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mysteryanimator · 18 days ago

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Breaking down Castlevania Nocturne Season 01 - Episode 08 "Breakup Scene" shot by shot!

I've been chipping at this for a while and now I can put this out to the world. While this will be a lot more 'clear' and more put together than a lot of my previous writings (I am so sorry, I have looked at those past writings and I look like a madman, I was trying to hold back all of them and therefore it ended up super messy) however, it is still going to be a very casual document—as if a conversation!

To preface, these are just my thoughts, and by no means is the actual indicative end-all-be-all for these shots! These are just observations based on my special interest (and also I did ATAR for this, which in short I suppose is a specialization study ? I'm not sure how to describe it LOL) in media production and analysis, with a heavy passion for visual storytelling in film! It has been a while since I have written something like this so you may have to bear with me here.

I consider myself still an amateur, but shot choices matter, especially when you have only 8 episodes, a deadline, a budget, asset restrictions and so on. It all has to count. Everything matters.

As a side thing, while we can and very much should criticize media for being poor in writing, composition and so, yet, I've noticed people do tend to forget everything is 99% considered. Everything has its place and everything has intention. Passionate creatives care and there is more than "the curtain is blue just because". Like I can and will talk about how every Mizrak and Olrox scene is placed in green/earthy-colored environments (not here though LOL, this is not the time for it). The times when things slip under the radar and are put there just because are mostly due to executive meddling, budget restrictions, and deadlines.

Now that the introduction part is out of the way, let's start!

The establishing shot!

I think you’ll notice this in many many shows in general, but this is often used to establish a new scene. While some may think there’s nothing too special about it symbolic wise, Olrox is seen literally dragging Mizrak up the hill. Begging the question of why does Olrox shift out to his shadow form?

For a writing/story perspective, for the breakup to hit with those emotional beats, it has to be done face to face, ‘human’ to human. It cannot be done in shadow form because the dialogue and facial expressions that need to happen, it has slap you in the face. Like the crying scene. It also means when you deliberately cut out any expressions from the shots due to the camera framing, you get a more emotional reaction from the viewer. This is because you cannot see the emotions that they are clearly having. It is like the characters do not want to show us it or let us in.

Character's perspective, Olrox is given the chance for Mizrak to fight back and probably somewhat hoping that Mizrak would break out of his arms easily so he can prove to Mizrak he isn’t powerful enough. It's much like how he lets Richter live in episode 01. He often gives chances to people and it's probably going to come up again.

Olrox drags Mizrak into this scene, and we’re getting a mid shotttt, (I think technically cowboy shot, since we do get like waist and hands, though its because their height differences but I might be getting too pedantic with this).

This may not seem too special, but it’s a very nice way to show Mizrak struggling and just set the baseline for the action occurring since from the establishing shot we can’t tell too much because it's so far out. It also now brings the audience into the scene, we are now privy to their most private conversation. We can also see Olrox is literally holding him super easily he’s literally not even trying LOL. We can see the dynamic being established and how that dynamic will shift at the end. So we have established the new setting/characters in the first shot, and now we've established what this side story will be about in the second shot.

THE LOW ANGLE 🫣

Low angled shots are used to make a character appear powerful because the camera is looking up, therefore making the presence in the shot seem like a massive force. Olrox is supposed to be powerful. Yet, even though he’s taller, right behind Mizrak holding him back AND directly mentioned- he’s not in shot scene except for his hands. They are SUPER prominent in this shot, they’re practically in the middle of it and stand out because his hand is lit super differently from Mizrak’s face.

Olrox’s power is being used to hold back Mizrak.

Side note, I think this is just me, but this shot feels suffocating WHICH IS A GOOD THING. While there is some empty space around Mizrak, it's still extremely dark like Mizrak's clothes so it kind of blends in and makes this scene suffocating. It is as if we're being held back too.

This camera angle also makes Mizrak look very powerless and powerful at the same time which is I think is just really neat. With each established 'rule' for camera shots/angles, you can break them to subvert audience expectations. Mizrak is yelling and using all his power to convince Olrox to fight. Convince him that he can do it and fight Ezerbet.

Long shottttt, slightly different from an establishing shot since it punches in more closely.

“She’ll kill them!” And we can directly see the Abbey from here, being loomed over by the eclipse, which is really super nice. It’s telling us he’s practically going to watch them die if he stays where he is.

Also visually the 'weights' on the left and right of the screen can be argued that they are even, almost as if both choices are heavy and hold the same power over each other. The choice to go back and fight, or the choice to run.

Close up shot! Close-up shots allow for the audience to read a character's face, or if not their face, their action, to put extreme importance. The small details matter in a close-up and are the main focus.

This is soooo intentional, but we don’t get Mizrak’s initial reaction. IMO we don’t ever get it, we only get his response to Olrox, and I see reaction and response as two separate things. This is a super hard side view of both of them. It's not 3/4, it's not front- it is side profile, used to amp up the dramatics of the scenes. It's a nice contrast to how it's only one side of his face yet he's revealing an inner thought. As if maybe perhaps, there is more to this truth then he lets on, it is perhaps, maybe only one side, of his guarded truth.

Also, people may call this a corn plate moment but his eyes are open for one frame, and then when he tilts his head down, they're closed. Its a very small detail, but it's being used to set up for his crying scene later because this acts to 'reset' his face before we see it again.

This is Mizrak's response. We don’t get to see his face, but he BACKS DOWN, and I don't believe he does it because he think Olrox will release him if he does (which Olrox does anyway), but its also kind of his reaction.

This is a forced perspective shot, I think this is now a high angle. So the camera is looking down on the characters, making them powerless and vulnerable. Opposite to a low angle shot.

THIS IS CALL BACK TO THE BED SCENE. Olrox holds Mizrak from behind

A rehash of this scene from episode 04 but with 10x the angst.

Y'all are free to call me out on this section because my storyboarding experiences are small BUT i am just throwing in additional context.

Storyboarding scenes and shots is a collaborative process (as is the whole animation industry itself). These boards go through multiple iterations, which you namely you have to get it passed off from your storyboard director but also your fellow storyboard artists, your background artists and so on. While you dedicate yourself to this specific scene, you let previous parts of the story influence your work and vice versa, allowing for things to feel more connected and visually tell a story. This is the last moment we see this 'couple' in this show, and with such heavy scene that breaks these two apart, you are going to want to call back other times where they were close so it makes the separation that much more painful. In this case, it was chosen to have Olrox holding Mizrak as a callback. This then means this will be a common thing they will go back to and it will somehow reappear in season 2 and every season after that (pleasepleasepleaseplease season 3, maybe season 4 guys please). When it does reappear, it's going to be an alternate version that builds upon the last, and who knows, it may be way more subtle. It may be flipped. The way they act around each other when standing behind each other is very important. The way Olrox holds Mizrak is very important (and he doesn't just hold him by just sitting or using his hands, but also I can discuss that on a different scene breakdown if you guys want!)

I need to point this out super clearly. We do not see their faces this time around for that shot and that is intentional because then it forces up to think of what it is like. We have to infer from their previous interactions and what should come to mind is episode 04.

I would love to break down this at some point later (and how episode 04 and episode 06 make callbacks to each other, I've mentioned it before in a tweet somewhere I digress though). I'll briefly go through this now- this image is a (extreme) top-down close-up of their expressions, the perspective is pushed here. In episode 08, we get a top-down view where the perspective is also extremely pushed. This has to be a callback, there's no way that wasn't intentional.

This is what I imagined their faces to be when Mizrak stops resisting and drops his arms.

Now we see Mizrak’s face. Trade off is that we don’t see Olrox’s face. Like a reaction to a reaction. It’s to set up for the next shot to make us go “oh my god.”

THIS SHOT IS SO GOOD Y'ALL😭 (Also a close-up)

Olrox is not known to show any extreme emotions, only time he does was when he forced himself to bow to Ezerbet. So to the audience, this is really shocking because THATS TEARS RIGHT THERE.

The forehead creases are telling me he’s holding back really hard. He’s dead still beside the wind flowing. He’s using his power to hold back.

This is a front view too. Olrox is baring himself out. No 3/4, no side angle, front view. Also, the backdrop has the trees beginning to clear out behind him, which subtly alludes to us as an audience to realize how we're getting a slightly clearer picture of Olrox's headspace, of his views, and so on!

Which… is this a call back to when Olrox said “I’m not in love with you” (?) It is a front having shot but its cut closer and his eyes aren't glowing.

Which, I still have no idea what the glowing eyes mean. Unless there are no rules the glowing eyes follow by it besides what suits each scene the best thematically. I will point out that whenever it glows, its supposed to be intimidating, he's supposed to feel supernatural. When he's vulnerable, take for insistence when he talks about his past and talks gently about it, his eyes don't glow, he feels a lot more human in that scenario.

First of all, choice of shot is to mirror Olrox’s shot. Ok that out of the way.

WE GET THIS LINE??? I remember first watching it my jaw dropped because I couldn’t believe he said this.

He gets called an animal. Wild. Insane.

That’s a set up. It has to be there’s NO WAY IY ISN’T. WE’RE GETTING A CALL BACK TO THIS IN SEASON 2. SEASON 3, pls I’d do anything for a s3. Idk when we're getting a call back to this because Mizrak just backhanded him so hard and that language is so specific, especially since we’ve already gotten Ezerbet going “Gods should know where her dragons are”, you know, treating Olrox like a pet. Like an ANIMAL.

I am going to go on the slightest of side tangents- Mizrak has parallels to Drolta, they're both "guard dogs" for their leader. The Abott simply has to put out his hand when Mizrak is growling (it is subtitled as him growling and barking its kinda crazy) for him to stop. The animal line seems so out of nowhere and it is supposed to feel like that but we've had this bread trail from the very start.

Ok going back to the scene at hand. Mizrak ??? Where’s your normal religious quips ??? Why did you use that line ??? What do you know about losing your soul and being animal-like??? Suspicious 🤨 because there are countless bible verses about, bravery, losing your soul, literally self-sacrifice.

Though I will bring up, the idea of having a soul has been brought up before.

Mizrak recognizes Olrox had a soul before. He recognized Olrox used to live. I think Olrox was a lot more... 'puncher' and 'fiery' beforehand, before his previous lover died. I mean, if he wasn't more 'alive' before, why would he turn his previous lover into a vampire. Mizrak said that so it would hurt and to call him out.

