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lis-likes-fics · 5 months

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It's Gonna Be a Scream!

Pairings: Stu Macher x Reader Word Count: 3.7 words Kink: Erotic Photos Warnings: NSFW, smut, erotic photography, swearing, fingering, oral (f and m! receiving), multilple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, sadistic and masochistic tendencies, creampie, praise kink, slight degradation kink... A/N: This is a day late but I got it done! I hope you enjoy and thank you so much! Feel free to add yourself onto the taglist for message me to be added! Link posted below.

You shake your head as another click fills the room. You ignore him and readjust your position in bed, laying on your belly with your papers splayed before you. Your boyfriend looks at you through his brand new camera, which you'd gotten him for Christmas. He's been prancing around you all day, taking all the pictures of you while he giggles and tells you to “smile all pretty for me”.

“Stu, baby,” you sigh when he lies down on his back in front of you, laying on top of your homework and effectively halting your studies. “I'm trying to focus.” You can't help the chuckle he pulls out of you when he flashes you an adorable grin.

He reaches underneath him and pulls out all of your work, glancing at it before tossing it into the air and letting it fall to the floor. You ignore it. “Well, you shouldn't be. It's Christmas, and you're sitting here doing homework. You're boring.” He says this as he gently pokes his finger into your shoulder, moving to hook his finger around the dainty golden chain of your new necklace. It was his gift to you, it had both your initials on a tiny little heart. It sat along your collarbone, cold and pleasant against your skin.

“Stu,” you try to complain. “Let me finish this last bit, and we can watch a movie or something. Whatever you want.”

He points his finger at your face, not moving when you lean forward and bite the tip of it gently. “Don't say that,” he laughs, “Or you'll be watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

You scoff, “Again? You'd think you would get tired of it by now.”

He flashes a wide smile, “Never, baby.”

You make a sound of disgust, shoving him out of your face so he rolls over onto the floor. He lets go of the camera to keep it on the bed as he lands with a thud.

“Ow,” he complains, sitting up on his knees and looking up at you from the floor. He leans forward, his lips pressing to yours as you smile and suck on his bottom lip. You giggle against his mouth when your teeth take his lip between them. He just kisses you back, a little rougher as he growls playfully against you—he's just being weird.

You hear the click again and pull back to see him taking a picture of you kissing. “You're insufferable.”

“Shh-t-t-t,” he smiles, kissing you again as he takes your face in his hands. You melt against his lips, your lips parted as his tongue slips between them. His hands press to your shoulders and he rolls you onto your back.

Shifting up, he stands above you as he continues to hold your face, his lips mashing with yours. He pulls away, grabbing his camera again. He aims the lens at you, and you roll your eyes, chuckling lightly.

“Smile for me, baby,” he grins, lining his shot.

With a sigh, you look at the camera and smile softly. He licks his lip, clicking the shutter button. “Make it sexier,” he says.

You scoff, parting your lips and letting your lashes flutter, your eyes hooded. He shakes his head in disbelief of you and your beauty, taking more pictures and requesting “sexier, sexier, sexier” each time.

“I don't know what you want me to do, Stu,” you say, removing one hand from the dip of your thigh and the other from your partially exposed collarbone.

“Well, you're doing perfectly,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, grabbing at his body until he ends over and kisses you again. His lips slide off yours and up to your neck, his teeth nibbling at the skin as his fingers play with your shirt. After a moment, he bares his teeth around your throat and bites down, just out the pure impulse to do so. You moan at the feeling tangling your fingers in his hair. He continues kissing you, laving his tongue hungrily over your flesh as he slowly pulls at your shirt. When he's got it off, he admires your covered breasts with his hands and your breath shudders at the feeling of it.

He doesn't bother trying to undo it from the back. He wraps his fingers around the bottom and pulls it over your head. His tongue traces down the valley of your chest and licks up to one of your nipples, taking it between his lips and flicking it.

“Stu,” you breathe, inhaling the scent of his cologne as he body leans over you.

He seems to be enjoying himself by the way he hums around your nipples, playing with one as he savors the other. You feel slick gathering between your thighs as you lay there, your fingertips brushing over his body.

His hand wanders from your breast and smooths down your tummy, down to the waistband of your tiny shorts, that he simply slips underneath as he presses his hand to your mound. Your hips pump forward slightly, a slight moan getting caught in your throat as he smiles around your nipple.

He separates from your breasts to get a good look at you, untying the strings around your waist and peeling the shorts off your body. Biting his lip at your lacey red panties, he shudders at the sight of them. After a brief pause, you hear his camera sound.

“Stu!” you exclaim, your words breathy with a laugh. You smack his sides, pinching them for more effectiveness.

He squirms, laughing, “Ow—Hey! I can't help it if you're so cute!”

“Ugh!”

He giggles like a child as he pulls down your panties to show your smooth little pussy. “Well, Merry Christmas to me.” He bites his lip. “Is this all for me?”Another camera shutter, you shudder. “God, you're fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your hips jerk when his fingers rub along the seam of you, collecting the arousal that had gathered there. You stifle a moan when you hear his lips smack softly after his fingers leave you. “You taste so good,” he hums, tracing your entrance again before pushing in. You hum as his fingers part your lips, starting out with two long slender fingers that already stretch you out real nice.

You moan his name, slipping your hands under his shirt, which drapes over your face as you feel his body leaning over your own. You lean forward just enough to kiss his lower belly, clenching around his fingers as they massage that part inside of you he knows drives you crazy.

He takes another picture, and you suck his fingers in with your insecurity. His thumb presses to your clit. You grip his waist a little tighter, pulling body down just enough to kiss his belly again.

After a moment, he breaks from you, standing back up to tower over you. You take his belt, keeping him closer as you start unbuckling it, effectively sidetracking him as you start pulling them down his legs.

He stares at you as he pulls the camera up to you. As his cock springs free and you press your lips to his pelvis, his warm length against your cheek. “Just like that, baby,” he smiles, a red light glowing from the camera as he records you. “Just like that.”

You wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times as he sighs, a bead of precum leaking from the slit as you bring his tip to your lips to lick it off. You lave your tongue against the head, sucking him into your mouth with a little hum.

He presses his hips forward slowly, the tip of his cock brushing against the back of your tongue and taunting your gag reflex. His hand squeezes your breast, smacking it lightly as you suckle around him.

He smooths his hand up your chest until it settles it around your throat, slowly pulling out to the tip before pushing back into your mouth until his balls press against your nose. You gag lightly as he slots into your throat, a huff leaving his chest as he feels himself bulging in your throat under his palm.

“Suck on it, sweetheart. There ya go,” he encourages, pulling out and pumping back in again. He builds a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of your throat as he slowly quickens his speed. But he doesn't do too much, saving himself as he enjoys the view of you taking his cock down your throat, the camera capturing every moment for him to relive the moment whenever he likes.

Your hand is settled between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit. You gag sometimes when he does a little too deep, but you're so used to him by now that it's not a problem as you moan when you have breath to.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hard and hot at the feeling of your tight throat. “Good girl.”

When you suck around him, his hips jerk slightly before he's lingering somewhere in the back of your throat and pulling out. You take in a deep breath, placing a hand on his hip to keep him back.

“Beautiful, babe,” he praises, taking his cock in his hand and pumping it a few times before he squeezes the base with a groan.

You scoot yourself more onto the bed as you lay there, catching your breath as he pans the camera closer to your face. His smile is wider now, a sinister undertone to his as he captures your wet lips covered with precum and saliva, your lust blown eyes blinking away the tears on the sides of your face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

He ends the recording, leaning down to kiss your sloppy face before he rounds the bed to join you. He sits across from you, taking your hips in his hands, bending down to kiss your chest. His lips slide against your skin until he's reached your belly, his tongue licking at your slit before he wraps his mouth around you and starts licking into your pussy.

You grip the sheets, clenching your thighs lightly around his head. You lay your head back, your lashes fluttering as you breathe. His tongue plunges between your folds, licking into you as making you squirm.

You roll your head back, grinding your hips into his face. As you spit his camera on the bed, you take in between your hands and examine the equipment. “How do I do it?” you ask between breaths.

He looks up at you and smiles. “That button to record, that one to take a picture.”

Tentatively, you press the record button as you look at the feed it shows you. He smiles and digs back in, his tongue flicking and suckling at your clit. You moan as he does it. He's too good with his tongue.

After a moment, he thrusts two fingers into you and looks at you, your face blocked by the camera. “You like that?”

You nod, “Yeah.” His fingers brush deeply inside of you, and you whimper a little at the feeling.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he laughs. “Nasty slut.” He sticks his tongue out to his chin to lick a long stripe up your cunt, closing his mouth around you at the end of it. Your hips jerk as he hums his laugh against you.

He seems to thrive under the shot of the camera, his drama increasing to over-exaggerate the process, but you don't mind. You watch him, lust-stricken as you hold the camera up with shaky hands. His fingers pump into you, his tongue licks at you, his lips suck on your clit. Your back arches and your stifled moans become a little looser as your need to cum slowly builds within you, his mouth bringing it closer as he gives you a perfect view.

You reach one hand down to his hair, combing your fingers through it before you grip lightly at a particular pump of his fingers. Your lips part as your breath becomes unsteady. “Baby, fuck—I'm gonna cum.”

He hums, sing-songy as he keeps sucking on your clit, pressing his fingers deeper and curling them just right. "Please, I’m gonna cum, Stu."

He coaxes you closer and closer, playing you like an expert. A knot builds in the pit of your stomach and you tense as the impending release hangs over your head. When the coil snaps and you're overcome with the bliss it brings, you moan breathily and shudder. Stu smiles at the way you suck his fingers in. He continues fingering and licking at your pussy as you gush around him, easing you through your orgasm. You chant his name under your breath, riding out your high against his face with an insistence he adores.

“Good girl,” he eases you, slowly pulling his fingers out of your and admiring the result of his work. He stares directly into the lens as he places his fingers on his tongue and sucks.

You catch your breath as you come down from your high, lazily ending the video. He takes the camera from you, snapping pictures of your disheveled face as he pulls you by your hips onto his lap as you lay back.

His hands stroke the length of your sides, and you grab his wrists to stroke them. He smiles at you, standing on his knees and planting his fists into the bed next to your head. He kisses your lips softly and flips you onto your stomach. He grasps your hips roughly, pulling you up to your knees and pressing you back against him to feel his erection against your cheeks. You moan lightly, pressing your back and grinding your ass against him.

“Such a naughty girl,” he tsks, smacking your ass harshly and moaning at the sharp sound of his hand on your skin. “Be good for me, sweetheart.”

Stu pumps his cock in one hand, picking up his camera again as he pans the lens up and down the length of your back, the dip of your spine caressed by his fingers as he traces it. You shudder, holding yourself up carefully as you do.

He takes his cock, pressing his tip between your folds and pushing his hips into you, inch by inch as he fills you slowly to the brim with him. Your eyes flutter and you moan deeply as his thick, hot length thrusts inside.

Stu groans, grinding his own hips into you once he's fully seated inside, making sure he got every second of it on film. “You're so tight, sweetheart. Fucking perfect for me”

You let your head fall onto your crossed arms. Stu presses his hands to your back, holding you down as he pulls out to the tip, only to split you open once more on his cock. You let out a breathy moan, letting the pleasure blossom within you. You clench around him, sucking him in as he takes you from behind.

You whimper his name. He doesn't bother going slow on you. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls you back up so he can fuck you nice and deep. He holds the camera as steady as he can as his hair travels to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat so he can move your hips to meet each thrust.

His rhythm is rough and fast. He snaps into you, your body bouncing with each in and out of his cock. Your clit throbs between your legs, and your arousal is dripping down your thighs with each thrust. “S-Stu,” you moan breathlessly. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, giving you a rougher thrust just to pull another moan out of you. “You like when I fuck you like this?” He laughs, tightening his hand around your throat. “Of course you do. You're a good little whore, aren't you?”

You just nod, appreciating his hand around your throat. It's tight and your breath is thinner going through to your lungs, but your clit throbs and your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest at the sensation.

Stu pans the camera down to your ass, where his cock disappears and reappears with each thrust. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You're fucking suckin’ me into you.”

He ruts into you, splitting you apart on his cock as he drives it in and out of your dripping cunt. He fills you with a mind-numbing pleasure that throws you in a daze as you take it all. You squeeze his cock as your legs tremble, sucking him in each deeper as the slap of his hips becomes louder with your slick building up.

All too quickly he pulls out. He pushes you onto your back with little regard to gentleness. You haven't caught up yet by the time he's pulling your hips closer and shoving his cock back inside.

You stare at the camera as he directs it at your face, fucked out as you moan so nicely for him. It captures your bouncing tits, the pumping of his cock into your tight pussy. Every nerve ending burns with pleasure. Every movement licks at you like the flickers of a fire. You clench around him as he presses himself deeply within you, moaning his name at the feeling of his hips fucking into yours.

Stu’s lips part as he watches you, his head falling back as he moans before looking back at you again, hungry at the sight of your body. He loves your body. Your skin is soft and malleable. He bets that if he pressed a silver blade to your flesh, it would slice so nicely. He'd watch the red slip from the wound and decorate your pretty skin.

He wouldn't hurt you too bad. No, against his better judgment, he loved you too much. And, besides, he's got you wrapped around his finger just as much as you've got him around yours.

By now you'd invite the pain. If he took a belt to your back, you would cum when he beat welts into your skin. If he put a knife to your throat, you'd bare your neck to him and tell him to do it. Even now, as his hands slots around your throat once more and squeezes, you huff a moan and squeeze around his cock.

“Look at the camera, baby,” he breathes, moving his thumb from your neck to give you air to speak. He doesn't stop, still fucking into you just as roughly. “Tell ‘em who you belong to.” You whimper. “Go on, tell him. Who's the only person who can make you feel this nice, babygirl?”

You reach a hand to his waist as he leans in to get a better view of your face. Stringing words together to create a coherent sentence, you speak, “Y-you. Fuck, only you, Stu.”

“Say it again, baby.”

His finger presses to your clit and you lose breath when it does, moaning a little louder as he massages it to coax you to a release. “F-Fuck. Only you can…make me f-feel so good, Stu.”

He smiles wide, rubbing your clit a little faster as a reward. “Good girl,” he praises. “You wanna cum for me?”

You nod desperately. “Yes! Fuck, yes.”

His grin widens, his thrusts getting sloppy as he gets closer and closer to his release. He curses under his breath, “Come on, babygirl. Cum for me.”

The coil snaps as you do, throwing your head back as you're blinded by the pleasure. “Stu!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you cum, sucking him in with each flutter of your pussy.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he rambles, joining you as he's pushed over the edge of ecstasy. He cums with a loud groan, shoving his cock inside of you as he paints your walls white. You milk him, taking everything he gives to you as the pleasure builds inside of you like a heavy crescendo.

You trembled and moaned as he spills inside of you with a rough thrust deep inside you, tiny little ones following after to fuck his cum a little deeper. Stu leans forward and smacks his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he moans deeply. You wrap your heavy arms around his neck to keep him there, lazily kissing him with just as much passion, both of you forgetting the camera laying forgotten on the bed, the lens still pointed at your sloppy kiss.

You bite his bottom lip, taking it between your teeth and digging them inside until you draw blood. He swears he could've cum again as you keep kissing him, sucking on his lip as you do.

