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sylphidine · 1 year

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[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 23

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Swatch Paletta, Spamton Addison, T.M. Tanner [Tasque Manager], Catechu Dyer [Swatchling], Indigo Dyer [Swatchling]

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Are We There Yet?

Chapter summary: The new semester brings both Spamton and Swatch an equal measure of happiness and uncertainty.

Author notes: The usual trigger warnings touching on Mike's past abuse. Also, if you read between the lines, there's non-explicit sexual content in our protagonists' new relationship. The content in this story will not go above the Mature label, but I may write some sexy "outtakes" at a later point.

__________________

At first, living together was an idyll. Mostly.

Spamton’s heart felt full to bursting with how much he loved being in Swatch’s company in their own space. When the blizzard at the end of January gave them both an unexpected four-day weekend, neither of the two were unhappy about being snowed in. Fortunately the power never went out, but they had an excuse to find new and inventive ways of keeping each other warm in nearly every room in the house.

The tradition of Spamton playing the piano just for Swatch before bedtime, and the accompanying tradition of Swatch reading aloud from one of Spamton’s books when the two were in bed together, got its start that weekend.

On that Sunday afternoon, when it was fairly obvious that Sunday dinner with Indo, Catto, and T.M. would have to be canceled due to the increasing snowfall and the wind creating whiteout conditions, Spamton voiced something that had been on his mind.

“I p-p-probably should have asked you this a hell of a long time ago, b-but when’s your birthday?”

He could feel Swatch’s rumbling laugh up against his side. “November 20th.”

“Whuh– Why didn’t you TELL me I had missed your birthday?”

“You and I had a few other things on our mind at the time, you’ll recall. There wasn’t an ‘us” back then, so it literally didn’t occur to me to tell you when my birthday was.”

As they stood together at the big bay window watching the snow, Swatch gave Spamton a comforting squeeze and continued, “And besides which, if you really wanted to know, you could have asked your brother Ballew.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, he never told you how he scoped me out before you moved into Overlook?”

“G-g-good Lord.”

“The very good Lord, indeed.”

Spamton pulled Swatch over to the piano bench and made them sit while he knelt in front of them and propped his elbows on Swatch’s knees. Eyes shining, he declared, “Well, I need to - to fix this. How about a quarter-birthday p-party?”

“A quarter-birthday?”

“Yeah. When I was really little…”

“You’re still really little.”

“Hmmmph. As I was s-saying, when I was really YOUNG, my sis-sis-sister told me about half-birthdays. She kept saying one year that she was g-g-going to c-cut my presents right d-down the middle with an ax…”

“Nice sister you’ve got.”

“S-she was joking. But she did m-make me a half-cake.”

Swatch hummed thoughtfully. “We could co-opt that idea, with modifications of course.”

The next day, Catto, Indo, and T.M. all got the same text message.

Quarter-birthday celebration for Swatch. Sunday night dinner on February 20th.

_____________

Spamton got accustomed very quickly (and very happily) to falling asleep most nights with his face, his hair, and various parts of his body being stroked by Swatch’s long strong fingers.

Swatch relished being woken up each morning by Spamton trailing kisses over their pecs, nuzzling along their jawline, or nibbling at their ears.

Even though Swatch no longer NEEDED the wedge pillow, they had gotten accustomed to sleeping upright on it. And since Spamton insisted on using his own wedge pillow in their shared bed, it seemed to just make sense to have the two pillows side-by-side up, propped against the headboard. And of course having both their heads at the same level meant the setup was perfect for kissing each other. Kissing often and enthusiastically became the norm for their time together, day and night.

The two would generally fall asleep facing one another, with Spamton draping at least one leg, sometimes both legs, over Swatch's legs. At some point in the night, however, they would each turn on their sides, and the shape of the remaining hours until dawn would be determined by one small factor.

If Swatch were turned away and Spamton could hug them from behind, the two of them would both sleep restfully through the night.

The opposite could not be said to be true.

Spamton *wanted* to be spooned, desperately. He tried so hard to relax, to fit his body in an S-curve to parallel Swatch’s S-curve and fall asleep without issue in Swatch’s embrace.

But his mind wouldn’t stop screaming in panic and remembrance when he felt the weight of Swatch’s arms holding him from behind. They weren’t Swatch’s arms then, in his muzzy exhaustion-addled brain; those arms were Mike’s, and those arms were a prison, a velvet trap with hidden spikes and claws.

He managed not to *physically* scream the first few times with Swatch as the big spoon and Spamton the little spoon. And, with difficulty, he curbed the conditioned impulse to leap out of bed and start mindlessly cleaning things that didn’t need to be cleaned. But he couldn’t stop himself from involuntarily shaking, and after several nights his shaking evolved into full-body shudders that would wake Swatch up. They’d sit up in alarm and turn the bedside lamp on, worried that Spamton was having some kind of seizure, and the ensuing sputtering of mutual reassurances would keep both of them awake for hours.

Finally during one of those nights Spamton tried to make a joke about “needing to see you coming”, but he could have smacked himself when he saw the look on Swatch’s face go from concerned to downright agonized and heartbroken. Swatch hugged him tightly and murmured in his ear, “And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?”

Spamton could not think of any way to answer that, so he just let Swatch hold him and tried not to cry.

Damn his broken brain. Damn Mike.

After that night, Spamton noticed that Swatch would make sure to either face him in bed, or to faux-casually say something like, “Starfish Express now boarding” before turning on their side and letting Spamton embrace their back, one of his legs thrown over their hip.

It was both endearing and frustrating, but it at least let them both have a decent night’s sleep.

______________

Spamton looked at the schedule of home games and away games taped to the refrigerator and sighed. He hadn’t factored into his enjoyment of living in the townhouse with Swatch how much he would miss Indigo and Catechu.

It wasn’t like he *never* saw them; Spamton ventured into Plato’s Cave most afternoons at lunchtime and hung out with one or both of the brothers as they were eating before going to practice.

And as indicated on the paper schedule, Sunday dinners with the twins and T.M. would still be a thing, on the weekends when the basketball team wasn’t traveling. The five of them had mutually decided to alternate between the townhouse and Luigi’s, since the twins didn’t want to impose on their two new roommates at the Overlook.

But he found himself thinking that life was too quiet without the crowd he’d gotten used to being a part of.

He was startled the first time Swatch invited him to go see the team playing a home game at the campus gym; he found himself both enjoying it and at the same time regretting that he’d never gotten to see Swatch play. He would have liked to have discussed the topic with Swatch’s cousins, and with Indigo in particular, but the opportunity never was there to do so.

Spamton saw a lot more of T.M. in the first two weeks of the semester than he’d expected; he ran into her at the radio station, of course. But he’d run into her a lot more frequently at the campus library, where he’d gotten a job. He’d followed through on his statement to Swatch that he was going to split living expenses; he’d written to Katherine Shalazar, his work-study boss at the library at NDU, asked for a recommendation from her, and submitted an application to Inwood’s library. While he couldn’t be sure that the Addison name didn’t have something to do with it, he was relieved when he got the job acceptance and could commit to Sunday afternoons and Monday nights assisting at the reference desk.

When asked about it, T.M. first said she was doing more studying at the library than in her dorm room because she needed specific materials for her independent study. But she eventually admitted to Spamton that since she and Aster had broken up, seeing GiGi and Leroux together was making her down in the dumps. T.M. was quick to add that, surprisingly, GiGi wasn’t being inconsiderate about her and T.M.’s shared space; Leroux was a good influence that way. But T.M. still felt like a third wheel in the dorm suite all too often.

Spamton’s first impulse was to ask T.M. to move in with him and Swatch, but he caught himself before the words could leave his mouth. He needed to analyze living with *just* Swatch didn’t feel like enough to him, sometimes.

________________

Swatch was almost afraid to admit how contented they felt, how much in their element they were, living in the townhouse with Spamton. They didn’t have to be a caretaker; they didn’t have to be accountable to anyone for their whereabouts; they didn’t have to conform to anyone’s schedule except that of their own college courses and their shifts at Plato’s Cave.

They had been lucky to land to snag hours before the work-study window closed; they got their Wednesday night closing slot back, and were also scheduled for the Monday and Tuesday lunch shifts. Without the athletic expectations hanging over their head, and with this being their last semester before graduating, Swatch had much more leeway to decide the structure of their classroom day, and found themselves ecstatic to not have to get up at the crack of dawn or to go to sleep before midnight.

More time to spend in bed with Spamton. Which was, in their opinion, an unmitigated delight. Swatch never tired of making their partner happy, while learning things about their own body that they’d never imagined before.

And more time to spend in their studio.

THEIR.

STUDIO .

Swatch had never even dared to dream of having an opportunity to say those two words together aloud before they turned sixty-five. They had expected to be in service all their life to some degree or other, putting others first and themself last.

But the dream that Swatch didn’t even know they’d had was coming true… a dedicated QUIET space that was theirs to create in.

The quiet was something that Swatch felt guiltily grateful for. They’d been used to the noises of apartment living all their life; people stomping or yelling on floors above and on floors below. The dorm where they’d lived from freshman year through junior year, not to mention the Overlook, hadn’t been much better. And while they loved their cousins, sometimes Swatch just needed space. Spamton could never be as boisterous as Catto, nor was he as moody as Indo could be on occasion.

The only noises in the townhouse that Swatch heard, barring street and subway noises from outside, were the noises they themself or Spamton made. The thick walls between each of the rowhouses acted as an excellent buffer to sound. The people who lived on either side of them were elderly and friendly to both Swatch and Spamton, especially when the two of them helped shovel out the adjoining driveways during the blizzard. Waving hello and goodbye mornings and evenings to their neighbors became a habit.

Spamton never intruded when Swatch was in the studio, which was a nice change from others in the past feeling the need to peer over their shoulder whenever Swatch was sketching or painting, back in Queens.

Spamton always asked whether he should close the door to his “library”, the other bedroom on the second floor of the townhouse, before he put music on.

Even when Spamton sang in the shower, it wasn’t at volumes that would shatter the ceramic.

Swatch found themself ridiculously happy, even if at the back of their mind they knew it was only a temporary situation. Everything would have to change when they graduated, but they pushed that thought away whenever it tried to surface.

__________

“How - how do you feel about Valentine’s Day, Swatch?”

There, he’d asked the question with barely a trace of a stutter. And he’d made eye contact while asking…. Score!

Swatch looked back at Spamton across the dining room table. They had both started using its surface as the best place to spread out homework and textbooks and laptops while studying together or separately. “I’ve never really had any reason to develop feelings one way or the other about Valentine’s Day. Before now, that is.” They ended that statement with a gentle smile.

Why is this enough for you? Spamton wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. Why am I enough for you?

Of course, he didn’t scream. Instead he said with a smile of his own, “G-g-good! No precon-conceptions, then. No ridiculous expectations.”

“Maybe not, but I’m open to formulating some joint plans. Unless you’d rather I surprise you?”

“Only if - if - if I c-c-can surprise you, too.”

“It’s a deal.”

Swatch stretched, rolling their neck on their shoulders with an audible pop. Spamton winced at the sound. He got up and walked around the table so he could start rubbing Swatch’s back. Swatch took off their glasses and leaned forward to rest their head on their folded arms, making noises of deep contentment low in their throat.

You never ask me more than I can give.And I want to give you everything. I’m just so damn afraid.

“Easy on the chokehold, Spamton. Not my kink.”

That snapped him out of his self-pity. “S-sorry. Got lost in thought.” He moved his hands over Swatch’s shoulders and started tracing the sides of their neck more lightly with the tips of his fingers.

“Aaaaah, that’s more like it. Remind me to return the favor later tonight.”

“It’s - it’s a d-deal.”

______________________

Neither Spamton nor Swatch could keep their respective “surprises” a secret for long. Spamton managed to snag tickets to the final showing of the day at the Hayden Planetarium on the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, and Swatch countered with the promise of “the best dim sum you’ve ever had”, although they wouldn’t say where.

The weather heated up in the second week of February and melted away the snowdrifts as though there had never been a blizzard at all. That Saturday afternoon was cloudy and windy, with temperatures in the mid-fifties. They both layered in turtlenecks and thick sweaters, rather than taking bulky coats with them on the subway. Swatch was in black and white, but had wrapped a red ribbon around their cane; Spamton wore burgundy and charcoal. Both decided on jeans and sneakers, though, since it seemed a shame to miss the chance of walking in such good weather.

The platform for the 1 train at 231st Street was nearly empty when they got on board. Swatch gravitated towards a corner seat near the end of the subway car, away from any windows. Spamton grinned at their choice, guessing that Swatch was trying to avoid tripping anyone with either their long legs or their cane, and made himself comfortable against Swatch’s side for the ride down to 79th Street.

The walk over to the 81st Street entrance, bypassing the closer entrance to the Museum of Natural History, was a brisk one; hand-in-hand they scurried in the face of a nearly 30 mile-per-hour wind, “Scarves next time!” Swatch commented breathlessly as they finally got inside. Spamton handed them a tissue and used one himself to clean his fogged glasses.

The planetarium show was incredible, but Spamton found himself watching Swatch’s face through most of the presentation, rather than the “sky”. Reflections of stars and galaxies played over his partner’s glasses, almost turning their lenses into screens. Swatch’s expression was almost… worshipful?... as they gazed upwards.

“Did - did I do alright?” Spamton whispered as the show neared its end. Swatch’s glowing smile was answer enough.

When the two got back outside at 5:30pm, it was fully dark but the wind had dropped. The temperature was still comfortable, so they took their time walking down Central Park West, this time with Spamton’s hand tucked into the crook of Swatch’s arm. The height difference between the two of them didn’t seem to matter as the city blocks passed under their feet.

“We’re n-not walking all the way - all the way to C-C-Canal Street, are we?” Spamton ventured to ask as they approached Columbus Circle.

“Tired already?”

“N-not if you aren’t.”

“Nah, not tired, but definitely starting to get hungry. Shall we ride?”

Swatch turned them both around the corner and down the subway stairs, their cane tapping on the pavement with each step. Spamton leaned his head against Swatch’s arm as they waited on the platform and said, “You really make that c-cane look elegant.” “Why, thank you, kind sir. Yup, Uncle Julius knew what he was doing picking this out. Practical AND fashionable.”

The A train came first and Spamton went to grab a seat, but Swatch stopped him, saying in a teasing tone, “We’re not going that far.”

