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absolutebl · 1 year

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BL & Critical Analysis

Pop culture critique & a how to do it... or something

This meaty question came from the lovely @huachengeye Thank you!

Codicil: I do not get paid for pop culture critique (although I once wrote book reviews professionally, long story). So I’m entirely a dilettante.

The Question!

Q1: Can you can shed some light on your process (of critical analysis)

This is a little like training your eye to edit a document (I bet you can tell that's not one my strong points). Or training your mind to look at data and data collection in terms of the results it may yield and what the initial survey says about the questioner's bias (or can bias results).

First, I have to ask...

Do you really want to train your eye to critique?

Because it will become a lot harder to immerse yourself in a piece of media if you constantly feel obligated to step back mentally and think about it from various perspectives.

In other words, you may enjoy BL, or all live action dramas, LESS if you try to think about them critically.

I have an intimate who is a pretty well known writer. She mostly writes humorous fiction. She's open about the fact that this means every time she laughs, she stops and thinks about why that happened and whether is could be used in her prose. She never gets to be fully absorbed by narrative ever anymore because her critical eye is always turned on, especially for the written word.

What you may sacrifice for critique, is a certain level of childish wonder.

I’m not sure i would necessarily advise doing this.

My Process

My process is essentially now visible in this blog. As I watch a show I take a few notes on it (which show up in the weeklies) and then at the end I go through those notes, consolidate, try to be witty about it, and write up a review.

The review usually has something about:

characters, tropes, plot

narrative & story structure & pace

how this BL fits in with the greater BL genre & history

any thoughts I have on the quality of the production, acting, and/or directing

my own personal feelings about the show

Thus my reviews tend to take into account several criteria.

For #1-2 I have a background in lit crit as an undergrad (and, like I said, I did once review books for a living) so these are kinda ingrained in me. I’m working on seeing the influence of soap operas, fan fic, and non-western story structures as critically valid, so these are the things I’m actively learning more about the most these days.

For #3: How does this fit into the history of BL? Since I’ve made it point to watch pretty much all BLs, I feel like I’m set up to think and talk about this. AKA the spreadsheet made me do it. But since I also have anthropology in my academic history, I’m very interested in how a BL represents for its country’s BL oeuvre. I try to judge KBLs against other KBLs (and Kdramas) and look for patterns and trends in how that country’s interpretation of what it “means to be BL” shift over time.

For #4: my IRL job is tangential to the entertainment industry so that’s accidentally trained my eye for film. I don’t know that I like this part about myself, but it’s happened whether I like it or not. And I don’t have a proper background in film critique.

Final #5: will discuss further in a bit.

Suggestion? Establish A Rating System

Come up with your own personal 10 star (or 5 star) rating system.

Write it down. Don’t be afraid to modify or adjust it. It’s yours, your tastes change, nothing is set in stone.

Pick one ideal example BL for each category that you’re very familiar with for your reference point. Then you can ask yourself, after you’ve watched a new one, whether you liked it more, less, or about the same as that show. (relative rating, similar to grading on a curve)

I change my examples regularly as my taste changes and as new BLs are added. The bar gets shifted, so to speak.

My Rating System

Your reasoning for rating a BL will be different from mine, but here’s mine as an example.

(Also I never feel bound by this, sometimes I give a show a 8/10 just because it feels like that’s what it deserves.)

10/10 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED - my favorite precious squee!, faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential, makes me happy, examples: Semantic Error, Until We Meet Again

9/10 ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED - loved it and good rewatch potential but probably a few pacing issues or one big flaw, still made me feel good/comforted, examples: Cherry Magic, Bad Buddy

8/10 - RECOMMENDED - some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure/filming but still satisfies as BL, moved me emotionally, rewatchable in parts or not rewatchable but important, examples: Love By Chance, Between Us

7/10 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS - i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, and/or chemistry issues, may have impact on other BL fans but not me (or on me but not others) examples: Make it Right, KinnPorsche

6/10 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED - probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship, disappointed expectations, unlikely to rewatch, examples: My Gear and Your Gown, Love Mechanics

5/10 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO - but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess interesting only because it's BL and I'm probubly pretty conflicted about it, examples: Advance Bravely, Even Sun

4/10 - FATALLY FLAWED - but still basically BL, however... do we want to support this kind of behaviour? examples: Precise Shot, Work from Heart

3/10 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT, just seriously why did this get made? examples: Blue of Winter, Physical Therapy

2/10 - IT'S DEPRESSING - they killed/tortured/etc the gay, save yourself, examples: The Effect, HIStory 3: Make Our Days Count

1/10 - IT'S AWFUL, I WATCHED IT SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO, has all the flaws of 4-3 plus something even more egregious, personally triggering, example: My Bromance series, Round Trip to Love

dnf - self explanatory, but usually I drop because I feel like the narrative is already a #3 and/or headed for a #2 or #1 and then I’m told later that is went there, example: My Tempo

I hand out the fewest 1s & 10s. The most 8s and 7s. Everything else is pretty much on the bell curve you’d expect.

Q2: What resources do you use to build your reviews?