(Though I feel like, religion has been thrown out the window for Mizrak, cant wait to see how Mizrak deals with it s2 LOLOLOL)

Ok now talking abt these two long shots together (the irony writes itself)

The placement of the characters is so important to feel that void and it makes the scene feel so much more empty, which is why it also has to be a long shot. It’s like, they’re supposed to fill in that gap, but they’re not. A general note is that shuffling characters off-center makes the scene feel unbalanced. The center line, the abbey, and the eclipse are already established and Mizrak is running off center. For Olrox's shot, there's a clearing to his right.

To Mizrak, Olrox should’ve run alongside him. There’s space for him

To Olrox, Mizrak should’ve stayed back. There’s space for him.

Now I'm done. My final notes is that this whole breakup scene is a massive setup for something for the next season (if not this season, just for something big later on), and my red strings are tying it to that animal line and holding if that makes sense? Everything in episode 8 IS a setting up for bigger things for season 2. We will get callbacks. (I say will, that is a very strong conviction LOL).

Also to wrap up, shot choices matter heavily. You need to connect with the audience immediately. A picture says 1000 words. Something as simple as maybe someone in a diner eating a burger, and its a close up of them talking may seem not that special but it changes a lot just by having a character in the middle or the left of the screen, especially in the greater scheme of a full scene.

Think of that one quote from Prince of Egypt where the priest says "A single thread in a tapestry though its color brightly shines can never see its purpose in the pattern of the grand design." Basically that LOL.

If I have time, I may go and do their other scenes (or even scenes of other characters)! They all build upon each other really nicely and despite their scenes being about 1-3 minutes long. They really pack in a lot of details. Their lives before directly affect what's happening at that very moment on screen and you can see it heavily influences how they interact with the world and each other!

#mystery talks #castlevania nocturne #mizrak #olrox #olrox/mizrak

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treasure-mimic · 9 days ago

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Psychopomp and What Things Mean When They Don't Mean Anything

So if you haven't noticed or you don't follow me, I recently became interested in a small, one-man dev team indie game by name of Psychopomp. As a brief synopsis and pitch, Psychopomp is a game about a woman who seemingly suffers from paranoid delusions, through the lens of this narrator she tells us that there's a labyrinth of catacombs hidden underneath every public building and sets out to explore them to uncover the world's secrets, armed with nothing but a store bought hammer.

youtube

The game's intro puts it in words better than I could and more influential than any pitch is just seeing the protagonist's design.

As one commentator states, she looks like a skateboard mascot from the mid-2000s. Like she should be on those posters with a snarky quip just fucked up enough to catch those pearl clutching puritans off guard. I love the style and I love the tone and I love the premise.

This might be the best time to note that if you're interested in playing this game, you should stop reading here, as this discussion will contain spoilers. It's a short game, took me about 3 hours on my first playthrough, and it's pretty cheap, even has a free demo in the form of the base version with Psychopomp Gold serving as the expanded, completed experience.

Anyways.

I've always found conspiracy theories fascinating but in the modern age it can be hard to immerse yourself in these reality-detached belief systems without acknowledging, you know, the racist dogwhistling and tangible physical harm it's causing to society at the present moment. Psychopomp is able to pretty gracefully sidestep this issue by setting its anarchic anti-government sentiments against its protagonist's paranoid delusions rather than adherence to a faith or belief system.

Indeed, the game seems to take systemic beliefs as its central enemy. The entities that are necessary to kill to progress through its levels are defined by the systems they interact in, historical figures of elevated status, keystone positions in industrial manufacturing, even abstract systems like urbanism and DNA composition are posed as societal and oppressive. I'm not saying that there's no way to interpret the game in bad faith and make it directed at marginalized social, political, or ethnic groups, but I also struggle to imagine the person who takes the game literally on its face value?

Which I guess leads me to the main topic I wanted to discuss. The game very obviously has an unreliable narrator (for the record, the protagonist remains nameless for the bulk of the game, I will be referring to her as Venus as it's the closest she has to a name that's explicitly stated within the text itself) with the flavor of one whose intake of reality may be different from what's actually occurring. The game uses a combination of conspiratorial rambling and dream logic to stage its unreal tone; for example, one level delves into the "biology" of buildings, stating that they use graffiti to communicate and that black mold is a pheromone used to evacuate its inhabitants to allow for mating. Loading screens come with "Gameplay Tips" and "Real World Tips", both of which are often dense and inscrutable; for example you might get a pair like "Not all enemies are friends" and "Viruses do not exist. Illness is simply your body punishing you for what you've done wrong."

Surrealism and unreality as stylistic choices can be a bit of a tightrope walk to get right. On the one hand, if you make it explicit that a story takes place in a state that did not happen even within the story's universe, a dream or a hallucination, it can rob the narrative of its stakes, regardless of how well executed the internal metaphors are. Psychopomp very explicitly does not do this, regardless of what it is that Venus is experiencing, the game makes it clear through scientific logs and communications (as well as a brief epilogue set outside of her perspective) that something abnormal is happening, the question is just where in between normality and Venus's experiences does the truth of the game's narrative actually lie.

The other side of the tight rope is literal interpretation, presenting a setting that's absurd to our sensibilities but tangibly explainable, where meaning is supplanted by lore and the cosmology begins to solidify into a set of Calvinball rules that don't make sense, but are still adhered to, and this is the side Psychopomp threatens to lose me on. There is a credible argument to be made that there is no difference, that what Venus is experiencing is her reality without warping and distortion, it's a more credible argument than saying she completely fabricated all of it, and it's an argument I was starting to wonder wasn't the intended interpretation. Until I got the game's second, secret ending.

Psychopomp has one collectible that doesn't serve a direct gameplay purpose, but each catacomb has a key hidden away, often behind false mimic walls that bleed and scream when you hit them with your hammer, and which unlock new rooms in the only permanent location "Home". Initially a gray, cubical, concrete room with a single mattress and a small table with a radio on it, collecting keys allows you to further explore outside(?)/within(?) the home with a unique camera perspective and limited interaction. In the first layer there's a blob man who cries out in torment, demanding to know why you specifically made the world like this, giving some credence to the deification of Venus implied by the game's ending. In the last layer, Venus traverses underneath and past her own brain to unlock a repressed memory.

I take this as confirmation that there's some level of abstraction at play here. Under scrutiny it feels as though there must be some level of abstraction at play here because when taken as a whole, the conspiracies start becoming outright contradictory, even if you try to take the cosmology at play as fact, which are the closest thing to objective facts that we have.

See, Venus's perspective takes place an alternate Earth, one that both seemingly was broken off from the planet and now orbits it like a new moon but also has always existed. One of the locations is a natural history museum which explains the history of sentience on this counter-earth, humans rose, went extinct, were supplanted by a species called the thrait, then humans returned in a mutated form and retook the surface and forced the thrait back underground (though the museum also refers to the thrait as extinct despite being the most common friendly NPC you will encounter). Another location seems to imply that the humans of this world, or maybe only some of them, are artificial clay creatures, reinforced by the arbiters of the DNA factory too being clay alleles. The Human Seedbed even has the game's most effective jumpscare in it, where Venus cannot leave the area without being confronted with a jittering clay facsimile of herself.

But with that in mind, what the hell is Venus then? By no account is she one of these artificial clay people but then how did she get here? The game's introduction implies that she used to be a normal person, or at least closer to, with lived experiences inclusive of complete ignorance to this underworld, the game's endings imply that she's an immortal god-being who has been intentionally working towards her own reawakening, and that is actually one of the least ambiguous plot points within the narrative. None of the pieces of this world lock together to form a cohesive vision of a setting that operates on even the barest of internal rules, and yet the game in the same step refuses to be a character study or subconscious examination, I mean the epilogue is a damn sequel hook that involves assembling the damn Avengers to combat the ramifications of the events of the game.

So, I come to realize, I'm the problem. I might, in fact, be thinking about this too hard.

One of the locations in the game is called "Daddy's Bad Place". It is a single, tiny room of a house or apartment, frozen in a moment of tearing itself apart, that only contains a dusty old TV set with a small, pointless ornament sitting on top. In any other surrealist game, this isolated circle of clarity, a compact orb of recognizable terrain, would be a moment to deliver one single jolt of reality into the metaphor of the protagonist's journey through their own subconscious.

In Psychopomp the TV turns on and delivers a distorted warning about a giant insect which is deadly, deceitful, and above all, not real.

In Daddy's Bad Place I come to realize something. The lore is fake, the characterization is fake, the dichotomy of truth and delusion is fake, the insect is not real. Let's think about what I'm doing here for a moment, right? I'm trying to discern the truth from within a work of fiction. None of its true, none of it happened, what difference does it actually make?

The thing about conspiracy theories is that they don't make logical sense. It's a known phenomenon that conspiracy theorists love to debate, but cannot be reasoned out of their beliefs by facts or logic. There is never a counter, but always a failsafe argument that can be retreated to for safety. What conspiracy theories do make is emotional sense, they make narrative sense. The line that initially sold me on Psychopomp was one of the aforementioned loading screen tips, "All the food you've ever eaten is rotten. You have never tasted fresh food."

Patently false statement, does not hold under scrutiny, but I, as someone who lives in America and lives in a city center and has to get all my food through corporations, can look at a statement like that and say yeah. Checks out. I believe you. We would know if children were being smelted into egg slicers underneath public schools, but it resonates with our emotions about the systems of education we enforce upon children, so it could be true. We would know if buildings were a living, reproducing organism, but it resonates with the feelings of being born into a world where urbanism exists, has existed as permanent fixtures of the world, and is continuously encroaching upon the face of the world, so it could be true.

Anyone who understands the fundamentals of incentives and human psychology does not need to believe that there is a coordinated group of ontologically evil individuals driving the world to ruin for ruin's sake, but that narrative still feels true, it becomes validating in the ways that it plays off of the emotions of believers until it becomes a foundational pillar of belief that cannot be destroyed by logical contradiction.

Psychopomp, in the same way, presents information about its internal systems that cannot be true logically but form self-justification anyways through emotional resonance. It doesn't matter if the lore works because its stated, it isn't wrong, so it must be a truth. This is the way that Psychopomp emulates the unreality of the conspiracy theory in a way that can avoid the disturbing implications of the real world practice. I've made comparison to surrealism by dream logic and surrealism by internal self-reflection, but this is a different mode entirely and the game simply refuses to operate by those tropes at its core. Conspiracy is itself contradiction, not the soft contradiction of two halves of a dream that don't lock together, but the hard contradiction of attempting to apply emotion and narrative to a waking world that rejects either premise. Psychopomp, then, is surrealism by way of conspiracy.

