#(so part of the happy ending on this one is the movie getting scrapped)

[marypsue]

Because I am literally never not thinking about weird meta, blurring lines between reality and narrative, and the whole concept of actors becoming their characters, I am now entertaining thoughts of a Shadow of the Vampire-style story wherein a late-2010s-style all-female The Lost Boys remake gets derailed when the lead actress suddenly starts not showing up to shooting because she's sleeping all day...

[stardancerluv]

A Space Journey

Part One of ???

Summary: Introduction to Tyler and his girl.

Notes/Warnings: I saw Alien Romulus and fell very hard for Tyler. 😍 Wanted to give him a story. Might be a bit of an AU in bits giving him a backstory and fuller future..probably write leading up to the movie & such. 😬Hope I do him justice. 😬Also first time writing scifi..and writing in a future of any kind…so 😬 hope I did good.

18 & over. Consensual sex between and man and woman. Angst. (It wrote itself..a bit long!

❤️s, reblogs, comments, & feedback always welcome! Enjoy

The elevator whispered its way up from the depths of the mine to the top level. Some stared blindly ahead or in front of them, you chose some indiscernible place, not really seeing it. Your imagination conjured up happier moments from the past.

Behind you in one of the shadowy corners, the yellow bird in the cage chirped and fluttered its wings. Happy to be out of those large caverns. It was a good day. No leaving work prematurely. You would get your full credits for the day.

Stepping, out of the elevator you saw your boots were caked with the usual soot and mud. A cold, heavy rain dropped from the heavy clouds. It was not long before the rain seeped under the many layers of your clothes.

Tiredness, wore you down as you walked. Your body ached. You knew there were liberal smudges on your face, your hair was matted and oily under the hood you pulled more around your face.

You had not taken a decent shower in a few days since you knew you’d be pulling extra shifts back to back and since your boyfriend was off world till the end of the week. You just rolled in and out of bed and went and returned from work.

With all the soot flying around you squinted and paused when you saw the red neon sign, Bar. You pressed your lips together. You could go for a cold one, but you knew how rough the crowd could be at times. Without Tyler by your side you really didn’t want to venture in.

You decided to keep on going, pulling your hood tighter around you, wishing you could hide completely. A grumble gurgled from your stomach as it twisted in hunger. You would stop at the mess hall and grab some food before turning in at your sleep bunk.

Before, you realized what was happening you were tugged harshly into one of the nearby alleyways. Fear shot through you. You immediately started fighting. It was a regular occurrence people would get beat up, mugged or worse. People lost it out here on the mining planets, at least that was what your parents had always said.

“Shh, shhh. It’s easier when you don’t fight.” The voice whispered, as one hand had already slipped under the top layers of your clothes and now crept across your torso.

Only a thin, very worn scrap of fabric laid between you and the hand. Your hunger turned to nausea as you could feel the warmth from it. It was all you needed to fight even harder. You finally managed to stomp down on one of their feet.

“Oooooouch!” The voice called out and instantly let you go.

You turned around, your heart beating harder since you knew the voice.

“Tyler!” You scream and slapped his arm.

A large smile spread across his handsome face before he howled with laughter. Easily, he pulled you close and this time you wrapped your arms around him. Happily, you pressed yourself even closer against him.

“My strong, feisty girl.” He said breathless against the top of your head.

Easily, you forgot the wind or the rain pelting the two of you.

“You weren’t supposed be back for three days.” You managed to mumble out against his heavy clothes. Your body beginning to relax knowing you were now safe.

“We did good. Found more then expected and came back.”

You blinked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes.” He nodded, he was so soft and warm. “Let me take you home.”

*******

He took your hand as you walked up the steep steps into the hauler he shared with the others. You couldn’t help but notice no one was there.

“Bjorn and Navarro, left in a blink to get their drink and dance on. And Kay barely told me she was going out, when I heard the door shut.”

Leaning against the wall, you were relieved to be out of the soot cloaked air. You pulled and tugged, till you were free of your heavy boots. Once in your heavy socks, you were relieved the boots had kept your socks dry.

“Can’t blame them these last three weeks had felt long despite coming home a week early. I’m sure.”

You said with a fleeting smile. After you pulled off your gloves, you began working on the buttons of your heavy coat. Seeing, two of the buttons had been undone by him you glanced at him.

He winked. “What? I missed the feel of my girl.” You didn’t know how he could look cocky and sheepish at once but he did.

His cheekiness always made your heart flutter. In the few books, you managed to get your hands you figured you shared that with the girls of the past long gone.

“To be fair, I scrubbed up as fast as I could and headed out to find you.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Was going to check at the mine and the sleeping bunks.”

His mouth twisted at the last bit. You went over and gently tugged on his shirt. “I only do it when you’re not around, I’m cautious.”

“That’s what worries me.” He looked down at you and smiled, softly.

You could swim and lose yourself in his dark eyes, as the two of you looked unwavering at each other. No words were needed as the emotions welled up at his return. You swallowed. There was always chance he’d crash during reentry. Heck could during take off too, but Navarro was a pretty good pilot so you didn’t worry too much about take off.

He rubbed your arms. “Why don’t you go and wash up and I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Alright. Just don’t burn it this time.”

“Don’t invite me into the shower cubicle and I won’t.”

“I did that didn’t I?”

He smirked. “You certainly did.”

“Alright. Maybe this time I will behave myself.” You giggled.

******

The water from the shower head fell on you with a good pressure. Since Tyler and the others were known as pretty scavengers the company allowed them some nicer things. Water pressure and rations were among them.

You stood there not worried that the warm water would run out too fast. You just let it melt the cold from the mine and outside that remained in you. The water around your feet obscured with the soot that had clung to you, your hair.

Stretching, you sighed as the crisp scent of his soap comforted you. Turning the knobs, you finally stepped from the shower onto the rough mat which had become a welcome feel under foot as opposed to the cold tile in mass shower rooms.

You smiled, seeing that Tyler had hung up a fresh shirt and the pair of cotton pants, you usually stole when you stayed there. They had shrank in one of the laundry services so they fit you better. Seeing the bundle of yours gone, you knew he must have taken them to put into cleaning cycle.

After slipping on the fresh clothes you reached up and grabbed his towel, it was still faintly wet from his using it earlier. The thought made you smile as you rubbed your hair with it.

*******

You gently slumped against Tyler’s side. Reaching, you placed your fork with a clank on the plate in front of you, only some cornbread crumbs remained.

“You did it. You made a half way decent meal which you didn’t burn.” You said with a half smile on your face.

“Well, I got to do good by my girl.”

******

His sheets were softer, his pillows fuller and they smelled liked him. His bed, softer then the bunks easily gave under the weight of the two of you.

He was partially on you, your arms around him. His hair soft, as your fingers entwined in the inky strands. Your lips had met and not wanted to part. They were much softer now, then a few month intervals after discovering that softening ointment. It beat away the chapping the wind whipping at your faces did and made the kisses all the more enjoyable. They were far sweeter then any candy you could save up for with your credits.

Pausing, as you felt his hand slipping under the hem shirt you wore; you excitedly letting your fingers leave the softness of his hair pulled up on the shirt and more of yourself was revealed to him. You happily tossed it without worry. His room was always clean and fresh, once he had peaked into his cousin’s room and they couldn’t be anymore opposite.

It puzzled you that Navarro could even tolerate it. But then again the two of you were also very different.

You were soft compared to his toned torso. It excited you and made you feel safe. You had seen him handle himself more then one time at the Bar. Whether defending your honor, his sisters or some stupid fight by the tempers flairing.

Opening, yourself you did so with a warmth and love that you would never allow the company steal away from you.

His lips, grazed your cheeks as he drew close to ear to whisper soft words only spoke between the two of you. Never to be shared.

“Are you well, is now a good time?” You could practically feel his heart thudding in his chest.

You nodded.

The first time or at least the aftermath of it had been right on the cusp of your cycle. Your excitement of him reciprocating your feelings and sharing first touches, kisses had stolen your body’s cues to its soon arrival. When the two of you had awoken the next day, worry had clouded your mind, believing it had ruined any chance of continuing things. But he had been kind, warm not just the cheeky guy who had made your heart squeeze with a wink or a smirk.

“I could barely focus these last three weeks, all I could think about was this. I needed to fuck, my sweet girl, remind her who I am after being off world for so long.”

The contrast to his sweet nature and razor sharp lust, made you moan and make your desire sharpen for him.

“I’m all yours.”

A soft moan broke from your lips and his, as he entered you. You arched against him, you had craved him as well. It had been hard to not answer any of the wanton calls from your body in his absence. Together you found your rhythms and moved. Your breathless moans became louder, sharper the closer you drew to cumming hard under him. You always felt so wonderfully wilted liked the dried flowers people once would keep in those books you had read from that had spoken of love and dreams.

Clutching him hard, your fingers gently pulling on his soft strands you arched against him once again. Your body tightening with pleasure he was giving you. Before you could hold it; it all shattered into moon dust. You softened and wilted under him. He was and would only be the only one to ever make you feel like this.

You met his hungry kisses, whimpering at the well placed love bites, he loved leaving. You felt how his body tightened above you. His deep, pleasure filled moan that filled the small room, you knew he had felt what you had. You relished making him feel just as good. His breath hot as he panted, a soft peppering of kisses as he rested his forehead against yours.

*******

“Hey! Where are you going?”

You had thought you could safely grab your discarded shirt from earlier and curl back up to his side before he even noticed. But that wasn’t the case.

One of his strong arms wrapped around you and held you tightly against him. You turned easily in it to face him. “Was just grabbing my shirt. I had taken a small chill.”

“You’ve got me.” And soon he pulled the blanket and himself closer around you. You were enveloped by him, almost completely.

You pretended to think about it. “This is so much better.”

“It had better be.” And he gave you a quick kiss.

The rain streaked down his window. The brightness of the fluorescent lights that lined the roads of the colony were muted from where he was.

“How long do I have you this time?” You whispered after a few beats of your heart.

“Long enough.”

You wanted to reply with the snappy answer that it never was but you learned this, right now was long enough. Every moment the two of you were together was.

A commotion, peels of laughter and a door slamming shut; drifted through his closed door.

“They’re home.”

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Hey, hey you’re here lady. Missed you! We need to catch up and have some girl talk in the morning!”

“If she’s awake.” Tyler called back.

“Hey! I wasn’t talking to you.”

You giggled against his chest. “Sure! Sounds like a plan.” You finally called back.

“Great.” She called, her voice further away and then you could hear the one creak in the floor that you knew meant she was now by her own room.

“Here we go.” Tyler whispered.

As the exaggerated laughter came closer flowed by a thud as either Bjorn or Navarro bumped his door, by tipsy accident or deliberate. When they had a few drinks one could never be sure.

“Tyler, now you better be treating that girl of yours in there right. No funny business.”

“Hey, hey now.”

There was a smack and a similar oww, must run in the family you mused.

“He used to be a brute my cousin. He had to learn to be nice and charming.”

“He was always charming and nice to me.” You spoke up.

“Good.” His cousin replied.

“See she confirms. He’s been good to her.”

“Do I give him a gold star then?”

“Come on, let them have some peace. I want to get out of these high boots.”

“Now, I like hearing that.”

And there was only muted muffled sounds, if at all.

“Now that the circus passed.”

You giggled and shook your head. “You love them.”

“I do. I do.” He stretched, but still kept an arm around you. He gave your hip a squeeze.

“So you used to be a brut huh?”