And they were as good as their word; they pulled Spamton towards the subway car doors at the 42nd Street stop.

When he realized where exactly Swatch was taking him for Valentine's Day, Spamton had to laugh. Not mockingly, but joyfully. The pun-laden name was absolutely perfect.

Swatch’s smile was triumphant as they opened the door of the restaurant and ushered them both inside. “My awesome boyfriend deserves ‘awesum dim sum’. I will brook no arguments.”

The food was as delicious as Swatch had claimed, and Spamton enjoyed the opportunity to be able to take small bites of a variety of things without being made to feel like he was some oddity that couldn’t eat properly.

He polished off his hibiscus tea with a happy sound. “This was p-p-perfect. I c-couldn’t have p-picked a better choice. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Swatch looked at the clock behind the counter and started to gather themselves to rise. “They’re probably going to throw us out. It’s past closing time.”

“Uh-huh. These k-k-kinds of places were always - always more a lunch sp-spot when I was down here.”

“Oh, you’ve been here before?”

“N-n-n-not here specifically, no. But p-p-p-places like it further d-d-d-d-downtown.”

Please, please, please, Swatch, don’t bring up my past tonight. Let’s just enjoy the here and now.

And it was almost as if Swatch had heard his inner thoughts, because they merely put a warm strong arm over Spamton’s shoulders as they both started walking back to Port Authority and the 1 train to head uptown and home.

#swatchton #swatchton au #sylph writes #deltarune fanfiction #fic: call signs

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deecitys · 3 years

Text

blue, white, and a little bit of gold; z. chenle

pairing: chenle x fem!reader

genre/warnings: school au, friends to lovers, student!chenle, fluff, swearing, food

word count: 2.7k

a.n.: this is part of the nct secret santa collab hosted by @neoculturechristmas ! i’m writing for @candychanhee i hope u enjoy <33

masterlist

lowercase intended

MONDAY, DEC. 14

“you’re really going to leave me alone?” you frown. “here? with mrs. s? out of all the teachers?”

your best friend, jiwoo, places her hand on your shoulder empathetically. “she called you. i’m terrified of her. the discussion is over, y/n.”

she bows like a ballerina and proceeds to jump away from you down the hall. you roll your eyes and push the wooden door open, sighing. the empty home economics classroom smells like freshly baked muffins, except evil freshly baked muffins, just because this is mrs. s’s classroom.

you walk up to the one desk you could find, clear of fabric scraps and needles, and dump your heavy backpack on it. the noise echos; or maybe it’s just your hyperactive brain anticipating for a jumpscare. in mrs. s’s classroom, anything can happen…

but just as you were about to call for the terrifying teacher, the door rattles open behind you and you let out a yelp, scrunching down.

“hey y/n,” a slightly familiar voice calls. you slowly shift your gaze to find zhong chenle.

you’ve known chenle ever since middle school (you might’ve had a crush on him back then…), and he was in your friend group at one point, but you two have never crossed paths in particular especially after he was announced as mvp for the school basketball team and became mega popular. he was nice though, as far as you knew, and it was a sense of relief that you weren’t going to be the only one in mrs. s’s room.

“haha, um, hi chenle,” you force a smile and hold the desk to get up. something shifts in the storage room of the class, and when you two turn your attention to the noise, mrs. s enters the scene. her leather buckled shoes clack on the floor as she approaches you and chenle.

“hello, chenle,” mrs. s greets the smiling boy with ink-black hair, and proceeds to frown on you through her narrow glasses. “you should’ve told me you’re here.”

“sorry,” you utter, avoiding eye contact.

she mumbles something about kids these days. “i called you two here because i want to ask for a favor.”

while mrs. s shuffles through her desk, you glance at chenle with wide eyes, who shrugs back in question.

“i’m on duty for planning, and you two are the highest performing in my classes. a week left.” mrs. s hands a piece of paper, and chenle reaches out to grab it.

“december 18th, friday, gym, at 6 through 8:30 pm… the winter dance?” he reads. “we’re supposed to plan it?”

“plan it, manage it, whatever else it needs,” mrs. s explains while you panic trying to think of an excuse out. chenle just stands, dumbfounded. “10 percent raise of semester grade of whatever class if it goes successfully.”

10 percent? holy shit, this is your chance. your math grade!

“we’re doing it!” you blurt out loudly, inducing an emotion (slight surprise? indistinguishable.) out of mrs. s for the first time.

“we are?” chenle questions, to which you blink inanimately . “oh… oh yeah, we are. leave it to us! we’re really trustworthy, and we have teamwork. we’re, we’re practically best friends. you can count on us.”

mrs. s slowly nods in approval while you force a big grin, grabbing your backpack and pushing chenle towards the door. “we’ll start planning now, thank you, see you in class!”

you two rush out of the room. “dear god,” you sigh.

“you know what? i need that grade raise, my english grade is, uh, kinda questionable.” chenle sighs.

“so is my math grade, i’m literally about to be disowned. meet tomorrow after school at the gym?” you ask, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. with a strained grin, you turn right around and speed walk to the end of the hall. jiwoo appears, peeking behind the corner.

“is that zhong chenle?”

TUESDAY, DEC. 15

“so…” you hold on to the ends of your puffy jacket to make sure they aren’t blown away by the freezing winter wind. “where do we start?”

“we could look at the gym and, i don’t know, envision the scene. i got the keys. and budgets tomorrow,” chenle enunciates, which you give a positive shrug to.

the door creaks open and you hurry in to turn on the lights. you’ve been in here plenty of times before, and you try to remember the setup last year, hoping you would be able to get some inspiration. it’s interrupted by a tingly feeling in your nose and a following sneeze.

“god, it’s freezing in here too,” you exclaim. “doesn’t it get even colder? we’ll need to have everything indoors.”

“do you think they’ll let us sell winter themed popsicles?” chenle asks. you frown at his contradicting question. he’s wearing a simple crewneck sweatshirt unlike you prepared for antarctica.

“...a hot chocolate stand?” he negotiates, noticing your glare.

“a hot chocolate stand it is,” you take your phone out to write a note, pausing halfway to point at the spot near the entrance. “we could have it right there, with the entry fee stand, so people can grab one as they come.”

“and this can be the dance floor?” chenle is now suddenly standing in the middle of the room. you nod, writing down another bullet point.

“so, how was it?” jiwoo asks on the phone.

“it wasn’t that awkward, he’s still chatty, actually,” you describe, twiddling the blanket you have over your head. “we got a week’s notice which is so shitty, but we got to everything we had to do and we’re on track. he comes up with the wildest, most unrealistic ideas, though. can you imagine popsicles in a winter dance? it’s fucking freezing, i’m going to work a bit on decorations after school so he doesn’t mess with it…”

WEDNESDAY, DEC. 16

“what are you wearing?” chenle lets out high-pitched laughs. it’s after school the next day, and this time, you’ve prepared for the climate.

“what?” you frown. “it’s cold in there. i need to survive.”

“you look like a penguin.”

“it’s only five layers.”

“whatever you say, best friend,” chenle does a fancy little bow to lead you into the gym. you huff but follow him anyway.

“today, we have to do all the budget stuff,” he takes a seat on the open bleacher to open his laptop, and you hesitantly take a seat a feet away. “i actually did some research and found all the places we need to contact, with all the costs and fees written and added一 here.” he turns the laptop your way and you lean towards the laptop (NOT HIM, THE LAPTOP!) slightly to take a look. a lot of work with numbers is done and you’re actually quite astonished by the organization and amount.

“practice got cancelled, and so like i had a lot of time lying around. i’ve contacted some places if we already made the decisions on the specifics so some are finalized, um, if that’s okay,” he explains. you continue to scan through the spreadsheet. the dj, catering, lights, they’re all done.

“wow, chenle,” that’s what you manage to say. “i’m glad i did something too.” you quickly dig up your sketchbook from your backpack and flip through it until you find the decoration sketches. you hand it over to him with fully stretched arms, keeping your distance. “they’re all at target, all the stuff i marked. so we can go get them whenever, if the budget, you know, allows it.” you hold down the strong urge to bite your nails through the long, dreadful silence. where did the chatty chenle go while you needed his chattiness the most?

“this is really cool,” he finally speaks. “and it fits our budget, so it’s perfect. i remember you being really good at art in middle school! guess you didn’t change.”

you flush (for no absolute reason!) and quickly take the drawing away, mumbling up a ‘thanks’.

“uh, anyways, today all we have to do is contact the rest of the people on the list, and then we’ll buy the stuff tomorrow, sell last minutes tickets on thursday, and theeeen we’ll decorate and see how the dance goes on friday, right? since the school’s been advertising since, what, last week?” you speak quickly to change the subject. he doesn’t seem to notice and instead nods.

“tomorrow, we’re driving to target to get all the decorations. hey, remember when i liked him in middle school?” you ask jiwoo. it’s after school and you’re at her house, doing homework. she looks up from her science assignment to give you a look.

“don’t tell me you’re starting to like him again,” she laughs.

“hey, what’s wrong with that?” you raise your voice slightly, then turn your attention back to your laptop, suddenly self-conscious. “i mean, not that i like him, anyway.”

“you know i can see right through you?” jiwoo doesn’t take her gaze off of you for the long period of silence that follows. you roll your eyes.

“fine, whatever, i may have the tiniest physical symptoms of liking him again or whatever,” you admit. jiwoo giggles, then scrunches closer to you.

“so, what do you like about him?” she asks enthusiastically.

“i mean… he has a nice smile, yeah, that,” you mumble.

“and?”

“i guess he’s funny, and nice, and actually kind of responsible, i don’t know, and his voice一”

your description is interrupted by jiwoo’s screech.

“shouldn't have brought it up…” you sigh.

THURSDAY, DEC. 17

what have you gotten yourself into?

out of all the cars, you’re sitting at the front seat of ZHONG CHENLE’s car. he’s driving. CHENLE IS DRIVING.

the familiar roads aren’t so familiar when you’re in such a peculiar situation. he drives nicely though. and there’s the radio on. and he’s humming. super nicely. that’s so attractive. there’s nothing particularly attractive about humming, but on chenle it is. SHUT UP Y/N!

“do you sing?” you unconsciously ask.

“yeah, actually,” he answers. “my dad doesn’t like it, though, actually, so i don’t tell a lot of people. he just wants me to focus on basketball, because i don’t sing in a deep tone like the opera people, and he thinks if i don’t do that, it’s not manly enough, or whatever.”

the mood… you brought up the wrong topic, you think. “sounds like what jake would say,” you reply in a lighter note. “remember him? the super old school kid from 7th grade?”

“oh my god, YES,” chenle laughs, moving on to talk about him and middle school memories until you reach target. you quickly find the party decoration section and pick out the things. you’re on your last item when chenle taps your shoulder. he’s holding packages of golden sparkly streamers.

“i know the colors are blue and white, but imagine a little bit of gold. a little bit of sparkle, but no annoying glitter shit! what do you say?” he anticipates.

“actually, pretty cool, yeah,” you say, and chenle pumps his arm before throwing the packages into the shopping basket.

“i was about to just say no without listening after that one time you suggested we get popsicles, but good suggestion. love the improvement!” you half-joke. he immediately mocks you, which you laugh at.

the car is loaded up and now you’re on your way back. you two chat about the most random things, from taste in food to tv shows to traumatic but funny experiences, and you keep yawning. it’s been a long day.

chenle drives out of route, but you’re too tired to realize; the most you can do is keep up with the conversation. a blink later and you’re at the drive-thru of starbucks. “pick a drink, miss,” he rolls the window down when the car stops front of the menu.

“me?” you ask in surprise.

“yes, you.” chenle laughs. “you look so dead right now, it’s only 5 pm. i think we both need a caffeine boost for homework.”

“ooh, so thoughtful of you,” you dramatize.

he rolls his eyes. “shut up, i’m paying.”

“caramel macchiato please, mr. zhong!”

you sit patiently while he orders and gets the drinks; a caramel macchiato for you and a café latte for himself. you sip the drink in now comfortable silence and bliss (who wouldn’t be happy with a free drink?) on the way back.

“why didn’t we ever talk before?” chenle asks, breaking the silence.

“dunno,” you say. “just we didn’t have any reasons to, i guess,”

“remember when i told mrs. s we were practically best friends? maybe that wasn’t a lie.”

for once, you love mrs. s so much right now.

FRIDAY, DEC. 18 (D-DAY!)

with the help of chenle’s friends, decorations are up on time and students show up to the dance. everything goes by plan and people are thriving, except… jiwoo had a change of plans last minute. and you were going to ask her to help ask chenle out.

“i’m telling you, it’s the perfect chance,” over the phone, jiwoo’s voice sounds passionate and a little distorted. it’s a little hard to tune into with the background noise, even outside of the dance room alone. “once this is over, nothing happens, and winter break starts, you guys will end up like before. distance friends with zero interactions and zero chances. take the risk while you can, y/n!”

“but you aren’t here to help me!” you whine. “i’ve never done this before! i wasn’t prepared for this! i’m not the kind of person to be doing this!”

“and you’ll never be prepared anyway, so what’s the point of waiting?” jiwoo argues. “don’t be a pussy and go for it. if he likes you back, that’s cool, and if he doesn’t, you have nothing to worry about because you guys won’t have a reason to talk anymore. now, i have an angry mother to deal with, so i’m hanging up, peace out and tell me how it goes. love you, bye!”

your urgent call of her name is interrupted by a long and loud beep. you sigh.

as much as you hate to admit, she’s right. there isn’t any other excuse to keep talking to him. you check the time, and it’s almost 8; half an hour until the dance ends.

“fuck it,” you say to yourself, pushing the heavy door open and meeting the warm and noisy atmosphere. it’s not long until you find chenle chatting with the dj. you take a deep breath feets away from his back and decide to approach him that way.

“chenle! chenle!” you whisper-yelled through the booming music. he turns around immediately, eyes wandering until he finds you.

“y/n! y/n!” he whisper-yells back.

“i need to tell you something important.” you take his arm and start to drag him towards the door out.

“you good? what’s up?” he asks. you shake your head, signaling it’s too loud in the gym, and point to the door, continuing to pull him. through your booming heartbeat you keep calm until you reach the cold outdoor air where you finally let go of chenle.

“so, um, hi,” you greet, to which chenle chuckles.

“hey.”