He grinds lazily inside of you as the last few sparks of pleasure dot your skin. Stu smiles against your lips, pulling back as he giggles. “I love you, sweetheart.”

You smile, his joy contagious as you join his little giggle. “I love you, too.” You kiss him again, addicted to the taste of him.

Pulling back again, he stares at your face and nods to himself. “I'm keeping you forever.”

And he will. Because ever since he fell in love with you, he's been shaping you to be like him. And, by the time September rolls around next year, you'll be just as fucked up as him that Billy will have to let him keep you. You'll be his forever, and you'll be perfectly happy with that because you love him just as much.

He pulls out of you with a sigh, and you whine at the empty feeling that sprouts in your belly. He picks up the camera again and makes sure to capture every inch of you: the light sheen of sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the wetness of your swollen lips, the hickeys he had worked into your skin, the swell of your breasts, the cum stuffed in your dripping pussy, his claim marked in you forever. He briefly wonders if he should carve his initials into your skin.

He smiles wide, pointing the camera at your face again. “We're gonna make so many movies together,” he prides, bending down to kiss you once more. With his excitement simmering in his chest, he chuckles quietly. “It's gonna be a scream, baby!”

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denimbex1986 · 8 months

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'On the morning of 16 July 1945, a blinding light tore through the still-dark sky over the Jornada Del Muerto desert in New Mexico. It was the birth of the Atomic Era, but theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer’s response was a curt, “I guess it worked”— at least according to his brother Frank Oppenheimer.

Years later, in an NBC news documentary, Oppenheimer recited a line from the Bhagavad Gita when talking about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki: “Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.”

This powerful and chilling quote features twice in Christopher Nolan’s 2023 biopic of one of the most celebrated and vilified scientists in history. But the movie Oppenheimer is not just about Oppenheimer. It also illuminates the evolution of the Manhattan Project and the alliance of brilliant minds working to create the world’s first atomic bomb.

Overall, it’s the story of an era when World War-II ignited a race to harness the atom’s hidden power after the discovery of nuclear fission by German chemists Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassman in 1938. For all its destructive capabilities, or perhaps because of it, the atomic bomb became a symbol of power.

Just as artificial intelligence and quantum mechanics are central to the current scientific epoch, the exploration of atomic energy and nuclear fission powered the science of the 1940s.

But the film’s gaze, focused on Oppenheimer, offers only glimpses of his scientific contemporaries —some, recipients of the Nobel Prize— whose contributions were pivotal to shaping the course of modern physics.

Its lens also did not capture parallel developments on the other side of the globe in India, where Homi Bhabha was leading the country’s quest for atomic energy.

In 1948, for instance, Bhabha had urged Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru that the development of atomic energy be “entrusted to a very small and high-powered body composed of say three people with executive power, and answerable directly to the Prime Minister without any intervening link.”

Here’s a look at some key figures from the atomic era, some portrayed in the film and others whose roles remained beyond its scope.

A rough start

Robert ‘Oppie’ Oppenheimer (played by Cillian Murphy) was born into a wealthy New York Jewish family in 1904. After getting his undergraduate degree in chemistry from Harvard, he went to Cambridge University to study physics.

He did not see instant stardom. As shown in the movie, he was so bad at experimental work that he was miserable. It was also in Cambridge that he met soon-to-be Nobel laureate Patrick Blackett (James D’Arcy), featured in the movie as the professor he tried to poison with an apple. While no one ate the apple, his mischief became known and his parents had to convince authorities to not press charges.

Notably, Homi Bhabha, later to be known as the father of the Indian atomic programme, studied in Cambridge in the late 1920s, and worked at the Cavendish lab, which Oppenheimer wanted to join.

But Oppenheimer left Cambridge battling severe depression and in 1926 moved to Germany where he completed his PhD in physics. He was 23 years old, and Europe was still uneasy in the aftermath of the First World War. Mussolini had seized power in Italy and Hitler was just rising in popularity in Germany.

Early encounters with friends & foes

During his stay in Germany, Oppenheimer cultivated relationships with several fellow colleagues, some of whom would become future collaborators.

Among them was Italian-American physicist Enrico Fermi (Danny Deferrari). While he joined the Manhattan Project relatively late, he played a role in selecting Japanese targets. In the 1930s, Bhabha also collaborated closely with Fermi while he was on the Isaac Newton scholarship in Rome.

Significantly, it was Fermi who alerted military leaders to nuclear energy’s potential and is renowned for creating the first nuclear reactor. He won the 1938 Nobel Prize for his work on radioactivity and discovery of transuranium elements— the synthetic element fermium is named after him.

Like Oppenheimer, Fermi opposed the development of hydrogen bombs. He defended Oppenheimer in the security hearing in 1954 when the latter was accused of being a Soviet spy during the McCarthy era.

Oppenheimer also became close to Werner Heisenberg (Matthias Schweighöfer), a German theoretical physicist whose legacy includes the uncertainty principle and the 1932 Nobel Prize for “creation of quantum mechanics”.

However, Heisenberg was also the principal scientist in the Nazi nuclear weapons programme during World War-II, and contributed to West German nuclear reactor development.

The movie shows Oppenheimer’s team in a race with Heisenberg’s to develop the bomb, but in reality, Heisenberg never came close to success on this front. In fact, it is believed that conscientious German scientists secretly sabotaged the research.

Heisenberg, notably, spent time in India in the 1920s as a guest of Tagore, indulging in deep discussions about philosophy, life, and science.

In Germany, Oppenheimer also became friendly with Hungarian-born physicist Edward Teller (Benny Safdie), whose calculations were often referred to in the movie. The relationship between the men, however, eventually soured.

Teller and Oppenheimer disagreed about the type of weapon to prioritise in the Manhattan Project. Teller was a proponent of developing hydrogen bombs, and, in fact, came to be known as the father of the hydrogen bomb. In the closed-door hearing, he testified against Oppenheimer.

Onscreen, Teller can be easily identified by his sweaty eyebrows. He is the person with whom Oppenheimer’s wife Kitty refuses to shake hands.

Another member of Oppenheimer’s circle in Europe was Polish-American physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi (David Krumholtz). In the film, Rabi is featured in a scene where Oppenheimer is about to give a lecture in Amsterdam. Rabi offers to help a Dutch scientist translate Oppenheimer’s lecture into English. However, Oppenheimer surprises everyone by speaking in Dutch himself, a language he learned in just a few weeks.

Rabi was a lifelong friend of Oppenheimer, and in the movie, he is the only one who talks about Oppenheimer’s religion, addressing it in the train scene. He won the 1944 Physics Nobel for his discovery of nuclear magnetic resonance, which is used in MRIs today. His work also led to the development of the microwave oven.

Return to America

When Oppenheimer returned to the USA in the late 1920s, he received job offers for professorships at both UC Berkeley and Caltech. He opted for the position at Berkeley while also taking on a visiting teaching role at Caltech.

At this time, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis and spent time at a New Mexico ranch to recover. He fell in love with the region, where he had also been sent as a teenager to recover from dysentery. It was here that he would later set up his secret Los Alamos laboratories.

In Berkeley, in the 1930s, he worked with another Nobel Prize experimental physicist, Ernest Lawrence (Josh Hartnett). Oppenheimer was introduced to the Manhattan Project through Lawrence, who later became an H-bomb proponent.

In the early days of their relationship, Oppenheimer and Lawrence were very close, with the latter even naming his son Robert. The two fell out later due to political disagreements, but Lawrence refused to testify against Oppenheimer in 1954.

Meanwhile, what is now called the Niels Bohr Institute in Copenhagen had become another big hub for theoretical and nuclear physics research in the late 1930s. Here, Homi Bhabha worked with the likes of Wolfgang Pauli, Hans Kramer, Enrico Fermi, and, of course, Neils Bohr (Kenneth Branagh) himself.

Bohr, who discovered the internal structure of an atom and showed that electrons orbit the nucleus, was involved with the Manhattan Project only for a short time, but is known for his work on quantum theory, for which he won the 1922 Nobel Prize in Physics. He was involved in the establishment of CERN. After the war, he became a proponent of international cooperation on nuclear energy.

Bohr had visited India on a couple of occasions, upon the invitation of physicist Alladi Ramakrishnan, who had him deliver lectures in Chennai. Bohr was particularly taken with the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR), and was very supportive of the Indian nuclear research programme.

In the movie, he can be seen handling the poisoned apple, which was not intended for him, and asking Oppie to listen to music instead of reading sheet music.

Communism, a car named Garuda, marriage

Many of Oppenheimer’s political and spiritual beliefs coalesced in the years leading up to World War-II.

In the early 1930s, his interests expanded to encompass languages, myths, and religion. Mesmerised by the Bhagavad Gita, he learned to read Sanskrit and even named his car ‘Garuda’ after the divine vehicle of Lord Vishnu.

Through this decade, Oppenheimer studied cosmic rays, nuclear physics, quantum electrodynamics, as well as relativity and astrophysics. However, the onset of World War II in 1939 forced many scientists, including Homi Bhabha, to return to their home countries.

By this time, Oppenheimer had adopted many ideas for social reform that came to be categorised as communist. While he never was an open member of the Communist Party of USA, he donated money through communist channels for social causes.

In the film, Oppenheimer’s wife, Katherine “Kitty” Puening (Emily Blunt) is depicted as testifying to this effect during her hearing.

Kitty, whom Oppenheimer met in 1939, was a huge influence in is life and remained by his side until his death. A German-born American botanist, she was a former member of the communist party.

Before Oppenheimer had even joined the Manhattan Project, an FBI file was opened on him in 1941.

Manhattan Project kicks off

Oppenheimer’s work in quantum mechanics and nuclear physics had caught the eye of many scientists, and his ability to be an informed liaison between scientists and defence forces led to General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) handpicking him as a “genius” to lead the Manhattan Project. The two are often credited together for producing the world’s first atomic bomb.

Oppenheimer started off by holding a summer school for bomb theory in Berkeley, involving many of his colleagues and students, including Robert Serber (who was romantically involved with Kitty after Oppenheimer’s death) Teller, and German-American theoretical physicist Hans Bethe (Gustaf Skarsgård).

Bethe was personally asked by Oppenheimer to join the Manhattan Project and oversee its theoretical division. He is best known for his work at the confluence of astrophysics and nuclear physics, winning the 1967 Physics Nobel for his work on stellar nucleosynthesis, the process by which heavier elements are created in stars.

In 1942, the plans for a secret lab in Los Alamos were in place. The US military notified the local Indian tribes living in the area that they had 24 hours to vacate, and usurped the land.

Set up at the Los Alamos Ranch School, the Manhattan Project grew from 1943 to 1945 to include thousands of people. Oppenheimer ran the project efficiently, and was noted for his administrative ability among scientists and military personnel.

At the same time as the establishment of Los Alamos in US, a premier institute of research was being established in India. At the time, Bhabha was a professor at the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) in Bangalore (now Bengaluru), and was working with JRD Tata and Nobel laureate Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar to establish TIFR in Mumbai.

‘The world will never be the same again’

In 1945, the Trinity test marked the world’s first atomic bomb trial, and the first occurrence of a mushroom cloud.

Richard Feynman (Jack Quaid) claimed to be the sole person to witness the test without protective glasses. The famous (or infamous) physicist was a graduate student when he joined the Manhattan Project, Feynman contributed to safety protocols for uranium storage. His work in quantum electrodynamics earned him the 1965 Physics Nobel.

After the test, Oppenheimer famously remarked that the world would never be the same again.

Indeed, the Trinity test released nuclear fallout into the atmosphere, which continues to persist today and has contaminated modern steel. This led to the use of “low-background steel” or pre-Trinity steel in modern physics experiments and radiation-sensitive devices like Geiger counters. Sunk WWII submarines have long been illegally scavenged for their pre-war steel.

Moral doubts & Szilárd petition

After the test, as shown in the movie, some scientists at the project began to express their moral qualms about dropping the bomb on civilians.

In 1945, Hungarian-German-American physicist Leo Szilárd (Máté Haumann) initiated the Szilárd petition, co-signed by 70 Manhattan Project scientists. The petition advocating for the US to forewarn Japan and to deploy the bomb in unpopulated islands.

Szilárd, the first to conceive nuclear chain reactions, drafted the letter for Einstein’s approval of the Manhattan Project. But despite his involvement, he became a vocal anti-nuclear warfare proponent.

Notably, he briefly resided in India during the 1930s while his wife worked with children. He interacted with many Indian scientists, including Obaid Siddiqui, founder-director of TIFR’s National Centre for Biological Sciences (NCBS).

One of the signatories of Szilárd’s petition was Lilli Hornig (Olivia Thirlby), who had originally joined as a typist at Los Alamos. Her scientific skills, however, proved prodigious. While she wanted to work with plutonium, there were concerns among the men that the radioactive element could be dangerous for the female reproductive system, as depicted in the movie. Hornig, therefore, worked with high-explosive lenses instead.

She later became a chemistry professor at Brown University and played a key role in establishing the Korea Institute for Science and Technology.

American nuclear physicist David Hill (Rami Malek) also signed the Szilard petition.

In the movie, he is shown giving a searing testimony in 1959 against U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) chairman Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.) and his treatment of Oppenheimer— but more on that later.

Manhattan Project scientist Luis Walter Alvarez (Alex Wolff) also makes an appearance in the film. He is depicted as the scientist running out of a shop to tell Oppenheimer the news of German scientists Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann achieving nuclear fission.

Alvarez won the Nobel Prize in 1968 for his work in designing a liquid hydrogen bubble chamber which could take photographs of subatomic particles. However, his most enduring legacy is arguably the Alvarez Hypothesis, which he co-developed with his geologist son Walter Alvarez. The hypothesis states that the extinction of dinosaurs was caused by an asteroid impact.

Post-war tumult

After the Manhattan Project and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945, Oppenheimer grew disillusioned with atomic and hydrogen bombs.

He subsequently took over as the director of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton and later chaired the General Advisory Committee to the Atomic Energy Commission, while other nations pursued their own nuclear programmes, including India, where the Atomic Energy Commission of India was set up in 1948 under Bhabha’s leadership.

But Oppenheimer’s left-leaning communist ideals caused the US government to become suspicious of him as fear of USSR’s technological and military advances grew.

Adding to these suspicions was his on-and-off affair with Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh), a communist party member. The two intermittently shared a relationship both before and during his marriage with Kitty. Oppenheimer even named the 1945 Trinity test as a tribute to her, as she had introduced him to John Donne’s sonnet that said “Batter my heart, three-person’d God”.

The two last met in 1943 when Oppenheimer was already under FBI surveillance. And while Tatlock was found dead by suicide in 1944, at the age of 29, the affair had ripple effects even a decade later.

The pall of doubt over Oppenheimer’s ideological leanings led to a hearing by the AEC in 1954 that resulted in the revoking of his security clearance and effectively his role in the US atomic energy establishment. This initiative was backed by politician and then AEC chairman Lewis Strauss, depicted as Oppenheimer’s prime antagonist in the movie.

Upon hearing the news of Oppenheimer’s treatment, many in the scientific community were outraged and offered shelter to him in other countries.

