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holykillercake · 2 years

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HEIM EXCELLENT - CHAPTER 06

previous chapter - masterlist - next chapter

word count: 4.7k

summary: If you live in this area and are not a gang member, you are an old drunk thrown on the streets, a phantom in society, or dead.

highlight: ¨That´s right. The Shadow District communicates with the Underworld through people like Kid.¨

warning: Eutass´badmood.exe

notes: I enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as well! <3 Cheers for another short season of holy killer cake!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

Still in the wee hours of the morning, as the sun rose above the horizon and the dawn frost clung to the greenery, the deafening bangs on the door almost made you drop your cup of coffee.

Angry screams made the plants lose their vitality, and the white wallpaper lose its color. You´d recognize Eustass Kid's voice even if you lost your hearing. After all, no one else made you want to stick a grenade in your mouth and pull the pin.

Your walk towards the door was languid, like that of an Arcadian character shuffling through their cottage surrounded by a bucolic landscape of flowering fields and golden sunsets.

I'll get to the door when I get to the door.

You recited in your mind the words Eustass Kid used the night before when Killer asked at what time they would be at your apartment for the job.

We'll be there when we do, dammit.

¨Why did it take so long to open the fucking door?!¨ the redhead yelled, letting himself inside. He wore a type of black band across his forehead, and the tip of his nose was red like a reindeer´s.

¨Good morning, Rudolph. Wanna come in?¨ you sighed at the end of the sentence.

¨He still hasn't slept.¨ the blonde said, half his face hidden behind a mask ¨Good morning, YN.¨

¨I don't know if good is the best way to put it. As good as it can be morning, Killer. Come in.¨

After washing your face, you went to your room where your setup was. You took the trouble to straighten the covers and open the windows to ventilate the place. At some point, Kid and Killer started following you like baby ducklings crossing the street.

Or rather, Kid was bored and gave himself the freedom to invade your room. Killer went after him to avoid some tragedy.

It wasn't as if something intrinsic in your soul had a tremendous dislike for the redhead. After all, he saved your life from an unpleasant fate. But he as a person was not very pleasant. And even though you sometimes recoiled from his threats and hysterical screams, it was impossible not to retort with some sarcasm or insult.

You left the room just one more time to get another cup of coffee before starting. Finally, there you were. Kid digging through your miscellaneous on the shelves, Killer a little farther away not to invade your space too much, and you, cross-legged on the office chair, starting to run all the software necessary for work.

¨Tell me again why we´re doing this in this fucking can?¨ you heard the Kid complain for the hundredth time ¨I´m feeling fucking claustrophobic.¨

¨Wow, you know a word with more than two syllables.¨ you muttered, eyes glued to the laptop screen.

¨What did you say?!¨

¨Nothing...¨

The night before, right after a nice dinner with Killer, he suddenly became the bearer of bad news. Apparently, Eustass Kid had a job for you. And, for some reason, he wanted to watch you do it.

He explained briefly what your assignment was, and it seemed like something really simple.

He also explained that Kid let the man escape after a couple of days. You asked if it wasn´t a risky move since no one knew what kind of information he possessed, and Killer replied by telling you to trust Kid´s decisions.

Trust Eustass Kid? I don´t know about that.

¨I thought I had passed your test already.¨ you completed, trying to ignore the raging man stomping around your apartment.

¨I make the rules here. Don´t complain too much, or I´ll make you work at the bar.¨

¨Alright, you two.¨ Killer stepped in, putting back the pieces of decoration Kid took out of place¨Y/N, Kid is here to clear some doubts. And Kid, Y/N feels more comfortable working from her house. Now, the sooner we cooperate, the sooner we´ll be on our way. Can we do that?¨

Other than the comfort of your apartment, you wanted to work with the tools you were used to. And there was nothing better for the job than your setup.

You had a few monitors showing every tab and a powerful CPU to run any program you wanted. Seventy percent of all the money in the house was concentrated in that corner of your room.

¨House... this is more of a shoebox.¨

You breathed slowly at his insults, trying to do as Killer said. Get the job done and get Kid out of your place.

¨Ok, I´m gonna get started.¨ you announced, noticing the slight trembling of your fingers as you were about to press the enter key.

Now, I am one of them.

Click.

¨What do we have?¨ Kid asked, sounding a bit calmer.

You raised your hand in response, signing for him to wait a little more for the page to finish loading. You used a simple password cracker tool to access the messages, and soon they were filling the page.

The tension began to rise up as you typed a few things. You would almost forget that more people were in the room if not for Kid´s breathing. As always, Killer remained deadly silent.

¨Hm... this is not good...¨ you said, sipping your coffee.

¨What?¨

¨Wait, let me...¨ you tried out a few more things before turning to the redhead ¨The messages are not coded. This is just a bunch of BS.¨

¨What do you mean? You said they were coded!¨

¨I know, but they look like coded messages at first sight.¨ you scratched the back of your head ¨ They probably sent with a program that allows the receiver to read the message once before turning into this mess. It´s the equivalent of banging your head on the keyboard. We could be here for hours and get nowhere.¨

¨Can´t you discover where it came from?¨ Killer asked.

¨I tried, but whoever sent this accessed the internet using an anonymizing software. It´s impossible to find out the IP address.¨

¨Can you explain that?¨ the blonde asked again, for both of their behalves. He knew Kid hadn´t understood as well, but he was too proud to ask.

Although technology started to become more accessible, the districts granted more access were the Justice and Commercial Districts. And though they were on good terms with their smartphones and laptops, some technicalities were difficult to keep up with.

¨Uhm... it´s like... IP addresses contain location information and make devices accessible for communication. Think about this, the internet needs a way to differentiate between different computers, routers, and websites, right? IP addresses provide a way of doing so.¨ you started ¨Whoever sent this used an anonymizing software that prevents someone watching your connection from knowing what websites you visit. And in this case, it also enables anonymous communication.¨

¨So we´ll never know the content of the messages?¨ the blonde asked.

¨Yep.¨

¨Oh, great fuck!¨ Kid shouted, pacing around your room.

¨But, I mean, you were expecting this already... right?¨ you asked, confused.

¨What?¨they asked in unison.

¨What?¨

¨Why would we expect this?¨ Kid asked.

¨Wh- because you told me to download a RAT... and you let the man go...¨

¨You told her I let that fucker go?!¨

¨I thought she could use the information.¨

¨Ok, whatever. Y/N, what rat are you talking about?¨

You blinked, realizing that his plans were not as thought through as Killer made you believe.

¨Uh... I... I don´t remember your exact words, but... you said something about RAT?¨

¨No, I didn´t.¨

¨Oh, no, wait, Kid. I think you did.¨ Killer added ¨Were you talking about the animal?¨

¨Fuck yeah, I was talking about the animal. What else could it be?¨

¨Uhm... well, I thought you were talking about remote access Trojan or... RAT...¨

The three of you shared a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

¨Of course, I wasn´t! What the fuck is that?¨

Oh, God, here we go.

¨It´s a malware program that includes a back-¨ you stopped after seeing the will to tear you in a million pieces painted in Eustass´face ¨it´s a program that allows the intruder to do just about anything on the targeted computer. I sent an e-mail and some other requests to see if any worked.¨

¨But he is definitely not using the same smartphone. I mean, he´s not that dumb.¨

¨That´s the beauty of it. As long as he is using the same e-mail address, the system can be compromised.¨

¨Wouldn´t they know it?¨

¨Hardly. The code is small and compact. It usually doesn´t show up in lists of running programs, so it´s difficult to detect. And even if he created another e-mail, I sent it to some of his contacts as well. Someone must have clicked on it.¨

¨Well, can you check it?¨

¨On it.¨ you answered, pulling a cigarette from your pencil holder and holding it between your teeth.

¨Oi, don´t light that shit up now.¨ Kid said.

¨Relax, I don´t light this one up. It just helps me focus.¨ you said, not taking your eyes from the screen.

It was difficult to know exactly what courses of action to take. After all, you knew nothing about their goals and motifs, the other gangs in the area, and what type of things you should be careful of.

The three of you walked on thin ice, unable to trust each other. Even if you made an agreement. Even if Kid saved your life and even if you are a valuable asset to the gang.

Within every key you pressed, the door to go and get your life back seemed more distant. You were the only one losing everything. Losing...

Wait, what am I losing?

Meow

¨Shit!¨ Kid shouted ¨Where did this thing come from?¨

¨Yeah, that´s right. I forgot you had a cat.¨ Killer added, lifting him up.

¨Yeah, don´t worry, Kid. It´s just a cat.¨ you said, condescendingly.

¨I´m not worrying. Is this thing even vaccinated?¨

¨Yes, he is, ¨ you replied, annoyed by the treatment he was giving your pet ¨what about you?¨

¨Ok, that´s enough.¨ Killer said before Eustass had the chance to spit fire on you ¨Y/N, uhm, the IP address thing. Can anyone track our phones if they have our IP addresses?¨

¨Hm, no exactly.¨

¨But you said that IP addresses contain location information.¨

¨Oh, yeah, but computers and cellphones work differently. For example, when you are connected to your house wi-fi, you get an IP address. But as soon as you leave the house and connect to your cellphone data, your IP address will change to the tower you´re getting the signal from. And it keeps changing according to your location. Even if they could access this technology, all they would get is the area surrounding the tower, very roughly.¨

¨And how easy is that?¨

¨To normal people? Not very easy. To people with enough knowledge to send out auto-destructive messages? Not impossible at all.¨

¨Keep that in mind, Killer. We might need it.¨ Kid said with a twisted grin on his face.

¨Yay.¨ you added, clearly faking excitement.

¨What should we be careful of?¨ the redhead asked, somewhat respectfully for the first time of the day.

¨In my opinion...¨ you stood silent for a few seconds, pondering the words ¨the undercover guy´s boss.¨

Kid laughed as if he carried not a single worry regarding that man.

¨What do you mean?¨ Killer asked.

¨I... it´s just that... he could have put on a baseball cap, gone to a coffee shop, blended in with the people, and used public wifi to send those.¨ you tried to express your worries in the best way possible ¨Using onion browsers to protect your identity... I mean, don´t you think they have a place they want to hide or qualified people?¨

The air in the room grew thicker as the three of you refused to say a single word. Or, better said, didn´t have the words to continue the conversation.

The game that once was played solely by the rules of brute force had been shaken by an invisible opponent. One that could come and go unnoticed, one that could hide behind a screen, protected by fortresses.

The day Kid feared had come as well, the proof that not only he would have to step up his game, but someone was already ahead of him. Luckily, he had a new asset.

You had your back already turned to them, checking to find any fish that bit your bait, when someone´s phone exploded with notification bells.

¨Time to go, Killer¨ the redhead put himself on his feet after checking the messages, already exiting the room.

¨Wait, but I didn´t even do anything yet!¨

¨You will. Here,¨ the man threw a wad of cash in your direction ¨find everything you can about the man who sent that idiot here. As I said, this is just part of your payment. You´ll get the rest when I can trust you.¨

And as fast as he stormed in, he stormed out, the apartment going back to being silent and calm like a river.

¨If you need anything, just call.¨ Killer said before leaving in large steps to keep up with the ginger, who, at this point, banged the pickup truck door closed.

¨Thanks.¨ you whispered, leaning against the door, watching the vehicle burning out your street ¨Weird folks.¨

Without much thinking, you returned to your room, taking your headphones to make you company.

¨I just have to find out who the other guy is. C´mon, Y/N, this is your jam.¨

In less time than expected, you had access to the devices of someone called Zhu W. Strangely, there were no signals to intercept the ex-undercover guy. That could mean that he either changed all of the accounts connected to the old e-mail or his cellphone was off.

¨Who leaves their smartphone off nowadays?¨ you muttered, noticing your body heating up.

Every given click tightened the not you felt growing in your throat, and even the most subtle of the sounds could scare you.

¨Come one, mister Zhu. Tell me what you know.¨ you started with the message apps ¨bla bla bla, today's my day off, bla bla bla, fucking cold, bla bla bla it was a shame the boss erased hi-¨

You averted your gaze from the computer screen, feeling your heart rate speeding up, the palm of your hands form a layer of sweat, and the knot tightens even more.

I don´t wanna read anymore.

¨It ain´t such thing as escaping when it comes to Eustass Kid... if he came back is cuz he changed sides...¨ you read in whispers, afraid the neighbors might hear.

No, he didn´t change sides...

¨Boss shot him square in the for-¨ you bit your lips, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Fuck! These people kill for real! Of course, they do, Y/N! Don´t be fucking stupid! Fuck! You gotta calm down. It´s no use crying now.

Not anymore.

Apparently, there was no welcome back party for the man who put his life on the line for his gang. The ¨boss¨, whoever he is, shot him in the head as soon as he stepped in.

The reason why the malware didn´t work on his devices was that he was dead before he could think of opening an e-mail.

I don´t want to take a fucking bullet in the head.

Fuck!

You jumped at the sound of an incoming call, making you put your hand to your chest to hold your heart in place.

You looked at the screen expecting to be one of those blocked numbers from some phone company wanting to sell you some expensive internet data plan. However, it was Killer's name that appeared on the screen.

You picked up your cellphone with shaky hands, sucking in the air before answering ¨Hi.¨

¨Hi... did something happen?¨

¨N-No! Did something happen with you?¨

¨Uh... no, nothing. I just wanted to let you know that Kid and I are going back there tonight. Did you find anything?¨

¨Y-Yes.¨

You stood up from the chair, feeling the world spin around you as you took some steps to exit the room.

¨You sure you´re alright? You sound kinda worried.¨ he insisted.

¨Yeah, everything is alright. Uh... I´ll wait for you here, then. Bye.¨

Without even giving the man a chance to respond, you ended the call and threw the device on the bed, making your way to the living room. There wasn´t a specific reason why you went there. You simply surrendered to your instincts, and they were in fight and flight mode.