“the important thing is,” you take a deep breath in. “ithinkilikeyouandithinkweshouldgoout.”

it takes a second for him to process your fast words. maybe you shouldn’t have confessed, you think. you internally scream, and this is the longest second of your LIFE.

“uhh, this isn’t fair,” chenle argues, and you’re stand there, dumbfounded. ?_? “i was going to ask you out! life is so unfair.”

you gasp. “you’re KIDDING.”

“no, i’m not. uh, so, like, i think yes. what am i saying… i’m saying that yes, we should go out.” chenle looks nervous. CHENLE LOOKS NERVOUS!

“i was NOT expecting that,” you say.

“well, i wasn’t either, on my end,” chenle laughs.

“well,” you hold yourself back from screaming and jumping. “we should go back in, we’re the managers, y’know?” chenle nods, taking your hand to walk back into the gym. smooth.

“also, y/n, when i bought you starbucks, the intention was not to seduce you, just wanted to clarify. that was only like, four bucks. you’re worth more than four bucks, i swear.” chenle rants.

“glad to hear,” you roll your eyes but end up laughing anyway.

there couldn’t have been a better winter dance.

#nct fluff #kpopscape #neowritingsnet #neothestars #nct chenle #chenle fluff #nct christmas #nct collab #nct school au #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct #chenle soft hours #chenle fics #chenle oneshots #nct oneshot #nct dream fics #nct dream fluff

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

Text

Logan’s Gay and Remy’s in a Suit

Summary: Just read the title Content: Gays, so much gays, nb!remy, nb!logan (he uses he/him pronouns but he’s still an enby suckers), mentions of dying of gay, logan thinking that flirting = bullying because he’s a useless gay Pairing: Romo losleep Notes: I’m so sleep-deprived I should be sleeping but i HAD to write this so. have it. inspired by this art by @strawberryjellystuff

Logan was a smart person. He knew a good deal of things. He knew the distance from the earth to the sun, to the moon, and to Mars. He knew the average amount of bones in the human body at any given interval of life. He knew the names of every capital of every city in north and south america.

He also knew that he was very, very gay. This fact alone wasn’t too shocking or even that impressive. Logan had known he was gay since he was fifteen. It hadn’t been hard to figure out.

It was the ‘very, very’ that was important. As a rule, Logan rarely felt the need to enhance his words with ‘very.’ He made his points, he made them clearly, and he made them exactly as he wanted them. There was no reason for him to use ‘very.’

Then he met Remy.

And Remy… woo boy. Remy.

Remy made Logan feel it extremely necessary to add ‘very, very’ to his normally adequate descriptor of ‘gay.’ That was because Remy was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very pretty. And there was only a little bit of the author’s bias showing through in that statement. It was mostly cold, hard fact. You know because LOGAN’S thinking it and he thinks in pretty much only fact.

So Logan was gay, Remy was (objectively) the prettiest person to exist, and Logan was trying his hardest to stop his writer from taking away his braincells and turning him into a proper gay disaster.

Except he and Remy worked at the same university. In the same department. During most of the same hours.

Logan was having a hell of a time holding onto those braincells.

However, while it had taken time, Logan had adjusted. Survival of the fittest, and all- if Logan wasn’t able to adapt to constantly being around someone so pretty it was outlawed in several made-up countries and a few real ones, then Logan wasn’t fit enough to survive. So he had adapted and he had done so flawlessly.

Better put, he had suffered several weeks learning how to adjust to the fact that Remy’s naturally perfect looks were only increased by xyr leather jacket and sunglasses, the fact that xy knew how to smirk like xy owned the world (impossible, Logan had considered before, considering Remy was clearly the world, and one could not own oneself), and the fact that Remy was a bully.

That was the only word Logan had for Remy’s actions towards him, anyways- after all, there was no way Remy had missed the way Logan’s cheeks seemed to literally light on fire every time xy smiled at him, or the little giggle Logan had never properly learned to fight down every time Remy called him a petname (a wholly ridiculous response considering Remy called lots of people petnames- sure, xy only ever seemed to call Logan ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘light of my world and stars of my universe’ but that didn’t mean anything), or the way Logan stumbled over his every word when attempting to return an offhanded compliment that Remy likely had paid him by accident while thinking of… coffee. Remy did like xyr coffee, after all.

But Remy’s bullying aside, Logan HAD adapted. He was able to look at Remy with minimal flushing, he had become the master of avoiding conversation topics designed to trap him (though Remy was becoming creative with xyr compliment-trap setups… Logan would have to start adapting faster than Remy if he hoped to survive the semester), and he knew the fastest exits out of every room and building in the entire university, ensuring that- if ever needed- he could literally flee Remy. He was surviving in his new, Remy-included environment.

And then the author Jelly Remy decided to adapt as well.

It had been a normal day of work up until then- Logan was working on checking over papers and going through his lesson plan a few more times, making sure he had everything ready for the school day. Upon realizing his coffee had run low, he got up, stretching as he began to move towards the staff lounge, seeking a refill.

There was only one other teacher there at the moment, which Logan figured made sense- most of the astronomy professors had early morning classes, Logan being one of only two who didn’t. He had gotten out of it by luck- the other had insomnia and wasn’t normally at school in the mornings.

Logan barely glanced at xyr, however, wanting to get his coffee before he had to deal with being flustered at seven in the morning. He was fairly certain it wouldn’t be that bad of a fluster, anyways- he was at least partially prepared this time, and he was about to have coffee on his side, and it looked like Remy had traded xyr normal leather-jacket look for a suit of some kind, and Remy had probably had a rough night if xy were in early so xyr flusters wouldn’t be top of xyr game, and-

Logan stopped. Blinked. Processed. Processed again.

A… suit?

Logan turned to look at Remy and immediately regretted the decision. Because those braincells he had mentioned earlier? Gone. Stolen. Removed from existence. In theory, the author’s got them stored up somewhere but… eh, their location’s not important. Not like Logan could use them even if he found them.

Because Remy was in a suit- a blue suit with delicate, lovely white flower designs traced over the chest and around xyr wrists, complimented by a lovely purple tie Logan had never seen Remy wear before- mostly because Remy didn’t normally wear ties. Or suits. Why was Remy wearing a suit?

To kill me Logan decided barely a second later when Remy caught him staring and smirked at him in a way that was most decidedly an act of bullying.

“Good morning, sunlight and starshine.” Remy said, further proving that xy was a bully and that xy was bullying Logan right then and there, a conclusion Logan came too as he clamped a hand over his mouth and focused on not making any sound even slightly akin to a giggle. “How are you on this morning that’s nowhere near as fine as you?”

Logan, smartly, didn’t respond. Speaking would ultimately result in him stuttering, mumbling, and tripping over his words, which would make Remy smirk more, which would make Logan blush more, which would create a horrible cycle that would only end when either Remy left or Logan died. So, by not responding, the cycle never started and therefore could not end in Logan’s death.

In choosing to do nothing else but stare at Remy without saying a word, however, Logan apparently had responded, in a way- Remy’s smirk still grew and Logan still ended up blushed harder.

“Oh, darling, don’t tell me I’ve made you speechless.” Remy teased, moving from xyr spot against the wall to stand in front of Logan, tilting xyr head to the side. “No, wait, do tell me. I do love to hear your voice.”

Logan remained silent. Remy couldn’t go on forever with no new material… right?

“Or, hey, maybe it’s not me.” Remy went on, unconcerned with Logan’s silence. “Maybe you’re just tired. That’s why you were acting perfectly fine until you saw me, after all. Just tired. Is that right? Or should I keep guessing?”

Realizing that silence was getting him nowhere and nothing (besides more flustered), Logan decided to simply attempt to move on with his day. Maybe ignoring Remy would make xyr go away.

Logan had just barely turned to once more resume his walk to the coffee pot when he was forced to stop once more, this time not by Remy’s looks but by the fact that Remy had a hand and the ability to grab Logan’s wrist with it.

A very annoying ability for sure, given it not only prevented Logan from continuing with his brilliant plan of ‘if you just ignore xyr eventually xy’ll go away’, but also increased his blush and got him looking at Remy again which was increasing his blush even more. By now, Logan was fairly sure his entire face was red, which was completely unfair given that blue was much more his colour.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that.” Remy said, voice now both confident and sweet, which wasn’t helping Logan’s goal to Just Stop Blushing Already at all. “If you really have had a long night, I don’t mean to tease.”

“N-no, I’m fine.” Logan said, which was a lie, because he wasn’t fine at all, he was doing terribly, but he was also doing a million times better than usual, which also wasn’t fine but it was in a completely different direction than terribly. So, either way, his statement was a lie. “Just uh… a long morning.”

Logan realized that was the wrong answer the moment Remy’s softer smile once more became a smirk. “I take it back, then. I very much mean to tease.”

“Ah-” Logan cleared his throat, trying to find a way to backtrack, “I do have, uh, a couple of papers to take care of, so-”

“And you don’t have class for at least another hour.” Remy pointed out for him, still holding onto his wrist and giving no indication that xy’d be letting go of it anytime soon. “You’ve got the time to spare for a bit of conversation with your favorite colleague.”

“You presume to be my favorite?” Logan managed to say without tripping over any of his words.

Remy’s smirk just turned knowing. “I don’t have to be a poker player to spot your tells, babe. Unless, of course, you have another reason for constantly blushing around me.”

“You possibly have a higher-than-average body temperature that causes all the objects and people within your near vicinity to heat up as well, therefore prompting a blush in those organisms that have the ability to blush.” Logan offered, well aware everything he was saying was bullshit meant only as a poor attempt to save himself.

Unsurprisingly, Remy saw right through him. “Nah, hun, I don’t think it’s that. You can try again, if you want, but if you’d let me take a crack at it-”

“Please do not.” Logan interrupted rather hurriedly, which only fueled Remy’s amusement. “I am simply… tired. And busy. So, ah, if you’ll excuse me, I really should be getting back to my work-”

“Alright, beautiful, I know when I’m wanted.” Remy said, politely half-ignoring as Logan looked away and pretended to cough into his arm as he let out a small giggle. “One question before you go?”

“I really should be-”

“Are you free tonight?”

That shut Logan up. “I- what?”

“Are you free tonight?” Remy repeated, only smiling at Logan’s confusion. “I know this really lovely place downtown, I promise you you’ll love it, though not nearly as much as I love you-”

“I- what?!” Logan said, more panickedly this time. Tonight? Restaurant? Love you?

Remy titled xyr head to the side, looking puzzled. “I don’t know how to make this any clearer for you, love.”

“I- ah- you- are you- are you asking me out on- on a date?” Logan demanded, not caring much for how many times he had to restart his sentence but having no solution for that particular problem.

“...I would’ve hoped that was fairly obvious, yes.” Remy answered, shaking xyr head a bit as they continued to watch Logan with amused confusion. “This isn’t a surprise to you, is it?”

“Well- I- uh- it’s just-”

Remy laughed. “Oh, darling, I hate to laugh at you, but- Lo, hun, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks now. This can’t be that shocking.”

“You’ve been flirting with me?!” Logan responded. “When?!”

“I- Logan, I’ve been calling you the most ridiculous of petnames, complimenting you every time you so much as blink, repeatedly breaking into your classroom to force you to eat lunch with me, interrupting your classes to tease you- what do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Bullying me!”

“I was- I’m sorry, say that again?”

“Bullying me!” Logan repeated as asked, moving his coffee cup into the hand that Remy was holding hostage so that he could run his fingers through his hair, feeling frazzled. “You kept- you kept doing things to make me blush and- and lose focus- and- and giggle, for gods’ sakes- what else could you have been doing?!”

To Logan’s surprise, instead of defending xyrself, Remy just laughed as xyr face broke out in the widest grin Logan had seen xyr wearing all morning. “You absolute dork.” Xy said, though xyr tone was only endearing. “You really are a disaster gay, huh?”

“...Just a little.” Logan said weakly, before forcing himself to amend, “Maybe a lot.”

“A lot sounds more accurate, yeah.” Remy agreed, still laughing a bit. “Bullying you- oh, you really are too cute, sugar.”

Logan resisted the urge to run to exit number fifty-nine and escape the blush that, at this point, was likely hot enough to permanently burn his skin. “You’re still being a bully.”

“Oh, probably.” Remy admitted before xyr grin was once again replaced by a smirk Logan had both memorized and yet also knew he would never get used to. “But am I being too much of a bully that you won’t go out on a date with me?”

“I- uh- I-” Logan ducked his head. He couldn’t accept Remy’s offer, he really couldn’t, it would almost guarantee his death, and he had worked so hard to become immune to Remy’s killer charm (pun not intended and not appreciated).

But at the same time… Logan wasn’t sure he had the willpower to refuse.

So, predictably, he settled for a quick little nod that said everything Remy needed to hear without Logan having to stutter his way through a single word.

Remy’s grin turned dazzling. “Perfect!” Xy exclaimed, quickly pressing a kiss to Logan’s cheek before he could even begin to react. “I’ll pick you up after all our classes are out, okay?”

“O-okay.” Logan said numbly, free hand raising to rest over the spot where Remy had kissed him, feeling half-trapped in a dream.

“Perfect!” Remy repeated, still grinning as xy let go of Logan’s hand, heading towards the door, bursting with energy and clearly on xyr way to continue planning the exacts of Logan’s demise.

Before xy could fully get out of the room, however, Logan managed to get his voice back about him and call out, “Wait!”

Remy immediately stopped, turning back to look at Logan. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I- uh-” Logan gestured vaguely at Remy, “Your suit. You- You never wear suits. Why today…?”

At that, Remy’s grin just widened to a degree Logan wasn’t entirely sure should be humanly possible. “For our date, of course!” Xy answered, raising xyr sunglasses just so that xy could wink at Logan. “I had a feeling you’d say yes.”

And with that, Remy left, leaving Logan to stand in the middle of the staff lounge, empty coffee mug still in one hand, the other still resting on his cheek and over the spot where Remy had kissed him, feeling dazed in the best sort of way possible.

He was still standing there when another one of the teachers wandered in, shooting him a strange look. “Are you alright, Logan?”

“Not at all.” Logan answered truthfully.

He was much, much better than alright.