I listen to a lot of pop culture review critiques in podcast form, often about stuff I'd never watch. But I like the way professionals talk about these things, even if they aren't MY things or don't jive with my personal opinions.

Mark Kermode is my favorite film critic and we like the opposite stuff, but the way he talks about film is very interesting to me. His podcast mini series on the "business of film" is probably one of my must listens. For his main podcast (Kermode & May’s Take), I always skip over all the interviews, people talking about their own films bore me to death (especially if they are actors on the promo junket, save me please). His rants are some of my favorites of all time (try Pirates 3 or Iron Man 2). Someone else’s list.

I also like Pop Culture Happy Hour from NPR because it brings in multiple perspectives and varied cast of critics who often disagree and the "things making me happy" is a grab bag of fun.

The Bechdel Cast is a feminist critique podcast from Hollywood insiders and they do recaps as well as critique, and it's always fascinating to me to hear what people latch onto in a narrative. However, I only listen if I am already familiar with the film they are discussing.

My background is in anthropology and I've lived all over the world so that helps train me to think in terms on culture's impact on narrative as well as linguistics and so forth. As a personality I’m also quite reserved and deadpan, grumpy, stiff, strict, and kinda cold. I think I gravitate to being an observer and an outsider which helps if you want to analysis stuff. Which is not a claim to objectivity, I don't think there can be objective analysis of pop culture.

But it does make me pause to think, "that made me FEEEL something" why? What am I feeling? How did the actor do that? The script? The direction?

These shows are meant to entertain, whether they are successful or not, for me (and what "successful entertainment" means to me) and how they are doing it is the first question I always ask myself.

Q3: What are the things you look out for when watching a BL?

I ask myself a lot of things I would when looking at any piece of art. Or even when shopping for clothing or a new car or reading a book.

Did I like it? Why did I like it?

Did it move me? Why did it move me?

Did I react? How did I react? To which bits? Why?

What tropes and narrative beats was it using to manipulate me and my expectations? Did it meet those expectations? The promises it set up at the start? Did it fulfill the watcher-contract during the course of the narrative?

Did the filming successfully telegraphy the journey I was meant to take? Did the actors?

But also... would I rewatch it? Am I tempted to do so the moment it ends? For which bits?

The statistician in me wants to point out that these questions say a lot more about me and my relationship to art than it does about the art itself.

For example

Did I like it? Means... I'm motivated by pure taste and personal preference and complete subjectivity. This is in part formed by a person's background, life state, whole experience with culture and pop culture and society, family, friends. Taste is also just "that" bit. You know, that bit? Likes lemon deserts over chocolate ones, gravities to spicy food, favorite color is green, decorates with potted plants. Just my taste is my taste. I like what I like.

Yes I have some criteria that subconsciously come into play: I look for clever story structure, subversion or manipulation of tropes, parody, not hitting any of my dislikes (like dub con). But also I have other biases impacting whether I like it (like physical appearance) which I can try to check but usually can't fix. (For example GMMTV's Gawin/Fluke looks so much like an ex of mine I really struggle with his screen presence.)

Did I like it?

The fact that this is the first question I ask myself also should tell you I'm motivated by the emotion these narratives engender. I want them to transport me and move me. I my case I want to feel comforted and satisfied and happy. The ones the make me feel discomfort, especially for too long in the narrative, I am simply going to like less. Sometimes less than I feel like I should (see my struggles with masterworks like ITSAY, YNEH, or The 8th Sense). The very BLs that most professional critics would tout as the best examples of the genre for a wider audience often turn out to be the ones I struggle with the most. (They are also, fortunately for me, the least representative of the bulk of the genre.)

In other words there is ALSO a part of me that genuinely likes and enjoys the trashy stuff. Even the trash I trash watch.

So I would advise you to come up with your own questions. Ask yourself what you want from these shows when you watch them.

What motivates you?

Why are you watching them at all?

What brings you joy from an art or entertainment experience?

What do you want them to do for you? To you?

You are going to experience them (and therefore analyze them) from this perspective whether you like it or not. So understand yourself is paramount. It's about your relationship to the art, not the art itself.

If I were to give you an assignment I would say start with one BL you really enjoyed, perhaps not your favorite but one level down. And then do one you really did not enjoy. And think about why...

Happy analyzing!

(source)

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kamaluhkhan · 8 months

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we were wild and fluorescent (come home to my heart)

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: nostalgia + fluff + a bit of a *steamy* ending ; mentions of sex; swearing; conrad and reader drink alcohol; reader is a competitive swimmer + deals with a lot of pressure; complicated family dynamics (reader has two younger siblings + is eldest daughter); pop culture references (it book/movie, percy jackson series), this chapter is very long + ending is a little cheesy !!

tags: @stargirlsirius-recs, @ifilwtmfc, @qwertyb2577, @allnrsnz, @baconeggndcheez, @peanutbelley, @imogen-skye, @geekinthefuschiahair, @tvije, @drikawinchester, @maybankslover, @junnniiieee07, @elcpsstuff, @fangirl-kimora, @redbierd, @starkeylover, @serrendiipty, @jackierose902109, @lonelywitchv2, @c4rpediem-s, @teensyflowur, @peteronesgf, @percysaidnever

a/n: i literally cannot express how much it means to me that people are reading + enjoying my work!! thank you endlessly for following this story. this chapter is mostly fluff with a lot of banter between the reader and conrad + nostalgia. i'm thinking this will be the last part (....unless?) so i hope you enjoy it :)

part one | part two | part three

on a summer afternoon / i get to thinkin' 'bout the hazy days / under august shade that i used to spend with you (khai dreams, “sunkissed”)

now — summer age 18

you’re already frustrated when you walk over to the beck house, and when the person you least want to answer the door opens it, your mood goes from bad to worse.

