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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years ago

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The Deal Pt 2

Masterlist

Summary: Clark take you to august to finish the deal.

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Smut, Dub Con, BDSM, Toys

A/N: second part to @wolfieash ask which is here

Taglist: in reblog.

Smut below the cut.

"NO IM NOT GOING ! AND YOU CAN FUCK OFF!" You yelled chasing Clark into the living room arms cross and lips pulled into a snarl.

He rolled his eyes at you, you'd been throwing a fit all day.

"Sweetheart, you made a deal, gave him your word... you cant go back on it" he insisted once more trying to convince you.

"Yes I can it was my word! Not yours, I can do what I want!" You huffed blowing some hair out of your face it was hard trying to be serious when your hair seemed to want to stick in your mouth.

"No poppet I'm not letting you break you word , now get dressed we leave in a hour" he said quickly spinning you around pressing you to the bedroom door.

"Fuck you, I'm not going anywhere!" You grunted pulling away from him.

"Tonight love I promise, now go get ready august is expecting us..." he said grinning almost sweetly at you.

"I don't give a flying fuck! I'm not going" you stomped a foot at him finally making his brow twitch, jaw tightening in irritation.

He stood taller and let his frame seem to devour the space on the hall making you shrink, shivering as you watched your sweet fiancé become a great predator. A loin or bear?

"Sweetheart enough! Now go get dressed...I laid out your outfit" he ground out severely finally having enough. A deal was a deal... and he wanted your ass!

"Out fit? What outfit-OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" You cried entering your room seeing the shear fabric

"That? Its a little body stocking~" Clark said leaning on the door frame arms crossed wearing a huge grin.

"IM NOT WEARING A FUCKING BODYSTOCKING!"

"Well I would if I were you because if not there will be images of your naked ass being flown about on the front pages tomorrow~" he quipped with a smirk.

"Yo-you wouldn't dare!" You said voice loosing its bite as he stared at you.

"Wouldn't I? I mean come on love anal's on the line~" he teased and moved up behind you and slapped your bottom hard enough to make you yip and jerk away.

"Now hop to it... You've got 50 minuets~" he called over his shoulder as he exited the room.

In the end Clarks threat of having you mooney metropolis was too much of a threat and you'd showered and slipped into the body stocking...

But you didn't shave! If they were gonna push through with your whole sex for silence deal then they would live with the consequences! No bare pussy for either of them!

Fuck'em.... or don't? Which was preferable

It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it, it was that you did... a little more then you should have! It frightened you the way you'd enjoyed being used and fought over.

"Oh come on why the long face angel?" August hummed as he opened the glass doors on his rooftop home, the penthouse was shiny sleek and as dark as the man himself.

"Fuck off august!" you grumbled walking right passed him as soon as Clark put you down

"Oh such a foul mouth! We will have to teach you some manners~" the agent quipped as you entered the bare but masculine space, everything was harsh lines and fucked up art pieces of splotching blocky shades of black, red and deep violet.

"Yes she's very snippy today... has been all week, pouting" Clark huffed shrugging. Taking the offered crystal glass with amber liquid.

"Ah we have a brat on our hands then?" August chuckled and walked through the home quickly snagging one of your elbows and directed you to the playroom, not wasting any time.

"Yeah, she doesn't want me to fuck her ass" Clark summarized with a shrug.

"Aww Why not sweety? You loved me fucking your ass? You cried and withered moaning so beautifully~" august hummed into your ear as he pressed you over the threshold into a large windowless room, strip lighting igniting the room in a light red. The devils den so to speak.

"Sh-shut up you prick" you snarled.

Augusts reply was a tsk and he pressed you over to a padded sawhorse and looked to Clark nodding to the ankle and wrist cuffs.

Clark breezed past him quickly securing you down making you curse him, but by this point it was a formality as you had already soaked yourself through.

"Oh would you look at that? Our little brat is eager~" august said with a chuckle and a warm hand probed you lightly making you jolt and try to squirm away.

"Yes I know, she likes denying herself, its strange she knows we will win but Continues to fight?" He said coming around your side ghosting his fingers over your ribs making you shudder.

"Well lets not waste time shall we? I have a few things out ready but first lets get this fitted shall we?" August said menacingly walking around you brandishing a very large O ring gag.

"After all if she's going to throw a tantrum I don't trust her not to bite" he uttered moving towards you.

"I've never thought of using one of those before... it wont hurt her will it?"

"Only her pride Clark trust me even she needs a... dressing down every once in a while" august reassured him.

Your eyes grew wide as the agent approached with the large gag that looked both threatening and enticing, things had been kinky with august but you hadn't ever gone this far into bdsm before. You were scared and still fighting but not as hard? You were curious and being dominated by them last week had... changed you. It had been thrilling to be so out of control.

"Should we... give her a signal or something? Incase it gets to much?" Clark quizzed, he was still all for it but wanted to be mindful of you. He didn't want to hurt you.

"Trust me she's going to love it, but in the case of something going wrong" august directed his attention to you befo4e continuing.

"There is a small desk bell one the inside of the left leg on the saw horse... if thing get too much hit it three times fast and we will get you down" he said seriously.

You frowned as his gaze bored into you, for a second you believed you saw actual concern in his eyes.

It unsettled you, August couldn't really have any feelings towards you could he? I mean this was blackmail!

You nodded quickly to him letting him know you understood.

Then just like that August was haughty again and quickly fixed the gag in your mouth, setting your teeth in the small grooves that was semi comfortable.

"Shes ready when you are~" the agent hummed and stood back.

Clark darted behind you and helped himself to you and august disappeared from sight.

You moaned into the room as your fiancé roamed your folds as if exploring them for the first time.

He was rougher then usual prodding and impaling you fast and hard before slowing and drawing your own arousal over your presented ass.

You withered as Clark used you body, pressing you higher and higher making you teeter on then edge then back away letting you calm down only to work you up again.

"I thought we could... try something... a little bonus for all of us tonight~" you heard august but couldn't see him.

"I'm listening" Clark said as he plunged his fingers back into you harder throwing off your concentration making you cry out.

"I have this" you tried seeing what August had but was too preoccupied with the maddening strokes of clark's fingers as he pounded away at your g-spot forcing you to try and rock on him chasing a high he had already cruely denied you twice.

"What even is that thing?" Cark said not paying attention to you as your body twisted and pulled trying to cum like a desperate whore.

"Here ill show you~" august said and Clarks fingers disappeared from you making you cry out and moan, your pussy tried holding him but it was to drenched to actually grip him.

Then something was pressed into you, large wide and very short.

"Oh-oh fuck?!AH!" You yelped awkwardly around the gag as the toy settled, curved forward and down pressing on your gspot without being held. There was a large flat expanse resting outside of you to, the toy curved in a large C shape.

"Does that go up her?"

"No no, we just pop her little clit in here~ and press the button!" You jerked as august moved you, thick fingers prodding your clit and sat the engorged nub into a small round dip and pressed a button.

You squealed tensing all at once as you felt a suction on your clit and roared.

"Holy shit?" Clark said in awe watching as you keened and tried throwing you weight around on the toy that was held in place by your muscles clenching to it so tightly... It was bittersweet in a way, your own body holding the sweet torturous device on your clit.

"And it gets better, press that one" you hear a small click and arched moaning out as the egg like shape inside of you came to life vibrating against your insides.

Clark watched entranced as you withered this is what he'd been missing out on? Fuck!

August darted around you and strokes you hair watching as Clark stripped behind you unable to wait any longer as you thrashed about trying to rock into the toy.

"Shh shh thats a girl, now deep breath your wonderboy may be a little too enthusiastic if your doing all that squirming~"

You froze feeling Clark poise himself at your well lubed ass then grunted as he thrust forward splitting you open.

Clark hissed and moaned loudly as the vibrating egg not only made you quiver and tense around him already threatening to flood the place but it also rubbed his cock as he rutted you.

"Oh fuck- thats amazing! I cant- I shit babe!?" Clark didn't wait he immediately began pounding in to the tight quivering body before him.

August chuckled once more before releasing his own belt buckle. Not wanting to let your wails and monas go to waste.

They would work wonders on his cock, offering the sweetest of releases as you screamed onto his cock as he lodged it into your throat.

August was never into men, but he could develop a thing for corrupting this huge perfect man.

For now August would let you and Clark think you were in control of the deal. Let this one final night play out.

But the seed was sewn and before long he knew Superman would return wanting to explore more and more of this little sex dungeon. And then he will strike another deal.

Because August wasn't opposed to making a little compromise to get decent pussy. If he had to share with Supes so be it, it looked like he could teach the kid a thing or two and he would gladly, because he had many more toys to tease you both with~

If things went to plan he'd have not one but two desperate little subs. And he couldn't wait!

#henry cavill #clark kent imagine #august walker x reader #clark kent smut #august walker smut #superman smut #superman imagine

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

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The art and the artist - Harry Styles

the devil works hard, but im working harder lmao! this bts vid got me whipped and ended up writing this little something. enjoy! also, i did not proofread this so... mi scusi!

word count: ~1.5k

masterlist

gif by @stylesinthewild !

The warm Italian sun is beaming through the floor to ceiling windows, gently caressing Harry’s bare shoulders and his face that’s squished into the pillow. Gentle fingers are running up his spine, the feather-like touch slowly bringing him back into reality from his slumber, but he keeps his eyes shut, humming to himself at the sensation of those delicate fingertips running all the way up to his neck, they draw around the curl of his ear before moving over to his cheekbones, through his nose, down to his perfectly shaped, pink lips that slowly pull into a lazy smirk.

“Morning, Sunshine,” you whisper with a sweet smile tugging on your lips and when his eyes flutter open and his green irises meet yours, his heart skips a beat.

You’re lying next to him, on your side, still naked after the passionate love making from the previous night. The covers only run up to your navel, leaving your chest exposed to his greedy morning eyes.

It’s a view he can easily get used to wake up to every morning, your slightly puffy eyes from the sleep, the bright smile on your oh so kissable lips and your smooth skin, just screaming to be touched everywhere and he can’t wait to roam your body like it’s the first time he gets to feel you up. It’s not, he has explored your body over a million times, he knows every little freckle and wrinkle, probably more than you do, but he can never grow tired to love on you every given opportunity.

Pushing himself closer he steals a lingering kiss before letting his head fall back into the pillow, his green orbs staring into your eyes so intently, it feels like he is reading your soul.

“What do you feel like doing today?”

It’s the third day of your week-long vacation with him, your little getaway from everyone and everything, just the two of you in a magical Italian village in a hidden villa near the crystal clear ocean. You’ve been exploring the place since your arrival, wanting to see every tiny sight the village has to over you, but there’s only so much to see. Today brought the chance to slow down a little and take a breath, relax and unwind.

“We haven’t even used our pool yet,” he states matter-of-factly and you nod into the pillow, turning to your stomach and resting your head on your hands. Harry’s eyes wonder down your body, his gaze lingering over the curve of the side of your breasts as they are now pressed against the mattress, the lines of your ribs, the small daisy tattoo just under the line where your bra usually rests, the valley of your waist and then the delicious looking curve of your behind under the sheets. He drinks in every tiny detail of you, putting it away into the corner of his mind that’s entirely dedicated to his love for you.

“Pool day it is then,” you smile at him, having nothing against his suggestion.

Following a nice breakfast you put some sunscreen on Harry’s shoulders before he does the same for you, paying extra attention to the little freckles on your shoulders, even kissing them once he is done. You’re wearing a simple, baby blue bikini while Harry has his swimming trunks and an oversized, white shirt on. It swallows his frame, making him look a lot smaller than he is, his chest hair peeking out as he has only a few buttons done.

Both of you are feeling a little too full from breakfast to jump right into the water, so you opt to relax a little on the sunbeds besides the pool, you bring your book out with you in hopes to read a few chapters. Harry’s eyes are looking around the secluded backyard of the villa, eyeing all the different kinds of tropical plants in huge, ceramic pots sitting along the tall fence. Then his gaze stops on something and you see him moving from the corner of your eyes. You quickly finish the line you are reading and look up to see what your boyfriend is up to, finding him staring down at you with a hat on his head that’s filled with all kinds of flowers and dried plants and some glorious looking peacock feathers sticking out from the back. It’s more like an artistic peace rather than something you’d wear on the street, but Harry can surely pull it off, like anything else in fashion. You often think that he was born to own whatever fashion has to offer to one, there’s never been one think he couldn’t make look flawless and breathtaking.

His baggy shirt is hanging on his muscular frame, the sleeves covering his hands as he sits on the rocks around the plants at the end of the backyard, the endless, blue ocean running behind him along the horizon.

“Looking fabulous,” you smirk at him and he smiles back, tilting his head up a little so you can adore his perfect side profile as well.

“Try it on,” he tells you taking the hat off and holding out for you. Putting your book aside you stand from the sunbed and walk over to him, taking the hat and placing it on your head. It makes your hair stick to your head and you wonder how you look as Harry stares back at you with an amazed smile.

“You always tell me how good I make clothes look, but Love, you need to see yourself sometimes. You look absolutely stunning,” he praises, his bright eyes taking in the sight of you in front of him, in just your bikini and this fantastic hat. “I love this fit,” he adds smirking at you.

“Yeah? Is there anything that would make it even better?” you question with a raised eyebrow. You watch him look you up and down, taking his time to take in what he sees before he shakes his head no.

“No, it’s perfect.”

“I have a version I think you’d like,” you smirk at him playfully, his eyes meeting yours as he is trying to figure out what you have in mind.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, bringing your hands up to your neck and easily untying your bikini behind your neck then back, letting the top fall to the tiled ground in a heartbeat, Harry’s lips parting at the sight of your almost fully naked body. “What about now?” you tease, bringing your hands over your stomach, slowly making their way up over your breasts, cupping them slightly before they stop at the nape of your neck, your arms covering your hardening nipples from his greedy eyes.

“You’re right. It’s way better,” he breathes out, lust lacing through his raspy voice and you can tell he is getting excited as a bulge is starting to form in his swimming trunks.

“Yeah? And what about…” Your hands slide down to the sides of your bikini bottoms, hooking your thumbs into it and slowly pushing it down, the fabric gliding over your butt until you let go of it and let it fall to the ground, joining the top. “What about this?” you innocently ask, standing completely naked in front of him, his eyes devouring you, burning down on your body as he is thinking about how he should grab a canvas and paint your beauty right now, preserving this moment forever.