“Yes, but you changed things.” He winked.

[slowd1ving]

ACT IV: DECAY ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･

Scene I: Ink . 　⁺

It all starts again on a very dull morning. Staccato beats of the rain on the rickety windows of Ramshackle provide background music for Vil to drink his smoothie to. Except that’s not the only miserable music. His ears are assaulted by the conversation you’re currently having with Jamil, Rook and Ace. Does Grim count when he’s technically the other pea in your miserable pod?

“All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to make a movie series that long,” you argue. Whose movies are you referring to? Vil wishes he was paying attention earlier. “Like what have you got to say for that many movies?”

“Trickster, some people are just dedicated to the pursuit of their passion,” Rook intercedes, leaning his head on his hands to gaze at you more efficiently.

“The Fast and Furious franchise has no reason to be that long,” you lament, frustration creeping into your tone. Vil’s never heard of that movie series. He doesn’t think he wants to know what it is.

“Rook, there’s like nine sequels, and the last one especially does not make any sense,” Vil takes back his earlier thoughts. This seems to be a conversation between you and Rook, in which Ace and Jamil are unenthusiastic spectators. “There’s nothing less beautiful than plot holes.”

“Anyways,” you continue in the same breath, all hints of sadness gone. Vil’s not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Do you guys feel ready for the SDC tomorrow? Your routine is really impressive.”

“My bones hurt so much,” Ace groans from behind his food. “I’ve never felt so pulverised.”

“We will win,” Jamil promises you, fiddling with his spoon on the table. You give them both a cheerful thumbs up while eating - for once, you’ve got scraps of decorum.

“I will put on my most beautiful performance knowing you’re watching, mon cher,” Rook clasps your hand between his gloved ones. Sure, Rook’s probably just being himself, but Vil can’t help the trickle of unease that he feels.

“I don’t doubt it,” you respond with a grin. “Those RSA twerps won’t know what hit them. Although, I’ve had a really weird set of dream-”

“Spudling,” Vil clears his throat to get your attention. You turn to face him, still wearing your jubilant grin. His heart almost stops. It takes all he can to not fumble while taking the lanyard out of his blazer pocket. “Keep this lanyard safe so you can come backstage as the NRC Tribe Manager.”

“Cool,” you take it one handed, still allowing Rook to clasp your other hand. Why does Vil care so much? He tries desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Thanks!”

“We’ll go over the routine and iron out any wrinkles in around twenty minutes,” Vil continues, meeting the eyes of each cast member. He’ll just have to ignore whatever he’s feeling until after the SDC. “Make sure the rest of the potatoes are up and ready to go.”

The tell-tale signs of nervousness creep into Vil’s being after he exits the room. He has to beat Neige. No longer will he be cast aside to play the villain. The world will see what he’s got to offer.

“Mira mira, tell me who, at this moment, is the fairest of them all?” Vil speaks slowly and quietly to his phone as he makes his way to his room to get some items for practice.

“Neige LeBlanche.”

He should’ve expected it, really, but he cannot help but let his teeth grind slightly in anger. Just you wait, Neige. He’ll beat Neige fair and square. Finally, he’ll be able to step out of the villain’s shoes.

His muscles ache after his gruelling training. Nothing he won’t be able to recover from; he can’t help but push himself to his limits at the prospect of beating Neige. The rest of the crew somehow manages to execute a near-flawless performance, with only a few minor hand-placement errors.

“Wow,” you cheer them on by your designated spot next to the speakers, cradling Grim in your lap. “You guys are absolutely gonna shred the competition.”

“That’s right!” Ace grins at you, catching the water bottle you toss at him and taking a few enthusiastic swigs.

“Pass me one too,” Deuce reaches out as you toss another water bottle. It’s a natural cue for a break, and the crew decides to take a breather. Vil feels an absurd surge of pride at the sight; somehow, these ungainly tubers have managed to grow into shapely potatoes who can no doubt beat Neige.

“We’ll regroup in ten,” Vil instructs. He’s not satisfied completely, but the passion that’s been poured into this routine is undeniable. Before he can question his body, his legs are already taking him to you. You’re scratching behind Grim’s ears and look up in abject surprise at his approach.

“I need your opinion,” Vil murmurs, leaning down to you so your faces are in close proximity. You furrow your brows; he knows how unlikely it is that he’s approached you. Still, your analysis skills are seriously impressive. “Can you give me a detailed observation of our performance? Spare no detail.”

“Right,” you pull out your phone nonchalantly, scrolling through your gallery until you find the recording of the practice. Of course you’ve come prepared.

“Right at the beginning it’s a really strong start, but as soon as those first few seconds are up, Deuce always misplaces his hand-” Vil’s not sure when he joins you on the floor, leaning ever so slightly into you as you zoom into the areas of imperfection.

“You’ve noticed that too?” Vil comments. You murmur your assent, pressing play again.

“It’s only a slight error, but yeah,” you continue, pausing the video again where it’s Kalim’s misstep. “I think it’s just overeagerness and the adrenaline of performing. The rest of the errors are really just minor hiccups with the singing - but I won’t be able to point them out as well.”

“I’ll give them some extra individual instruction,” Vil promises, more to remind himself than reassure you. You turn to scrutinise him; it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the weight of people’s gazes, but it’s just you.

“I’ve made notes on the small, consistent screw-ups that’ve surfaced recently when it comes to dance steps. Rook and Jamil are both fine, and Epel only has one,” your shoulder brushes against him as you turn extra carefully to not disturb the snoozing Grim on your lap. You hand him your class notebook, which has been filled with quick sketches of the mistakes. Vil’s eyes widen considerably at the level of diligence you’ve afforded your role. Sure, he knows your eye for detail in science, but he never thought-

“You can borrow it for a bit,” you turn the page to show him the notes you’ve made. Then suddenly you flip back to the previous page.

“I forgot you won’t be able to read them,” you sigh in exasperation. “All that work for nothing.”

Vil is oddly touched. You’ve made extensive notes just for him? He can feel the gesture warm his cheeks as he stares down at the outreached notebook, waiting for him to take it.

“The thought is appreciated,” he thanks you, carefully placing your notebook within his lap. He’s lucky the diagrams are circled with different colours marking out areas of weakness, or he’s sure he’d get lost trying to read through the scribbled notes right next to them.

“I can always just read them out if you need me too,” you lean back on one palm, balancing your body weight as you scritch under Grim’s chin. As much as the little furball wants to deny it, he’s very clearly got the mannerisms of a cat as a large purr rumbles from him. You stifle a little giggle into your shoulder.

“That- that would be great,” it’s so unlike Vil to get flustered, but he can’t help the smile that stays on his face well into the remainder of the practice.

He can’t seem to hold onto whatever hatred he had for you.

Scene II: Rot . 　⁺

The next time he sees your face is around ten minutes before the dress rehearsal on the SDC stage. Vil can feel his already straight posture adjust itself so it’s completely perfect, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Rook, given the look the hunter shoots him. He’s ignoring that.

“They almost didn’t let me in,” you complain, striding over to Rook and waving the lanyard that’s around your neck. Vil’s not sure how they could’ve missed it, with it being what can only be described as a neon red.

“It’s good to see you regardless, mon chou,” Rook is once again clasping your hands, and once again you’re not pulling away.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve just called me a cabbage,” you comment, looking around at the stage. The little furball that’s normally with you is nowhere to be found; Vil isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he isn’t wreaking havoc here, or whether to be worried that he’s wreaking havoc elsewhere. “Where do I sit while watching?”

“There’s actually the front seats directly next to the stage,” Vil points to the special row reserved for managers and important personnel. You unhook your hands from Rook’s to turn to where Vil’s pointing, your eyes lighting up as you see the comfortable looking chairs set up.

“Right, thanks,” you flash an extremely brief smile at both of them. It seems that whatever rivalry you had with him has been dissolved on your end. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted or happy about it. “Break both legs for both performances.”

“What?” Vil mutters to himself as you stride away enthusiastically. Maybe it’s just a saying from wherever you’re from. It’s ‘break an arm’ for performances, what are you on about? “What could that possibly mean?”

“Mr. Shoenheit, we’re about to go on air to tape your practice performance,” a cameraman apologetically interrupts Vil’s musings. He snaps to attention, letting his face fall back into the most professional poker face he can manage.

“Of course, I’ll get the NRC Tribe into formation,” Vil responds smoothly, waving the rest of the crew to the front of the stage. It only takes a minute; they’re clearly enthusiastic (if not a bit nervous) to perform in front of people who aren’t you and Grim. Deep breaths. A wave of resounding calm flows through him; it’s a lucid state he’s perfected before each and every performance.

The first notes of the rhythmic song start. His eyes unfocus slightly, allowing his muscle memory to take control for the most part. It’s now just a matter of pouring his emotions into the song and dance to truly capture the hearts of those watching. The flow. The haze. It all becomes a part of him, and he knows the rest of those dancing up on stage with him can feel it. Surely they feel the connection of their passion?

He meets your eyes, your wide, enraptured eyes as you gaze at him. He doesn’t fully realise, but the words he sings are for your ears for now. Let this be dedicated to you, and he can worry later about sharing the passion he feels with the rest of the spectators. Vil’s not emotionally stupid; he can tell his feelings have veered into territory that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. He just has to let them flow into his performance and worry about the rest later.

His mind is deliciously clear, enjoying the endorphins pumping through his blood at the pleasant stretch of movement. It’s already halfway done? The altered passage of time when he’s in the zone is always a surprise. From your excited grin, he can safely assume this performance is one, if not the, best they’ve given. And it’s all for you to watch, before it’s posted for the world to see.

Raucous applause disrupts his flow as the cameras are cut with a signal from the camera crew. You’re standing and clapping your hands with some serious force as you join them up on stage.

“Almost moved me to tears,” you joke, congratulating them on a flawless performance. “Seriously though, you guys are ready.”

You don’t need to say anymore. You stand back to give them space, but Vil watches in dawning horror as you bump into the one and only Neige LeBlanche. It’s only a mild shoulder bump, but it’s happened. The two of you have made contact.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely, taking a big step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine, really,” Neige smiles at you, sickeningly sweet. Beside Vil, the NRC dance crew members look at you with incredulity. Why are you so goddamn oblivious? “I shouldn’t have approached this way.”

“If you’re sure,” you trail off, noting the weird looks directed your way by Ace and Deuce. “What the hell are you guys gawking at?

Before Vil can say anything, you’re already being yanked away by Ace’s insistent tugging. Your brows are still furrowed. Goddamn. Have you really never heard of Neige LeBlanche?

It seems Ace is interrogating you with that very question, judging by the furrowed glances he sends both your way and Neige’s. It seems Neige is quick to mask his surprise, walking towards Vil (which was probably the whole reason he approached the group in the first place).

“Your group was amazing,” Neige gushes - his eyes are lit up with awe. Vil feels… nothing, eerily enough. All that’s coursing through him is malicious calm.

“Thank you,” he maintains the professional image easily and smoothly, not missing the way Kalim and Deuce’s eyes swivel between him and Neige.

“It was truly a sight to behold; I had chills just watching,” Neige continues with starry eyes. “I can’t wait to work with you again!”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Vil muses calmly, letting the air of conversation fizzle out. Out of his peripherals, he spots you and Ace rejoin the group. Unfortunately, it seems Neige has also spotted you again; he shoots you a smile and turns to you.

“Hi, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Neige’s innocent question leads you to a quick pause before introducing yourself. You’re not overly friendly, more like care-free as usual.