#losleep #write losleep cowards #ts logan #ts remy #ts sleep #nb!remy #nb!logan #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #imma post this and then pass out someone remind me to set this up to queue later #also if y'all spot an accidental misgendering let me know so i can change it when i'm more awake

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for-ests · 4 years

Note

Hey, not sure if you do smut but I think this request can work without a lot if you’d prefer😁 reader’s an art student and needs to sculpt a full body nude sculpture and Tom offers but gets a bit cheeky

thanks for the request dear! this was fun to write :-) i literally know nothing about art so if I get something wrong just ignore! i hope you enjoy!! i went a diff +route but I still think it fits! [ mlist ]

Word count: 3, 273

Warnings: slight nsfw,, nudity

Pairing: Tom Holland x art student reader!

“The issue is… I have no idea who to ask.” You sighed deeply, embarrassment washing over you as you talked to your best friends about your upcoming project.

Everyone knew you were a talented sculptor. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that your professional sculpting internship at (your school) was currently learning about Ancient Greece. One of the requirements to pass the semester was to recreate a modern sculpture of someone you knew, and to make it as realistic as possible. Nakedness and all, which was a huge distinction of Greek statues.

There was a big problem though. You were incredibly shy, and you didn’t know who to ask to model for you.

Nudging you with a laugh, your friend flashed you a mischievous smile. “You know a lot of cute guys, why don’t you ask one of them?”

“Cute guys?” You scrunched your nose. “I know like three guys and I would cry if I had to see them naked.”

She sighed. “Fair. Does it have to be a guy?”

*-You nodded regretfully. “It has to be the opposite sex. It’s annoying but I u

erstand why. It’s important to be familiar with both sexes.”

Your best friend air quoted ‘familiar’ with a ridiculous smirk.

“Shut up.” You huffed, trying not to laugh at how dramatic she had become.

“I think I know a guy, he’s an aspiring actor and model.” Your best friend added casually.

Groaning, you shot her a glare. “Why didn’t you say that right away?”

She shrugged. “I like listening to you talk about your art.”

Her compliment almost worked, but you already knew that was partly the reason she was teasing you so hard. The other reason was because she had been trying to set you up with multiple friends for months. According to her, you had been single for far too long.

Her offer made you ponder deeper about your situation. You were slightly awkward when it came to getting to know someone, but you couldn’t imagine asking someone to strip right away so you could sculpt every curve your eyes grazed over. Whoever it ended up being had to be incredibly confident. Shallow yes, but that’s why you were hoping to find someone insanely attractive. Attractive people were usually confident, and responsibly so. “Maybe a stranger would be worse than someone I know.”

Snorting through her nose, your best friend stared at you like you were crazy. “Definitely not. If it’s awkward you never have to see him again. And if it’s not, well you can get cozy with a cutie.”

Taking a deep breath, you rolled your eyes. “I hate you sometimes.” You mumbled under your breath. You knew she was right, but you would never inflate her already enormous ego like that.

“You love me.” She sang sweetly.

“I do, now give him my number and tell him it’s of the utmost importance.”

❀∙∘✿∘∙❀

Days later, that conversation was on your mind as you nervously organized your sculpting tools. Trying to relieve some tension, you slapped a pound of clay against the table, and it echoed throughout the workshop.

Reality was the fact that this so called model boy was on his way to your studio. His name was Tom, and from the pictures you saw–he was incredibly handsome.

You couldn’t believe you had agreed to this, but alas, you needed this experience to pass your class. You just hoped and prayed that Tom was a lot more outgoing than you, and could keep the conversation flowing as you stared intently as his erect… penis.

Your cheeks flared up at the thought. How the hell were you going to do this?

Y/N: help (Y/B/F/N) I cant do this!!! im freaking out

Y/B/F: is he even there yet? lmfao

Y/N: noooooo :((

Y/B/F: if it makes you feel any better, he’s excited and thinks ur pretty

Y/N: why didn’t you tell me that before??!

Y/B/F: do u feel better now tho?

Y/N: no

Y/B/F: ik ur smiling ;) u aint slick

Giggling like a schoolgirl to relieve some of your anxiety, you set your cell phone on the table. Truthfully, your best friend had made you feel better. If anything bad happened, it would surely be a wonderful story to tell everyone in the future.

Your eyes naturally glanced across the room to the clock on the wall. 7:00pm. Tom would be here any minute as scheduled.

You took a deep breath and studied your surroundings. All your tools were in place, and the entire studio was tidied up as if you hadn’t worked the space in weeks. Next, you walked to the wall and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

With your hair in a bun and your shabby working clothes, you looked suitable at best. You did have a little bit of makeup on to help yourself feel more confident. If you felt good, you could make your client feel good in return.

At least it looked like you didn’t try too hard. You didn’t want this man to get the wrong idea.

Then, snapping you out of your trance, there was a knock on the door.

You straightened out your shirt one last time, and tucked your baby hairs back behind your ears. Scoffing immediately after, you shook your head. Why were you trying to look cute? Who cares!

You rushed to grab the front door, afraid that you were making him wait too long. You flung it open, eyes locking with his right away.

You froze.

He was even more dashing in person.

“Judging by your cute outfit, I think I’m at the right place. Y/N right?”

And a British accent?

“Y-yes!” You flashed a smile to mask your obvious hesitation. You could easily play it off by opening the door and keeping your gaze averted. You were the master of smoothness.

“Thank you for coming, it’s about time I got this project done…” You tittered, locking the door behind him for privacy purposes. “You can set your things on the couch over there.” You pointed, eyes meeting his again when he glanced to the couch and then back to you.

“Awesome.” He nodded, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” You offered, nodding your head back to the small kitchen in the back of the studio. You wished the studio apartment was yours alone, but you shared it with multiple other college students in your program.

“Water… or beer if you have any?”

You threw your head back in laughter, causing Tom to smile at your genuine reaction.

“Yeah, I can get you one.”

“In the meantime, should I just strip?” He smirked, not trying to be sly with his flirtations. Though your cheeks were dusting with pink, you were able to match his energy. Your best friend definitely set you up with someone she knew you’d like.

“Do whatever you want, love.” You mimicked his British accent. “You’re the guest after all.”

Walking past him, you gave him one last look when he was fully-clothed. Tom was certainly the player type, practically the perfect embodiment of the muse you had in mind. This wouldn’t be awkward for you, and it would be even better for him. Men like him thrived off of cheeky discomfort in their female counterparts.

Yet, truthfully, you were enjoying it as well. It felt nice to be complimented so soon into an introduction.

As you cracked open a can of beer for Tom and yourself, you could hear him shuffling around with his items. The sound of his buckle falling against the floor made you suddenly nervous to turn around.

Inhaling sharply, and gulping down a few more sips of beer, you finally gained the courage to walk back to the studio setup, where Tom had already wandered over to, completely naked.

“You seem to be in your element.” You noted, trying to keep your eyes leveled with his. Now that you were thinking about it, remaining calm and professional was excruciating in front of such an attractive man. And it certainly wasn’t helping that he was enjoying your embarrassment.

And least this was exciting.

Thanking you, Tom took the beer and pressed his lips against the cold aluminum. “I would definitely feel a lot more comfortable if you were naked too, darling.”

“Hey now,” You nose scrunched in a form of mock distaste. The man caught on immediately, holding your gaze with a sort of amusement that was masking desire. “I might think about it if you sit nice and pretty for me for more than five minutes so I can sketch you.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you walked over to your crafting desk. You decided you were going to start with the hardest part, the part which your grade depended heavily on- from the waist down.

But first, you quickly sketched Tom posing in multiple poses until you were satisfied with one. You had him mimic a sculpture you couldn’t recall, where one hand was pointed forward and the other was rested casually on his hip.

“Can I see what one you want to do?” He asked curiously from the stand you had him propped up on for a better view.

“Sure.” You flashed him your finished sketch. The lines darted all over the page, making it hard for him to picture what was going on in your head. The picture you had drawn would not make sense to anyone else but the artist. But apparently you were talented, so he would trust the process.

You were also trusting the process. The situation you were in could only be awkward if you allowed it to be. And so far it was moving along smoothly. You had your favorite music playing softly in the background to fill the silence, and Tom seemed to be relaxed and unbothered by how quietly you worked.

“That’s cool.” Tom whispered, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

Giggling from his sudden proximity, you tried to tease him. “It’s fine to not understand it.”

“I definitely don’t know what’s going on but it’s still interesting.” He admitted.

You set the paper back down on the table, and decided to attempt and sculpt the base. Moving past a still naked Tom, you tried to immerse yourself in your work, or at least make it seem like you were focused. “This takes hours you know, weeks and months- it won’t make sense for a long time.”

“Perfect.” He grinned. “I’ll get plenty of time to know you better.”

Laughing through your nose, you kept your attention on the clay you had dropped on the floor. “You can put your clothes back on.”

“Oh!” He chuckled. “Yeah.”

As you carefully trimmed the base clay with a heavy frame, you lifted your head to find Tom slipping a robe back on. He definitely came prepared. Had he done this before?

“Come here.” You gestured. “I need you to set your feet down on the clay.”

“I didn’t think this would get dirty so fast.”

“Shut up.” You huffed, grabbing his foot and pressing it down hard until the clay took shape to the size.

“Cold.” Tom commented in discomfort.

“I know.” You released your grip on his calf, looking up at him with a sheepish smile. “All part of the process, but good news for you- you’re done for the night.”

“Really?” Tom raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

You nodded, standing back up to normal height. “I’m experienced enough to sculpt the feet and legs tonight.”

“When should I come back?” He sounded a tad too eager, but it caused your smile to reappear.

“Tomorrow night if you’re available.”

“And maybe next time you can bring your own alcohol?” You gestured to the multiple beer cans poking out of the recycling bin.

The man flashed you a smile. “Sounds like a date.”

“It’s definitely not.”

Despite your rejection to his amusing advances, Tom’s expressions and mannerisms remained hopeful. Was it possible he was truly enjoying himself?

“I’ll leave my robe here. I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time?”

“Same time.” You confirmed, nodding him off. It was about time you started to really focus. Attractive man or not, you always got the most and best work done alone.

Because after the first night, the dynamics between you and Tom changed. He became incredibly invested in your process, asking you questions left and right, asking if there was any way he could help, and practically just lounging next to you hours after he would have been free to go.

“What do your sculptures usually look like?”

“Since this isn’t my own studio, I don’t have any of my pieces here. But I can show you a picture when I get my hands wiped off.”

“What do you build your sculptures with? It’s hard to imagine that a replica of me can come out of that much clay.”

“My sculptures are built with water-based clay and are fired in a gas kiln to cone 4, about 2150 degrees Fahrenheit… “ You nodded towards the back wall that had an installed kiln for you and everyone to share. “Trust me, there will be a lot more clay. Hundreds of pounds worth.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

There was no lying that you enjoyed his presence. Whether he was talking your ear off or napping to the peaceful beat of your jazz music, there was never a dull moment when Tom was in your studio.

Weeks passed, and so did the process. Your sculpture of Tom had progressed to week three, and that’s when you started to grow nervous. When you finished, which you were almost done, would you ever see him again?

You had barreled through the awkwardness of replicating his genitals and chiseling his six pack perfectly into the hardening clay- but you still felt like something was missing. You knew even when you finished chiseling away his jaw line and chocolate brown eyes, there would still be something missing. Him. His presence.

Maybe it would have been better if you partnered up with a man that had zero personality.

Since it was just you and Tom for hours on end, your conversations gradually grew deeper, they stretched into new lengths, so much so that you eventually felt like you had known him for years.

When Tom claimed he wasn’t looking for a relationship, you felt your heart fall. That’s when you realized you were developing stronger feelings for your model. You hardly had time to think about trivial things like that, but you couldn’t deny your disappointment.

And you were sure he saw the brief tears glossing over your eyes when you turned away. Yet, he didn’t make light of it.

That’s when you knew it was useless.

It seemed useless until the sixth week, when you finally finished the head. You were too afraid to attach it. Tom had spent the last couple hours with you in the studio. His legs kicked back and occasional whistles streaming from his lips. He had practically memorized your playlist to the extent you had.

“Tom.” You called. “Your face is done.”

He cheered excitedly, pushing himself off the sofa and racing towards you. Tom had learned to give you your space while you worked, but in moments where you summoned him, he barely stood inches from you. The man would constantly touch you in ways you couldn’t deny sent shivers down your spine.

Like he did as he rounded the tabletop, planting himself by your side and placing his hand on the low of your back. As if it was natural.

“Wow,” He breathed. “Y/N,” Your name upon his lips sounded as blissful as the music. “It’s.. it’s wonderful. It looks just like me... wow that’s scary.”

“I’m happy you like it.” You bit your lip, wishing you felt more satisfied with your project. You wanted to impress him, but you didn’t want him to go.

“All I have to do is attach the head, and fire it up in the furnace one more time. Then it should be good to go.”

You moved to do so, wanting to remove yourself from his grip. It hurt your heart to know the bond you had formed with him would come to an end. Why did you even let yourself get to this point? Was it because he was good at flirting?

“Wait-” His sentence faltered when you whipped around to face him- looking somewhat hopeful.

“What?”

Tom paused, his throat tightening with the words he never thought he would admit. But he couldn’t leave tonight with at least trying. He needed to know how you felt. Because he could either leave with you in his arms, or he could leave never having to see you again.

He had been thinking of confessing to you for days now, but now that the time came, his mind was blank. “You really are beautiful, you know that right?”

“Why do you feel the need to flatter me?” You blurted, still unable to decipher the truth behind his words. You didn’t know how to accept such a compliment. Tom had claimed you were beautiful before, but this time it felt different.

His eyes spoke volumes. The beauty his eyes held was something you would never be able to replicate in a statue. It was a sight you found yourself never growing sick of.

Averting your eyes, you tried to move again. Yet this time, Tom gripped onto both of your arms.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I won’t let you play me.”

“I was never playing you, darling.” The tenderheartedness intertwined with his words caused you to slowly turn your head back. Your lip quivered, and suddenly you felt like a schoolgirl all over again. You felt childish and unprepared for the intensity of your emotions.

“I don’t want to leave tonight without knowing if you feel the same.”

You blinked, hand reaching out to grip onto his. “And that is?”

“I don’t know if it’s love, but it could be.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” You said, incredibly softly.

Tom released your arms. And before either of you could process what to do next, your lips interlocked.

You gripped onto him tightly, balling his white t shirt into a fist to keep him from leaving your side again.

“Tom-” You breathed.