#Psychopomp #Psychopomp Gold #Psychopomp Game #Narrative Analysis #Long Post #Youtube

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a-d-nox · 10 months ago

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can you list any of the aspects in synastry or composite charts (if possible) where it indicates who breaks up with the other first ? for example, i just read a post saying more often than not, in venus conjuct pluto aspect- the pluto breaks up with venus first.

what causes break-up/rejection in synastry and composite

i wouldn't count on that always being the case, sounds like someone is justifying their specific situation because conjuncts are atypical in nature - they often don't have predictable results. some people say that they promote positivity (for example, venus person is enamored by pluto person and pluto person is obsessed with venus person like the twisted book series that went viral on tiktok) and some say that nothing good comes from them (like whichever post the example is from in the ask)...

i'm going to work off of what i already have posted (no asteroids discussed after this post will be included or added after the fact). finally, i would like to state that NO TWO CHARTS ARE THE SAME. what i am about to list out does not mean you will for sure need these exact things (or all of these things) to be shy, nervous, and/or anxious around one another. if you don't understand my thought process, feel free to comment with questions!

8h/12h saturn

often the ending of this relationship is not pretty and involves a long-term coupling falling out of love with one another.

8h uranus

uranus person likely feels that the house person is too clingy for them and will be the first to pull away.

12h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or mars

tends to indicate an ugly split.

12h capricorn (10°, 22°)

tends to indicate a harsh breakup/rejection from the house person which causes the saturn person to fall into a despair. this connection is often of a long-term variety.

12h aquarius (11°, 23°)

this might end with one of the partners in the connection asking for an open relationship, cheating on their partner, and/or ghosting the other partner.

sun negatively aspecting mars

sun person denies mars person. sun person tends to not like the mars person's energy and how passionate they are - they tend to not feel as deeply as the mars person.

mars negatively aspecting saturn

saturn person rejects mars person. usually the saturn person doesn't see the mars person as a good fit for them long-term - it tend to have to do with how clingy/possessive the mars person is. often the saturn person doesn't think that the mars person is worth fighting with, while the mars person sees the saturn person as someone worth fighting for.

mars negatively aspecting uranus

uranus person rejects mars person. the mars person often doesn't see this coming as an uranus person in this connection is quick to ghost/disappear from the mars person's life. the mars person tend to lack closure in the connection.

1h salome (562)

in oscar wilde's play salome, she is enticed by jokanaan but still wants him dead, and the play ends up with them both dead but him by salome's order.

apollo (1862) negatively aspecting kassandra (114)

kassandra person may seem interested at first but ends up just using the apollo person only to get ahead then rejects the apollo person.

medusa (149) negatively aspecting poseidon (4341 / h47)

poseidon person aggressively pursues medusa person but medusa person wants nothing to do with poseidon person

narcissus (37117) negatively aspecting echo (60)

echo might adore narcissus person, but narcissus person may either just enjoy that echo person likes them or they might decide they are too good for echo person.

rhea (577) negatively aspecting kronos (h43)

rhea person tend to be unhappy in the connection and plots against the kronos person.

zeus (h42 / 5731) negatively aspecting hera (103) and/or juno (3) negatively aspecting jupiter

typically, the hera/juno is hurt by the zeus/jupiter person because hera/juno person learns that they are being cheated on. oftentimes, this leads to a breakup. however, if there is a hera/juno prominent person in the connection, the relationship tends to continue but at the expense of the loyal (and unhappy) hera/juno person.

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archandshri · 5 months ago

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28th June ‘24 - [arch] One Page Limitation??? - My process for Traffic Zine #5

Hello All!

A couple months ago, I got accepted to @trafficzine, a digital anthology of pieces by a large group of artists and writers based on the most recent season of the Life Series. I made this piece back in April, but thankfully I kept some notes of my process.

Heads up - this contains spoilers for Secret Life :D

We were able to choose our own prompt from a list! For this project, I wanted to push my comic making - especially how to communicate a lot of information in a small space. I went through and watched a few clips from the series to see which prompt would fit a comic and settled on Scott’s death.

As usual, I began by getting some reference images and going ham on some big paper. This gets me excited about the project and helps generate ideas. I go for whatever interests me in terms of medium and subject matter, but I try to use a process that doesn’t let me control too much (in this case brush and ink)

initial sketches for fun and vibes :D

During this, I also took the time to transcribe the scene - I wanted to use the dialogue directly, and see how much I could fit into the single page that I was allowed for the zine.

In these early planning stages I make sure to do warm-up sketches to remind myself of the energy I want to communicate. This also keeps things fun and fresh so I'm not ONLY thinking about page composition and making things 'good'. (the expectation for it to be 'good' kills a project prove me wrong)

Dialogue from the clip + warm up sketches

Next up, I started to plan what panels I have on the page. At this stage, some panels might just be a box with some words, and some may have a sketch if I have a clear composition in mind. This stage is mostly for pacing and plot, so instead of focusing on what the panel and page will look like, I will think about:

what will happen in the panel

it's purpose and

what it will communicate

Sometimes I'll illustrate a string of panels that tell the story and fit them on a page after - but this depends on the project and my confidence with the size of it.

After messing around with these and coming up with a pretty clear direction, I draw a bunch of boxes to see how the panels could sit nicely together. At this stage I might realise I have too many panels, and need to cut a few or come up with a creative solution. Nothing is set in stone at this point.

sketching panel layouts

Now begins the fun! I decide on the layout I prefer and I can start putting planned compositions into the boxes. I often do this digitally, or a digital editing process will be involved.

Once planned, I print these out to do a more refined sketch over. I find that my traditional drawings have a lot more life and character to them than digital ones, so I try to keep the majority of the process traditional, with passes of scanning and digital editing.

I tried a version with her looking out at the distance - ready to face the oncoming battle. But it still felt off. So I turned to my slides to ask myself some questions!!

I tried to think of more things that were working - but I really felt like it was lacking a lot. I was going for this slower emotional feeling because that came more naturally to me, but it just wasn't working for this image. The original clip is quite rushed and chaotic - which would be harder to communicate in a comic format but the challenge interested me. Either way, I knew I wasn't happy with this direction so... i decided to start from scratch! Back to the drawing board!!!

In the previous version, I had cut out a lot of the dialogue, but I decided to go back to the original clip and use AS MUCH as possible. Since passing the bow was my favourite part of that first composition, I really wanted to lean into it as the emotional height and final goodbye before Scott's death. It's a moment to slow down and absorb the vibes :D

I made a list of panels along with their descriptions to refer to when trying to figure out the order of panels. there were SO MANY and it was VERY CONFUSING when they were too small to read.

These thumbnails were super small and would not have made sense without my list, I swear.

I printed this tiny thumbnail out at A4, so I could sketch over it and get a clearer sense of flow. Then began a loooong process of printing out tiny photocopies and rearranging the panels to be legible. It was a difficult balance of communicating busyness while making sure the hierarchy/reading order made sense.

After some tweaking, i printed out an A3 copy to draw my panel borders and text.

Doing this on a separate piece of paper means I don't have to worry so much about messing up the text or borders when drawing the characters. This allows me to be more free and expressive with my illustration.

Woah! Quick trip back in time!! During the thumbnailing process I drew these warm up sketches! I looooved the way the linework came out. I drew this on an A3 piece of paper - and the shocked Gem would, in theory, be one of the smallest panels. So I decided to do a crazy thing.

I touched up the sketch digitally, compiling some of my favourite warm up sketches, some traditional sketches made for the panels, and filling the rest in digitally. Then I printed this image out in QUATERS at A3!! This meant the final sketch layer, printed out was A1!! (aka very large, considering the final file would be at A4, about 8x smaller)

I did this so I could get fairly small detailed lines with my pencil while being quite expressive and firm with my mark-making. Slowly, I dlined all of the panels traditionally and scanned them in. Then I assembled the finished linework on Photoshop, along with the text and panel borders and got to colouring :D

final linework :D

For colouring, I played a little bit with halftone but I found the texture made it feel a bit too busy - the panels are already doing enough. Because of this, I also decided to use a limited colour palette. Here are some images of the colouring process, which I won't go into today.

I'm really happy with how this came out - I think it captures the chaos of the moment, while taking time to linger on the emotion of it. Keeping that bow moment really made it, I think.

I think the last panel is still quite weak. Earlier in the process there was a low-angle shot of Gem about to kill Scott which may have been more powerful, but I think I was struggling with my actual drawing skill when it comes to perspective. A lot of learning how to draw, and in particular with comics, is about knowing where your skills are at, how to utilise them best and how to test and push them.

I'm glad that I started again, instead of finishing that composition I wasn't happy with. It was a tough project but I learnt sooooo much from it, and it's been essential skill-building for.... the current comic I'm working on (stay tuned!!! :0) Thanks for reading this incredibly long post! Go check out @trafficzine and look at all the other cool art Cool vibes and silly men,

Archie :D

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project-sekai-facts · 1 year ago

Note

i recall some kind of theory or pointing out of the fact that tsukasa's focus sets have had him getting less and less authority each time, and with the role of a minor character, it seems to have been intentional

oh i remember a lot of players on JP and KR side pointing that out when Phoenix released! and yeah I think it's definitely true

he went from king -> commoner -> jester/circus performer (for the king) -> a shadow

actually i have a lot of thoughts about his new card and i doubt this set will get an official blog post so i might just ramble a bit. (ftr: haven't read the event yet, sekai.best isn't updating and i surprisingly haven't really found anything from looking through JP/KR side either). specifically, i have a few thoughts about tsukasa being a shadow in this card because it's actually way more than that. oh to be a media student

first off the costume name: phantasmagoria. according to wikipedia, this was an old form of horror theatre that involved projecting scary images. (it's quite interesting actually you can read the article here). the effects in phantasmagoria productions would be done using magic lanterns, the ones you slide a disc with a picture into so it projects it onto a wall. usually, they'd use rear projection, where the lantern is placed behind the surface it's being projected on (so the surface would usually be smoke or some sort of semi-transparent screen) to keep up the illusion (rear projection is how old movies did backgrounds for reference).

now here's where the light in the card comes into play. for starters, rear projection clearly isn't being used here because he's on the stage-thingy (that will be relevant later). also instead of the light shining at him as if he were the subject being projected, it's shining down on him. while partially this was definitely done in part for composition cool points (the composition on this card is so fucking good actually it has nothing to do with symbolism but like holy shit), it's very reminiscent of a spotlight. as i said, i haven't had the chance to read the event yet but i'm assuming this will connect with him having to play a minor role (or play the shadow as the gacha says) and still putting himself in the spotlight.

