world to be a better place, and you have the will to change it. That night, that’s what I saw.”

If he were any lesser man, you would have rendered him speechless all over again. But he was Yuri, and a response formed alongside a smirk that didn’t even half reach his eyes. “You’re wrong about that,” he said. “About me.”

“I know what I saw, that’s why I painted you in the first place,” you told him stubbornly. “I didn’t know if I was going to give it to you until now, but since everything that happened… I thought maybe you’d need a reminder.”

He knew the words would come out too sharply before he spoke them, but Yuri couldn’t stop himself from asking, “A reminder of what, exactly?”

“Art can’t change the world,” you said, ignoring his tone. “At least, nothing I could do. But you know, people use statues and paintings of saints to inspire their good actions. They look at paintings of Nemesis as an example of evil. When I look at this Yuri, I see you. The you I think you want to be. This is the man that history will remember. So even when bad things happen... Even then, this is-”

“A little paint can’t cover the things I’ve done. That man,” Yuri nodded to the portrait, “isn’t real.” His voice lowered, softened. “Besides, history would be better off forgetting me.” He looked at you, so earnest and trusting, and ran a hand over his face as the guilt formed into a sick slush in his chest for what he’d intended to do. “You would be better off forgetting me, too.”

“Then why do you fight so hard to do good things?” you asked him. “If you believe that the bad things you’ve done have destroyed any hope of redemption, why do you leverage your power to help make things better for the people in Abyss? If you truly believed you were beyond any hope, then doing those things would make you an idiot. Sorry, Yuri, but I don’t buy it.”

“Should I try and convince you, then?” Yuri asked. “I wonder what it would take. If you wish to exalt the best of me, you should know the worst, yeah?”

“Fine,” you said, no hesitation or doubt in your voice. You put your hands on your hips, tilting your chin upward in defiant determination. Yuri was no artist, but if he could have saved the sight of your eyes at that moment he would have gladly become one. The look was not the simple infatuation of a girl, or the affectionate and misguided love he believed had kept you trailing around him. Could he even call it love at all? When you looked at him like that, he felt oddly exposed. Only minutes ago he had believed fully in his ability to manipulate the situation, but right then he wasn’t so sure. “Tell me about your guilt and shame and listen when I tell you that you can be forgiven. That I forgive you.”

Forgive him? You? You, a master forger and gremory who wanted to be recognized first and foremost as an artist. You, a whimsical fool who insisted that beauty was for everyone to enjoy, scoring the ungrateful aristocracy who hoarded it all for themselves. You, who had joined his cause out of a childishly expressed desire to do good. Yuri knew he was guilty of countless unthinkable sins, he knew that enough blood dripped from his hands to drown in, and he knew that even the goddess’s clemency could not save him from reaping what he had sown. Yuri could argue the point if he wanted to. He would have been right to say that he was deserving of your disgust and distrust. He should have done his best to avail you of whatever love you believed you felt for him.

But he looked at the portrait you had painted, and couldn’t. Was that really what you had seen that night? Could that really be him? Those whose names were listed in his notebook, would they believe in such a thing? In such a man?

Eventually, Yuri relented to the war of his thoughts, shaking his head and putting a hand to his temple. “Who put you up to this, I wonder,” he mused.

“We were all worried,” you said, “But nobody put me up to this. It was the only way I could think to remind you of why you’re needed and appreciated. And I was worried because I... I care about you. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Those words pulled him from his thoughts, set something within him at ease. The awkward way you stumbled over the words, the way your voice softened them so sweetly. Yuri had been confessed to in hundreds of ways but never had simple admissions been used to such great effect. It was also a reminder that despite your clear feelings, you had rejected his advances in an attempt to make him feel better. Seemingly inadvertently, you had turned everything around on him. Yuri wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling, but he felt a sort of appreciation for the way you’d managed it all.

“Do you, now?” he asked suggestively, peeking up at you. Sure enough, blushing, your iron-clad determination having eased up. But the look was different. Or perhaps his way of appreciation had just changed. 

“Don’t tease me, Yuri, I’m being serious,” you said.

“Who’s to say I’m not being serious? I seriously was asking how you felt. I’d like to know these things.”

You hesitated. “Really?” you finally asked, your tone adorably earnest.

He laughed. It wasn’t full, but it wasn’t fake either. It felt good, as if some weight had been taken from his chest. “Whatever am I going to do with you.”

“Trust me?” you asked.

When Yuri looked up at you in surprise at the request, something within him softened. He wasn’t a fool, nor was he particularly good at lying to himself. It was affection. Desire of the heart. Not just for you, but for the portrait of him you’d created. The desire to be that version of himself.

He smiled, although it was a confused expression, half bewildered and half reeling from surprise. “Maybe I will.”