Your chest hurt with the tightness, squeezing you from the inside out. It was hard to breathe and focus on the next step. There was no next step for you, only a spiral leading you further down.

¨Please, Y/N. Calm down, please.¨ you begged yourself, hoping that you would listen. ¨Let´s just lay down, okay? On the couch. We´re laying down on the couch.¨

You had acquired the habit of giving yourself instructions whenever episodes like this happened. It wasn´t a health tip you saw on a youtube video but something you started to do without even noticing.

You laid down on your right side, face turned to the cushion and right arm holding your waist like a hug. Your fingers brushed the fabric of your shirt as you tried your best to focus on breathing steadily.

¨We´re okay. You´re okay.¨ you repeated to yourself like a mantra until your body began to calm down, stress drifting you to a nap.

------

¨Y/N, come in!¨ Killer said as he opened the door of his apartment.

After you woke up from your nap, your body felt lighter, except for your arm, which had gone numb. You remained sat on the couch for a while, thinking about how you still had to go back to your room and finish the job before Killer and Kid returned to check on it.

You stalled for a few hours before actually doing so. Taking a shower, eating some lunch, and scrolling through social media. You stalled until the fear of not having the task done before they arrived surpassed the fear of finding another horrid piece of information in that cellphone.

The good old tactic worked just fine. But it might have been because nothing terrible popped out. You tracked the device all day and looked through his e-mail and text messages.

Around nine-thirty, you received a call from Killer, asking you to come down to his place since Kid was not in the mood to be ¨squeezed in the sardine can you called an apartment¨.

So, shoving the pen drive in your pocket, you made your way to the first floor, careful not to trip on the stairs. Differently from the past times, you barely stopped moving before knocking on Killer´s door, not taking long for him to welcome you in.

¨Are you ok? You sounded worried on the phone earlier.¨

¨I...¨ you failed to the find the words, entering the living room and finding Eustass on the couch, staring back at you. ¨I´m fine.¨

¨Spare me time and give me the pen drive, I´ll take a look at it myself. We have a meeting tomorrow, you better be ready.¨ he said straightforwardly, putting his hand out.

You watched him, slowing down as you approached. Kid´s scarred face carried a grumpy scowl, even worse than the one he had earlier that morning. You pressed your fingernails into your palms, squeezing the small device in your right hand.

Kid´s eyes twitched in annoyance at you, short on patience. He wasn´t in the mood to deal with whatever he thought you would pull. You didn´t see, but you guessed that Killer gestured something to the redhead because he rolled his eyes, sighing and putting his hand down.

You stood awkwardly in front of him, struggling to swallow your saliva as your throat went dry.

¨So?¨ Kid asked, raising an eyebrow.

You tried to push the words out of you, but it seemed impossible. Tears started to build up in the corner of your eyes, your nose began running, and you had to use the sleeve of your jacket to keep you from looking like a hopeless snotty child.

¨They killed him, isn´t it?¨

You remained silent, afraid that if you started talking, the waterworks would start as well. You hated that you couldn´t control your emotions. You hated that you didn´t know how to deal with this situation and that your body forced you to be vulnerable in front of other people.

You have been alone for too long, keeping yourself well enough to avoid breakdowns, and when it was too much to bear, you would let the warm water carry your frustrations down the drain. But ever since you met those guys, you were forced to cry every tear you held all those years.

¨Don´t you think it´s about time you stop all this crying?¨ the redhead said, clearly irritated. ¨Every time I see you you´re complaining and whining like a fucking spoiled baby.¨

¨Ki-¨

¨I´m not... a spoiled baby, and I´m not a fucking criminal.¨ you hissed back, chest boiling with anger. ¨I just don´t wanna end up with a hole in my head when you decide I´m not useful anymore.¨

¨You made your choice, Y/N.¨

¨Stop saying that!¨ you said between pauses, raising your voice ¨I know, ok?! I know I made my choice, but what was I supposed to do? I should have gone with those guys to be sold to human trafficking or get fucking killed?! What great options I had!¨

¨What happened doesn´t matter anymore! I don´t know what kind of fairytale crap you lived in until now, but not everyone comes to the big city to live the movie life. Some people end up in the districts where light doesn´t fucking shine. It´s past the time you get with that.¨ Eustass growled, getting on his feet and marching to the door, giving you the last warning before shutting the door ¨We´re having another meeting tomorrow. Get your shit together by then.¨

You flinched at the loud bang, closing your eyes and pursing your lips together. The deep breath you took was loud and almost sounded like a sniff. It technically was. You wanted to cry. Cry out of fear, cry out of frustration, cry out of anger.

Eustass Kid didn´t know shit about your life, and just because you weren´t raised on the streets or had whatever fucked up life he did, doesn´t mean your life was a fairy tale. It enraged you that he thought so, acting and treating you like your feelings weren´t valid.

You heard Killer´s steps getting closer to you, and it almost looked like he made noise on purpose, taking into account what you said about him being so quiet. He didn´t say anything, he only walked over to the couch in front of you, sitting and scrunching his goatee.

¨I don´t wanna talk right now, Killer. I´m going back to my place. I just need to... get my shit together, apparently.¨

¨Ok, ¨ he said softly, making a contrast with Kid ¨But before, can you tell me a little about you?¨

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, you tell me about you, and I tell you about us. Seems fair, right?¨

You watched him for a few seconds, with your brows knitted and your upper lip slightly pulled. Your face could not convey more your exhausted and confused condition.

¨Whatever.¨

¨Where you from?¨

¨Countryside.¨

¨Do you have family?¨

¨My parents and another cat.¨

¨And what did you like to do back in the countryside?¨

¨Nothing. That´s why I came here.¨ you rose from your slumped posture ¨Why are you asking all this? You´re gonna compare me to the tragic life you two had?¨

¨Actually, I will. Do you wanna hear it?¨ he said with a kind smile on his lips.

You couldn´t say no, so you shrugged instead.

¨Alright, I´m not gonna drag this too much, though.¨ he started. ¨I met Kid in the orphanage, he barely talked when he got there. We lived there for a while until the government cut the resources and the staff left. We ran out of food pretty soon and had to find a way to get it. It was our first contact with crime.¨

You looked into his eyes at all times. He talked with such ease as if he carried no pain behind it. As if, because he knew no other life, it was normal.

¨Some gangs in the area started to recruit some of us to do small work in exchange for, you know, housing, food, stuff like that.¨ you nodded. ¨At the time, there wasn´t much violence or money circling in the district. This was just wasteland.¨

¨When did it change?¨ you asked, slowly engaging in his story.

¨They tried to end the Shadow District many times. The first one I remember was when Kid and I went pickpocketing in the Light District. We heard the shooting from there, and when we got here, everyone we knew was dead.¨

¨What happened then?¨

¨After that, everything happened really fast. Someone started supplying weapons to the population for a bargain price. Everyone got one to protect themselves, and, in the end, the district became so marginalized that no one knew what to do with it anymore. No one wanted to invest in this place anymore.¨

¨So... the circulation of illegal stuff moved the economy until all the dirty money in the town was concentrated here.¨ you guessed, letting your body sink onto the couch again.

¨That´s right. The Shadow District communicates with the Underworld through people like Kid.¨

¨Under what?¨

¨Underworld. Where all the illegal stuff comes from.¨ Killer explained briefly.

¨And the police don´t try to arrest anyone?¨

¨The police arrest anyone who leaves loose ends, and Kid is not one of those people.¨

¨He doesn´t look that sophisticated. ¨ you muttered.

¨He´s not. But he´s way more careful than people might think.¨ the blonde opened another smile, filled with admiration for his friend and boss.

¨Why did you tell me all this?¨

¨I know it must be scary to be in your position right now, Y/N, but... it´s not bad. Just... give it a chance. I told you before, we might be rough around the edges, but we´ve got each other´s backs. And if you let us, we´ll have yours too.¨

You searched his eyes for hints that all those pretty words were merely to manipulate you into collaborating but couldn't find any trace of it. Instead, you saw the same ones from the first time you saw him, freezing cold to the eyes and weirdly warming to the soul. Killer had the compassion and understanding that Kid didn´t.

On the other side of the coin, you felt like behind the words, hidden in the fine lines, he wanted to tell you to accept your life now, that the sooner you did it, the less painful it would be.

After all, if you were to be honest, it all felt like a one-time thing. A single favor that, after completed, would allow you to return to your old life. Even though you repeated to yourself thousands of times that there was no turning back, it still felt somewhat like a dream, a mare.

Maybe Eustass was right. Maybe, it was time to get with that.

¨Oh, well, it´s a shame you live the crime life, cause you´d be a great politician.¨ you chuckled for the first time that day, feeling a tiny portion of the tension fall from your shoulders.

The blonde´s spirits lifted at the sight of you, allowing him to relax too, accompanying you with a grin.

¨I´d rather go bald.¨

taglist: @z3llous @p0chy @kerokerogecko @mysticaltigersorceress @maggyme13 @ulk2ds

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

notes: I don´t know if anyone noticed the similarity between their past here and the one told in Puppy Eyes and Fun Rides. That´s because Kid´s one shot was inspired in H.E. and I even flirted with the idea of having Pups be a part of Heim Excellent.

I made no decisions regarding that, but I just wanted to clarify in case you noticed.

#one piece x reader #killer one piece #killer x reader #killer x y/n #killer op #massacre soldier

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collarbonekissesandasylumwitches · 1 year

Text

hello hi, hope y'all are doing ok :)

this is just my take on this aesthetic, my personal brand if you will, so please don't come at me if it isn't completely accurate

(i do not know where a few quotes are from so if you do, please lemme know so that i can list them)

poetcore // chaotic academia // downtown girl

vibes: grocery stores, existential poetry, psychology/english major, iced caramel lattes, old bookstores, anatomical heart emoji, thunderstorms, wired earphones, art museums, dyed hair and a nose ring, vintage posters stuck on bedroom walls, blue hour, ink stained hands, latin curses, 3 am showers, voice notes, smudged eyeliner, cocoa lotion, choco chip cookies, silver rings that clink against ceramic cups, native language nicknames, annotated books, commentary videos on youtube, forehead kisses, candles, love letters, lullabies, sunlight through curtains, libraries at night, homoeroticism, angry girl music, pressed flowers, coffee cake and coffee eclairs, glitter pens, lipbalm, dog cuddles, super specific playlists, daily outfit pictures

fashion: small shirt big pants black nailpaint mismatched earrings signature perfume hair sticks black turtlenecks cardigans fingerless gloves nose rings high waisted jeans linen shorts lipgloss cotton dresses waist jewelry heart shaped locket moss coloured bralettes bandanas tank tops crystal necklaces white eyeliner oversized earth toned sweaters cargo pants vintage band tshirts charm bracelets and anklets crop tops smudged eyeliner harem pants claw clips fairy earrings tote bags doc martens with everything lots of antique rings

songs:

ribs - lorde

coffee breath - sofia mills

movies - conan gray

how long - hadestown

sunflower - post malone, swae lee

i want you to want me - letters to cleo

bookstore girl - charlie burg

sappho - frankie cosmos

achilles come down - gang of youths

girl from the bookstore - jack jones

poet - bastille

all too well 10 minute version taylor's version - taylor swift

artists: mother mother, bon iver, girl in red, arctic monkeys, daughter, florence + the machine, hozier, the neighborhood, taylor swift [folklore and evermore in particular]

movies: shutter island, dead poets society, lady bird, 10 things i hate about you, five feet apart, potrait of a lady on fire, kill your darlings, fleabag, perks of being a wallflower, all the bright places, loving vincent, call me by your name, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

books:

crush - richard siken

a little life - hanya yanagihara

the song of achilles - madeline miller

ode to aphrodite - sappho

the bell jar - sylvia plath

and then there were none - agatha christie

envelope poems - emily dickinson

the secret history - donna tartt

the picture of dorian gray - oscar wilde

a room of one's own - virginia woolf

the robber wife - margaret atwood

the yellow wallpaper - sam vaseghi gilman

quotes:

what we love, we mention. - Marie-Helene Bertino

you said i killed you. haunt me then. - Emily Bronte

loneliness is still time spent with the world.- Ocean Vuong

let me stay tender hearted, despite despite despite.

that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. - Walt Whitman

i love you. i can't tell you. the sun on your face will do it for me. - tumblr user tturing

i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. - Lemony Snicket

someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story. - Richard Siken

nothing ends poetically. it ends and we turn it into poetry. all that blood was never once beautiful. it was always just red. - Kait Rokowski

love is real. i saw it once outside my window and it stopped to look at me but kept on walking and i thought it'd come back but in the end maybe it was just passing through.

in ten years' time, i want to live in a house with big windows, i want the house to be large enough to have a kitchen table with four chairs but not too roomy to ever feel the depth of my aloneness. because i'll probably be alone. but i think aloneness won't feel so all-consuming with windows that protect me from the world but still let me watch it. - Maeve Wiley, Sex Education

male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of vour own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. you are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. you are your own voyeur. - Margaret Atwood

take care, love love >3

#poetcore #chaotic academia #downtown girl #please add other tags i am exhausted after writing this whole thing 😭

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marcushotphotography · 1 year