“I didn’t catch your name either, sorry,” you continue politely. Did Trappola wander off-topic while lecturing you? It clearly seemed like it from your slightly bewildered expression.

“Neige LeBlanche, at your service,” Neige’s eyes carry that stupefied look for only a second before it’s swiftly replaced by a cheery smile. Nothing. Vil suppresses a snort of laughter at your politely unknowing expression. Of course you’d be like this, meeting the arguably most famous person in the land with no respect for their importance.

“Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you respond amiably, sending a thumbs up his way. You’ve just upped and left? Vil turns to the side slightly to stifle his laughter as you wander back to the seats where you’ve left your notebook. Utterly lacking proper conversation etiquette as usual. He supposes it’s a positive seeing the Neige LeBlanche seemingly at a loss for words.

“Was that NRC’s manager?” Neige asks Vil. With dawning horror, Vil realises that most of his crew is also standing at the first row with you, due to their practice slot being finished.

“Yes,” Vil responds succinctly, watching Neige watch your movements as you talk with Rook. You’re currently being rattled like a rag-doll with the way he’s clasping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, no doubt grilling you over how you didn’t know who Neige was. He can hear your raucous laughter from all the way on stage.

“Your manager this year is awesome,” Neige compliments, leaning forward slightly to see the action further. Vil suppresses the shudder of disgust. No way this is happening right now.

“Ah, I’ve got to go round up my own crew,” Neige comments distractedly, looking around him. Vil gladly takes this opportunity to take his leave to join the rest of his group, leaving nothing behind but a goodbye.

That bastard. Vil watches the concluding moves of the RSA crew’s performance with barely concealed disgust from his seat in the stands.

“We’ve been had,” he utters in shock. No way. That bumbling performance they’ve put on-

“What do you mean?” Kalim asks in dismay at Vil’s change in attitude.

“He’s right,” Jamil agrees with a heavy sigh. “Look at how much they’re appealing to all demographics with their sugary sweet performance.”

Deep resentment begins to fester within Vil. A familiar ringing noise fills his ears as he tunes out the chatter of everyone surrounding him. He almost doesn’t feel the way he slips out of his seat and down the stairs leading to the rooms within the colossal arena. He feels the pressure of a heavy glass bottle within the palm of his hand, not even having to look at it to know it’s one of Epel’s apple juice bottles. He’s only dimly aware of subconsciously infusing the drink with the same curse he used during the poison assessment.

May those who drink this fall into an endless slumber, Fairest One.

The comforting bubbling slosh of the drink lets him know it’s been tampered with. A small, rational part of his brain urges him not to do this; the rest of his body is consumed by an abyss of disgust and hatred. Gunpowder and other acrid chemical smells appear in wisps, only registering faintly as familiar with his nose. He ignores it all.

“Hi, Neige,” Vil smiles brightly at the youth in front of one of the backstage doors. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your wonderful performance.”

One heartbeat.

Neige turns at the sound of Vil’s uncharacteristically cheerful voice. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss, but Vil supposes he’s always been that way.

“It makes me really happy hearing that from someone I admire a lot,” Neige beams back. Perfect.

Two heartbeats.

“How about a drink? I’ve become rather partial to this brand of apple juice,” Vil’s smile is rehearsed; it’s absolutely oozing with venom.

“Sure!” Neige agrees enthusiastically. “I saw the brand on your Magicam a few weeks back - I was even going to order before I realised it had all sold out.”

Three heartbeats is all it takes to deceive him.

It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Vil’s downfall has been secured by Neige over the course of his life, whereas Neige’s downfall will be brought about in only a few seconds. The smooth glass of the apple juice bottle does not reveal the curse roiling within. It’s perfect - scentless, colourless and lethal. He wants to laugh when Neige accepts the cool glass bottle so easily. Has he no sense of danger?

“Roi des Neiges!” Who does that voice belong to? With a start, Vil turns to see Rook’s slightly dishevelled form as he runs up to Neige. “My apologies for interrupting the two of you, but the staff were looking for you, Neige.”

“Roi des Neiges..” Neige’s voice trails away as he stares contemplatively at Rook. “Wait-”

“My, I’m absolutely parched after running around looking for you,” Rook swiftly takes charge of the conversation. Why now? Vil can feel sharp cracking within his very soul. “Might I trouble you to let me have some of that refreshing juice you hold?”

No.

“Of course,” Neige agrees enthusiastically, if not a little perplexed.

“You should hurry back, Neige,” Rook continues, taking the bottle offered kindly. “And do not come back here.”

“Huh? What do you-”

“Go on, off with you! Away!” Neige’s question is sharply cut off by Rook’s insistence. Vil can hear him scurry off, like a little rodent.

“That sweet, tart aroma,” Rook breathes. With a start of horror, Vil notices that the cork of the flask has been removed. “Truly.. Epel’s hometown beverage is magnifique, to say the least.”

“I shall drink it to the very last drop, Roi des Poisons,” his knowing gaze meets Vil’s stricken one as he slowly raises the bottle to his lips.

No.

“Don’t do it, Rook!”

Glass shattering. It’s all Vil can do to keep track of what’s happening. His head feels like it’s underwater.

“He used his signature spell to curse the apple juice!” It’s the same speaker from earlier. Kalim?

“-look on his face was the same as Jamil’s-”

“-lost control-”

“Rook,” Vil’s voice rasps. He’s not sure he made the conscious decision to speak. The hunter turns to him with eyes not holding anger or disappointment, but concern. “Why did you..?”

“I wanted to believe in you,” Rook holds his gaze with no traces of accusation. “If it was cursed, I still wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness.”

Madness?

Vil tunes them all out. He’s dimly aware of you speaking in concerned, hushed tones to the rest of them. Why are you here as well?

“Vil, do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Kalim’s voice is rimmed with desperate emotions. “After all that work, after saying the other teams would look like spuds compared to us, why stoop to this?”

Why stoop to this? Can’t he see that there is no other way? Rage pummels his veins, ripping through his body, his mind, his soul. Something gathers within him, dark and inky and fatal.

“That’s what I want to know,” Vil’s voice is laced with ice, and pure venom. “I’ve come to a realisation. That I… can never win! I’m going to handle Neige myself.”

“Trickster, Kalim! Do not inhale that mist rising from the floor! It’s the evaporated form of that cursed liquid!” Rook’s urging has hints of desperation within it. He turns to Vil. “I don’t see why one glass would have such a drastic… Oh, Vil, you didn’t-”

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Vil pleads. It’s not just Rook, he can see you as well, looking at him with that gaze that makes him want to bury himself away. “I just wanted to be the fairest, so why? Why? Why am I so ugly?”

“Roi des Poisons, you are far from ugly,” Rook calls out to him, reaching out a hand. Vil longs to take it, but he can’t. He’s too far gone.

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone!” Kalim’s pleas fall on uncaring ears.

“Silence!” Vil’s voice snaps. He can almost see himself from a separate plane, mist rising up around him in acrid, poisonous billows. He can see you, swaying on your feet slightly, looking more shaky than your companions. “What do any of you know? What does it matter if any of you forgive me? I can’t forgive myself!”

Let go.

Dark streaks overcome his vision, ebbing and flowing along the edges. It would be nice, to hand over the reins for a while, wouldn’t it? To let go of his fury, his resentment, his jealousy. What a dream.

“If I just melt everyone into hideous messes,” Vil’s barely aware of speaking. It’s a rather distorted voice, isn’t it? He can’t help but laugh. “Then I’ll be the fairest one of all, won’t I?”

The last thing he sees before it all overcomes him is your stricken face. He’s not sure you’ve ever worn such an expression before. He’s unlikely to forget those eyes, your facial muscles contorting into a painting of intermingling horror and worry. Why does he feel that shame rising again?

Didn’t he let go already?

Scene III: Wake . 　⁺

“I was the villain bullying the hero in the last play, too. Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?”

Villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they can do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on stage longer than anyone else.

“Those kids were trying to hold me accountable for a work of fiction. Silly boys, the lot of them.”

I always aim for one role - the hero. But… all I ever get to be is the villain.

“Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that reliability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it. And yet.. Why? Why is it never me? All I want is to stay on stage until the end of a show.

In the end, it’s not the gentle splattering of rain on his face that wakes him up. It’s some foreign warmth on his face that causes his eyes to slowly open. Framed by his eyelashes and the haze of a deep slumber is your face. It’s as if you know, the way you look at him with such tenderness and concern. It’s as if you’ve pulled him from the deep recesses of his memories yourself, with the way your rough hands prop his head up so gently.

“How am I..” Vil rasps out, looking at you with nothing but queries in his eyes. His eyes search over your tired expression, the way the sclera of your eyes is still tinged a slight purple, and the various small cuts across your face. Did he do this? Waves of shame hit him and he can’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Thank goodness you’re awake, Vil,” you murmur down at him. Is this the first time you’ve said his name? It sounds foreign on your lips, and unbearably sweet. Why aren’t you mad at him? Why do you keep looking at him with those unaccusing eyes?

“Oh, Vil.. fair Vil,” Rook sighs in relief, crouching beside you on the rain soaked ruins. Ruins? Vil takes the opportunity to look round the battle site, the upheaved flagstones, the despoiled decorations. Another wave of shame meets him when he notices the haggard faces of his crew (is that Kalim bawling his eyes out? And is that Jamil scolding him?).

“I’m.. sorry you had to see that undignified display,” Vil apologises, making sure each and every one of his words is sincere. He cannot begin to comprehend how much shame he’s feeling at the moment. “Only third-rate people throw temper tantrums and take their problems out on others. My conduct was most unbecoming of all…”

“Y’right about that,” Epel grumbles, but without a trace of actual malicious intent. “Thought ya said people grow out of temper tantrums by the time they’re three?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Epel,” Vil uses your shoulder to haul himself up so he can sit up. You don’t seem to mind, even grabbing on to his wrist to steady him. With another crash of guilt, he realises how your grasp is shaky, no doubt due to your exposure to the curse when you don’t have any sort of natural magic resistance. “I’m no longer fit to be your leader.”

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone, Vil,” Kalim argues. Vil can see him approaching and standing next to where Rook crouches. “You haven’t stepped over that brink.”

“He’s right,” Jamil says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of outside the coliseum. “Neige is dancing out there happily with the seven dwarfs. It’s a stretch, but we can say we got worked up and had a team brawl in here.”

“Yeah,” Ace interjects. “No way we’re letting you pull out because of a few bruises, after the wringer we’ve been put through.”

“All of you,” Vil feels a horrendous mushy feeling swell up within him. You’re still supporting him with the way you’re steadying his wrist. “You just want to pretend nothing’s happened?”

“I never said that,” Jamil retorts, but his face blooms into his signature smile. “We can just hold off explanations until after the competition.”

“You truly are wicked, Jamil,” Vil replies with a small laugh. It hurts, and he feels his chest contort with pain. Your grip on his wrist tightens and you steady his shoulder with your other hand, clearly not missing the way his face twists into a grimace.

“Here, I’ll help you stand, alright?” you’re surprisingly strong, with the way you unceremoniously (but carefully) haul him up so he stands leaning into your firm touch. Even with your clearly weakened state, you still grip onto him as if he’s the fragile one that isn’t allowed to fall. Vil can’t even bring himself to protest.

“I wasn’t the one who made the shot so strong, Vil was,” Deuce seemingly replies to a conversation Vil’s unconsciously tuned out. “The spell stores all the damage I take, then hits it back all at once. So it was only potent because of Vil’s potent magic.”