i like that idea actually because if you link the fact he's standing in the spotlight that means he is still casting a shadow. it may appear to the viewer as if he's the centre of attention - he's right in the light, literally hitting all the composition marks to make him the sole focus of the card - but he's still just a shadow in a larger phantasmagoria. and actually, the spotlight sort of goes around him, he's pretty much cast in darkness despite being in the light and i love how that reflects him being part of a smaller role or "shadow". he stands in the spotlight and puts on a great show no matter if he's truly the star.

lastly: the pose. now look at this 4koma where he does a bird pose:

familiar? while in this 4koma he's meant to be imitating an eagle, i can't help but notice some striking similarities in how he's posed.

also the gacha has a feather! specifically a black one. unfortunately since there are no actual birds on the cards, nor are there feathers, I can't tell you exactly what bird he is meant to be..,

although if you wanted to really grasp at straws then his last event was called Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge the play from that event was called Happy Phoenix and both the play and the lead role in it are incredibly significant to Tsukasa personally and he ended up cast as the lead role in that play and even though the lead role isn't the phoenix that bird is still significant to him in some way.

also going all the way back to the original point of his class decreasing with every set i think while yes in this set he has been reduced to nothing more than a prop, or even less so a mere shadow, but at the same time if you chose to go with that incredibly reachy phoenix idea, it's a comeback. the phoenix rises from the ashes, tsukasa can be reduced to nothing and still be the star owning the spotlight, the most powerful one in the room. hell, he's still on a stage despite everything. i think it's super neat actually that despite this being him at the lowest rank, he's actually in the place where he belongs.

i believe i've only briefly mentioned it in passing on this account before, but theatre is his life. above all else Tsukasa is an actor and the stage is where he thrives. i think it's so interesting how with each set he loses authority, but he also gets closer to being on the stage. the king is at (well, near) his castle where he leads (link to WMS), Torpe is at his piano where he performs (link to Dazzling Light), the Jester is at the circus where he performs, and then you get the one that's hardest to define as any set character. it's not a king or a pianist or jester, it's just some performer on a stage. this time there's no character, and it's not just "some performer" because this is tsukasa. it's still another role, but this time the role is, as the event synopsis states, more "real". this is tsukasa where he belongs, he never needed any sort of power or to play the role of another performer in order to shine because he himself is a performer at his core. Torpe is a performer, but Torpe is not Tsukasa. Tsukasa is Tsukasa, and Tsukasa is a performer. Something like that.

sekai.best please update

#oh to be a media student #asks #mod talks #“a bit”

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cambria-writes · 5 months ago

Text

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else.

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that.

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you. You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips.

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it.

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch.

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze.

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?”

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression.

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights.

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you.

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks.

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball.

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed.

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance.

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification.

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you.

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?”

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you.

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.”

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.”

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!”

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away.

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”.

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually.

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door.

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right?

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running.

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice.

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?”

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist.

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles.

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back.

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?”

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs.

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough.

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit.

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change.

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact.

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough.

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way.

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes.

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady.

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn.

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief.

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue.

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

Tag List

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink @wandabillywrites @leftovers-and-headrubs @pauphs @gamingfeline @racoonkitty @dogmatic255

#honey and the hatchet #the mentalist fanfiction #patrick jane x reader #patrick jane x original female character #patrick jane x ofc #patrick jane smut #this has been so long coming #genuinely thank you to everyone who's offered any kind of support #special shoutout to everyone who's liked all the updates #even when you have no fucking idea what the mentalist is lmao #you're some real fuckin MVPs thank you

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 2 years ago

Text

It was quite a shock when Damian had asked his brothers for assistance in a project for his advance music theory class.

It was a unspoken knowledge that music was a part of the Wayne family.

If they didn’t have an affinity for an instrument then it was singing and if not singing dancing.

Almost everyone who came into the family had some sort or knack and those who hadn’t picked it up along the way.

Damian was the most uninterested members when he had joined the family so it was quite a shock when he demanded help this morning.

Testing out the drums Jason shared a look with the others before asking,

“So why did you need all of us to begin with? You’re not recording or anything right?”

Damian let out a tch as for himself ready,

“Not right now, but I felt it imperative to go over my composition at least once altogether, in case I felt the need to add.”

The kid continued to tune the ukulele in his hands.

It was a strange choice for the ex assassin but when questioned he merely claimed it was due to it’s size being easier to travel with.

“Well I think it’s an interesting choice in lead instrument baby bird!”

Dick claimed as he played with his maraca while glancing over his sheet music.

“I think it will go nicely with the your lyrics! But I do have to ask-“

“I made the lyrics very clear.”

“And you did! But-“

Damian gave a glare as Dick took a seat.

“I will cut out the maracas, do not test me Richard.”

Tim gave a snort from his place slumped over the piano,

“Just be glad you got to see the vocal sheet music, he just annotated the places he wanted me to harmonize with you.”

“Yeah we’ll you kind of have to be more focused my your hands than anything else.”

Silence fell as they finished their warm ups and Damian began to strum his cords.

The eldest watched as the others raised their eyebrows at the tempo and of the tune but came just the the same.

“I lost my cool, I’m not sure how to act, not even sure how I can keep my pride intact.”

Jason felt his eyebrows raise at the lyrics as Dick and Tim started their backup harmonies.

“No, I'm not falling for you, so please have mercy on me

'Cause it's not romantic, I swear I'm not gasping for air

I want you to be here, but please don't come near

'Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding

I'm not ready for hand holding

It's not love, I swear It might be closer to despair.”

The first interlude began and Jason shot an incredulous look at Dick. Was this the demon brat? Were they sure he hadn’t been replaced in the night with some sappy clone?

Dick for his part tried to convey to younger brother to just keep playing.

“No, I don't want want you to teach me how to dance Get your heart away from me, you'll put me into a trance

And even though I think about you day and night

I'm not sure if this whole love thing sounds quite right”

Tim craned his neck as the chorus started again, to look at Damian and nearly fell off his stool when he realized that there was blush on the younger’s face.

‘Who in god’s name has somehow wiggled their way past the kid’s defenses?!’

Damian, for his part was refusing to look in the other’s direction as he powered through to the last verse.

“Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding

I'm not ready for hand holding

It's not love, I swear

It might be closer to despair”

Crooning the last notes to the song, Damian seemed to take a moment to gather himself before quickly striking last note and letting the room fill with silence.

No one seemed to know how to react after such a performance for a second.

Then Dick tried to clear the frog in his throat and the moment was over.

“Baby bird-“

“Cease your prodding, this was for a school project and nothing more.”

Damian gritted out as he stood from his seat,

“Now if you excuse me I am going to return to my room, I feel that if I were to add a bass to the background it would help with the mixing of sounds.”

And left as quickly as he could without raising suspicions.

“Holy fuck,”

Jason breathed out,

“When did the brat gain his first crush?”

“It has to be new.”

Tim rubbed his temple with his thumb,

“He’s still clearly in denial so he hasn’t really gotten used to the idea.”

“You say that like he doesn’t share his dna with the most emotionally constipated man in the known universe.”

“Guys.”

Dick raised his hands in exasperation,

“We can argue on whether or not he’s conscious about his crush later. Right now I want to do some background checks on this person.”

Before exiting the music room,

Tim gave him a disbelieving look,

“Background checks? Dick we don’t even have a name here.”

“Yeah dickhead, even if we’re assuming that he wrote this song about someone in his school we’re still looking a number in the hundreds.”

“That would be true,”

Dick’s eyes took a mischievous look as the other’s followed him into the office.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that Damian had complained about this assignment beforehand, so I know for a fact that it’s about someone in his Advanced music theory class.”

Jason and Tim shared a similar expression as they joined him in the cave.

“That does narrow it down a bit, what’s an average class size replacement?”

“Oh about 20 students, but with the fact that this is an non essential elective course, I would bet it to be smaller.”

With a shared nod and grin they started up the bat computer.

Not like they had any other big plans today anyways.

————

The song if you want

#listen this song has been hitting me over the head white the dead serious vibes so I finally gave in #dp x dc #writing prompt #dc x dp #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #dead serious #denial is a hell of a drug #and Damian may have a bit of an addiction to it #papa bats was very much watching the entire thing through his cameras #it is Danny he’s singing about #danny phantom #shipping #writting prompt #one shot

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painted-bees · 1 year ago

Text

Haha! Okay..! [[deep inhale]]

So, back before Magritte moved in with Raf, when they were first just meeting up for weekly jam sessions at the recording studio, Raf had kinda…only agreed to jam with her on the conditions that nothing would be recorded, no photos or social media posts about it, none of that. Magritte didn't care, she just wanted to play music with someone who was fun to play music with and wouldn't get bored of her after only an hour of it. She never pushed it. It never even came up in conversation. Total non-issue.

Eventually, once Magritte moved in and Raf started getting more confident/comfortable about her, he found that he very enjoyed collaborating with her on compositions, and had found himself wishing he could hear recordings of it. And so, it was him who suggested that they record some of the stuff they played, and–allowed her to post it to YouTube and such, so long as he was left uncredited or given a pseudonym.

Magritte wasn't comfortable leaving him uncredited, and so consistently credited him as "Albatross" whenever his contributions were present in the work and recordings she posted. Raf knew about this, she never uploaded anything without permission. Her online presence/audience was very small and humble, it was fine.

They began playing at very small venues together, their "band" being named something totally different, and increasingly silly with each new gig. For Raf, this was his deliberate, careful, slow crawl out of a decade of extreme burnout. He promised himself that if it became at all stressful or stopped being fun, then he'd stop--plain and simple.

His hard, fast rule with Magritte was "no contracts". If something required his signature, it wasn't gonna happen. He wasn't interested in getting dragged back into the "business" of music and showmanship, but he was very cautiously keen on rediscovering his joy for playing violin, and of playing to an audience. Magritte was, genuinely, the perfect accompaniment to help him ease back into it on his own terms. Though she wanted to make a living with her music, the money wasn't her goal--it was simply a thing that would allow her to keep playing music. If she didn't need the money to live, she'd have been content just playing music for fun every day for whoever would wanna listen to it. There were no dreams of "making it big" just dreams of "doing this forever, without anything else getting in the way of it".

It's hard to say if it was due to one of Magritte's "Albatross" uploads, or if it was an audience recording from one of their small venue shows, or something else that put them on the radar, but one afternoon, Magritte received a very exciting email from the A&R division of a major record label--and experienced that ADHD bone-rattling excitement that only an impossible dream-come-true email inquiry could provide lmao.