The kiss you shared was laced with a fervent need, one that you had never experienced before, and one that you craved again and again.

After the passion you felt, the skin prickling desire, there would be no turning back.

“Fuck, you’re everything”’ He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back slightly to gaze at his expression. He had looked so afraid before, but now he was smiling from ear to ear. Much like he did the day he arrived with a teasing attitude, ready to get under your skin and provide entertainment.

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Since the first day.” He kissed you again, his hands cupping your cheeks.

You whimpered against his muscular frame, trying to ignore the fluttering in your core, fluttering that begged and craved for more.

“How did you wait so long?”

“I wanted you to finish.”

You chuckled, cheesing at his straightforward, simple reply.

You were positive from that moment moving on, that Tom was not what you had thought at first glance. This entire time he had put you and your project first, letting his own desires sit and warm on the back-burner. That was something you would hold close to your heart, something you would cherish.

He cared for you in the same way you cared for him.

“Stay with me tonight, Tom.”

“I would love nothing more.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x reader

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erinptah · 4 years

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The Secret Commonwealth review: It was...pretty underwhelming, mostly

Finally got the audiobook of The Secret Commonwealth checked out from my local library!

(Here’s my review of its predecessor, La Belle Sauvage, if you want to start there.)

It’s 20 hours long. Whoof.

As for the contents…look, it was well-written prose. I didn’t get bored while listening. (Rereading that last review, I realized I’d written the same thing about the previous book, too.) But in retrospect, there sure was not a lot that happened in those 20 hours. Some notable action bits, in between a lot of padding.

And my reactions mostly consist of…complaints. Not “this is hideous, time to ragequit the series, this is an unqualified anti-rec” complaints, more a low-level churn of frustration.

(There’s one scene I know has made someone else outright refuse to read it, though, and I think it’s totally reasonable. More on that later.)

So I’m gonna try to unpack a bunch of it here. Hopefully in enough detail that, if you haven’t read it yet (and don’t mind spoilers), it can help you make an informed decision about whether it’s worth spending 20 hours of your life on.

Spoilers start here!

The Story

We open with Lyra as a 20-year-old student at St. Sophia’s, a women’s college in Oxford. She’s made some kinda-friends, including former booty calls that she’s still on good terms with, but she’s badly estranged from Pantalaimon.

Their rift is exacerbated by a couple of books she’s read that are popular with young intellectuals lately. One is a philosophy book, one is a novel, both of them seem broadly Ayn Randian in the sense that “teens/college kids get really into these books and decide it’s smart and fashionable to adopt their moral framework, ignoring both the logical failures and the ways in which this turns you into a horrible person.”

She’s been staying at Jordan between semesters, but political drama forces her to move, and that’s when Oakley Street swoops in to make contact. They’re the secret Magisterum-thwarting spy organization that Hannah Relf worked for in La Belle Sauvage. Employees now include Alice Lonsdale and Malcolm Polstead, who fill Lyra in on the events of the previous book.

Lyra crashes at Malcolm’s parents’ inn for a bit, but her fighting with Pan gets so bad that he takes off, leaving a note. He’s going to confront one of the authors of the fashionable/terrible books — who lives in Germany, so this could take a while.

Since Lyra can’t just hang around and go through the motions of a normal life while her daemon is visibly missing, she takes off too. First on a detour to the Gyptians, then on a sorta meandering cross-continental journey of her own.

Along the way, both Lyra and Pan keep uncovering new details about this ongoing side plot:

It turns out there’s a place, I think somewhere in the Middle East, where daemons can’t go — same as the area in the North that witches use for separation ordeals. If a human crosses that area, they arrive at the growing-place of a type of rose that won’t grow properly anywhere else, whose oil has the same effect as the seed-pod sap used by Mary Malone in the mulefa world — you can use it to make a Dust-viewing lens.

This rose oil can also be used to make all kinds of super-cool products, like the World’s Best Perfume and the World’s Best Rosewater, so it’s valuable for lots of reasons. But a few researchers have caught on to the Dust-viewing power, and the Magisterium has caught on that some dangerous research is happening with roses, so they’ve started destroying every rosebush they can find in the general region — wreaking havoc with the global economy in the process.

(They’re also trying to convince the general population that God Says Roses Are Immoral now. If this book had come out 5 years ago, I could’ve made some great connections with “there’s widespread successful Magisterium propaganda about how nobody should like or respect the work of botanists.”)

And there’s a related plot where Lyra’s uncle (she actually has one! Mrs. Coulter had a brother!) is playing a long game to re-consolidate as much Magisterium power as possible under a single individual. It gets us some good dramatic sequences…which I feel no need to break down here, because they’re exactly the ones you would imagine, with exactly the outcome you’re already expecting.

One of Uncle Wannabe-Pope’s employees is Bonneville Junior, the son of the miniboss from La Belle Sauvage. He’s a trained alethiometrist, but is more interested in his personal vendetta against Lyra than his actual job. Takes after Dad in that he’s not very deep or complex, just a straightforward fun-to-hate villain.

Pan eventually makes his way to the Terrible Author’s home, where he discovers that things are weird and creepy, but not very specific. Doesn’t achieve anything in particular, either. Disheartened, he sets off for the Region of the Weird Roses, with the idea he’ll meet Lyra there.

Lyra, meanwhile, has a notebook they recovered from an explorer who went to the Region of the Weird Roses. It includes a list of other (non-witch) people across the world who’ve been separated, because apparently they’re more common than you’d think, and have a secret support network. So she visits a few of these people along her trip, with an endgame goal of Weird Roseville.

Malcolm also makes his own journey toward Weird Roseville. I think it was part of an Oakley Street investigation into “what does the Magisterium have against roses these days?” In the middle of it, Bonneville Junior confronts him (Junior is having trouble finding Lyra, but has a secondary vendetta against Malcolm for killing his dad, so this is almost as good). Malcolm talks him down.

At last Lyra, Pan, and Junior all hit the same “creepy deserted town in the general area of Weird Roseville.” But none of them manage to interact before the book ends.

…In my LBS review, I said it had serious middle-of-the-trilogy syndrome, a whole lot of setup for no payoff. TSC spends very little time following up on any of it. To be fair, the Original Trilogy has happened in the meantime and this book also tries to address some of the events from that, but the vast bulk of it is even more setup for no payoff.

Complaints, Broadly Organized By Theme, In Loosely Chronological Order

Lyra at St. Sophia’s:

I really like how the opening sequence involves Lyra noticing a friend is in distress and helping her out! (Friend’s dad is in the rose-using business, and his company is going under.) And then…that’s the last we see of any connections with female friends her own age. In the entire book.

One of the Terrible Rationalist Books is spreading the idea that “daemons are a collective hallucination.” This is not a “rational” idea in this world! It would be like saying that faces are a collective hallucination!

And Lyra is the least likely person in this world to buy into it, because she’s visited a world without visible daemons, and got empirical proof (via Will’s and John Parry’s separation ordeals) that even under those conditions, they still exist!

I can appreciate the idea of Lyra and Pan being traumatized and scarred and having trouble, but this, specifically, is a nonsensical thing for them to argue over.

The book also gestures (not very hard, thankfully) toward the idea that Lyra is doubting the existence of magic in general. Which, again, is the equivalent of someone from our world deciding it’s rational to doubt the existence of weather.

Also, it seems like Lyra/Pan haven’t had any contact with witch society through these years. Why not? If anyone’s going to have sympathy and understanding and support groups for their separation-related trauma, it’s the culture where every single member formally goes through the same thing! And I’m sure Serafina would be delighted to see them! But they don’t even consider the idea.

Lyra and Malcolm:

Yes, they’re being telegraphed as a future couple, and yes, it’s just as creepy and unappealing as the internet has been saying.

And, look, I’m not going to say “20-year-old Lyra is too young to date anyone she wants.” Not after we got through all of Original Flavor HDM without saying “12-year-old Lyra is too young to go on an interdimensional journey with no adult supervision and save the multiverse.”

But he was one of her teachers when she was 16, and his POV includes remembering how he had to actively shut down sexual interest in her then, and here in the present Lyra still thinks of him as kind of a distant authority figure, and that’s weird, okay?

They only have a couple days’ worth of actual interaction before being apart for the rest of the book. That’s not enough time to believably develop their dynamic into something believably-potentially-romantic. So the narrative doesn’t try.

…but it still has multiple people ask Malcolm if he’s in love with Lyra afterward.

The foreshadowing on Lyra’s side is all in how she keeps thinking about how similar he is to Will. (Cat daemon, killed someone when he was a tween, etc.) Because that’s what we all want for Lyra’s romantic future, a knockoff Will-substitute, amirite?

Separately: Malcolm and friends tell Lyra the whole backstory about the magical boat trip from La Belle Sauvage, but it doesn’t seem like she tells them anything about “that time I went on an interdimensional journey, built a group of allies from multiple worlds and species including literal angels, killed God, and permanently rewrote the nature of death.” I feel like that should’ve come up!

General daemon stuff:

There’s a moment in the early chapters when Pan, wandering alone at night, considers eating some small critter (the kind that an ordinary pine marten would eat). It’s not like he’s going through a species-identity crisis, either. It’s just written as…a thing a daemon might do. So that’s weird.

In the original series, daemon separation is a major, improbable ordeal. Under normal circumstances, a human and a daemon being dragged apart past their distance limit will just kill them. At Bolvangar they figured out a severance method that would leave you physically functional, but dead inside. Witch-style separation only happens at this special daemon-repelling place in the North (you don’t have to be a witch to use it, see John Parry, but they usually don’t tell non-witches it exists), or on the shores of the World of the Dead. So far, so good.

In this series, we find out that there’s another place on this Earth with the same daemon-repelling properties. It’s also remote and isolated and associated with Cool Weird Stuff (the cities in the Northern Lights vs. the Dust-revealing roses). Again, so far, so good.

…And then we find out that random people can just kinda do a separation ordeal anywhere. Okay, it already happened to Malcolm in La Belle Sauvage, but now it’s all over the place. Lyra keeps spotting people on the street without daemons! Pan teams up with a kid who got dragged apart from her daemon in a shipwreck, and it didn’t kill them! It’s too easy. It’s unsatisfying. It undercuts so much of the monumental feeling separation had in the original trilogy.

It also makes it even weirder that nobody was able to hook Lyra and Pan up with a support group. Oakley Street couldn’t suss it out? Her friends among the Gyptians couldn’t catch an underground rumor and pass it on?

Related: when we saw daemonless kids in The Golden Compass, they were treated like horror-movie monsters. Like zombies, ghosts, bodies walking around without heads. But when people clock Lyra as being daemonless here, they treat it like it’s something immoral. Like she’s walking around topless and needs to cover it up.

There’s just a general pattern of rewriting HDM’s established rules about daemons, and not for the better.

And speaking of rewriting established rules…general alethiometer stuff:

There is a New Method for reading the alethiometer. It involves pointing all three hands at the same symbol, which already seems like a gimmick, not a useful way to frame a question.

And somehow, that gets you the answers in the form of…magic visions. No intuition or interpretation needed! The sights and sounds just get funneled directly into your brain!

The reason this isn’t a Plot-Breaking Hack is because it makes the user super-queasy. You can only use it when you’re in a position to be sick afterward, and people would rather not use it at all.

Lyra spends most of the story with the alethiometer, and without all the symbology books that go with it. She avoids using the New Method because of the nausea, but she also avoids using the Classic Method, on the grounds that it apparently can’t get her anything without the books.

She’s been studying these books for years now! Couldn’t she at least try to read it, and make her best guess at the interpretation? Maybe sometimes she gets it right, maybe sometimes she’s wrong and things go sideways and she realizes in hindsight which of the symbols she misread, maybe sometimes she gives up and gets depressed and puts it away without drawing a conclusion at all…but nope, she just flat-out doesn’t interact with it.

Midway through the book, Lyra gets a tipoff about a kind of truth-reading cards. That’s fine; we know there are other methods of truth-reading in the multiverse, including the I Ching and Mary Malone’s computer. Makes sense as a new tidbit of worldbuilding.

But towards the end of the story, someone helpfully gifts Lyra a deck of the cards. And she spends some time trying to infer answers from how the pretty pictures on the cards fit together. More time than she spends trying to infer answers from how the pretty pictures on the alethiometer fit together.

The alethiometer didn’t need a New Method or a total replacement in the narrative…but apparently it’s getting them.

And what was the point of Lyra dedicating herself to studying those symbols, for years, if she can get better and more-accurate data from a set of symbols she’d never seen before until this week?

Pan’s international voyage:

This all started when Pan got the idea that Terrible Author had “put a spell on Lyra and stolen her imagination.” Which sounds like a figure of speech at first, but no, apparently Pan thinks this guy is literally magic.

And yet, somehow, not magic enough to be dangerous, even for a single lone daemon whose only plan is “confront him directly and demand that he fix it”?

Most of the trip is uneventful, since it’s a long string of Pan successfully keeping out-of-sight.

There’s one clever part where, once he’s in Terrible Author’s hometown, he finds a school for the blind to ask for information. That way he can say “my girl is totally standing right over there, don’t worry about it, now, any chance you know where Terrible Author lives?”

…of course, the first person he asks has exactly the right answer and is happy to share. Convenient, that.

As mentioned, Terrible Author’s setup is suitably creepy and off-putting, but Pan doesn’t figure out anything about why. Doesn’t investigate. Didn’t come up with any kind of plan beforehand about how to coax Terrible Author into undoing his evil spell. Pan just confronts him, demands he fix Lyra, realizes this hasn’t fixed Lyra, and leaves.

There’s a bombshell much later on when Lyra finds out that Terrible Author is separated! And, although there’s a daemon who hangs around with him, they don’t actually belong to each other! This is fascinating and disturbing and would’ve been so much more satisfying if, you know, Pan had figured this out and was actively trying to bring the information to Lyra. Or, heck, if anything had been done with it at all.

Shortly afterward, Pan runs into this girl who just happens to be separated from her daemon, and is available and happy to team up with Pan, so they can head off to Weird Roseville together. Convenient. Again.

Lyra’s Bogus Journey:

Lyra has a much harder time staying out of sight than Pan, so she gets a lot more interaction along her trip.

Most of it is a long string of the same convenient “running into people who are helpful and friendly and have exactly the information she needs to move the plot along.” (More details on that below.)