Homi Bhabha was upset too. He was friends with both Robert and Kitty Oppenheimer and often dined with them when he was in New York. Bhabha went as far as to urge Prime Minister Nehru to invite Oppenheimer to immigrate to India after the 1954 hearing.

Oppenheimer, however, refused to leave the US, claiming it would not be inappropriate until he was cleared of all charges.

Significantly, the controversial hearing led to a backlash against Strauss too. In 1959, President Dwight D. Eisenhower nominated Strauss as Secretary of Commerce. But in the hearing to consider his nomination, depicted in black and white in the movie, many senators questioned his qualifications, specifically in the view of the Oppenheimer controversy. Strauss’s nomination was ultimately rejected by the Senate.

Epilogue

Oppenheimer’s time at Los Alamos and outside of it was full of legends of physics. The most well-known of these was, of course, Albert Einstein (Tom Conti).

A key scene in the film shows Oppenheimer seeking advice from Einstein about calculations suggesting that a nuclear explosion could destroy the earth.

However, as director Nolan has acknowledged in interviews, this interaction did not happen. Oppenheimer did seek similar advice, but he went to Arthur Compton, a Nobel Prize winner and director of Manhattan Project’s centre at the University of Chicago.

In real life, Einstein and Oppenheimer did become friends, but were closest when they worked together at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton. It was here where Oppenheimer served the last years of his career, retiring in 1966. A year later, he died of throat cancer.

In December 2022, shortly after the release of the trailer of the biopic, the 1954 ruling to revoke Oppenheimer’s security clearance was nullified, citing a flawed process.'

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ardn516-theimage · 2 years

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Street Documentary Photographers

Gilbert Duclos

Duclos worked on a photo series called “Cités” , with the theme of people inhabiting urban environments. Taking from the tradition of documentary photography, his images lead us on the streets of famous Western Cities in an urban journey. Taken randomly, his black and white photos, which are all vertical, reflect Duclos’ curiosity and his influence.

From 1954 to 1961, his father was the General Manager of Montreal's Belmont Park and every Sunday of the summer, Gilbert was taken to the amusement park so that he could see his father hard at work. The raucous, joyful and colourful crowd had a strong influence on the future vision of this burgeoning photographer. Taking several jobs to help pay his way after he had put his studies on hold and left for Paris, he worked as a vélosolex courier in Paris, an upholsterer for his craftsmen friends and as a mover. He began taking photos in Paris using the Kodak Instamatic that had been given to him by his mother.

In his free time, he explored Paris and perfected the art of loitering on the city’s grand boulevards and terraces. The time he spent in Paris played a key role in his approach to street photography and I admired the simplicity of the black and white silhouettes that were made into art.

Mitch Epstein

“Photography remains a tool with which I form and sharpen my response to the world around me. Anything and everything is photographable in an infinite number of ways. That excites me.”

One of the many members of the transformational generation of mostly American photographers who engaged with and challenged the conventions of modernist photography of the first half of the twentieth century. Like other luminary photographers of the late 1960s and early 1970s, Epstein pursued a more individualistic, subjective values system in his artwork and did so with colour film: “I started to work in colour, which was a radical, and some thought foolish, move in 1973. Colour photography was not yet a medium for serious photography...”

Epstein helped pioneer fine-art colour photography in the 70’s, his photographs are in several major museum collections, this includes the New York’s Museum of Modern Art, Metropolitan Museum of Art and Whitney Museum of American Art, Tate Modern in London and more.

I enjoyed admiring Epstein's work as figures in his images must seem ordinary in person but through the lens of the camera, it almost feels like a staged shoot or something unusual, which what drew me to it.

Joel Meyerowitz

“Some photographers go to the streets, and other photographers go to a studio. Some pretend it is a movie and other photographers walk into the world and say “show me”.

Those select few who are willing to go to chaos with the high hope to interact with the moment, where life will get clarified for them.They can welcome ambiguity and surreal aspects of this kind of chaos.

Even though it is chaos out there, they will have a moment of clarification

There are plenty of people who don’t see it, because they don’t look that way.”

A believer of seizing the moment, Joel Meyerowitz is a photographer whose work has appeared in more than 350 exhibitions in museums and galleries around the world. Born in New York in 1938 and began photographing in 1962, making him one of the first proponents of colour photography in the mid-1960s. Meyerowitz played a key role in the evolution of the attitude towards the use of colour photography, whose resistance to acceptance was almost universal.

I admired his work as he practices making art out of what was in front of him. The quote said it all.

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womeninthemedia · 2 months

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Introduction

For centuries, women have been written by society in order to cater to the male gaze. The male gaze controls the world, and as generations continue to come and go, the sexualization of women seems to be one of the few common ideologies that stick around. In the 18th and 19th centuries, women were seen as nothing but wives and mothers by society, and they were expected to manage household duties as well as emotional support for their breadwinning husbands to feed from. Women held little to no rights and were seen almost as puppets in a man’s world. This period allowed men to gain control over their wives, almost hiding them from society in which they lacked individualism. The way the world treated women in this period was its own form of sexualization, though the main portion of it was behind closed doors.

As time continued to pass, the public was soon introduced to mass media in the beginning stages of the 20th century. Hollywood quickly became the hub for movie and television production that created some of the best actors and actresses of all time. Hollywood was nothing the public had ever seen before, and its popularity displayed the innate human desire for film and media in order to escape from their personal day-to-day lives at home. As time moved on, and the production of films began to take priority, common motifs began to become prevalent regarding the lens that women were seen through. As soon as the entertainment industry knew how to dominate the public by the usage of sexualization, media as people knew it would never be the same. We would soon see this within our favorite movies, music lyrics, music videos, books, commercial campaigns, and all types of media one could think of. While it is important to try and understand where this need to please the overall male gaze came from, it is much more important to come to terms with the fact that society has been this way since the beginning of time.

This doesn’t seem like such a hot take, though. If I were to go up to a stranger and ask them if they feel as though the media sexualizes women, 9 chances out of 10, they will say yes. What I hope to do through my blog is to make the reader understand how embedded sexualization is in the media we consume every day, and it is often the most subliminal sexualization that inflicts the most damage. The most popular production companies that we as a society have consumed and looked up to from a very young age are the largest culprits of the most unwanted and inappropriate sexual suggestions. My blog will shed light on examples that we as children were subjected to regarding the sexualization of women and will hopefully expose similar patterns that exist within the media children nowadays consume just as we did. Children’s television, movies, music, and commercials/campaigns will be thoroughly studied throughout this blog in order to expose examples of sexualization of women.

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intothemindofv · 3 months

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The Horror Genre: An Invitation to Explore Personal Repressed Trauma

Professor Due sparked my first interest in understanding horror during our first lecture when she revealed, “Many people, including my mother, tend to enjoy horror as a way to process their own personal life trauma.” In other words, when real life horror has stepped foot on real life doorsteps, many find comfort in turning their heads away from internal processing and instead towards the television world of horror movies. Horror movies may frighten some, but invite others into their own world of repressed emotions through an outside lens.

As a Sociology major and a 21 year old who has survived my own life of trauma, our studies and analysis of the horror genre thus far have already begun to spark a revelation of the connection between the hard to access emotions that come with trauma and the hard not to feel emotions that come with horror movies. Movies that conjure fear, anxiety, pure frustration, feelings of misunderstanding, in other words emotions that may be uncomfortable to some but may be eerily familiar to others in a normalized manner.

The movie Get Out, for example, I believe is a great example of the connection between horror and repressed emotions stemming from traumatic experiences. In particular to the black experience, as trauma in America occurs within black lives at an exponentially larger rate than many races as a result from our history as black Americans in the USA, Get Out reveals the use of the horror genre for consumers in understanding our own repressed/unvalidated emotions,

but also the reality of how repressed emotions can manipulate your present experiences. Furthermore I think this movie dives deeply into the specific American tendency of forcing black Americans into traumatized lifestyles and using their repressed emotions that develop from childhood, as a way to control, victimize, and villianise older black Americans once older and still trapped in a system of trauma.

To further explore this analysis of the movie, I’ll dive into the Sunken Place scene for instance where in order for the character Chris, actor Daniel Kaluuya, to be sunken into a place of hypnosis and paralysation, he was first walked through a traumatic memory of his mother’s death as a child where the emotion of guilt, sadness, blame, and confusion both physically and mentally paralyzed him. As a black child in America where trauma is often normalized in our childhood, I think it is fair to say that this memory was only able to trigger a hypnosis in Chris at an adult age because of the repressed emotions it conjured and that were never processed.

In this specific scene, and the movie overall, I believe it reveals a way in which America manipulates the exposure of trauma to black youth and the consequential repressed emotions in the process of successfully trading, using, and enslaving black bodies while our minds are still stuck in any form of paralyzation from unprocessed trauma. It is essentially a step by step process of traumatic exposure leading to trauma wounds and repressed emotions, to then a result of an emotional processing delay in black minds that hinder the ability to move, think, and fight back freely. As seen in the movie Get Out, in other horror movies, and in real life, when our emotions are on backlog from being processed and understood, we typically stay stuck in a state of survival, fight back, or freeze… leaving our bodies and minds capable of manipulation by a system that is eager to enslave it for its own use.

Our first step into horror has already begun to start up the gears in my mind in wanting to better understand the tie between horror and emotions. It gets me excited to understand and see more of historical black horror, but also sparks an interest in me to create my own film eventually. I am eager to continue to learn the power of black horror in the way it can express our desire for freedom, emotional equality even, and a better understanding of ourselves as a collective still healing from a history of trauma.

#black horror #horror #horror movies #emotions #repressed emotions #repressed trauma #anger #black tumblr

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yeojaa · 3 years

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come over, pt. i

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is pwp. smut in the forms of: kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex. use of the pet name shy girl. wc. 6.2k. beta reader. @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life. author note. this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang. while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way. tysm for reading! (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that. You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library. He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room. (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights. You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.)

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas. It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed. One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!" You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks. The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs. You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands. “Stop stealing all my chips.”

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered. (You know better though. Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for.

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips. They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar. (Note to self: thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,” you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows. “I’m just—“ Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades. “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout. You aren’t actually. The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter. It’s just annoying. You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls. It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good. People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail. One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.)

“Pay attention to the movie.” The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time. You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were. Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin. Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him. The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised. You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite. You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful. You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery; he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong. Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,” he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room. Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.” It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight. Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level. It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him. "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest. It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh. Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt. It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up. A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention. It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit.

A part of you wants to run from the room. Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck. It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop. (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook." You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away. Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out. Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests. (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most. Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw. A sigh escapes before you can help it. "Shy girl,” he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not shy,” you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you. "We're watching a movie." You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it.

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips. A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear.

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be. You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation. Term paper due the next morning? He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night. Break something at a house party? He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.” He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's." Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks. So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh. The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not. They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt. So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed. “What’re you—“ The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people. (Okay, not a lot, but enough.) You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you. There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck. They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick. Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day. (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,” he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending. You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality. You hope it doesn’t. Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach. You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features. “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he? Of course he did. Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though. Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you. Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet. It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though.

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair. It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of relief. You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots. “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in. It’s his fault, after all.

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed. Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit. You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth. You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists. Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this. Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip. There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands. You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth. A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels. “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue. You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.

You want to be his pretty girl.

"I want you. I need more," you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth. He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked.

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips. When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers. They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease. The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing. (You swear you see stars; you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving. It feels so good to have him between your legs. You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats. Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself. It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?” You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.

“Fuck.” He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy. He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves. “You want a taste? Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs. You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else. Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip. It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy. You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb.

“Please.” You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand. You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing. "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself. It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs. “Open up, ____,” he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full. “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind. If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length. A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives. You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip. Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away. (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?" You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie.

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you. The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion. He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag. Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand. He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch. It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more. For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants. As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.” He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek. You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat. It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now. Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls. When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks. “Is it my turn yet?” You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs. Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.

“Your turn?” The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful. It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed. Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal. “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,” you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose. Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did. It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight. He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared. You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.” Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air. The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter. Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me," you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,” Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin. You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit. “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement; or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees. You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return. You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable. Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.” Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain. You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes. They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t. It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?” He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric. Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.” It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist. You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core. It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half.

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help. Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion. “Oh my god,” you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in. “You’re so big. I c-can’t—” You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck. A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder. The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness. “You feel so good, Kook.” You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper. “Please, move,” you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you. He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven. When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out. It sounds like that, anyway. With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently; you can practically feel him in your throat. (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier. You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake. They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat.

There’s slick all across your thighs. You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in. It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half. "Harder, p-please." Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes. "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut. Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits. Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used. You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking. The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop. A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?” It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway. (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward. (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.) "Like it so m-much. Feels so good.” You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him.

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length. You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years. You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer: every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring. "R-right there," you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?” He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops. They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care. The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts. He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered. “Perfect,” he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it. You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more. “So sensitive. Such a shy girl. Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon. He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind. It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves. Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision. Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over. "So big. It's too m-much.” And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed.

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap. When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over.

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit. It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude. It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses.

"Kook—please—come for me.” You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high. You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop. It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared. “Are you okay?” You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours. He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,” he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time. “You’re welcome.” It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for. You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.

“You too.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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sp00kyjellybeans · 3 years

Text

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

---

It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair.

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography.

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board.

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something.

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face.

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer.

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze.

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot.

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did.

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away.

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you.

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow.

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently.

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date.

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket.

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you.

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered.

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours.

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat.

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive.

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you.

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before.

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move.

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith.

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to.

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn.

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still.

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen.

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria.

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV.

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed.

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again.

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again.

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another.

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this?

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same.

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said.

And you appeared on the TV.

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman.

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue.

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background.

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey?

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?”

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed.

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you.

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote.

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it.

And then you left.

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused.

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled.

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-”

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling.

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh.

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,” You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought.

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours.

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri x reader #scream #slashers #ghostface #ghostface x reader #mickey altieri oneshot #scream 2 #randy meeks

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thebookreader12345 · 3 years

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And We Meet Again

Pairing: Crockett Marcel x reader

Summary: Y/N gets hurt while researching a piece she has to write about for an article at work, and when she goes to the ED, she reconnects with an old college friend

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of blood

Word Count: 1,495 Words

I climbed out of my car and shivered as my skin came into contact with the air. Man it was cold out. I opened the back door to my car and pulled out my hat and scarf, thankful that I had decided to throw them back there last minute. I also grabbed my notepad and camera, which I held in my hand. Usually, I’d be writing a hard hitting piece for the company I worked for, but my boss was getting tired of receiving complaints from people who disagreed with whatever I was writing about, so he assigned me a new piece to work on. It was about the top 3 sightseeing spots in Chicago to see during the winter, and it was a whole 2 steps down from what I had been working on before.

A cold gust of wind blew past me, and my teeth chattered, so I pulled my arms, which were holding my things, to my chest. At the moment, I hated my boss for making me do this stupid assignment, especially because it was barely 30 degrees outside. He could’ve given this assignment to anyone else in the department, but had chosen to give it to me. Because I saw so busy hating on my boss, I didn’t notice the huge patch of ice ahead of me spanning the whole rest of the trail. So, when my foot stepped down onto it, I wasn’t expecting to slip backwards and begin sliding down the trail. My notepad and camera fell from my hands, and flew backwards, far away from me. I reached out to grab a branch in an attempt to stop myself from going any further, and it worked, but the branch cut deep into my palm, causing me to start bleeding.