She and Raf stop by a local coffee shop after work most days, and this was when Magritte decided to hand Raf her phone, asking if the email looked legit. He seemed to be in a pretty good mood, and she intended for the question to serve as a barometer as to whether she should suggest giving the label a chance or not. She figured, if he seemed uncomfy just assessing whether the inquiry was real and not a scam, then she wouldn't push it further than that.

But honestly, with a label this big, if it was legit, he'd at least be a little curious to know more about the offer, right?

No.

It's doubtful that Raf had even read past the first line of the email before his "pretty good mood" became stiff and cold as stone. Magritte felt the chances of a receptive outcome drop below zero as she watched the muscles of his jaw tense up.

His response was to ask, "Why are you bringing this to me? It doesn't matter if it's a scam or not, we had an agreement."

Taken aback by his hard, almost hostile tone, Magritte stammered that she thought he'd at least find the inquiry somewhat amusing, but "you're not even going to consider it, just for a second?" Raf repeated to her again that he had already told her contract and such were out of the question. She had been fine with it, she had assured him, even, that it was a non-issue. “Yeah, but–this one’s kind of a big deal.” To which Raf balked, “You thought I’d just change my mind if a ‘big enough’ company reached out to us?” And Magritte, defensively, blurted, “No, because it didn’t even cross my mind as a possibility!”

Raf pushed the phone over the table to her, and leaned back in his seat, stunned for a moment by the onslaught of his own racing thoughts and really, all he was able to say was "Why are you doing this to me? Why you?"

Recognizing that 1) she really stepped in it, and 2) she was too excited about this stupid email to abandon the pursuit of its possible offer as suddenly as the situation was demanding her to, Magritte stood to her feet suddenly, muttering apologies, saying something in frazzled tones about needing to get her thoughts straight before she said something stupid. She took her abrupt leave, but not before telling Raf that she'll meet him at home because she needs to settle her brain over a walk before she can talk reasonably with him about it. A quick “I love you” and she was out.

Genuinely, it was the best thing she could think to do in order to avoid stubbornly, injuriously digging into the subject deeper while her ears and face flushed hot with both shame and disappointment. It wasn't going to be a productive conversation while her vision danced with black splotches under the intensity of her emotions.

Unfortunately, removing herself from the situation as suddenly as she had created it meant that she had left Raf to sit and plummet into dread, with no voice to counter the incomprehensibly catastrophic flurry of his thoughts.

As he had grown more and more comfortable with her, there had been a louder and louder alarm in his consciousness that told him the other shoe was gonna drop, that he had to back off if he wanted to avoid the devastating affirmation that Magritte, too, had only ever intended to use him. God, she played him so brilliantly, too. How had she managed to convince him to let her record? To post their sessions? To play in venues. How had she managed to get him to suggest it, like it had been his idea. It felt crazy to him that he somehow didn't realise it was all leading to exactly this situation. He had considered it, the notion was always there tickling the back of his mind like a persistent rash…but he really, really thought he was just being paranoid. He wanted so badly to believe he was…just being paranoid. Like a fucking idiot.

He got himself home, it was past dinner time, he didn't wait for Magritte to get back. Slammed back some sleeping meds and slam dunked himself into bed in order to avoid losing his goddamned mind.

Magritte's evening was…considerably more productive. The walk back home began with her mulling over all the ways Raf was being unreasonable and unfair for not at least entertaining the email. If the offer turned out to be no good, then it was no good! They should at least be able to discuss and consider it in a calm and mature manner, right? While it was true that he already had (and ended) an extremely successful musical career, she herself had yet to even get her foot in the door. She wasn’t anywhere near close to being able to make ends meet with her music, and her parents would never take her hard work and passion for it seriously until she was able to prove to them that it was actually worth something; that it was a sustainable, reliable path to pursue. It shouldn’t have mattered to her what they thought, but for some reason, she couldn’t help but make their approval/recognition/validation a core motivating factor in proving herself as a ‘competent’ musician. That competency, unfortunately, was measured by income and the willingness of a well known company to invest in her work. Being able to tell her parents that she was signed under something like Universal or such would have definitely turned their opinion around, and maybe…MAYBE they’d even see the value in helping her afford to study music at a university..! And shit, she’d finally be able to contribute to paying rent and utilities without breaking a sweat about it…she might even have gained an expendable income, she could finally start repaying Raf for all those little gifts and surprises he’d treat her with. Imagine.

Even before she had attempted to approach Raf about the email, she already had the picture of their life making music together as they have been–but with a more tangible goal/purpose, and without any outside obligations taking them away from just waking up and jamming every day. Playing music that just…paid for itself. Stress free!

But Raf couldn’t even entertain it. He was so upset that she’d even bring it up at all. Did he even read the email? Or did he see just the subject line and shut down?

She elected to read the email again, an effort to soothe herself by finding any reason to believe it was just a scam; that all her excitement and fanciful thoughts of the future were just her getting childishly ahead of herself. She didn't find what she was looking for. The name of the scouting agent was legit, there was no mention of money nor a fee, the email was clear, straightforward, and without any hype-y language. But what Magritte did notice–that she had somehow missed the previous fifty times she had read the email–was that the email didn’t refer Raf by his ‘Albatross’ pseudonym. It had named him in full; Rafael Ephrem. Somehow, -somehow-, the person who sent the email had been able to identify him. And–if they knew who he was… Magritte considered…The inquiry was sent to her email but the offer, specifically, was likely much more interested in him. It made sense. Magritte herself was untrained and unproven; a literal nobody. But, she was the only person Raf was making music with, and his name was very provenly bankable; a safe bet. Magritte had been so flattered and excited by the notion that she was being noticed and contacted by a label, it had been such an uplifting validation–but… The simple fact was that they likely would not have given Magritte the time of day had they not, somehow, recognized Rafael’s involvement in her work.

The offer was about him, not her. She was simply easier to get in touch with.

When she considered the situation from that angle, other aspects became apparent. Raf had, in no uncertain terms, been very clear from the beginning that he would not be signing anything with her. She knew that he was recovering from burnout, that he was wholly disinterested in pursuing music in any kind of professional capacity. Even if he had gone along with indulging Magritte’s excitement for her sake, would he have been sacrificing the joy of making music with her, and surrendering himself to the labor of it, instead? Would it have slowly soured their relationship? If he felt obliged and pressured to create and play, would that have leached the joy out of it?

By ignoring the inquiry, Magritte wasn’t actually losing anything, herself. There was much to gain, potentially, by pursuing it–but she lost nothing in ignoring it. Things were already really good. She liked the relationship she had with Raf, as it was. He had given her a place to stay, and encouraged her near single-minded focus on music, allowed her to compose and play music as much as she wanted without pressuring her to divide her focus on other, more ‘important’ things. He didn’t take offence or feel ignored when she’d spend an entire weekend in her room just doin’ music stuff. He’d never even startle her out of the productive flow by shouting her name from the kitchen, in annoyance, to tell her for the upteenth time that she needed to clean the dishes right now. He let her pursue her joy and, often, he’d delight in joining in on it as well. This was the happiest, most comfortable she had ever felt in her life. In her mind, signing onto a label would have just let her continue doing that, but more securely.

For Raf, though…signing onto a label, being forced to take the work ‘seriously’, it likely felt like a tremendous loss to him. And–she had put him in an unfair position. If he signed on, he’d be surrendering himself to the work he did not wish to do, and would be inching ever closer to the life he had worked so hard to escape and recover from. But–by defending his own desires, comforts, and boundaries, and shutting down this whole label thing without giving it any space to sink roots as a tree of possibility, he risked planting the seeds of resentment into their relationship by denying her a potentially life-changing opportunity that he, no doubt, knew was of tremendous significance to her. From his perspective, it must have looked like a lose-lose situation. A situation that he had foreseen and took fair measures to avoid long, long in advance. He had already told her from the very beginning that this was something he would not do. But she had to test it anyway. Because she got too excited. Because of course she did.

Nah, she decided. She’d just get back home, tell Raf she was suffering excite-brained tunnel vision, wasn’t thinking realistically, and that she had therefore agreed with him that they’re much better off to just keep doing what they’ve already been doing–because that’s been working out just fine and she’d rather not introduce anything that could ruin it for them. She shouldn’t have brought it up. Even just the fact that she felt she needed to ease him into the conversation as softly as possible–by asking about the legitimacy of the email instead of diving into the meat of the matter–should have been enough to tell her that she was pushing it. She had known she was–but she bulldozed ahead with her excitement, anyways. And it had upset him. Hopefully not too much, since she felt she had taken some care with her approach, but yanno. He was clearly upset–and after going through such clear, careful measures to avoid this kinda thing, he kinda had a right to be. She needed to apologise.

By the time she got home, Raf had already put himself to bed–which worried Magritte somewhat. She never liked going to sleep without closure. But, she resolved to tell him her conclusions in the morning and hoped for an otherwise normal day.

And so, when the morning rolled around and she found Raf making coffee in the kitchen, she began with a “good morning”, an apology for not getting back home before he fell asleep, and then she simply unloaded the entire content of her thoughts and conclusions from the previous evening. She felt proud of herself for being able to reassess things with as much fairness and objectivity as she could manage, and she was confident in her choice to completely ignore the whole ‘email inquiry’ thing. More than that, she was beyond apologetic for even asking him to consider it, admitting to him that she realised it kinda put him between a rock and a hard place. She then suggested it’d be best just to assume the email was a scam anyways, “is that ok?”

Raf, who listened to her whole spiel without a single interruption, watched her for a silent moment with half-lidded disinterest (or was he just tired?) before replying with a flat, “mmhm.”

“Okay.” Magritte had been hoping for some assurance that her reasoning, her apology, and her resolution were…yanno…adequate or somthing. But, as Raf sipped his coffee with an unconversational, chilly demeanour, Magritte wasn’t feeling assured by any measure. And so, to find an emotional baseline, Magritte offered a mousey, but genuine little “I love you.” To which Raf replied with a slight twitch of a smirk and an avoiding gaze, “Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”

Immediately, Magritte felt as though she had been tossed whole-bodily off a cliff, and didn’t pursue the conversation further. Shut right up, and spent the rest of the morning very quiet and withdrawn. Too uncomfortable and ashamed to take up space in Raf’s apartment for very long, she headed out to find a quiet, isolated park bench or something to cry on lmao, ‘cuz whuff.