[clamityganon]

Aww that’s cute. Honestly darling, if you’d come to my inbox, I would’ve 100% done it. I actually thought nobody really liked the first meta/analysis-- that it was just me screaming into the void-- but I guess not which is pretty sweet! :D Now enough of me talking, let’s go for round two:

Reggie Looks At: Donna Troy’s Suit (Again)

If you haven’t read my last meta, I’m going to re-state my credentials again to proving my own legitimacy: roughly half a year of bojutsu (bo staff fighting), a year of karate, and two years of muay thai. Today I’ll just be complaining about everything I find stupid about this suit right here from a martial arts perspective:

Head: Humans like headshots. They like to punch noses and poke eyes. Please get my girl Donna T some good headgear. Nicola Scott’s Nightwing has a good example of headgear that I’d like to see on more vigilantes. ALSO, I didn’t say this last time, but having your hair whipping around your face while fighting is BAD. It obstructs your vision, it takes time to brush out of your eyes, and if someone’s willing to play dirty (like, literally every DC villain ever) they can grab a fistful of your hair and drag you around. Every version of Donna with long hair should probably think about tying it back in a bun or something.

Shoulders: SHE HAS SHOULDER PADS!!! Shoulder protection is something I value so so so much after I got mine messed up. Albeit, these pads are a little on the bulkier side for me (they look a harder to move in) but hey, she’s got them! The straps look nice and secure, so good for Donna! Even though they’re not the best for a martial artist, I prefer these shoulder pads so much more than the ones New 52 design (is she trying to poke someone’s eye out with her shoulder there?) and I prefer them to not having shoulder pads at all. Overall, I’ll give it a 6/10.

Arms: The upper arms have nothing on them which is nice but I propose having some sort of fabric covering them for less chafing against the straps of the shoulder pads). Going down to the elbows; no elbow pads. I’m a little disappointed, but not really surprised. Like I said last time, in muay thai the elbow is the strongest part of the body and the elbow strike is the deadliest move in the whole sport. Since elbows are so important to general arm function and fighting people, having protection there would be a logical move.  Moving on down to the forearms and; *sigh* They’re back at it again with the metal armbands, aren’t they? Look, I like the idea of the armbands and protecting the part of the arm which you block with, but these are so... heavy. I know the metal armbands are an iconic stylistic choice to Donna Troy’s character (like many other Amazonian characters), but they just look so heavy and bulky I can’t help but frown whenever I see them while in analysis mode. So overall I’d say you should thin out the shoulder pads, add elbow pads, make the forearm bands lighter, and add sleeves to her suit.

Torso: Dude! They her some got chest support! Yes, it looks stiff, but she’ll finally be able to spare her chest from pain! No more fanservice 2021, only practicality! However... while I do appreciate chest support, it looks very restrictive around her abs/core. While fighting you twist around so having your stomach and back stuck in one position isn’t exactly fun. As for the hips, they’ve downgraded. Instead of a sash, Donna now has an entire metal belt. As someone who’s done muay thai, I’ll tell you that I’d really rather not have anything around my hips since you move them with every strike. Having metal around Donna’s hips is not only impractical but it could actually really hurt her if she messes up a move or something like that. So: keep the chest support, make the lower half fabric, and get rid of that awful belt.

Legs: I like this. Nothing on her legs, nothing restricting her movements, and nothing digging into her skin while she kicks. I don’t know if she’s wearing kneepads in this because the art style is very boxy but if she isn’t I suggest adding them to her because (like I said last time) knee injuries don’t fuck around. Down at the shins, I see the boots serve as protection. I know last time I looked at Donna’s suit I said I wanted some shin guards on her, but I really don’t like this form of protection. In fact, it’s better to not have any than wear these boots.

Feet: *disgusted noises* Alright now let’s look at why I hate those thigh high boots. Those thigh high... silver boots. Not only is that ridiculously expensive, but there’s no mobility in these things! Look at her ankles! She wouldn’t be able to rotate them at all! Not even to mention that metal is slippery. The soles of these boots are in no way flexible. And since they’re metal I can only imagine how heavy they might be on her legs. You honestly might as well be making her fight in a ski boot that extends up to under her knees. And these boots look... suspiciously like wedge heels (or not. I don’t know, I’m no heel expert). I said this last analysis, but martial artists like to have good footing on whatever they’re standing on. If you’re off-balance it puts you at a HUGE disadvantage. Heels are hard on your knees, and the weight distribution looks off. Get rid of the whole boot. In fact I hate it so much, I’d give her my own Ultraboost 20s or something. They’re even black, so it’ll match.

Tagging everyone who got tags last time: @woahjaybird @river-bottom-nightmare @screennamealreadyused @catxsnow @pricetagofficial​ annnnd @subtleappreciation​ :))​

[alfafilly]

New Year New Me

I want to make a small New Years Resolution this year aimed specifically towards my role in the Sly Cooper fandom. It’s gonna be kinda long and venty so warning!! 

As a bit of backstory, I haven’t been in a fandom/actively drawing fanart since like... 2012 maybe? Like in terms of drawing fanart for the same series routinely. I went through a really stupid phase where I thought fanart was a waste of time because I had been hounded over and over again by peers and those I looked up to that only ORIGINAL © DO NOT STEAL content mattered. I looked down on fanart and used every excuse to belittle fanartists. I dunno if this was also in part due to the last fandom I was in being extremely toxic (that being the Invader Zim fandom. Booooois them 2006-2008 deviantART IZ days were something else) and my college experience constantly telling me “fanart in your portfolio is stinky bad no do that” (which is hotly debated btw).