“Fuck!” I curse and stand up. My hand began to sting, and blood dripped from my palm onto the snow, turning it from it’s once pure white to a light shade of red. My whole body hurt from my trip down the trail, but I ignored the pain and pulled off my scarf, wrapping it tightly around my injured hand. Why I hadn’t brought gloves, I didn’t know, but I was definitely regretting that decision. I winced as I walked back up the path, careful to avoid the ice patches, and grabbed my camera and notepad from the ground. The lens of my camera was cracked, but I didn’t really care about that at the moment. When I got back to my car, I tossed my things into the back seat, and started up the engine. My hand continued to burn and bleed, turning my gray scarf a darker color. I guess I was heading to the doctor to get it checked out. When I got to the ED, it didn’t take me long to get sent to one of the trauma rooms where I was currently waiting for a doctor.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Dr. Manning,” a woman greeted and entered the room.

“Nice to meet you,” I say back. “I would shake your hand, but it’s bleeding.”

“I can see that. Nice thinking of using your scarf as a tourniquet. Where’d you learn that?” Dr. Manning asked.

“An old friend of mine from college was studying to be a doctor, and he taught me a few things,” I tell her.

“Okay. Just give me a second, and then I’ll take a look,” Dr. Manning spoke and peaked her head out the trauma room door. “Dr. Marcel, can you check on our patient? I’ve got a quick case to work on.” When Dr. Manning said that name, something sparked inside of me. I knew someone with that name.

“Sure thing. I’ll get right on it,” Dr. Marcel answered, his voice laced with a thick, New Orleans accent. Hold on a minute. I knew that accent as well.

“Crockett?” I question from where I was perched on the edge of the bed. The doctor who Nat had spoken to peaked his head around the door, and when I saw him, I smiled. Yep. I definitely knew him. I jumped down from the bed and embraced him in a hug, careful not to get any blood on his scrubs. Crockett returned the hug, giving me a soft squeeze. “What the hell are you doing in Chicago?”

“Wait a minute. You two know each other?” Dr. Manning asked.

“Yeah,” Crockett replied. “We went to college together down in New Orleans, but Y/N moved back here afterwards because she’s originally from here. Nat, I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind.”

“Go on ahead,” Nat responded. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“So,” I say and sit back down on the bed as Nat left the room. “You’re in Chicago now.”

“I just recently got a job here. But enough about me. Lets take a look at that hand,” Crockett stated and pulled on some gloves, removing the scarf from around my palm. “What happened here?”

“I slipped and caught it on a branch. That’s what happened,” I joked as Crockett examined the wound.

“Well, it must’ve been one sharp ass branch because this cut’s pretty deep. You’re going to need stitches,” Crockett declared. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s not the worse thing in the world. At least I won’t have to write the stupid article my boss wanted me to since my hand is busted.” Crockett laughed and sat down on the doctor’s stool, and used it to roll himself over to one of the sets of drawers. Then, he pulled out a needle and a bottle of some sort of liquid, and my breath caught in my throat. Crockett could sense my discomfort, and once he had sucked up some of the medicine using the needle, he turned towards me.

“Still afraid of needles?” Crockett asked and rolled back to my side.

“Very much so,” I say.

Crockett gave me small smile. “Well, you’re welcome to hold onto me if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, Crockett,” I murmur and reach out to grab ahold of his bicep with my left hand.

“You’re just going to feel a little pinch,” Crockett told me and injected the needle into the skin of my palm. I screwed my eyes shut for a split second as I felt the tiniest bit of pain, and just like that, it was over. It didn’t take long for Crockett to stitch up my hand, and soon, I was good to go.

“It was nice seeing you again,” I say and give Crockett a hug. “We should catch up some time when you’re not on shift.”

“I’d like that,” Crockett responded. “It was good to see you, Y/N.”

A Few Weeks Later

"And that’s how I got away with writing the biggest story of my career,” I explain as Crockett and I walked through the front door of my apartment. We had just come back from having dinner together, which was something we did once a week. It was nice getting to see him again, especially because it had been awhile. We were best friends during our college years, and it pained me that we had to go our separate ways. But now, we were together again, and it made me very happy.

“So journalism is working out well for you then?” Crockett asked as we sat down on my couch.

“Definitely. But that’s nothing compared to what you’ve accomplished,” I point out.

Crockett waved that though aside. “Nonsense. I’m happy for you Y/N.” He then looked down at his watch. “It’s getting late. I should head home.”

“All right. I’ll talk to you later,” I tell him. Crockett smiled and stood up, making his way towards the front door. At that moment, something inside me seemed to snap, and I knew that there was something I had to do. “Crockett wait!” I call out and get off of the couch. Crockett turned around just as I reached him, and that’s when I did something crazy. I cupped Crockett’s face with my hands and kissed him. I didn’t expect him to kiss back, but he did. Crockett wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me up against his chest to where there was no room between us. I smiled against his lips, feeling glad that he had decided to kiss back. When we finally pulled away from each other, both of us had huge grins on our faces. “I’ve been wanting to do that for forever,” I admit.

“Me too,” Crockett confessed and pressed his lips to mine for another kiss.

“I’m glad you’re back in Chicago,” I mumble against his shoulder as he held me tightly.

“I am too. You know, I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, so I guess I could stay for a little longer,” Crockett informed me.

I smiled. “I’d like that. Now, lets see what cheesy movies are on, and we can relive the movie nights from our college days.”

_____________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett

#one chicago #chicago med #crockett marcel #crockett marcel x reader #crockett marcel imagine #x reader #imagine #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine

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missanthropicprinciple · 3 years

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A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies.

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far:

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios.

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.)

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose.

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study.

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm.

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.”

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot.

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.”

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else.

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.”

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream.

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about.

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts.

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278).

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature.

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself.

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start.

Works Cited (WIP)

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

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multiculturalpsychmnc · 3 years

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What Happens When Cultures Collide: Spanglish (2004)

When I think of media references for multicultural psychology, Spanglish (2004) immediately comes to mind. The story follows a mother (Flor) and daughter (Cristina) who have moved from Mexico to California and what happens to their lives and relationship when Flor takes a job as a maid for a wealthy California family. One of the taglines for the movie is “the ultimate culture clash... family” so there is obviously a lot of content from this film that fits into what we have been talking about in class, but I want to focus on parenting styles.

There is a juxtaposition throughout the film between Flor and Deborah (the mother of the family Flor is working for) and how they parent their respective daughters, Cristina and Bernie. I would argue that neither character fits into just one parenting style, but I could probably pick a primary for each of them.

I would say Flor parents Cristina in an authoritative style most of the time, but Cristina often acts as if her mother is treating her in an authoritarian way. Flor often acts in a warm and nurturing manor towards Cristina, often bringing her cookies on her way home from work (before the pair move in with the Clasky’s). She is very protective of Cristina (she is very upset the first time a boy shows interest in her daughter), and has high expectations for Cristina in terms of education, as we see through the lens of which the story is told: Cristina’s college admissions essay.

Things get a little more complicated after Flor and Cristina move in with the Clasky’s. Flor’s protectiveness of her daughter causes her to become a little more authoritarian, especially when Deborah takes a liking to Cristina and begins stepping across a line, taking Cristina (and not her own daughter, Bernie) to the salon to dye colored streaks in their hair. Flor is very upset when they return and insists that they should leave with little explanation to Cristina. However, she is still emotionally responsive to her daughter. We see this again when Cristina makes hundreds of dollars from collecting sea glass for John Clasky (the dad in the family Flor is working for). When Flor finds the money, she says Cristina cannot accept it and gives it back to John, despite protest from both he and her daughter. The more authoritarian side of Flor comes to a peak when Deborah steps out of line once more, trying to get Cristina into the private school her daughter goes to without asking for Flor’s thoughts about this. Flor then again insists that she and her daughter are leaving, despite Cristina throwing a tantrum, and they head back to their own home. It is important to point out here that the reason Flor parents the way she does is, at least in her eyes, always so that she can give her daughter the best possible life.

I also wanted to quickly touch on Deborah’s parenting style with her own daughter, Bernie. Deborah is very upset about Bernie’s weight (she’s not even really overweight in my opinion, but that’s sort of beside the point). Because of this, Deborah is constantly trying to motivate Bernie to work out and lose a few pounds, but she does this in a way that is almost bullying. It’s obvious that she is more embarrassed of her daughter than she cares about her health. She tries to look like she’s working from a permissive parenting style, acting more like a (bad) friend than a mom to Bernie most of the time, but her actions are more authoritarian-- and not in a positive way at all. She has very high expectations for Bernie to lose weight and is not emotionally responsive to her daughter, often playing the victim when Bernie becomes (rightfully) upset. Things only become worse when Deborah takes a liking to the beautiful and thin Cristina, and tries parenting her rather than her own daughter.

I think this is a really interesting case study in multicultural parenting styles, not just because it’s easy to pinpoint a couple throughout the film, but also because it’s not entirely clear cut. Neither of the mothers in the film can be categorized as just one type of parenting style, and we can see that one parenting style isn’t always superior to the others. I think these are important ideas to apply to real life scenarios, and also to check ourselves when we immediately assume that our Western parenting styles are the “right” ones. It’s also a very entertaining film!

Image Credit: IMDB, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0371246/

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anthrotographer · 4 years

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Cleo from 5 to 7 (1962)

Directed by: Agnès Varda

Daises (1966)

Directed by: Věra Chytilová

Sorry for the long scroll. This is an essay I did for a class about a year ago. It was on two women directed foreign films Cleo from 5 to 7 and Daises. In the paper I get into a lot of the similarities between the films and what they do well, but I don’t get to really give my opinion on them. Both the Czech Daises and French Cleo are wonderfully unique. Daises was chaotic, fun, and plotless. I really had to work to eek out some meaning from that one. Cleo from 5 to 7 caught me by surprise of how much I loved it. It’s one of the best films I’ve ever watched. I don’t always judge films objectively like I ought to. Usually if there is an extremely stuck up, narcissistic lead character in a movie it turns me off. I’m not really interested in seeing personality types like that. Cleo from 5 to 7 breaks through for me though. The evolution of Cleo’s character is based so much on real experiences that I find it to be such a truthful story, with layers of weighty symbolism.

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The Timid Cleo and the Bold Daises

Through the Nineteen-sixties feminist movements could be seen sprouting all across the globe. The art, music, and filmmaking alike from these periods captured and spread these feminist ideals. Agnes Varda in France and Vera Chytilová in Czechoslovakia were women film directors who made films with women’s issues in mind. Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7 is a slow, plot driven drama that follows, as David Cook puts it, “the life of a young pop singer who is waiting for a lab report that will tell her whether she has cancer” (Cook 370). Vera Chytilová ’s Daises appears to be a plot-less comedy headed by an anarchic female duo. Both films were made in patriarchal societies and appear to take place in them. The two films explore how their women protagonists deal with being seen as objects of beauty in these male dominated worlds. Cleo struggles with finding her self-worth outside of her superficiality and feels like maintaining her beauty is tied to that self-worth. Marie I and Marie II in Daises inversely have no questions about their self-worth and use their objectivity to their advantage. The Maries thus have less evolving to do in comparison to Cleo who’s journey it is to detach her pride from her beauty.

Cleo wallows in fear as she awaits the results of her biopsy. Everyone she would consider “close” to her, like her assistant, her boyfriend, and her pianist seem uninterested in her troubles or are unwilling to give her a comforting ear. That is until Cleo meets up with her old friend from art school, Dorothee. After a stressful day Cleo heads to the sculpting studio where Dorothee works as a nude model. As Cleo walks into the studio the camera appears to give us a first person shot from Cleo’s perspective. It’s a slow, apprehensive moving shot into the room where the sculpting is happening, giving us the feeling that Cleo is uncomfortable with what’s happening. Then we see Dorothee posing naked still in the middle of the class and she meets eyes with Cleo. She does not appear embarrassed in the slightest, on the contrary she is excited to see her friend. Cleo waits for Dorothee to finish her shift and get changed so they can walk out together. We learn as they talk that Cleo was in fact uncomfortable in the studio as she tells Dorothee that she would be “afraid people would find a fault” if that was her. Dorothee responds with one of the most profound quotes of the film and one that seems to stick with Cleo. Dorothee says “my body makes me happy, not proud” meaning that she can be happy about the way she looks without having her self-esteem or pride being affected by it. Through the first half of the film Cleo had been overtly concerned about her disease possibly affecting her appearance. This is exemplified by her constantly checking in mirrors to see if she is still pretty. It appears that to Cleo her beauty and fame are all she is good for. She sees herself through the patriarchal lens. For example, Cleo’s never present boyfriend shows up to her apartment for a quick chat in which he avoids the topic of her sickness and extols upon her beauty for five minutes until he leaves. Also, a few minutes later Bob, her pianist shows up and jokes about how he’s attracted to her because of her money. The possibility of a cancer diagnosis forces Cleo to start thinking the way Dorothee thinks. Allison Smith writes about Cleo’s cancer that “Her knowledge of its existence therefore obliges her to see herself differently, to take account of her own awareness” (Smith 97). This focus on the world outside of herself helps her find someone who actually cares about her and not just her good looks. That person is the soldier Antoine. Even though he finds her beautiful that is not the only aspect of Cleo that he is invested in. He cares about her health; the only other character in the film besides her longtime friend Dorothee that truly worries about her diagnosis. Cleo ultimately finds solace in the fact that she has made a real, non-superficial relationship with another human being. The protagonists in Daises also are involved in superficial relations, yet they do not perceive them as negative the way Cleo does.

The two young woman named Marie who headline the film Daises have no qualms about being objectified. Like Cleo, everywhere they go, they capture the gaze of men. The Maries are comfortable within themselves enough to use their beauty as a tool for their own benefit. From the outset of the film the girls exclaim that they intend to spoil themselves, so using men for free dinners and then dropping them like used napkins afterwards naturally follows. One such occurrence happens in a scene where the red headed Marie is over at the apartment of some butterfly collecting pianist. The man creepily exclaims his love to her through a poem while Marie poses nude for him. He calls her Julie, giving us the impression that Marie gave him a false name, just like the Maries do with all the men they meet. Handing out false names shows the lack of commitment and respect they have for the men they toy with. Once Marie starts to put her bra back on, the pianist gets angry and says, “I wish you’d never come into my life!” Marie knows exactly how to play him though and the next thing he sees is Marie holding two framed butterflies over her exposed chest. The man completely reverts back to exclaiming his love for “Julie”. Marie uses this opportunity to ask for the one thing that the Maries always want, food. Women overeating is just one of the patriarchal taboos that Daises flips on its head.