Raf, who had fully expected that his snipey reply would coerce Magritte to trade out the ‘timid sad mouse’ act for something a lot more angry and defensive, was largely unsure of what to do with a Magritte–that instead–seemed to have completely shut down. Before she left, while maintaining his defensive coldness, Raf bothered to measure her vitriol by way of asking Magritte if she needed a ride anywhere. As delicately and sweetly as she could–Magritte declined, telling him it was ok, not to worry about it. And that was really the only additional dialogue they had together that morning. She should have been mad at him. She went through all the trouble of explaining things, apologising, and capitulating to him–and he deliberately stonewalled her in an attempt to get her to unmask. He had called out her bluff; she wanted something from him, he refused to give it to her, she attempted to take the higher ground, putting him in the position where the kindly, good response would have been to capitulate in kind–at least by confirming that the email wasn’t a scam after all, and reopening that dialogue for a more ‘level-headed’ conversation. But he identified the manoeuvre and deliberately shut it down. And then–out of pure spite–he refused to provide her the simple reassurance that a half hearted ‘I love you, too’ might have provided. Because he had spent the entire night and the whole morning fretting, and questioning, and dreading everything–and being the source of it, she deserved to feel it, too. But then her response had been to … ???? ????????? She left, but she didn’t take anything with her, she didn’t pack her belongings or make a show of wanting to move out, none of that kind of thing. She didn’t tell him he was being unreasonable or unfair, or that he needed to think things over. She just sorta–disintegrated in front of him. Just completely wilted. Wtf did that even mean??? Was she trying to guilt him? What else was she going to do? Likely, she intended on just avoiding him until he was ready to apologise or something. Like–if he phoned her right now, she wouldn’t answer. Right? To test his “punishment by avoidance” theory, he called her number–only to hear her answer on the second ring. And–after he hesitated for a moment too long, she asked if he was okay–if there was anything she could get him while she was out. Not having planned to actually say anything, Raf grasped for something believable to ask, landing on “Do you have your keys with you? I’m going to be at my uncle’s so the door will be locked.” To which Magritte assured him that yes she’s got keys, no worries. Say hi to uncle Bill for her.

This kinda sent Raf’s thoughts scattering. She was upset, she was -clearly- upset, he gave her reason to be upset and then he gave her more reasons to be upset. She had spent the whole morning looking downright miserable. She WAS upset, but she wasn’t…putting him through it. She wasn’t punishing him or reasoning with him or trying to position him. She wasn’t worried about him talking to his uncle, which means she hadn’t gone to him herself to get him on her side of this whole thing. What the fuck did she have on him? If she–worse case scenario–decided to get back at him by getting in contact with his mother, then she’d have to–

“Oh. I’m being crazy.” It was almost like a record skip. Any time ‘his mother’ popped up as part of a ‘logical course of action’ in what ever the fuck he was freaking out about, it served as a blaring alarm signaling that he had left grounded reality behind. No matter how much fucking sense it made to him, or no matter how careful his thoughts were in framing it as ‘unlikely’ or ‘worst case scenario’, any, ANY consideration of ‘his mother’ as a thing that could happen to him was a signpost that he had left the realm of reasonability. He made it a deliberate rule that the moment she popped up in his brain, he needed to assume he was thinking irrationally–until he could get a second opinion (and maybe a third, if he didn’t like the second). At least in this way, ‘his mother’ served as a helpful guiding figure in his life. Christ. Alright, alright. At what point did he fall off the rails, though? Magritte DID come to him about a…fucking A&R inquiry of all things. That was real, that happened. She got upset that he wouldn’t entertain it. That was also real, that also happened. How was he supposed to take that? She knew, she knew–it was something he would not do. He had told her, he had told her more than once–he was so clear about it. The rest made no sense to him, if his assumptions from that point forward were in fact…ungrounded.

And so, while he hadn’t actually planned to visit his uncle that day, Raf showed up at his door anyway. Sat down with him, and walked him through the events; the actual, physically observable things that happened, and the things that were said out loud. And Uncle Bill kinda made the “yikes” face, because…yikes.

So, uncle Bill attempted to recount from his perspective; Magritte pushed a boundary, no question. But–the assumption regarding why she did that needed to be challenged. Was it something she had been actively planning for and waiting on? Did she manipulate Raf into feeling safe enough to shed his boundaries? Did she use Raf as bait to reel in offers and interests she wouldn’t have been able to get otherwise? Well…What do we know about Magritte? We know that she’s excitable, impulsive, she projects and assumes the best case scenarios and constantly counts her chickens before they hatch. She can’t keep a secret to save her life. She wears her emotions on her sleeve, which makes her a terrible liar... Bill recites that, according to Raf, Magritte cited excitement, impulsiveness, and the thought of being able to make more music with the added benefit of financial security as her reason for bringing the email to him in the first place. She liked the idea of being able to help pay his rent, she wanted money to buy him gifts the same way he had bought gifts for her. Bill suggested that, if they were to read her motivations in a manner consistent with what they know and have seen about Magritte as a person, the future she was projecting on this inquiry email didn’t exclude him as a beneficiary, he was very much included in her happy little fantasy as someone she wanted to share the experience with. Magritte’s excitement had given her this same kind of tunnel vision before, preventing her from seeing other perspectives or outcomes of a captivating situation. And–they’ve seen that go both ways for her. It’s worked out before, but more often, it really doesn’t, and the fallout usually hurts her more than it hurts anyone else.

So–what’s more possible? That Raf has now found himself in the splash zone of this kind of…hypomanic/giddy impulsive behaviour they’ve seen from Magritte a few times already? Or is Magritte finally showing a more selfishly machiavellian side of herself that she was so good at hiding, it was barely comprehensible? “Okay, but…” Raf asks if his uncle had any explanation for why Magritte, despite being obviously upset, was putting an effort to act as though he wasn’t the reason for it? To which Bill was like, “well, have you asked her?” before, maybe a bit foolishly, offering up his best guess of “She already told you she knew she was in the wrong. She apologised. You didn’t accept her apology. My guess? She’s just gonna do what you want her to do. Stop making music with you? End the relationship? Get her to move out? I don’t recommend testing it unless it’s what you actually want.” Bill offered his honest opinion to Raf, that Magritte’s a good one. A very good one. And Raf needs to talk to her–about all of this. They’re both good kids, they’ll figure it out.

When Raf returned home, the door was unlocked and Magritte’s shoes were on the boot rack. He didn’t see her in the kitchen nor the living room, and so knocked on her bedroom door, asking her to sit with him on the couch when she had a moment to do so.

He had barely sat down before he heard the door to Magritte’s room creak open. Soon after, she sat curled into herself on the opposite end of the couch from him, eyes and nose peeking out from behind her knees. Small.

There was a moment of silence between them before Raf asked, “Honestly, now; are you pissed off at me?”

Magritte answered, “No, but you are, at me.”

He elected to make no platitudes about it, “I was. I’m trying not to be. What are you expecting me to say?” To which Magritte replied, muffled into her knees, “I don’t know…don’t make me answer that. I don’t know.”

And so Raf asks instead, “What are you hoping for?”

“I don’t know, I love you. You don’t even gotta love me back but I wanna play music with you and I want us to keep having fun together and I want to delete the whole past twenty-four hours from my brain. That’s all.” And, while Raf paused to weigh that in his mind, Magritte hesitantly added, “I think there’s something wrong with me.” “With you?” Raf was taken a bit aback by this.

Magritte continued, “How does anyone get so excited and eager about something that it ruins everything? It didn’t even exist, it wasn’t real, there was no deal. They could have come back with an offer that was like ‘we want all ur music for zero monies’, ‘we want full, exclusive rights to your name, likeness, and social security number’, ‘we will provide you a $2 advance in exchange for your first born child’. Like–it could have been total garbage–I don’t know, it didn’t exist. But in my mind, it did exist, it was gonna be great, and–we were gonna be able to make so much music together, just like we are already, but without any of the stress. That wasn’t real, either. There’d have been so much more stress.” As she sunk further into herself, she concluded, “This is real. This sucks. I put us here.”

At this, Raf couldn’t help but let a genuine laugh escape through his nose as a little snort. “Actually…This isn’t so bad.” It wasn’t meant to be an insensitive snort, the irony had simply struck him. While Magritte had been carried away by dream situations, Raf had been consumed by nightmare scenarios. For him, the reality of sitting on the couch with Magritte, trying to come to grips with the fact that she hadn’t been trying to manipulate him like a tool, that she had been operating on the pure puppy-like head-empty jovial excitement that he was usually so fond and protective of–was a huge upgrade from the situation he had been imagining in his head. For Magritte, sitting on the couch with him, trying to come to grips with the fact that she may have negatively impacted a relationship and living situation that she had enjoyed dearly–was most certainly a gut-wrenching downgrade from the rosy “make music, get money, laugh and play” dream she had been imagining in her head. Raf had to be honest with her; he was still entirely firm on his stance of no contracts, no labels…and now–probably no live shows nor online media posts featuring him in any capacity. At least, not for a while. It would be too much of a raw nerve for him, and not something he wanted to stress over. They could still jam, and record–for themselves, privately. And sincerely, this was all it took for Magritte to uncurl her knees from under her chin, and perk up with hopeful gratitude. That she didn’t look as though she were being punished by Raf’s backsliding into old restrictions, and instead appeared genuinely surprised and happy that they could still just make music together–convinced Raf that Uncle Bill’s assessment had been, as usual, spot on. Magritte was a good one. A very good one.

He couldn’t stop himself from asking though, “If I said no more music, full stop–?” “Could I still play music?” “Well–yeah.”

“Would you let me make you listen to it??”

“I like your music, Magritte–”

Her big, happy grin said plenty, before it dissolved into big, blobby tears and wet sniffles.

She admitted that she was so scared he was gonna tell her the whole thing was over, but he didn’t and she’s so relieved, and she loves him so much and she’s so sorry.

Struck a bit numb by the notion that ‘ah, I’ve been a complete asshole’, Raf pulled her into a big ol’ hug, buried his face into her hair, and apologised in kind for his deliberate callousness in the morning–and more than that, for allowing his fear and suspicion convince him in the first place that she was something she wasn’t. It wasn’t right of him, it wasn’t fair to her, and this whole situation could have been resolved over breakfast if he had just…believed what she was saying at face value. Or at least he could have tried not to be a dick about it until he talked it over with his uncle. He couldn’t promise that he’d never fuck up like this again, just like she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t get carried away either–but he promised to always return her statements of affection, especially in moments when he’s mired in panic and suspicion… to serve as a reminder to himself as much as to reassure her.