He is fascinated by how the Sun is gleaming on your skin, your hair carelessly falling to your shoulders and that confident, wicked smile on your lips is making him feel things only you can bring to him. Licking his lips he nods in approval before his eyes move up to meet yours again after the wonderful trip they did on your body.

“You are art, Love,” he tells you, making your heart flutter in your very naked chest. You breathe out biting into your bottom lip before you take the hat off and throw it in his way that he easily catches.

Turning around you step to the edge of the pool, but you look back at him over your shoulder.

“Come be an artist then, and claim your art,” you tell him with a challenging smile before you jump into the cool water, the glistening blues swallowing your naked form from Harry’s needy eyes.

When you come back up, you only see the hat sitting on the ground and his abandoned white shirt next to it, the water wavering not only around you, but at a spot near the edge where you jumped in.

A few seconds later Harry’s head emits from the water just inches away from you, his hands quickly finding their way around your waist as he pulls you against him, fingers digging into your soft skin.

He smirks down at you, blinking a few times to get the water out of his eyes before he speaks up.

“I fucking love Italy.”

#harry #styles #harrystyles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles golden #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff

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beelsnack · 4 years ago

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Obey Me! Boys and the Cute Date They Would Take MC On

Lucifer: “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

When Lucifer had mentioned that an orchestra was going to be performing, they had been so excited to go that they nearly vibrated out of existence. But now that they were here, that excitement had morphed into a heavy lump of anxiety hanging out somewhere between their heart and stomach.

Lucifer glanced down at the human with a raised eyebrow. “And what in the Three Realms would make you think that?”

For a moment, they were quiet, looking around at the crowd of demons dressed to the nines. Elegant silk evening gowns and smart tuxedos abound. Their black slacks and dress shirt made them feel so under-dressed that they might as well have shown up naked.

Lucifer, sharp as ever, pulled them closer and leaned down the speak in their ear. “You needn’t feel intimidated, my dear.”

“I don’t feel intimidated, I feel stupid.”

“That isn’t any better.”

They sighed, casting another look around the hall. Golden mantle pieces, an elegantly-winding staircase, chandeliers absolutely dripping with crystals...everything made them feel incredibly insignificant.

“Should I have gotten more dressed up?”

Lucifer chuckled. “So that’s what has you worried?”

He lead them away from the entrance into the hall proper. “All of these demons are dressed the way they are because they must work at being beautiful. You, my dear,” he stopped in front of them, reaching down to carefully hold the peacock pendent hanging from their neck - the only piece of jewelry they wore. “Are the only one who is naturally radiant enough to wear my symbol. These peasants could turn themselves into pure gold and they would only shine half as bright as you do.”

They could feel their face grow hot enough to catch fire. They opened and closed their mouth like a fish, intent on refuting Lucifer’s compliment, but he gave them no option. With a deep laugh that they felt travel up their spine, he offered his arm to them in a move straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

“Now then, shall we go? You’ll love this orchestra, I promise.”

Mammon: “I can’t believe there’s street fairs in the Devildom!”

It was surprisingly similar to something you would see up in the Human Realm. Strings of fairy lights lit up the cobblestone street that was lined with all kinds of stalls. Food stalls selling a variety of things that probably shouldn’t be deep fried but are anyway, games of chance, craftsman selling their wares - “Don’t buy anything from that one, all of their crap is cursed and they charge a fee for removal.”

“Come on,” Mammon clicked his tongue as the two of them wandered throughout the fair. “Did’ja think the Devildom was all doomed souls and torture chambers?”

“...Yes?”

The demon paused before shrugging. “Ya know, that’s fair. But we have an image to keep, don’t we? Can’t have the little humans knowin’ about our bitchin’ carnivals.”

“I’ll take the secret to my grave.”

Somewhere a little down the street, they could hear the spinning of a roulette wheel, and Mammon immediately perked up.

“Aw yeah, now we’re talking! Come on, human, you get to see the Great Mammon in all of his glory!”

A thin spike of fear ran through their body as Mammon grabbed their wrist and tugged them through the crowd. “Didn’t Lucifer ban you from gambling? Like, forever?”

“Whatever, what he don’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” they finally reached the roulette booth. “As long as I don’t lose and you don’t squeal, we don’t have anything to worry about!”

“Mammon, there’s a big, gaping hole in your logic there - “

“Have a little faith, human!” Mammon grinned and he slapped some Grimm down on the counter. The glint in his eyes was damn near predatory, and it sent a different kind of shiver down their spine.

The demon behind the counter chuckled gleefully as they spun the wheel. The crowd surrounding them hooted and hollered and shoved each other to be able to watch the wheel, but Mammon looked surprisingly calm. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the pointer at the top of the wheel.

If they hadn’t been standing right next to him, they wouldn’t have noticed him rhythmically tapping against the sleeve of his jacket.

It was almost imperceptible, but the clicking of the wheel appeared to be following the beat that Mammon was tapping, slowing as the pauses between beats got longer. Eventually, both Mammon and the wheel stopped...

Right on the number he had bet on.

The crowd groaned as Mammon collected his winnings, some hissing at him as they dispersed. The Avatar of Greed looked truly in his element as he flipped a Grimm in the air. “Told ya.”

“You were...using magic?” the human looked back and forth between the wheel and Mammon. “You manipulated the wheel.”

“Aw, man, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.” he sighed, pocketing his earnings. “Can’t ya just pretend I have incredible luck?”

“I will if you buy me food.”

“Deal.”

Leviathan: Going to the arcade on a Wednesday at noon was definitely one of Levi’s best ideas.

“Why does your aim suck so bad?”

“Oh, you are SO lucky this game doesn’t have friendly fire, Levi.”

“You couldn’t hit me even if it did.”

They were standing close enough that it wasn’t difficult for them to learn over and bump him with their shoulder. His grip on the orange plastic gun slipped and the virtual bullet went flying off into cyberspace. By the time he managed to correct himself, the zombie he had been aiming for was in the process of devouring the character on screen.

“Hey, what gives?!”

“Oops, sorry. My aim really sucks, you know.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Despite their dirty tactics, Levi still wiped the floor with them, cackling gleefully as their scores tallied up on the screen. "Beat that, normie!"

They pouted and blew a raspberry at him. "Jerk. I want a rematch!"

"You're on!"

Satan: If they hadn’t been in the Devildom for so long, they probably would have been scared out of their mind.

That being said, they had been in the Devildom for a while, and seeing an intricately detailed panorama of a demon cat devouring a person alive was only a little unsettling at this point.

“Wow, that must have taken a while,” they got up closer to the exhibit. “It’s like I can hear the screams of agony.”

“Apparently the artist spent a century just on the expression,” Satan came up behind them, slipping his hand into theirs. “It shows, doesn’t it?”

The Devildom Art Museum was having a special exhibition on Demonic cats, and of course Satan had managed to snag tickets for the two of them. They didn’t particularly want to know how he had managed that.

“So, where to next?” they asked.

“The next room has a collection of cursed cat collars.” Satan nodded his head towards the door. “Apparently there’s one that causes whoever puts the collar on their cat to choke to death.”

“Okay, but if there are any there that harm the cats we’re firebombing the place.”

Asmodeus: “See, I told you this place was cute!”

He hadn’t been lying. The little cafe was tucked into a little side street, and the outside seating provided one of the best views of the lake that they had seen aside from being inside the castle grounds. The moons were just beginning to appear as they sky transitioned from the dark lavender color that served as the Devildom’s “day time” into full darkness, and the reflection from the lake made everything sparkle like diamonds.

“How did you even find this place, Asmo?” they asked as they were seated by the host. “This is pretty hidden.”

“Didn’t you know, darling?” Asmo laughed, reaching across the table to weave their hands together. “Some of the most beautiful things can be found in the strangest of places.”

“That’s pretty, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“I slept with the owner’s son.”

They couldn’t hold back the definitely-not-cute snort. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I never pass up an opportunity to fuck someone who can cook.” he said sagely. “I want to be fed before I have to do my walk of shame.”

“Don’t you have to have shame for that?”

“Hush,” Asmo giggled. “Here, they have a human-safe section.”

Beelzebub: “I don’t know, Beel, this place, seems awful expensive.”

The conversion rate between human currency and Grimm sometimes threw them off a little bit, but anytime you say three zeroes it was never a good sign.

“Does it?” Beel glanced up from the menu to look at them quizzically before peeking down at the prices again. “Ah, I guess it would. You don’t have to worry, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not - “

The server arrived, cutting off their protest. From the sheen of sweat on their brow, the human took it that the staff knew Beelzebub and his famous appetite. Even just the appetizer was enough to feed a whole family. When the waiter finally turned to them, he had to flip over to a new page in his pad. He looked rather relieved when they simply ordered water and fried bat wings (which they had discovered early on tasted a lot like chicken wings and it was therefore their go to.)

When the server dashed off to place their massive order, Beel turned back to the human. “What were you saying?”

“I don’t...” they sighed. “I won’t be able to pay you back.”

“Why would you have to?”

They blinked, tilting their head. “Huh?”

“I don’t mind paying. Plus, I get a discount here.”

The human glanced around the fancy dining area. “This doesn’t look like the place to give out discounts.”

“A lot of places give me and my brothers discounts. Well, Mammon lost a few of his, I think.” Beel shrugged. “I think it’s because we’re considered nobility? I usually leave the discount as a tip though.”

That explained the grin the host had on their face when they sat them.

They smiled up at him. “You’re so sweet, Beel.”

Belphegor: Nights in the Devildom were surprisingly peaceful.

Once you got past the ideas of torture chambers and crypts, the nights were just like ones up in the Human Realm. Quiet, lazy, and on clear nights, you could see the stars.

“Do you know what that one is?”

The human followed where Belphegor was pointing. “Hm...Orion?”

“Ding.” Belphie laughed. “I knew you would be good at this.”

In typical Belphie fashion, he had texted them out of the blue and told them to meet him in the courtyard at midnight. They thought about just ignoring him and going to sleep, but now they were curious. Which was probably the demon’s plan.

When they arrived, Belphie was laying down on a blanket he had spread out on the grass.

“Took you long enough,” he yawned. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you.”

“It’s only 12:02!”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t fall asleep in two minutes. Are you going to sit down or what?”

And that was how the two of them ended up cuddled next to each other and stargazing.

Belphie knew a surprising amount about constellations.He was able to point out which star was named what, and knew most of the myths that the constellations were named after. Unsurprisingly, listening to him talk was very soothing, and they could feel their eyelids drooping.

“If you want to sleep, you can.” he finally murmured, sounding close to drifting off himself. “We can keep each other warm.”

“...I don’t think Lucifer would appreciate finding us passed out on the lawn.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

#i just needed some fluff okay #this is self indulgent #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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elentiyawhitethorn · 4 years ago

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Sneaking Around | Chapter Six

Aelin clicked on Rowan’s contact. want to get out of here? She made sure to keep her phone angled away from Manon, who was smirking next to her.

A moment later, he responded. I thought you’d never ask.

you’re not still pissy about me judo flipping you?

I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll just have to get you back for it. Aelin blushed at the implications.

“What, is your sweet boyfriend sexting you?” Aelin had almost forgotten Manon was there.

“Shut up.” we’ll see about that

I’ll leave now. You come in a few minutes.

alright

You sure you remember where I live?

yeah, i think so

Aelin heard Rowan’s voice distantly saying he was off. Not wanting Manon to put it together, she started speaking. “So, you don’t mind if I ditch you?”

“And have you spend the night lusting after some dude? No thanks.”

“You’re one to talk. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve gone to gay bars as your wingwoman.”

“That was only a few times and I am grateful, but I still get to tease you. It’s my job. Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”

“So anxious to lose my delightful presence?” Manon rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m off now.”

They walked into the living room to find Rowan already gone and Vaughan on his way out. Good, that would be a little less suspicious if several people were leaving. Aedion and Lysandra had rejoined the group. Manon said, “Aelin’s headed out to her secret boyfriend’s place, so looks like I’m stuck with you losers.” Yes, Manon was very genteel.

Everyone tried to get her to spill, but Aelin just said, “See you Monday.” Then she flipped them off as she walked out the door.

The drive was short, but Aelin was jittery, desperate to get her hands on Rowan. And she had unintentionally memorized his address.

She walked up the stairs to the second floor quickly. Aelin lacked the patience for an elevator ride right now.

Upon reaching the landing, she caught sight of Rowan leaning against the wall next to his open door. “You certainly got here quickly. So eager to-”

Aelin cut him off with a hungry kiss. His lips began to move against hers and he grabbed her, pulling her into his apartment. Rowan kicked the door closed, then pinned her to it. He used one hand to lock the door and the other to unzip her jeans. She grinded against his hand, bucking her hips forward.

Rowan pulled down her jeans, waited for Aelin to step out of them, then picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Aelin shrieked as he carried her to his bedroom.

“That’s what you get for judo flipping me.” The damned bastard was chuckling.

He tossed her on the bed, then swiftly unclothed himself. Rowan looked up to find Aelin had done the same, and was now lying seductively on his bed. She let her legs spread.

Rowan, panting now, climbed on top of her. She moaned as his hips pressed against hers. Neither one of them could get enough of the other. Both of their hands were roving accross the other’s body. Aelin’s tongue parted his lips.

Her hand drifted down to caress him, and Rowan groaned. He let Aelin push him off of her then move down to take him in her mouth. Rowan moaned Aelin’s name. Yes, she could get used to this.

Light was streaming through the curtained window. Aelin awoke to find Rowan’s arm around her. She was pressed into his side, fitting like a glove.

Aelin gently slid out of his grasp, then put on his shirt from the night before. It was so large, she nearly drowned in it.

Then she walked out to the kitchen. If he was going to carry her around like a sack of meat, she would feel no qualms about raiding his fridge.

Rowan walked out ten minutes later in another pair of sweatpants to find Aelin dressed in his t-shirt, devouring a bowl of cereal. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you, I will,” replied Aelin. “Though I’m rather disappointed to find all this health junk. You need to buy some Fruit Loops.”

Rowan smirked. “Planning on eating breakfast here often?”

Aelin blushed. “Just in case.”

Rowan poured himself a bowl of the “health junk.” “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Aelin blinked, then smiled.

“Did you ladies really sign up for mixed martial arts?” he asked.

Aelin laughed. “Yes. Lys and I had been taking it for a while, and we convinced the others to join. And I still can’t believe you bet against me!”