Ah. Deuce seems to be describing the final hit Vil can barely remember taking, the one that likely brought him back to the brink of consciousness.

“Don’t make it sound so violent!” Deuce splutters in indignation, and Vil once again realises he’s tuned out. He doesn’t particularly mind, focusing instead on the way you unconsciously seem to tense your muscles against him when shifting, the way you still have that signature chemical smell to you, the way you’re looking directly at him with that expression-

“Signature… You mean that’s my signature spell?” Deuce seems to be coming to a realisation with sparkling eyes. Good on him. Beside him, Ace seems to be coming to an unpleasant realisation with the way he’s incredulously muttering to himself about how he can’t believe Deuce has mastered his signature spell before him.

“Behold, Vil is awestruck and weak-kneed from the splendour of your blow,” Rook proclaims, gesturing to the not-awestruck Vil.

“I’d wager he’s also weak-kneed from something else,” Jamil comments sardonically, looking pointedly at the way you’ve got him in your grasp. Vil only hopes you’ve become suddenly preoccupied with something else.

“No, I’m just beaten head-to-toe,” Vil swiftly retorts. “That last blow did strike soundly, though. Nicely done, Deuce.”

“Thank you, sir!” Deuce smiles at him eagerly. “Although, I don’t know what to do about the wrecked stage.”

“It’s not feasible to fix it all with magic,” Jamil replies pragmatically, looking around him with a calculating expression. “With what power we have left.. Every scenario running through my mind all ends with the same brick wall.”

“Does that mean.. SDC is…” Epel trails off, looking at Jamil with a dawning sense of horror.

“What do we have here?” The new, booming voice is accompanied by green fireflies that send a small shiver down Vil’s spine. What’s he doing here?

“I thought I’d arrive earlier,” Malleus hums with a touch of surprise, surveying the surroundings briefly. “What do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Hornton!” you exclaim, and Vil can feel your sternum vibrate through his shoulder. You’re.. acquainted with Malleus Draconia enough to call him nicknames? He can’t even be surprised anymore. “There’s still two hours until the SDC opens!”

“Hornton?” It’s a collective response from the rest of the crew, voicing Vil’s thoughts.

“Do you have a death wish, calling your upperclassman that?” Ace shudders at your audacity.

“Do you even know who that is?” Epel’s shocked voice causes you to blink in surprise at his tone.

“He told me to call him whatever, so I did,” Vil has to stifle a laugh as you shrug. Of course you did.

“However did you get into the coliseum, Roi des Dragons?” Rook sounds positively astonished.

“I was invited by the Child of Man from Ramshackle,” Malleus replies, gesturing to you.

“Yep,” you affirm. Vil feels as though you’re ignoring the other, more pressing question Rook’s asked.

“The entire venue is still enveloped by the poison mist generated by Vil,” Rook’s explanation trails off as Malleus holds up a clawed hand.

“I am impervious to any curse, no matter how powerful,” Malleus takes another look around the wrecked coliseum. “Whatever could’ve happened here?”

Vil watches as you briefly and efficiently describe the events, listening extra hard for the parts where he would’ve been unconscious. It’s curious, the way you don’t let any trace of exhaustion or pain enter your voice. It only takes around two minutes for you to give the gist of the situation to Malleus.

“Children of men, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” Malleus’ words come with an incredible magic pressure that leaves Vil’s eyes wide. He steals a glance at you, and watches your own expression become slack with awe and curiosity.

“That’s Malleus Draconia for you,” Vil murmurs to you. Your brow furrows as you look down at Vil.

“That’s Malleus? Hornton over there was the one everyone was so excited about at the Spelldrive tournament?” you ask incredulously. After all this, you’re still holding on to that nickname? Your eyes dart back to those green fireflies that are somehow lifting all the ruined flagstones and pillars, and rearranging them into pristine condition. Within the space of a few heartbeats, Malleus has managed to restore the conditions of the arena into an exact replica of how they were before.

“He’s ludicrously out of our league,” Ace mumbles in awe. Vil can’t help but agree.

“Thanks a bunch, Hornton!” you beam at Malleus, who stares at you for a brief second before breaking out into chuckles. It’s the first time Vil’s ever heard the fae laugh, but you’re full of surprises as usual.

“Though you know who I am, you still stick to that pet name?” Malleus sounds terribly amused, looking at you as you fumble with an explanation. He interrupts whatever apology is about to leave your lips with another chuckle. “Truly, I do not mind.”

He turns to look at Vil with a resolute expression in his eyes that’s made all the more disconcerting by his piercing green eyes. “I’ve set the stage for you, Schoenheit. I trust you will keep me entertained.”

“I hardly need your urgings to put on my finest performance,” Vil suppresses the wince of pain as he straightens his posture, ignoring the very tangible reality of you still grasping onto him. “Be prepared for a standing ovation.”

“I’ll expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Malleus’ last words fade out with his disappearance. The only traces left behind by him are those green fireflies.

“Lady Luck is truly on our side,” Rook comments after the flashes fade out. “I was hardly expecting Roi des Dragons to appear here.”

Me neither. Though it seems today is a day full of surprises.

Vil leans into your warmth a bit more, and you indulge him. The arm carefully wrapped around him is sure and steady - he wants nothing more than to stay here until the end of time. You don’t ask questions, looking past his shoulder so you can direct the crew to their water. He knows he must let go to perform - it’s highly unusual to see the Vil Schoenheit rely on anyone, even if it’s a little bit. To see him clinging to someone, his rival of all people…

Gingerly, he lets go of you. Your grasp on him is firm to the very end as you let go and make sure he’s not at risk of fainting. The concern you display is almost comedic, but you don’t say anything.

He can feel your eyes burning into his back as he walks away, but he doesn’t look back.

Scene IV: Unopened Missive . 　⁺

Vil supposes it’s comedic as he pours everything he’s got left into the final performance, only to score exactly one point below RSA. It’s always like this; him, exactly one step behind Neige. He can’t fault Neige, anymore, not after he’s come to terms with it. As the thrum of music faded and the flow of performance left him, he was acutely aware of the raucous applause he drew. He did not care. All he was searching for were your eyes.

He’s sure Lady Luck is laughing straight at him as Rook proclaims himself as one of Neige’s biggest fans. What betrayal! Of course this has been added onto the list of surprises. It’s strange; he doesn’t feel the annoyance he’d expect to be simmering through his veins at that moment. It seems he’s let that go.

It’s practically hilarious as he joins Neige on stage to sing an encore. Only scraps of bitterness remain - had Vil not exhausted the whole team earlier, they might have won and took back that one measly vote. He’s accepted that. Still, his frustration is palpable as he leaves his crew to sing with Neige, though not to the audience. His professionalism is the one thing he’s managed to keep up.

“Hey,” your voice breaks him out of the reverie. It’s bizarre, the way you’ve escorted him back to Pomefiore, even though he’s got Rook and Epel to do that. It’s even more bizarre, the way he’s let you gently drag him to his room, where Rook and Epel have already gone back to their own chambers. They already know it’s best to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood. So why.. why are you still-

The sharp tang of medicinal ointment brings him back to the current situation. You’re poised between his legs as he sits at his vanity, with an assortment of bottles behind you. It’s strangely intimate with the way the soft dusk lighting envelopes you with its mysterious aura. He’s not wearing any makeup, but you don’t seem to care; your gaze caresses his features, laced with only concern.

Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.

“I’m going to begin, alright?” you murmur, searching his eyes for any traces of discomfort. Vil nods wordlessly. The pressure on his chin from one hand of yours is feather light; he finds himself leaning into it slightly. Your other hand lightly brushes over the cuts on his face with the ointment swabbed onto a cotton pad - strangely, it lacks the usual sting which normally elicits a sharp hiss of surprise.

“I made this ointment myself,” you explain after seeing the surprise conveyed in his eyes. Of course you did. In any case, it seems to be working fine, judging by the rapid cooling sensation he’s feeling across his face.

“Why-” Vil begins to ask as you cap the ointment bottle and twist it closed with practised ease. Your hand is still on his face, but he can’t bear to pull away. Not here, in the privacy of his room, where the only eyes upon him are yours. “-why are you still here? Don’t you dislike me?”

You pause in the rummaging you’re doing in your pocket. Vil holds his breath as you turn to him with that contemplative look you wear while figuring out potions.

“I don’t actually dislike you,” you comment matter-of-factly, tilting his face to each side to observe your handiwork. “I’ve got better things to do than spend my energy stewing over you.”

Ouch.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Vil’s composure is rapidly slipping down the drain as he remains (quite literally) in the palm of your hand. Your gaze doesn’t falter. “Do you just feel bad for me?”

“No,” you respond idly, still tilting his head this way and that. It’s like watching a cat bat at a toy. “I thought it might be good to have company and rely on someone else for once.”

There’s something else you aren’t saying. It’s unspoken in your eyes and the way your brow makes imperceptible furrows every few minutes. Vil’s breath hitches in his throat slightly.

“Did you-” he’s interrupted by that look, not one of pity, but one of resolute determination.

“Yes, I saw those memories,” you admit. You don’t look at him with an apologetic expression, one that screams pity. It’s a relief. “I didn’t mean to, like at all.”

“It’s fine,” Vil supposes it is fine. You wouldn’t tell anyone, he feels. He watches as your expression shrivels up into one of abject surprise as you feel around in your pocket, drawing out what seems to be a cream-coloured, expensive looking envelope. Vil knows exactly what it is, even as you scan the front quizzically then shrug. Of course. You can’t read the runes.

“It’s the results for the poison assessment,” Vil supplies. Strange. He doesn’t feel any excitement, or fear - it’s bordering on the neutrality of acceptance. It seems you feel the same way, as you just toss the envelope down with disregard onto the vanity and continue your search in your pockets.

“Aha!” your triumphant exclamation leaves him blinking in surprise. Why haven’t you acknowledged the results at all? You brandish another bottle of ointment in front of him excitedly, almost hitting him on the nose due to your very close proximity. “I’ve found the muscle and bone ointment!”

“Aren’t you going to look at the results?” Vil asks incredulously - it slips out before he can even comprehend he’s said it.

“I can’t even read them,” you untwist the ointment with your teeth, leaving tiny dents in the metal cap. “I’ll look at them later.”

The potent tang of nettles permeates the air as you set the open bottle onto the table behind you, letting go of Vil’s face.

“I’m going to need you to undress so I can access your back,” your nonchalant tone makes Vil’s reaction delayed. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at your words. “I heard the nastiest little crunch when Deuce’s spell hit you, so I’m gonna have to check those ribs.”

“Right,” Vil swallows thickly, standing up. Wrong move. You’re much too close now, pressed up against the vanity with him standing right in front of you. His body is brushing up against yours, and he can feel your body heat. Shit. He moves out of the vicinity to the bathroom, with all the composure of a professional actor.

“This ointment’s designed for deeper use than surface level injuries,” you call out behind him. “It’s gonna sting!”

“That’s fine,” Vil responds before shutting his bathroom door. He quickly loosens his shirt, wishing it were your hands doing- His heart pounds in his ribcage as he shuts down the thought. It only takes a minute before his shirt and blazer are both tossed into the laundry basket, all too soon considering the flushed sheen emerging on his face.

One final cursory inspection of his face in the mirror is necessary before he goes out to face you. He’s almost taken aback - not by the lack of makeup which he’s already accustomed to, but the sheer vulnerability within his expression. He looks like such a mess, and you’ve not even commented on it? You’ve just accepted that it doesn’t matter what he looks like; you’re going to treat him the same regardless. It’s a far cry to what he values as his principles.