"hey. is jere home?" you ask, peering behind conrad to see if someone else, anyone else is there. this is the first time since your argument that you and he were alone together, and you really don't want to look him in the eye. he doesn't look too thrilled to see you standing on his porch, either. he looks at you with tired eyes, wearing a black, short-sleeved rashguard and hair dripping wet.

"no, sorry."

"how about steven?"

conrad shakes his head and droplets of water go flying. he says something about prep for the debutante ball.

you exhale sharply, upset that your backup plan just fell through. "okay, bye."

you start walking away, but conrad calls your name.

"everything okay?"

you're surprised by his follow-up question — suspicious, even. given the harsh words you'd exchanged the last time you were together, you assumed that conrad didn't very much care to prolong a conversation with you, much less whether or not you were okay. whatever his intentions are, you don't really have time to go down this road.

"everything's fine," you answer loudly, still forging ahead.

"come on, y/n. i know you."

your hands clench into fists at his words and you finally stop in your tracks.

"conrad," you huff, turning around to face him. "i really don't have time for this."

"look, i'm not…." conrad sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. "i'm not trying to start anything. you seem a little stressed, and if there's anything i can do….just, let me be there for you."

conrad used to always be there for you in situations like these, and you ignored the sharp pain in your heart earlier when you decided he couldn't be this time. you really, really, really want to stay mad at him — you certainly have enough reasons to be for several lifetimes — but the gentleness of conrad's tone calms you down as much as it throws you off. instinctively, you feel your hands unclench, your heartbeat slow down.

“so, what’s wrong?”

you sigh. your siblings had planned an overnight trip with their friends at a campground about 3 hours away. they were meant to leave this afternoon, but the chaperones just cancelled — one had car trouble and the other a work emergency. now, they didn’t have a ride or adult supervision, which left you to come up with an alternative, lest you want to spend the rest of your summer drying your siblings’ tears and dealing with a lengthy guilt trip from your mother (who, conveniently, has plans this weekend and can’t reschedule). you left that last part out of your story to conrad, explaining only the basic components of your dilemma.

“but, it’s fine. i’ll sort something out.” as you wait for conrad to respond, you’re already running through a few other alternatives in your mind. you’re just in the middle of estimating the amount of money you would spend on gas when conrad says:

"well, i can come with you."

you quirk your eyebrow at him. “yeah, you don’t need —”

“you’ll need two cars — and two drivers — to get them there, right? i'm not doing anything right now, or tomorrow.”

“it’s not your problem, conrad. i’ll figure something out —”

“look, you have three options," he interrupts, tilting his head at you. "one, you take two trips yourself to get them all there, which means you’d spend around 10 hours driving each way and waste a ton of money on gas.”

you stiffen.

you hate that he knows exactly how your brain works….

“two, the twins have to cancel their trip, and you spend the rest of the summer with your siblings upset at you and your mom suggesting that you’re a bad sister, which is not true.”

you hate that he understands exactly the situation you’re in….

“three, you let me help you.”

….and you hate that he always insists on being helpful.

that was the real reason that you didn’t want to ask conrad — because you suspected that he might offer to help regardless of the tension between you two. the conrad you remember was always concerned with doing the right thing, no matter what, and despite how different he’s acting this summer, you knew that caring boy was still there, deep down.

sometimes, you hate being right — it can get a bit tedious.

conrad waits for you to answer, but he obviously knows you well enough to guess your decision. you don’t find the prospect of camping with conrad particularly appealing, but you’re desperate.

you tell conrad to be ready to leave in an hour, before walking back to your place to tell your siblings the good news.

a little over an hour later, your siblings, their friends — devi, khadija, kai, and leo — and all the camping supplies are split in between your and conrad’s cars. you decided to divide the group into threes: you’d drive your sister, khadija and leo; and conrad would drive your brother, devi, and kai. once everyone’s buckled in, you and conrad close the trunk of your respective cars and turn to each other.