Anyway... jumping into the Sly Cooper fandom has been extremely positive for me and helping me shed a lot of that negative attitude. Dare I say there was character development?! And while, for the most part, Sly fandom isn’t that toxic, there are elements of it that have caused much chaotic negativity within me that I am hoping to get rid of.

Maybe it’s a result of my former opinions about fanart, but I have always felt a sense of inadequacy, or as if I NEED to make my place in the fandom for me to be relevant and to matter. I have vented about this in the past. My first fanart piece was a compilation of my interpretations of the cast, and it was well received, and everyone talked about how they wanted me to draw more characters, to see more designs, etc. Which is why I said I wanted to redesign ALL the cast because the people DEMANDED IT!! This could be my way of placing myself in the fandom!!! HELL YEAH!!!

But it didn’t make me... happy, I guess? I DO enjoy redesigning, but when I do it under my own terms, with no pressure. I think coming out of art school made me put on blinders and tell myself what I used to believe in: “If you’re going to waste your time on fanart, better make it good. You know, people can hire you if you show good fanart! These redesigns could get you a job in the industry! You gotta ONLY do work that will benefit your end goal and nothing else!!” 

This often made me feel extreme guilt when I started drawing more of my Arpeggio content, or my Arpeggio AUs because despite how much fun I was having, that little voice in the back of my head was saying “No!! Stop drawing that!! Draw stuff that everyone will care about besides just you!!! You’re not going to get anywhere with this!! Drawing sexy Arpeggio won’t get you a job in the industry KJSNJKGNSKNGKJNAJ!!!!”

This mentality also crafted some uhh... extremely negative competitive attitudes towards other artists in the fandom. Certain artists would piss me off every time they posted to the point I would have to block them to stop seeing their work just to prevent these feelings. There is a notable artist I won’t name, but they do Sly redesigns too. I was fine with them initially, but after they blatantly stole one of my designs without crediting me I was LIVID. I called them out and they did apologize and changed the design, but every time I saw their work from then on out I had this insane urge to “beat them”. It was a sick competitive game. I felt jaded they ripped my design and kept getting popular anyway. TBH it’s rather petty and I am trying not to harbor any ill will towards them because I don’t think they meant anything by it and the design was rather insignificant in the whole scheme of things. But I still have them blocked or muted everywhere because I am still struggling to ignore that great urge every time I see their designs to drop everything I’m doing and draw my own redesigns out of unhealthy spite.

And I’m only briefly going to go over the god damn Deceit of Thieves drama. Apparently they are still making it into a legit game? They have a Patreon apparently and are posting stuff about it? I found out about that and the same sort of fiery rage filled me. But this was much less personal. Sure, I had given a critique to them but I honestly wanted the game/story/whatever to flourish? After seeing their poor reactions and being attacked by their white knights, my taste towards them grew bitter and I think my fellow Sly fans having the same bitterness fueled me to flat out grow a hatred for them. That’s kind of awful? I never expected to want another member of the fandom to have their project fail. What kind of asshole am I for wanting that?? I don’t want that. I want them to learn from their mistakes and make something great. Not hold some ridiculous resentment. I can decide not to support them if I wanted, but wishing failure is a whole other horrible thing.

So realizing this I knew I needed to... change my perspective on how I see myself in the fandom and how I process my feelings towards it. I don’t want to be here to produce soulless portfolio worthy content. I don’t want to compete with other artists or wish them ill. I just want to draw some god damn fanart of a series I love and that makes me happy! 

I’m posting this here as a way to hold accountability to myself and be honest. I started drawing Sly stuff again in 2017 so it’s been an issue appearing on and off the last 4 years and that’s... sad. It needs to end! I appreciate everyone in the fandom who has supported me in my endeavors, as ridiculous as they are. I can’t believe drawing and writing about a dumb bird man and cat lady and throwing my stupid OCs into the fray for my favorite childhood game has made me learn so much about myself, my work, and gained me so many great peers and friends. I definitely don’t want to stop any time soon! And I apologize profusely if I ever hurt anyone in some way because I lost sight of that (or was just a dick for whatever reason).

Thanks for your support, and I hope 2021 will bring me loads more positivity into my content!! 

[thegalleonsnest]

Wiggle’s Muse - Short Excerpt turned into a FanFic

Yo, so, I wanted to share a small snippet of a future project I’m working on (while also delaying my current art projects). What I’ve written out here in this post was originally in a format not meant for professional writing purposes, but I said “eh, why the hell not,” and written it out in sort of a short fanfic format for you guys to read. This project btw, is not a fanfic (had to make that clear). What I am working on is a very large scale project for myself and is still in the blocking out/rough draft phases. This right here is probably my most fleshed out scene I’ve written out, and feels pretty complete as it’s own thing. Honestly, I’d appreciate the feedback if any of ya’ll found this interesting! 

Also I’m putting this in a tumblr post because I don’t have an AO3 or fanfiction account, and this is already too short for it anyway. Read the excerpt below

In front of the camera lenses, multiple grumpuses walk back and forth discussing a matter of topics but most importantly, where was Wiggle?