He pushes open the door hesitantly. His torso is exposed, and he suddenly feels the jarring pangs of shyness. Why now? He’s gone topless for movie scenes before, for Sevens’ sake! Steeling himself, he opens the door completely. You’ve placed the vanity chair by the bed- surely you’re not-

“You can either lie on your stomach here, or sit up on the chair, which might be more uncomfortable,” you explain briefly, rolling up your uniform sleeves as if you’re about to conduct a lab practical. Am I the lab rat? “I’ve picked up a few massage tips here and there, so overall it should be a quite pleasant experience. Of course, if you want to omit the massage-”

“No, it’s fine,” Vil lets out a shaky breath at your nonchalance, gingerly lying on his front on his covers. Jack of all trades, aren’t you? He doesn’t realise just how tense his muscles have been until you press your thumbs into the muscles situated around his scapula. Your hands are coated in some sort of resinous, volatile substance, judging from the brief alcohol fumes flaring up whenever you place your hands down. You were right, there is a sting, but it’s not as sharp as he expected.

Why are you doing this? It’s a question that keeps replaying in his mind’s movie theatre, with the cruel laughing soundtrack interspersed in a tragic loop every few seconds. The two of you aren’t friends, and what you’ve done goes beyond the level of care Vil normally receives from friendship. He can’t complain, not when your warm, rough hands are finally on him, even if it’s to just rub the ointment in.

“Now, I’m no medic,” there’s a faint apology in your tone as you concentrate the ointment into a specific, aching spot. Vil barely registers the sting of pain due to your burning touch. “But I think that your rib’s been bruised at the very least in that spot, and that ointment should’ve healed the worst of it.”

His rapid heart rate distracts him from the loss of body heat from you as you move your hands away from his body. Please don’t stop. He feels a heavy pressure on his right shoulder, and to his surprise it’s the palm of your hand waking him from his reverie.

“I’ll bandage you up just to be sure,” you murmur, shifting your weight from foot to foot and looking around. It’s clear you’re hesitant, maybe due to your lack of experience playing a so-called “doctor”. Still, judging by the way the deep ache within has eased, you’ve done a pretty darn good job, as Epel would no doubt say. “Sit up.”

Vil obeys, gingerly swinging his legs round the bed until he’s sitting, and you’re once again hovering over him as you slip a clean bandage out of its plastic wrapping. He breathes in the comforting warmth of your body heat and repertoire of chemical smells that mask the floral traces on your skin. Don’t you feel the rushed thrum of blood that’s pumping through each vein and each capillary, as you wrap your arms around him to begin winding the bandage?

Is he nothing more than a mere patient to that clinical precision you currently sport?

“What would you have chosen, if you won the poison assessment?” Vil suddenly asks as you clip the bandage into place with a satisfied hum around the middle of his torso.

“Why are you asking as if I lost?” you let out a bemused chuckle, gesturing to the still-very-closed envelope sitting on his vanity. “We don’t know yet.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vil could melt with the way you’re gazing down at him as he sits with you standing in between his legs. Your sharp eyes contain a warning, one he has no intention of heeding as he presses the subject. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Fine,” your voice rasps slightly as you stoop down to his level. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation of your warm breath rustling past his ear. “Are you really that eager to know?”

“Go on,” Vil almost pleads, and he’s sure you hear the quiet hints of desperation in his voice. Your eyes lock back onto his; he’s slightly regretting asking you as he sees the dangerous glints in your eye. His breath hitches as he realises it’s the same, all-consuming look of seriousness you reserve for your experiments and potions. It’s as if he already knows what your answer will be, with the way his blood excitedly thrums to the surface to respond with an echoing yes.

Please.

The rough pads of your fingers meet his chin again in that gentle grasp as you tilt his head upwards. This is really happening, right? It’s as if he’s in a haze; anticipation of your movements is the only thing breaking him out of it.

“Can I..” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. He holds his breath. Yes. Your mere touch calls forth fireworks to explode in a vibrant cacophony.

“Please,” Vil’s quiet gasp is all the encouragement you clearly need, because the next thing he knows you’ve stepped forward and met his open mouth with yours. The heady taste of woodsmoke and cherry syrup lingering on your tongue is positively intoxicating. He’s not sure, but he can also taste the coppery tang of blood as well. Perhaps it’s from the heat of battle earlier? Regardless, his blood rises in response; he’s sure his face is flushed a deep pink.

You don’t hesitate, leaning his head to the side with your fingers to kiss him deeper and deeper. He groans into your mouth, feeling you smile as you taste his desperation. He positively convulses as he feels your hand trace the bare skin of his side; he’s so vulnerable like this, and he knows you feel it as you press into his body.

Vil gasps for air when you pull back. A string of saliva connects your lips to his; with a start, he realises that your lips are shiny and traced with the purple lipgloss he’s wearing. Your eyes are half-lidded with intensity and some other roiling emotion he can’t place. It makes his breathing even more uneven when he realises he’s made you look like that.

“Like what you see?” even now, traces of rivalry still lace Vil’s tone; he cannot help but provoke you to elicit another reaction. Your gaze slowly travels up and down Vil’s dishevelled appearance, making sure to scour every inch of it. He holds his breath when your lip curls in disdain.

“Please,” your voice rolls deep from your throat with sarcasm. It makes Vil’s blood cells burn with want. The sharp, intense look in your eyes only becomes more turbulent; it’s insanely attractive to be at your mercy.

“Don’t make me laugh-” your fingers curl into his chin more, and Vil can feel the suppressed strength within the grip. Blood is rushing straight down, and he can barely keep track of all the thoughts racing through his head. “-not with the way I’ve seen you almost do flips for my attention, with your one-sided rivalry.”

“Ah-” Vil’s gasp sounds suspiciously like a moan as you move closer, pressing a knee in between his legs inadvertently. You’ve clearly heard it, with the way you furrow your brow and pause your motions.

“Did you-” your eyes fully take in his heavy breathing and the way he’s coming undone from just kissing you. Your question is answered immediately.

“Please, keep going,” Vil pleads, removing one hand from where it’s gripping the sheets to your hip. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between his hand and face.

“You sure you want to continue?” you prompt, eyes settling into that same dangerous glint once again. “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries..”

“Please,” Vil all but begs, seeing the way your eyes glaze over with desire. The hazy, smoky smell of your skin almost acts like an aphrodisiac; he cannot help but be ensnared.

“Alright,” your voice is hushed when you tilt his head upwards to access his jugular, biting into the area slightly with sharp canines. He knows you feel it: the way his pulse jumps erratically beneath your touch. You draw out quiet, hushed gasps with every mark you make on his throat, with every movement of your waist against his bare torso, with every nudge of your knee in between his legs.

More.

He doesn’t even realise he’s slowly rolling his hips against your leg to feel any sort of friction until you press down on his hips with the hand that’s been supporting his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” you breathe against his skin - his back can’t help but arch slightly at the feeling of your breath against his neck. “Allow me to take care of you.”

It’s your words that make him pause in shock; they’re an eerie echo of what you said in his dream. Judging by the lack of change in your expression, you don’t know about it; thank Sevens.

You’re pressing into him, forcing him into the bed on his forearms while you lean in, kissing his mouth feverishly to bring out his gasps and moans. He’s unbearably hard, all the more so because of your knee moving out of reach each time he chases that delicious high. This is better than any dream.

Burning kisses trail their way from below his ear down to his collarbone. He’s suddenly glad for the wonders of concealer as he thinks about the marks you’re leaving. On the other hand, he’s strangely into the idea of people seeing he’s taken by you, so much so that you’re marking him up like this.

“Ah- right there,” Vil can’t suppress the noises he’s making as your lips travel down to his chest. He doesn’t care who hears him; he’s seeing goddamn stars with the way your tongue circles his nipple and your thumb mirrors the action with the other one. The pressure you’re applying deftly is making him intoxicated.

“You look so beautiful like this,” your fingers glide over the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest, trailing down to his waist. He doesn’t think it’s possible for his heart to beat any more erratically without thumping straight out of his chest. Is he really sure that you haven’t magically seen his dreams? After all, you’ve seen his memories. He waits with bated breath for your next move, not realising that you’ve already positioned yourself to hover between his thighs with a small grin on your face.

“Mind if I take these off?” you hook your thumbs around the tailored trousers he’s wearing. It takes considerable self-restraint to not tell you to just rip them off.

“Go ahead,” it’s a wonder that his voice doesn’t crack from the sheer pressure of what he’s feeling at the moment. Your grin is all edges as you efficiently unzip the front and slip the pants off. It seems that he’s surprised you when you look down at his smooth legs with your eyebrows slightly raised, taking in the fact that he’s wearing sheer black stockings to his mid thigh underneath his pants.

“All for me?” you run your fingers down his legs appreciatively, feeling the soft material underneath your fingers with an even sharper grin than before. Vil can’t help but shiver at the feather-light touches you give, contrasted sharply with the jagged vertices of your smile.

All for you.

It’s as if you can read his thoughts. You’re once again hovering between his legs, spreading them with nothing more than a gentle push. The touches you leave on his legs feel almost possessive; he cannot help but adore it. Will he be the only one seeing that expression on your face? He wants to be the only one, the only one to see the tumultuous desire warp and thrash within the glints in your eyes. It’s a far cry from your usual composure.

Sticky residue from his lipgloss is left on his soft inner thighs as you press kiss after kiss to the skin. He can feel desire pulse through you with every bruising mark you leave. It entrances him. The unspoken words you leave him are more than enough to assure him that even like this, with all his bruises and scrapes and tears, he’s beautiful.

Your hands slowly ease his underwear off; the cold air on the sensitive skin makes him hiss slightly, but it quickly turns into a gasp as you leave kisses in the crook of the skin connecting his thigh to his pelvis.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” you promise quietly. The ravenous look in your eyes doesn’t subside as you gaze at him from between his legs. He can’t help but let out a small groan at your words. What would his fans say if they saw him, lying so pliant for his supposed academic rival?

One of Vil’s hands fly up to his face to muffle the moans escaping his lips when your thumb circles his slit, made all too easy by the flow of pre-cum from his dick. The other hand is left desperately clutching at the sheets of his bed as his hips involuntarily buck upwards into your hand.

“Uncover your pretty mouth,” you slowly twist your hand down, all while gazing at his flushed face. He’s already seeing stars at the friction and can barely register his hand leaving his mouth to grip the sheets. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He can only hope that his door is soundproofed from the obscene noises leaving him as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough. Your hand moves away each time the haze of pleasure builds up, leaving him chasing after your touch. He’s sure he looks an absolute mess right now with the way tears are leaving his eyes and his brow has the sheen of sweat; you clearly don’t care as you lithely move upwards to kiss him. The cool fabric of your clothes presses into his bare skin, making him feel incredibly exposed to you.

You’re still moving with that teasing pace as you swallow down his moans. It’s unbearable, all the more so because you’re still covered in your uniform. He almost sobs in relief when your hand picks up speed and the pleasure starts steadily building in his stomach. His hips desperately grind into your hand and you let him, let him come undone with your touch and quiet praises. He’s close; the dopamine is flooding through his veins and all he can focus on is the way you touch him, the way you’re currently kissing his jaw and leaving more marks on his neck, the way you’re coaxing such obscene sounds from both his throat and from the skin on skin friction.