Because, in truth–though he’d never saddle her with the knowledge of this–she’s the closest he’s ever felt (outside of guilt-motivated blood relatives) to believing that someone could afford him genuinely unconditional love. A great deal of his fear is rooted in the understanding that–if she was proven to be playing him, there was absolutely no hope–zero chance that he’d ever be able to convince himself that he could just be–loved like a normal human being.And that’s not a state of mind he thinks he could confidently survive. For Magritte’s part, any music or career-related thing that requires his involvement–she just doesn’t entertain unless he’s the one bringing it to her. Raf has never stopped her from pursuing music in a professional capacity where it didn’t involve him–in fact, he has always been extremely eager and supportive from the side-lines. She is literally, without any question, his favourite musical artist. Most of her equipment these days is bought and paid for by him, any opportunity he can find for her, he brings to her–and he is only able to comfortably, confidently do so because she never asks or expects it of him.

Her favorite music is the music she makes with him, and eventually…eventually…they do end up performing shows together again (along with Cortes). But their music is theirs first and foremost. For themselves, before anything else. And it is a gift more precious to her than anything.

#Cortes #long post #LOONG post lmao sry #Hi-Note #rafael #magritte

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artsyhamster · 2 years ago

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Part 3!

And oh boy, this one definitely needs explanation, so see you down in the ramblings.

I gotta be real, this is my least favorite set so far. I was very unsure about the characters I chose for these and it also shows in the compositions. I might redo them at some point but I want to finish the major arcana as a whole first, before I lose myself in revisions. Maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself anyway, because this is just a fun project but, ah, perfectionism.

Anyway, citations from here, as always.

THE LOVERS - Actually means that the protag feels sexual urge or need for relationship. Harry basically flirts with everyone and is still hung up on his broken relationship, that he doesn’t even remember, so the meaning here is pretty warped. So I just chose some lover figures. But who to choose? Klaasje and Lely? Well their relationship gets known pretty late, and didn’t end very nicely. Also I do not know how Lely looks like as not-a-corpse so-- Klaasje and Ruby? Seemed to me more like a fling, and didn’t interest Harry much except for some lecherous line he dropped. So I chose Sylvie and Garte, because Harry actively gets involved in their business. He can help them get together or ultimately break their relationship before it could ever bloom (Shoutout to the cock carousel) so I chose them because Harry is the most involved here.

THE CHARIOT - I’m just gonna quote for a bit “The Chariot represents the vigorous ego that is the Fool's crowning achievement so far. (...) we see a proud, commanding figure riding victoriously through his world. He is in visible control of himself and all he surveys.” Not many people with horses around there in Martinaise, only people driving cars. None of the lorry drivers fir the description for me though. The chariot is also described as commandeering and rigid, and René fit the description for me the most. He is definitely a proud person, commandeering and strict, and also surveying the world around him from his booth up at the harbour. Otherwise, yeah I got nothing. This one was just hard lol

STRENGTH - “[The fool] is pressed to develop his courage and resolve and find the heart to keep going despite setbacks.” was a line that made me very desperately want to choose Kim here, but I had other plans for him already. Strength is part of the Virtues trio, and spoiler spoiler, Kim will get his place as one of the three Virtues, but this one goes to Cuno, because I feel he is also very influential on Harry. Another quote for the card is “The Fool also discovers the quiet attributes of patience and tolerance.“ which I think fits Cuno quiet well. Because boy do you need a lot of patience and tolerance with him to make him trust and help you. But ultimately he is also there in the end if you need him (and Kim is unfortunately not present) All in all, what could make you want to get your shit together more than escaping the mocking words of a potty-mouthed kid. Horrifying lol

I tried really hard okay. I’m sure there are other interpretations but that’s the best I could come up with.Meanwhile I also bought an art book of a really pretty tarot set I saw at the last convention I was at, and there were so many lovely compositions that almost made me question what I am doing here. But again, I’m doing these for fun [*self prep talk*]. Still, take a look at this magnificient tarot deck (Instagram Link) I’m so sad they were sold out, but at least I got the art book.

Uhhh anyway enjoy. Next set will be better I promise. I like the upcoming one a lot : )

#Disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #tarot #uhhhh i dont feel like tagging them all

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senorabond · 10 months ago

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note: I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter.

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush.

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?"

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?"

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school.

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue.

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?"

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point.

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?"

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing.

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times.

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.”

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped.

"Glad to hear it."

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing.

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months.

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer.

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation."

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance.

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way.

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out.

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace.

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms.

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.”

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile.

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in.

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket.

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi.

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?”

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag.

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake.

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already.

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up.

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer.

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.”

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.”

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece.

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer.

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes.

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly.

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart.

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting.

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly.

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi.

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar.

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set.

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance.

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks.

“Tell me to stop.”

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly.

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes.

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place.

“I mean - don’t stop.”

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his.

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is.

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside.

“Get home safe, cariño.”

“You too, Javi.”

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place.

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh.

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women.

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face.

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his.

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity.

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle.

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing.

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art.

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.”

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions.

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening.

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain.

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?”

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow.

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio.

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face.

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet.

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint.

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place.

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks.

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body?

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses.

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital.

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over.

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art.

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire.

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie.

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone.

“Diaz, you got this?”

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.”

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear.

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously.

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer.

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.”

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door.

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes.

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip.

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place.

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby.

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested.

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit.

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all.

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice.

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice.

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him.

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin.

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure.

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass.

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends.

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.”

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly.

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head.

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead.

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder.

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.”

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile.

“Thank you,” you simper.

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning.

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men.

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise.

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches.

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest.

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants.

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass.

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is.

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately.

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.”

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.��

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.”

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit.

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne.

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.”

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office.

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office.

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind.

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office.

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right.

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk.

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you.

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants.

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips.

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…”

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted.

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place.

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open.

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.”

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue.

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.”

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him.

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window.

“Tran,” he mouths.

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off.

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.”

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.”

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike.

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.”

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet.

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.”

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.”

You sigh, and think for a moment.

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.”

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them.

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

#senorabond writes #rumor has it fic #javi x reader x pike #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike

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bisnes-socks · 4 months ago

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okay welcome to my second šbj ted talk 😌 today we are discussing (i am rambling on about) composition bc wow!!!!!!! the boys done outdid themselves.

i will be making references to my post about jure and the drums, so if you want to read that first it's here.

because like. isn't it funny how in that drum ted talk, which i wrote and posted hours before the animated video came, i talked about how the beginning of the song, the main riff part with its unexpected drum beat and patterns, feels like it's stomping, and then the video came out and the character stomps away (okay walks with attitude) that whole section? ANYWAY

compositionally speaking i think this one is one of the most interesting JO songs bc it has multiple type of beats, vibes and sections, that go together very well, and they've not only composed the changes between these variations in a clever way, they've also written a song that really allows each member to shine. it's a true band song to me and i loooove that.

note: though nothing i say here is like unique to this song, these aren't like rare or unusual tools they use here. i just think that this song highlights many of them really well.

the first details i want to talk about are certain melodies/chromatic ascensions or decensions. i am unfortunately not physically in a place where i could check exact notes, pitches, keys or anything, so i'm going by ear and i do not have perfect pitch sooo let me live.

but have you noticed that the riff section ends in the guitar doing pretty much the exact opposite as the vocal descension? not after every round of the riff, but before bojan starts singing again. the guitar ascends, chromatically, it goes up note at a time. i don't know if it's the exact same notes in reverse, but the effect is the same but in reverse. now, that ascension does not end on a note that would be as satisfying to end on, no. it creates a sort of tension: we have to go somewhere after this note, we can't stay suspended here.

but you know how the line "šta bih ja u ovoj crnoj noći bez tebe radio?" goes down at the end? the singing melody descends, chromatically, and it's very satisfying for their listener bc it follows the scale that we're used to in most western music. it ends on a note where it feels good to either keep going, to a new section, as the song does at first, or end it there, as the song also does in the end.

and i'd argue that in the beginning, that bit, the melodic descension down to where the whole band kicks in and starts stomping away, highlights the mood of that section and the purpose it serves in the song. like i keep saying, that part sort of stomps, and it's like.. the part of the song that chugs forward. it has this feeling of going up and down (a good vibe to jump or nod your head to, or walk or stomp to, no?) but it also has this feeling of going forward. the descending melody kind of sends it on its way and we're all going with it.

and that tension carries the verse, which does not have the same forward drive as the riff part. but we have been, melodically, brought to a place, with that guitar ascending, where we want to hear more. so we stay there, with the verse. and where does the verse ultimately take us? back to the stomping riff, to chug forward again. without the riff bits the verses would feel like they're left suspended in tension.

and does it feel like the line "šta bih ja u ovoj crnoj noći bez tebe radio?" is either longer or shorter than you expected, or it has an unexpected rhythm to it, especially for it's place in the song?

because these little moments that are rhytmically unexpected, like the "šta bih ja..." line, and the drum syncopation, where a hi-hat crash comes a beat later than you expect in the riff section, they create moments that pique your interest as a listener.

well, it does have an unexpected rhythm and an unexpected time signature. Two bars of 4 and one bar of 2, with the vocal line overlapping with the 1 of the next bar, if i counted right. (disclaimer: if i got it wrong i learned to count as a dancer, not as a musician lmao). and i think that all of that also plays super well into everything i talked about before, and also everything i talked about regarding the drums in the riff section.

and they're small enough decorations that we're not venturing off into like prog or jazz territory, the song remains in a poprock world compositionally speaking, and the tempo doesn't change until the faster section in the end, which makes it all easy and pleasant to listen, but they change things up just enough to keep the listener super hooked. and then of course the tempo change at the end, at least, will challenge anyone just absentmindedly tapping their foot along like it's backround music, to really pay attention. and i just think it's very clever.

and then the "a ja samo čekam.." part is also an interesting part, bc as i said in my first ted talk, it switches between a more aggressive straight forward beat and a more groovy beat, and that's super clever, bc like. if it was just the aggression through the entire part, it would most likely get a bit exhausting and a bit too much for the composition. so by alternating between the aggression and the downright dance-vibe of the groovy beat, the composition creates progression. so that even the most aggressive bit of the song isn't just... screaming into a pillow, it's going somewhere. shoutout (shautaut) to the bassline in these bits as well!! the bass actually provides a lot of melodic components in that section, bc the vocal line is super one note. it's smart to elevate the bass like that.

and THEN!! the faster bit at the end!! suddenly we're going all arctic monkeys aren't we, and i love it, give me all the straightforward 2010's brit rock vibes and i will eat it up. and this part is like.. releasing everything. all of the tension that has built up, we've kind of reached where we've been stomping off to, and it's time to let loose. and so they do. and then collect it all together with a final "šta bih ja u ovoj crnoj noći bez tebe radio?" and this time we end on that satisfying final note and we're here, we're a little out of breath, but we've arrived and we've got all the jitters out and we're done. excellent way to end the song.

and this is getting extremely long now so i think we have also reached the end of the ted talk thank you goodbye.