When this happened in the original trilogy, it was the alethiometer deus-ex-machining her in the right direction, which worked! But here it seems to keep happening by accident. (She brings the alethiometer, but, as mentioned, she doesn’t use it.)

The Conveniently Helpful People also keep telling her (with minimal prompting, and what seems like total honesty?) whole backstories. All of which are more interesting than the actual narrative she’s going through.

They also occasionally mention God/the Authority, and Lyra doesn’t have much of a reaction. I wish, just once, she had snapped “it doesn’t matter what the Authority thinks! Or rather, what he used to think, since my boyfriend and I killed him when we were 12!”

The convenience also could’ve worked if Oakley Street agents were being cool and clever and actively tracking her journey in order to help. She does run into a few of them, but that seems to be by accident too.

And it could’ve worked if there was other magic steering her along — she keeps dropping the phrase “the secret commonwealth,” meaning the world’s hidden population of faeries and other supernatural creatures — but as of the end of the book, none of Lyra’s friendly helpers have been revealed to be anything other than human. (Some are modified in exotic ways, but they were human to start with, at least.)

Even farther towards the end of the book, after this long string of people being Conveniently Helpful For No Reason, she ends up in a train car with…and I wish I was making this up…a bunch of soldiers who are Inconveniently Attempted Rapists For No Reason.

That record-scratch moment your brain just did? That’s how it feels in the book, too. The attack comes out of nowhere, there’s suddenly a big action sequence with Lyra fighting back, their CO shows up and makes them let her go, and then she leaves the train and heads almost directly to the next bunch of Conveniently Helpful People.

If anyone wants more detailed spoilers, either to be prepared before reaching the scene or to decide whether you’ll read it at all, let me know.

To be blunt about one thing: from the in-scene descriptions I would’ve said none of these guys actually managed to get their dicks out, but a few days later we get the book’s first and only reference to Lyra having periods. And she doesn’t think “oh, thank republic-of-heavens, I’m not pregnant,” which suggests she knew it wasn’t a risk, but the whole Narrative Reason you write that in after an assault scene is because someone is afraid it’s a risk, so, what are you even doing, Pullman??

Okay, switching tracks.

Some of the people Lyra encounters, usually with personal stories that are way more interesting, and I wish they’d been [part of] the actual main plot:

A guy who meets her at a train station, says he has a friend who needs her help, leads her out into a maze of city streets where she explicitly thinks about how risky this is because she’s totally lost…but she does the mission and it’s fine and he leads her right back to the train station afterward.

The friend is a human who’s been modified by “a magician” to be some kind of fire-elemental person, and wants Lyra to help find his daemon, who was modified into a water-elemental form — a mermaid! This is cool and fascinating and scary and raises so many questions —

— and they get killed immediately after Lyra reunites them, and we never find out anything more about it.

The killer is the magician, who had been holding the water-sprite daemon captive. (And is possibly also the guy’s father? Finally, someone who can beat Marisa and Asriel in a “Bad Parenting Juice” drinking contest.) Which, again, is fascinating and evocative — how do you become a magician? Or are they born, like the witches? How many are there? What kinds of things are they doing in the world? —

— yeah, we don’t find out anything about that either.

Murderous Magician Dad just gives Lyra some helpful plot information, then sends her and the train-station guy off on their way.

A couple of guys who intervene when Lyra is being harassed at a bar.

They steer her outside, she’s prepared for a fight, but they hold up their hands and say they’re friendly, and also, they noticed someone steal the alethiometer bag off her earlier, so here, would she like it back?

They give her some helpful rumors, too. Don’t remember which specific ones, but they lead her to the next plot point.

A rich elderly princess who’s on the Daemonless International Support Group list, because her daemon fell in love (!) with another woman (!!) and eventually ran off with her (!!!).

Lyra thinks to herself that she’s seen other situations where a daemon and their human have different feelings about a romance. Just thinks it in passing, and then it’s gone. I want to see these situations! I want on-page exploration of multiple ways they can work! How do they correspond to the feelings of people in worlds where all the daemons are internal?

As for the princess, I already knew it was going to be a big scandal — two human women in that day and age could never be a couple, at least not in public, and A Literal Princess is a very public figure —

but then, in spite of the scandal, the princess moves in with the woman! And they travel together, they work together, they share a bed, she explains to Lyra that she played the role so thoroughly she made herself fall in love with the woman!

…and then it falls apart for some reason, and the princess leaves, but her daemon insists on staying. So that’s how they get separated. Deliberately walking away from each other.

There’s a brief reference to the idea of him wishing he was the other woman’s daemon, instead of the princess’s. How does that work? How do you get so disconnected from yourself, and in such a skewed partial-match with someone else, that you end up with that kind of yearning?

In case you can’t tell, I want to read this novel. I would trade the entirety of The Secret Commonwealth for this novel. No question, hands down.

Instead: Princess says “if you run into my daemon, tell him I’d like to see him again before we die?” Lyra says “sure, can do, thanks for the brunch.” And then, you guessed it, that whole scene is over and done with and we never get any follow-up on it again.

A pair of agents from Oakley Street, who say “hey, Lyra, have you considered using some basic disguise techniques, like dyeing your hair and wearing glasses?”

And then they give her a lovely haircut and a dye job and a spare pair of fake glasses.

This isn’t anywhere near the beginning of Lyra’s journey, by the way! This is more than 80% of the way through the book. There’s no special reason she needs it more after this point.

It’s like Pullman suddenly realized a disguise might help, wrote the scene at the point he had reached, and then never went back and edited to put it in a more meaningful location.

The stranger on a train who shows Lyra the deck of “exactly the same as an alethiometer” cards, gives her a demonstration of how to use them, and then leaves the whole deck behind for her to keep.

A married couple who don’t share any languages in common with Lyra, and don’t seem to have a lot of money…but feed her and let her stay at their house overnight, for free, even daemonless as she is. They also give her a free niqab so she can move around less conspicuously (she’s still injured from the fight with the soldiers).

A priest who invites her into his church, isn’t bothered when she takes off the niqab, helps treat her injuries, and gives her a motherlode of useful details about highly-illegal dealings he’s not even supposed to know about, but will unveil to this total stranger who just wandered in, because she needs them for the next plot point.

This when Lyra finds out that someone in this region has resurrected the Bolvangar method. But this time they aren’t kidnapping random children for it. No, they’re paying for it. If you’re poor enough, and desperate enough, and can’t spare any more kidneys, these people will buy your daemon to sell on the black market.

The city has a whole secret underclass of illegally-severed people working in the sewers.

Meanwhile, rich people who’ve been deserted by their daemons can purchase a stand-in. This is what Terrible Author did. Of course, it’s not a true replacement, but the dealers boast about their ability to make an excellent match.

There are also people who buy separated daemons for other scientific/experimental purposes. Details left to our imaginations.

This is a horrifying sinister mindblowing discovery, as much of a bombshell as the original Bolvangar was. I mean, it would’ve hit harder if Lyra had uncovered it by spying, or tricking someone into revealing the information, or anything more elaborate than “asking straightforward sorta-related questions and getting this whole sordid story infodumped by the first guy she asked,” but it’s still big.

So it’s gonna shake things up something fierce, right? Maybe Lyra won’t go full-on “calling in the cavalry to tear the place down” until Book 3, but this would be her new “stepping through the doorway into the sky” moment — where the horror of what she’s learned galvanizes her into making a pivotal decision, where she starts laying the groundwork for the revolution —

— no, of course not, this is where she starts going around to the hideouts of various undercover daemon-sellers and asking if they can help her find Pan.

Come on.

And this brings us to the end of the book. One of the black-market daemon-sellers guides Lyra to the creepy abandoned town where the final scene takes place.

In these last moments, the audience (but not Lyra) finds out that this guy has ulterior motives. Which would make it the first time in the whole book when “Lyra or Pan takes a Conveniently Helpful Person at face value with total credulity” turns out to be a bad idea.

(And, I mean, he’s a black-market daemon-seller. If anyone on that list was obviously an unethical scumball who shouldn’t be counted on….!)

Finally, a few things that don’t fit into any neat lists, but annoyed me enough to mention:

1) People curse in this book. Which is notable because they didn’t in HDM, and it wasn’t just the adults watching their mouths around tween Lyra — we got plenty of scenes that only had people like Mrs. Coulter and Lord Asriel in them. Those two would definitely be dropping f-bombs if it was a routine part of their world’s language, and this book reveals that it is.

So every time it happens it breaks your immersion, pointedly reminding you “this isn’t a real world, it’s a fake story where the author can switch the profanity-filter on and off at will.” Does it enhance the narrative in a way that’s worth the tradeoff? I don’t think so.

2) Before I read the book, I’d heard vague spoilers about “a character with a mermaid daemon,” and figured it was someone from a cool magical species — hopefully more expansion/exploration on the fairy from La Belle Sauvage whose daemon appeared to be “a whole flock of butterflies.”

But no, it’s a magically-modified human. His situation doesn’t get explored that deeply before he dies, or connect with anything else in the story. The fairy, meanwhile, does get mentioned when Malcolm tells Lyra about meeting her, but she doesn’t reappear or get any kind of follow-up.

In spite of the title, the only explicit appearance of any members of the “secret commonwealth” is some little glowing spirits, basically wights, that Lyra watches over the side of a gyptian boat one time.

3) There’s a scene where a bunch of people gather in a meeting hall to protest the Magisterium sabotaging their various rose-related livelihoods. A couple Magisterium reps are there. Malcolm is also there, and his POV basically goes “huh, looks like all the exits have gotten the doors shut. And barred. And suddenly they each have an armed Magisterium agent standing in front of them. That’s weird. Gonna keep quietly observing to find out what happens next.”

This guy is supposed to be a cool experienced anti-Magisterium spy! This is basically a giant neon sign flashing COMING UP NEXT: MASSACRE! (It is not a misdirect, either.)

And Malcolm sees it, but doesn’t read it, or take any action to try to subvert it, or even move to defend himself — it’s just like any cheesy horror movie where the audience is shouting LOOK BEHIND YOU at the unwitting character who’s about to get murdered.

Wrap-Up Thoughts

Whatever happens in the final volume of this trilogy, it might reveal things that redeem some of the problems in this book. But I’ll be honest, I’m not holding my breath.

And when I think about reveals that would address these problems, everything I come up with is stuff that should’ve just been in this book.

For example: let’s say the Fair Folk are directly involved after all, intervening to steer Lyra and Pan down the most convenient paths. In particular, the guy on the train who only appears long enough to give Lyra a set of alethiometry cards + a tutorial on how to use them — I really want him to be Fae. It’s so contrived and random if he’s not.

But the readers should know about it! Back in HDM, we would get scenes about the plans and activities of all the other factions at work. It might take a while to discover the exact details of (for example) the witches’ ultimate goal that Lyra was part of, but we knew they had a goal, and were supporting her in service of it. If the Secret Commonwealth is actively involved in the plot, we should’ve gotten that by now.

Semi-related: I feel like, if the rest of the book was better, then I’d have no trouble explaining a lot of the Lyra-specific issues as “she’s super-depressed, not in a place to make great choices or take a lot of decisive action.”

But it’s not like she’s drifting around in a trauma fog that hampers her ability to get things done. Her journey, while not perfect or threat-free, still comes together with improbable smoothness — as if the writing hasn’t noticed that she’s not being proactive and prescient and well-coordinated and overall super-competent about it. Meanwhile, other characters are underwhelming in the same way. (Looking at you, Malcolm “I Can’t Believe It’s Now a Bloodbath” Polstead.)

So it doesn’t seem like a conscious narrative choice to write Lyra this way. It just seems consistent with the complaints I have about everything else in the writing.

…let’s be honest, I’m almost certainly gonna read the third book anyway. I’m enough of a completist that it’ll bother me not to, I don’t have a lot of hard-stop dealbreakers that would make me bow out anyway, and, well, I do a lot of work that requires time-passing listening material. The Secret Commonwealth is nowhere near the most-frustrating audio I’ve used to fill that time.

But it hasn’t left me excited or optimistic or Shivering With Anticipation, either.

Mostly I just anticipate getting some useful stuff done while I listen, and then having a final set of reactions to work through in another one of these posts.

#His Dark Materials #HDM #The Book of Dust #The Secret Commonwealth #tsc spoilers #review

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quousque · 6 years

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So Apparently I did Graduate After All

Figured it out on Monday. Had to call the registrar’s office multiple times and hand-hold the person on the other end through the online degree tracker to get it sorted. I’m annoyed, frustrated, and disappointed, and I haven’t felt anything like excitement or happiness yet.

So now I’ma subject all y’all to the Story of How I Didn’t Graduate but Actually Did Graduate but didn’t Find Out until August

So, first things first, I have ADHD, and therefore getting things done is hard. Last semester was my 5th year in college, and I was on track to finish all my requirements to graduate except for one. I needed an upper division writing course. I had taken one the previous semester, but I never fucking turned in the final paper. Literally, I had all the research done, the outline, powerpoint presentation, I even had each individual section written and in need of editing. But the final step of putting it all together? Nope. Didn’t do it.

I contacted the professor, and she said she’d accept the paper late. That was over winter break. As spring semester rolled around, I kept telling myself to finish it and send it in. Maybe she’ll still accept it, even though the next semester has started. I know professors can change your grade up to a year afterwords. But I somehow couldn’t make it happen. But I still managed to maintain the illusion that I could Totally Do It and Definitely Graduate This Semester all the way until like, May.

Cue May. I’ve pretty much given up on graduating this semester, and I’m just trying not to fail my other classes so I only have to take the one class next year. It’s finals week. I have three (3) late papers in one class, and five (5) late papers in another.

The first class is a class that I’ve failed two times before, both times due to not completing papers. The other class is one I’ve taken once before, and failed for the same reason. Sensing a pattern here? This is why my grades look like A, A, B, F, F, F. When I can do the work, I do good work.

Aaaanyway, finals week finishes, and I’ve completed the papers for the first class, but I still have 3 overdue papers for the second one. It’s graduation day. My family is in town, even though I’m not graduating, because they’d already reserved the airbnb and figured we could spend time together anyway. I’m not currently spending time with them, I’m in the library pounding out these papers (FUCK socrates btw). I’m trying not to beat myself up about not graduating. And then I have a little thought, triggered by the fact that the online list of graduating students has my name on it. At first I figured it was because I’d submitted my graduation application, and they just hadn’t actually checked it (turns out, that was the case). But I think, hey, the class I’m writing papers for right now, might count as an upper division writing class. The last time I took it, I remembered the prof saying something like the class should count, but doesn’t because it was offered through the classics department instead of through some other department.