"Has anyone gotten ahold of Wiggle yet? She was supposed to be here hours ago,” a gruff voice coming from out of frame says. “We’ve tried calling her for over an hour, but we got nothing,” says another off camera, “do you think we should reschedule-” before they could finish, the studio doors bust open with a loud thud echoing the studio room. A tall, short armed grumpus with a boa stumbles along the room carrying an oddly shaped banjo.

“There she is,” said the gruff voiced grump, “Wiggle, whatever you got going on, you better do it now cause we got a meeting with investors in half an hour!” From the blurry view of a slightly out of frame Wiggle, she barely registered what the grump said. In a stumble, she walks to the center of the camera’s view & shakes her head, almost slurring her words, “Doooon’t worry, Darling, we’ll get you a new vest later.” “What, no, wait, that’s not what I-” before another word could be said, Wiggle readies her banjo and strikes a quick pose before strumming the strings like her life depended on it.

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds before the crew sprung into action, setting the proper lightning, mics and cameras around her. Her rhythm and measures became a lot more stable, catchy even, and then she broke into song. The next set of lyrics would become an instant, regrettable classic. 

It’s not long before the VHS tape stutters and stops, showing mostly static. A magenta furred Grumpus with some hair covering a part of eye, hits the eject button, takes out the tape and turns off the tv. “Girl, you were a right mess there!” She said with a giggle. “Tell me about it, Vrittany...” Wiggle said frustratingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you’re telling me you can’t come up with anything better than that? Come on now!” “I wish I was lying, but I’m not. No matter what I come up with, nothing is topping whatever the heck my walking coma came up with instead!” Wiggle grabs her mug of coffee and takes a longing sip.

The two sit across from one another at the coffee bar. The aroma of that day’s set of cocoa beans waft through the cafe as most of the outside lamps fill out the darker spots inside. The place is nearly empty besides them, and a single muted green furred occupant sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the cafe, drawing away in his sketchpad.

“So, whatcha gonna do?” Vrittany asked sarcastically, “Stay awake for another week? Get inspired again? Hehe.” Wiggle sets her mug down, and answers, “I did try that again, but in style I fell asleep comfortably on a couch in the lobby”. Vrittany looked a bit stunned. “You’re kidding?! You’re crazy!” “Not crazy, Vrittany,” she takes another sip of her coffee before striking a pose in her high stool seat, bellowing out her voice. “Just creatiiiivly driveeeen~” “Whatever you say, darling,” Vrittany says before turning around to her bar’s sink. She cleans several mugs and glasses with gusto while preparing one last pot of coffee, enough for a single cup for later.

Vrittany takes off her apron and hangs it on the wayside of the counter as she walks around to take a seat next to Wiggle. After situating herself, she puts a paw on Wiggle’s shoulder. “Listen, pretty sure this is just a rut you’re stuck in right now,” she says. “Doesn’t every artist go through that every now and then?” Wiggle turns her head toward Vrittany, “Well..yeah, but this is different,” she desperately says. “I can’t let a song I made in my sleep be the best thing I’ve ever made! I know I can make something that’ll shake the world more than whatever ‘Do The Wiggle’ was.” 

Vrittany pulls back her paw from Wiggle to put on her best thinking cap. As deeply in thought as she was, her face immediately relaxes into a deadpan expression, “Have ya tried singing from the heart?” Wiggle cracks a smile, “HA, if only that’s how it works! It takes a musical genius to write a hit song in show biz, not just some field day with my feelings.” “Eh, worth a shot. Got any other plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. I need some kind of inspiration...almost like a-”

Before she could finish her thought, they both caught a glance at the muted green furred grump who walked up to them. He mustered up the words and said, “E-excuse me, you’re Miss Wiggle, right?” Wiggle turned in her seat to get a better look at the young Grumpus. She could tell he was nervous, clutching his sketchbook in his arms rather tightly. She quickly put on a more relaxed front to help calm things down, while also still showing off a bit of her excited side. “Why yes I am, Darling,” she said enthusiastically. “And I can tell you must be a fan of mine.” “Y-yeah...!” The green grump looked a little more relaxed, but still stiff in the shoulders. “Hey now, no need to be so nervous. I always got time for my fans.” “Thank you, Miss Wiggle. Um…” “No need to finish that thought, Darling, I know what you’re about to ask and I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the young man could stop to say something, Wiggle pulls out one of her many professional hand out photos that she has, and quickly signs with her autograph before handing it to him. “O-Oh, thank you, Miss, but that’s not what I was going to s-say.” he sheepishly says. “Really? Not an autograph,” Wiggle says surprisingly. “It’s usually the first thing fans ask of me.” “Sorry, I just...I wanted to show you this sketch I made…” 

The nervous grumpus slowly turns his sketchbook around to reveal a fully sketched art piece depicting a stylized Wiggle singing her heart out at the bar with Vrittany hanging out in the background cheering her on. He hands it to Wiggle to give them a closer look. It was still somewhat messy, showing a few guidelines and early roughed out shapes, but for what it was, it was still impressive to the two girls.