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modelshoot style, (film stock), (film grain), (extremely detailed CG unity 8k wallpaper), full body portrait of the most beautiful woman in the world, who (looks like [Gisele Bundchen:Keira Knightley:0.3]) (cowboy shot), beautiful racecar woman standing in front of a race car, standing, tanned skin, (blush) (bangs), long hair, (freckles:0.75), detailed symmetrical face, smirk, ((pink hair:1.4)), (straight hair), (green eyes:1.3), reflective eyes, dark eyebrows, mascara, makeup, (dark lipstick), (white sclera),dust particles, detailed lighting, rim lighting, dramatic lighting, chiaroscuro, (black crop top), ((white racing jacket)), open jacket, (white yoga pants), race track, red racecar, spoilers, road, bleachers, blue sky, white clouds,(from behind), (ass), (professional majestic impressionism oil painting by Waterhouse), John Constable, Ed Blinkey, Atey Ghailan, (Studio Ghibli), by Jeremy Mann, Greg Manchess, Antonio Moro, trending on ArtStation, trending on CGSociety, Intricate, High Detail, dramatic,makoto shinkai kyoto, trending on artstation, trending on CGsociety(film stock), (extremely detailed CG unity 8k wallpaper) full body portrait of a cyberpunk woman leaning on a wall in cyberpunk city street at night, (action scene), (wide angle), ((Night time)), city lights, ((neon cyberpunk city street:1.3)), (neon lights), stars, moon, (film grain:1.4), colored lighting, full body,cyberpunk woman in a futuristic city in a cyberpunk city, (hands in pockets), (leaning on wall), dynamic pose, ((rgb gamer headphones)), ((tanned skin:1.3)), ((angry)), (angry eyebrows), scowl, (e-girl blush:1.2) long hair, (freckles:0.9), detailed symmetrical face, (dark crimson hair:1.2), short hair, (messy hair bun), (undercut hair:1.4), punk girl, ((tattoos)), alt girl, ((face piercings:1.2)), ((fingerless gloves)), (brown eyes), many rings, reflective eyes, makeup, (red lipstick), (shiny lips), (white sclera), (sweat), ear piercings, detailed lighting, rim lighting, dramatic lighting, chiaroscuro, (white band shirt), ((ripped denim bomber jacket:1.1)), (jean jacket), long sleeves, bracelets, (torn blue jean pants:1.2)), (mom jeans), brick wall, (polluted sky), wall graffiti, ((doc martens)), ((combat boots)), (black shoelaces, muddy boots,(from below:1.2), (wide angle lens), professional majestic impressionism oil painting by Waterhouse, John Constable, Ed Blinkey, Atey Ghailan, Studio Ghibli, by Jeremy Mann, Greg Manchess, Antonio Moro, trending on ArtStation, trending on CGSociety, Intricate, High Detail, dramatic, makoto shinkai kyoto, trending on artstation, trending on cg society (realistic skin:1.3) Negative prompt: badv5 bad-hands-5, (worst quality:2), (low quality:2), lowres, (normal quality:1.5), mediocre, ugly, cropped, (out of frame), cheap, jagged, blurry, (out of focus), fuzzy Steps: 55, Sampler: DPM++ 2M Karras, CFG scale: 7, Seed: 2886461570, Size: 512x768, Model hash: 5f6f1556d1, Model: animatrix_v20

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lil-lillerzzz · 4 years

Text

- The Red Band Society

#red band society #red band society lockscreen #red band society wallpaper #lockscreen #wallpaper #quote lockscreen #quote wallpaper #emma chota #ciara bravo #kara souders #red band #tv show

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daistyme · 5 years

Text

#wallpaper #aesthetic #bts #suga #min yoongi #loveyourself #cat #red band society #kpop #jackson wang

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Royal affair- Part 1

This is the first part of my new dark! Ben Hardy series which involves a love triangle with Joe. I hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction

Series taglist: @rogahs-drowse

Ben hardy masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) is in an arranged marriage to Joe who is a prince that she barely knows. Somehow an affair with a stranger arises but (Y/n) soon finds out the stranger is none other than Joe’s brother Ben... the King.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why was she here?

Why was she wandering these strange corridors that felt like they were part of a big maze? Corridors which seemed to move and switch behind her back to lock her into a different part of the castle so she didn't know where she was or where she had just been.

(Y/n) didn't want to be here. This wasn't her home, these weren't the corridors she had grown up wandering around. She didn't know where the servant's stairs and back corridors were like she did in her old home that she used to run down to play hide and seek or just to feel like she was a rebel escaping without anyone finding out.

These weren't the windows she had stared out as a child or a young girl, those weren't the fields and plants and trees and hills that she had adored as a teen. These carpets weren't the ones she had felt beneath her feet when she was running up and down with little else to do or someone to find.

Her family weren't here and she was here with the person she didn't want to be with.

(Y/n) had been perfectly fine back home with her books and of course with Elaine, the maid who was more like a mother to her. She had been happy there, fine and content without wanting anything else from life at that point. But then her parents had to flip everything upside down.

Her parents decided that since she was now nineteen they wanted her to be married off to someone, maybe to get rid of her or maybe just because they had found a suitor who wanted to be with her who was of great status in society. But (Y/n) hadn't wanted to get married. She didn't want to become a princess and marry a prince who was such a mix of arrogant then sickly sweet that she wondered if he had a personality disorder.

Of course, with her newlywed husband being a prince, they were going to live wherever he chose and he decided to up route (Y/n) and that they would live in his home. His home that was the castle he grew up in.

(Y/n) never wanted to move into a castle or be married to a prince or to be a princess. She had been far from happy living with her parents but it had been more than enough for her. She had a fairly sized home on an estate that had no neighbouring houses within a large mile range. She had a few friends that used to visit in the summer and occasion in the winter. She had Elaine to be a mother to her, Eliza who was one of the servants who was her best and most trusted friend and her home was big enough that it fuelled her imagination without her bumping into her parents.

Then her parents had to spoil it all and she could never forgive them for marrying her off when she didn't want to be married. She further couldn't accept her new husband who didn't care when she said she would rather not get married straight away. She asked both him and her parents if they could simply have a courtship instead so she could see if she could learn to like and possibly love him but they all wanted a wedding as soon as.

So (Y/n) found herself married to Joe and living in a home that was only good because it meant she could get lost away from everyone.

(Y/n) found comfort in the fact that she had been able to bring Eliza along with her as her maid so she at least had someone to confide in and be around who was familiar and a true friend. Eliza was happy about being in a castle, she had never seen such a big home and a large kitchen and she had a larger room herself. She felt her life was fulfilled because she deemed that she was destined to be a servant, but a maid to the princess in such a vast castle was like a dream come true to her.

If only they could trade places, then both of them would have been content in life.

(Y/n) would have preferred to be a maid rather than a princess and Eliza deserved to be cared for and loved and treated as an elegant lady.

Trailing her hand across the pink and pale cream wallpaper that felt like faded silk beneath her fingertips, (Y/n) walked ina daze down the long hallway. She didn't know where she was going or where she was but it didn't matter. She wasn't technically lost because she never had a destination in mind in the first place but if she did she most certainly wouldn't know where to go.

She knew she was on a high floor of the castle, the vast arched windows on her right showed her the tops of the trees and the stream that looked like a small streak of paint from this distance.

Tilting her head down to look at her feet, (Y/n) started walking and placed her feet in front of one another as if she was walking on a tight rope. She kept her balance as she started placing her feet on the circles on the dark red and black carpet. Sometimes she wished she was still a child, just a young little girl running around and imagining that she was playing pirates or that she was a spy. Her most favourite was to pretend she was a rebel escaping an intricate trap. She'd run down servants stairs as quietly as she could, walk on tiptoe so she didn't make certain floorboards creek. Hide when servants or maids passed by and weave around objects and crawl around to try and escape.

Being a child seemed so much easier than being someone's wife, than being a princess.

A gasp escaped (Y/n)'s lips when she suddenly felt her body colliding with someone else's. Her hands flew out and landed on steady arms as hands latched onto her hips to stop her from falling backwards. Her feet skidded against the fluffy carpet before stabilising themselves as (Y/n) planted them back firmly on the ground so she was stood upright with the stranger's help.

Daring to lift her head to look at the stranger she had walked into, (Y/n) found that it was clearly someone she didn't know. There were only a small handful of people she did know after being here for one day and most of those were servants.

(Y/n) found herself looking at a rather dashing man who had the kind of eyes that seemed to hold another world full of ulterior motives. His emerald green eyes pierced her own as she scanned her eyes quickly over him. He had pale blond hair that verged on white at the tips which were curling at the ends and falling in front of his eyes. The hair at the sides of his head was shaved rather short compared to the longer strands on top of his head. He was a bit taller than herself, with broad shoulders and arms that held tensed muscles.

Something about his smile seemed to make her weak at the knees yet feeling wary and as if she should take a step back.

"Daydreaming, lovely lady?" His voice was like velvet as his hands gently squeezed her hips but with enough pressure to make her jump at the touch.

"I- I'm sorry-" (Y/n) stuttered as she tried to compose herself yet she didn't find herself letting go of his arms that were still pressed to her sides. His hands didn't make a move to let her go even though both of them were now stable and stood without the risk of falling over.

"No harm done." He dismissed with a shake of his head. A rather devilish smile pulling at his rather red lips at the squeak that left (Y/n)'s lips when he tugged her closer to his chest. (Y/n) didn't know what he was doing or what he thought he was going to do but she found herself unable to move or even speak. She shouldn't even be allowing him to do this, she was married now. She didn't know if this man was a servant or a royal himself or if he was simply someone who was visiting but it shouldn't matter who he was. He shouldn't be caressing her hips with his thumbs or pressing himself against her. He shouldn't be grinning at her like that.

She shouldn't be letting him do this.

Neither of them said anything for a moment or two, seemingly entranced by one another as (Y/n) couldn't help but stare at his eyes. They were like pools or swirling colours of the atmosphere that seemed to deepen and go on forever. It was a wonder that she didn't get lost in those eyes.

"What a dazzling smile, lovely lady." He commented, causing (Y/n) to snap out of her thoughts.

Whoever this man was, he seemed to like to make (Y/n) feel shocked or even unnerved because his emerald eyes darkened in what she could only guess was delight at the look on her face when he brushed his thumb over the corner of her lips.

Why was he doing this, why was she staying immobile? Why didn't she feel that this was wrong?

His fingers grazed over her jaw as his thumb started to trance her lower lip, gently pulling it down as it did so. He leaned his head down near her own as he continued his actions agonisingly slowly, suddenly pressing a bit harder on her lip causing a small pinching feeling to arise as if he was biting her lip instead of adding pressure to it. His head moved a bit closer until she could feel his breath against her own and she was so sure he was going to kiss her.

In the blink of an eye, his thumb was suddenly pressing harsher to her lip before the contact disappeared altogether. He pulled back to his proper height and let go of her hips causing (Y/n) to wobble forwards just a little at the lack of contact.

And just like that, he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Looking to the annoying band that sat on her ring finger, (Y/n) sighed in annoyance before slipping the slightly loose item from her finger. Stuffing the item into the back pocket of her trousers before she carried on walking.

Why did she have to get married? Why did she have to marry Joe of all people?

Someone who could be kind and considerate one moment and then the next he wanted things his way and seemed cold and ignorant. He didn't like how friendly (Y/n) was with the staff, he didn't like how she preferred trousers over the awful heavy dresses her mother had sent her with. He didn't like how she was disinterested in the ruling of the kingdom and how she simply wanted to be away from him for as long as possible.

Making her way down the staircase on her left, (Y/n) ran her hand through her hair as she tried to calm herself down. She didn't want to be here, this wasn't her home, this wasn't her family and Joe shouldn't be her husband because she didn't love him. She didn't even want to learn to love him because this was all in the wrong order.

She should be able to choose who she wanted to court and then if she loved them or just wanted to be with them she should choose to marry them. Her parents should not pick someone and then force her to go through with it because they found it suitable.

Exiting the stairwell, (Y/n) turned right and started walking, again having no destination in mind but she knew she wanted to be away from Joe and everyone else. She still didn't really know anyone here and Eliza was working just like everyone else. (Y/n) knew Joe's brother was the King since their father had passed and their mother had only married into the bloodline but she didn't know his brother. Joe wasn't exactly fond of him and he hadn't been at the wedding but their mother had and she seemed nice enough, if a bit snobbish at times.

(Y/n) just wanted to go home.

"We must stop meeting like this, lovely lady." The same, melodic yet calculating voice cut through (Y/n)'s ears when her shoulder roughly bumped with someone's arm.

Her body stumbled forward but yet again, the stranger's arms enveloped around her to stop her from colliding with the carpet. Since their original meeting, the pair had almost collided a second time near the dining hall and then they had clocked one another on the third floor where (Y/n) saw him boxing. She had never really seen people box before, nor had she watched many sports but she found it fascinating.

The stranger was very good at the sport that he seemed to enjoy, whoever it was he was fighting against had taken a battering and neither of them had even been wearing boxing gloves. Their knuckles and fingers were simply taped together like they would be beneath the gloves and the stranger had only been wearing shorts. So when he caught (Y/n) watching he winked with a smile that resembled a shark.

"Sorry." (Y/n) mumbled, her eyes looking to her feet as she tensed but didn't rebel when he slowly turned her so she was facing him. His hands staying on her arms, rubbing her exposed skin causing goosebumps to arise under his touch.

"I'll let it slide this time." His tone sounded so serious, so very suddenly annoyed like she was wasting his time but when her eyes quickly met his own, he was grinning again. "Does this lovely lady have a name?" His voice was softer like velvet this time as he leaned a little closer to her, his eyes sparkling with delight as (Y/n) swallowed quickly before trying to gain composture. Needing some courage so her voice didn't wobble as if she was trying to impress him.

"(Y/n). And yours?"

"Call me whatever you like, my love." He was playing a game- no, he was teasing her.

He was actually teasing her without knowing anything about her but her name and that she seemed to daydream rather a lot. (Y/n) knew nothing of this man either. She didn't know his name, who he was, what he was doing here except for wandering around and boxing which looked more like he was beating the crap out of someone else for fun.

She should go.

Her chest constricted the moment his hands moved to her hips before roughly pushing her up against the wall. When no protests left her lips and she only looked shocked, he pressed himself against her like he did the first time they met but this was different. She was wedged between him and the wall, she could feel every inch of him against her and she could feel his breath when he leaned closer to her. His lips were much closer than they had been last week but they still weren't touching hers, only letting their breaths mingle and entwine together.

"You need to relax." He mumbled, feeling how tense she was and how immobile since she hadn't moved a single muscle. He could only just see her blinking and feel her breathing, those were the only signs of movement and life he could find.