The characters of this film go against the traditional patriarchal ideals of what women should be. Women are used to having their beauty be used against them and for the pleasure of men, but in Vera Chytilová ’s film the Maries use their beauty against men and for the pleasure of themselves. Traditionally women also have been forced into the submissive role in society, where they have to keep themselves composed and presentable constantly. To the Maries that is not even a thought that crosses their minds. They do not adhere to being the submissive ones, in fact they control the dialogue and direction of every interaction with men in the film. Laurel Harris seems to agree with me when he writes “…the Maries’ hysterical excess is a calculated response to inadequate roles in their society for individuals of their age and gender” (Harris 4). The duo also does not worry about seeming composed or mannerly when scoffing down pastries and appetizers in crowded restaurants. In antiquated gender roles women are made to watch how much they eat so they can maintain their figure, but at dinner with one of their suckers, one Marie asks the man “Are you on a diet?” I agree with Peter Hames assessment of Daises’ conception when he writes “Since women have been excluded from productive behavior, they have turned to art and play” (Hames 87). Hames is saying that Vera Chytilová ’s film is a reaction to woman being controlled for far too long. Whether Chytilová set out to make a feminist film or not the end result for Daises is a film that does not judge its non-conformist female characters.

Cleo from 5 to 7 is more explicitly set in a male run society. Agnes Varda created a character in Cleo that starts off fully invested in that societal structure. Her happiness is tied up into her superficial being, but because of the cancer she is forced to take account of what truly is meaningful in her life. She starts to crave caring relationships with people who recognize her for more than just being a pretty pop star. Cleo finds the power within herself to break out of the caged existence of women in a male dominated society. Cleo at one point in the film rips off her wig and gives away her fashionable hat; two symbols of conventional female beauty. Cleo from 5 to 7 and Daises both represent women’s lives in these feministic ways.

The two women filmmakers Agnes Varda and Vera Chytilová end up making similar films in that they have themes of women empowerment. Yet, the way in which its illustrated in each film is drastically different. Chytilová’s Daises wastes no time in showing the viewer that women can be unapologetic anarchists. There is no preconception of womanhood that the Maries have to fight to overcome. They just are empowered women. Cleo from 5 to 7 shows the evolution that a particular woman has to make to escape from seeing herself as just an object. These films helped inspire a generation of women in not conforming to typical patriarchal standards.

Works Cited

Cook, David A. “Chapter 13.” A History of Narrative Film. W.W. Norton, 2016.

Hames, Peter. “The Golden Sixties: The Czechoslovak New Wave revisited.” Studies in

Eastern European Cinema, 2013.

Harris, Laurel. “Czech New Wave Cinema: The Children of Marx and Kafka.” PopMatters, PopMatters, 30 Mar. 2002.

Smith, Alison. “Agnes Varda.” Manchester and New York, Manchester University Press, 1998.

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mimik-u · 4 years

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“Change Your Mind” Re-watch:

I’ve been dealing with this feeling on and off ever since I started “Diamond Days” earlier this week, but dang, I’m a little sad that I’ve reached the end of the show again. Of course, I’m excited to visit the movie again and see Future for the first time (!!!), but this episode above all really marks the end of an era. But things end and things change.

That’s the thesis of this episode anyway. And really, the nature of this beautiful show. :’)

Steven’s dream sequence is so haunting, both in terms of it explicitly showing us how Blue Diamond is currently recapitulating the very same cycles which pushed Pink away by showing us such a similar flashback from the past, but also by dredging up the horror of Pink’s memories. The idea that Steven’s gem still has access to some of his mother’s memories is used to its most visceral effect here, in which we get a nightmare heightened lens of how miserable she was, and often times, scared.

When the Diamonds stretched out their grieving hands through the cosmos and towards the world their youngest member loved, how did Rose feel to at once get a confirmation that she had been loved? Loved so powerfully that the Diamonds would try to destroy an entire planet to exact their revenge, and yet, at the same time, loved so terribly that they would never think twice about doing so, or that it took this for them to ever show it?

“This... isn’t normal. How many times did you lock her in here? How many times did you make her cry?” / “I didn’t... I... And I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” God, this exchange always undoes me. Not only is it Steven calling Blue out, but in a way, it’s him standing up for his mother, realizing what misery the Diamonds put her through and putting a name on it for Blue to recognize, contend with, and finally, accept. Blue tries to defend herself at first, but then, in the end, can’t. Because there’s no defense. There’s no excuse. And to horribly mangle a quote from Legend of Korra, by reaching that lowest point, Blue Diamond finally becomes open to the possibility of change.

It’s always so evocative to me that she collapses next to the tower window that’s at her eye level. Never explicitly stated, I think it really is implied here that Yellow and Blue have seen their fair share of this tower before, too, their trespasses of decorum excised out of them by White. In return, they tried to do the same to Pink. Cycles and cycles and cycles.

Gsleidjsneioeis, it never fails to make me laugh that Yellow is just sitting in the darkness, straddling her throne, waiting for Blue. Emo ass. I love her.

The Diamonds both look so shocked when Blue slaps Yellow’s hand away, as though neither of them can fathom, process, and believe what just happened. And yet, really, this is the climax to the schism between them that we’ve known since “That Will Be All.” They love each other—they loved Pink—but they have differed, fundamentally, on how to grapple with the pain of loving someone and losing her and existing from then on.

“When we thought Pink was shattered, when she abandoned us, I alone was there for you, and you would use your power against ME?” GO OFF, PATTI LUPONE EIEOSJSA. But this line gets me, too. Jesus. Yellow loves Blue so much.

“Didn’t we hurt Pink? She was suffering in silence for ages, just like our gems, just like me. And I know you’re suffering in silence, too.” HHHHHHH, AND THIS LINE. I think it’s significant because it’s Blue making a move we’ve rarely seen from her before—empathy. Her whole complex is that she’s been so lost in her own emotions that she forces them on everyone else, but here she does something monumental; not only does she acknowledge her own pain, but she uses it to recognize that others have been hurting, too. She and Yellow hurt Pink. (She makes herself and Yellow the agents of the action, therefore not evading the blame.) And so many of their gems have been hurt, too. Yellow has been hurting.

In her vulnerable expression that follows, it’s clear to the audience that Yellow knows her fellow Diamond’s words to be true, but she’s not ready to accept their veracity, to look inwards at the heart of her own misery. Also, help. I’m only 9 minutes into the episode.

“Does this look perfect to you?” And Yellow’s anger is stopped in its tracks. She looks immediately to Blue, literally smoking on the ground from the force of her attack. A fragment of palace crumbles emptily away. And this is the crux of the Homeworld Empire. It demands every gem, from the Diamonds downward, to sacrifice in the name of of perfection. But they’ve placed too much of an emphasis on appearance, numbers, quantity, and power, never interrogating the consequences that pursuing these ‘impressive’ entities bring: misery, hopelessness, despair.

“Stop... stop it, Blue. Stop using your power on me.” / “I’m not.” Hhhhhhhhh, I’m tender. And then, when Blue Diamond sweeps over to hold Yellow’s head?????? This is what being a Bellow Diamond fan is all about, okay rieososossnjaaj.

“You’ve made a grave mistake. Go to your rooms!” / “Uh, which rooms should we go to?” GJKHDFVHJNJJ. But yeah, White has definitely used the tower on Blue and Yellow b4.

Bismuuuuth, Lapis, Peri!!! God, I love Lapis’s outfit so much.

“Yellow and I will keep White distracted.” / Just go! Go! Hurry! She’s getting up!” Blue and Yellow know that in making this choice, they’ll face severe consequences, but still initially make the choice anyway.

And yet, Steven doesn’t let them make that choice. He doesn’t run away. Because he and this show fundamentally believe that change is effected through communication.

I still have thirty minutes of this episode left to go oskeodjsnsnsk, but now I need to symbolically talk about the Diamond mecha. It’s very on point that White’s ship can’t function if the other parts aren’t cooperating!!

The Diamonds finally expressing their vulnerabilities to the blankly staring ship is just so sad. They’re finally doing the emotional work that they’ve been neglecting for thousands upon thousands of years, and they’re almost literally meeting a wall.

“We Diamonds might be hard, but we’re also brittle.” / “I know my purpose isn’t to be happy.” Hhhhhhhhhh, these lines. The rigidity of the Diamond Authority has forced Yellow and Blue to become hard, to be unhappy. They, like all their gems, are suffering beneath the strain. Starting from the way it literally drains a planet of resources, this empire was never sustainable.

Cries bc the Diamonds are holding hands, AND THEN CRIES BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN VIOLENTLY AND PAINFULLY PUPPETEERED.

THE FUSING MONTAGE!!! EKSSKSJ, I love how when he goes to fuse with Pearl, he does a few ballerina moves. AND I LOVE HOW 2.0 IS UNREPENTANTLY BRITISH. IT’S SO FJNNY AND RIGHT.

“AH! Steven, we fused!” She’s so happy!!!!!!!!!! Hhhh!!!!!

“I’m here. I love you.” Steven says this before fusing with Garnet, and there’s nothing else that could have ever been so fitting for a fusion who prides herself on being here and being made, so beautifully and entirely, of love.

Sunstone always looks and sounds like they’re two seconds away from breaking the 4th wall on a Sunny D commercial from the 1990s, and that’s amazing.

OBSIDIAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN. Everything about them is FUCKING EPIC. (Also, if you haven’t listened to the S5 soundtrack yet, you need to go listen to Obsidian’s track without background noises!!!!!!! It’s so motivating! I listen to it when I’m studying sometimes!)

I’m still soft about Bismuth giving Connie her own sword. Let them b sword buddies 2k20.

BIG FYCKING LAVA SWORD!!!!

The animation on this episode is absolutely insane. God, the Crewniverse did so good.

“Poor Yellow. Her impurities absorb all the blue in her light. She’s so strong, but so weak when it comes to Blue.” 😭😭😭 What do you mean I’m still emotional over the fact that Yellow Diamond’s one perceived weakness is Blue? Hahahaha.

“Ah, and Blue. Her impurities soak up all the warmth in her spectrum. She thinks she needs you, Pink.” 😭😭😭 She needs Pink to be warm.

“But you’re a part of me, the part I always have to repress.” White doesn’t yet realize it, but this is actually her revealing her own flaw. Not only does she repress her love for Pink, but she represses her own sense of pinkness, too. So cerebral and so detached, she’s allowed herself to exist for these past 6,000+ years in the gaping maw without Pink as a being who has subjugated the entirety of her emotional expression. Just as Blue and Yellow are equals and opposites, so too, were Pink and White.

“Insecure, dependent, obsessed.” God. Another thing about White Diamond’s powers in relation to Pink is that White has the capacity to know a gem’s thoughts once she possesses them, whereas Pink was able to relate and empathize with their emotions. And indeed, that’s how Steven came to know and help the Gems’ problems over the course of the entirety of this show—through empathy, relation, compassion, and understandings, concepts so foreign to White Diamond. Simply alien.

POV: You’re Connie Maheswaran, and you have to fight a possessed bastardization of the Gem who once lovingly taught you everything you know about how to wield a sword.

White Diamond so simply and so precisely plucking Steven’s gem out of his stomach is the single most terrifying visual on this show. Jfc.

“SHE’S GONE.” The animus of the Pink Diamond gem prmordially screams the truth that White Diamond refuses to accept. Pink is gone. There’s no undoing death. There’s no separation from gem and body. There is only, just as there has always been for fourteen years, Steven.

He is not, and never will he ever be, his mother.

Oh, my God. This show.

And just as White Diamond parting Steven from his gem is the scariest moment in the show, Steven reuniting with him is the most transcendent. He laughs. He hugs himself. He dances. Because Steven Universe is entirely his own being.

And he loves himself. That is the crucial part. That is the beginning and the end and the resolution. Oh, my GOD. This show.

“I am a child. What’s your excuse?” KWIDIDOSJSKSKSISOSMA, GET HER.

Steven walking over to comfort Pink Pearl, even though he doesn’t know her, even though the only iteration he has seen of her has been her lobotomized version—forbidding and detached—is so tender.

WISOSJSJS, I know this is emotionally deep and indicative of just how ingrained their psychological complexes are that they don’t know how to deal with vulnerable expressions of emotion, but White, Yellow, and Blue being so dramatic about White blushing is honestly hilarious.

Sadie singing “Let Me Drive My Van into Your Heart” is so good, but what’s even better is that two second shot of Greg blushing listening to his song being sung. ;-;

Oh! Oh! And Barb is in the audience! Character development! Growth!

“No more hiding! No more running! No more Diamond Authority!” KWOWOEJDKDOSJSJSISSJSJ.

Lion padding up to Lars in a silent recognition that they’re the same ;-;-;-;

I think Sadie and Lars reuniting with such drastically different appearances and mindsets is simply just one of the coolest ways this show has come full circle. This show’s about everyone changing. Look at these two. Look at where they started, and now, where they’ve begun again.

Genuinely crying at the last few shots of the show again. Oh, my GOD. The pure, unmitigated joy. Nephrite and Steven. Bismuth and Biggs. Garnet and Pearl. Jasper and Amethyst. The Diamonds.

This show really is about love and forgiveness and healing, y’all. 😭😭😭😭

AND THEN THEY COMPLETE THE SHOT FROM THE INTRO. I AM UNWELL. IT’S 8AM.

This show, in every sense of the word, is a miracle.

Thank you, Crewniverse for this comet of epic proportions.

#steven universe #blue diamond #yellow diamond #bellow diamond #white diamond #pink diamond #garnet #Pearl #amethyst #connie maheswaran #s: steven universe #mimiku #long post #I am EMOTIONAL

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moviegroovies · 3 years

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confession time: for someone who (semi) actively runs a movie blog, i really haven’t seen a lot of classic movies.

(i know this comes as a shock for those of y’all who have been subjected to nothing but my half-baked thoughtpieces on bad 80′s horror for the past couple of years, but bear with me.)

to be honest, even this review doesn’t REALLY represent me making an active choice to remedy that so much as it does me pulling a long con where i endear myself to marilyn monroe by watching her movies to get myself excited to watch the miniseries blonde (2001), for abnormally pretty, young jensen ackles purposes*, but let’s not dwell on all that. the practical result is the same; i watched some like it hot (1959). now, i hope y’all are ready for a few some like it Thoughts™:

first, idk how much attention y’all have been paying to the loose bits of personal lore i occasionally scatter within my reviews, but one thing about myself that i feel i’ve been pretty open about is the fact that i’m trans. this being so, and knowing not a whole lot about the movie beyond the very basic premise “1959 extended man in a dress gag,” i can’t say i went in with the highest of expectations. imagine my surprise, then, when the gender aspect of this movie was... actually pretty good? i mean, full disclosure, it’s not exactly gender studies, but it’s passable! it’s tolerable! there were even a few moments where i felt inclined to say the words “oh, GENDER?” out loud!

perhaps most impressively, i’d say the Cis Creator Cringe Factor of some like it hot was actually impressively LOWER than a lot of modern moves with genderswapping premises tend to be. like, i know that one definite explanation for that would be the fact that trans experiences are more widespread today, so modern filmmakers don’t feel comfortable playing with ideas like this without at least giving lipservice to them, while the era that bore some like it hot didn’t face the same “pressure,” but, okay. listen. compared to another movie i watched recently--freaky (2020), in which a teenage girl swaps bodies with serial killer vince vaugn, featuring one incredibly anvilicious scene where, upon being informed by a gay boy that she’s in the men’s bathroom, the girl’s best friend retorts, “she [vince vaugn]’s got a dick in her hand, and you’re wearing chanel no. 5. i think we’re past labels.”--some like it hot, a movie older than my father, was wayyyy easier to watch**. actually, you know what? yeah. listen to me. cis content creators? movie producers? i’m talking to you. DON’T EVEN BRING GENDER (or gender “identities”... which is an incredibly gross term, anyway) UP IF YOU’RE NOT PLANNING TO DO SOMETHING WITH IT. sincerely, this particular bad taste corner of the trans community :).