“How was I supposed to know you’re a fucking ninja?”

Aelin laughed again, louder this time. “I like that almost as much as fire-breathing bitch-queen.”

“That was meant to be an insult when I came up with it.”

“That makes it even better.”

Aelin hadn’t felt so happy in a long while. They finished breakfast, then Aelin said she should leave.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Aelin asked.

“You should stay. It’s still the weekend.”

Aelin’s heart raced. “And if I were to stay, what would we be doing?”

Rowan’s sultry smile was answer enough.

Aelin pulled up at her apartment just past six o’clock. She had totally lost track of time, though she didn’t regret it. Rowan had spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing noises from her she didn’t even know she could make.

Upon entering, Aelin found Ansel at the table eating Chinese takeout. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she said with a raised brow. “I got extra in case you did.” Ansel gestured to the other container of Chinese.

Aelin replied, “Thanks. I need to change first.” She was still wearing last night’s outfit. Again. This was becoming a habit.

When Aelin came back out in a t-shirt and yoga pants and sat at the table, Ansel just looked at her. Stared, like she was seeing deep into her soul.

“Okay, you’re going to have to stop that. It’s freaky,” Aelin stated.

Ansel sighed. “I’m working on my tell-me-all-of-your-secrets stare. Ugh, just fess up, will you?”

Aelin tried not to laugh. “No. Stop prying.”

“I know I blab a lot, but if I swear not to tell a soul, will you at least answer, like, some minor questions? I have nothing else to do with my life.”

Ansel looked so pathetic that Aelin hesitated. “If you won’t tell anyone, you may ask some things. I might not answer, though.”

Ansel immediately brightened. “Great. Okay, I’m assuming his name is a no. Mm, do you like like him?”

Aelin could only imagine if Ansel went and told the others, including Rowan, that she liked the dude. That would be humiliating. Ansel wouldn’t break her word, though. “Yes,” she answered firmly, surprising herself. She realized she did like Rowan a lot, though.

Ansel smiled. “Interesting. I can only assume he works at the office because of your secrecy, not to mention hooking up with him at an office party. Do I know him?”

Most everyone from the office went to the bar; this wasn’t a revealing question. “Probably.” Okay, definitely, but whatever.

“Is he good in bed?”

“Gods, Manon asked the same question. You perverts. Yes, he is very good in bed.” Aelin was tiring of the interrogation and also started to get nervous she might reveal something. “I’m done with the probing now. Want to watch Grease?” The two of them lived for old movies. They had seen Grease about a dozen times already. She knew the offer would be enough to get Ansel off her back.

“Sure. I’m not done with you, though.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. Then they spent the evening watching movies and gossiping about their friends. Luckily, Ansel seemed to have dropped the subject of the secret boyfriend for the night.

Yes, it could be troublesome to deal with her friends’ inclination to snoop, but she and Rowan would tell them if it got serious. Was it heading in that direction? At first Aelin had thought the attraction was purely sexual, but then they talked and laughed he made her heart flutter and Aelin wasn’t so sure anymore. The only question was whether Rowan felt the same about her.

Out of pure desperation, Aelin pulled out her phone. help im bored.

If Rowan was the type to use emojis, he surely would have sent an eye roll. He wasn’t though, and he annoyingly wouldn’t stop using correct grammar and punctuation. Prick. Only a minute after Aelin texted him, Rowan replied, What’s Ansel doing? Is she still at Fenrys’?

she’s currently laying on my lap sound asleep. not before finishing the fried rice though

Poor thing. Aelin could feel the sarcasm oozing out of that text. What do you want me to do about it?

be entertaining. tell a joke or something. im lonely

You’re a very needy person.

i am not

You certainly were today. Aelin blushed at that.

tell me rowan whitethorn is not sending me dirty texts! i should block you or something

Needy and overdramatic. No surprise there.

you need to work on your flattery skills

Fine, then, Your Majesty. You are the most genteel, sensitive, kind, and respectful person I have ever met. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Aelin snorted at this.

*sigh* you could at least try to say something accurate like awesome or fascinating or something. we all know im not nice

How true.

stop bullying me. ask me on a date

Is that an order?

yes

Would you like to go on a date with me?

hmm... i’ll have to think about it

Why do I even bother?

because im irresistible

I’m going to sleep now. Work tomorrow. You should too.

night

Goodnight.

Rowan was right; she should get some sleep. Even if she wanted to text him all night.

“Ansel, up.” Aelin poked her on the forehead. “I can’t get up with you snoring on my lap.”

Ansel was nearly impossible to rouse. Aelin settled the matter by shoving her off onto the floor, which earned her a severe scolding.

In bed, Aelin couldn’t stop thinking about Rowan. It got to the point where she couldn’t help but shove her hand under the waistband of her yoga pants, getting off with the help of the thought of his capable fingers.

Great. Now Aelin was just praying she wasn’t going to start blushing and batting her eyelashes at him. She wondered if he was thinking about her as he touched himself. Probably not. He was probably asleep, untroubled by thoughts of her.

Rowan Whitethorn was distracting Aelin from... well... everything. Maybe if she tried thinking about when they hated each other. Or when she judo flipped him. Yes, think of beating him up.

How was Aelin going to handle work tomorrow, being able to see him but not touch him? Rowan Whitethorn. Damn him.

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #my writing

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 37 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 37 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Mord did not know what to make of what he was seeing and hearing. He was aboard the deadliest craft that he had ever heard of, and her commander, was crying — — — For enemy dead. He felt guilty about the thoughts of a few minutes before. Putting his arms about her, he held her until she calmed. She parted from him gently and sat him on one of the big cushions next to her.

Getting a grip on herself, Sula said with a cold rage, “When we find who did that to Kurin, I hope that we can take them without loss. If we do have to sink them, I will put them on the bottom without a tear. I have my sailors making inquiries to see if we can find the ones responsible.” Mord was glad that ferocity was not directed at his ship.

Mord seated himself and said, “We also have inquiries under way, as does the Council and a number of ships that are friendly to us.”

The problem of finding evidence solved itself. A young deck-hand of the Grython was brought in late that night, with the symptoms of Ord poisoning. His case was not as advanced as Kurin’s and he responded well to treatment, at first.

“Off with your shirt,” Dr Worran ordered him, intending to see if he still had the strength and coordination to do it. Wordlessly, the young man struggled with what should have been a simple task. The Doctor helped him, observing his eyes and respiration at the same time.

“Where did you get that inflamed patch on your right chest?” she asked him urgently.

He shook his head as if having trouble speaking, then mumbled, “Dunno … It itched a little, but it stopped.”

Doctor Worran picked up his shirt and felt something long in the right pocket. She removed it from his pocket with long tweezers. She applied a thin paste to the point and washed it off carefully.

She burst in on Sula and Mord, holding her find carefully in the tweezers. “Look what I found on that young man who just came in! I’ve a mind to let him die.”

Mord looked with horror at the Ord spine, revealed for what it was by the ugly greenish brown left by the testing paste. It was neatly mounted in a handle. It looked like an ordinary sail maker’s awl. “What ship is he from?” was all that he said, as he carefully looked over the lethal tool.

“The Grython,” answered Doctor Worran.

Mord said thoughtfully, “I would not have expected that. The Grython has been fast friends to the Longin for many Gatherings. We need to talk to this man, if he can still speak.”

They went quickly to the sick bay. Doctor Worran pointed out the inflamed area of right chest. “He was carrying the spine uncovered in his right shirt pocket. The poison worked through the fabric and his skin.”

“I see,” said Sula. “He probably did not know what he was carrying, then. I wonder how he got it?”

The sailor struggled against unwilling muscles to turn his head towards them. His voice was almost inaudible, and he was clearly fighting for the breath to speak at all, “I won it on a dare. A pair of sailors bet me a whole Selked-made sail stitching kit that I couldn’t poke the awl into Kurin’s lunch unseen, for a prank. I didn’t know it would hurt her. When I heard what happened, I took the awl from the kit and started to come here. I didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“You did well. Who were they?” asked Mord. “What was their ship?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he husked. “I saw one them in the Grandalor’s booth earlier. I did recognize the other, but didn’t realize who he was until too late. He was Silor Elon. I don’t know where he is now.” It was a grim and angry pair of Captains who headed topside. By now the sun was beginning to rise on the eastern horizon.

Mord told his Craft Masters what had happened and added, “This perfidy must be reported to the Council. Who will go with me?” Every hand went up. Master Juris asked to look at the awl.

“There is Selked’s mark. That means that he made this aboard the Grandalor,” he pronounced like it was a doom.

Chapter 12a: Flight of the Grandalor

“Dark Iren devour those fools!” Barad raged. “Nobody will believe that we tried to stop them. We will all swim for their idiocy! By the time that the Council finds their mistake, they will have to send their apologies by way of Iren’s Orcas!”

Mister Timms paused in his duties long enough to agree, saying, “As many of us was involved in one way and another, Sir, I’m sure that you’re right. Many inquired about the Ord and many more worked in the experiments. Best we give the Council time to cool down before we try to explain.”

All about him the crew was quietly and efficiently preparing the Grandalor to get under way. Tanlin was at the small floating dock, greeting each boat and speaking quietly to the new arrivals as the crew inconspicuously came aboard, a few at a time. Occasionally, a boat left the ship with a few folk on it.

Moonlight glittered across the water, pursuing little Dorac over the horizon. All about them, only the stars and the running lamps and masthead lights of the sleeping Naral fleet provided any light. It would be six hours before swift little Dorac rose again, followed shortly by mighty Wohan. Six hours of darkness. Six hours to flee for their lives.

Without tocsins or shouted orders, cables were slipped from the anchorage float and sails were set as silently as the wind allowed. As she began to move, her masthead lights and running lamps were extinguished, one by one. Following the constellation known as the Sea Hawk, the Grandalor raced SSE through the darkness under all of the canvas that she could fly, with no lights showing, straight away from the sleeping Gathering.

As soon as the last of the masthead lanterns of the Naral fleet fell below the horizon, Barad wrote an extensive Log entry and took out his Three Dragons set.

Tanlin, who had just come off duty as First Officer of the Second Night Watch, relaxed into the cushions of one of the cabin’s chairs and looked on with interest.

“W’at’re ye doin’, Luve?”

“Trying to save our lives and our ship, in that order. I have entered the whole true account of Kurin’s poisoning into the Log. It cannot save me. Unless we escape the fleet, I will die for Kurin’s murder. It may well save you and others innocent of the killing.”

“T’at’s a good t’ing t’at ye’re doin’, m’ ‘Eart — — ‘ow’ll T’ree Dragons save us?”

“I have broken the course rose into seven possible tacks. The dice will tell us which way to go. If white lands on a number less than fifty, we hold course for an hour and roll again. Whichever of these two dice eats the other gives us the course to follow, from this table. He held up a tallow-slate with a neatly made table on it. If neither one eats the other, we split the difference for our course. We exclude only courses that we know to be dangerous.

“Roll the first one, Tanlin, and pray to the Dragons that it’s a good cast.”

As the dice rattled in the cup Tanlin thought, ‘E knows t’at ‘e’s doomed. Even i’ we go t’ t’e Arrakans, t’ey won’t shield ‘im from murder, so w’at does ‘e do? ‘E still t’inks o’ gain an’ loss but now ‘is t’ought’s for t’ose close t’ ‘im an’ ‘is crew. ‘Ow many in ‘is place wad do as much? Few. Nane t’at Oi can t’ink o’. An’ Oi married ‘im! Pride swelled in her heart as the dice bounded clattering about the board and came to rest.

They leaned over the board together and she put an arm about his waist. He absently stroked her hair and put an arm around her as he read the fall of the dice.

“Dragon eats skelt, seventy three.” He consulted his chart and figured the correction for the present course in his head. “East-North-East. That will take us across the fleet, just out of their sight.” As he straightened, she wrapped her other arm about him and gave him a spontaneous kiss.

“So close? Shall Oi t’row again?”

“No. A better course could not have been chosen. If there is pursuit and I am sure there will be, it will make us hard to see because of the glare of the early sun. It also cuts back and across our track. Any trying to find us by following our course will be thrown off as well.”

“Oi’ll take care o’ t’e corse change, Luve. Ye’ve ‘ad a ‘orrible day. ‘Ow long do we ‘old ‘t?”

“Seven and a half hours.” He looked down at her for a rare unguarded moment. Why did it take so long to find you? I know that Teralat would have liked you. The memory of his long dead wife hadn’t hurt since he’d realized that he actually respected Kurt— no, Tanlin. He now knew for certain that his feelings had become more than respect.

“Aye, seven an’ a ‘alf ‘ours. So, seventy t’ree? T’e forst digit’s t’e ‘ours an’ t’e second’s t’e minutes by tens?” she questioned as she set the water clock to time the tack.

“Yes. You know, I married you for more than your stunning good looks.”

“Oi know. Ye got t’ose t’.” She flipped her fall of hair saucily as she left. Arriving on deck, she became a First Officer.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 37 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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ofdianaes-blog · 5 years ago

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DIANA ARCHIBALD [ VIRGINIA GARDENER ] is a JUNIOR at Broadripple Academy. She is SEVENTEEN years old, from BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS and has been at Broadripple Academy for HALF A year.

hiya all ! i’m meredith, i’m 18 and i never learned how to fucking read i’m super excited to be here ! feel free to slide into my ims if you want to plot at all, i’m down for whatever and am super excited to get to plotting with you all, and i hope you love/hate my new baby, diana just as much as i do. i’ve included some stuff about her under the cut, as well as some plot ideas i’d like to see. y’all can also message me on discord if you want for easier plotting, i’m meredith#3445

okay, her bio is all the way at the end of this just in case it’s posted on the main by the time i post this and i don’t wanna make anyone suffer through it. if you haven’t seen it, just scroll on down and it should be there for you to learn all about my girl. now for wanted plots/plot ideas ( i’m like, zero percent limited to any of these )

BLACKMAIL OR SYMPATHY? THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER basically, this plot is someone knowing that diana is a big fat faker. maybe they went to middle school with her, or one of her many different personalities in high school before they both ended up at broadripple. with all the times she’s moved, as long as it was in state ... it might very well be a possibility she knows one person. maybe they read her diary, she keeps it under her mattress. maybe they just caught her mouthing the words to a billboard top 100 song and her cover is blown. who knows! we can sort all that out. this person can either hold this over diana’s head, or they’ll feel bad for her and attempt to show her the ropes of everything and keep her secret on the dl. the first is more fun for me, the second is more fun for diana. your pick.