His eyes were no longer green, they were darker like seaweed under the calmest of waves. Like a veil over the emerald gems in his eyes giving him a more sinister look about him. Those veiled eyes drifted from her own down to her lips that she automatically darted her tongue over out of habit. Her own eyes simply watched his expression, clearly waiting for him to make the next move as she didn't know what to say or what to do.

(Y/n) knew what she was meant to do, but she knew what she wanted to and it was the wrong choice.

She shouldn't want to be with a complete stranger because she wanted to be the rebel she always thought she was. She shouldn't want to be with him because he was mysterious and different and exactly the opposite of Joe. She should want to push him away or slap him or scold him for acting so crude and sexual and looking at her like that. She should walk away because she is now married. But why should she?

She didn't want to get married but she did and in her mind, it still wasn't sinking in that she was married. Right now there was no band on her finger and she couldn't feel one on his own either. If they both wanted what she was sure he was going to insinuate, then where was the harm?

Finally.

His lips pressed against her own with fever and hunger and a slight hint of aggression. His fingers dug into (Y/n)'s hips causing her to gasp against his lips but he seemed to ignore the sound. His knee pushed between her legs causing (Y/n) to straighten up against the wall but she couldn't move very far or do very much. She moved her hands from his arms to his neck, slowly scraping her nails against the very short strands of hair at the back of his head. His teeth bit down on her lower lip when he pulled back for air, his eyes sparkling as he kissed her lip when a speck of blood arose from his actions.

He seemed surprised when (Y/n) pulled him closer so she could kiss him again, suddenly becoming intoxicated and overwhelmed by the feeling. Kissing this stranger in front of her was so different than when she kissed Joe and she loved it. The feeling was so different, so ferocious and igniting and passionate as opposed to sweet or just needy.

(Y/n) tipped her head back against the wall when he kissed the corner of her mouth before slowly moving further down. Kissing his way along her jawline before venturing to her neck. His lips curving into a smirk against her skin when he bit down harshly on the flesh below her ear that was tender and smooth causing her to gasp. The thought of Joe seeing the mark or anyone walking down here now and finding them didn't even cross (Y/n)'s mind as she felt overwhelmed by the simple yet burning action he was creating against her neck.

No one ever gave her a love bite like that before.

Her knees almost caved when he started peppering his lips over the burning mark he created that he seemed proud of. He kissed down her neck again before moving his hands from her hips to the back of her thighs, holding tightly before tapping her legs to signal he wanted her to move. His head stayed buried in the crook of her neck as he lifted her feet from the ground, hooking her legs low over his hips before leaning back to kiss her lips again.

The stranger clearly knew where he was going as he walked a few feet down the corridor to the left before barging into a room that was unfamiliar to (Y/n). He kicked the door closed behind him before stabilising (Y/n) against him with one arm so he could lock the door with his other hand.

(Y/n) quickly realised they had to be in a bathroom when she felt him sitting her down on the sink. The taps pressing into her lower back as his hands slipped under her shirt.

Just like that, the ring in her back pocket was forgotten.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #imagine #borhap #joe x reader #joe mazzello #royal affair #joe mazello imagine

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vixxscifiwritings · 4 years

Text

nervous conditions

Length - 4991 words

Characters - Hakyeon x Jaehwan, VIXX Ensemble

Rating - Teen and Up

Summary - Hakyeon doesn’t know what will kill him faster, the slowly burning cigarette hanging off his lips or the way Jaehwan’s roguish smile makes his heartbeat erratic.

Series

Tag List - @tomatoholmes @merlionmen @seraphistols @k-craze-97 @blossomtearsleo

Hakyeon wipes down glasses as he watches the patrons of the diner engage in small talk within their respective companies. It’s a boring sort of night and he has no entertainment save people watching. The jukebox has long broken down and people have given up shoving quarters in or kicking the defunct machine in order to get it to work.

The jukebox joins the ranks of the bumbling ceiling fans, peeling yellow wallpaper, the cooler they used to use in summer and the burned out letter E in the glowing neon sign on top of the diner. It’s symbolic of the people here. The boredom and routine eats away at the inside of a person’s soul, leaving them broken and in need of repair.

Things weren’t always this bad at the diner. Once upon a time, the wallpaper was fresh and the establishment was lively, coffee and beer free flowing for patrons. The wallpaper was an electric blue and red with posters of famous bands on the walls and their respective songs on the jukebox. But then the owner cheated on his wife and disappeared instead of facing the consequences. When the ownership passed on, so did the will to look after the place.

Over time this reflects in the reduced patronage. Hakyeon half suspects that most of the people who come in either come in for nostalgia or have no other cheaper alternatives. The second reason is more plausible. Life in the diner is stagnant now. Hakyeon himself is here only till he finds better fare. He’s ready to blow this joint the first chance he gets. Till then he puts his head down, makes drinks and wipes down washed glasses.

The night starts as dull as every other night does. The evening staff takes over from the afternoon staff and the dinner rush starts up and subsides and the night grows old in silence and loneliness. Hakyeon counts down time left till he can clock out on the yellowing wall clock on top of the entrance to the kitchens.

With ten minutes to his break, a young man enters the diner. Dressed in a vintage brown leather jacket and acid washed denims, he shouldn’t look as attractive as he does. But there is something about the way his lips curl up and eyes wrinkle and shine.

Hakyeon looks over to the counter to see if Hongbin is around but the younger man hasn’t returned from his break. With a huff, Hakyeon walks over to the part of the counter by which the new man takes up entrance. Hakyeon notes at people turning to glance at him but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he flips through the menu.

“Hi, can I get you something?” Hakyeon asks, tapping a pencil on the notepad he is carrying to note orders on.

“A chicken schnitzel and chips combo and a beer to go with it please” the man says. He squints to read the name on Hakyeon’s nametag and pronounces it wrong.

“It’s Hakyeon” Hakyeon corrects him.

“Sorry” he apologises sheepishly. Up close his eye wrinkles are more dangerous than they should be and Hakyeon tries not to sigh on sight.

“It’s alright… uh?” Hakyeon probes, hoping for a name.

“Jaehwan” he replies and Hakyeon nods.

“Coming right up Jaehwan” Hakyeon tells him as he scribbles the order on the notepad before pushing it into the front pocket of the apron he is wearing. He smiles his best customer service smile at Jaehwan before walking through the kitchens. He passes the order to Taekwoon and waits at the service counter.

“Hyung do you want to take your break now?” Hongbin asks, finally back and ready to take over the bar and dining counters.

“I’ll take one in ten or so” Hakyeon waves him off. There aren’t many people here tonight. Hakyeon takes that as a blessing and uses the time to study Jaehwan.

He watches Jaehwan look around at everything curiously. He looks at the menu and the posters on the wall before trying to peek out of the windows and make out shapes in the dim street light. He must be new to the town, Hakyeon reasons to be this amazed at the sight of their small and ordinary diner.

The old broken jukebox catches Jaehwan’s eye who looks around before sliding off his seat and walking over. Hakyeon is bemused when he watches Jaehwan fiddle with the machine. The display lights up before dying out and the younger hits the side. It doesn’t help as anyone else here would tell him but he spends a good minute on it before returning to his earlier seat.

He bears the frown even till Hakyeon comes over with his order, the chicken sizzling and oil popping due to the high temperature. He waits till Hakyeon pops open his beer and places it in front of him to ask, “Does the jukebox not work anymore?”

“It’s been a while since it stopped working” he tells him.

“That’s a shame” Jaehwan replies. For a moment Hakyeon feels just as sad. It’s a novelty to see someone specifically request for it.

“You don’t come here often do you?” Hakyeon asks, leaning over the counter. The surface is greasy and sticky with the diluted soap solution used to wipe it down between customers but Hakyeon has no particular love for the sleeves of his uniform shirt.

“I’m only here for a while” Jaehwan admits. “Took up lodging at the inn across the road.”

“Shangri La” Hakyeon recalls the name of the dingy motel that stands across the road. Hakyeon sees it every night as he walks home. There is a steady stream of hookers who wait outside for customers by the bus stop near it and the motel makes quick money from these engagements.

“It isn’t as heavenly as the name promises, I’ll tell you that” Jaehwan says gruffly. He breaks into the schnitzel with a fork and pops the piece into his mouth.

“There have been more respectable establishments” Hakyeon agrees.

“It was a good price for a broke writer. I even bargained” Jaehwan confides in him, almost proud of the fact. Hakyeon finds himself smiling affectionately while also shaking his head. Bargained price or not, it’s a terrible deal but he can’t fault the man for making the best of his situation.

“So what do you write?” Hakyeon asks, now using idle excuses to continue the conversation and stay by Jaehwan’s side. He glances over to check if Hongbin has everything covered but it is a half hearted glance and his focus remains on the person in front of him.

“Nothing published yet. I’m a writer in name and name alone” Jaehwan admits.

“What brings you here then?” Hakyeon asks curiously. “In search of inspiration for the story that is your big break?”

“Something like that” Jaehwan concedes.

Hakyeon pulls over the tissue holder and Jaehwan thanks him as he pulls a few out. He puts a spare one down as a coaster for the beer that is starting to grow warmer and wet on the outside from the condensation. Hakyeon notes the tiny detail but files it away as an inconsequential point about Jaehwan that he doesn’t really need to remember but will.

“Tough luck on that. There isn’t much to be found in a down on its luck diner like this” he tells him.

“You’d be surprised” Jaehwan insists.

“Like I said, tough luck. Even our jukebox doesn’t work” Hakyeon says, gesturing to the vague machine. Jaehwan laughs and continues to smile at Hakyeon even after his laughter subsides.

“What about you?” Jaehwan asks. Hakyeon hums inquisitively at him in response as he pulls a chair to sit on. He put his hands on the table and his head on his hand and waits for Jaehwan to elaborate.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this, doll face?” Jaehwan asks in his best imitation of a noir movie hero. Hakyeon rolls his eyes at the cheesy question but plays along anyways.

“What can I say doll face, even pretty boys are down on their luck some times” he replies. Jaehwan grins at him and finishes the rest of the beer. Hakyeon unashamedly watches the way his neck muscles move as he gulps and takes in Jaehwan’s body proportions. Jaehwan watches him look but says nothing about it, catching his eye and then holding his gaze. They stare at each other for a long lasting moment and Jaehwan is the first to pull away.

He puts the cutlery on the plate and pushes the used beer bottle forward and Hakyeon takes the cue to get back to the rest of his boring night.

“How much do I owe for the meal?” Jaehwan asks, pulling his wallet out. Hakyeon calls for Hongbin to ring up the order since he is nearer to the cash register. Hongbin gives him a look but doesn’t say anything. Jaehwan walks over and pays prompting Hongbin to greet him good night and ask him to come again. He smiles at Hongbin before turning to look at Hakyeon again.

“I’ll see you around pretty boy” Jaehwan says before tipping his head and leaving.

“Pretty boy?” Hongbin asks, raising his eyebrows very judgmentally at Hakyeon. Hakyeon waves it off. Jaehwan is a pretty distraction but not one Hakyeon expects will last long. And if he looks forward to tomorrow to see if he is right or wrong, he doesn’t let Hongbin know.

Hakyeon doesn’t run into Jaehwan at the diner but in the back alley of Shangri La. It’s during his break and Hakyeon sneaks across the road to get away from the couple making out in the alley behind the diner. He isn’t a voyeur and he doesn’t fancy ever being one.

It has been a few days since the first time Jaehwan walked into his diner. Hakyeon has gone through the cycle of anticipation, disappointment, overthinking and finally settled at the stage of feigned nonchalance. So he lights up a cigarette and pretends not to immediately recognize Jaehwan’s voice when a silhouette emerges from the back door.

“I would have told you about the trip if you had some god-damned free time between your high society brunches” he hissed.

Hakyeon is slightly taken back by the aggressive tone and considers slipping away into the darkness while his presence isn’t noticed. Jaehwan is on the phone and hasn’t noticed he has company yet. Hakyeon is less and less inclined to enlightenment with every passing moment.

“No, I didn’t mean to start a fight. I’m sorry” Jaehwan apologizes. His voice is quieter and more subdued and Hakyeon doesn’t catch what he says next. But the longing which adorns his features as Jaehwan gazes at his phone after ending his call is hard to mistake for anything else.

“Relationship troubles?” Hakyeon asks, hoping he is smoother on the outside than he sounds in his own head.

“Pretty boy” Jaehwan says, realizing he has company. He puts his phone away and puts a smile on. Hakyeon recognizes the customer service quality but for the sake of the other man says nothing about it.

“Got a spare?” Jaehwan asks, walking up to Hakyeon.

Hakyeon pulls out a cigarette from the stash in his coat pocket and a lighter from another and hands it over to Jaehwan. Jaehwan lights up the cigarette as he leans against the wall next to where Hakyeon stands.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?” he asks Hakyeon as he returns his lighter and Hakyeon laughs.

“Did you already forget my name?” he asks playfully.

“I haven’t” Jaehwan grins in reply. “Hakyeon. I don’t forget pretty people easily you know?”

“How very generous of you” Hakyeon replies. He notes how Jaehwan isn’t wearing a jacket and just simple slippers. It looks like Jaehwan didn’t intend on going outside tonight but Hakyeon is glad for the company.

“I didn’t see you at the diner again” Hakyeon says casually.

He hasn’t been waiting for Jaehwan (he really isn’t) but then again there isn’t much that happens so aberrations stick out. Hakyeon finds it funny that he uses the concept of novelty to justify his curiosity about Jaehwan.

“I’ve been spending my nights writing and days sleeping” Jaehwan tells him. He taps the cigarette twice to let the ashes fall and then follows it with his gaze.

“For your novel? So you found the inspiration you were looking for?” Hakyeon asks curiously.

“Something like that” Jaehwan says, looking back up at Hakyeon. His smile supports the suggestive implication that his gaze implies.

Hakyeon doesn’t know what will kill him faster, the slowly burning cigarette hanging off his lips or the way Jaehwan’s roguish smile makes his heartbeat erratic.