...anyway.

some like it hot, by contrast, did it right. YES, the premise of the movie was two presumably cis men in disguise as women. i’ll put that in the open. however, there was a certain... i don’t know if “respect” is the right word, but there was an avoidance, at least, of the usual predatory tropes. in fact, the worst behavior by far from either main character comes when joe manages to take off his female disguise, donning another, male persona and using things that sugar (marilyn’s character) confided in “josephine” to create a nonthreatening, desirable “millionaire” in order to trick her into sex. okay, like i said, it’s not gender studies, but, the humor in some like it hot comes from generally the right place. joe and jerry don their female disguises in a matter that in quite literally life and death for them (and it’s more than the creators ever thought of, i’m sure, but there IS an interesting analysis to be had of them needing to pass to live), which to a degree removes the usual pitfalls of male to female crossdressing as a gag; they’re neither doing it for lecherous reasons, nor to parody the female experience. this being a comedy, there is a degree of humor found in the situation, but it’s directed at jerry and joe, the characters, more than their disguises. the general assumption is that they both pass without question, as long as they’re wearing their ladies’ clothes; jerry once comments that he’s “not even pretty,” but it’s never an issue to contend with.

wrt the crossdressing, the worst moment for me, personally, was a scene on the train when jerry prepared to take off the disguise in order to sleep with sugar, and even this ends up comedically averted at jerry’s expense.

and speaking of jerry.

jerry is actually the most compelling part of the movie for me, especially viewing it through the lens of gender. while joe, who gets the girl and manages to spend large chunks of the latter part of the film in his second, male disguise, never thinks too much about what they’re doing beyond the survival aspect of it, jerry is the one who, erm, “gets into character.” joe’s female name is simply josephine; before they get on the train with the woman musicians, it’s assumed that jerry will be going by “geraldine.” however, when they give their introductions, the duo becomes josephine... and daphne.

as the movie progresses, this distinction grows more pronounced; when joe has to remind a smitten jerry on the train that he’s a girl, referring to their disguises, jerry miserably repeats the affirmation: “i’m a girl. i’m a girl. i want to die. i’m a girl.” later on, however, as joe’s relationship with sugar develops, “daphne” becomes acquainted with local horndog millionaire osgood, who he at first dislikes, but comes around to after being forced on a date as part of joe’s plan to trick sugar. after seeing jerry excited by the prospect of marrying osgood, a bewildered joe has to remind jerry why it’s an impossibility, and in the same miserable tone as before, jerry/daphne muddles through a new affirmation, one that definitely didn’t ring false to my trans ears: “i’m a boy. i’m a boy. i want to die. i’m a boy.”

hm. actually, now i’m thinking about a trans male reading of joe. he was the one at first resistant to taking the job (with the all-female band), when they only needed money, and not a place to hide from an upset mob boss, but also the one who seems to know more about the role when it comes time to get into character. while jerrydaphne gets increasingly comfortable with femininity as time passes, joe never performs it in anything but a perfunctory, necessary way, and sloughs the costume EVEN WHEN the danger of being found out has not yet passed, because pretending for such a long period of time is just untenable. something about passing for female being a safe haven and a burden for both closeted (re-closeted, in this case) trans men and out trans women?

anyway. by the end, though both osgood and sugar do find out the truth about the disguises, sugar seems to instantly forgive joe for his treacherousness (again, referring more to his actions as the shell millionaire than his escapade in drag), while osgood appears unbothered by daphne’s truth, leading to an ambiguous ending for the futures of the characters, and any realizations that might come later.

no, it’s not the “real transgender experience.” it (thankfully) never claims to be. BUT, being trans myself, there were some moments that made me feel linked to our protagonists, and relatively few, if any, that made me feel alienated. all in all, that’s a lot more than i hoped for going in, so that’s what i’m happy with.

watch some like it hot, y’all. it’s a good movie in a timeless way, and, as modern movies appealing to short-lived trends that will feel outdated next week (if not by the very time of their release) will show you, that’s more than it needed to be.

*since my original draft of this post, i DID watch blonde, and i don’t know if that’s technically fair game for this blog (not exactly a movie) or what, but 6/10. fairly well done piece of art but just BEATINGLY tragic, so proceed with caution. jensen ackles literally is THAT PRETTY though, so the jackles cut i give a strong 11/10. i am a homosexual. **i would like to clarify that this isn’t me telling you not to watch freaky. yes, some of the dialogue is tragically riverdaleian, but there’s also a scene where vince vaugn makes out with a teenage boy. so,

#some like it hot #text post #freaky (2020)#link #jerry/daphne #joe #transgender

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springfieldblues · 4 years

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my long ass review for S32E03 Now Museum, Now You Don’t

warning: LONG because i rambled about history more than i thought i would

id been looking forward to this one because i like art history, especially after seeing how they tried their best to stick to historical accuracy in the previous episode I, Carumbus. this time however….they didnt try that hard. i dont know why i thought theyd go through that sort of trouble again LMAO

but its okay, i dont really expect the simpsons to be the paragon of historical accuracy or anything. especially in anthology episodes told through a particular character's lens (in this case, lisa, whos already feverish so whatever)

first i just wanna say that this is, i guess, less of a review and more of an accidental list of history fun facts. so im just gonna get my general thoughts out of the way first.

the episode was fun! to me at least haha. i mean it got me to think and do a lot of research on my own so that must count for something. besides a couple of really weird ones, the jokes were good. anthology episodes tend to be….not that good but i thought this one was one of the better ones so far. idk.

anyway on to lisanardo da vinky its the renaissance! jesus christ the italian accents in the beginning of this segment were annoying as hell but i also feel like that was the joke lmao. ill be real i kind of tuned out for a second there when grampa started rambling so idk what he said.

i told myself i wouldnt get nitpicky with historical accuracy if the jokes were funny (final edit: so that was a lie) but this meh bit with the pizza guys and mascots was really not worth ignoring the fact that its impossible for italy to have any tomato-based food in the 15th century (tomatoes were brought to europe from the americas in the 16th century, and pizza as we know it today—flatbread, cheese, tomato—originated in the late 18th century)

oh this next part was kind of legit tho. lisanardo, like the real leonardo, became andrea del verrochio's apprentice at his workshop. i loved this next bit:

"Whoever paints the sweetest cherub will have the honor of having MY name signed on their work. That's what great artists do!"

SO YEAH as it turns out, lisanardo painted the sweetest cherubs. the painting here is called The Baptism of Christ, and the real leonardo assisted verrochio in finishing it. specifically, he painted the cherubs in the corner.

this causes verrochio to quit and go someplace with less talented people: a music school (yes, verrochio did quit painting after getting owned by young leo and his mad angel painting skills. he never did anything with music tho, he was more of a sculptor)

alongside lisanardo, in mr largo-verrochio's workshop we have barticelli (botticelli bart), dolphatello (donatello dolph), ralphael (raphael...ralph) and mediocrito (no one that i know of. sorry milhouse) (and kearney i guess but they dont refer to him by name). botticelli and donatello are said to have also been apprentices at verrochio's workshop, but raphael came a couple of decades later so he couldnt have been there. and donatello was too old so that claim is a bit questionable. but anyway

it IS true that leonardo's peers envied him, to the point where he was anonymously and purposefully accused of being gay (a major crime punishable by death in 15th century florence) while he was still working at verrochio's workshop

we are then treated by what im pretty sure is the fourth time the show has used 'at seventeen' by janis ian, this time sung by a dejected lisanardo (man they really do keep making yeardley sing these days huh) who only wishes to be appreciated and not envied.

"I'll show them all! I'll show them all in a secret diary that no one will decipher for 400 years!"

some of lisanardo's future inventions. who wouldve known

so after barticelli, for some reason (revenge??? or something?? what was his plan here idgi) steals lisanardo's diaries full of blueprints of her inventions and takes them to mr burns who i have to assume is pope alexander VI here, they decide to use her inventions for war.

"With these, we can kill the most evil people in the world!! ....Slightly different Christians."

leo actually did this of his own accord. im surprised this is what they decided to do with lisanardo instead of talking about leo's love of nature and vegetarianism (not a single mention of that in this episode? come on...) then again, trying to do good only to end up indirectly making things worse is a very standard lisa storyline. i guess they didnt want to miss the chance to have evil pope burns (very fitting, especially for that era since they were all about money and controlling the people)

so lisanardo decides to leave for france, unlike the real leonardo who was more or less persuaded by his ultimate fanboy king francis I to move to france.

"Lisanardo, I have many questions. Why are you hitting yourself? A nerd says 'what'? And how is it possible that I am rubber and you are glue? Et cetera, et cetera."

that line may seem a little random, like hes just nelson saying nelson things (and i mean, obviously he is) but the real francis also "had an unquenchable thirst for learning, and Leonardo was the world’s best source of experimental knowledge. He could teach the king about almost any subject there was to know, from how the eye works to why the moon shines." so yeah, he did have many questions and lisanardo, finally being appreciated for her intellect, was happy to answer them all. its very interesting how lisa assigned this role to nelson in her retelling of da vinci’s life :^)

and so she lived the rest of her days in france, nat king cole's 'mona lisa' plays because duh, and they make a da vinci code reference because duh. and the segment ends. and not a single time did they show the actual mona lisa painting. the fuck?

(ngl i was fully expecting bart to say 'leonardo da vinky' for a second here)

so this next segment is about french impressionist painters, most likely the batignolles group, a name adopted by the early representatives of impressionism. its much more vague than the lisanardo segment since no one here is referred to by name (except moe, more on him in a sec) but i dont feel like it really matters in this case. bart is prrrrooobably claude monet but its hard to say, this segment is kind of a mish-mash of a lot of things. also i gotta say i really liked how lisa introduced the story to bart with an 'if you hate the formal study of art' and not 'if you hate art' because thats exactly my headcanon. i LOVE the concept of artist bart and whenever its referenced it just makes perfect sense to me.

anyway the segment opens in 1863 at the école des beaux-arts (back then it was actually known as the académie des beaux-arts), preserver of traditional french art styles. skinner reviews his students’ paintings one by one. praises the plain, unimaginative paintings depicting your typical european countryside landscapes. very run-of-the-mill (haha get it...cuz theres….a windmill) (although the real académie didnt approve of such basic stuff, they wanted artists to draw epic historical and mythological scenes) then he gets to barts painting and he gives him an F- because the painting made him think.

(the paintings in this scene arent real famous paintings as far as i know but they are inspired by real paintings enough to get the point across)

in comes barney dressed as bacchus as a model for the students to sketch, which i just loved:

barney: “You prefer robe open or robe off?” skinner: “Just cover your privates with this walnut shell.” barney: “Whoa!!! So roomy!”

skinner gasps in horror at bart’s sketch, which “looks nothing like him” and bart explains that “it shouldn’t; we’re making the art that we feel because we can’t compete with a camera.” damn, you go bart. take that, realism. draw what you feel!!

(also no, you didnt need to hold still for 17 hours for a daguerreotype. 30 min tops.)

nelson haw-haw of the week: FOIE-gras!

so here they are at the moulin rouge (“enjoy it before baz luhrmann ruins it” hey shut up. i love that movie), which wouldnt be built for another 26 years, but it is the most widely known gathering place for bohemians in the public consciousness so i can understand why they went with the moulin. nelson delivers this anachronistic line:

“This époque keeps getting beller and beller!”

which alludes to la belle époque, the golden age of france usually dated from 1880 to 1914. made me snort so ill let that slide

and heres moe! as henri de toulouse-lautrec, who was actually born a year after the year this segment is set in. yo moe szyslak he was just 1

toulouse-moetrec introduces himself as the chronicler of the demimonde (not an actual job). an iconic figure associated with the moulin rouge (largely due to his affinity for alcohol and prostitutes), toulouse-lautrec was also a painter, having illustrated a series of posters for the moulin himself. he simply had to be in this segment, anachronisms be damned, just because they decided to include the moulin. cant have one without the other.

and yes he did have a walking cane where he kept his liquor.

i love how everyone drinks absinthe in this place. theyre bohemians what else would they drink

toulouse-moetrec points out that barts paintings are the greatest thing hes ever seen (and hes seen like five things!) and that hes a genius. milhouse realizes that they should stop doing what the teacher says and use their own minds to instead...start doing what bart says lmao. to the easels!

next we have skinner hyping up chalmers about the art his students made for the salon de paris, an art exhibition that the emperor of france will attend. he assures him that none of these paintings will encourage debate, provoke thought or be out of place at a dentist’s office. when they unveil the art, theyre both SHOCKED at how scandalous the paintings actually are.

this reaction was kind of accurate. impressionism was severely rejected at the salon de paris, due to paintings not looking finished enough to them, they thought they were ugly and vulgar for depicting nudity in a contemporary setting (historical and mythological nudity was fine). these impressionist paintings were sent to the salon de refusés, which is. yeah. the place where they sent the rejects. the salon de refusés does not make an appearance but this scene makes a reference to it when the artists get expelled from the royal salon. also:

“What about our student loans?” “Oh they’ll be refunded. We are not barbarians, I mean, come on.”

(god if only)

so the painters are down because they want the emperor to actually see their paintings. toulouse-moetrec pipes in once again with an idea.

“There is one thing the emperor loves more than anything.” “France?” “No, he hates France.”

apparently the emperor really loves cheese, which makes sense since its napoleon III (who loved cheese) and homer (who loves cheese.) so the painters roll into the salon inside a giant wheel of cheese (obviously.) as lenny said, “Eh, you know French cheese. Very runny.” napoleon III chases after the wheel into a room, where the wheel falls apart after getting chomped on by the emperor. now that they got his attention, the painters proudly show the emperor their impressionist art, which he couldnt be more indifferent about because he just wants to eat his cheese dammit, and he awards them with the royal medallion just to kind of get them out of his way. skinner immediately starts kissing ass (as he does) until marge’s like ‘hey wait a minute. you expelled these students from the royal salon’ and an executioner immediately starts ominously measuring skinners neck.

“Uh, sir...is your tongue sticking out because you’re dead or because you’re mad at me?”

and thats the end of that lmao (gore in this episode, gore in the last episode, and next week we’re getting gore too cuz its THOH, what the hell is goin on)

we get a short intermission with maggie, who wants a story for her too! lisa tells her that renaissance artists loved to put babies in their paintings, especially baby angels.

here she is showing her The Triumph Of Galatea by raphael:

King David Playing The Harp by peter paul reubens:

and a very simplified version of pretty much any depiction of hell by hyeronimus bosch lmao:

not much else to say about this one, really. but i really liked that sky!

the last segment is about frida kahlo and diego rivera. or as bart puts it ‘the one about a fat guy whos wife is too good for him.’ i was REALLY looking forward to this one because i love frida and i thought itd be a cool opportunity for animators to go bonkers and do really cool shit with her art as inspiration…..but the segment is not about frida, its about diego and his selling out to capitalism. and its also yet another story with homer and marge drama. no funky cool animation here. sigh i guess i’ll take it

the story begins in 1929 at la casa azul, frida’s home (now museum dedicated to her life and work.) frida and diego are getting married. this courtyard definitely did not look this way yet back in 1929. also theres something very cringy yet funny about lovejoy saying spanish words the way he does, i honestly cant decide how i feel about that one

the writers know theyre being cringy with their gringoness so they go along with it.

moe: “Spanish for ‘best wishes’!” mel: “Spanish for ‘congratulations’!” bumblebee man: “Spanish for ‘muy bueno’!”