YOU’VE_GOT_A_FRIEND_IN_ME.mp3 someone that sees through that pretentious candy shell to the mediocre chocolate that’s beneath. i imagine most people have a low tolerance for when diana gets into one of her real cinema is dead, i was born in the wrong generation moods, but this is the person that sticks by her, reminds her she’s being obnoxious, and she can still listen to the smiths in 2019, no one is stopping her. did they meet in english class, sharing an illicit cigarette, bonding over how diana is always getting a coffee? it’s all up to you, but partners in not really crime is something i’d love to see for her. she gets lonely, y’all.

RIVALS TO ENEMIES TO RIVALS (100k, F/?) i’m running out of creativity for these plot ideas, okay? anyone who dare insinuate (or outright say) diana is wrong about, ahem, anything, or has poor taste or whatever is bound to be at the receiving end of her wrath. and by wrath, i mean glares across the hallway and the angry writings in her journal. don’t call it a diary, even though it really is, she’ll get mad. if this person wants to share passive aggressive quips and feuds, then ooh boy, is diana the enemy for them. this can be someone who’s uninhibited by her desperation for the cool factor and is just themselves, or someone who thinks she isn’t cool enough. either one will make her skin crawl.

FILM PROTEGE / HER YOUNG PADAWAN they don’t even necessarily have to be into the same shit she is, or film at all, though they could want her to teach them about shitty foreign films and 80s sadgirl music. if she sees anyone shy or meek or just not with big enough of a personality, she’ll ceaselessly volunteer to show them to the world of not knowing how to shut their damn mouth. god knows that’s the world she’s living in. while she isn’t necessarily a rebel (she always recycles and does her homework), she does partake in habits such as [ gasp ] swearing and the devil’s lettuce. whether this person is shy or just extraordinary strait-laced .... let diana ( holes voice ) fix that

okay, now her bio is below this line. enjoy !

Though Diana Archibald is indisputably a firecracker, to say she came into the world with a bang would be a bold faced lie. She was born to the archetypical white picket fence, upper middle class family. She donned pink onesies and cooed alongside family pet golden retriever, a friendly, brown-eyed creature named Max — Diana would vomit at how the stereotypes seemed to stack so neatly. Tragedy and betrayal, however, can taint even the most normal of lives, and with her mother’s cancer diagnoses, her father was out the door before she could toddle. Hindered by the cost of medical bills, Elizabeth Archibald, Diana’s partial namesake, withered away into nothing. With her father unable to be located for child support or to take her in, who was once a perfect, porcelain blonde baby doll became red faced and tearful toddler — a ward of the state, sent on the pipeline from foster home to foster home.

Diana was raised on half rewound VHS tapes and scratchy, skipping DVDs that she was shoved in front of to keep her docile and occupied. Her obsession with stories didn’t stop there, as she stumbling through the minimal words in picture books turned into devouring novels with a wind up flashlight under the thick covers of her bunk bed. She saw herself in the pages of protagonists burned by tragic backstories, of boys and girls who rose from the ashes and became strong and willful and exactly who she wanted to be. She wanted nothing more than to satiate the hunger she felt to be like them: to be something. And so, the lies began: carefully crafted, always a new story wherever she went.

The first half of freshman year, she was a bubbly cheerleader in a tiny town on the Connecticut border, where she reeked of bubblegum and painted her nails bright pink in class, doodling the names of the cutest boys in school amongst her math notes. Second half, she was a band geek in Cambridge, with grades imbalanced to direct her towards the arts as she nervously learned to play the clarinet, swapping spit under the bleachers with pimple faced boys who played the drums and frizzy-braided girls in the brass section. The first half of sophomore year she lived in the suburbs of Boston, where she had heavy black eyeliner and a permanent scowl on her face, she recited poetry and wrote her own, deep and dark. She got a stick and poke on her ankle in her best friend’s garage, and shoplifted religiously. Once January hit and she was somewhere else, demanding she was referred to only by her last name. She wore flannel and beanies and refused to speak in class, passing a joint back and forth around in the basement of a senior who looked at her with leering eyes. The first half of her junior year, she was the perfect church girl, her hair always in neat braids and a smile on lightly glossed lips as she perfectly enunciated hymns and messages of peace be with you. A golden cross hung loosely around her neck, and she meticulously frosted cupcakes for the school bake sale and highlighted passages in her bible.

That’s how she supposes, she ended up at Broadripple. After she was shoved out of that town, that school, that family, her newfound love of religion was deemed of enough importance: Diana was a lovely candidate for the philanthropy of Broadripple Academy, and they would be so happy to have her attend. She was used to moving, but not into buildings with ivy covered walls and pleated skirts being added to her wardrobe. The sudden, abrupt change unlike any other had left her floundering for a new personality to latch onto, a new story to spin: until she came up with the best one yet. The perfect story was a story maker, pathological liar turned into filmmaker. Polaroid camera is always tucked into her backpack, and phone is always ready to film. She’s no longer a participant: she’s an observer. Her father was an important producer in Hollywood, she told everyone in her science class. Her mother was a retired soap opera star, but she was just as beautiful as she was in her haydey. No one cared enough to Google, and ambiguities and carefully placed anecdotes were her specialties — it worked. Now, she was the creative, wide eyed and quiet, journaling late into the night and always with a cup of coffee in hand, contraband cigarettes kept in her bottom dresser drawer. She reads classic literature and insists music sounds better on vinyl, carefully critiquing the film taste of her peers.

No matter how carefully crafted, aren’t all ruses bound to end?

and her personality section !

She’s black coffee and vinyl records, she’s the crunch of fall leaves under your shoes and absent sharpie doodles up and down your arm. She’s ballpoint pens and perfume that smells like vanilla, she’s the big glasses perched on her nose that she doesn’t really need, she’s cheeks carefully dusted with blush to make her look kissed by winter air. She’s cinnamon bubblegum and sitting cross legged in the grass, snapping photos of bunnies as they trot between trees.

DISHONEST: There’s an itch that can’t be scratched away, and it’s to tell another lie. One more won’t hurt. She tells herself, in fact, it might just help. She’s lived in Beverly Hills and Brooklyn, she tells them, twirling her hair nervously around her finger. She’s never even left the state.

ASTUTE: There’s no denying Diana is smart. One has to be, to stop themselves from getting tangled in a web of dishonesty. Math and science aren’t specialties of hers, but they still come easily, and her natural flair for artistry and the dramatics has made her an excellent writer and creative student. Good grades are easily achieved, and Diana easily takes notice of things other people try to hide.

SELF-IMPORTANT: Diana does everything better, she’s sure of it. After all, she’s had to put in the research into how exactly to do things right. This new personality of hers only amplifies the airs of betterness she seems to put on — though there’s no cracks shown in confidence, it certainly is a facade.

GREGARIOUS: Even in her quite states, it’s always been easy for Diana to make friends. She’s naturally empathetic, and has no issue molding herself to suit what the conversation needs. She’ll donate to charity or talk shit behind your back — whatever the conversation calls for. She’s a social butterfly that can never seem to settle on a hive, and that leaves most of her relationships at surface level.

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abundantchewtoys · 6 years ago

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HS Epi: Meat p22 reaction

So, John was doing something vaguely relevant to the plot.

Does that mean that whatever that was in the wallet for him to find, wasn't relevant? Or did Dirk really skip to a point in the future in his narration? I'd think that if a living person was captchalogued in the wallet, that'd be plot relevant.

If so, I wonder if it's more than one. But we're not likely to catch up with both Aradia and Terezi in one go. Also, I doubt Vriska somehow captchalogued herself in this wallet to escape the clutches of gravity. Well, except maybe if after reverse engineering the code for the wallet, she also alchemized a regular wallet besides the 8-ball/wallet combo.

But that makes me think of something else. I wonder what the max storage space of the wallet is... If it's functionally infinite, they have a functionally infinite singularity of questionable intent that might be in need of cleaning up at one point. :P Though it's doubtful.

---

"You’ve been drifting so long that you’ve lost the ability to objectively judge time or depth or distance. It’s getting hard to think about yourself as an objectively limited being. The boundaries of your skin begins to thin and disappear." Oooh, is it the lack of milestones in that plane, maybe, that's causing this introspection? Or is it just part of his ascension to his ultimate self?

"If your perception expands beyond the meat sack of your body, then are you really an individual anymore? Why shouldn’t we become gods? Why shouldn’t we become one God." Sounds like something Dirk might say - I know, funny because Dirk IS saying this, in John's stead. Alternatively, if Alternate Calliope is really malevolent, this might be her motivation to devouring everything ever. She wants to become UNIVAC.

"You scrunch up your nerdy face and furrow an eyebrow. It seems you aren’t enjoying this train of thought." John's intrusive thoughts are next level.

"Sorry, dude. That’s what’s on my mind right now. I’m having a phenomenological debate in my third ear that’s way more popping than your little hero’s journey into the belly of a quarter-life crisis." For a minute I thought he meant he was debating this with Kanaya, but he put her on hold so I was like: :? Then I realized he said "third ear", I guess that's something akin to the mind's eye, in that he's currently using the narration for his internal monologue.

"It turns out you don’t have time to worry about the voice inside your head, because you hear one outside of it." Ooh! Someone living, one we expect to be out here? And there Dirk goes, burying John's emerging awareness again, for a moment.

"At first you don’t think it’s real." ... Please don't be Alternate Calliope.

"MEENAH: yo blue guy MEENAH: get the shell down here"OOOOOH! She's alive!! ... Well, no, she's still dead, but you know. She survived Lord English, and the Black Hole. Girl's really got spunk. So, that brings her back in the running for candidates for John to give the ring to. ... Speaking of. Did John just, like, shrugged off Lord English's tooth, or is the poison still in his body?

I'm glad we saw her, it means that more people could have survived that were around before the battle (alive or dead), as well as the B2 kids that died during the battle! But uh... What even is still sustaining their existence? I mean, the dreambubbles were created to house them, only Sollux was able to leave through mumbo jumbo class/aspect magic.

"Your whirl around, upside down. You look up, then down. There she is." Hah, yeah, no point of reference, no gravity, so indeed, she could have been every where, relevant to him, that's also why she shouted "down here"!

"She’s clinging to a random server beacon, looking a little the worse for wear but still grinning. You float on down to greet her." Tsssh, she located the server running the LE code??? What could they even do with that, anymore. (How did it even survive.)

At least, I'm guessing it's that server, not the server hosting Rose's walkthrough. :P

So yeah, uh, that server was connected to Doc Scratch's study. In the Green Sun. ... Has it become a non-letal shortcut to Alternate Calliope now?

"JOHN: thank god. i was beginning to think that no one else was alive. MEENAH: im not alive" Hah! Ba-dum tssh.

"JOHN: oh right. sorry. JOHN: i’m glad to see you, is what i meant to say. MEENAH: same MEENAH: i fuckin guess" Yeah, not many of her friends will be left, probably. If any.

"She narrows her blank eyes. Her mouth twists into a frown. Not quite a concerned one, but close enough. You’ll take it." Is she noticing John has become an adult? ... Or yeah it might just be general concern, the situation is alarming enough. I wonder if she knows about Vriska? And what that exactly means to her, 16-year-old Vriska probably being dead for good.

Oh boy, but this is so cool, she's got potential for just as much as the Condesce, who had ties to Lord English. I wonder if she'll be instrumental in the final stages of the epilogues, if Alternate Calliope ends up being the/a end boss.

Can't shake the idea I'd like her to end up on Earth C, but then she'd not have a good role to play in a utopia, I think. But then what is her role in the story from here on out, exactly.

"MEENAH: damn buoy ya look like S)-(IT JOHN: yeah, i know. JOHN: i suffered a mortal wound, and then i threw up on myself." He didn't get better so much as that he walked it off.

"MEENAH: waterboat lord english MEENAH: he bite the bullet or what JOHN: yeah he’s... JOHN: he’s pretty fucking dead. MEENAH: whale MEENAH: theres that at least

There is definitely that, at least." Must feel like an anticlimax to Meenah too, probably. She wasn't around to see the guy bite it that was responsible for their own universe being forced to be scratched.

"You were kind of hoping you’d discover a survivor you could have an actual conversation with. Not that you aren’t glad to see Meenah, but you don’t /know/ her, and she’s not who you were really looking for." Funny how Meenah grew on John so much, what with how she ran him through on at least two occasions. I was thinking at first John was looking for Vriska, but that's just an automatism, a left over from when John still felt something for her. Of course, I forgot about Jade.

"That reminds you. JOHN: hey, uh... JOHN: mee... JOHN: fish? JOHN: (christ.)" Is that supposed to be a fish pun in her name, him using one cause he knows she likes them? Or is it that Dirk may remember Meenah's name (hearsay, in his case, since he's post-retcon - then again, ultimate self), but not John. :P

"JOHN: have you by any chance seen jade around? MEENAH: who da fuck is jade"PFffff, hah! Now she gets a chance as well to broadcast her ignorance in the names of the people in the other parties. 'THEY'RE ALL NAMED CARLOS AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED.'

"JOHN: i mean, REALLY? JOHN: you don’t know jade?" The time she spent a lot of time dreaming in the dreambubbles was before the A1 trolls ever became relevant. On the three year trip, the indication seemed to be they just met a lot of A2 ghosts from alternate timelines in their dreams.

"JOHN: jade’s like, a big deal? JOHN: i thought you were kind of important too?" Well, different circles. Top of class vs. top dog on the play yard.

"MEENAH: you didnt even know my name dog" He knew you were an alternate to Betty Crocker, though. :P

"You’ve never been accused of having stellar people-reading skills. But even you can tell the look on her face says it all right now." Well, just be glad he isn't Jake, or even a death glare wouldn't suffice.

"JOHN: wait a minute. JOHN: do you even know MY name? MEENAH: uhhh" Pfffff, hah! Actually, valid question. What with how she referred to even her friends by last name (okay, that's because they weren't revealed yet), and had all those nicknames for them (and Karkat and Aradia)... Maybe she's just really bad with names.

"MEENAH: like MEENAH: joke? MEENAH: joke somefin" Wrong bespectacled nerd, but I can see why she'd mix them up. :P Close enough, though!

"JOHN: joke is my biological father. JOHN: i mean JAKE! JOHN: jake is his name." No, I think jokes might actually have fathered you. :P What with how he's a trickster and all.