“Woah, that’s pretty rad!” Vrittany yelled out, leaning out from her seat trying to get a closer look. Wiggle was pretty stun, gasping at the sight of such a piece of artwork. “Darling, you drew this?! Just now,” Wiggle asked in awe. “Yeah! I was listening to some of your music and then you came in and sat down. It made me wanna draw you as fast as I could,” the green grumps says excitedly before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry if it’s still a little messy looking though…” “Don’t be, because it is beeeaautifuuul~” “T-thank you so much, Miss Wiggle! T-that means a lot to m-me!” the grumpus says while his face lights up red from the praise. “You’re like an inspiration to me.” “Really now? Like a muse? All I do is sing the night away, Darling. You draw little masterpieces like this from me?”

As Wiggle continues to be enthralled by the young man and his work, Vrittany notices the coffee pot had finished brewing. She gets up from her seat and go back behind the counter to finish her last cup for the night. Wiggle and the green grump continue their conversation.

“W-well kind of,” says the grump, “it’s a bunch of music that inspires me when I draw. A lot of your stuff is so upbeat and fun, it gives me lots of different ideas to pump out!” Wiggle looks back, almost flabbergasted. “I’m...honestly a bit stunned that I had that kind of impact on you, Darling,” she says, almost with a melancholy tone, “...heh, kind of forget sometimes I do make some kind of impression on grumps like you.” She looks back down at the sketchbook, entranced by the creativity that sparked in the moment. That dazzling moment where it all clicked...where could she find that, when someone else can find it in her?

After an awkward minute of silence, the young grump spoke up and said, “If you like, you can keep the sketch page, Miss Wiggle?” Wiggle snapped her head back up from the sketchbook to the green fuzzball. “W-wait really? Are you sure you wanna give up this piece of art?” said Wiggle worryingly. “It’s no problem at all,” said the green grump proudly. “I already took a picture of it to save for later. I’m gonna make a painted version of it online later! Besides, it’ll make me happy if you kept it, since I was going to give it to you anyway.” “Oh Darling, you’re nothing more than a sweet one now, aren’t you? I’ll gladly keep it!” “Thank you so much, Miss Wiggle!”

Wiggle hands the sketchbook back to the green grumpus and he tears out the sketch. “No, Darling, thank you,” Wiggle says ecstatically. Vrittany returns from behind the bar with a to-go cup in hand, saying “Here’s your order, kid.”  “Oh, thank you, Vrittany. How much was it again,” the green grump asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Don’t feel like counting change. It’s on the house.” “O-oh you sure?” “You wanna change my mind?” “Don’t think I can, so thank you!” The green grump turns back to Wiggle and says “It was so nice meeting you in person, Miss Wiggle!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dar-,” Wiggle catches herself before she realizes something. “Actually, what was your name?” “It’s Grite, Grite Tillsland!” Wiggle lets a genuine soft smile grow on her face. She felt a lot more at ease and happier knowing her new friend was much more relax and happy overall. She reached out her paw for a handshake, and Grite reciprocated.

“The pleasure’s mine, Grite, Darling.”

[some-dr-writings]

SHSL Barista Shuichi x Reader One-shot: A Very Mysterious Birthday

Shuichi rather groggily awoke up that morning. Though taking a glance at the standing desk calendar atop his bedside table perked him up faster than drinking a latte with several espresso shots in it, like the ones he’d often make for himself every morning. It was his birthday! You, his partner, the SHSL Detective said you’d spend the whole day with him. It was rarer for such a thing to happen. You were rather busy with most everyone constantly requesting your services.

You were so busy, you two even met when you were working. You were looking for an ex-friend of some person who had cut contact with them and wanted to reconnect. You met him at the Hope’s Peak cafeteria as he worked, requesting a drink since you had stayed up the night prior investigating, needing more energy to keep going just a little longer. Shuichi was immediately intrigued by you, he had heard of you and how you were often found collapsed and being sent to the nurse’s office, never resting when you had work to do. At first, he chatted with you to try to stall you, so you’d rest just a little longer but all too quickly the pair of you were deep in conversation of your pasts. Shuichi told you how he kind of worked as a detective, working with his uncle at his detective agency. Of how he’d often go on coffee runs for his uncle and other detectives. He quickly saw how expensive constantly going out for coffee became so he opted to get the proper equipment and started making coffee for everyone at the office. Some of the detectives started bragging about how great his drinks were and soon the office became a detective agency and coffee house hybrid with people dropping by solely to buy Shuichi’s coffee. Shuichi didn’t truly throw himself into being a barista till he solved a case he regretted solving… he didn’t go into detail about that, instead explaining how because of that incident he sort of escaped and gained the courage to look people in the eye again through serving them coffee and making light banter to lift their moods when cases got especially dark. From that day onward you’d go to the cafeteria for a coffee break to get a drink from your favorite barista and eventual boyfriend.

He so excitedly started texting you but got no reply. This was not too surprising. You often left your phone on silent or vibrate when working on a case, and he knew despite how true to your word you tried to be, you always got tangled up in cases, focusing solely on them. He wasn’t surprised if in the night you had gotten a text relating to a new case and started working on it. He was admittedly a little disappointed, but he couldn’t help but smile to himself imagining how you were likely so passionately dashing around or snooping through a book.