It builds and builds and builds, until all he can fathom is saying your name over and over, as if he’s some devout worshipper invoking some otherworldly being. He lets go, feeling the way you slow down to allow him to ride out the climax. Only white-hot pleasure courses through his mind, fading out more slowly than usual. He kisses you feverishly, feeling the warm skin on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer and closer. You’re now lying side by side on his bed, with you pressed up against him wearing your despoiled clothes, ones that have been despoiled by him.

“You’re removing your clothes as well, I hope?” his gaze trails down your body, looking at the offending uniform that you’re wearing. It’s a wonder he’s managed to form a coherent statement. Still, it’s only fair that you also remove the fabric with those deft hands like you did to those tailored trousers he was wearing.

“Right,” your gaze softens, moving your hands away from his body. His brows furrow with a question as he watches the hand sticky with cum approach your face- oh my. A scarlet flush blooms on his cheeks as you use your tongue to clean your hand up, before using it to lazily remove your blazer and vest. You don’t give them a second glance as you toss the clothes on the floor. The warmth you’re emitting is all the more palpable as only a thin buttoned shirt separates your skin from his. It’s incredibly attractive, watching your languid movements as you discard the shirt off to the side as well as your trousers.

The feeling of your bare skin on his shouldn’t elicit such a burning reaction from him, but it does; he groans as you lean back to slowly kiss him, feeling the way your body heat envelopes him without any barriers. He’s acutely aware of all the points your skin brushes against him - it’s insanely addicting. You’re kissing him without a care in the world, judging by the way you lazily cradle his face with your hands. He’s so malleable under your touch, so starved of affection that he’s wrapped around your pinky finger. He’s sure you can feel the way his skin flushes with a simmering heat.

The blue hour soaks you both in the gloom as your hands press him closer and closer, until he can barely distinguish where he ends and you begin. Is this what it means to become one, united in flesh?

Does he look beautiful to you like this?

He knows he does. He knows he does when you reverently trail down with your kisses, settling between his thighs again to fill him up with your fingers. He knows he does as you feverishly coax those angelic moans out of him; your eyes are blazing with desire for him. He knows he does as you draw out his climax for as long as you can so wave after wave of pleasure can keep hitting him.

It’s late evening when the two of you fall asleep, tangled together and worn out.

The letter on the vanity lies forgotten; Vil doesn’t particularly care about the results when he already feels your equal.

Scene V: Closing . 　⁺

“Goodness, trickster,” Rook’s exclamation when you emerge in the Pomefiore lounge room in the morning thankfully goes unnoticed by the few students milling about. “Our dorm uniform looks simply ravishing on you.”

“Yeah, mine got quite ruined from yesterday’s events,” your voice sounds raspy as you try to sell your act to Rook, who’s positively cooing over you. What a little prankster. Vil can’t help but glance at you from his favourite armchair. As the culprit responsible for ruining your uniform, he of course had to lend you a uniform. Still, you do look rather good in it.

“Don’t tell me you slept over and didn’t tell me?” Rook plasters a look of mock-hurt on his face, and Vil implores you to shut your mouth for once and put on the best act of your life.

“Something like that,” your expression is innocent, with the exception of your raised eyebrows. You don’t look at Vil at all as you smile at Rook, who’s unfortunately glanced over at Vil, scrutinising him with that disgustingly perceptive look.

“Does that explain the bruises on his neck?” Vil chokes on his smoothie hearing the hunter’s whisper. Of course he forgot something this morning. Of all days.

“Whatever could you mean?” you inquire nonchalantly, straightening the ironed collar of the uniform.

“Oh my,” Rook’s eyes are as wide as saucers as his gaze swivels between you and Vil. It’s rare to see him this gleeful. “You two totally slept-”

“I’m going to need you to shut it, Rook,” you cover the offender’s mouth abruptly before he can say anything more. You’re not denying it though, looking back at Vil with a wicked grin on your face.

Shit.

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 02

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 3.5k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through

02⌇relationships, fuck buddies, heartbreaks

San has made a lot of bad decisions in his lifetime. For starters, back in the golden days of high school he decided to skip class and go on a bike ride with his friends. It was fun, until they decided to add alcohol into the mix, then it got stupidly fun. He ended up on the ground with his bike reduced to a pile of metal scraps with wheels. The addition of a nasty scar near his hairline wasn’t the most favourable either. His parents weren’t happy with that, nor when he hosted a house party the very next weekend that got more than just a little out of hand.

He’s glad most of the mistakes were correctable in some way. The bike definitely wasn’t salvageable, but he did eventually get a new one. Then, after the party, he had to give up a month’s allowance to mend the window he had broken after an intense game of beer pong. That month he also decided to take up a part-time job.

To put it plainly, San doesn’t make a lot of good decisions. Even after transitioning out of the angsty rebellious teen phase, trouble seems to just follow him. It’s okay with him though, he doesn’t just live with chaos, he thrives in it. Some things really do not change.

The building in front of him, previously only seen through images online stands almost confronting now. His clothes make him feel worse, like extremely out of place. They’re all wrinkled from being worn on the airplane and subway ride, and he feels the stares of people in their expensive evening wear as they walk by. It’s too late to back down now, so he reaches for his phone to inform the reason he’s here of his arrival. As he waits, San pays extra attention to his surroundings. Movies were right about one thing; New York, the city that never sleeps. He likes it, the honking cars in the distance and the occasional construction sounds are comforting in a strange way. Life at home felt too quiet, especially after you left.

He loves to be on the move, the thrill of exploring has always been dangerously enticing. San could have done that in lots of ways after high school, spontaneous road trip, booking a one-way ticket to anywhere he could think of. Temporary choices. He didn’t want that though, San wanted to live big. After more thought, transferring to a college that requires a plane ride to reach his hometown might’ve been living a little bigger than he anticipated.

He looks down at his phone, fumbling with the volume button in attempt to seem busy while he waits for a reply from his soon-to-be roommate. He hasn’t packed much, but his backpack has been weighing him down for twenty minutes after his subway commute. San checks his phone again, no reply.

There wasn’t much special about this college, education wise nothing he couldn’t have gained from any closer schools, but this one had something else. Someone else. San is well aware how moronic it is to chase after an ex (well, ex something) yet here he is, outside an apartment five miles from the campus you attend. His plan was always to move to a school further away. San’s decision to move to this school was only slightly influenced by the “vague” memory of your attendance here.

The rest of his belongings, haphazardly thrown into cardboard boxes are on the way soon, hopefully. The moving process is more complicated than San ought to have believed. He doesn’t have anything of too much value from home, except for his well-loved motorcycle. A more recent purchase, a gift to himself for finally deciding to make the big move.

A figure appears from the apartment building’s entrance and San hopes his prayers have been answered, for once. The man across from him squints his eyes curiously, recognition fills them instead after a few seconds and a grin spreads across his face.

“San, right?”

“I don’t get it; you know you could easily pay for this place yourself.” A second voice scoffs, chiming in, “Yeah, you just got the last roomie out. Why don’t you enjoy solo living for a while?” The two boys across from Mingi aren’t accusatory in tone, yet he feels it from their expression. It’s probably stupid from their view, understandably. It’s also kind of stupid from his, he’s just lonely. He can’t say that to them though. It’s hard to not sound like a wealthy prick whose upset his friends have jobs and other friends while he’s spending his days rotting away in some luxury penthouse in Brooklyn Heights.

“Dunno, save money I guess.” Wooyoung scoffs, “Complete bullshit, your parents pay for this place.” Mingi shrugs, “Saving them money, then.” Mingi watches as Wooyoung taps the boy next to him on the floor, holding his hand out. Yeosang squints up at him, elbow resting on his knee, lit joint in his hand sending smoke around in small swirls. “Puff, puff, pass fuckin’ hog.” Yeosang takes another drag, blowing a stream of smoke into the other’s face.

“Not even your stash, stop acting stingy.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes in response, bringing the stick up to his mouth as he leans back into the upholstered sofa. Mingi scowls, “Get another burn mark in this couch and I’m done with you forever.” Wooyoung hovers the lit end of the joint just above the leathered surface before the former knocks his hand away lightly. Wooyoung grins, passing Mingi the joint in surrender. He shuffles in his spot before bringing the stick to his lips between two fingers. Yeosang lays his back onto the cashmere carpet, stretching out his back.

Mingi likes the two boys. They are his friends, as much as friends who come to your place to smoke all your weed and use your fancy television can be. They keep him company, when they’re not studying or working, or at some shitty frat party. Mingi doesn’t really wish to join in on the trashy ragers they go to, it’s all cheap liquor that’ll leave him with a bad hangover. Sometimes he thinks he really does live up to the pretentious rich kid stereotype.

“So,” Yeosang continues, eyes still closed as he lies down, “Who is the new roomie?” Mingi clears his throat to respond, yet the other voice in the room interrupts. “Seriously though, who cares, I’m still grieving the last one. Missing him.”

“You’ve seen him a total of like, seven times.” Yeosang lifts his head up to give the youngest of the three a judgemental look, “Have you guys even spoken before?”

Mingi snorts, “They did, once. Hongjoong lost his key and Wooyoung let him in. He was too out of it to respond and ran to the bathroom to throw up.”  The black-haired boy scowls, “Don’t care. He was hot. Fuck happened to him?”

Mingi shrugs, he doesn’t really know much about his old roommate either. He moved in because the guy was looking for some extra studio space. Some preppy art school kid. Not a lot to know, apart from the fact he drank a little too much. And barely spoke unless he was wasted out of his mind. He didn’t mind it though, just enjoyed having someone to share his place with. To be honest, the place just feels so hollow with just him in it. Last week he had packed his stuff up, handed his key to Mingi and on his way he went. Mingi didn’t have a lot of friends, dropping out of school early kind of kickstarts that. All of Mingi’s old friends were off in foreign countries, travelling and exploring with their parent’s money, and the two with him now were always closer to each other. Not that they’d exclude him, but they were each other’s best friends.

“Long story, you guys hungry?” The two boys nod. Yeosang props himself up, “New restaurant opened up like last week down the road.” Mingi nods, moving to get up before Wooyoung sucks in a breath. “Your treat though, yeah?” He sings, patting the boy on the chest. Mingi nods letting the two make their way out first as he reaches for his wallet on the coffee table. “What are friends for?” He mutters, shoving the wallet into his pocket.

Ever since Jongho was young, he knew he belonged on the field. Football wasn’t just about the winning, the congratulations or the glory of the trophies and medals, it was more than that. He couldn’t boil it down to one thing that made football so important to him. He loved the chill against his skin as he ran across the grass, ball in his grasp as the screaming and shouting all melted in a dull buzz. He loved when after every point he scored added up onto the scoreboard, celebratory ding ringing in his ears louder than any cheers from his team or the crowd.

The game had always been his calling, the practices just as much entertainment to him. Loved the drills, again and again. First one on the field and last to leave. He was unstoppable, sum it up to physical advantage, extra training, but what he knew was that it all began with his mentality. That this was the thing nobody could take from him. Unfortunately, life will always find a way to do exactly that.

His dad, who had fuelled his love for the game for a much younger Jongho many years ago was sick. Jongho knew he was ill; he also knew that the last thing his dad would want to see was him crying at his bedside. So, he chose to be strong. Or try to, as much as one can when you want to cry and hide until the hurt in one’s heart would cease. He went to practices with his team as much as he could, tackled, defended until his body gave up. Then, he would get up and do the same thing again the very next day.