“Something like that” Hakyeon repeats to himself. The smoke from his cigarette fades to nothingness in the night air and the glowing ember aligns with the malfunctioning neon sign of the diner. He’s well beyond his time limit for a break.

“What does a down on their luck man do for cheap thrills here?” Jaehwan asks him.

“What kind of cheap thrills are you looking for?” Hakyeon asks idly. He can dilly dally for a while more. Hongbin and Taekwoon will cover for him. They will pester him for details at worst but he can always nag them back about the secretive looks they share that they think he doesn’t notice.

“Anything really. I need to get out of that tiny motel room” Jaehwan sighs. Hakyeon thinks for a while before speaking up. There isn’t much to do here. Hakyeon calls it a deadbeat neighborhood for a reason. But a few things come to his mind.

“Meet me at the motel entrance at 7 on Saturday” Hakyeon tells him.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Jaehwan asks. He’s amused by the sudden energy that Hakyeon gains.

“No” Hakyeon says playfully. “Just trust me on this.”

Jaehwan doesn’t know what the plan is but Hakyeon’s enthusiasm is infectious. He decides to indulge him this time around and nods in response.

Jaehwan idly rocks back and forth on his heels. The sun has begun it’s descent to the horizon and bathes the surroundings in a dull golden glow. The hustle and bustle of people picks up as the heat of the afternoon ebbs away.

The sight of a motorbike pulling up and stopping in front of him makes him raise his eyebrow. It’s Hakyeon and Jaehwan finds himself surprised.

“I thought pretty boys were too prim and proper to be riding motorcycles” he teases.

“Not this pretty boy” Hakyeon says, throwing Jaehwan the extra helmet that had been strapped to the backseat.

“I’m being whisked off into the unknown by a handsome bad boy. How romantic. Do you happen to have tattoos too?” Jaehwan asks, swinging a leg around the bike to settle behind Hakyeon. He’s skinny, he notes as he puts his arm around his waist and the leather of their jackets squeak on friction.

“You’ll have to find out by yourself” Hakyeon tells him.

“Are you sure you want to challenge me? I get competitive” Jaehwan warns him.

“I’ll take my chances” Hakyeon shrugs. Jaehwan hums in response and tightens his grip around Hakyeon’s waist. At first he intended to maintain a respectful distance but now he has a challenge to win. He takes pride in the way Hakyeon’s hand falters before he grips the handle firmly.

“Ready to go?” Hakyeon asks and he nods before verbally answering in the positive. Hakyeon takes off, driving down the narrow lanes till they hit the wide city roads.

Jaehwan takes in the cityline. The high rises are sequestered in a specific area and they breach the five storey high skyline of the rest of the city. They take the highway bridge and the metro line runs along the bridge before diverging. The packed coaches contrast the free highway that then opens up to the suburbs on the other side.

The buildings give way to sparse houses spread out across fields. In the distance, the sea sparkles dark blue and golden. As they near the pier, the sound of the waves increases, growing louder than the sound of the engine.

“I didn’t know we were this close to the sea” Jaehwan says, getting off Hakyeon’s bike so he can park.

“You asked me where the cool kids go. The answer is that we get out as often as we can” Hakyeon tells him. He straps their helmets to either side of the back seat and locks them for good measure.

They walk along the promenade, passing shops and restaurants set up in shacks. Hakyeon points out the different regional specialities of cuisine on the menus displayed outside and it makes Jaehwan’s mouth water.

They pick up two bottles of apple cider from one of the shacks and walk till they reach the point where the promenade ends and gives way to the beach and the pier that extends to the sea. Beyond the pier lies a mini carnival with small prop up stores and a mini ferris wheel for children.

“How good is your aim?” Hakyeon asks, gesturing to a shooting range with prices on display.

“A teddy bear isn’t enough to tempt me” Jaehwan scoffs.

“So it’s terrible” Hakyeon concludes and drags him over anyways. Jaehwan protests but Hakyeon silences him by telling him that it isn’t for him. Hakyeon wants to try his hand at winning the ridiculously floppy bear and Jaehwan is merely here for moral support.

Hakyeon’s aim is much better than his. His first shot is slightly off the target but the second and third at very close to the target, making the score eligible for the price. The man running the store sullenly hands over the floppy teddy bear and Hakyeon grins from ear to ear.

They try their hand at various games and probably spend close to an hour and all their spare change at the claw machine trying to pick up a Pokemon toy. The way Jaehwan’s eyebrows furrow in concentration are hot to Hakyeon and more often than not, he finds himself staring at them.

They skip eating at a shack, snacking on street food between games. They spend the last of his loose change at a still display, prompting the performer to dance before becoming exceptionally still again.

Before Jaehwan realizes, the clock hits midnight and the carnival starts winding down. They sit by the pier, legs swinging over the edge and watching the lights go out slowly till only the street lamps remain. The dimming makes the stars in the sky clearer and Hakyeon lies down on his back to watch them. He uses the teddy bear he won earlier as a pillow and Jaehwan chuckles to himself.

“Are you in a hurry to go back?” Hakyeon asks when Jaehwan picks up his phone and begins typing.

“Not really. Nothing to go back to” Jaehwan replies without looking at Hakyeon. This entire setting gives him ideas that he saves on his phone app before the thoughts and sentences fade from his mind.

“Right” Hakyeon says, going back to staring at the sky. He wishes he had something cold and alcoholic to go along with the view. He opts for a cigarette instead. He looks to Jaehwan to see if he wants one as well but Jaehwan is engrossed in whatever he is typing.

A few moments later, Jaehwan sides up next to him, phone away and head on the part of the teddy bear that sticks out. Their faces are very close but the lack of space is intimate and comfortable.

“Your phone is ringing” Hakyeon tells him, feeling the vibration in his jacket across the wooden panels beneath them.

“It’s no one important” Jaehwan dismisses. Hakyeon hums and turns to fully face Jaehwan. He places his hand in the space between them and relaxes. The street light falling partially across his face make him glow golden. The moonlight lights up Jaehwan’s face in the shadow and makes him shine silver, complementing him.

Jaehwan puts his hand gently on top of Hakyeon’s. His fingers are lean and slender and Jaehwan traces their outline and goes down his palm to his hand and it gives Hakyeon goosebumps. Jaehwan plays with the hem of his jacket before letting his hand fall off.

Jaehwan leans in and Hakyeon meets him half way. Jaehwan’s lips are as soft as they are plump and Hakyeon doesn’t hesitate to kiss him more. Nothing about this is soft and slow, all desperation and need breaking through. Jaehwan hooks his leg over Hakyeon’s and pulls him closer, causing him to gasp breathlessly.

When he pulls away, Hakyeon takes a deep breath and chases. He kisses Jaehwan on his neck and sucks a hickey. Jaehwan’s moans are a melody he wants to hear more of and so he kisses him even more. His hands snake up under his t-shirt to hold his waist and Jaehwan holds him by his neck as he shudders.

The forgotten cigarette has completely burnt out, leaving a mark on the wooden panel. The street light flickers and Hakyeon breaks the silence to ask “your place or mine?”

“Whichever is closer” Jaehwan urges, kissing him on his jaw. Hakyeon steals a last kiss before getting up and dusting himself off.

“Have I told you how pretty you are?” Jaehwan asks, with his hand resting on the dip just above Hakyeon’s hips. Hakyeon has his one and only tattoo there - sprig of lavender flowers that were tattooed on long ago and have since faded in color.

“A few times already” Hakyeon laughs. Jaehwan’s touch is gentle and pleasant his hands are softer than they should be. The skin on his fingertips is papery in texture and he likes the way they feel against his skin.

“You should be told that again and again. Words aren’t enough to do it justice” Jaehwan says. His conviction almost makes Hakyeon believe it, his own insecurities forgotten. Jaehwan makes him feel beautiful and for one night, that’s a good departure from loneliness.

“Your phone keeps buzzing. Are you sure you don’t want to answer it?” Hakyeon asks as they take a moment to catch their breath.

“Like I said, no one important” Jaehwan tells him. He puts his phone face down and lets it ring till it finally falls silent. After three calls, the caller takes the hint and stops calling.

When it finally falls silent, Jaehwan picks it up again and puts music on. It’s an indie song that Hakyeon has never heard but the mellow beat is soporific. The exhaustion after the long day causes him to drift off and he falls asleep to Jaehwan idly carding his fingers through his hair.

When Hakyeon wakes, the lights are off and the only source of light is the window to the balcony. The sky outside is a faint dark blue. An indication that Dawn will break soon. He watches Jaehwan standing in the balcony, smoking and leaning against the railing.

He’s on his phone and his expression is stoic. Hakyeon takes a deep breath and turns over to the other side so that he doesn’t have to see it.

A part of him already knows but for a while he doesn’t have to admit it to himself. The fancy jackets and shoes, the high quality paper that sits next to the typewriter on the desk and the branded luggage stowed away in the corner are beyond what a struggling writer can afford. The calls that Jaehwan never wants to answer in front of him and the faraway look he gets in his eye every time the phone rings. Hakyeon isn’t a fool.

However, when the call ends and Jaehwan comes back inside, he lets him put his arm around his waist and kiss his neck slowly. When Jaehwan asks if he is awake he replies in the positive and lets Jaehwan kiss down his back and let his hands wander.

When morning comes, the illusion will shatter. Hakyeon isn’t in a hurry to throw stones at the flimsy glass window.

Hakyeon finds that it’s much easier to live in a world of fantasy than it is to confront and accept reality.

Jaehwan frequents the diner for dinner every night. It doesn’t take long for Hongbin to catch on to the fact that the attention is reciprocated. He doesn’t approve but he knows not to meddle. Taekwoon doesn’t say anything about it but Hakyeon catches him looking their way every now and then in case he needs to intervene.

What they don’t know is that the trysts don’t end with the dinner conversations. For multiple times in the two weeks since the first night, Hakyeon finds himself in bed with Jaehwan in his tiny motel room.

Jaehwan is a gentle lover. For every rough tug or forceful thrust, there are equally sweet words whispered in his ears. Jaehwan praises him to the point where Hakyeon thinks it’s a kink that Jaehwan left to be inferred.

In return, Hakyeon gives him the brazen roughness he craves. If Hakyeon had a penny for the number of times that he has blushed - thinking of how Jaehwan looks with his hands tied up above his head, lips apart and gasping for air as Hakyeon’s hands go where he shouldn’t - he would be a very rich man indeed.

The delicate balance between them exists and simultaneously doesn’t. Their desire for each other breaks all floodgates as it pours out in loving kisses and roving hands. But the voice in the back of Hakyeon’s head doesn’t shut up, constantly reminding him that this cannot and will not last.

There is a marked difference between anticipation of an event and living through its occurrence. Hakyeon and Jaehwan sit in the balcony, sharing the last remaining cigarette from Hakyeon’s stash. The diner is visible from their vantage point and the neon red from the sign colors everything in their view.

“For someone who smokes so much, how come you don’t even own a lighter?” Hakyeon asks.

“My… no one really approves of me smoking back home” Jaehwan tells him.

“So this was a vacation from the goodie two shoes life? A shady motel, cigarette smoke and terrible 80s music instead of some cool indie albums?”

“Hey! Those are classics! You have no taste”

“Forgive me if I am tired of listening to the same set of ten songs on the jukebox for years” Hakyeon protests. He scoffs in the direction of the neon sign before taking the cigarette back from his lover.

“Do you think they’ll ever fix it?” Jaehwan asks curiously.

“Maybe, maybe not. No one is particularly invested in it. No one cares” Hakyeon shrugs.

“That’s a very bleak outlook on life” Jaehwan says. Hakyeon leans on the railing and doesn’t reply. Jaehwan looks in his general direction, flicking the dust off his shorts.

“You know, my novel is almost complete” Jaehwan tells him. “Well the first draft of it anyways. It’s a hot pile of garbage.”

“You never told me what it’s about” Hakyeon says.

“Just… people. Places and things. Nothing and everything” Jaehwan says vaguely. He doesn’t say anymore and Hakyeon doesn’t prod. He remembers Jaehwan slaving away over his typewriter for hours, typing, scratching and retyping pages upon pages.

“Does this mean you will go back home now?” Hakyeon asks. The neon sign flickers and the lack of uncertainty on Jaehwan’s face is what hurts Hakyeon the most.

“When?” he follows up and Jaehwan smiles regretfully.

“The day after tomorrow. I booked the train tickets this morning” Jaehwan tells him. Hakyeon swallows when he realizes that Jaehwan’s mind is made up. There’s nothing he can say to change it. He doesn’t even know what to say if he had to.

“I should go” Hakyeon says standing up. It’s the only alternative that makes any sense. Jaehwan starts and calls after him but he doesn’t heed it. He heads in and picks up his coat and phone.

“Hakyeon” Jaehwan says, reaching out and holding on to the sleeve of his shirt. Hakyeon is almost out the door but he stops at the threshold.

“Jaehwan” Hakyeon says firmly and his tone makes Jaehwan drop his hand. “It had to end some time. It might as well be tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” Jaehwan speaks up. His voice is sincere and Hakyeon is almost swayed by it.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions” Hakyeon recites the parable. Jaehwan did not mean to hurt him and he didn’t intend on getting hurt. Yet here they are, standing so close but far apart from each other. On one side of this door is guilty indulgence and on the other, the painful but pragmatic solution to his guilt.

They stand like this for a while before Hakyeon steps out of the door. He walks straight ahead, not apologizing to the woman he bumps into on the stairwell and out across the street, back into the diner he left just a few hours ago.

Jaehwan might have been a riveting departure from the grim reality he lives in. But the fantasy is ending and it’s time he went back.

When the next night comes, Jaehwan doesn’t return to the diner. Nor does he visit on the nights after. When Hakyeon looks out if the window during his break, the balcony he sat on with Jaehwan is occupied by other strangers taking their own smoking break.