Much to his surprise though, when he opened the front door, he saw you there. You were sound asleep, sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall right beside his door. Your head drooped forward, a lollipop stick sticking out of your mouth. Your signature dark, forest green trench coat was draped over yourself like a blanket. “Y/N?” He raised a brow as a lopsided smile drew on his lips seeing you so peacefully there. He kneeled down beside you, gently shaking your shoulder. You slowly awoke, slightly raising your head and blinked a few times. “Hmm? Ah, morning gorgeous.” You chuckled seeing how his cheeks instantly flushed such a bright red. “… You need to wake up. Here-” Helping you to your feet, he led you inside. “Get inside and I’ll make you a drink.”

You sighed, smelling the delectable aroma of coffee brewing, though you were used to the smell since it always lingered in Shuichi’s clothes and on his hair, you never grew tired of or noseblind to the sent. You loved the light thud of the mug against the small wooden table as it was placed before you. The steam that raised up, clouded your vision and tickled your nose was delightful. As you brought the mug to your lips, you spotted the latte art was in the shape of a heart. You were going to say something but stopped, seeing Shuichi was taking a sip from his own drink, clearly trying to mask his blush being that of the heat, not the slight embarrassment and excitement from making that simple design for you. Deciding it was too soon to fluster the poor boy you decided to let it go, instead gently smiling, letting him know the gesture was appreciated.

Propping your elbows on the table, you leaned forward a little getting just a smallest bit closer to your boyfriend who sat across from you. “So, what does the birthday boy want to do today? I know it’s Monday so classes will be on, but we can just skip, it’s not like the school will care or it will effect our grades much.” “Hmm… I haven’t thought much on it actually. I’m just looking forward to being with you today.” “Aw. I’m glad you enjoy my company so much. But I believe we should do something special. Something you like but don’t get to do often, something like that. We could go find some unknown library and snoop through for some obscure novel, you only have so few unread novels left.” “Yeah, that would be nice.” Shuichi looked past you to the wall blocked by tower after tower or cardboard boxes that reached the ceiling, filled to bursting with books. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind going for a walk in the park, or a lunch date.” “Ah, when I was helping Tanaka search for his lost dog the other day, I heard of this new sushi place that opened up. It’s a little on the expensive side, but from what I gathered it’s well worth the price! Though we’ll have to make sure Hanamura doesn’t find out, you know how he get’s when people go out to eat on school days when he’s in the kitchen.” “Ah, maybe we could ask him to make us something and we have a picnic at the park.” “Great thinking! We can eat after finding a new book!”

“Yeah, but I’d still like to go to class today.” You paused for a moment, taking a sip of your drink. “Really? I know you like studying, but… why not make an exception. We can just ask Kiibo or someone else for notes.” Shuichi glanced over to his bed before getting up and taking the notebooks off of it. “Well. You said you’d be with me all day. I know I take notes for you when your working, but I can’t even remember the last time you even showed up to class. Was it the first day?” Oh, damn it. This was not going as planned. And knowing how altruistic Shuichi was, he was not going to let this go till you went to class for at least half the school day to make sure you were not falling behind on your studies. Shuichi then passed the notebooks to you. “Uh, thanks. But today is your birthday. Let’s celebrate today and I’ll come to class tomorrow.” “… No, I… I’d like to spend my birthday like this. I care about you; I don’t want you to start falling behind. A great gift for me is to just see you’re still doing fine.” How… HOW WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO REFUTE SUCH A KIND SENTIMENT!? “Shuichi… You’re much too kind.” UGH, AND EVEN JUST SEEING HIM SMILING SO TENDERLY WAS MELTING YOUR HEART! HOW DID YOU END UP WITH SUCH AN AMAZING GUY!? But exactly because he was amazing, you had to make his birthday great! “Well, I’ll keep true to my word. If you go to class, I’ll follow you.” “Thank you.”

“After coffee, why don’t we get some breakfast? We have to eat something other than candy you know.” He lightly pointed the treats tucked away in one of the many hidden pockets of your trench coat. “Of course, I know! I only go for the sugar rush when I can’t get any good caffeine.” you said as you took out a box of pocky, munching away on the chocolate covered sticks. Shuichi simply stared at you. “… Sometimes!” “Let’s get an actual meal, Y/N.” “But! Before that… Wanna play a game?” For a moment Shuichi wondered what kind of game you had in mind before noticed how you simply held one end of a pocky stick between your teeth. “O-OH! Uh-umm…” You stood up, playfully ruffling Shuichi’s hair before making your way for the door. You stopped, seeing he wasn’t moving. “How come you’re still sitting there? I thought we were going to get breakfast.” Shuichi quickly followed after you, thinking about how to get you back for always making him blush so much from your light teasing and compliments.

Hand in hand you walked towards the school. The chilly wind picked up the red, orange, and yellow leaves tossing a splash of warm color into the cool, cloudy sky, a tinge of pink dusting both of your cheeks. Though you had been dating for a little over a year now, holding hands still sent your hearts a flutter. Both of you though it was a little silly, but you loved it all the same. As the pair of you were discussing about what to have for breakfast, Kaede came charging towards you two, calling out your name. “Akamatsu, is something wrong?” “Yeah! Someone stole the grand piano from my lab!” “… You… what? The grand piano, was stolen?” “Y/N, please, I need your help finding it.” You glanced to Shuichi sheepishly. “Y/N, it’s fine. Let’s go investigate.” “Really, you sure?” “Yes.”