He pretended as long as he could, that nothing in his life had changed. He’d come home from practice, ask his dad if he wanted to throw the ball around with him and when his dad would shake his head and respond with a simple “Too tired, tomorrow maybe.” Jongho would smile, close the door and return to his room. It was easier, to agree his dad was tired, not sick.

It was hard to ignore other things though, like in his house. The paintings his parents bought during their trip in Greece had been sold, his mom’s engagement ring pawned off, the small tv he kept in his bedroom given away in a garage sale for practically nothing. Jongho would be stupid if he didn’t notice they were having money troubles. So, he did something he really, really didn’t want to do.

Quitting his team was one of the first times Jongho had felt completely and utterly hopeless. But he also knew it was the right thing to do. Too much money spent on his equipment and uniforms, too much time taken away that he didn’t have. So, his afternoons routinely spent sweating, running and catching transformed into mind numbing endless shifts at his local convenience store, as well as studying harder than he ever had before.

During his final semester he joined his team again, played the final games of the season but, the universe is cruel sometimes, so damn cruel. Just under a year of being off the field had set him back too far, no amount of practice could’ve helped him. The other top players of the team had received sport scholarships from some of the top schools, and he was left behind. He’s glad to have at least paid enough attention in school to receive a scholarship, an academic one for science. Without it, college fees would’ve set him back far more.

His first year of college went by with a breeze, then the universe had made its round again. Jongho’s dad had passed away, peacefully, in his sleep on New Years. His nights spent buried in books, reviewing lectures and revising for exams had turned into endless bottles of whatever he could get his hands on until he’d pass out. Then, he would get up and do the same thing again the very next day. He doesn’t talk about his dad much for obvious reasons, but by the start of his second year he had entered lectures painfully wasted or stoned out of his mind instead.

Wooyoung’s spent his whole life thinking about love. Watching it first with his parents, as his mom would look up into his dad’s eyes, fixing his tie while he tucked her hair behind her ear before they’d leave for their weekly date night. They were the classic high school sweethearts. He didn’t know exactly what love would be in store for him yet, but he knew what his parents had was simple, plain, love.

As he got older, he watched it in elementary school. More juvenile versions of it, smiles across the playground and confessions scribbled onto paper. He also remembers his first crush. She was pretty, always waved to him in middle school before running off to her friends. Wooyoung would walk the longer route to his own classes to see her as she passed him, locking eyes before one of them (usually him) would feel his breath hitch and he’d walk a little faster. They even went to their school dance together, by that he means they held hands and stood next to each other at the punch table.

They never dated but she was also his first heartbreak in a sense, thanks to the new guy that showed up and swept her off her feet by their final year of middle school. Wooyoung hadn’t cared too much after like a week, they went off to different high schools and he’d forgotten all about her. He certainly doesn’t remember much of her now, but he does remember the feeling of loving someone for the first time. Whatever illusioned version of love a person can have in their teenage years.

By the time high school ended, he’d enjoyed his fair share of relationships, fuck buddies, heartbreaks and whatever else there was in between. Unfortunately, that meant the rose-coloured lenses of his adolescence had been removed, and love had gradually become more of a whimsical fantasy than something he’d truly ever achieve. Life just got in the way most of the time, made relationships way too complicated. Therefore, in the meantime, while he waited for the special someone to come along he chose to embrace college life to the absolute fullest. Which translates to get wasted every weekend and wake up with a stranger in your bed.

“Any of you planning to get some tonight? Because I know I am,” Wooyoung winks. Mingi scoffs, picking up a slice of pizza, “Didn’t I tell you I’m not going? Those parties you and Yeosang go to are always so,” he pauses, holding his hands up to find an eloquent expression, “fucked up.” Yeosang pleads, “You can’t be lame tonight too, dude.” Placing his cup down he continues, “Wooyoung’s gonna ditch me before he’s even gotten a drink in him. Just come with.” Mingi shakes his head, “Isn’t your roommate going? Just stay with him,” he offers with a shrug.

Yeosang exhales, arms dropping to his sides, “Yes, exactly- I don’t want to be drunk around him. I swear Yunho’s straight as shit and I’m gonna try make out with him or something. You need to be there to stop me, deadass.” Mingi purses his lips, “I don’t know, new roommate’s bringing all his shit tonight and I said I was gonna help him unpack.” Wooyoung swallows his bite quickly, tilting his chin towards Mingi, “Didn’t he transfer to Columbia? He would’ve seen the flyers, I’m sure he’d be going already.”

Mingi sighs in defeat, nodding, “I’m gonna head back now. I’ll ask once I get there, text me the details yeah?” The boys break out into grins, elbowing each other in celebration. “Yeah, I got you. See you man.” Yeosang hits Mingi on the arm shooting him a small smile, while Wooyoung bids him goodbye with a tap to his behind, the two watch him leave the store before continuing to finish their food. Unfortunately for the tallest of the three, Mingi hadn’t told them how cute his new roommate was, and just how nervous he’d been around him since the first time they met.

Mingi takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to pray he doesn’t embarrass himself. He shuts the door behind him before making his way to the living room. Stacks of cardboard boxes greet him, splayed out on the ground. Mingi spots books and stacks of clothing folded messily in some of the opened boxes. He furrows his brows looking around for the boy.

After toeing off his shoes, he places his keys on the counter before calling out, “Hey, San?” Shuffling is heard in the distance before Mingi turns around and finds who he’s looking for. Unfortunately for him, (fortunate for his eyes) the boy is far less clothed than he had anticipated. Holy shit. This new roommate of his is really fucking jacked. And worse, even hotter without a shirt.

“Hey! I’ll get the boxes cleared soon,” San pauses, eyes widening as he notices how Mingi is frozen in place, “Sorry um, moving just got kind of uh, hot.” He presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing towards his very half-naked body. Mingi shakes his head quickly, “No dude it’s fine, is the AC not working or, something?” Mingi realises how much he needs to peel his eyes away, so he does. Extremely unwillingly. His hands tremble as he shrugs his jacket off. Mingi turns away from man opposite him whose still very much not clothed to busy himself with a desperately needed glass of water.

San scratches the back of his neck, looking down, “I don’t really, know how to use it? Embarrassing I know, but I just have some shitty remote. Not the whole touch screen thing, not that it’s bad at all! This whole place is really great, your bedroom is really nice by the way. Not in that way! I just walked in accidentally, this place has a lot of rooms. My bedroom is really great too. Oh my god, I need to shut up. I’m sorry.”

A small chuckle escapes before Mingi can suppress it, “I’ll show you how to use it later. Have you um, unpacked enough of your clothes yet? My friends were asking if you wanted to come with us to that Columbia party tonight.” San grins in return, nodding enthusiastically, “Yeah!” he clears his throat, “Yeah, for sure. No that’s cool with me, I was planning on going already.”

“Okay, yeah. Cool. I’m gonna get changed then we can meet them there.” Mingi empties the last bit of water from his glass, watching as San rubs his now sweaty hands on the sides of his pants. He spins on his heels, returning back to boxes he was previously sorting through. Mingi mutters a quick “see you in a bit” before rushing past the other, off to his bedroom. He pushes his door shut quickly, pulling out his phone as he slides against the wall down to the floor.

mingi: fuck me yeosang: thank u god i knew this day wld come

mingi: wtf dude no

new roomie is hot as fuck yeosang: thought you finally loved me back

kidding spill

so what does he have that i dont Mingi rolls his eyes, poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek before typing frantically back.

mingi: can u shut up

i alr thought he was cute n then he walked in half naked and i Don’t Know What To Do yeosang: is he coming party tn ?

mingi: yes . i want to jump his bones

yeosang: cant wait to see that

mingi: ok voyeur kink is not needed rn

yeosang: sorry i thought this was a Safe Space

mingi: how do i live with him now

i cant be normal around hot ppl

yeosang: idk man u kno i don’t fuck the roomies for a reason

need me to keep u on lock tn ? js keep me from yunho i beg

mingi: i think ill b ok

Can i fuck yunho instead

yeosang: not funny

mingi: sorry x

wooyoung: god when is my hot roomie coming along ..

navigation┆prev┆next

[ineffably-wrecked]

Oh, I am sooooo f-ing mad right now. I wish this was a fake article cause I know there was rumors recently that it was going to be downgraded from a whole season to a movie. But given that the article is from Hollywood Reporter, that doesn't seem to be the case...Guys, it's not even 2 to 3 hours long. They're saying 90 minutes. 90 FREAKING MINUTES!!!! There were scripts written for a whole damn season, so it looks that a lot of that has obviously been scrapped then.

But it sounds like they're still using part of Neil Gaiman's writing for the finale. These days, you can barely call 90 minutes a movie. Most animated movies are longer than that even by today's standards. This final season was supposed to be epic in scale. You're seriously gonna tell me they're going to wrap up averting the second coming and the reconciliation between Crowley and Aziraphale and their relationship of 6000 years worth of pining in that small amount of time? Impossible.

I mean, there's full length fics on ao3 of possible s3 storylines that beg to differ. Some of them that haven't even been finished yet and are still pretty fucking amazing. "How do we turn on the light?" anyone?

It just sounds to me that due to the allegations against NG, Amazon wasn't too keen on being attached to the likes of him anymore. But they figured since Good Omens still seems to have such a large and dedicated fanbase, rather than piss them off and possibly lose subscribers by outright canceling it, they'll just try to put out a half-baked, half-assed finale in order to try to appease the fans. Somewhat... It's bittersweet. Neil Gaiman is not attached any more, which is indeed what everyone wanted. And we are still at least getting some kind of conclusion. But now I'm worried it's just something that's going to be hastily thrown together. At the end of the day, despite everything, Good Omens still means a lot to me. Even though I didn't become a fan till last year. I mostly just lurk on tumblr and ao3 reading fanfics. But I appreciate the overwhelming amount of support and talent that has come out of the fandom in this trying time. I never post on tumblr, but wanted to get this and my feelings out there.

Good Omens and its story and the characters of Crowley and Aziraphale that we've come to know and love deserved better. The actors and crew that have worked so hard bringing it to life deserved better. We, as the fans, deserved better. Terry deserved better. I'm sad this may not be the long awaited conclusion he had pictured before he died. Well, as long as they still end it on a happy note. Here's hoping our angel and demon still have their happily ever after in a lovely little cottage together in the South Downs.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day One

So I know this has probably been overdone by lots of people on lots of years but I haven't done it yet and I want to so here goes: I'm going to rewatch get back with the days matched up and catalogue my thoughts as I watch.

We don't get to see George and John saying hi to each other, but I'm struck by how careful they are with Ringo when he comes in. "Hi Ringo, happy new year." From both of them, with full eye contact soft, sweet voices. I wonder if they're really wanting to be so gentle with him after what happened at the end of August. Not like walking on eggshells at all, but just very "we're working on doing better because we care about you."

While Paul's not there, John is giving George full attention, leaning in to him, facing him while they sing, and George seems to really love it

But then Paul shows up and you can tell before we even see him that he's arrived, because suddenly John's gaze is gone from George. His eyebrows shoot up, he chin-tilts, and (this sounds insane I know but it's what I just watched) his singing drastically improves. He's putting effort in, performing.

Paul sits down and the shy little grins and glances and inside jokes (at George's expense and hypocritical of John) ensue immediately.

Ringo's jacket. The black with the maroon velvet collar. It's very cool and it's very unique to him. I don't see the other three pulling it off the way he does. He just has effortless swagger. If the other three wore something like that they'd look like try-hards.