The diner’s neon sign flickers out and a small child walks up to the jukebox. The machine swallows the coin and whirs to life again before dying. The child frowns but ultimately goes back to his parents and rejoins the excited chatter, all thoughts about the machine forgotten.

Hakyeon goes back to his chores too.

#vixx fanfiction #vixx n #vixx ken #angst #romance #haken #series: small towns faded dreams

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shadowsof-thenight · 4 years

Text

Where our story begins: Chapter two

Story summary: This is a victorian era AU Home is where our story begins, but how does one know where home is?  

Julia has a good life. A calm life. She really doesn’t have much to complain about. That is, until a handsome stranger steps into their home in the country and all that calmness seems to disappear instantly. Who is this man that seems to terrorise everyone with his haugthy ways? 

Ship: Bucky Barnes X OFC-Julia

Warnings: none for this chapter

Words: 3331

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A/N: Today was my first day back at work. And though it was simply to say hi to everyone, it was very tiring. I slept through most of the afternoon. Which means that despite the chapter being nearly done, I still barely made it today.

Forgive me for any mistakes as I work without a beta for this one. Feel free to point them out though, feedback of any kind is always appreciated.

Also, if you wish to be tagged for this story, let me know.

edit april 13th 2020: I switched the text out with the beta-ed version! Also changed the mentioned painting, to make the explanation fit better.

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Masterlist

Story Masterlist

***

Chapter two

“Please, call me James,” his deep baritone voice sent vibrations through her chest, and she stood stock still for a moment. It was a rather strange sensation, and Julia didn’t know what to think of it. It wasn’t good or bad, just peculiar.

The man smirked at her once more, and she was brought back into the moment. His grin unnerved her. Not necessarily the act itself, but rather the blank eyes above it. While his smirk alluded to emotions, good or bad, his eyes appeared completely void of them. They were a beautiful icy blue that could have mesmerised if they had not been so empty. It made her wonder if there was perhaps something dangerous about this stranger that her parents had invited into their home.

She gave a pointed look to their still connected hands before returning her gaze to those blue eyes. His smirk didn’t waver as he finally released her, standing up straight again and, without missing a beat, turning back to the lady of the house.

If her mother had noticed anything, she wasn’t showing it, and this reminded Julia that she should try to be more stoic in her interactions. While her parents allowed her to show her emotions in private, they were not to be seen so clearly in public. Apparently, it wasn’t ladylike, and Josephine was very proper. Julia wanted to be the same for her mother. Though she often wore her heart on her sleeve. She found it difficult to keep her emotions hidden from others. They were simply too strong sometimes.

In courtly life, things had been different. She had been younger then, not particularly involved in that world. Her tutors had instructed her to keep her face blank, but it hadn’t really stuck with her, and her parents didn’t mind so much at that age. Instead, she had been able to play with her friends, free of the straitjacket that life seemed to be for most ladies. She was grateful for it, even if that made it harder for her to adhere to society’s demands now.

Josephine took the arm that Lord Barnes—no, James—offered, and Julia followed a few steps behind. As they moved through the hallway towards the dining hall, Josephine pointed to art that hung on the walls. She explained how they had come by the pieces—babbling to fill the silence, Julia realised. Perhaps she had noticed the tension earlier. James barely responded to her words and simply looked in the directions she pointed with a blank stare, offering the occasional nod.

When they arrived at the dining room, Julia hoped that this man could feign some enthusiasm for the interior of the place. Her mother was very proud of it. When they had first moved in, it had been in disarray and Josephine had worked hard to create the vision that was in her mind. Julia truly thought it was a beautiful room, though she wondered if the seemingly cold and unfeeling man held the same ideas of beauty.

The high ceilings of the room were made of elaborately decorated plaster. There were bands of entwined leaves that framed the ceiling, and within those bands, the family crest was hidden between beautifully crafted flowers. The leaves of those bands returned in the soft green wallpaper that adorned the walls, a way to bring it together without creating too sharp a contrast with the white plaster. The dark hardwood floor finished making this into a warm room where Josephine loved spending time. She would arrange and rearrange the flowers that stood on the tables every other day, finding joy in choosing fresh flowers and putting them in various vases. It brought life to the room, her mother had once stated. The young Julia hadn’t understood it then, but she certainly did now.

The same leaf pattern in the ceiling and wallpaper made a reappearance in the lamp design. Lamps were placed strategically around the room to highlight the best parts of the decoration and douse the lesser bits in darkness. In daylight, for instance, you could see some water damage in the far right corner, above the large doors that opened into the garden—damage caused by the never-ending rains that had fallen last winter. In this moment, however, none of that was visible.

“I like to think of this as a warm room, cozy and a perfect place for dinner with friends,” her mother boasted as she finished explaining her choices and pointing out little details in the ceiling. Julia smiled as she watched her mother speak so effortlessly. It was a pity they did not entertain guests more often, for her mother certainly loved it. In that moment Julia could see how much she missed life at court, even if she never spoke of it.

Julia also noted that her mother carefully avoided the subject of those lamps, which were oil lamps still. The household was yet to move on to kerosene. This wasn’t necessarily wrong or strange even—plenty of households had not made the change. However, for as long as Julia could remember, her mother had followed modernisation, and it had taken her by surprise that she did not do so on this occasion. When she had asked her mother about it, she was told that such a change took time and several adjustments that her parents had simply deemed unnecessary at this point in time. Julia had accepted this explanation and her questions had ceased.

James barely responded to her mother's words; perhaps he wasn’t seeing the grandeur that Josephine had envisioned when she began to renovate this place. To the untrained eye, her mother seemingly brushed off his silence, but Julia could tell it was bothering her. Obviously she had hoped for something more. Julia felt that it was rather rude of the man to remain quiet. The least he could have done was say something noncommittal, polite. Such an act was even expected in their circles. He would know that—he simply decided against acting accordingly.

His refusal to adhere to social conformity was an insult to his host, and it angered Julia. Her mother had been nothing but welcoming, she deserved better. She would’ve been able to look past his behaviour if it appeared to have been unintentional. As it seemed, however, the slight was definitely on purpose. Her mother quickly moved past it, playing the gracious host and keeping on a mask of kindness.

“James has travelled all over the world,” Josephine said, turning her eyes on her daughter as she moved towards her chair. Dinner was currently being placed on the table, and Julia saw her mother had gone all out. It was a grand feast; her mother clearly wanted to impress their guest.

“Now that he’s finally back in the country, we simply had to invite him,” Josephine added after a few moments, as it became clear that she was the only one trying to keep a conversation going.

“Indeed,” Julia agreed, placing a bright smile on her face. She hoped that the tinge of red that found its way onto her cheeks went unnoticed. She had been so wrapped up in the stranger in their home that she had forgotten how to behave in the presence of others. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she needed to support her mother and perhaps ignore this rude lord. After all, she was no better than him if she could not keep up appearances.

So in that moment, Julia decided to work extra hard on her etiquette, simply so there would be no blame placed on her if this situation went south. She would be the perfect host, no matter how trying it proved to be. If the expression on his face was any indication, he was not about to make things easy on her. He raised his eyebrow as if challenging her in a battle of wills when he pulled out her chair for her.

“And how do you find this part of our beautiful country?” Julia asked, offering a smile and lingering above her chair, effectively making him stand there, waiting.

“From what I have been able to see it is beautiful, sanguineous,” he replied, that aggravating smirk back on his face as he emphasised the last word.

His voice was melodious, waving through the air and clinging to her skin. She had never met anyone with such an intriguing sound. Julia realised that he’d probably enamoured quite a few people with it. She would probably love to listen more, if he were kinder—or more outspoken for that matter, he had been rather quiet.

James smiled as he watched her mull over his reply. It was a double-edged sword, premeditated. Julia realised that he was probably aware of the unease he was causing and was delighting in it. She knew she had never been as good at hiding her emotions as she should have been. Analysing his smile, she realised that it had been as empty as his smirk before. It did not reach his eyes.

“I do hope you’ll get to see some of it in the sun, rather than this dreary weather we have now,” Josephine spoke softly, nearly inaudible over the sound of thunder. Lightning joined the party, illuminating the room in a bright flash. James just nodded with a shrug. A man of few words.

With all three of them seated in their chairs, Julia looked back to the hallway behind her, wondering where her father was. He was never late for dinner, especially when one of his guests was joining them. In polite society, it was expected to wait for the host before being seated, but since her mother had taken on that role, they were not left waiting for him to arrive. Or they were, but at least they were able to sit.

Her mother pointed out some more features, bringing his attention to the beautiful painting that hung on the left wall. It was called the Among the Waves by Ivan Aivazovsky. A piece that showed both the destructive side, as the beauty of the ocean. Her father had been a sea captain on a merchant vessel when he was younger and when Julia was born, her uncle had gifted them the painting. Julia loved it, often imagining her own character as the ocean it so beautifully depicted. Both wild and calm at times. A comparison her father had also made at times—usually when she got a bit headstrong.

James barely replied to her mother's words, and Julia began to feel resentment. She vowed to herself that she would be polite, though she would never be friendly. He did not deserve her friendship; that much was obvious. She saw her mother deflate just the tiniest bit, and anger grew in the pit of her stomach. Lord Barnes didn’t seem to notice, which she understood. The difference was nearly invisible. However, when someone grew up with a mother that showed little emotion in public, they often created the habit of seeing even the most minute changes. Julia was no different in that regard.

Some short moments later her father, Lord George Fitzgerald of Hertfordshire, finally joined them in the dining room. He looked a little pale, and it took some self-control not to jump up from her chair. He seemed a little under the weather, and she worried. His hands were shaking as he took one of Lord Barnes’s hands in his own to shake. Apologising profusely for his tardiness, he explained that he had been caught up in work and swiftly forgot the time. Julia knew this wasn’t true, though she refrained from commenting on it.

George was jovial in his greeting and welcomed their guest as an old friend, shaking his hands for an extended period before finally letting go and walking to his own chair. Lord Barnes simply called him by his first name, uttering a small thank you and bowed his head ever so slightly. A weak greeting by all accounts and Julia wondered just how well they really knew one another.

Julia realised that, as highly as her parents thought of this man, he thought much less of them. Which surprised her, confused her, and made her wonder how this could possibly be. In her humble opinion, her parents were fine people, and he would be so lucky to have them as his friends and not simply acquaintances.

“Now, let us eat. James must be weary of his journey, and it is getting late,” George said, a bright smile on his face as he looked at their butler, Jones. Jones then signalled the footmen to start serving.

As they ate, her parents opted for light conversation, to which Julia tried to reply as best she could. This wasn’t easy with Lord Barnes staring at her between bites. He stared so openly, that she could only imagine that he was purposely making her uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat and wondered how to deflect his attention. She even glanced at her mother for help, though the silent communication didn’t work, her mother either missing her meaning or ignoring her entirely. Julia feared it was the latter and realised that they perhaps wanted him to look, to be enamoured by her. That her parents may have brought him here as a bachelor for her.

She had known this was a possibility, though it still caught her by surprise now, perhaps due to the unease she felt around him. Previous bachelors had at least tried to charm both her and her mother, knowing that her parents had to sign off on any connection. This man had been rude and uninterested thus far. It was why, until that moment, she had simply assumed he had come to attend business with her father.

Julia bit her cheek to keep from showing her wish to scream at him to stop looking at her and forced another smile on her face. She let him watch, smiled and played the dutiful daughter, wanting to make her parents happy. However, she also decided that she would speak to them at a later time, needing an explanation for this turn of events. What was it about this man that made them think he was fit to be her husband? They had been very hard to please so far, and the men that had come before him had worked for their approval.

***

Later that night, while Julia was getting ready for bed and ranting to Mary, her mother had walked into the room. Her ranting instantly stopped and Mary composed herself, wiping all remnants of her laughter from her face. She hadn’t taken Julia’s complaints seriously. In her opinion, most men were like Lord Barnes, she had said, and Julia had just been spoiled by her father’s much kinder disposition. Julia wondered if perhaps she was right. Then again, he was not the first bachelor to be placed at the dinner table. She had some experience.

Josephine was calm as she took the brush from Julia’s hand and began to weave it through her soft locks. Her mother was gentle, careful not to pull, and Julia regarded her through the mirror. She noticed the serious look on her mother’s face, and she turned towards her. It was a rare occasion that her mother came into her room, especially after she had retired for the evening. She had wanted Julia to have a space that was all her own, claiming that this wasn’t a luxury everyone had and that her daughter should enjoy it. A place where she could truly be herself and forget all proper etiquette.

Julia was ready to ask her mother more about Lord Barnes, opening her mouth and deciding on the first question, when her mother silenced her without a word. Josephine spoke instead, complimenting her daughter on her charming disposition at dinner. She voiced that perhaps Julia had been charming enough to ensnare Lord Barnes, or James as she kept calling him. After his behaviour that evening, Julia struggled to call him by his first name.

Josephine informed her daughter that she believed that he was a good catch. For the second time Julia was surprised and rendered speechless. Not even a month ago, her mother had told her that she was allowed her own choices. Josephine had said that neither she nor her father would try to sway her. What had changed? Why was she suddenly voicing her preference for a man that had been less than amiable during the few hours that they had spent in the same room?

In her confusion, Julia remained silent, prompting her mother to tell her all about his properties, his yearly income and his heroism. Apparently he had been awarded a good portion of his lands by the queen herself. This wasn’t something the queen did often, so it did impress Julia somewhat. She wondered what he had done to deserve it. Her mother seemed more impressed by the knowledge that with this awarded land, coupled with the land already in his family, Lord Barnes was the richest man her parents had ever met.

Josephine took another moment to explain just what he was worth, urging her daughter to understand and to act accordingly. Julia still didn’t say a word as she listened to her mother, processing the meaning behind her words. She wondered if she had understood correctly—had her choice been taken from her?