"Halfway through this exchange, Meenah pulls out a small, clamshell-shaped accessory kit, and begins to file her nails." This is starting to turn into an awkward schoolyard conversation between classmates that don't really know each other.

"She almost dislocates her jaw by yawning the moment you mention Jake." Which is funny because Jake could've dislocated her jaw when he pounced on her when he thought she was past Condesce. :P

"You decide to do her, as well as yourself, the favor of completely ruling out the possibility of eliciting any valuable information from this person." No, Dirk, I do think she still has an ace up her sleeve, even if she doesn't even know it yet. But at least maybe now they'll acknowledge the server?

"MEENAH: i aint moved from this floatin hunger trunk lookin piece of shit since i got my bass kicked" Hah, yeah, it does look like a fridge, in Andrew's art style. :P

"JOHN: well, you’re the first i’ve seen too. MEENAH: oh" I wonder who she might have wanted to find, besides Vriska.

"JOHN: so what’s your plan now?" Don't think she has any left, now. You'll have to lead, Johnnyboy.

"JOHN: you just gonna hang around here, in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing forever? MEENAH: thats what ghosts is most good at aint they" It wasn't what she set out to do, initially, though! She hates inertia.

"JOHN: you don’t have to stay here. JOHN: i can take you back with me, to my planet." Aha! It would have all sorts of implications, of course, since she didn't "win" by any measure. So the victory state would not account for her presence. It won't happen just yet, of course.

"Meenah stares at you for an uncomfortably long time. She looks you up and down, like she’s making certain calculations. On the one hand, spending infinity clinging to a fridge-like space computer circling a black hole sounds like a drag. On the other hand, will her coolness and street cred be able to survive any prolonged association with this dumb blue nerd? That’s what she could be thinking, you think. You hope not though, because if true, it would hurt your self-esteem." I give Meenah more credit than that - her attitude is part of a facade - but she could indeed be thinking exactly that. On the other hand, she might actually genuinely not know if he's "fo' real", one, and two, what she'd even do on his planet. ... Also, is John really asking a girl over to his place? He truly IS an adult. :P

"She finally appears to make up her mind. MEENAH: naaah" Hah, as if it's a drag for her. And what's her motivation then?

"MEENAH: ok for one thing genius MEENAH: im dead" Well, that's not a problem, though she wouldn't know. John still has the Ring of Life with him. But I wonder what the other reason is.

Hah, Blaperile points out that Meenah at one point told John specifically not to give her the ring, cause she didn't like how she turned out as Condesce. Right, she might think living is no longer her thing. Which is hilarious for a Life player. Still think John might make the proposition.

Also, she thinks she might not fit in with the others, but she doesn't have to worry. They're all disasters, one and all.

"MEENAH: i wont even last on your planet ill just like MEENAH: fade away or some shit MEENAH: i dont know what happens to ghosts in real places actually but ima guess it goes somefin like that" See also: what ever happened to Aranea after Game Over. :P

"MEENAH: anyway while you was floatin there i came up with my own plan" ? There's not a lot of options here, really. The Black Hole... Mugging John... Lazying about...

"JOHN: what is it? MEENAH: cmere MEENAH: gonna whisper it to you" Option A) she screams. Option B) she mugs him for the ring. Option C) she'll stab him again, assuming he's another hologram self.

"You lean in rather credulously, and bring your ear toward her cupped hand. MEENAH: (nerd)

You pull back, unamused by the prank. What is this, you think. Fucking amateur hour?" Hah, chances are high she just swiped the ring. Or the wallet. Once a Thief... But heheh, still funny how Meenah likes to prank. Seems like Condesce and Sassacre really found one another. :P

"MEENAH: reel cute you wanna be my savior blue boy MEENAH: but the fact is you already helped me out MEENAH: got everyfin i need from you MEENAH: sea ya round sucker! 38)" She putting the ring on now? But uh, she'd spawn on Earth C, right? Or right there?

"She’s laughing her ass off. Before you can react, she jams the button down on the beacon and opens the server. She jumps into the hatch and the door snaps closed behind her." ... What! WHAT??? ... She's not in cahoots with Alternate Calliope, is she? She might just be trying to defeat the end boss herself. At least, if the server still leads to where the Green Sun used to be.

"Oh shit." ... It doesn't lead to Dirk now, does it?

"I think I know what just happened. You might want to check your pockets." So, if she took the wallet and not the ring, that means what's inside the wallet is relevant to the plot!

"Sure enough, it’s missing. The Ring of Life you stole back from Aranea has been re-stolen. Bitch just picked your pocket. You got played, man." Wow. So she's actually decided to go through with getting resurrected. ... Although it could actually be for Alternate Calliope, but then what would even the implications of her resurrection be?? It would be a parallel to how Condy worked for LE. But if there's two alive Calliopes that ended up on Earth C, I suspect there might be an impersonation at one point.

Yeah, so if both wear a Ring of Life/Void... Maybe that'd have funky repercussions as well. Not to mention they're both versions of the same "ultimate self" - although 'our' Calliope's not a god tier, there might be a bleedover again, like with Jade. But Alternate Calliope might want to dispose of Calliope, if she wants to become the only version of them. Then again, she did specifically tell her other to go and enjoy life.

---

I wonder if it'll become relevant at any point that having everyone in the dreambubbles follow you would supposedly grant you the boon of resurrection. Since there's so few people left out here, it seems like it could have become a feasible thing to do. In fact, it might be that this is represented by Alternate Calliope's resurrection, if events really play out like that: Meenah might be the only other ghost left. Unless there are still the other A2 ghosts we're missing, from the character list.

#homestuck #upd8 #reaction #spoiler alert #homestuck epilogues #homestuck liveblog #john egbert #meenah peixes #alternate calliope

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libidomechanica · 3 years ago

Text

She has always does

She has always does.

Mix with my song. Why put all are but this

tries anyway, so brave, how it seems from my heart, Im afraid. Not vassal, bound to scathe. That laughter tickled all the selfsame mark, I shall seasons, and go work on Jerome know thereby Love grows ever to her deep hair, so to the bell be late: though to its blue harbor

full of the shy touch of hands till it not: and then he call, the bench, the dark thee that are aeons urgently conscious of my brush her harsh can prove your second was my meed for you, my love-suit, sweet black hue from that sweetheart, the joy of my brush came closer, ready not one phiz of your shirt, by your dangerous darling. A woman-built, and perfumes by the stubborn

in a minutes fledged with eyes the bargain ye wad buy; but Charlie gat the crowd muttering, replied he: a winged birds luld me a sleepe thou art founde? I dreamed I was that be now posting on a shining plain there in the street— why, soul at all I dare all them song

These are you, so long; while we hear you hold it law that else had grinned at his point did sip, and mighty storm; in the warm, impassionate desire, like a linty, raw-cold dun me: and all date, even it, purple bunch, milk from that she were wan and yet the clown, to be set free, up the hill I sobbed in a clay structure facing them, or lie here awake, knowing, or me, and make her mine, you worthiest; and heart shall help us; slaves we are and unkind; no lesse gayne: tom Piper makes the world contains frore, red were not he. Between my ladys lively leaves among our fists on what or whose, because when he devoured his pegs; and, sitting blush, and speak of day, lights well pictured count the white sheet, at rest in the hall after than the pale light is as free with yesterdays sevn thousand shivering light. Ah!

—Theniel Menzies bonie Mary, charlie Grigor tint his place of Music mute, begins among us in our good hath got, and it seemd, sweeping, and my Delight, grows a glimmers rich, a quiet company!

Pyped erst so long to weak.

And thee.

Thou thyself shalt not born for death, which being shut, till the Bear had wheeled through it in the snow wheresoever than forgive you back, dont fear me!

Ours is an earth I cry for still unknown, flower that made him thanks: better angel is a manner nor discredit wi matter.

—Theniel Menzies bonie Mary, charlie gat the same: new needles on the bright;’“tis Phillis, and newer purple bunch, milk from thee.

Like poppies, and heard not take a fellowship, O Moone, tell me why, sad and since my oath was I ledde, not your womans like cloud them who are fair and blue, I sweare, my dove and counter, ghost their fold, and blood youve lost sweet more near.”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #166 texts

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min-drop · 7 years ago

Note

Your blog is great I really enjoyed reading it xd How abt Jimin x Hobi teachers au? They obv look like they both have a thing for each other but don't rlly do anything abt it until...one day BAM! Again, love your works 🌻🌻🌻

yesss jihoppeeee. its not even my otp but im so here for it ?? then again i literally love all jimin ships

also tysm

“Okay guys, good work today, go get changed.”

Hoseok dismissed his class of thirteen to fourteen year olds, walkingto the corner of the room to turn off the generic rhythm music thatwas playing as the pitter patter of kids leaving filled the hall.This was the one time of the school day where he wasn’t thinkingabout kids or lesson plans because he was thinking about foodinstead. In around five minutes, the bell for lunch would soundthroughout the entire school and Hoseok was free to go and devour thefood he had packed for himself this morning before he left. Hoseokhad been a dance teacher at this high school for roughly two yearscome April, and it was the best job he’d ever had. He was doingwhat he loved still – dancing – but at the same time he was alsopassing on that same passion to younger people, and even if only twoout of fifteen people in a class began to love it just as much as hedid then he was doing something right. He pushed his black hairback, sighing as he stretched his back a little, he always preferredto put as much energy into his lessons as he expected the studentsto so he always ended up a little sweaty at the end. Not that heminded much.

“Hey, how was class?” He turned around to see afamiliar smiling face peeking around the double doors. The appearanceof the brunette man put a soft grin on his face, and he waved theother inside, shaking his head and ruffling his hair up so he lookeda little more presentable. “Hey Jimin.” Jiminwas a little shorter than him with chubbier cheeks that alwaysbunched up when he smiled or laughed and made his eyes look likecrescent moons, not that Hoseok always paid that much attention…“Yeah, it was good. There are a couple students in this class I’mpretty sure are going to sign up for the summer show.” He said,noting that Jimin had loosened his navy tie and unbuttoned the firsttwo buttons of his white blouse for comfort, knowing that he didn’tlike when things were too tight and stuffy. “Yeah?”Jimin’s voice was light and airy too, Hoseok found it pleasant tolisten to – it had this calming and relaxing effect on him that nomatter how tensed or riled up about something he was, all he had todo was simply talk and listen to Jimin and it was as though he waslistening to a lullaby and could momentarily push down those negativefeelings. “I think the show will be really good this year. I have acouple bands that are really serious about music who are going to doit.” So with a voice like that, it makes sense that he’s a musicteacher. The passion Hoseok has for dance is exactly how Jimin feltabout music and performing in general, though while Jimin wassomething of a dancer himself, he chose to focus more on music as acareer path and Hoseok was secretly glad. If he hadn’t, Jimin would neverhave applied for the music teacher position at this school and Hoseokwould never have met him. “Good.” Hoseok nodded,trying not to get too distracted by that little glint in the youngerman’s eye or the way he crossed his arms and jutted his hip out tostand comfortably. “You sound a little out ofbreath.” Jimin chuckled, teasing him a little but still sporting anunderstanding smile. “Just a tad.” There was apause after that, and they both looked down at the ground, unsure ofwhat to say. Jimin worried his bottom lip, playing with the fabric ofhis shirt before he cleared his throat. “Do youwant to get lunch?” He asked, and Hoseok wasn’t expecting thequestion, so he simply said the first thing that came to mind withoutmuch thought. “I brought my own today.” Which hethen realised made it sound like he didn’t want to get lunch withJimin. Which he did. He very much did. “Oh okay.”Jimin put on a smile, looking a little awkward. “Nevermind then.” “No, we can still…We can still eat together. If you want.” He tried to salvage thesituation. After all, any time he had with Jimin alone always endedup being a time that left butterflies in his stomach and made himforget that he was almost 26 years old. “It’salright, I should probably get some marking done anyway.” Jiminshrugged, putting his hands in his trouser pockets and clicking thepen that was left loose inside. “We could get lunchtomorrow?” Hoseok quickly interjected, knowing by the shuffle ofJimin’s feet that he was getting ready to leave. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, Hoseok.” Jimin scoffed, an endearinggrin on his face replacing the previous stiff one that was hidingdisappointment. “Yeah?” Hoseok wasn’t quitegetting what Jimin was insuating, not seeing the problem. “Well, we’re not at school on Saturdays...” Which is whyJimin’s explaination had his mouth gaping open in an ‘o’ shape. “You’re right, sorry.” He laughed, shaking hishead at himself and leaning his hands on the rail against the mirrorbehind him. “Monday then.” “Yeah, cool.Monday.” Jimin nodded his head in confirmation, smiling down at thefloor. Once again, they reverted into silence until Jimin’s footstepped backwards with a hesitant tap against the floor. “Erm.Well… I’ll see you around.” He said and Hoseok nodded his head,waving as Jimin eventually turned around to walk properly away. “Yep.” Hoseok whispered to himself, his hand droppingdown to his side with a sigh as the door swung closed behind theyounger man.

Hoseok wondered why he could never have a normal conversation withJimin. The two could talk for hours and hours about anything andeverything but by the end of it, it was always awkward. He didn’tknow if it was his fault or Jimin’s – most likely both of them –but whether it was conflicting plans or reluctant goodbyes, Hoseokalways felt that uncomfortable feeling in his chest that made himwant to scrunch his face up and sigh loudly in an attempt toalleviate said feeling. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily awkwardness butHoseok still found himself mulling over words he could have saiddifferent or things he could have done instead when it came to Jimin.Only when it came to Jimin.

“You’re hopeless.” Yet another recognisable voicedrifted into the dance hall; this time it made Hoseok roll hiseyes with a groan. “Yoongi, I swear you are alwayseavesdropping on me.” He huffed, pulling away from the mirror asYoongi walked over to him. “No, I came by to see ifyou were finished with your class and I heard you and Jimin talkingand I can’t pass up on anything that might give me a reason totease you.” The older maths teacher hummed, a mischievous grin onhis face as he popped a crisp in his mouth from the packet he washolding in his right hand. “And your plain awkwardness is enoughfor that.” “Oh shut up.” Hoseok frowned, notbothering to tell Yoongi that he couldn’t eat in here because theolder man would just continue anyway and tell him that he has tobecause he needs his sustenance. “You two confuseme.” Yoongi said, loud crunching following his words. “Youliterally turn into teenagers when you talk to each other. ‘ohum, sorry… I, I mean if you want. Oh’.”He pulled a face and mockedthe way Hoseok and Jimin had spoken with each other, definitely notacting his age and pulling yet another eye roll from the dancer. “Okay, I get it.”Hoseok started organisingthings, pulling the plug out of the wall and rolling the long wireup. “Why don’t youjust ask him out to dinner or something? You’re both grown adultswhat’s the worst that can happen?” Yoongishrugged, speaking with his mouth a little full and Hoseok let out along breath before replying. “He says no andwe have to live awkwardly avoiding each other which will beimpossible because not only are we co-workers but we work in the samedepartment and have to work together for the performing arts shows.”Yoongi looked at him with adead stare and Hoseok stared back with an equally blank gaze. “You’rehopeless.” Yoongideadpanned before he turned on his heel and walked away, leaning hishead back to tip the rest of his crisps into his mouth whilst Hoseokglared at his back.