“so, we’ve got a spot booked at stardust falls, but the plan is to stop halfway —”

“at sophie’s for a bite to eat,” conrad finishes, a smile creeping on his face. “i know the drill.”

you bite back a smile yourself before nodding at him and getting in the driver's seat.

as your sister cues up a playlist — you had just made her watch lemonade mouth so she was currently obsessed with hayley kiyoko and her music — you get lost in memories of summers past.

it was a tradition, many years ago: your siblings were too young to join, so for one weekend in late august it was you, conrad, jeremiah, belly, and steven with susannah and laurel, the seven of you piled into a minivan for an overnight camping trip. you spent the drive blasting music and singing along, playing ‘i spy’ while gorging on goldfish crackers and sunny d. about halfway through, there would be a pit stop to refill the gas tank, stock up on snacks, and get something to eat from the nearby diner. you would always get waffles with extra whipped cream and conrad would get chocolate chip pancakes, and you’d always split the food between you. once you got to stardust falls, you’d spend the afternoon swimming and sunbathing, and the night roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, stargazing and whispering until sunrise.

as much as you loved laurel and susannah, you and conrad would dream of getting your driver’s licence and being able to continue the tradition with just the kids. you never got the chance; it was only five years ago, when you were the same age as your siblings now, that you had gone on your last camping trip to the same location.

it seems your dreams were finally coming true — just not in the way you expected.

when you get to sophie’s diner, you’re relieved to have a chance to stretch your legs. the eight of you get a familiar booth in the right corner and you find yourself squeezed between devi and the window. the waiter distributes menus to everyone, and it isn’t until you look down that you see it: your initials next to ‘CF’. last time you were here, the five of you all carved your initials onto the table when the moms weren’t looking. you forgot that you’d placed yours right next to conrad’s; to be fair, you were always sitting next to each other. now he’s at the other end of the table on the opposite side, examining the menu carefully even after being here so many times.

this time, you just get a coffee and steal some bacon from your brother; conrad doesn’t get anything, claiming he isn’t hungry, until your sister offers him the rest of her french toast, which he practically inhales. after, you and conrad fill up on gas while your siblings and their friends go into the store for some snacks.

“hey, can you get me some sour patch kids?” you ask your brother, handing him a $5 bill. your brother nods and starts walking away; you glance at conrad, then add: “and some m&m’s, too!” to which your brother offers a thumbs up.

“thanks,” conrad says. he removes the nozzle and sticks it into the gas tank; you do the same, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but silence between you.

“does listening to the lightning thief musical on repeat make your brother a theatre kid?”

you turn to face conrad, who’s already looking at you with a lopsided smile.

“i think it makes him more of a percy jackson kid,” you decide.

“well, he has good taste. i didn’t even know there was a percy jackson musical,” conrad adds.

“i know, right?” you gush. “my brother and kai went to see it off broadway, and of course i had to chaperone, but i’m so glad i did because how, in the name of all the gods, did we not know this existed?”

conrad laughs. “we would have been obsessed,” he agrees.

you smile, feeling yourself hit by another wave of nostalgia.

when you were younger, you, conrad, jeremiah, steven, and belly loved the percy jackson series, rotating the books between the five of you until everyone had read them, the covers well-worn and sand stuck between the pages. so, for belly’s 9th birthday, laurel wrote out a prophecy with an elaborate quest for the five of you to go on - something about searching for poseidon's missing trident - while susannah used the time to fashion the backyard into your very own camp half-blood. you each got ‘assigned’ a godly parent: apollo for jeremiah, ever the sunshine boy; hermes for steven, the trickster of the group; aphrodite for belly, who looked at the world with rose coloured glasses; poseidon for you, because you loved the water; and athena for conrad, wise beyond his years.

yes, your heart did skip a beat, because of what a perfect coincidence — that conrad was essentially the annabeth to your percy. when would the two of you share the best underwater kiss of all time?

after a fun-filled afternoon, you each took home a necklace filled with clay beads, as was tradition at the fictional camp half-blood. even after summer ended, you would always wear yours in between swim competitions and practice. somewhere along the way, you misplaced it; it was probably left on the chlorine soaked floor of a locker room. you wondered if the others still had theirs, if conrad even remembered.

he’s looking at you now with such wistfulness, you have a feeling he does. when he looks at you like that, it’s easy to forget that you’re mad at him and he broke your heart. scratch that: you’re mad at him because he broke your heart.

and, not that it solves everything between you, but he’s here and didn’t have to be, and that maybe possibly heals something inside you.

before you can continue the conversation, a sudden click indicates that the gas tanks are full, just in time for your siblings and their friends to exit the convenience store, carrying a significant haul of snacks and drinks.

your brother hands you the sour patch kids and m&m’s, and you toss the bag of m&m’s at conrad, which he catches effortlessly. you rip open the package with your teeth and stuff a few of the sour candies in your mouth as everyone piles back into their respective cars.

you open the door to get in the driver’s seat, but the passenger side is empty. that’s when you notice that your sister and devi were still walking back from the store, taking their time. your sister laughs a little louder than usual, her smile a bit brighter when devi bends down to steal a sip of her drink. she’s wearing a jacket that you’ve never seen and probably belongs to devi, and your sister’s pair of sunglasses now rests on devi’s head. technically the sunglasses were yours, before you passed them down to your sister, but still — it’s adorable. devi winks at your sister before slipping into the backseat of conrad's car. your sister sighs contently before freezing at the realisation that you witnessed the moment between them.

"what?" she asks, a little flustered.

something makes you glance over your shoulder at conrad, who you now realise had seen the interaction between your sister and devi as well. beside him, the door to the driver’s side is also open, but he doesn’t get in. instead, conrad raises his eyebrows at you and smiles knowingly.