Just as Akamatsu said, the piano was stolen. The small stage in the middle of the room looked rather empty without it. You kneeled down getting a closer look at the stage. “I don’t see any scuff marks, so it doesn’t appear it was forcefully pushed around at any point.” Shuichi ran a hand along the door frame. “I don’t see anything odd here. Akamatsu, when was the last time you saw your piano?” “Last night, right before the school was closed. I was practicing as usual, then the closing bell rang, and I left for my dorm to sleep for the night.” As Shuichi questioned Kaede you quickly fiddled with your phone, checking if any of your classmates had seen it. Shuichi paced over to your side. “The only time someone could have taken it was last night, after the school was closed.” “Hmm, some are still texting back but it seems no one’s seen it, at least as of yet.” “Hey, normally only staff is allowed after school, right?” “… Yeah, you think of something?” “Students can get into the school if they’re injured, to get to the nurse’s office, so it’s possible someone used that as an excuse to get into the school.” True, true.” “But… why would someone steal a grand piano in the first place?” “True. If we knew the motivation, it could be a clue as to where it could have gone.” “Akamatsu, was there anything special or different about the piano?” She crossed her arms and closed here eyes, thinking for a moment. “It’s not the piano itself but Oma threatened to place a prank in the piano for stopping one of his pranks the other day.” Taking a quick glance around the pair of you realized there were no clues to be found, the only lead you had was that statement.

Holding hands, fingers intertwined the pair of you went searching. Kokichi had yet to text back so you doubted he’d respond if you had asked where he currently was. At best he was only slightly cooperative, so you didn’t expect much. Since it was still the morning, the pair of you decided to see if you could catch him at the cafeteria. “Saihara, my favorite barista! Where have you been all morning?” The chef stopped waving from his open window before smirking, his eyes landing on you. “Oh- Y/N, I see. Don’t mind me, you two have fun now.” “Hanamura! Actually, we’d like to talk with you.” Shuichi eagerly dragged you over to Teruteru who looked a bit more smug than usual. You immediately grew worried he had something planned. “Have you seen Oma this morning?” “Why in fact, I have. He was with Gokuhara speaking about something. Going to a park I think?” That took you by surprise. “A park?” “What was it again?... Oh after breakfast they were planning to go to Showa Memorial Park.” “… You have got to be kidding me. The largest park in Tokyo, one-million six-hundred fifty-three thousand square meters.” Initially you were shocked but thinking on it… “That’s actually smart. Not only is the place massive there are also museums and sports facilities, there’s endless places to hide, likely taking us all day to find him, assuming he even bothers to stay in the park and not leave before we can find him.” “It’s also at the edge of Tokyo, it will take a while to even get there.” The pair of you looked to one another understanding the case would come to a standstill if you didn’t go there to search. “A date at the park sounds like a lovely idea! Wait right here a moment you two.” Before Shuichi would protest, Teruteru already ducked back into the kitchen. Quickly Teruteru was already back with a hand basket full of food in plastic containers. “Now off with you two. Make sure you have lots of fun now! Maybe Y/N will have a surprise for you tonight, Saihara.” You quickly dragged Shuichi away before Teruteru could make more obvious implications.

After a rather short train ride the pair of you were at the park. Even just standing at the entrance of the place one could see just how gorgeous it was. The ginkgo and maple trees were absolutely covered in those fiery leaves as well as the ground. The wind picked up, the sounds of chimes and rustling in the air rang out. The greenery was still lush, making the place look so lively. Shuichi could not believe you were looking at your phone instead of that view. Wait… “Y/N? Why are you on your phone? We’re investigating.” “Oh, I was seeing if I could contact Oma.” You quickly switched off your phone and slipped it into your pocket. “He still hasn’t responded since I asked about the piano. So, now we’ll just have to search this entire giant place.”

And so, the pair of you walked around, taking in the never-ending gorgeous sights. “… Maybe we should come here for a proper date some time. It’s gorgeous.” Shuichi glanced over to you, loving the aw in your eyes. “… It is… but not as gorgeous as you.” “Shuichi, that is the most clichéd line I have ever heard.” You gently shook your head while smiling. “It may be clichéd, but it’s true. To me, at least. I love you.” Your cheeks flushed hearing those worlds. “Sh-shush! We have an investigation to be working on.” “I love you.” He kept saying those words over and over, pulling himself closer to you. He himself was blushing, but seeing you so happily flustered from his tender words made it impossible for him to stop. “T-this is payback for earlier, isn’t it!” “… Maybe.” “Damn it, Shuichi!” “I love you.” You melted hearing how softly he said those words. “Lunch break!” “Huh?” “We need a lunch break!” You quickly dragged Shuichi off the path and onto the grassy area, making sure you were leading the way as to make some distance between the two of you, and to hide your blush. You needed a moment to cool off from Shuichi’s sweet antics. “Tch. It’s no wonder I have a sweet tooth, I have the sweetest boyfriend ever. How could I not develop a taste for the stuff.” Though you were mumbling to yourself Shuichi still caught your words, feeling his heart beat just a bit faster at the sentiment behind them.