Leaving a stunned Julia behind, Josephine walked out of the room as abruptly as she had entered. Julia wasn’t sure what to make of this situation. There was so much information that was kept from her, she realised now, and she was curious. Far too used to being told, Julia immediately began to think of ways to find out just what was hidden from her.

She wanted to know what the connection between her parents, herself, and this man was. Who he really was, and what she was supposed to think of him. She wondered if his behaviour tonight had been a correct representation of who he was. Or if something had been on his mind to cause his apparent impertinence. Julia could only hope, for she did not want to disappoint her parents and they clearly saw an agreeable match between them.

Julia was so caught up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed when Mary left her room. All she saw was the moment replaying inside her mind over and over again. The moment that had solidified her belief that this man was crass, and that nothing her parents said could erase that from her mind.

It had been just as dinner ended, Julia and her mother had stood from the table to retire to the drawing room, giving the men room to converse. Julia had been relieved to leave the room, for the stares of their guest were unnerving. His smirk never left his features as he regarded her, yet his eyes remained cold. He had stood to open the door for them and took her hand in his once again. Julia couldn’t help herself and shivered at his touch. An action he seemed to take in with glee, causing her stomach to drop and nausea to ensue. He was enjoying her response to his attentions and he wasn’t afraid to let her know.

Lord Barnes had bent his head to kiss her hand before repeating the gesture with her mother. Josephine had been much less inclined to pull back, a smile fixed on her face. Lord Barnes was gracious as he thanked her for inviting him into her home, finally giving her a compliment by stating that the home painted a beautiful picture against the decor of their surroundings. With an elated Josephine, Julia finally moved towards the drawing room where they would spend the remainder of the evening doing embroidery and reading.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Bucky Barnes AU #MCU fanfiction

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aghostybone-blog · 6 years

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I keep this collage of Emma from red band society as my wallpaper so I see thinspo every time I open my phone

#thinspo #ana #anorexia #anorexic #rbs #red band society

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wallpapernifty · 4 years

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thecrazyanimegirl · 7 years

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wallpapers + icon

Here is one of my fanfictions from Wattpad, hope you like it ;) This is something new for our blog, if you like it we will try to post more similar stuff. Also we accept asks for headcanons and short fanfictions! Not just for Levi, but for other characters that we post on our blog ^^

NO NAME by @technostargazer

The most beautiful and meaningful event of the year bears the name ‘The Reluctance Ball’.

At the most formidable times, society changed to the worst. The gap between the classes was present as far as men started forming the first associations thousands of years ago but the types of slavery changed within every culture and time. Those who didn’t have luck to escape the harsh punishments of their debts are now are imprisoned to entertain the high classes in various ways. Depending on their talents they were devided into different sections, some worse than the others. One of them was the 'The Reluctance Ball’. Having no other gift other than the voice, you would be trained to perform all kinds of music on stage. And once in a year, the most talented ones had the honor to perform on the yearly ball.

One of the entertainment groups was called 'No Name’. A band consisting of three people who wore suits and white bandages over their eyes. A female guitarist. A male drummer. And a male singer.

They decided to discard their names after the verdict to mock the higher-ups, acting like mere pigs in the unjust world as they were judged. Their songs were provocative and sharp tongued, which was the reason why the elites liked them so much. It was very amusing to watch them struggle against the system, like fish trying to survive on dry land.

Today was the day of their performance and one particular lady was looking forward it.

Her story was different. She might have been a member of the most wealthiest class but few knew her struggles to the top. She wasn’t popular among the nobility because of her nasty reputation. The gossips whispered about all kinds of physical cruelties she had done in her early years only to emerge on the top of her group as a winner. Years passed after her uprise and she managed to build herself a steady income thorugh connections and some shady trades. But between all the masks she wore one thing remained: she valued life more than anything in this world.

Having rarely time to enjoy herself, she managed to spare some time to look into the event invitation she recieved from one of her work partners. Upon hearing that the notorious band 'No Name’ participated in the annual ball after placing under the top ten in the musical stand-off, she promised herself that this was something she would like to see with her own eyes. If someone could show her the beauty of life in a way only she could understand, it was deffinitely the convicted singer that had the guts to provocate the nobles on such levels.

A blood red dress hugged her curves while the rest of the gracious body was ornated with various jewlery. Silently she moved through the crowd to her arranged table in front of the stage. Some moments passed until the lights went out and dark silhouettes appeared. All eyes were on the figures, concetrated, awaiting for their first move, like predators patiently lurking the pray. They were only mere pigs on the stage, after all. The young lady took a sip of champagne focused on the current situation.

They endure the looks of humiliation with such resistence that it can be felt in the air.

The instrumental of the song started and the singer spoke the first words: “Kneel down, pigs…”

His voice echoed through the hall, catching even the attention of the waiters. The lady held her breath unkowillingly, listening to every twitch of the string and processing each word throughly that left his lips.

“I’ll show you, tearing it to pieces If you only Wish for salvation, for the future Then, kneel down”

She could feel every emotion that he leaked through the song. It reached her heart because she could relate to all the horrors that the unfortunate had to bear. Slowly but surely, her cold heart warmed up to him.

Not being in control of her body anymore and her sight fixed on him, their eyes met for a brief moment. His steel gaze peered right into her soul and a pleasant shiver went down her spine. Captivated by the enchanting sight of the man before her, her body refused to listen to the voice of reason. Now she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

Her limbs writhed with unknown desires as he sent her a wink during his performance. A sly smirk appeared on his handsome face upon seeing her sudden reaction to his teasing. He was pleased seeing such a pretty lady gaze at him with so much admiration. It was unusual for a female from the audience to give him this kind of attention, he was used only to them looking down onto him.

“For who, and for what sake, do you fight? Right now, with that brain of yours Think of it.”

There was no way she could let that man leave after sending such signals without exchanging a few words with him. They had to perform two more songs later so she had time to talk to him until then, if she manages to get to him.

Before the song ended, she rised from her seat and sneaked behind the scene, passing a guard without complications with a small bribe. She found his changing room, slipped inside and waited. It wasn’t long when the door opened again, revealing the good looking artist before her. He wasn’t surprised seeing her in here but it excited him a little bit so he had to mantain his posture.

“Did I really catch your eye so much that you wanted to meet in such private surroundings? You know that it’s not safe for a lady to be with someone like me without protection.”

He closed the space between them and lifted her chin with his silky hand.

“Men are sinful creatures…”

“Women are no different, you know?” she added playfully while raising an eyebrow. A soft smile graced his lips and he started to undo the bandages from his head to gift her with a better sight on his face.

“What do you hope to achieve with your music?” she asked shamelessly, trying with all her might to withstand the urge to trace her fingers along his sharp jawline.

“You are here with me, so you already know the answer. Both of us come from the same ugly place and know that there is no escape from the origin, no matter where you go.”

His breath tickled her skin while he brushed his lips along her neck. Resting her head on his shoulder, she shivered with delight and ecstazy.

She composed herself for a brief moment to speak: “I have enough money to buy you and all of your members out of this shithole, but I guess that isn’t what you want, right?”

“You are guessing right, brat. I want to spit all off my fucking thoughts at them as long as it’s possible. I can’t stand to look at all the bullshit here in any other way.”

“Then I’ll have to find an other way to get close to you…”

He lifted his head and looked in her eyes.

“Yes, you will do that brat, because I have claimed you now.”

Placing a short and yet passionate kiss on her lips, he separated from her to prepare for the next act. She watched him get dressed while only one thought raced through her mind.

We will see who holds the property upon the other.

If someone didn’t know, Levi’s voice actor sang a few songs other than Kneel you pigs. Their names are: Masked Bitch and Pomp and Circumstances, so go on yt right away and listened to them. I promise that you won’t regret it ;)

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alivingfire · 7 years

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okay but au where louis, liam, and niall are in a punk band, think early 90s green day, and all they do is smoke weed all day and talk about writing songs that stick it to the man, and by the man i mean, like, the government, dude. louis dyed his hair red to symbolize the blood of the innocents on the hands of politicians but also, like, ‘cause it looks cool, and niall doesn’t own a single piece of clothing that doesn’t have a dozen holes in it, and liam has a septum ring that his tattoo artist pierced for him, but he was high so it’s a little crooked.

louis is the in-your-face, talk-shit-get-hit, outspoken undereducated but overenthusiastic voice of the band and the lead singer, and he’s also working on learning how to play the bass guitar but he’s not that good at pouring all his emotions into the lyrics and also thumbing the g-string like a heartbeat at the same time, so he mostly doesn’t bother. liam is the drummer, niall is on lead guitar.

they book a gig at the biggest punk bar in oakland and are pumped, at least until they celebrate by going to another band’s show that night and realize that they can’t perform and get the same kind of reactions if they don’t have a real bassist, someone who lives up to their expectations and will also somehow take them as they are, scruffy and skinny and loud, and make them into the greatest band that ever was.

they put up flyers all around town and hold auditions in the tiny living room of their apartment, and it goes terribly: the first guy doesn’t even know who Sid Vicious is, like, what the fuck dude, the second girl is hot (and louis has to clap his hand over liam’s mouth to keep him from saying immediately she’s in the band) but doesn’t own her own bass and probably can’t make their daily band practice and also doesn’t even know if she’ll be free for the Big Gig, the third guy sucks, the fourth guy sucks, the fifth guy is, like, fifty, and would probably break a hip in the mosh pit.

louis is about to give up. his throat hurts from singing all day, his buzz wore off ages ago, they’re out of beer and don’t have money for more, and they’re going to be pathetically mediocre at the show on saturday.

and then in walks one more person to audition.

he’s got some ridiculous floral shirt on, and louis is not sure he’s ever seen jeans that tight (and this is the 90s, so that says a lot), and when he talks about his influences he mentions stevie nicks and patsy cline and elvis, like, what the fuck. but they gave everyone else a chance, so they’ll give this guy a chance too.

and he rocks.

he’s amazing, louis has never heard a bass line so smooth. the guy’s a natural fit, playing off of liam’s crashing cymbals, trading riffs with niall, boosting louis’ voice without covering him up.

louis asks for a minute to discuss and the guy -- “harry!” he reminds them cheerfully, all wide smiles and fucking dimples -- agrees easily, ducking away to inspect the band posters tacked sloppily on the wall to cover the holes and cigarette burns.

“louis, he’s perfect,” niall urges.

“but,” louis protests. “look at him.”

they turn just in time to see harry picking a bit of lint of his grandma’s-wallpaper-inspired shirt, and liam snorts.

“so he’s weird. that’s what punk is about, being outside the ordinary, punching norms in the face.”

“yeah, but-”

“c’mon, lou.”

“okay,” louis sighs, loud enough for harry to hear. “you can be in the band. but,” he interrupts harry’s effusive thanks, “we have got to get you a different shirt.”

“like sandy in grease!” harry says brightly. “am i about to be a pink lady?”

louis groans, drops his head into his hands.

the week before the gig is filled with hours of practice, going through the songs with harry until he knows them well enough to start adding his own spin. he asks louis who played bass for them before and louis admits he did, a little, and harry offers louis some lessons. louis doesn’t have anything better to do, and he’s going out of his mind worrying about the gig, so he agrees.

and so he and harry start bass lessons too, just on the off times between band practices, usually when niall or liam are at work. they spend so much time together that little by little louis learns more about their mysterious new bassist. he’s a mama’s boy, loves his sister, loves his friends and reading and, god, does he love music.

“punk is angry, though,” louis points out. “punk is about being pissed off that the world isn’t what you wanted, so you yell about it.”

“that’s not how i see it,” harry disagrees easily, combing his curls out of his eyes. “ii think our society has built up this myth that people are unlovable, and that we have to be fixed by buying things or wearing certain clothes or having a certain hairstyle. the biggest form of rebellion right now is loving yourself, and loving others. love is the most punk rock thing there is.” and then he smiles, dimples and all. “now c’mon, let’s go find someone with a working TV. there’s a new episode of friends on tonight, monica and chandler are finally getting married!”

and so the gig rolls around and louis has never been more confused; the band is fucking amazing, they’ve never sounded so great, liam and niall absolutely adore harry, and they’re playing their biggest gig so far. it’s all louis ever wanted.

but harry’s words keep hanging over him. it makes sense, is the thing, and he doesn’t know how to reconcile it with himself. he’s punk rock. his badly dyed hair and the jean jacket that’s so worn out it doesn’t really have shoulders anymore and the safety pins in his jeans and his righteous indignation at everyone and everything -- that’s punk rock.

but also.

he loves his family. loves playing the bass, loves writing music and singing. loves niall and liam, even when they’re being total shits.

and he loves harry.

it hits him just as they tromp out on stage, the lights dim but the music loud, the crowd ready to go. louis takes a deep breath, looks to his left and sees harry watching him, waiting for the signal to start, his sheer blouse unbuttoned indecently low and a flower tucked behind his ear.

and louis loves him.

“oakland!” he screams, and the crowd echoes it back. “let’s fucking go!”

the gig goes off like a smash. by the end of it liam’s playing with a broken drumstick because he destroyed all his backups, and niall has ripped his shirt off and done a stage dive, and as harry holds the last long note of their final song louis grabs him by the neckline and hauls him in, kissing him fiercely in front of two hundred drunk and cheering punks.

when they break off, harry’s grinning. “way to stick it to the man, lou.”

and louis says, “shut up, sandy,” but kisses him again.

because that’s what punk rock is all about.

#this is utterly ridiculous #and i was about to post then realized everyone was listening to the interview #so this is a delayed reaction post as i'm about to leave for lunch #<3 #drabbles

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Hyperallergic: The Use an Abuse of Paint: ‘Fast Forward’ at the Whitney

Eric Fischl, “A Visit To / A Visit From / The Island” (1983), oil on canvas, 84 × 168 inches (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

When was the last time you complained that a museum exhibition was too small?

Fast Forward: Painting from the 1980s is installed in the Whitney Museum of American Art’s light-filled 8th-floor gallery — arguably the most gorgeous viewing space of any museum in the city — but for the purposes of the exhibition, it is divided into three moderately sized rooms and a wide, narrow elevator lobby. I would like to have seen this show at least tripled in size across one of the sprawling galleries downstairs.