“nothing,” you say, smiling back at conrad, then at your sister. “but hurry up, if you want to make it to the falls before sundown.”

your sister mumbles something and gets in the car, while you check the route one more time. you tell conrad which one has the least amount of traffic, and soon enough, you’re on the road again.

conrad follows closely behind you, never allowing more than a car between before catching up. you glance in the rearview mirror and see your brother belting the words to what you assume is the percy jackson musical, and conrad is even bopping his head along. in your car, your sister is busy reading the song of achilles while the others in the back are relatively quiet.

“so what’s going on with you and discount james dean?” your sister suddenly asks. she puts her book down, reaches over into the cupholder to grab a few sour patch kids.

you laugh at the nickname, even if the answer disappoints you, just a bit.

“nothing.”

out of the corner of your eye, you can glimpse your sister roll her eyes.

“that seems to be your favourite word today,” she notes.

“fine, how about this for a change of pace….there was definitely something earlier between you and devi.”

your sister’s jaw drops and she turns around to see if her friends heard, but khadija is asleep and leo has his headphones on, looking down at his phone.

“y/n!”

“what!” you mock her incredulous tone. “you’re not fooling anyone.”

“i’m not…we’re not…” your sister stumbles over her words, turning her head sharply to face out the window. she plays with the sleeve of devi’s jacket, which she’s still wearing despite it almost being 85 degrees. the same music as before fills the space, and hayley kiyoko sings about girls liking girls as you wait for your sister to answer.

she finally sighs when the song ends. “i like her, okay? but we’re just friends.”

at her words, you’re overwhelmed by an eerie sense of deja vu. if you could have done things differently, maybe you would have. and maybe, just maybe, you can help your sister have a better outcome — whatever that means for her.

“look, kid, i know it feels like the end of the world, but you have options,” you promise. “one, you tell her and she doesn’t feel the same way; your relationship is forever ruined and your other friends have to choose sides —”

“y/n! seriously?”

“i’m just preparing you for the worst case scenario,” you defend, exiting the highway. “the best case scenario is that you tell her how you feel, or she feels the same way and beats you to it, and it all works out. and there is, of course, the secret third option.”

“what’s that?”

you shrug. “easy. you never cross that line.” you follow the signs that lead you to your destination.

“and bottle up my feelings forever,” your sister grumbles. “is that what you and conrad did?”

you make a right into the campground and put the car in park; conrad’s car pulls up next to you a few seconds later. you turn off the engine.

“not exactly.”

_________________________________________

you and conrad unpack the trunks as your siblings and their friends set up their tents. you hear their giddy banter as they plan how to spend the rest of the afternoon, as well as the sleeping arrangements. you smile to yourself when you hear devi suggest that she and your sister share a tent. the cars are pretty much empty except for some food to keep away animals, but you notice that not everything made the trip.

you double check your car, then conrad’s, before calling over your brother.

“yo, what happened to my bag?” you ask him.

“i thought it was your swim stuff, so i took it out of the trunk,” he explains. “did you need it?”

“oh no, no. it just had all my clothes, my sleeping bag and my tent,” you say sarcastically. “no big deal.”

your brother gives you a thumbs up, clearly not getting the message. he seems more interested in kai, who's currently unpacking his guitar.

“cool,” he says before walking back to his friends.

you huff and close your trunk. at least there is some balance in the universe: the mosquito repellant was in your bag, and your brother is usually their favourite meal. you always have afterbite, or you would have, if you had your stuff with you.

thankfully, you had your bathing suit underneath your clothes, and you could sleep in the backseat, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable…

“everything okay?” conrad sneaks up behind you.

“turns out none of my stuff is here.” you shrug. “but it’s fine.”

“i mean, we could share my stuff,” conrad offers, lifting up his bag. knowing him, he’s probably overprepared and carefully packed, even with only an hour’s notice.

you look at him for a second.

“let’s sort that out later, yeah?” you decide, ignoring how the prospect of wearing his clothes, sharing a tent with him, makes your heart beat faster. “i’m itching to go for a swim.”

taking advantage of the late afternoon sun, you all slather on sunscreen, throw on colourful swimsuits with sunglasses, and relax near the water. it’s only a short walk away from where you’d set up camp, and all your tents (well, except yours) are still in view. your brother, leo, and khadija are sitting down on their towels while playing cards. kai has borrowed your sister’s copy of the song of achilles to read. your sister and devi are, splashing each other in the water. conrad is reading a worn of stephen king’s it, a bottle of lemonade resting next to him.

khadija brought her wireless speaker, and out of all your siblings’ friends, you’re thankful that she has the best taste in music. “this is the day” by the the plays in the background of everyone’s laughter and playful banter. you swim idly in the water, let your skin absorb the sunlight, and take it all in.

as much as you were stressed this morning, you’re practically floating with joy now. you feel like a kid again — and it finally feels like summer.

your eyes land on conrad once more. he sits in the shade and you’re craving a sip of his drink, so you get out of the water and settle down next to him like it’s the most natural thing for you to do. you’re dripping on his towel, but he doesn’t seem to care; he hands you the bottle of lemonade without a word. you take a sip, surprised that it’s slightly bitter.