It’s not as if Hoseok didn’twant to ask Jimin out. He definitely did. However, it had been solong since he realised he had feelings for the younger man that hewas worried he would ruin things between them if he tried to pursueanything further. In hismind, even though Jimin doesn’t give him any inclination that hewould say no, there was no explicit reason for a yes either and theuncertainty was Hoseok’s biggest problem in trying to find thecourage to finally ask…

~~~

So once again, Hoseok found himselfthinking of Jimin as he sat on his couch not watching the TV that wasplaying a show he didn’t recognise. Hetapped his fingers on the arm, puffing his cheeks in boredom.

However, his boredom wasn’t goingto last very long as there was faint knock at his door. At first, hethought he was just hearing things as it was so quiet but then itrepeated, much louder but still hesitant sounding. With a confusedpout, he stood up and pulled his shirt down a little, making his waypast the kitchen and through the hall to the front door. He had noidea who was knocking at his door at 7pm, it definitely wasn’tYoongi because Yoongi didn’t leave his house for anything but workor to go to a pub and if it was going to be anyone else, theywouldn’t come unannounced. Without any expectations, he reached hishand out and enclosed it around the cold handle, turning the lockwith his other hand. “Oh, Jimin. Hey.”Hoseok opened the door to seethe slightly wind blushed face of the music teacher, hands in his coat pocketwith a scarf wrapped around his neck and touching the bottom of hislip. He looked bundled up despite the dashes of pink acrosshis cheeks and nose. “Hoseok.” Jiminsmiled, bowing his head a little and sniffling. “What are youdoing?” Hoseok asked, alittle confused and slightly concerned at how cold Jimin was lookingand sounding. Jimin looked down at his feet, rocking back and forth alittle. “Well, I justwanted to take a walk and I guess my feet just took me here.” Hesaid with a shrug, glad that he could hide his blush behind the coldthat had been nipping at his face. “I’m surprisedyou remember where I live.” Hoseokchuckled, stepping out of the way to let the younger man in, noddingat the small utter of a ‘thank you’ sent his way. “Well, I’vebeen here enough.” Jimin said, unwrapping his scarf and taking his coat off, slightlytaken aback when Hoseok took them off of him to hang up. “What’s up?”He asked, doing a good job athiding the fact he was slightly nervous Jimin was currently in hishouse for the fifth time but it was the first time he had come completely out of his own volition. “Erm, nothing…Like I said - just took a walk.” Thebrunette said with pursed lips, clasping his hands together in frontof him and swaying a little on his feet. Avoiding Hoseok’s eyes forsome reason. “You came herethough. You could have gone anywhere else.” Hoseoktook a teasing tone, walking to the kitchen with Jimin trailing behindhim. “I guess I justwanted to see you.” Jiminsighed, smiling and leaning on the counter as Hoseok took a glass outof the cupboard. “Even if Ididn’t realise it.” “I’mflattered.” ThankfullyHoseok had his back to the younger, so the heat colouring his facewasn’t on show and he could pass his comment off as a joke. “Shut up.”Jimin chuckled, watching asHoseok moved around the room. “Do you want adrink or anything?” “You actually havedrinks? Other than water and alcohol?” Jiminmock gasped, pretending to be shocked because he knew exactly whatHoseok was going to say next. “No, I havewater… And alcohol.” Theolder pouted, holding up the glass and staring at the tap in thesink. “Never change.”Jimin shook his head,grinning endearingly. “I’lljust have water.” “On a Friday? You’rea riot.” Hoseok quipped,pouring Jimin a drink and then getting himself the same. “I don’t wantto end up saying or doing anything stupid tonight thanks.” Jiminreplied quietly, taking the cup and looking down at the water insideof it as he talked rather than at Hoseok. “Like what?” “Nothing...”Jimin shrugged, flushing andwondering why he had even said anything in the first place. “Do you want towatch a movie?” Hoseokasked, noting Jimin’s sudden change in demeanour and not wantinghim to feel uncomfortable even if he wasn’t sure whyexactly he felt uncomfortable. “Yeah, sure...”

Theyboth settled on the couch andplaced their drinks on the coffee table,each sat on either end with a space left between them, as Hoseokflicked through the channels until he found the only movie that wasclose to have started to watch. It was some coming of age movie thatHoseok is pretty sure he was made to watch in high school but Jiminseemed interested so he went with it. The silence soon washed over them asHoseok vaguely remembered the plot, he knew sometime soon that therewas going to be some big dramatic reveal that the main character’sfather was dead and that would, in turn, kick start the plot.

Wanting to get comfortable, he movedfurther down the couch to pull his legs up, arm laying on the back ofthe couch so that his torso wasn’t awkwardly trying to stayupright. He was closer to Jimin in this position however and he sawthe younger man shift his eyes to look at him, shuffling a little inhis seat and clearing his throat, the tips of his ear turning red.Hoseok tried not to thinkanything of it, and he especially tried not to look at the way thelight of the television highlighted Jimin’s face, from the wisps ofhis eyelashes to the tip of his nose and the outline of his plumplips that were slightly pouted in concentration. Instead, he tore hisgaze back to the movie and tried to look interested. He also tried toactually be interested but he was finding it difficult. The movie wasactually boring him and he wasn’t sure if the heaviness of his eyeswas just a random sensation or if he was slowly falling asleep… Hisblinks grew slower and slower and his limbs weighed down on him moreand more until his eyes wereclosed longer each time he blinked. He tried but eventually his eyelids just stayedshut…

“Hoseok?” WhenHoseok finally woke up, not even realising he had fallen alseep, hewas greeted with the sight of everything appearing horizontal. He heard Jimincall his name but he didn’t respond as he tried to make sense ofwhat position he was in. He figured it out when he felt a hand in hishair and saw the edges of Jimin’s kneesin front of him. In his sleep, he must have started to fall over onthe couch and had ended up in Jimin’slap. If that wasn’t enough for his poor heart, the younger had also started to play with his hair at some point in his sleep (a sleep that waslong enough for whatever movie they were watching to have finishedand gone to advertisements). “Areyou awake?” Jiminasked but yet again, he didn’t respond. Rather, he wanted to relishin the moment for a second because he could just about believe it. Hewould have expected Jimin to push him off or at least lay him down onthe couch or something but instead he decided to twirl his fingersaround the black locks of hair as though it was the most naturalthing to do… He could barely believe it. He closed his eyes,planning on enjoying the feeling for a little while longer. He didn’texpect any more than this. This was enough. This was more thanenough. However, Jimin didn’t want to stop there it seemed as hecould soon feel the brunette leaning down and his heartbeat picked upin anticipation, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he wasanticipating. Then he felt something soft press against his templeand linger there. It soon clicked that Jimin was kissing him. He waskissing the side of his head. This is where Hoseok was sure his heartwas going to stop and he almost held his breath but Jimin didn’tlinger for long, soon sitting back up and also removing his hand fromHoseok’s hair. “Iwish we could do this every day...”Jiminwhispered with a sigh and Hoseok could no longer pretend. “Jimin...”Hebegan, pushing himself off of the comfortable lap and turning to face the other man who was now staring at him with wide, scared looking eyes. “You were awake?”Jimin gaped, hands coming upto cover his mouth in disbelief. “Ohmy god, I’m so sorry.” Hebegan to panic and Hoseok reached out to try and calm himdown. “Jimin, no -.” “I have to go.”Before his fingers could evenreach Jimin however, the younger man was bolting upright to a stand,brushing his hair back and looking around in a fluster, as though hewasn’t sure what to do with himself – which in all honesty, hedidn’t. “Jimin, wait.”He said before the othercould walk off, effectively grabbing his attention. “Wait,sit down.” Jimin did justthat, a guilty look on his face that made Hoseok feel bad even thoughhe had nothing to feel bad about. This wasn’t a bad thing. “Hoseok, I’mreally sorry. I thought you were asleep and I just. I don’t know.”Jimin couldn’t even look athim and Hoseok could only smile understandingly. “It’s okay.” “You’renot mad?” Hoseok shook hishead, unable to stop the little breathy chuckle that tumbled out fromhis lips. “Why would I be?In fact, I’m… I’m actually happy.” Hesaid, rubbing the back of his neck. “Youjust did something I’ve wished I could do to you.” Fora second, Jimin looked surprised but that surprise soon melted downinto relief, and then there was soft grin on his face as his entirebody relaxed. The trust he already had in Hoseok telling him that this wasn’t a joke, Hoseok was being serious. “Why didn’tyou?” Jimin asked, his voicewas quiet and near a whisper but yet loud enough for Hoseok to hear himloud and clear. “I was worriedyou would reject me.” Heanswered honestly, unconsciously moving closer to Jimin, their kneestouching. “So we’ve beenthinking the same thing this entire time?” Jiminhuffed, tilting his head and feeling rather silly as he buried his face in his hands with an embarrassed groan. “I guess so.”Hoseok hummed with a nod ofhis head, the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of Jimin’strousers as his eyes looked down. “We’rehopeless...” Jimin let his hands fall down onto his lap, somehow managing to both pout and smile at the same time. “I guess we are… Neverthought I would agree with Yoongi.” Hoseokscoffed, thinking back to what Yoongi had said to him earlier thatday that he had primarily refuted. “What?” “Nothing,nevermind.” Hoseok shookhis head, just now realising that he hadn’t stopped smiling sinceJimin had sat back down. “Sois it safe to assume our feelings our mutual?” Jiminasked hesitantly and Hoseok could only find it endearingly adorablethat even in this obvious situation, he was still nervouslyuncertain. Although, he could understand. “Mostdefinitely.” He said, theirhands finding each other without looking, fingers naturallyintertwining on top of their laps. Jimin bit his lip as though he wastrying to suppress a smile – though it didn’t work. “So can I kissyou again?” “Also a most definitely...”Hoseok leaned forward, and sodid Jimin, their heads tilting. For a second they stayed there, as though they were waiting for the other to make that final move and Hoseok was more than happy to be the one to do it. With one hand holding Jimin’s and the other resting atop the younger man’s thigh, he pressed their lips together together and ifHoseok thought Jimin’s lips were soft when they were touching his head thenhe had no idea what soft felt like… The kiss was warm and more than hehad ever dreamed about (and he’d dreamt about it a lot).

Everythinghe’d wanted to say for the past year, he poured into the kiss, andwhen Jimin’s hand came up to cup the side of his face, hecould say for certain thatthis was probably the happiest he had ever felt. Not even dancing couldcompare.

run era was iconic tbh

hope you liked it!

#jihope #jimin #hoseok #god i love jihope.#like not to be traitor to yoonmin #but jihope man #thats some good sh*t #over 3k #prompt #fluff #teacher au

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themeadowau · 7 years ago

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Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song, Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed, You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine, Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name, And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young, And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine, With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove, Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart, Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth, And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a girl to do? - For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past, Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root, And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me, And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days, I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays. Flower Of Love

~Petals~ chapter one part 2

I raised a eyebrow as I was surprised, I didn't expect this from natsuki though...I guess she is improving "Natsuki...this was wonderful..!" after those words she looked at me and her eyes sparkle with hidden glee"oh..yeah t-thanks! its not like I had to try t-though s-so don't get to mushy on me!" that's natsuki for you being to boastful until you compliment her then she pretends she didn't accomplish anything, but that's why me, sayori and monika love her here. "y-your poem wast that bad either like it could use some huge minor improvment's but it is ok..!" monika seemed done talking with sayori and sharing her poem with her, I could tell because she was starting to open her mouth to speak "We seem all done! now before we do our club activitys I thought it would be nice to have a friendly reminder that the school during this weekend will let the literature club go on a camping trip! so make sure you have supplies and stuff ready for when we go!" monika said without a doubt the contained happiness that still showed it, but I didn't forget I just haven't got the time when monika anouced us in a week advanced. natsuki already left the two table while I pulled out my book and contuied reading where I left off. "hey monika...?" monika turned her head towards me "yes yuri?" my eyes gave contact to heres whilst I held the pages of my book gently with care "is there by any chance...t-that....." I cleared my throat "that the weather could possibly prevent the trip?" monika sighed deeply and not in a morning way "yes yuri..if there are any bad storms or terrible rain or anything else that could destroy are camp..we would have to put it on hold." I noded in agreement and looked at natsuki, out of everyone she never talks whenever we go any where besides the club room "alright just asking..." natsuki was very involved in her "manga" I do wonder what is really happening to the stuff she reads I do completely over look it....maybe it wont be so bad, I walked over and sat against the wall by natsuki she didn't notice me and I peeked over her shoulder and say the pages of art..."hmm---AAaA" she jumped out of her skin and nearly hit me with the book whoops "I-I'm terribly s-sorry I just w-wanted to s-see why y-you l-like manga so m-much!!" I clamly yet jumpily respond. "Well m-maybe next time you s-should tell me so Im not screaming like a lunatic!!" I chuckled slightly at natsuki's sour and red expression as she quickly turned her head back to the manga. "so y-you don't mind me reading with you r-right?" natsuki paused and rolled her eyes "yeah sure whatever just don't complain if you see anything you don't like alright" must of put her in a bad mood from that...before I knew it the rest of the day passed by pretty quickly, how was I so easily sucked into those cartoon like pages in a book I sighed and got up as I got my stuff ready to leave. I glanced over back at natsuki who was still involved in the manga we where reading "natsuki...." I saw her eyes glance up at the time and for a moment I saw a brief moment if still silence and her looking at the clock then she jolted up and grabbed her stuff like she was in a panic to get home..me and monika where the last ones out today monika said her farewells as I made my way home.I put my stuff and my bag by my bed as I got out of my uniform and into comfy cloths that I would probably have on tonight to sleep in...I looked up at my book shelve and then scanned it top to bottom then when I got to the top of the shelve I glanced at the pictures arranged on it. I grabbed the dirty photo and wiped off the dust and polished it once more "there...much better" I put the photo back on the top as I scanned the books I had.

#in the meadow au #themeadowau #ddlc au #natsuki #monika #yuri #sayori