With the spare allotment of space, is the Whitney hedging its bets on the long-term significance of the work on display? The museum can be commended for its effort to place painting front and center, even as it derives the show’s title from the 1980s video revolution, which has absorbed most of the decade’s critical analysis, but the show feels like something of a missed opportunity. I believe that a case can be made for a deeper and wider examination of the period.

That said, the exhibition, like the decade it represents, is a mixed bag. In a sense, it serves as an institutional chaser for two scrappier, broader, and, taken together, richer examinations of the period that closed in late November, Paradise: underground culture in NYC 1978-84 at Stephen Harvey Fine Art Projects and Something Possible Everywhere: Pier 34 NYC, 1983–84 at the 205 Hudson Street Gallery of Hunter College.

At the Whitney, there are 23 large works hung one or two per wall, while a salon-style installation presents 16 smaller pieces from floor to ceiling. This is a mistake. At the press preview, the curators explained that they decided to display the works in this fashion because they wanted to get away from the “white box” and approximate the free-for-all hangings typical of East Village galleries and countercultural extravaganzas like The Times Square Show (1980).

The main problem with this idea — aside from its denial of the Whitney’s de facto white box ambiance — is that we go to museums to look into, rather than at, works of art. The crowded installations in the raw, stained, and smelly spaces where much of this art had its debut did not consist of the cream of the crop; the Whitney show does. This miscalculation suggests a fundamental misunderstanding that equates a painting with its image, but more on that later.

One service that the exhibition does perform is that it separates American painting of the period from its European counterpart, the transavanguardia whose sound and fury is all but synonymous with art of the ‘80s: Anselm Kiefer, Georg Baselitz, Jörg Immendorff, Francesco Clemente, Enzo Cucchi, Sandro Chia, Mimmo Paladino, the list goes on.

The resulting array of home-grown, almost entirely New York-based work seems lighter in two respects: the feeling that an enormous weight has been lifted, allowing the images of these artists to be seen on their own terms, and correspondingly, that there is something missing — a global dimension or a sense of historical awareness.

The other salutary effect is that the market heavyweights of the time have been set off in their own corners, affording a place in the sun for those who had once been shouldered aside by the Schnabel-Salle-Fischl juggernaut.

The exhibition opens with a fizzy blast of Neo-Pop: a billboard-size canvas by Kenny Scharf, “When the Worlds Collide” (1984), in oil and spray paint, hung against black-and-white vinyl wallpaper adapted from a mural that Keith Haring made for his Pop Shop (1986-2005) in downtown Manhattan.

The Scharf/Haring pairing, combined with Julia Wachtel’s “Membership” (1984), a painting that facilely juxtaposes kitschy greeting card imagery with a black-and-white rendering of matching African fertility figures, seems to signal that the Geist of the decade’s art was bent toward crowd-pleasing hijinks and elitist condescension.

But thankfully, on the opposite side of the exhibition entrance, the Haring wall takes a grittier turn with Jean-Michel Basquiat’s “LNAPRK” (1982), a graffitied, scrawled, and distressed canvas sporting grotesque heads and musical notes. Alongside the Basquiat hangs Haring’s maze-like untitled drawing (1983-84) in fiber-tipped pen on synthetic leather, evoking a Native American hide painting.

Installation view of “Fast Forward: Painting from the 1980s” (2017), Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

The three galleries are thematically arranged: politics; appropriation; and abstraction. The salon-style wall is located in the appropriation room, a correspondence that fits most but not all of the work. The same can be said for the larger paintings as well: an acrylic on canvas of a shuttered storefront, “Closed” (1984-85) by Martin Wong, hangs in the abstraction gallery, but isn’t abstract at all, and only two out of the five paintings in the politics room are overtly political: Leon Golub’s monumental “White Squad I” (1982) and Eric Fischl’s diptych of frolicking vacationers abutted against drowned and desperate refugees, “A Visit To / A Visit From / The Island” (1983).

It quickly becomes apparent, however, that even though a set of paintings may look well together, there can be fundamental differences among them, in both content and form — differences that don’t so much undermine the curatorial structure but speak to the artist’s ability to use the language of paint — to reinvent its application and to put across a construct of ideas.

The two above-mentioned canvases in the politics gallery offer distinct contrasts in attitude and painterly approach. For his depictions of Central American death squads — bands of indiscriminate killers who, with the support of the Reagan administration, spent much of the decade terrorizing the peasantry of Guatemala and El Salvador — Golub rethought the idea of the triumphal frieze, transferring the red oxide of Roman frescoes to his monochromatic fields, while incising his super-sized figures in scraped-down, ever-shifting layers of dark and light.

Golub has cast his gun-toting, khaki-clad thugs as the dominant characters in the scene, leaving their victims virtually anonymous, and all but forcing the viewer to identify with the perpetrators. This standpoint operates collectively and individually, underscoring the culpability of a free and prosperous electorate whose tax dollars are funneled to support atrocities south of the border, as well as the genetic propensity of the human species to abandon mercy and reason for animalistic, tribal instincts. In Golub’s cool-eyed worldview, evil prevails; there is no uplift beyond the painting’s mesmerizing formal strengths. The only vulnerability of power is the extent of its overreach.

Leon Golub, “White Squad I” (1982), acrylic on linen, with metal grommets, 120 × 210 inches

At its best, and “White Squad I” is among his most exceptional works, Golub’s art conveys thorny truths with a sophisticated, stratified sense of nuance that inflects but never tempers his paintings’ overwhelming force. Eric Fischl’s “A Visit To / A Visit From / The Island,” on the other hand, relates to Golub’s work in category but not in kind; instead of the collective responsibility of a democratic society to remain vigilant over the actions of its government, we are presented with limousine liberal guilt over indulging upper-middle-class lotus-eating in climes where the majority of the population is black, destitute, and hopeless.

In contrast to Fischl’s truly disturbing early work — in which prurient, self-lacerating subject matter is underscored by the artist’s attempts at realism via the “Bad Painting” aesthetic defined by the New Museum exhibition of the same name (curated by Marcia Tucker in 1978) — “A Visit To / A Visit From / The Island” is executed in a not-entirely-successful academic technique that possesses none of the material exploration evidenced in Golub’s scoured pigment or the sooty exactitude of Wong’s “Closed.”

While it is tempting to imagine one of its panels bedecked with the buttery lushness and clashing colors of Luisa Chase’s “Limb” (1981), which hangs on an adjacent wall, while the other is painted with the knowing trashiness of Walter Robinson’s borrowed pulp-novel cover art, “Baron Sinister” (1986) from the neighboring appropriation room, it is of course pointless to play “what if” with a firmly established artist’s oeuvre.

Still, in a museum exhibition concentrating on a decade that brought about, in the minds of critics and collectors at least, a revival of image-based painting, the fusion or disconnect that exists between the handling of the medium and the picture it generates deserves special attention.

Like the bits of celluloid that make up a film, the laying-on of paint skews our emotions and layers our perception. Despite the flashiness of Fischl’s diptych as a whole and the undeniable beauty of its portrayal, in the right panel, of black refugees emerging from a black sea under a lowering sky, the blatancy of the political message and the retro quality of the neo-Manet brushwork render it the most incurious work in the show.

Despite the emphasis on subject matter that the decade heralded, the most effective works are those that take painting apart and put it back together again, often leaving traces of the process in scars and ghosts across the surface.

Christopher Wool, “Untitled” (1990), enamel on aluminum, 107 7/8 x 71 3/4 inches

In Christopher Wool’s untitled enamel-on-aluminum painting from 1990, the black-stenciled words “RUN DOG RUN” split and shift down the length of the white surface — a juicy presence in itself augmented by a vestigial “R” from a painted-over “RUN” in the uppermost rank. It is a work that would seem to genuflect before the denatured terms and conditions of mechanical reproduction, but can be fully experienced only in person, a sly subversion of expectations that leads you to look deeper into painting, where the drips hold a sexual charge and swatches of dark blue appear seemingly out of nowhere.

Wool’s painting hangs in the appropriation room, but it feels misplaced there, even though its text comes from an exterior source; its modus operandi is instead the kind of garden-variety appropriation that has been practiced by modernists from Pablo Picasso to Jasper Johns — an instigation for formal inquiry.

The type of appropriation that prevailed in the ‘80s involved a wholesale repurposing of imagery as the work’s primary statement. It has since become a byword for the bulk of Neo-Conceptual art, but its experiment in painting, as manifested here, feels as hermetic as it did when it first hit the scene — despite its aim to reopen art to mass media and the breakneck speed of contemporary life. The paintings in the rooms on either side of the appropriation-based works feel fresh and inquisitive by comparison.

Moira Dryer, “Portrait of a Fingerprint” (1988), casein on plywood, 48 1/8 × 61 1/4 × 4 inches

The exhibition is drawn entirely from the Whitney’s collection, which explains some of its lacunae and odd choices. I was surprised that the curators selected, for the political room, “The Three Graces: Art, Sex and Death” (1981), a candy-colored send-up of a classical theme by Robert Colescott, rather than one of the artist’s many trenchant and disquieting satires on race. But when I checked the Whitney’s website, I discovered that, at least according to the information provided by the collection database, it’s the only Colescott that the museum owns.

To my mind, the salon-style wall is the most problematic aspect of the exhibition; the obstacles it places in the way of absorbing the art is especially self-defeating in light of the high quality of what is on display.

The combo of Joyce Pensato’s untitled mouse head from 1992 (more Ignatz than Mickey) and Elizabeth Murray’s shaped abstraction, “Druid” (1979), smack in the middle of the uppermost reaches of the installation, is an instant eye-magnet, but it would be so much more enriching to experience, in a larger show, these two idiosyncratic artists facing off in a room of their own.

I also wish I could have had a better look at Carroll Dunham’s antic, untitled painting in oil and graphite on wood veneer (1984); Rex Lau’s painted landscape on carved wood, “The Mountain Demons” (1980); and Nellie Mae Rowe’s fanciful, untitled depiction of a woman raising her yellow-gloved hands above her head, which the artist made in 1981, the year before she died at age 82.

And it would have been intriguing to revisit in depth the individualistic, at times bizarre early work of such artists as Jonathan Borofsky, Andrew Masullo, Ida Applebroog, Glenn Ligon, among others, whose inclusion on the salon wall seems to relegate them to a footnote in the larger picture.

One striking omission in the museum’s collection was brought to light by a collaborative lithograph, “The Feminization of Poverty” (1987) by Nancy Spero and Leon Golub, which hangs in the lower right-hand corner of the installation. A quick search of the collection revealed that this is the only work by Spero owned by the Whitney, which makes you hope that the database is incomplete (though the text above the website’s search engine invites us to “browse the full collection”).

Of course, you could fill a pocket-size phone book with the artists who were active during these years but are not included in the exhibition, even Peter Halley and Philip Taaffe, who achieved substantial critical acclaim and market success at the time. Perhaps it would have been more fitting for the Whitney to present Fast Forward as a rotating exhibition, like the wonderful Human Interest portrait show downstairs.

These caveats, however, should not detract from the museum’s efforts to shine a light on the importance of painting in an era that has proven deeply influential on succeeding generations of artists, both inspirationally and critically — an era, it should be kept in mind, whose reactionary policies, as destructive as they were, will be nothing compared to what we are about to undergo.

Perhaps this is why the abstraction room offers such solace and grace. These are paintings, based on the human body, botanical forms, and other sources, that sublimate a storm of emotions into transcendently formal terms, none more than Ross Bleckner’s “Count No Count” (1989) in oil and wax on canvas, a glimmering memorial to those lost to the AIDS epidemic.

No less poignant are Carlos Alfonzo’s “Told” (1990) — an abstracted silhouette of a despairing figure made the year before the artist’s AIDS-related death at the age of 41 — and “Portrait of a Fingerprint” (1988) by Moira Dryer, a green-and-red abstraction in casein on plywood.

Dryer’s life was also cut short, by cancer, when she was 35. Her composition is smeared by solvent on three sides, turning her edge-to-edge horizontal red strokes against a green field into a fog lit by flashing patrol car lights. Dryer’s imagery typically played with dissolution, which we read now, rightly or wrongly, as the slipperiness of mortality and the inadequacy of trying to hold onto anything.

Elsewhere in the room we encounter the feathery whiteness of Susan Rothenberg’s “Tuning Fork” (1980), the zigzagging blue and white bars of Mary Heilmann’s “Big Bill” (1987), and the pollen spores and floating cells of Terry Winters’ “Good Government” (1984) — a title that refers to Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s masterwork “The Effects of Good Government in the City” (1338-1339) in the Sala della Pace in Siena.

We may be tempted to smirk or shrug at the irony of Winters’ title, given what we’ve experienced in the past week alone, though the wall label suggests that the artist was playing it straight:

Winters considered this painting finished only when the elements began to cohere and the composition reminded him “of those maps you saw in grammar school and it said ‘good government’ and everything was working together.”

“Good Government,” which was done in oil on linen, is a tour de force of painterly techniques, where rough-hewn impastos in dark, aggressive earth tones are laid beside delicate stains and linear patterns, while scraped knife strokes in blue and white seem to glow from within. Though at times mottled and choked, it’s the kind painting, along with others in this room, that you would want to linger over, and that’s saying something.

Fast Forward: Painting from the 1980s continues at the Whitney Museum of American Art (99 Gansevoort Street, Meatpacking District, Manhattan) through May 14.

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blingpapers · 8 years

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Red Band Society wallpapers or lockscreens Please, like or reblog if you save (or if you like them :D) *request* photos aren’t mine, only edits

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Ten Moments That Basically Sum Up Your Yellow Dahlia Experience | Yellow Dahlia

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The post Ten Moments That Basically Sum Up Your Yellow Dahlia Experience | Yellow Dahlia appeared first on Wallpaper Nifty.

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