I decide to check. I look at the course catalog. Useless. Look at the List of Classes that Count for Upper Div Writing Credit. It’s not on there. Ok, so it doesn’t count. But then I find Degreeworks, the online degree tracking tool that my university apparently uses, and it tells me I need an upper div writing class, which it calls “a class with attribute WRUD or WRAD”. I click on “WRUD”. It pops up a little window, listing all the classes that count. Lo and fucking behold, the class I’m writing papers for right now is up there. So, does it count, or not? I try calling the registrar’s office. They’re closed. I send an email, but they obviously won’t answer. There’s still a few hours before the main graduation ceremony, and I have this vague fantasy of maybe if this class DOES count, then I can run home, grab a dress, walk at graduation, and finish these papers tonight.

The only thing I can think of to do hope my advisor is in his office, and ask him. So I dave my work and run over to the Liberal Arts building. I find my advisor in his office, putting on his regalia to go and graduate students more capable than me. I ask him if CLAS 365 fulfills the upper division writing requirement. He asks me if I need to know now. I tell him yes, because that kind of determines whether or not I walk. He checks online, using whatever advising tool setup the university has. He says no, it doesn’t count. Oh well, it was worth it to check. So I go back to the library, and finish my papers.

Fast forward through most of the summer. My mom offers to help me get my ass registered for the class I need to take. I start complaining about all of the above, and she asks me to show her online where degreeworks says the class I took does count. She decides that we should double check and call the registrar again. I don’t want to, because obviously the class doesn’t count, and I already feel like shit about not graduating, and I’d rather just register for a class and get it over with. But mom insists we call. So I call. After a lot of encouraging the lady at the registrar’s office to actually do her job and look at my records, finally she’s like “oh, yeah, that class does count, it just wasn’t cross-listed properly.” She does something with the system to essentially force my degree through, and boom, just like that, I apparently graduated.

I’m just sad and pissed off that I didn’t get to walk at graduation, do the whole cap and gown thing, or any of that, especially when I actually thought to check and, if the class had been listed properly, I would have had enough time to get to the ceremony. So yeah. I graduated college, but it actually just made me sadder. :(

I’ll probably get around to feeling happy about it later, like maybe when I have a job that doesn’t give me homework. I might walk at fall graduation, assuming I stop feeling like shit about it by then.

If you made it this far, thanks for listening to my Emotions about Things. Bleughhghg.

#personal

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flamestoflight · 5 years

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on internalizing frustration and angst

Class this morning was great - really exciting and motivating stuff, and I left lab with a much better sense of how to approach the concept that we’re talking about. I went to the gym and biked for ~20 minutes, and was planning on doing some stretching/lifting afterwards, but the whole time I was on the bike my mind was preoccupied with a roommate/apartment situation that has been really bugging me the past couple weeks. By the time I got off the bike I was annoyed and in a mood; the gym was too loud and crowded, my back was super tight and uncomfortable, and I was all up in my head about what’s been going on lately.

So I left the gym. I literally left the gym, drove home and walked into my smaller apartment gym, which was thankfully empty. I kicked my shoes off, turned off the gym lights so it was just the natural light coming through the windows, switched from my gym playlist to my “evening relaxing” playlist, threw my hair up in a bun on my head, and just flowed. I did some stretching, some handstands, some yoga stuff that I kind of halfway made up, danced around the gym a little bit (picture an uncoordinated lanky baby giraffe doing ballet and that’s kind of what went down lmao), some more handstands, and I just sat cross legged letting gravity pull my head forward and stretch my neck for like 4 minutes.

And I thought the whole time about how I was going to approach this situation moving forward. I’m living here for the next 6 months, and nothing is likely going to change in that time that will make what’s going on more tolerable to me, that will reduce my anger and annoyance and feelings of inferiority and my frustration. But so far I’ve been spending all my time just thinking about those feelings themselves, instead of thinking about how I’m going to move forward with those feelings and get through the last stretch.

I didn’t come up with any solutions, but I took the first steps towards ending the cycle of internalization of the problem, which just compounds the problem and makes it bigger than it needs to be. It is what it is. I don’t like it - as a matter of fact I really can’t stand it, and I struggle a LOT with keeping my cool and trying to act normal. Everything gets to me, and everything feels like a “here we freaking go again, just like I expected.” But that’s not helpful. And this is honestly pretty dumb, because I don’t want to “be the bigger person” and let it go, but I’m literally only hurting myself if I don’t, because this is a fight between me and me. As far as I know, I’m doing a decent job of not being blatant about the fact that I’m set off all the time. This is a fight between me wanting to feel anger and frustration and gather more crap to throw on the pile I have built up in my head...and me probably needing to take a deep breath and let some things go and just get through the semester, after which I will move out and never deal with this living setup again lol.

And again, none of this is a real solution. But maybe I just need to let myself do what I need to do more often. Don’t work in a group with people who annoy me, don’t participate in conversations that piss me off before I even start talking, don’t engage if it’s not productive. Get out of the apartment and go to a coffee shop to study if I can’t stand being here, go hang out with other, less stressful friends who I have a productive and fun relationship with. Leave the gym early and spend half an hour stretching in the gym with the lights off and reminding myself to breathe and let things go. I have 5 months left here and damn I really don’t want to waste it being annoyed and fed up all the time. I don’t believe that this is my fault, but it’s the situation I’m in, and it’s time for me to be the bigger person (to myself) and learn to live around it.

#mygrad2 #personal

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lewisswanthirdyear · 4 years

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EVALUATION

My project titled “The Cuts Nobody Gave a Shit About” has progressed massively over the two semesters. Changing sizes, layout, overall imagery, numbers of speakers within the installation, the poster designs, there have been many changes that have led it to the place that the project ad installation is now at.

My aim for the project this semester was to improve on the overall layout, design and execution of all of the imagery. This started with the photography aspect of the project. I had already created 3 sets of culturally referenced moments in time. These moments in time were the 40s/50s, 70s and 80s. The 80s moment in time focused around the disco/club scene in the 80s. These photographs didn’t work for me as they didn’t share characteristics and traits that connected the 70s and 40s/50s photographs together, due to the photographs being taken on different cameras and being framed differently. As I didn’t think the 80s moment in time, due to the way they were photographed and also the fact that the moment in time wasn’t easily recognisable. The club scene could be any time over the last couple timeframes. Due to this reason, I decided to revamp my 80s theme and make it something that stood out more and was more easily recognisable. Due to this idea, I decided to focus it around a stand out scene from Great Britain in the 80s, the Mod Revival scene. This themed shoot allowed me to create a culturally referenced moment in time that stood out, that was easily recognisable, that allowed me to match the specific framing of the shot that was featured in every shoot, the models glance that was similar in all of the moments in time and also gave me a great moment in time and theme to incorporate into the soundtrack if the installation. Using certain characteristics such as the dress sense of the model, the certain poses, the attitude, the wig and the general framing of the shoot I was able to create a great image that was slot into the set of moments in time perfectly. If I were to do this shoot again, I would have probably have tried to find a more realistic wig and also would have tried using a better studio set up as the lighting was a bit dim due to the power of the studio lighting I used, but overall I think the shoot worked well and gave me a great image to slot into the mix. This was basically the same for the 60s shoot that focused on the psychedelic 60s and referenced The Beatles Yellow Submarine video and cartoon. Once again, I loved the outcome that was created but I would have shot in a better studio set up and also would have tried to find a better wig once again, luckily this didn’t seem to be an issue once again and this turned out to be one of my favourite images from the whole project. These images also worked perfectly as they were great to play around with and edit in the manipulation stage as all of the coloured altered perfectly and allowed me to showcase the idea of the sound flowing through the imagery and completely taking over as they manipulate the original imagery. All of the other imagery basically stayed the same, other than some of the images framing changing, for example, the 70s image became more zoomed in to see a lot more of the details I tried to showcase such as the hair of the model and the dress sense of the model as well as the overall pose that helped bring the 70s aesthetic to life.

All of this imagery would then be used for every aspect of the project. The imagery would find its way into the overall design of the speakers. Through the imagery that would be displayed upon the speakers within the makeshift block party, this is where they were manipulated and ere altered by the sound flowing through the speakers into the imagery, to the posters that displayed the original imagery around the room. All of the imagery followed and connected with the overall design hat focused on the theme of the 70s makeshift block party. This then leads to the design of the installation which revolved around the theme of the 70s block party which was incorporated into every inch of the installation from the imagery itself to the design of the posters and the speakers themselves. Posters were used to advertise the block party event itself. They displayed the time, the date and the location of the event which would have been displayed within the exhibition space, but obviously, due to complications, this didn’t happen. The posters showcased the original imagery from the culturally referenced moments in time, showcasing the original imagery across the room so could see how the sound manipulated the imagery upon the speakers. Due to complications with printing, I wasn’t able to print a large number of posters which I wanted to do, but I was really pleased with how the posters progressed from last semester and how they worked into the makeshift block party theme a lot more this semester. Through the use of tape, usage marks and roughness they looked as if they had been used within the event, being picked up, looked at, chucked on the floor, had footsteps on them, they’ve been used and you could see clear signs of this. If I were to do this again, I would do it exactly the same as it was a great way of displaying my original imagery before manipulation, exposing and advertising the event and also helping intensify the block party aesthetic. If I were to do this again, I would print a lot more posters (obviously I had a factor that didn’t allow me to do this at the time) to help intensify the block party aesthetic.

The Speakers once again followed the theme of the block party, meaning that I would stylise them in a sense so they’d fit in within the block party aesthetic, whilst also connecting the imagery to the speakers. To create this block party aesthetic, I tried to damage and fuck up the speakers as much as possible (without destroying them) to make them looked used, and carried from space to space, the main idea behind them was being moved about and used. Firstly, I connected the imagery with the idea of someone within the space of the block party wanting to display imagery at that moment in time, how would they do it, how could they easily display this imagery on the speakers, they’d use tape, something easily found in any shop anywhere across the globe. This tape was then placed upon the speakers and the imagery to help the imagery stay on the speakers, creating a makeshift collage-like outcome. Once the imagery was collaged around the speakers with the tape, I’d start to age the speakers, by destroying them completely in a sense, making them looked used through a series of hacking, sawing, using a knife to destroy certain parts of the speakers, I was doing anything physically possible to make the speakers looked used and aged. As the block party aesthetic was very makeshift, rough used, I did a lot to the speakers to make them seem as if they were carried from space and used multiple times. My favourite part of this whole project was creating the makeshift aesthetic and ambience around the speakers, literally cutting away at certain parts and just trying to make all the speakers looked fucked up in their own personal way. What was essential to this semester was intensifying this aesthetic from last semester, that was my main goal. Looking back at the old images of the setup I really hated the way they speakers looked, they were too clean, there was too much space in between the images and the tape was gritty enough, the whole installation wasn’t gritty enough in a whole. My main aim was to destroy the speakers a lot more and make them a lot more crowded. I think I tackled and created this idea perfectly this semester, the speakers were all fucked up in their individual ways. Certain parts of the speakers were hanging off such as the material covering the subwoofers, there were drinks on the casing, dust falling off from where they have been sawed with a knife, Parts of the casing missing such as the plastic that would protect the subwoofers, the wood plastic material stripped away from the base of the speakers and so much more. All of these individual features helped intensify the makeshift and used aesthetic I needed within the design of the speakers to intensify the block party aesthetic I was going for. If I were to do this again I would go even deeper with the used aesthetic, but obviously, you could always do more with this aesthetic, it could essentially never end as you could always destroy them more. It would be interesting to carry this project on and take the set up to different spaces and see how they get destroyed from actual usage with the used aesthetic This is a project that has endless possibilities.

After the design stage, we moved into the layout stage of the project. The layout had a lot of references from shows such as The Get Down on Netflix, Virgil Abloh and Ben Kelly’s ‘Ruin’ which focused around the nightclub scene and also the block parties from the 70s themselves. The research was key for the layout stage as it would help me progress with my layout from last semester, and make the whole installation feel more real, feel used and a lot more makeshift, I wanted the theme to be obvious. As you can see from the final installation, it progressed massively from last semester. Utilising key components and some of my favourite parts such as the wiring, the posters, the rubbish and even the layering and intensified these components massively. What I hated about the layout last semester was the spacing of the speakers, I wanted it to be a lot more crowded, a lot more used and a lot more, once again, makeshift, like all of the speakers had just been chucked into space. I used The Get Down as the main reference source as they created this whole feeling and aesthetic for the 70s block party for a modern programme, this is exactly what I wanted to do, in a sense create a set that could be used in a film, but had my own touch. Due to this reference source, I took the set up I used last semester and improve on it. The first part for improving the set up was making it a lot more cluttered a lot more makeshift and a lot tighter. I brought all the speakers closer together and obviously added more sleepers to the mix to make this tight space bigger and more makeshift. I then added all of the different elements such as the bottles, wiring and posters to the mix to help set the scene and bring in the gritty used and makeshift aesthetic that intertwined with the design of the speakers and what would also intertwine with the sound (I would have liked to have a lot more props, and a larger number of what I did have, but obviously due to what was going on in the world this wasn’t possible.) If I were to do this again I would as I said, add more of all of the different elements such as the wiring bottles and posters that I wasn’t able to do this semester sadly, but other than this I loved how the set-up and design came out, it was a massive massive massive improvement on what I tried to create last semester. The design that didn’t work last semester gave me a great basis on how to improve this design this semester.