OH YEAH BUMBLEBEE MAN this is his new voice actor, eric lopez! hes not mexican but its still great to finally have a latino actor voicing a latino character and hes very excited to be part of the show so i hope to hear more of him!! im rooting for him

el barto/zorro makes an appearance which i am very confused about. he has jack shit to do with frida and diego and mexico in the 20s-30s. el zorro was set in the spanish california of the early 19th century. their use of the original theme song makes me think they just wanted to flex their disney privileges tbh

lets not talk about that that whole scene was bad

anyway diego announces he and frida are going to new york, without even asking her first. frida is obviously pissed.

“Don’t worry, as a woman, you’ll be treated with much more respect in America.”

so in new york, diego is having a bit of a business meeting with mr burns as one of the members of the rockefellers, who is commissioning him to draw a mural for the rockefeller center. its kinda funny how he refers to him and frida as socialists even though they were very much communists lmao its okay you can say it. ok so far, but then frida says ‘yes, we hate the capitalists! right now, a young socialist is being born who will take them down! mr. bernie sanders. i hope hes quick about it’ and that was a simple enough joke and couldve been left at that but then its immediately followed by this weird as fuck family guy-esque cutaway gag to bernie as a baby:

“Getting a cootie shot should not cost your lunch money. And if you don’t listen to me, listen to the Bernie Babies! What? Everybody’s got goons.” *larger babies start beating up this other baby* “I disavow that, and welcome it.”

this confused me so much that i had to ask one of my american friends to help me understand, but even she was like ‘uhhh yeah thats a weird joke,’ especially now that hes been out of the race for months (then again these episodes take almost a year to produce. i guess they couldnt be bothered to replace it with something more relevant.) whatever that was weird and confusing and unfunny moving on

frida is pretty irked that diego is going through with this deal. after all, it goes against everything they believe in. im not sure how the real frida felt about diego doing the mural, but she did feel a bit of rage during her visit to the united states, especially the obvious disparity between rich and poor. she hated having to interact with capitalists and found americans very boring. in this segment, frida seems to be acting more like the american communist party, which diego got kicked out of for accepting commissions from wealthy patrons. in any case, frida is pretty upset about this whole thing.

and finally we get the first and only kind of surreal frida moment. kinda. maybe. its more cartoonish than anything but im desperate ok

interesting how they felt like they had to add a “don’t smoke” in big letters after showing patty and selma flying away on their giant cigarettes. i wonder if this is something theyre making them do now? i remember hearing something about them toning down patty and selma’s smoking

diego comes home to frida, drunk as hell, followed by the marx brothers. i cant believe they didnt make a marxism joke come on it was RIGHT THERE. THE MARX BROTHERS. KARL MARX. COME ON

frida paints her feelings.

this makes diego realize that frida is a genius and he is not half the artist she is. he proclaims he will now show his awe of her by sleeping with other women, starting “an hour ago.” to which frida replies, “and i will start sleeping with other women, starting two hours ago.” yes this was pretty much their relationship. though im just wondering how the hell did diego not know frida was this kind of artist until now? i know homers an idiot but jeez. art was how frida and diego met, diego knew from the get-go that frida was an incredible artist. i guess the fame got to his head or something. again, homer just being stupid.

“well enough already, while the art is still deco, okay?”

its time for the mural diego painted, Man At The Crossroads, to be unveiled:

rockefeller examines it. good and great so far, and then...uh oh

“Who’s that fellow…? With the beard, and the bolshevik smile…” “That’s the founder of Soviet Russia, Lenin!”

“B-b-but he’s a communist!” “Oh he just attended a couple of meetings.”

rockefeller will not have this communist in the temple to capitalism that is the rockefeller center, so he orders diego to paint over it. diego stands his ground and refuses. despite rockefeller’s threats, diego says that theres only one person he wants to be proud of him no matter what and in true homer & marge fashion, frida is touched by this. they happily leave the rockefeller center.

now, the real story of Man At The Crossroads and the rockefeller center was actually not that different. as soon as the rockefellers found out diego had snuck in a portrait of lenin into the mural, they ordered him to paint over it, to which he refused. diego even offered to include abraham lincoln and even american abolitionists in the mural as a compromise, but the rockefellers simply did not want any references to communism whatsoever. they did not complain about the hammer and sickle, though. yes, they did know diego was a communist and hired him anyway. what did they expect? lmao. diego said:

"Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity."

so they decided to destroy the mural before it was even finished and they never talked to each other again.

diego then repainted the mural at the palacio de bellas artes back in mexico, this time known as Man, Controller of the Universe. this new version included even more communist leaders and a depiction of john d. rockefeller jr. drinking at a nightclub, right underneath a depiction of syphilis bacteria. cue nelson haw-haw:

this was the version they used in the episode also, since the original was, well, never finished and also destroyed. only a black and white photograph of it exists, taken by diego before it was destroyed so he could remake it.

right so, homer!diego then pulls a Barthood and finishes the episode with a large mural summarizing the entire episode. he says some rick and morty thing i didnt get because i dont watch the show idk idc

the end

ALRIGHT NOW ITS TIME FOR THE STORY OF VINCENT VAN MOE

#if you read all of this bless you #the imageless gdocs version of this is 8 pages long #hope you...enjoy?!?! these art history fun facts?!?!#dont let me do something like this again but also let me know if i should do something like this again #i was really only motivated to do this because im already passionate about the subject so idk if i could do it otherwise #anyway. this took me all day yesterday because the power kept going out #but im finally done #bye

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rendezvousrenjun · 4 years

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party 4-2 | l.jeno

↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you and jeno have to pretend to date at a party, the only problem is that both of you have suppressed feelings for one another and can’t seem to admit it.

fluff + angst | 5.5k words | beware! cussing, suggestive themes, mentions of cheating and drinking :(

(a/n: happy jeno day! this was originally a request with : fake dating + #5,6,&12, but i got quite carried away! Italic dialogue indicates flashback. hope you enjoy <3)

Jeno’s grip around the leather steering wheel tightened like the knot that built at the pit of his stomach. On his wrist was a watch that seemed to tick too slow, or too fast-- he really didn’t know. He did know that he was parked in front of your apartment complex. And before he was parked in front of your home, he had cleaned up the front seats so that there was enough space for you to move your feet around or place your bag down. He wasn’t necessarily messy, but in front of you he was always a klutz.

He shifts around, checking his car mirrors and pressing the light on and off, pretending he was Batman sending a signal, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m glad we were both hired, huh Jeno?” You had been sitting at the metal break room table, already dressed in your denim apron and matching hat. Tapping your foot excitedly, eyebrows raised at him as he got ready himself for your first shift together. He was tying up the loose ends of his apron behind him, smiling at you softly. “Turn around.” You got up to help him, impatiently excited to work at your new job as a barista.

You gingerly took the denim around his waist, making sure you were gentle as you tied it in a secure knot.

He vividly recollects how he had to look away from you, scared of his flushed ears making an appearance. It was a small gesture, but despite being friends with you for so long, every little thing you did made him fall for you even more.

That was your first job. The both of you experienced it together. And now Jeno and you were going to attend your first college party together too.

Seeing your shadow peeking around the corner he was aware of your presence. It retreats in hesitation in and out of view, until it makes a clear decision to approach him. He counts in his head the number of steps you take until you’ve arrived in front of him. On the outside he’s composed, calm, refined but on the inside-- well. Don’t worry about it.

“Yes??”

At the time, he was studying (more of using his phone to play a game) at the student library, which you knew you could find him at. He knew that you could find him here too.

You swivel a seat from the side, dragging it to place it beside him. He closes the book he mindlessly pretended to be reading slowly, as if to absorb whatever context it may have had.

“So Mark invited me to this party…” you start, mind zoning out slightly when Jeno’s gaze meets yours and you take notice of the eyelash under his glasses’ lens, “wait you have an eyelash.”

He closes his eyes and let's you sweep it off his cheek before continuing, “so Mark’s party… what about it?”

“Well,” the warmth of your fingertip leaves his face and he has to pretend like his heart isn't irregularly beating because of you, “you know I haven't been to like an actual, you know, party and I always hear crazy stories about getting your drink spiked and whatnot and I don't know if I wanna go alone, you catch my drift?”

“Mmm I kind of catch your drift, but also-- so you don't want to go to Mark's party anymore?”

“Not necessarily! I do want to go, it's just I don't want to go alone. I think it would be safer to go with someone.”

“Why don't you ask Ryujin to go with you? Then you guys could even get ready together, isn't that fun?”

“That does sound fun… but..”

“But what?”

You press your lips together, “I think I would feel safer going with you, I don't know.”

“All you had to do was ask directly bro.” He rolls his eyes at you jokingly, putting his stuff back into his backpack.

He knew you must've been excited. It was Mark who had asked you after all. And Mark Lee’s place was the designated party house known on campuses that weren’t even yours.

So why was he anxious now? It’s just a party. A party where you two go together. It's not like you two were dating.

He presses a button to turn the radio on, trying to zone out instead.

The knock on his passenger seat window brings him out of his internal monologue. He unlocks the door. When you enter, so does the intoxicating smell of your perfume.

“Jeno!!” you climb into the seat next to him, double checking if the door is locked.

He lowers the volume a bit and turns the keys, moving his head to look at you. His heart twinges a bit at the sight of you. He wants to tell you you’re gorgeous, but he swallows his words before they could surpass his lips.

“y/n!!” he says instead, “are you excited!?” To which you respond back by shaking your head vigorously. “Okay, let’s have fun.”

He starts up the car and glances at you again. “Wait y/n seat-belt.”

“Oh yea,” you pull on the strap a bit recklessly which causes it to jam, “just a second” you retract it back and try to pull it again but it stops, “this seat-belt is playing with me let me try it this again--” Jeno sighs and unbuckles his own. You look over to him as he reaches over your shoulder, causing your head to look up at an angle so he could fix it for you. The close proximity makes your stomach uneasy and you could feel the tips of his strands of hair light brush over your neck. When you hear the click, you face Jeno again, a smile creeping up your face out of nerves. He smiles back at you before finding his place back to the steering wheel.

Funnily enough he’s less nervous now that you are actually with him, comfortable to be in your company. The night sky was a clear blue-black, like a large obsidian stone glazed over your heads. There was a thrill that came with being in Jeno’s roughed up car, memories upon memories laying in here. You roll the window down a bit to catch the light evening breeze, closing your eyes to feel it against your skin.

“What if I do this move on the dance floor?” you open your eyes and start shaking your head vigorously, not matching with the rhythm of the song playing, your hands make micro-movements as if you were doing the robot, “don’t you think I’ll charm everyone there?”

Jeno glances at you quick, his eyebrow perched a little higher in expectancy to see something graceful but instead he bursts out laughing, choking a bit at the sight of you, “you’re going to get us into an accident with those possessed moves I-” he continues to laugh, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to concentrate on the road, “that’s something Donghyuck would do.”

“You’re right my neck is getting sore,” you wrap your hand around it, “oh talking about Donghyuck, did you hear his story about that time he jumped off the roof at one of Mark’s parties?”

“No way Donghyuck doesn’t have the balls to do that-”

“Hey it was a Mark party, anything can happen. But I doubt it’s true.”

“Yea…” Jeno makes a right turn, “his bones would’ve been broken the next day in class, a little suspicious that he came in fine in my opinion. But then again, didn’t Hendery break Mark’s light fixture in the living room? Mark posted it on his story that one time remember?”

“That’s so wild dude… I hope nothing bad happens.”

“Same, I’m getting drained just thinking about it.”

“But you know what? This is good! We should just experience a party like this at least once in our prime time aye Jeno?” You nudge him lightly on his thigh earning a “mmm” back.

Jeno changes the music station, forgetting he has an aux cord. Mark’s house in the hills is still miles away, numerous drugstores and fast food restaurants passing your car swiftly.

“Wait Jeno can I put this emergency sandwich in your car compartment?” The two of you are nearing a red light.

“Your what now?” he glances at you during the stop to find you already opening it up, “oh gosh please dont forget it like the emergency cookies or the emergency juice box.”

You shut the compartment, squishing down the bread so it fit. “But you still ate them didn’t you!? Like after five months when you were starving for a snack so they did have a purpose in the end!”

You turn your head back to him and the bright light turns green, placing an ethereal glow upon you. He subconsciously begins to smile.

“Okay you have a point, you have a point.”

You two are able to hear the house before you can even see it. You honestly believed parties like the ones Mark Lee hosts only existed in the movies. But they seem to also exist in the two-story rented house he and his roommate Yuta often rented for occasions like these. You always wondered how he learned such a skill, but that’s a secret he’ll never tell.

As Jeno rolls up the hill’s parking lot, steering with the both of his palms in order to parallel park between the abundance of cars and others attending, the villa’s full picture comes into view. The house is decorated with out-of-style Christmas lights and is painted an awful bright green color, the grass on the front lawn artificial with fake red and purple plants poking out wherever people didn’t step. Such a huge estate turned into a fun house could only be the doing of its occupants and host.

Once parked, Jeno clambers outside to open the door for you. “Do you need me to help you with your seatbelt again?”

“Damn Jeno, what a fine gentleman like you are, they don’t make em like you anymore.” you joke with him, laughing at his unamused face. He slams the car door back on you, the sound of you laughing muffling out as he starts walking to the entrance slowly.

“Hey!” he smiles to himself hearing your shoes clank with the cement to catch up to him. He turns his head to look back and your hand runs through his hair aggressively, messing up the overall shape molded from the gel. He sticks his tongue at you and enlarges his nostrils in false annoyance, not bothering to fix himself up anymore.

The huge wooden doors are already wide open, red solo cups littered amongst the sides of it and a welcome mat that says “kool kids only” beneath your feet. You guys walk in and already there's a certain mood established within the vicinity. As if the world around you has been thrown into a slow motion montage of every party scene in coming-of-age movies. The light fixture has since been replaced to a disco ball, the walls splattering with neon lights which your eyes had to adjust to after a while. Jeno pats your arm and points out the huge stereo system against the broken window that allowed some air to be pushed in amongst all the sweaty bodies. People were already resting their arms against the staircase railings, despite it only being nine o’clock. The glitter and extravagance of it all was fresh and unlike any other party you have attended.

You make sure not to lose sight of Jeno as you guys move closer to the crowd. “Where do you think Mark is?”

“Probably in the bathroom!” the music and people talking start to drown out your voices. Jeno starts to push through the crowd in order to get to the kitchen or dining room, struggling to not get stuck in between. You use your elbows as a way to distance yourself from people who are getting too close to your liking, but before you know it Jeno is no longer in arm’s reach.

“Jeno!” you shimmy through the bodies making you a bit uncomfortable with how many people have already touched you while passing. He turns back to wait for you and when you finally make your way beside him he lightly lays his hand on your waist.

“Hey be careful where you’re going.” He doesn’t let go of you until you’ve cleared through the main hall.