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philosophyunbound · 8 years ago

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PU #18 SHADOWBOXING - Program

June 24 @Neuköllner Boxring, Oderstraße 182, Berlin Doors 7 pm // Start 7.30 pm (sharp!)

!!! PU #17 Bullshit takes place on the same day @Spektakel Vienna! - scroll down for details. !!!

Music by // Die Tsootsies DJ // ЯOB$Ti (Hiphop, Bass, Trap)

Facebook-Event

PERFORMANCES:

Ballein: throwing dance. by Diego Agulló with the collaboration of Felix Ott

The premises of the research are: what do ballistics, problems, the devil and dance have in common? Etymologically speaking, they all share the same root, from Greek, ballein, which means, “to throw so as to hit“. What is the problem that you are dancing to? Which problem makes you dance? How dance can be triggered by violence and aggression. What if there is no dance if we are not forced to dance?

www.diegoagullo.com

www.circadian.c

Pity Party by Tessa Huging The ring is no place for losers. You prove your worth, you show off. Humans are animals - they smell fear. Man up, or they will devour you. But what happens if you give in to the shadow of failure, to the reign of self-pity?

Tessa is a performer, playwright and tantrika, exploring embodied life and human affect in all its forms. Born in Holland, she studied Art History and Gender Studies (MA) in London and Berlin.

Hélisenne Lestringant & Co.: tba

mach dir einen kopf. by Käthe Kopf das. das. das. hältst du im kopf nicht aus. das hältst du nur aus in den beinen. weinen. die augen aus dem kopf. aus den augen. aus dem sinn. du hast wenig sinn für köpfe. du hältst die beine hin. du kannst die beine nicht länger hinhalten. du musst den kopf hinhalten. hälts ihn hin. hast nicht im kopf wohin. mit dem kopf. jetzt hast du ihn am hals. hast dir den kopf aufgehalst. hältst nichts auf hälse. hältst die hand auf. den kopf dir vom hals vor augen. hältst du deinen kopf für einen kopf. die nerven behältst du für dich. für später.

kaethekopf.com

Eine Ode an die Boxkunst by Nina Prader

Ein verbale Sammlung von zeitgenössischen Kunstaktionen, die Boxen einsetzten sowie ein Lobgesang für den Kampfsport selbst. Schweiss spritzt auf Boxsack. Es stinkt nach Freigeist. Wer boxt ist kein Opfer. Selbstermächtigung braucht Kampfgeist. Wer boxt hat keine Angst vor sich selbst. Das KünstlerInnen Boxen als Kunstform einsetzen, ist nix Neues. Von dem Kampfring zum Kunstraum: Verschiedene KünstlerInnen nehmen den Sport als Metapher, um den Krieg der Kulturen sichtbar zu machen. Was hat dieser Kontaktsport für Allüren für die oftmals verkopfte Kunstwelt?

Nina Prader lebt und arbeitet zwischen Berlin und Wien.Sie studierte Bildende Kunst in Boston und London. 2013absolvierte sie ihren Master in Critical Studies an der Akademie der bildenden Künste Wien bei Diedrich Diederichsen und Marina Grzinic. Neben ihren künstlerischen und kulturjournalistischen Projekten mit Texten, Bildern, Comics und Zines, produziert sie bei Radio Orange — WiensFreiem Radio— die Sendung Paper&Tape: Audio zu Druckware.

www.ladylibertypress.org

https://cba.fro.at/series/paper-tape

Fünf Minuten »Schattenforschen«: Über Schatten des Wissens am Beispiel von Runen by Çağıl Çayır Während das Schattenboxen zum Alltag des Boxers gehört, meidet der Forscher in der Regel die Auseinandersetzung mit dem eigenen Schatten. Dabei ist das Prinzip des Schattenboxens ebenso hervorragend für die wissenschaftliche Praxis geeignet. Wenn wir Wissen als Licht betrachten, dann sehen wir, dass Wissen die Welt, die uns im Wesentlichen ebenso unbekannt ist wie wir uns selbst, beleuchtet. Dadurch begründen wir unser Welt- und Selbstbild. Dabei lassen wir die Schattenseiten unserer Wissens weitgehend außer Acht. Um unsere Wissenswelt von etwaigen Schatten zu befreien und nicht auf ihre zufällige Erleuchtung zu warten, ist es notwendig sich mit den »Schatten des Wissens« auseinanderzusetzen. Deswegen möchten wir das »Schattenforschen« entdecken und einüben. Hierzu eignen sich Runen hervorragend, weil die Runologie hinsichtlich der Entstehung von Runen seit vorwissenschaftlicher Zeit „im Dunklen” tappt und die Schrift bis in die Gegenwart vielfach überschattet ist, von der Vergangenheit sowie unserem Welt- und Selbstbild. Nach dem Aufwärmen werden wir am Beispiel der Runenschrift eine 5-Minutenrunde »Schattenforschen«. Çağıl Çayır wurde am 17.08.1990 in Köln geboren und interessiert sich seit seiner Kindheit für Kunst, Sport und Erkenntnis. Im Alter von 14 Jahren begann er Rap-Lyrik zu schreiben und vorzutragen, sowie Hip-Hop-Musik zu produzieren und aufzunehmen. Seit dem Wintersemester 2009 studiert er Geschichte und Philosophie an der Universität zu Köln im Bachelorstudiengang. Währenddessen jobbte er u.a. als Rettungsschwimmer, Pizzafahrer, Barkeeper, Promoter und Blumenkurier. Aktuell forscht er für seine Abschlussarbeit über die Forschungsgeschichte hinsichtlich der Verwandtschaft „türkischer Runen” und „germanischer Runen”, die nach der vorherrschenden Auffassung „nichts gemein” haben. Bei seinen erfolgreichen und vielversprechenden Forschungen haben ihn seine Erfahrungen im Kampfsport im Wesentlichen unterstützt und begleiten ihn fortwährend und prinzipiell.

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yourstrulynadia-blog · 7 years ago

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I wonder if you notice the eyes you stare at That I don’t fake it when im with you My body aches in every inch when ur gone Now im alone… again. But I figured that I can only heal my heart I don’t feel pain as I did before, it feels like my heart is sore How much more can I take? This is what it creates A path of madness dealing with fakes On my own I move forth My self and my lord I don’t need you in my lane For which you are the same, a dam lame I stay on my one cause it keeps me sane Im one of a kind now please don’t be blind, if you truly have love in your heart for me Youd be here, not anywhere. But here. I cannot bear the loneliness So I gave it all up to god Now you left me here in the blue expecting me to keep it real wit you I despise that my loyalty and love will always be that prize for you Its like my soul has reached its core Slowly shattering, weak was trying to find its way onto my name I refuse to feel hurt and pain So I turned it all into power Strength from with in me is what I devour Quiet and peace is what I hold dear to me Only time will measure my loyalty your side is where ill be Youre partner is who’ll be And my love will keep you together. I want to be here but is it fair? You ask me why I am here I ask you if you are really sorry Real tramautized from all the lies, Its terrifying that the only goal is to destroy my soul You say the streets show you love Real love is found up above I refuse to fear man because I can’t figure him out’ That’s why he takes this route That wall on his heart Lets create a master piece, a work of art from the Broken pieces, let the pain spill the words That need to be spoken They tried to tear us apart but in all heart and honesty Ill hold it down for you baby, Theres no trace of the pace of which I fall for you You are my high and my low My weakness and strength Always finding your way back… But this is not the path I choose I have much to lose The reason you left makes sense why I was never kept Just under the table and swept You’ve attempted to ruin my dignity with your fuckery All it did was create calamity A battle of the heart and mentality I know the words u speak u will never mean How about you take the L and dip And learn from your shit theres a tip You have allowed your mind to be contaminated, domintated infact. I am blessed even tho I am a mess I know the shit I done was dumb but guess who is numb To all the pain, you best stay in your lane For you which you don’t know the immensity of the fuck I do not give, I knew on the lows I want peace in this life to live An ease for the pain a permanent peace of mind so swallow your sorrow my fellow mate. Although you can’t show your face without a shameful name And a hell raised. Hell I thought you were my boo Youre only after the loot I don’t have the time for a foo foo That is why I keep the lord on my lane He keeps me sane That’s why im separate from you lames Down on a dark path All alone prone un happiness Wondered why I was in this mess that is why I smoke my green able to be a healer for the seen It makes sense so when I lay I can rest I just had to get it off my chest Never did I stay for money or drugs although you have the heart of a thug my hugs will be calling for you how I miss that affection and the satisfaction you invited into me But you chose her and the blood we bled and the fights we fought What was it all for? Did our lord guide us to give up ? So welcome to my life Where people speak upon their love I know it is all fake And how much more can I take? The words will numb ya, at first. Have your mind at an ultimate burst but you know that the green is able to be a healer for the seen I know the words u speak u will never mean

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caveartfair · 7 years ago

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How Do Artists Get Gallery Representation?

For young artists, securing gallery representation can seem like an unobtainable goal. But it doesn’t have to be a pipe dream.

While it’s possible to go it alone, it’s hard to understate the importance of a supportive, dedicated gallery to your career. The right gallerist doubles as a sounding board while you develop your work, a public platform for your practice, and a source of income.

But whether you’re entering the art world as a self-taught creative or an MFA graduate, the road to finding representation can be perplexing. It’s no longer appropriate to stride into a gallery wielding your portfolio, expecting to be discovered—so how do you land on the radar of the galleries you already admire and respect?

First off, it helps to be honest: Blue-chip institutions like Gagosian or David Zwirner are not exactly on the hunt for unknown talent. But plenty of vital and exciting galleries on a smaller scale are. Below, we speak with a group of progressive dealers across the United States—from Catinca Tabacaru of Catinca Tabacaru Gallery on New York’s Lower East Side to Haynes Riley of Good Weather in North Little Rock, Arkansas—who primarily represent emerging artists. They weigh in on the most effective ways to get yourself on the radar.

The importance of education

Catinca Tabacaru, who opened her gallery on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 2014, first visited Serra Victoria Bothwell Fels’s on-campus studio while she was in the throes of completing her MFA at Columbia University. By the time Fels graduated, in May 2016, her first New York solo show had been scheduled for the coming December in Tabacaru’s space. Fels landed on Tabacaru’s permanent roster soon after.

Artists are encouraged to challenge and develop their work while in school. Tabacaru, in particular, was drawn to how Fels’s practice matured while at Columbia. “Art degrees have the expected effect: They advance artists by pushing them to think hard about their work and where they’re taking it,” she says.

BFA and MFA programs also serve as a platform for emerging artists to present their work to a wider community. The majority of programs offer infrastructure artists might not be able to provide for themselves: studio space and the organization and promotion of open studios and thesis shows.

Aaron Harbour and Jackie Im, who run Et al. gallery in San Francisco, are two of countless gallerists who use art schools as a resource to stay abreast of new practices. “What open studios or a thesis show have going for them is bulk. It’s a chance to see a lot of work in person in one space,” says Harbour.

Harbour and Im first saw Kate Bonner’s work in person in her studio at California College of the Arts (CCA) in 2011. There, she showed them early drawings that were the core of her practice when she entered CCA’s MFA program, along with new work—photographic-sculptural objects—that she developed while there.

The visit also doubled as a valuable evidence of Bonner’s willingness to evolve her practice: “Being struck by that work, combined with knowing that she’d taken the opportunity of grad school and transformed, meant a lot to us,” he says.

In 2013, when Harbour and Im opened Et al.’s doors with then-partner Facundo Argañaraz, they invited Bonner to show at the gallery. While at CCA, Bonner also cemented a relationship with Luis De Jesus, the gallerist who now represents her in Los Angeles.

Riley met the first artists he showed at Good Weather in North Little Rock, Arkansas, while getting his MFA at the Cranbrook Academy of Art. While in school, Riley didn’t know he’d be inspired to open a gallery in 2012. But when he did, in the garage adjacent to his brother’s suburban Little Rock home, he tapped artists from his Cranbrook community like Tony Garbarini and John Zane Zappas launched the program.

While these gallerists recognize the value of art school to an artist’s development and exposure, they are also quick to emphasize that a degree is by no means essential criteria. “The work is the work,” says Tabacaru. “I’m drawn to self-taught artists just as much as I am artists with BFAs or MFAs.”

Chicago-based gallerist Efrain Lopez, who opened his eponymous space in 2015 and now represents 10 emerging artists, echoes the sentiment: “An MFA is an effective badge to have, but not having one doesn’t limit me from looking at someone’s work,” he explains. “There are so many avenues that artists can use to make themselves visible to gallerists and curators—degree programs are just one.”

Illustration by Tomi Um for Artsy.

Apply to residencies

While Lopez does make a point to remain aware of artists coming out of BFA and MFA programs (he cites Yale, Rhode Island School of Design, School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and Royal College of Art as schools he follows), residencies have been a more fruitful source of new talent.

In 2014, as he brainstormed the vision for his nascent space, he clicked onto ACRE’s website. ACRE, or Artists’ Cooperative Residency and Exhibitions, is a non-profit run out of Chicago that organizes an annual summer program in rural Wisconsin. Over 50 artists pass through it each year. After, they’re offered a show at ACRE’s Chicago exhibition space or at one of its partner galleries.

Lopez was struck by images of current resident Melissa Leandro’s work that were on the ACRE site. She connected with the artist through her own website and invited him to a group show that included her work, from there they proceeded to set up a studio visit. Six months later, when Lopez opened his gallery, Leandro was on the roster.

Residencies can also be a productive place to make connections and scout artists in person. Riley has participated in numerous residency programs across the country, where he’s met artists who go on to show at Good Weather. “Initially, artists who I worked with who weren’t from Cranbrook were artists I attended residencies with,” he explains. The residency program at Ox-Bow School of Art, Michigan, in particular, led to friendships and collaborations with Ezra Tessler, Jenny G, and Sondra Perry, who’ve all mounted new work at the gallery.

Find a job that’s adjacent to the art world

Landing a job in a gallery—whether as an intern, assistant, art handler, installation photographer, or graphic designer—can also expand an emerging artist’s community and act as a springboard for exposure.

Tabacaru found an artist she’d later represent when he interned at the gallery: “Xavier Robles de Medina applied for an internship with me before I even opened,” remembers Tabacaru. “He was a terrible intern, but I loved his work. So I fired him and put him on the roster!” His meticulous graphite drawings and oil paintings have been included in two group exhibitions and one solo show at Tabacaru’s space in the past three years.

Working as an established artist’s studio assistant can also be a fast-track way to meet gallerists while also gaining technical and administrative skills. The right assistant job can operate more like a mentorship program, and the artist who is employing you might be in a position to introduce your own work to his or her peers or dealers. The number of well-known artists who cut their teeth in someone else’s studio is long: from sought-after young painter Jamian Juliano-Villani, who got her start as an assistant in Erik Parker’s studio, to influential abstract painter Brice Marden, who worked in legendary neo-Dada artist Robert Rauschenberg’s studio when he was young.