“does this have vodka in it?” you cough.

“yeah,” conrad answers, putting his book down. he takes off his sunglasses and rests them on his head. “i can get you something else, if you want.”

you shake your head and take another sip. “it’s fine. just don’t let the kids drink any alcohol, okay?”

“i won’t.” he offer you a wry smile. “but you know they’re not kids, right? they’re teenagers.”

“it feels weird calling them teenagers,” you say. he’s sitting up with his knees bent, and you lay down next to him, but not before stealing his sunglasses to shield your eyes. the sun moved slightly, and starts to peek through the leaves of the tree that was providing shade.

“just because we grew up, doesn’t mean they have to," you add once you're comfortable.

conrad hums. you tilt your head to look at him and notice his eyes lingering on the tattoo below the band of your lime green bikini top. you smile — he blushes, then looks away. conrad takes the lemonade bottle back from you and swallows a mouthful. you close your eyes, let the sun wash over you.

“my mom told me you got into stanford,” he says suddenly. “that’s really cool that you get to go to california. just like you wanted, right?”

“i thought you hated horror,” you say, referencing the book you saw him reading earlier. you desperately want to change the subject — your father is still pushing princeton because of their swim team rankings, and your mother is too busy spending her free time in bars to really care. needless to say, where you’re going to college isn’t a topic you want to discuss, unless you’re looking to ruin this perfect sunny afternoon.

conrad just looks at you for a second before playing along.

“i usually do, but this guy on my football team wouldn’t shut up about stephen king, so i thought i’d give it a try. you’ve read it?”

“no, but i saw the movies. i cried so much in it: chapter two, like i was practically choking on tears in the middle of this dark theatre. my ex had no idea why i was crying so much.”

“why did you cry so much?”

you open your eyes. it takes you a beat to respond, because you never really thought about it that deeply. by now, the song has changed to david bowie’s ‘heroes,’ and watching your siblings and their friends goof off in the middle of summer makes you feel like a background character in a coming of age movie, when five years ago you would have been one of the main characters. you miss those days, almost as much as you miss what you had with the boy next to you.

“because it reminded me of this,” you admit.

conrad lets out a small chuckle. “did i miss the summer where we fought a killer clown?”

“no, smart ass,” you shove his leg playfully. “but there were other things that were just as intimidating. like, parents who were jerks with soul-crushing expectations, and younger siblings who needed to be taken care of. drinking problems, cancer diagnoses, divorces. just…everything, you know? it was summer, we were kids, and things were just scary sometimes, but we always faced it together. and, then…”

“we grew up,” conrad finishes.

“yeah,” you muse. you lift the sunglasses off your face to look at conrad, and he’s already gazing down at you. if you closed your eyes again, you could imagine laurel and susannah sitting by the water and gossiping, steven and jeremiah diving underwater to try and catch a fish with their bare hands, and belly laying in the sun while reading a romance novel she's probably too young to read. but all you see now is conrad, smiling at you softly with the golden sunlight shining behind him, and it makes your heart ache.

belly mentioned that they hadn't been back here since you stopped coming to cousins. because it wasn't the same.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i'm sorry i ruined it."

"don't give yourself so much credit." his smile at you sadly. "we both made things messy; i should be sorry, too."

"are you?"

he hesitates, finishes off the bottle of lemonade.

"yeah," he finally says. "i'm sorry."

and it doesn’t feel like enough, but instead of worrying about what would happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after, you just focus on today. you relax back down on the towel next to conrad, and let the sunshine and sounds of summer fun wash over you.

the afternoon fades into the evening, and once everyone's dry, you get started on dinner, then dessert.

it's so familiar: the warm glow of the campfire, the smell of burnt marshmallows, the slight itch on your skin from where a mosquito must have bitten you, the pressure of conrad's knee pressed against yours.

you get up for more graham crackers, and your sister follows you.

"so, i hear you and conrad are sharing a tent," she teases. "you're welcome."

"why would i thank you?" you wonder, biting into a graham cracker.

a wicked smile appears on your sister's face. "well, i was the one who told our dear brother that you wouldn't need your bag. i figured your boyfriend would have everything you need."

"conrad's not my boyfriend," you remind her, a little annoyed. you and conrad made nice earlier, but the peace between you is precarious. you aren't particularly thrilled to be in a situation where you're confined to close quarters together — much less now that you know it's been fabricated by your own sister.

"so then why are you and conrad sleeping together in a one person tent?" she challenges, crossing her arms.

"do you want me to sleep outside and get eaten by werewolves?"

your sister rolls her eyes, but you notice how she shudders just a little bit.

"those don't exist," she declares, her voice a little shaky. your sister is old enough to know that monsters aren't real, but you still get a kick out of scaring her - especially when she's done something to frustrate you.

"oh, sure they do," you reply easily. conrad arrives at the table next to you just in time, probably to check on those graham crackers you'd promised to get. "stardust falls is crawling with werewolves, right con?"

"no," he answers. your sister sighs with relief too soon, because conrad continues. "only on the full moon…." he makes a big show of pulling down his sleeve and checking his watch. "which is tonight, if i remember correctly."