There’s an entire spread of food on the counters. How does anyone afford this much food? The takeout trays are layed out with serving spoons and paper plates have been carelessly placed in one corner, whereas the actual utensils are in the other. If there was one thing Jeno and you have heard about Mark’s parties aside from the crazy shit that goes down, it would be the food.

Seeing it finally in front of you, the both of you let out a small gasp in sync. Huge smiles making their way to your lips. Jeno is already grabbing you two plates.

“Did you bring the ziplocs?” he hands you your plate while you two make your way to the first tray.

“It’s like you read my mind.” You reveal the ziploc bags in your handbag with a grin of confirmation. He holds them open for you as you begin to pour in the dry snacks first. “We’re like partners in crime right now.”

He wishes you were partners in general.

“Well, well, well looks like you two are ripping me off! I caught you red handed!” Mark grabs a chip from the tray, cutting in between you and Jeno. “The look on your faces is priceless! Like you’ve been caught red-handed!” Mark starts going into a giggling frenzy indicating he’s a little tipsy. That and the smell off his clothes. “Aren’t my parties the best??” He points over to the bowl in the center, “have you tried the punch? Wait a second--”

His facial expression changes, scanning you both up and down as if he was playing a game of spot the difference. He points at the both of you repeatedly as the two of you stand there dumbfounded at what connection he made.

“You” he points at Jeno, “and you” he points at you squinting his eyes hard, “why didn’t you tell me you guys are dating?”

Now he’s done it. Mark released the bomb that you and Jeno have not been able to discuss. The two of you flare up in red, ready to argue and instantly defend that that’s not what’s going on. Well, you were ready. Until both you and Jeno see your ex heading over your direction.

Jung Wooyoung.

Jeno will forever remember your ex boyfriend. The three of you had been good friends before you got together. He introduced you two, unknowing of what was going to happen amongst you guys. It was on a Monday night, where the coffee shop wasn’t as busy and that night both of your shifts had matched up.

Wooyoung had pushed open the glass door instead of pulling it, yelling “Jeno!! That door was playing with my feelings!!” as soon as he entered. But Jeno wasn’t at the cash register. It was you.

Wooyoung had heard about you of course. You were the cute girl who Jeno always talked about. He had seen your pictures with him on Instagram, but he didn’t know you were this beautiful in real life.

“I’m gonna ask y/n out.” He had told Jeno after a couple weeks of the three of you hanging out more frequently. “It’s not like you like her right? You only told me you thought she was cute.”

Jeno didn’t know how to respond at that time. He didn’t want to ruin anything for the two of you. But he was sure Wooyoung already knew how he felt. How he has felt for you for a long time.

“You don’t need to tell me, she’s her own person. She can make whatever decision she wants.”

Jeno remembered Wooyoung asking you out in front of everyone in that damn cafe. He remembered how bashful you got and how you had to cover your face in embarrassment. He tried getting over you then. No matter how much you two tried to include him when hanging out it always ended with him going home first.

But then the fights came. He didn’t know if it was because you weren’t what Wooyoung totally pictured in his head, or if the two of you just weren’t as compatible as you thought.

Safe to say, the break up was not pretty.

You were late to your shift that day. Jeno had checked his watch a couple times within the hour. When you finally entered, you came in silence, not sparing him a glance, eyes glued to the floor all the way to the back.

And he remembers. He remembers keeping an eye on how you were doing. You were desperately trying to tie your apron around your waist, but he could hear you sniffing despite your back facing him. He went back to making drinks, usually minding his own business when it came to your personal problems within your relationship with Wooyoung. But while making a drink he heard you crash to the floor and immediately checked the back to see you sobbing on the floor. Your apron never got tied. Your knees seemed as if they were being hammered down bit by bit, your body collapsing within itself. Your sobbing made his own heart breaking into pieces at the sight of yours being torn apart.

He places his arms around your back, embracing you in a way where he didn’t see your face. He crouches so that he resembles a blanket wrapped around you. “What happened?” His voice is scared to speak.

“Wooyoung” your voice is jagged and choked up, “h-he was in bed.” the more you wail, the more Jeno squeezes your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat pressed against you to calm you down. “With someone else--”

Jeno couldn’t believe it. Wooyoung couldn’t do that. He refused to believe his good friend could ever cheat. How shitty, vile, disgusting. He can’t believe it. Not his Wooyoung.

Jeno doesn’t know that Wooyoung chased after you and saw you two on the floor. He observed the two of you holding each other. He snickered to himself, unbelieving. The answer was always in front of him all along. He left without a word or appearance.

It hadn’t registered within your head that Wooyoung was within ten feet of you two again.

“Well?” Mark’s voice raises in excitement, eyeing the two of you. You eye Jeno, searching his face for some sort of response, not knowing what to do in this moment. You’re stuck.

Jeno finally looks down at your face, frozen and afraid of confrontation. Wooyoung is getting closer to the three of you. Fuck it. Jeno wraps his arm around your shoulder, causing you to defrost under his touch. “Sorry we didn’t tell you Mark.” Jeno smiles at him stiffly, then you wrap your arm around his waist.

“Yes.” You say in strong confirmation. Wooyoung is now in ear-shot. “Jeno and I are together.” The word “together” falls out of your mouth effortlessly and proud. Wooyoung stops walking towards you guys. He stands around the corner diagonal to you and pretends to be absorbed in the punch Mark was talking about earlier.

“Wow! Finally! I knew you guys were going to end up together eventually, I was hoping Jeno would eventually let you know how he feels.” Mark pats Jeno’s shoulder, the expression like a proud father, “well Ima go, see you lovebirds around.”

Jeno starts to free you from his tender grip, but you keep his waist glued to you. He gets the message and moves in front of you and grabs the counter behind you so that Wooyoung is unable to see you from his back. Under his gaze the blush runs from your face to places unseen. After saying something as bold as that things are never going to be the same. After hearing what Mark said, every moment has become unrelentingly uneasy, but in a flustering, butterfly-inducing type of way. You stammer as you bring yourself close to Jeno’s ear, holding the nape of his neck to whisper, “thank you Jeno.”

His hot breath runs chills down your shoulders, “of course.”

“Is it okay if we pretend we’re together for the rest of the night? Play it safe?”

Jeno takes a deep breath, you can tell he’s reluctant at first, before he breathes out in what resembles a soft sigh, “deal. Just make sure you remember to take back your emergency sandwich by tonight.”

Your laughter flourishes up into Jeno’s ear, your head moving back to your prior position. You lightly push his shoulder that doesn’t budge as he continues to adore you and silently laugh with you.

Wooyoung walks away from the scene.

You end up pushing Jeno’s shoulders so that he could lead the way. The two of you navigate a couch lodged in a corner in one of the living spaces upstairs. It was less chaotic than downstairs, but the couch still had oddly suspicious stains all over it, and people were still getting wasted. You plop him down onto the couch first, holding his shoulders, until he takes ahold of your forearm to take you down with him.

Hours are spent talking about anything and everything, your head finding its way on Jeno’s shoulder as he takes out his phone to show you a game he started to play recently. When you talked, the bottom of your jaw tickled but he didn’t ask you to remove it. You press your nose into his shirt, your voice muffled, “do you smell that?”

“Smell what? The alcohol?”

“Yea, everyone is getting wasted, the smell is really pungent.”

“Do you want to drink? I’m going to be driving so you can if you want.”

“I want to, but you know I shouldn’t, and you shouldn’t be letting me because remember last time I tried to and then..gosh.”

“Ohhh yea the banana--” you clamp his mouth shut with your palm and raise your hand to look at him seriously.

“That’s enough of that Lee Jeno.”

He playfully protrudes his lips out so that he kisses the inside of your palm, making you retract it in surprise. He just laughs at you trying to wipe it off on his pants instead of your own. You look at him, an expression that is supposed to show how annoyed you are supposedly being there (spoiler: you just looked funny to him).

After catching his breath from laughing at you he slips, “Man, I didn’t drink but why do I feel so drunk on you?”

Realizing what he had said, suddenly both of you are silent, awkwardly glancing around the room fighting off the feelings that have been slowly seeping out bit by bit throughout the night.

“Maybe I do need a drink” you mutter under your breath, fanning yourself. He takes the hand that you’re using to fan yourself, your palms now sweaty from the skin contact.

“y/n, do you want to dance with me?”

And on that note, the two of you clumsily made your way downstairs.

Jeno thought he would always be the second lead in your life. The one who never gets the girl no matter how much he likes her. But the thing was, he was fine with being your friend. He thought he could probably go his whole life without needing to be with you romantically because he cared more about you as a person in general. Whatever made you happy made him happy. But what if he made you happy? What would he do then?

Now that the two of you were busting it down on the dance floor, gracefully or not, he realized that tonight this was just a party for the two of you. A party for two. You take his hand and twirl him around in circles and he starts swaying his hips to the beat.

“Dammmnnnnn” you start hyping him up, “get intoooo itttt!”

He’s so embarrassed but he’s enjoying himself, the humidity making you guys sweat and hair stick up in weird places. The two of you dance hip to hip, up grooving side to side with one another until you’re molded into one.

He ends up holding you close to him, taking you by surprise. You giggle, not knowing what he was doing but his voice is low, “he’s coming.”

Your body stops moving. Reliving the devastation you had once felt without any closure. Jeno keeps you faced the opposite direction, safe in his arms. But you had enough. You were sick of hiding. It was time to get into control. You softly break away from Jeno and turn around to face Wooyoung for yourself.

He’s the same.

“y/n. Jeno. what a surprise, you guys know Mark too?”

“Yea we do.” Jeno smiles at him, but you could tell it wasn’t sincere.

“How long has it been since we were all in the same room, huh?” Wooyoung keeps looking at the two of you. It made you mad for some reason. As if he was piercing remarks and judgements through his eyes.

“I don’t really want to talk to you Wooyoung.” Wow. You haven’t said that name in so long.

“Ohhh I see what’s going on here” he gets closer to Jeno, the music starts swelling and the air has become unbelievably stuffy, “how’s my old friend Jeno?” he puts a hand on his shoulder and Jeno shrugs it off.

Wooyoung smirks to the side, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He looks Jeno dead in the eyes glaring at him, “I fucking knew it. How you two were just gonna start seeing each other after I leave the picture, took a year or two but you did it Jeno,” he scoffs, “I knew something was up with you two since the beginning, I shouldn't have even asked. Look where the fuck you guys are now.”

Jeno holds your hand to gently guide you behind him as Wooyoung inches closer to both of your faces. Wooyoung snickers again.

“What are you?” he asks Jeno, his eyebrows knitted and face uncomfortably close to him. He pushes Jeno’s shoulder, “what are you?” he pushes Jeno’s shoulder with more force. Jeno does not budge, you squeeze his palm to remind him to stay calm. By now a crowd has formed at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice. “I said, what are you?”

You grab Wooyoung’s shoulder and press it firmly to the point it might have left a mark, “hey, enough.” He pushes your hand off of him like a lifeless bug. He laughs at you mockingly.

“hEY, enOUgH,” he imitates your voice, “shut up you fucking whore.”

You don’t know what comes quicker, the word “whore” or Jeno socking Wooyoung’s face as it leaves his mouth. After Wooyoung’s on the floor, Jeno straddles him in order to fight him off. Wooyoung is the one who undercuts him this time, his knuckles cracking in the process. Jeno’s face is smoosed by Wooyoung’s other hand, making his nose start to bleed. Jeno hastily grabs the collar of Wooyoung’s shirt and lifts him to face him, about to throw another punch.

“Jeno get off the floor. He’s not worth my time or yours.”

Jeno’s fist shakes violently close to Wooyoung’s head for a couple more seconds before dropping it to get up and go to you.

“I don’t need you, Wooyoung. I never did. I never will. Maybe learn how to respect yourself first before letting yourself go like this. Jeno, let’s go.”

You grab ahold of Jeno’s hand and start walking out to the parking lot, but before you do, you turn on your heel just to flip him off one last time. It’s what your past self deserved.

The moment you walk out and chilling night air hits your lungs, your body heaves and you release Jeno’s hand in order to place both of yours on your thighs. Your breath is shaky and you’re absolutely terrified, hot tears raining down your cheeks into every crevice. Jeno starts rubbing circles into the small of your back to comfort you, “I’m so proud of you.” His voice is like a warm blanket wrapped around you, soothing you like a cup of tea. He escorts you to the car after your tears come to a halt. On the car ride home, he had given you a spare shirt he had in the backseat you could wipe your tears and blow your nose in. He puts on music so that you aren’t embarrassed about it. The car ride home is always faster than the first one. Before you knew it, he was already parked in front of your apartment. He takes off his seatbelt so he could face you fully.

“Do you feel better?” you could hear the concern delicately laced in his voice.

“Why are you asking me?? How about you?? Are you okay?” you start hyperventilating, “man you shouldn't have gotten hurt!” You’re about to start crying again, gosh you were such a mess.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay.” He comes closer to you and tucks a strand of hair stuck to the dried tears on your face behind your ear. It calms you down.

“Come inside Jeno, let me help you put ointment on the scratches.”

Jeno has always been beautiful. Even when your ex-boyfriend smashed his face he was beautiful. But you’ve always treasured how beautiful he was on the inside the most. It was too scary to lose someone like him. Maybe that’s why you always fought back how you felt. But holding back how you felt wasn’t easy when he was in your bathroom and you were touching his face sweetly wiping the cuts and applying cat bandaids. “Are you okay.” you would weakly ask more as a reassurance that he was, indeed, okay and going to be okay rather than a question. He wished you took care of him like this forever. Made him come inside more. Let him hold your hand more.

He always knew deep down that he was, and is, and probably will always be, so in love with you.

Parting ways after the night was over was extremely difficult for some reason. He shakes your hand as you begin to close the door, not letting go and allowing your fingertips to slide off each other before finally parting.

“Goodnight Jeno, drive safe.”

“Goodnight y/n, sleep safe.”

The door closes and you’re left cold and in the darkness staring at it as if it was Jeno. Your mind runs, but not as fast as your heart thinking about him and everything about him and what you two have been through over the years. Your hand is on the handle of your door now, certain he had already left. You're about to open it again, but loud knocks stream in onto the door, pounding into your eardrums. You swing it open with no hesitation.

Jeno stands before you, his hair still messy, his jacket off from getting too hot at the villa, the cat band aids still fresh. His lips are parted and it seems like he’s as out of breath as you are. He’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and it makes your composure crumble.

“H-hey.” you finally make out.

“Hey.”

“I-i- forgot my emergency sandwich! that's why i opened the door-”

“I just want to see you.”

His words scatter around your skin and into your insides, encompassing you. You take a moment to process this.

“I came back because I want to see you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him really tight, catching him off guard for a bit until he reciprocates the hug ten fold. “You make me smile until my cheeks hurt. I want to see you by my side too.”

He pulls away for a second, “really?” you shake your head yes, “really? Are you being serious?”

“Yes! I am being serious! Why would I lie!?”

And if you were going to lie, Jeno presses his lips gently onto your smile before you could even try to. When he pulls away both of you stand in awe, the feeling too surreal. You pull him back in by the nape of his neck, intensely, as if to make sure this wasn’t just a dream. Your feet find themselves back tracking into the house, his shoes being kicked off as he closes the door behind you.

Safe to say, you had a party for two on your own.

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