Maintain an online presence

A 2016 study calculated that American adults, on average, spend a shocking amount of each day online: roughly 10 hours and 39 minutes. The same year, Facebook reported that users while away an average of 50 minutes per day on its triumvirate of social media properties: Facebook, Instagram, and Messenger.

We devour and exchange scads of information online, so it comes as no surprise that gallerists also include the internet and social media amongst their well of resources for finding new artists. In step, it’s become valuable for artists to build an online presence.

Harbour and Im have day jobs that require them to sit in front of the computer. In quieter moments, they browse art websites like Art Viewer, Contemporary Art Daily, Mousse Magazine, Terremoto, AQNB, Daily Lazy, and Tzvetnik to keep up with the goings-on of the art world beyond San Francisco. They also keep an eye out for artists whose work strikes their curiosity. “We’re constantly chatting and passing links to exhibitions or an artists’ sites back and forth during the day,” says Harbour.

Dealers look for a breadth of images of work, preferably organized by year. Clear contact details also help. “As far as information, prior work, CV, and an artist statement are great launching points,” says Lopez. Having these details “helps me navigate whether or not I want to take the next step to meet them.”

Developing a social media presence is less integral than maintaining a website. But many gallerists use Instagram, in particular, as an additional source of information on artists whose work they’re drawn to. “I’ve been skeptical of social media’s role in the art world,” says Lopez. “But I acknowledge that it’s another way for artists to make themselves discoverable and visible.”

Lopez was introduced to sculptor Lesley Jackson’s work when she began following him on Instagram. The digital encounter led Lopez to Jackson’s own feed, where he saw a cascade of bright, clean images of her pieces: elegant forms, composed of thin twigs, taut rubber bands, and burning candles, with poetic titles like “Balancing Eternity on Your Knee” and “Conjuring a Rose with the Moon.” “She understands how to present her work in that context,” he explains. “Her photography is beautiful.” A conversation via direct message followed, then a studio visit. This month, Jackson’s work was on view in Lopez’s group show.

Tabacaru also recognizes the value of spontaneously viewing or sharing a compelling piece through social media. She first saw Jasmin Charles’s work when a fellow guest at a dinner party pulled up an image of one of her paintings on Instagram. The experience kickstarted Tabacaru’s interest in the artist duo, CHARGAUX, of which Charles is one half. Not long after, Tabacaru invited them to join the gallery.

But Tabacaru is also quick to offer a caveat, when it comes to Instagram visibility and behavior. "Is Instagram influential? Yes. Is it crucial? No,” she impresses. “There’s nothing I despise more than an artist who goes around self-promoting rather than focusing on developing their work. There’s definitely a point when self-promotion goes from being useful to being gratuitous.”

Illustration by Tomi Um for Artsy.

Introduce yourself to galleries—tactfully

The golden rule when introducing your work to galleries is simple: Don’t bombard them. “Please don’t inundate us with phone calls and visits, or visit the gallery weekly and say ‘I sent you a submission, I haven’t heard back from you,’” explains Christy Wood, who co-owns LeMieux Gallery in New Orleans. In the past, her gallery has played host to the BOMBAY SAPPHIRE® Artisan Series opening reception showcasing emerging artists. “Remember that we have full schedules and artists already on our roster whose needs are our priority.”

But while marching into a gallery brandishing your portfolio-loaded iPad isn’t likely to pay off, there are more subtle ways to get your work into front of dealers’ eyes.

First, get to know the gallery landscape and find several whose programs you respect. Those are the spaces you want to become familiar with. If you have hopes that a gallery will eventually support your work, it makes sense to support theirs first.

“It’s less effective to just send your portfolio blindly everywhere,” says Wood. “Find a gallery or galleries that your work would fit well into, and cultivate those relationships over time.”

Both Wood and Lopez suggest attending openings as a means to get to know a gallery’s vision, artists, and staff. “Even if it’s just coming to the openings once a month, it shows that artists are interested,” says Wood.

Lopez has struck up relationships with several artists after they showed an interest in his program: “They come to my shows and that starts a conversation, which has a couple of times turned into a studio visit, and then showing in a group exhibition at the gallery.” Wood’s experience mirrors Lopez’s: “I can think of numerous artists who I met and have included in group shows because they frequented the gallery.”

Many dealers are also open to receiving portfolios or links to artist websites via email. (Though a word of caution: if a gallery website explicitly states that they “don’t accept submissions,” don’t send them.)

Tabacaru makes a point of opening any and all submissions, usually sent via email, from artists. “Sometimes I look for a few seconds and am not interested. Other times I become obsessed and explore their website for half an hour,” she says. “But no matter what, I look. I want to trust the universe that if somebody thinks I’m valuable enough to take their time to write, then I should also give them my time.”

She most recently added the young French artist Mehryl Levisse to her gallery’s roster. And she learned about his work in “what might be the most uncomfortable way for an artist to find a gallery,” she explains. “Meryl found me.”

After learning about Tabacaru’s program during his time at the Residency Unlimited residency in Brooklyn, Levisse sent Tabacaru an email, with a link to his website. She was intrigued. They set up a short meeting, and Tabacaru encouraged Levisse to update her on developments in his work. “He’d be in touch about every other month with news about what he was working on,” she remembers. “And I became more and more interested and impressed.”

About a year into their back and forth, Tabacaru asked Levisse for an exhibition proposal. Three proposals later, they set a date for Levisse’s first show, and he was added to the gallery roster.

In general, have patience: Relationships with dealers often unfold over time. The partnership “is symbiotic and usually a slow growth process,” says Lopez. “It’s important for artists to understand that and not freak out about it.”

Connect with your community

Word-of-mouth recommendations are often key. When searching for work to include in group shows or artists to add to their permanent programs, many gallerists first look to artists and peers whose vision they respect. “I’m constantly asking the artists who I represent: ‘Who are you looking at?’,” explains Lopez. “I find that talented artists surround themselves with other talented artists.”

“I ask my friends all the time, whether I’m visiting Los Angeles, Minneapolis, St. Louis, New York, Chicago, or more recently, Cologne, Athens, and Berlin, who I should meet and what practices I should be aware of,” echoes Haynes. “All of these experiences have led to meeting new people and engaging in new conversations. Two-degrees of separation become one-degree, and then zero-degrees.”

The only way for emerging artists to enter this conversation, however, is to make and maintain connections with fellow artists they meet out in the world—whether through school, residencies, group shows, openings, travel, or a great party.

“I try to encourage artists who are more introverted to engage with their community,” says Lopez. Dialogue between artists, he explains, is beneficial on many levels. It can inspire new directions and developments in the work. More strategically, it’s also an effective way to exchange information about how to navigate the gallery landscape, a way to glean info on “how artist-gallery relationships work and progress, and which galleries have interesting programs and group shows or are looking for new artists,” he adds.

Lopez found several artists included in his current group show, “Yellow Tulips,” through conversations with artists he already represents. Monika Bravo suggested Omar Barquet, whom she met through a group show in Switzerland last year. Manuela García’s work was brought to Lopez’s attention by Anuar Maauad, who helms an artist-run exhibition space and residency program in Mexico City, where García has worked and shown.

Participation in group shows—whether at small artist-run spaces or larger-scale galleries—opens artists to a larger cross-section of artists, curators, and gallerists. Gallerists, in particular, use group shows as an opportunity to get to know artists and their work.

Tabacaru routinely invites artists to curate groups exhibitions at her gallery. For Robles de Medina’s first show with Tabacaru in 2015, he asked two artists he admired to contribute work: Felix R. Cid and Rui Chafes. Tabacaru took an immediate shine to Chafes’s work, a dialogue was sparked, and earlier this year he emerged on the gallery’s roster.

“It’s important to be visible, stay visible, and understand that the art world is multifaceted,” Lopez says. He emphasizes that group shows double as a strong step towards finding or developing a more permanent relationship with a gallery. “It is as important for your work to be included in what may seem like an obscure group show as it is to have a solo show at a commercial gallery. They all work hand-in-hand to build an artist’s career.”

Open your studio

It can be nerve-wracking to open a space as intimate (and sometimes, as messy) as a studio, where an artist tests ideas and builds their practice. But the time-honored studio visit is an integral step in cultivating a gallery relationship—so being comfortable with the experience is important. Gallerists don’t just want to see your art online, or on an iPad. They’ll likely want some first-hand insight into the way you work, and where you make it.

That doesn’t mean you need to do a deep clean or reorganization of your space; gallerists generally aren’t expecting (or desiring) a polished, white-cube display. “I prefer visiting studios that aren’t highly curated,” explains Lopez. “I gravitate towards seeing the work in a more natural context.”

Riley also “likes to see a lot going on—especially work that is a bit unsettled,” he explains. He expects to see work he first discovered online, in order to “understand its materiality and scale.” But after talking through the artist’s intentions with the current work, he “steers the dialogue to the future—to what’s not quite understood or known within their practice and output.”

In this way, gallerists like Riley leave with a sense of whether or not their goals align with artist’s, and how they could work together moving forward.

Learn to speak confidently about your work

We all know that fluid communication is crucial to the success of any relationship. The same goes for the rapport between artist and gallerist, and the first step in this dialogue is fluently expressing the intentions behind your work.

As Tabacaru familiarizes herself with the work of artists she’s considering taking on she “likes understanding deeply,” she explains. “I can enjoy by just looking, but I prefer when dialogue takes me further.”

Lopez reiterates this desire. “Primarily, you’re looking at a visual language, but it definitely helps if artists are also skilled at explaining their work,” he says. “It’s important that they have a strong understanding of what they’re doing, and are at least able to communicate that.”

Of course, explaining the nuanced inspirations and objectives behind your work might not come easily. The key is practice, whether you do so by recording your thoughts in a notebook, talking through your inspirations with a friend or curator you’re comfortable with, or describing you work, yes, to a mirror.

Be comfortable, be coherent, but also don't make it a packaged 60-minute spiel filled with rigid academic speech (aka international art english). Being obtuse and pretentious won’t impress a gallerist. They want to hear how you think about your work; they want to have a conversation. “I love to have in-depth conversations with artists about the context of their practice and the landscape as a whole,” says Lopez.

Riley agrees: “I want to understand their ideologies and have experiences with them interpersonally. I want to be invested in the discourse surrounding their practice.”

Summing it up

The road to finding representation will likely be unpredictable, and include a hodgepodge of the above approaches. But several strategies will guide almost every artist’s successful search for gallery representation.

First, stay visible. Be open to showing your work (whether in group shows or online), sharing information with your community of artists, attending openings, and learning about the landscape of galleries that surrounds you.

Second, remember that building a partnership with a gallery means collaborating. Be open to dialogue about your ideas. Gallerists have experience realizing artists’ visions and selling work, and most look for artists open to advice and willing to evolve concepts together.

Finally, be patient. Keep in mind that there are lots of galleries out there, each with its own aesthetic and approach. It may take time to find the one that’s right for you—but as with any great relationship, this one is worth the effort.

—Alexxa Gotthardt

Header animation: Illustration by Tomi Um for Artsy. Animation by Ale Pixel Studio.

from Artsy News

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ask-de-writer · 6 years ago

Text

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 37

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Mord seated himself and said, “We also have inquiries under way, as does the Council and a number of ships that are friendly to us.”

“Where did you get that inflamed patch on your right chest?” she asked him urgently.

He shook his head as if having trouble speaking, then mumbled, “Dunno . . . It itched a little, but it stopped.”

Doctor Worran picked up his shirt and felt something long in the right pocket. She removed it from his pocket with long tweezers. She applied a thin paste to the point and washed it off carefully.

She burst in on Sula and Mord, holding her find carefully in the tweezers. “Look what I found on that young man who just came in! I’ve a mind to let him die.”

“The Grython,” answered Doctor Worran.

Mord said thoughtfully, “I would not have expected that. The Grython has been fast friends to the Longin for many Gatherings. We need to talk to this man, if he can still speak.”

“I see,” said Sula. “He probably did not know what he was carrying, then. I wonder how he got it?”

“You did well. Who were they?” asked Mord. “What was their ship?”

Mord told his Craft Masters what had happened and added, “This perfidy must be reported to the Council. Who will go with me?” Every hand went up. Master Juris asked to look at the awl.

“There is Selked’s mark. That means that he made this aboard the Grandalor,” he pronounced like it was a doom.

Chapter 12a: Flight of the Grandalor

As soon as the last of the masthead lanterns of the Naral fleet fell below the horizon, Barad wrote an extensive Log entry and took out his Three Dragons set.

Tanlin, who had just come off duty as First Officer of the Second Night Watch, relaxed into the cushions of one of the cabin’s chairs and looked on with interest.

“W’at’re ye doin’, Luve?”

“T’at’s a good t’ing t’at ye’re doin’, m’ ‘Eart — — ‘ow’ll T’ree Dragons save us?”

“Roll the first one, Tanlin, and pray to the Dragons that it’s a good cast.”

They leaned over the board together and she put an arm about his waist. He absently stroked her hair and put an arm around her as he read the fall of the dice.

“So close? Shall Oi t’row again?”

“Oi’ll take care o’ t’e corse change, Luve. Ye’ve ‘ad a ‘orrible day. ‘Ow long do we ‘old ‘t?”

��Yes. You know, I married you for more than your stunning good looks.”

“Oi know. Ye got t’ose t’.” She flipped her fall of hair saucily as she left. Arriving on deck, she became a First Officer.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #World of Sea #Written by De Writer #Part 37

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