"but, don't worry," you wink at your sister. "devi will protect you."

there's a moment of silence between the three of you, before you and conrad burst out laughing.

"you guys are the worst!" your sister groans. you and conrad are still laughing as she grabs an unopened bag of marshmallows and snatches the pack of graham crackers from you before storming away.

"thanks,” you say once you’ve both calmed down.

he grins at you, reaching over to grab an orange. “my pleasure.”

you smile back at him before walking back to the campfire, already feeling warmth spread through your chest.

_________________________________________

when the night is at its darkest, everyone decides that it’s probably time for bed. you triple check to make sure the fire is out and all the food is away, and then everyone goes into their tent — with you as the exception.

you and conrad never circled back to whether or not you’d be staying in the tent with him, so you end up staying out by the water.

there’s still some rustling and whispers from the tents behind you, but mostly you’re left with the soft trill of crickets, and what sounds like an owl in the distance. you’re still wearing your bikini top and cutoff shorts, even though there’s a cool breeze near the water, because you didn’t really have another option. conrad was right earlier — it’s a full moon, and you’re thankful that it provides some light. the sky is clear enough that you can also see the stars. you’re so lost in looking for constellations that you’re startled by the sudden appearance of shadow right next to you.

“shit, conrad. you gave me a heart attack!” you exclaim, just loud enough for conrad to hear and quiet enough to not wake the others.

“sorry,” he whispers back, sitting down next to you with a lantern. “i couldn’t sleep.” conrad tilts his head up. “but, i come bearing gifts.”

conrad hands you one of the mugs he’s holding — not the usual thermos you’d bring for camping, but ones that you’d find in the kitchen back at the beach house.

in the dim light, you see that it’s your favorite mug, the same mug you’d dropped during your argument a few weeks ago. the cracked porcelain is so carefully repaired, you wouldn’t have known it was broken.

“thanks,” you whisper. you take a sip of the lukewarm hot chocolate, but the warmth that spreads through your body is from conrad’s gesture more than anything.

conrad nods and points up at the stars. “find anything good?”

you launch into a detailed explanation of what constellations you’ve found so far — and, when that’s over, you continue making up stories like you’re david attenborough narrating a nature documentary. sure, it’s ridiculous to use a very serious british accent to suggest that king kong and godzilla are immortalised in the night sky, but it makes conrad chuckle, and you decide that’s worth all the stars in the universe.

in between stories, conrad asks: "are you cold?"

conrad already knows the answer, because he passes you a light jacket without you saying a word. you shrug it on, and practically sink into the familiar fabric.

"so you're the one who had my varsity jacket," you realize. it smells like him now: lemon and sandalwood.

conrad smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "it's a good jacket — what was i supposed to do, not wear it? you left it last summer."

last summer.

the words hang heavy between you.

“y/n —”

“con —”

you both stop, waiting for the other to continue. there have been enough moments this summer where you’ve cut your heart open and conrad just watched you bleed. a part of you wanted him to do the same, even though you know how much it hurts.

“why did you come back that night?” he asks. conrad is usually confident, sturdy, reliable; right now, though, he’s the most timid you’ve ever seen him.

“i needed to.”

“why?” he presses.

you bite the inside of your cheek, remembering yourself a year ago and all the pressure you felt, from your parents and coaches. you used to love swimming, and you realized too late how much competing took over your life. things weren’t perfect at home, either, but you were trying your best to guard that truth from your siblings. ironically, that was part of the reason you had distanced yourself from conrad in the months prior: you knew he would worry, and you didn't want to burden him.

you tell bits and pieces of this to conrad, cutting yourself open once more.

“i felt like i was drowning,” you admit. “i tried so hard to hide it — just keep swimming, right? but it got to be too much. so last summer, when i had a meet nearby, i just had to see you, because i knew that you were the one person in the world who would jump in and save me.”

“i didn’t know.” is all conrad says for a moment. you don’t add anything, because you find yourself in the same position as always: vulnerable, pouring your heart out.

“what you said on the fourth — you were right,” conrad sighs. “when you came last summer, i was already mad at you for not coming back to cousins for so long, and then you were leaving again and i was hurt. and - it’s fucked up, but i wanted to hurt you, too.”

“mission accomplished,” you laugh sadly.

“i shouldn’t have said what i said that morning last summer, and i shouldn’t have ignored you after.”

“you shouldn’t have ignored me this summer, either” you add. you can’t help calling him out for his shitty behaviour lately as well.

“hey, you ignored me, too,” he points out. “and, yeah, maybe i deserved it. there’s just a lot going on and….” conrad trails off, his gaze fixed on something in the distance, where a sliver of golden sunlight peeks through the horizon. you and conrad must have been talking for hours because morning is now just around the corner. “i know i was a jerk. just please know how sorry i am — for everything.”

you’re about to say something, but you can’t seem to find the right words. i'm sorry too didn't feel like enough. instead, you reach out and grab conrad’s hand. it’s cold in yours, but you don’t care.

“i can’t lose you,” conrad whispers, almost choking on the words. he squeezes your hand. “i can’t lose you, too.”