The sound much like the design of the installation and the imagery revolved around the theme of culturally referenced moments in time. These moments in time would intertwine with the sound itself, for example, the 70s imagery would connect the sound of the 70s that would be played through the makeshift DJ set pumping from the speakers. The overall theme over the block party seeped into every inch of the installation, from design to artwork to the sound. The sound last semester was very start and stop, the track went from track to track to track in a very basic and normal flow. One track would play and then go into the next. This is something I wanted to change, I wanted the sound to be more of a hectic DJ set that was interacting with the imagery on the speakers and the design of the installation. Every part of the installation was interacting with each other and playing off of each other just like the DJ of a block party would be doing with the crowd, the space and the MC freestyling over the makeshift beats. I tried to pick sounds from the moments in time that I photographed and play around with them on my DJ decks, I added some well-known sounds, some unknown sounds and some very peculiar sounds. I then started to intertwine them together matching BPM’s playing songs over each other and just making a very hectic DJ mix that still sounded great and would get a crowd dancing, as it was getting me on my feet and dancing while doing it. I would make a mix, then throw the mix back onto the decks and record over it again, making the DJ mix very hectic and makeshift, just like the space it would be played within. I really liked how the soundtrack/mix turned-out or the sound section as it was a massive progression from last semester, it had the sound of a live DJ mix whilst also being quite hectic, whilst also getting a crowd going whilst also being created in the same way many of the live DJ mixes would have been =, it just felt right. It just worked. If I were to do the sound section again, there would obviously be so much I could do, as, like the design of the speakers, there’s always something you can add to the mix to improve it or make it longer, which once again leads me so many opinions in changing the mix to different sounds, adding new sounds or literally creating a brand-new mix with different sounds, there are endless opportunities, which leads me in a good place for carrying on with this project and taking it in different directions.

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thegeminisage · 7 years

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tumblr locked me out again so here we go: yeah i mean shes underage? and hes like a full on adult who is also a legit cop, i think people wouldnt be weird about it if they didnt cast like 25 yr olds to play 16 yr olds you know? but yeah lydia parrish is always platonic no smooching involved but also i want the banshee and the hellhound to commiserate about death TOGETHERthey’re wasting time with this lacrosse game again! so much wasted time!! i don’t care about these characters!

why is scott mccall not the focus OF HIS OWN SERIES. I LOVE WHEN PARRISH IS LIKE “I AM A DEPUTY” as if that means anything in beacon hills its hilarious a small joy. that makes sense, about the counselor. maybe instead of reading it like they’re shoving it in our faces its more that her character is going into this too eagerly/blind because she is inexperienced. i can get behind that. this moment with scott and malia and argent is lovely.

i wish scott and argent’s relationship didn’t have to come at the price of allisons death but ill take it i guess. that whole sequence was so badly done? the grenade so quick and the blast zone made no sense? NOOO PARRISH GOT LOCKED UP! nooo my son. where is lydia!! WHERE IS SHE!! why is this the “anyone other than the main cast” show now???? also lydia not registering for classes is an easy fix.. like she’s presumably already accepted her admittance bc thats how college works and

and she can always defer a semester. also if argent changes his allison password i will WEEP yeah i see what you’re saying with her and brett, honestly i just wish they hadn’t introduced another new character in this season? there are plenty of villains already to pull from without having to establish someone new and pull time away from the pack. GIVE ME THE CHARACTERS I ALREADY LOVE. I AHVENT STAMPED A BULLET SINCE ALLSION DIED GOODBYE FRIEND, IVE LEFT MY BODY GOODBYE.

i guess I’m just bored with this episode? idk it feels strange and forced and not in any way what i wanted, i miss the pack :/ lydia going back to eichen house is awful and she’s so strong and i love her so much and i wish this show treated her kinder. why is she constantly put through hell!! i hate this so much. i hated that whole arc and i hate her having to relive it now. LYDIA SAVING PARRISH A+ lydia owning her banshee powers is EVERYTHING. god scott is the MAIN CHARACTER AND HE HAS BEEN

IN 3 SCENES. I’m so mad about this. why isn’t he the focus of this show i hate jeff davis. ALSO GERARD IS BACK!!! GERARD IS BACK! which as much as i hate him hopefully he’ll finally face consequences

ANON WHY IS TUMBLR ALWAYS LOCKING YOU OUT WTF thats so dumb

re: lydia and parrish absolutely like i like their relationship and since both actors are in their twenties when you like. look at it on the screen it doesn’t seem weird until you remember hey, actually, lydia is really for real in high school and he really for real is 24! like that would be worrying IRL you know? it’s the same weird dissonance i get w/ sterek - i like their scenes together a LOT they’re really funny and i enjoy their banter and relationship but i can’t see derek sleeping w/ a minor especially after what happened with kate? like on the screen it doesn’t feel AS WEIRD bc the actors are similar ages! so i see why people want to be like that about it and just kind of wave away the age thing - but in real life that would matter a BIG amount - like you would just be v aware of how much younger someone is than you if they’re still in school - i have friends younger than me who are in hs and friends younger than me who aren’t in hs and i always forget when it comes to the friends who aren’t in school but never for the ones that are. so like…none of these adults would be banging 16-17yos in my eyes i just cant see it! i just can’t! that said i really really like parrish he’s like…so cute and good and he tries hard. like he’s just a good clean boy (“i’m a deputy” honey please) and i appreciate that.

also i know like i dont mind a little side character stuff but i dont care about liam as much as they want me to - liam’s at his most interesting when he’s paired with scott, and they didn’t interact at all this episode, so :/ out of the new characters i like mason the most cause queer solidarity + very smart, and he got a cute moment earlier tho so that was nice :’)

i also really enjoyed the stuff with scott and argent and malia, i’m glad scott and malia are interacting on an organic level like…if this romance has gotta happen pls let it not be as awkward as melissa/argent, yk? honestly as sad as i am that scott and argent only started getting along after allison’s death it’s like…quickly become one of my favorite relationships which has me #shook like i never expected to enjoy that so much but i do. there’s something very neat about him asking scott to glow his eyes for him and just like…this guy used to be a werewolf hunter and now he’s comfortably working with/protecting werewolves, i could go on yk but it’s nice

RE: the pack i know literally like i’m just gonna bide my time and Wait for the shots of them all together like i feel like they’re coming, we’re still in the setup stage, but i know from the trailers eventually they’re gonna punch us in the face with nostalgia…like i dont have to trust JD on that because i saw the footage myself, yk? frankly i think this was like a bit too disjointed and someone should have gone in with lydia but like - one of the things i’m looking forward to this season is that sort of bravery that she showed us - she had to go in and do that thing she was terrified of but she did it and she kicked ASS at it, yk? and i want to see that from all of them - as much as i love them i don’t mind them suffering a little if we get to see the best of them, what they’re really made of - like obviously there’s the element of “do you trust JD to pull this off? wouldn’t trust him as far as i could throw him no” but like the POTENTIAL nugget of it is really good i think. by all means let kate come back to terrorize derek if he gets to have an eichen moment, let scott and malia and argent and all of them be afraid for a little while if they get to come out on top like this, yk? i’m Ready for it

#long post #teen wolf #tw spoilers #tw anon #liz answers asks #honestly if derek got to be that brave i would pass out #Anonymous #sorry this took me so long to type i got distracted

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s-c-i-guy · 7 years

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A New Path to Equal-Angle Lines

Equiangular lines are an elemental part of geometry. Mathematicians have discovered a tighter limit on the number of such lines that exist in every dimension.

Imagine a set of many lines as in a dream. The lines intersect at a point and radiate outward. There’s something perfect about the way they’re spaced that you can’t quite put your finger on. You start counting them, but before you can finish you wake up with a question hanging on the fringe of your mind: Just how many were there?

For at least 70 years, mathematicians have been trying to answer a question like that one. The sets of lines they’re interested in share a basic feature: Any two lines from the set intersect to form the same angle. Such sets of lines are called “equiangular.” Mathematicians want to know just how big those sets can get as you move past the 3-D space of our everyday experience and into higher dimensions.

Equiangular lines are much more than a curiosity — they’re an almost elemental way to think about geometry. Maximal constructions of equiangular lines often align perfectly with the vertices of highly symmetric shapes, which make them a way to discover the existence of those shapes in the first place. In addition, radiating equiangular lines would pass through the surface of a surrounding sphere at equidistant points. This property makes the lines important for so-called spherical codes, which have important applications in applied mathematics and computer science.

Last spring a team of mathematicians found the maximum number of equiangular lines possible in any dimension, given certain conditions. They proved that that number is much smaller than previous best estimates. Benny Sudakov, a professor of mathematics at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology Zurich and one of the lead authors, credits the breakthrough to the wide range of mathematical techniques he and his coauthors were able to apply to the problem.

“It’s like when you’re cooking something, we suddenly found we had the right ingredients,” said Sudakov.

To achieve the proof, the mathematicians figured out how to translate the problem into very different mathematical settings. The mathematicians were able to establish properties of equiangular lines in these translated forms that they then carried back into the geometric setting, almost in the way you might retrace your steps to a vision in a dream.

Lines in Many Forms

In simple cases, equiangular lines are easy to spot. In two dimensions, take a hexagon and connect opposite vertices. In the resulting construction, any pair of the three lines forms a 60-degree angle. In three dimensions, connecting opposite vertices of an icosahedron (a 3-D shape with 20 faces and 12 vertices) gives you six intersecting lines, any pair of which forms a 63.4-degree angle.

In more than three dimensions, it’s impossible to actually visualize what constructions of equiangular lines would look like, which is one reason it’s been hard to figure out the maximum number of equiangular lines in spaces of any dimension. The best that mathematicians have been able to do is prove that the number of equiangular lines can’t exceed roughly the square of the number of dimensions. (The exact upper bound for dimension d is (d2 + d)/2.) In most dimensions, they know that the number of possible lines is smaller than that.

Sudakov’s interest in equiangular constructions began in 2015 at a talk given by Boris Bukh, a mathematician at Carnegie Mellon University who’d recently made progress on a refined version of the problem. Bukh had proved that when you specify the size of the angle ahead of time — that is, you ask, what is the maximum number of equiangular lines with, say, a 50-degree angle between any pair of them — the maximum number of equiangular lines is much smaller than the known bound. Instead, it grows in linear fashion, as some constant times the number of dimensions.

Bukh’s result wasn’t elegant — “It wasn’t the best approach in some sense,’’ he said. “I did some ugly things to make my proof work” — but it got Sudakov thinking about the problem. That same year Sudakov spent a semester at the University of Oxford, where he talked through potential lines of attack with Peter Keevash, a mathematician there. Sudakov then returned to Zurich and shared his emerging ideas with his graduate students Igor Balla and Felix Dräxler. They made a suggestion of their own, and suddenly the way to prove a tighter bound on the number of equiangular lines with a specified angle seemed clear. “We all started working on it frantically,” Sudakov said.

Their method was not so different, in spirit, from the way scientists hunt for signatures of an event they can’t observe — they look for traces of the event in other forms. The mathematicians pictured a set of some number of equiangular lines with a specified angle. If the lines were to exist, they could also be represented as other kinds of mathematical objects. The mathematicians proceeded to examine the properties of these analogous objects, knowing that once they understood them, they could work backward from there to the lines themselves.

To see the steps in this approach, it’s helpful to think about how you get from the lines to the analogous objects, even though the actual construction of the lines proceeds in the opposite direction.

Take a set of equiangular lines. Associate to each line a vector — an object that points in a particular direction. For each line you can imagine two possible vectors, one pointing one way on the line, the other pointing the other way. Choose one, then take the “dot product” of each pair of vectors. If the vectors form an acute angle, the dot product will be positive. If they form an obtuse angle, it will be negative.

The major innovations in the new work appeared after the authors recast the problem in the language of graph theory. Graph theory is the study of how points can be connected to each other by edges. In this scenario, the points of the graph represent the vectors. Points are connected to each other according to this rule: Color the edge between them red if the dot product is positive, blue if the dot product is negative. The result will be a configuration of red and blue lines that provides a different way of looking at the original situation.

“This is another way of encoding the information you’re given, but it’s quite suggestive,” said Keevash. “Once you have a graph, combinatorial ideas come into play.”

In particular, the authors use something called Ramsey’s theorem to bring order to the way all the red and blue edges are joined together. Ramsey’s theorem says that a graph of this sort will always contain large subsets of a certain minimum size that are completely uniform — either all red or all blue. In the case at hand, we know it’s impossible to have many vectors pointing in opposite directions, so the dominant subset of lines will always be red, not blue.

This large subset of red edges forms what Sudakov calls an “anchor” from which he and his collaborators are able to fill out the rest of the graph. By manipulating the remaining vectors, they prove that almost all the vectors not in the subset are joined to the subset via red edges. This, in a sense, casts the blue edges to the outskirts of the graph, and gives the authors a complete, well-ordered picture of what a graphical representation of a set of equiangular lines would look like — if those lines were to exist.

The authors took this arrangement of vectors and further simplified the picture by “projecting” it down into lower dimensions, where additional aspects of their structure came into view.

“It’s a bit like taking a light and shining it on an object and looking at the shadow,” said Jonathan Jedwab, a mathematician at Simon Fraser University in British Columbia who studies equiangular lines. “If you have a three-dimensional object and literally shine a light on it, the shadow it casts on the two-dimensional plane will tell something about what’s going on. If you then moved the 3-D object and shone the light again you could compare the 2-D shadows and learn even more.”

Following the projection, the authors changed settings one final time, reinterpreting their graph as a matrix — a square table of entries. In this table, each entry is a dot product of two vectors. Mathematicians commonly use these kinds of matrices — called Gram matrices — to study configurations of vectors, and in particular those coming from equiangular lines. In this new work, though, the authors had the advantage of first having used Ramsey’s theorem to understand something about the structure of vector relationships.

“After identifying this set, suddenly we cleaned the whole picture and the matrices we got later were much more structured,” said Sudakov.

Through a variety of manipulations, the researchers calculated the “rank” of these structured matrices. Rank is a basic attribute of any matrix. It quantifies, in a sense, how much information the matrix contains, or how many rows you need in order to be able to generate all the rows. (A rough analog of rank would be to count the number of primes needed to express the prime factorization of a number — a number with a longer prime factorization would be considered more complex and have a higher “rank.”)

In this setup, the rank of the matrix is both related to the number of equiangular lines and sets a limit on the number of spatial dimensions in which the lines live. As a result, the authors were able to prove that when you begin by fixing the angle in advance, the maximum number of equiangular lines is 2d – 2 for one particular angle (approximately 70.7 degrees), and no more than 1.93d for any other angle. The authors ended up needing a roundabout process to arrive at such exact numbers, but sometimes it takes a surprising series of recollections to find your way back to last night’s dream.

“My reaction isn’t ‘Why didn’t I think of it?’ It’s ‘My goodness, what an array of tools these people have,’” said Jedwab. “To string these tools together one after another, I think that’s the real ingeniousness of what they’ve done.”

#mathematics #geometry #sciblr #science

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