#joker out

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twilightmalachite · 6 months ago

Text

Animage June 2024 Issue: Interviews with the New Face Idols!

Translator: Mika Enstars

Proofreader: 310mc

Esu Sagiri

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. "Resilient!" perhaps? No matter the adversity, I keep moving straight towards my goal! A skill acquired from my adventures around the world, maybe? Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. Definitely has to be "The adventure begins", isn't that riiiiight! I gotta say it else the adventure won’t begin! ☆ Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. My favorite motto is “There’s no time like the present”! You feel way more alive when you actually do the thing rather than think, right!? Yeah, I’m sure of it! Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. Lately, I’ve been super into making my own mixes of drinks at the drink bar to make new exciting flavors!!! Well, it fails more often than not, though! Q5. What was your first impression of Nice? A5. Ah~, that he has somewhat of a dazzling aura, like an idol? Something like that? Maybe? But well, when I talked to him, I feel like he was much more like a normal person than I thought! Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. Ease of movement comes first! I keep up on social media to see the latest trends too, but I’d like to ask everyone to see what kind of clothes you think look good on me! Tell me what you think! Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. Ah~, well, I was kinda on a vacation for a very long time already? But, I wanna go on BIG adventures like sailing a grand voyage on a yacht, conquering the five continents, or exploring the depths of the ocean in a submarine! Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. 4piece begins at last! I don’t have a clue what will happen in the slightest, but I, the symbol of energy Sagiri Esu, will do my very best! I hope for your support I am a man able to show his true spirit when the time calls for it…! Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. This was my first time being interviewed as an idol! Did you get to learn about me a little bit? Hehe, I’m looking forward to seeing you all on stage soon! I’d be happy if you could support me loads!!!

Ibuki Taki

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. Hmmm, I’m often told that I‘m “easygoing” and do things at my own pace”~? ‘Cause I don’t worry about the details and just do what I want~ Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. Nyahaha, nothing really comes to mind~? I feel maybe I’m often saying “I’ll sue you~” a lot, but that might just come from my American upbringing~? Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. “Tomorrow will take care of itself”~.[1] Rather than worrying about the future, I let what happens happen and deal with things as they come~♪ Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. I’ve started studying composition lately~. I started out with making a simple song that I can sing while playing the guitar, and I’d like to be able to show it off it somewhere eventually~♪ Q5. What was your first impression of Nice? A5. When he first came up to me, I thought he was someone suspicious and nearly fought him off~. Nyahahaha, well, he’s a lively and bright person~? Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. Hmm… Well I choose based off of intuition~? I’m not all that interested in fashion, so honestly, I don’t really care ‘bout what I wear~, yeah~? Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. I’d like to spend my time taking it slow and easy, wandering around town, relaxing by the seaside, and such~♪ Soak up some sunlight, enjoy a nice steak... Nyahaha, now I feel like taking some time off~! Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. Well, 4piece is an audition shrouded in mystery~? I was invited all the way here from America, though, so now that I’m here, I’m gonna make sure to leave my claw marks in the soil~! Don’t underestimate my ability, m’kay~? Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. My name is Taki Ibuki! Born in Okinawa, raised in America~♪ I’ll prove you my worth, so keep your eyes on me, okay~! Nyahaha, if you support me, something good might happen, you know~?

Kanna Natsu

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. Hmm, perhaps it would be “bother-free”.[2] I can typically resolve things if I use my head, but it gets bothersome to spend effort on things of negligible importance. Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. “What a bother”. —Ahh, I’m not saying that this is a bothersome question to answer, just that it is likely something I often say. Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. “Be self-reliant”… Maybe. It is troublesome to rely on others. I wish to think for myself and act accordingly to my own beliefs. Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. There’s been a craze for developing new community tools recently. Set phrases like “So true” and “You know it”... They are fixed phrases anyone can use to communicate with each other. Q5. What was your first impression of Nice? A5. In one word, it would be “flashy”, perhaps. I was a little surprised when we first met, since he kept on talking without any consideration of me. Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. I select them based on functionality and fabric durability. And for the design as simple and unobtrusive as possible, so as to avoid attracting any attention. Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. I would like to immerse myself in research. I have an idea that I have been building for quite a long time, so I would like to give it a form and create a new invention. The nature of this invention is still a secret. Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. I am still an ignorant, inexperienced child. I hope that through 4piece, I will be able to thoroughly determine the path I am to take as an idol, and achieve results that exceed expectations. Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. Nice to meet you, my name is Natsu Kanna. Some of you might already know of me, but do please watch over me and see what kind of idol I will become in the future. I promise that you will not be disappointed; I am up to this challenge.

Fuyume Hanamura

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. Yume’s personality is difficult to express in one word. “Cute”, “devoted”, “kind”, “dedicated”… No matter how hard Yume thinks, Yume can’t pick just one…♪ Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. Yume doesn’t particularly have any catchphrases. If anyone notices Yume has a catchphrase, could you please let Yume know? Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. Yume’s favorite motto is “have both the looks and the substance”… Yume wishes to become someone who not only appears outstanding, but is outstanding on the inside too. There are still things that are difficult for Yume, but Yume is doing Yume’s best♪ Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. Yume’s been super into the anime that is dominating this season. The heroine’s outfit is so cute, so Yume’s currently going around lots of craft stores so Yume can make a cosplay that recreates it perfectly. Q5. What was your first impression of Nice? A5. That he was tall and cool, but not Yume’s type. But, he’s a good person, isn’t he? Yume can introduce you to him…♪ Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. Yume uses trial and error to find a match for Yume’s personal style and body type. All the clothes Yume wears were made by Yume, so they are custom made and the only to exist in the world! Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. Yume would like to spend Yume’s time with Esu♪ Go to a new cafe and eat cake, or go watch a movie... Yume hasn't had much of a chance to go together with him lately, so Yume’s a little lonely. Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. Ahh, 4piece, huh… Yume decided to participate so Yume could spend more time with Esu, but Yume still doesn’t really know what the program is about. But, Yume would like to show everyone Yume’s world of dreams…♪ Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. Was everyone able to learn more about Yume now? Yume would be happy if you could take Yume to a sparkling world, like a princess in a fairy tale. Everyone’s cooperation will be needed in order to achieve that, right? Thank you, for all your support...♪

Raika Hojo

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. My personality? Hmm, I’m often called “innocent”! I can’t really figure out what about me is so “innocent”, though…? Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. I’m told a lot that the stuff I say, or more like, the way I speak is a lil’ strange... But, but, I’ve always thought it was normal, huh~ huuuh~...? Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. What my favorite motto is? Hmmm, I’ll go with “stealin’ is bad”! ‘Cuz I was told off about it a lot at the facility, and was told to memorize it by writin’ it over on paper. Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. Eheehee, I’ve been real into “pizza-manjuu”, which I learned about recently! The fluffy dough and the gooey cheese that comes out from the bun makes me feel happy...♪ Q5. What was your first impression of Nice? A5. Hmmm, my first impression… I’m sorry, I’m a birdbrain so I don’t remember much of anythin’…! I’ll let you know if I remember anythin’, but, he’s a kind guy who will talk to me! Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. Anythin’ that’s easy to move in and feels good against the skin...♪ Maybe I should be more conscious of my clothes ‘cuz I’m gonna become an idol, but I dunno what I gotta do...! Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. I came from the countryside, but there’s someone I’ve always looked up to. And I’ve heard of somewhere where I could meet them. That’s where I’d like to go! Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. For someone like me who likes singin’, 4piece is a big event! The thought that this is my first step in becomin’ an idol is real exciting to me…♪ I’ll be makin’ every effort not to be outdone by the other competitors! Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. I never thought there'd be a day where I get to be interviewed like this! I’ll become an idol that will be recognized by everyone, and deliver many songs to you all! Please look forward to them…♪

Nice Arneb Thunder

Q1. In one word, how would you describe your personality? A1. “Sociable”, I’d say. I feel the dialogue you have with someone in conversation is important; it allows for the possibility to get an idea of what their personality is and what it is they keep to themselves. Q2. What’s something you often say? A2. Of course, it would have to be “Nice”! Hehe, quite a nice catchphrase, isn’t it? Q3. Tell me your favorite motto! A3. “Never lose infinite hope”.[3] No matter what hardship you may face, if you give up there, nothing will remain. I wish to cherish the “hope” that is within me. Q4. What's your latest craze? A4. Hm, lately, or rather for the past couple years, my craze has been rice curry! A balance of spices, with a little secret ingredient… Just a little ingenuity reveals the chef’s thinking. Sometimes I cook it for myself, too♪ Q5. What do you expect from these five idols? A5. These are promising new faces I’ve encountered in all sorts of places! I invited them to participate in 4piece because of something nice and sparkly I saw within them, and I greatly look forward to seeing what kind of brilliance they will show us! Q6. What do you keep in mind when choosing personal clothing? A6. Oh yes, I make sure to consider time, place, and occasion to dress appropriately for work and my private life. My suit for the program? Ahh, very nice, isn’t it? I aimed to make an impact with it. Q7. How would you like to spend long vacations (like summer vacation)? A7. Unfortunately, I haven’t taken a long vacation for quite a while… I suppose it would be nice to watch a live as an ordinary fan once in a while. Do you have any recommendations for live shows to go to? Q8. What are you enthusiastic about for 4piece? A8. This unprecedented audition is being held at long last! As the chief executive, I vow to draw out the brilliance of these idols and show you a world you have never seen before! Q9. Any message for our readers? A9. Hehe, nice to meet you. This is Nice Arneb Thunder! I’m sure many of you kids are anticipating what kind of program 4piece will be! Let us follow the lives of these idols and witness their brilliance, together! I look forward to spending time with you all!

Translation Notes:

This saying in Japanese is "明日()は明日()の風()が吹()く", "tomorrow, the winds of tomorrow will blow", which includes a kanji from his first name, 維吹 (Ibuki).

The word he uses here is 面倒くさがり, which more accurately means "someone who tends to find things bothersome", but I tried to make it into a single word to fit with the question prompt.

This is actually part of a quote by Martin Luther King Jr., "We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."

#4piece #magazine #interview #character interview #raika hojo #esu sagiri #nice arneb thunder #ibuki taki #fuyume hanamura #kanna natsu

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