“i’m here, connie,” you whisper back. with your other hand, you brush some hair out of his eyes before using your thumb to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. “and i’m really glad you’re here, too.”

throughout the entire conversation, you and conrad had moved closer together — now, your shoulders are touching and your left leg is bent over his right one.

“did you mean what you said on the fourth?” conrad asks, his eyes searching yours. “do you regret that night?”

“i’m guessing you mean the us-having-sex part?” you reply, a gentle smirk on your face.

conrad nods. he’s blinking faster than usual, and you can tell he’s anxious to hear your answer.

“if it ruined things between us, then i would,” you admit. you realize then that your hand is still on his cheek; you remove it, but keep the other intertwined with his. “tell me it didn’t ruin things between us, and maybe i’ll change my mind. i mean, do you regret it?”

conrad smiles at you, his shoulders relaxing. “no. that’s one thing i don’t think i’ll ever regret. that’s another thing you were right about — that night meant something to me. it meant everything.”

your heart skips a beat at the way he looks at you, tenderly, waiting for you to say something.

"yeah, me too. or, me neither. i mean, i’m sorry -” now, it’s your turn to stumble over your words, nerves getting the better of you - you take a deep breath to calm yourself. “i’m sorry for not being here; i’m sorry for hurting you; and i’m sorry for making you feel like i didn’t care, because that’s further from the truth.”

“i appreciate it,” conrad replies sincerely. “but i think we’ve apologized to each other enough for one night.”

you laugh. “yeah, i guess you’re right about that one. have any alternatives, fisher?”

conrad reaches up to caress your cheek, a gentle gesture that contrasts the mischievous smirk on his face. his eyes fall to your lips, then back to yours. “i can think of a few —”

you kiss him before he finishes his sentence.

maybe you'd never shared an underwater kiss, but kissing conrad feels as dynamic and unpredictable as the ocean.

when you kissed last summer, it was like a wave breaking onto the shore: the built up anticipation finally coming to fruition.

earlier this summer, at nicole’s party, kissing him felt dangerous, like swimming out into the turbulent water and realizing you’re in too deep.

right now, his lips on yours feel like floating in water on a warm summer day.

conrad slips his hand underneath your jacket, and you shiver when he touches your bare skin, right under the band of your bikini top where your tattoo is. you shift ever so slightly and suddenly you're tangled in his lap, feeling him strong and sturdy beneath you. one of your hands is on his thigh, while the other tangles into his hair. you tug the strands just the way you remember him liking it; he groans and kisses you with more intensity, a calm sea gradually becoming more rough.

once you’ve run out of air, you pull apart ever-so-slightly, appreciating his swollen lips, pink cheeks, and tousled hair in the early morning sunlight. you could do this for hours — drowning in him — and you're about to do it again, too, before you’re shocked back into reality.

“i knew it!” you hear your sister yell in the distance. she then adds something about your brother owing her ten dollars. you make a mental note to get them back later for betting on your love life.

conrad laughs against your lips, then pulls away. you get up and offer him your hand, which he accepts with a smile.

“you might wanna…” you gesture towards his messy hair, and he blushes even more despite how much he enjoyed it earlier.

“right.” he clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair to tame it.

“i’m gonna go get started on breakfast,” you say before walking a few steps closer to the campsite.

you turn back around to conrad, who was frozen in place, looking at you carefully. his posture is stiffer than before, and it takes you a second to realize why: he’d been here before. he’d watched you leave one too many times.

not this time, though. this time, you reach out your hand — a peace offering, a promise.

summer will end soon, and maybe you aren’t quite sure what the future holds once it does.

“so, are you coming with me or not?”

but you do know this: when you get back to the beach house, you’ll go surfing with the fisher boys, watch movies and eat sour candy with belly, play video games with steven and jere. you’ll sneak out to meet conrad, then watch the sunrise together. the five of you will have bonfires on the beach, maybe even inviting your siblings and their friends, and roast marshmallows. susannah will host another pool party and you’ll feel conrad’s arm wrapped around your waist; he’ll kiss your cheek, sitting on the edge of the pool, and you'll jump in the water, bringing him under with you, before kissing him back.

you'll spend one particular night in conrad's bedroom, hands and lips all over each other, trying to keep quiet, and when you search his drawers for a condom, you'll find the same necklace that you, jeremiah, steven, and belly were gifted. it holds faded clay beads painted with various symbols - a turquoise trident, a crashing wave, a rainbow, a starfish. you'll think back to how the tradition started at belly's percy jackson themed birthday, when you and conrad were 11, and susannah would give one to each of you at the end of each summer. there will be a sharp pain in your heart when you notice that some beads are missing, the years don't add up, but you'll realize, prompted by conrad's deep voice calling you back to bed, that you might be able to make up for lost time.

you'll soak up as much sunshine as you can. you’ll squeeze out every ounce of summer, and then some. you'll dust off old traditions, and make some new ones, too. you'll fill those necklaces with more clay beads.

and you'll always - always - come back home.

#i had to include percy jackson references im not sorry #please enjoy :))#the summer i turned pretty fic #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp conrad #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x fem!reader #tsitp fanfic #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #saf writes

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