The pair of you sat by a lake and a field of bright blue, purple, white, and pink flowers. Teruteru was Shuichi’s friend so he didn’t think the chef would lace the food with anything, but what Teru said lingered in the barista’s mind. He also found how quickly the food was prepared to be suspicious, there was even a small blanket and some utensils in the basket as if Teru had prepared this ahead of time. Perhaps his birthday gift to Shuichi was going to be setting him and you up on a picnic date? “Hey, Shuichi.” “Huh!?” He was suddenly snapped from his thoughts hearing your voice and feeling you lean your head on his shoulder. “Think it’s possible Gokuhara and Oma are out on the lake?” “Oh, there are rental boats over there… I think. It’s a bit hard to see.” “Let’s go check it out after this.” “Sure.” For a while after the pair of you simply lay atop the blanket, watching the clouds roll by occasionally snacking on one of your treats.

“It’s a bit wobbly, but you’ll be fine.” You stood on the boat, your arms outstretched for Shuichi, who nervously inched towards the boat, fearing toppling it over and sending you both into the giant lake. It wasn’t like either of you had a change of clothes. “Don’t worry, just hop on.” He held your hands with a viper like grip as you gently pulled him aboard. “See, we’re fine.” “… Yeah, we are. Sorry, for taking so long.” “It’s okay. Just enjoy yourself now that we’re here.” You both promptly sat down, you taking the oars. You rowed and rowed letting Shuichi take in the breath-taking sights. “Oh, actually I think now would be a good time to give you my gift.” “A birthday gift, for me?” “Don’t look so surprised.” You guiltily shrank in your seat a little, looking off to the side. “I knew it was likely I’d get caught up in some mess and not give you my original gift of staying with you all day, so I got you something to make up for that.” You searched through one of your inner coat pockets, taking out a rather large and thick book. There was no title on the front or back. Everything was blank except for the first few pages. The tops of these pages were labeled ‘Tokyo adventures’ Most of it was writings of others about adventures they had with Shuichi in Tokyo, there were even some pictures. “I know you have in interest in travel, so I thought I’d make you a travel journal. I know most others are probably going to get you something related to novels or coffee and I wanted to get you something more… personal? Something others don’t really know about you. I hope it’s okay.” Shuichi gently ran a hand over the cover before placing it in his lap. Then before you knew it, he was hugging you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you, Y/N. I love it.” You leaned your head on his kind of hugging him back without actually doing so, fearing letting go of the oars and said oars sinking into the depths of the lake that lay below, leaving you two stranded out on the lake’s surface never to be found again.

The rest of the day was spent, continuing the search for Oma. You ran through trees, surveyed the lake, searched the museum, watched the flower beds, strolled through the bird sanctuary. The whole time Shuichi clutched that book in his arms, not letting it go for anything. It seemed so sudden when the sun set. You and Shuichi were walking under the cover of trees. “You’re awfully smiley Shuichi.” “Ah, w-well… I did enjoy myself today. I just wish we could have found Akamatsu’s piano.” “It’s entirely possibly she found it while we were out here. I’ll check with her.” You whipped out your phone, quickly blipping about on it. It was then a rather lovely tune began to play. It was one Shuichi recognized. It was a piano piece Kaede had showed him once. A very upbeat and happy song. Though it was an older song, and the names of songs like that tended to be very… “Piano! Y/N, the piano!” “Hmm?” Absorbed by hearing the instrument, Shuichi missed the small smirk that tugged on your lips. “I hear it over there!” Shuichi dragged you along as he raced towards it. Not far in the distance he could see lights flickering on, and a small crowd of people forming near a fountain. As he drew closer and closer, he saw the grand piano and- “Kaede!? Wait- everyone!?” All his friends and classmates were there, Kaede happily tapping away on the keys of the piano. They all screamed variations of ‘happy birthday’ as you and he burst from the wooded path. “I knew something was suspicious! It was clear the piano was not forced from the room so only someone who had knowledge of pianos could dismantle it and take it from the room. And Hanamura having a meal prepared for us! And how you were so relaxed all day despite investigating! You had this all planned!” You looked to the group. “Almost. I had the idea of throwing you a party, but Kaede was supposed to text me when the preparations in the classroom were ready. And I didn’t know Oma was going to lead us here.” As she spoke, Kaede kept playing. “Well, you two so rarely go out on proper dates we thought we’d alter Y/N’s plan a little so you could have just that! A present from all of us, aside from the other presents we got you.”

The evening was spent opening gifts, then sharing food and laughs. Though the party was celebrating him, Shuichi wound up brewing and serving coffee, he found making conversation was much easier when doing so. Unfortunately, there was a mistake and Gonta got decaffeinated beans, so no one was able to stay up all night. Not that it mattered since the park was closing soon.

You ended up falling asleep on the train ride back to Hope’s Peak. Shuichi pulled you close, nervously planting a kiss atop your head before taking out a pencil and writing about his day in his adventure journal. He also wrote of a dream of future adventures, a hope of traveling around the world, helping you solve cases with his detective skills and brewing coffee to keep you going… as your husband.