George's sassy little hair flip. "oh, you're recording our conversation?"

Meanwhile John and Paul are back at it like magnets I swear. Turned in to each other, talking gibberish, and strumming

George with the deadpan sass again. "Maybe we should just learn a few songs first." Lol he's so stone cold.

"Oh please believe me." "Yes I will." Come on. Do you ever stop? And then the silent communication when they screwed up. We don't see Paul's face but John makes such a cute "oops sorry" face and they keep going.

Paul's literally so bossy. I find it such a turn on, really, watching it. Just because it's him being a genius who has a vision and sucks at social skills. But if I were in that band and he wasn't letting me hit I'd literally hate him.

John's so delighted with Paul's "everybody's got a hard on... Except for me and my monkey." Because that's one of the ways he often expresses his love for Paul and Paul's giving it back to him here. So John's just "Oh he made a joke about my song. He's teasing me. He does like me."

Paul literally diggs John's part of IGAF so fucking hard though. Like as soon as John's singing, Paul can not be still. Can not. He just thinks John's so so clever (and to be fair he is)

Crazy eye fucking continues

Then Paul's off to talk big boy plans with the daddies for a minute. (would love to know who he waved at then sucked his finger) "Is this your place, Twickenham?" Okay. Feeling out a potential daddy's pockets. I see you.

Obsessed with Yoko's emerald bag and how she got her little boyfriend to wear the exact color of Henley. Ken was literally made to be Barbies accessory and he's doing such a great job matching her purse. She's so pretty and cool.

It cracks me up how extremely nonchalant Ringo is about Magic Christian. (I LOVE that movie. Ringo is so hot in it and it's anti-capitalist so it's a winner). Dennis O'Dell is all "the scripts are marvelous." And Ringo's just "yeah you told me." And then Dennis is like "I'll take up up and show you around these really great sets." Ringo: "yeah okay." It's almost like the other three have no chill so he has to have only chill to balance it out.

They really are so blunt with each other when they don't like something. "I don't dig that." "Scrap that." Which is good. If only they could've been blunt when they did like things too though. And I guess they were sometimes. Like John telling Paul to keep that lyric in Hey Jude. But I don't think they were half as open with their positive feelings about each other's work as they were the other way around and that's so sad to me.

Why does George single Paul out about the sandwiches? It's cute. I love it. But what is it? Is he particularly worried about Paul and food because Paul's picky? Is it just their relationship that they take care of each other in these simple ways because they can't take care of each other emotionally?

Fucking hell why does Paul literally flirt with everyone all the time? "No separation in there." "Rain or snow will do me." "Yeah, you're pretty right, Michael."

Pretty sure John was looking at the lyrics of TOU off that sheet that said "Another Quarrymen Original" at the bottom. I wonder what he thought of that. I wonder if it was there to signal him, and if so what was it signalling? "Hey this is about you."??

"Two of us Henry Cooper." Referencing a boxer in a song about him and John. Why? Because they're fighting?

[thefurbynecromancer]

Ok I have some things to say about the ending of despicable me 4.

Spoilers under the break

Ok so we see all the villains in prison right? first off, Scarlet & Herb are there which is fucking insane. How the fuck do they look almost exactly the same. Assuming Scarlet is like 20 in Minions (I feel like she's probably about 30, but we'll make her younger just to demonstrate) & assuming there's a year in-between despicable me movies, she would be like 66. If the years in-between releases count then she would be like fucking 76. I don't think a single grey streak is all you would have at those ages.

Vector is there also, which is crazy. How did they get him off the fucking moon? Plus, if you're including the lore of the Mooned short, how did they get him off fucking Mars??? Did they get his ass out of space just to arrest him?

Bratt. my poor, poor babygirl.

the fact he still has his white undershirt hurts. He's still desperately clinging to his Evil Bratt identity that they stripped him of. Evil Bratt was all he had, to be completely stripped of it must have been so depressing to him. The only reason he seems happy here is because they're singing an 80s song, he finally has a way of regressing back into his one & only comfort.

Also: where's Clive? My headcannons are either

1, he's scrap metal. they just scrapped him for parts once they found him

2, he's still out there somewhere, & he's sending Bratt letters in prison. Bratt definitely has an Evil Bratt poster folded up underneath his pillow that he looks at & cries.

Their outfit choices are hilarious also, big fan of the fact they just recolored scarlet's dress orange instead of giving her a normal ass prison outfit. Also vector literally just has his warm up suit on they didn't even change it.

Also Vector flossing is so fucking funny

[tooningin]

2012 Lorax Rewrite

The movie would open up with the scrapped Thneedville song. In the visual department, there would be this subtle yet noticeable sense of sadness and resignation from the citizens, indicating that maybe they regret their plastic dystopia, but are too far gone to change.

As for the song itself, Ted would be given a verse at the end, expressing his dissatisfaction with the lifestyle Thneedville has, and wondering if its really too late.

The song ends, and he then walks home and finds his family gushing over the new oxygen masks they’ve invented. Ted tries to tell them that instead of celebrating these oxygen masks, they should see the fact that they’re needed as a massive red flag, but his points are dismissed as jokes. Ted’s dad then hands him some packages with the oxygen masks to deliver

Ted rides his bike around Thneedville, further hammering in just how messed up the society is. Everyone happily accepts their oxygen mask delivery… Except for the girl that was Ted’s GF (Who I’ll just be referring to as Taylor Swift)

Taylor Swift’s reaction surprises Ted, who was used to the enthusiastic reactions from the customers. He asks her why, and she explains that she feels like a prisoner in the town of Thneedville, and yearns for a world where products aren’t being shoved down her throat (It wouldn’t be this on the nose I swear) Ted relates, and the two bond over this. Taylor Swift is called inside her home, and right before she heads in, she tells Ted that she’s happy that she’s not alone in her beliefs.

With this, Ted decides to leave for the Truffula Tree woods in the middle of the night. He’s not the only one who hates what the world has become, and if he can show proof, everyone will agree, and maybe, just maybe, Thneedville could have a better future

But once he arrives he sees the woods with zero Truffula trees and almost devoid of life, save for a tiny handful of struggling animals. At first Ted tries to tell himself that this state is just in this specific part of the woods, but as he wanders through the woods, this is all proven wrong.

At the end of the trail, Ted finds the Onceler’s house, and he bitterly tells Ted to leave, stating that the world is destroyed, and that he should just go back to Thneedville.

But Ted ain’t havin any of that. He wants to know how exactly the world came to be the way it is.

And with this, the Onceler begrudgingly begins his tale.

We flashback to a young Onceler and his family. They run a failing clothes business, one that’s doing so bad, they’re on the brink of poverty

One day the Onceler decided to go on a walk, and that’s when he found the Truffula forest. He’s awestruck by the beauty of the place and all the life in it, but it’s the truffula trees that really catch his attention.

He grabs on to some of the tree’s leaves/material/whatever and decides that maybe he and his family should try making clothes with its material. He gets ready to chop the tree down, but the Lorax jumps out and stops him. Lorax berates the Onceler for attempting to chop down the tree, to which the Onceler says it’s not a big deal, after all it’s just one little tree. How bad could he possibly be?

The Lorax grabs the Onceler’s hand and takes him around the woods, explaining how one little thing could affect the whole forest, and the importance of preserving the environment through song. However he does have some sympathy for the Onceler’s situation and allows him to take a small amount of the Truffula’s leaves.

The Onceler walks back home, but on the way, trips on a rock. He gets up and is about to pick up the Truffula’s leaves, but notices it coiled up. He places it on his head, and fiddles around some more with it, and gets the idea for the Thneeds. He runs home, and tells his family about his idea, who, having been backed into a corner in terms of financial stability, decide to give it a shot.

And the Thneeds end up being an overnight sensation, so much so that the family is soon pulled out of poverty. Talk of the Thneeds spreads, and soon, everyone wants one.

With the demand for Thneeds being so high, The Onceler begins taking more and more of the Truffula trees. Lorax worries about the effects, but tries to be somewhat lenient, after all, the Onceler and his family are no longer poor, much to the animals’ chagrin. But it isn’t long before the rapid success and profitability of the Thneeds gets to the Onceler’s head. He puts the money towards expensive stuff things that only benefit him, chopping down more Truffulas than necessary, and overall forgets the whole reason he began the whole Thneed thing in the first place: His family, who in his obsession with chasing profits and fame, he has pushed out. At this point the Lorax decides to put his foot down, the Onceler isn’t using Truffulas to provide for him and his family anymore.

With a montage of the amount of trees being chopped, the sky progressively getting foggier, and Thneedville’s growth, we transition into the one and only, “Biggering”

As we know, in this song, the Onceler knows damn well what he’s doing, but justifies it to himself. The song would end with the final Truffula tree being cut down, and the Onceler, seeing everything he’s done, the pain he caused, would have an absolute breakdown, one of both happiness and sadness. Happiness cause, as he would tell him himself, he has everything now, his biggered his business to the point where now he has an empire, and sadness because what all that stands for, and cost the world as a whole. Basically think that one scene with Simon from Infinity Train.

We then flashback to the present, with The Onceler looking to the side in shame, and Ted looking to the Onceler in pure horror. He tries to proclaim the Onceler an absolute monster, but is unable to bring the words out due to how much shock he is in, and instead turns around and is about to run back to Thneedville in tears, but before he does so, The Onceler gives him the last Truffula seed.

By the time Ted returns to Thneedville, the Sun is almost up, and upon seeing Taylor Swift sitting on the front steps, he rushes to her and tells her what he has learnt before revealing the Truffula seed the Onceler gave him. Together they plant it, and sit together watching life in the plastic wasteland of Thneedville go on

[variousqueerthings]

something that strikes me about joyland vs many other films centering trans women, is that biba’s story is one that interweaves with various cisgender women -- while it does have scenes showing her community, which is notably a place she is happy and safe and able to let her guard down, her actual story stands in comparison to other cis women, who likewise are comparable to each other. she’s not the “othered” woman to their “normative” woman, she’s a woman, whose perspective is relevant to a story largely about women

the part where her being transgender is important (and it is important!), is that she has taken the necessary steps in life to be freely herself, and this has come at great cost, but it’s also working. she knows the pain that comes with that and we see a lot of it in the movie itself, but she’s definitely also got the joy that comes from a certain kind of freedom (the freedom of creating a new reality after everything is gone)

so in that sense, the main contrast of her as “trans woman” to their “non-trans woman,” is that it’s given her the opportunity for joy precisely because the margins -- once everything has perceivably been lost -- is where that joy is to be created, whereas the other women whose stories we see are clinging to what scraps they have. they aren’t happy, not because they’re women, but because the little bits that they do have in the society in which they function, are things they’re too afraid to lose to stand up for what they want 

nucchi at first appears to be happy as a housewife, desperate to produce a son, but she gets stripped away, bit by bit, merely as someone who can tolerate the role she has. she studied to be an interior designer, I believe it was, and it makes perfect sense, once she shares that piece of information with mumtaz. she comes into focus -- and then she’s the one who suggests that she and mumtaz leave the house together (gasp) to go to the amusement park, for their One Good Day

and mumtaz you simply see deteriorate, until she’s on the verge of doing the one thing that might help -- running away -- and then cannot go through with it. I think at least one of the reasons is that she’s wondering if maybe she can do this after all, if maybe once she tells haider that she’s pregnant something will open up, but instead the future closes in and in and in. she doesn’t manage to grab that one sliver of freedom she had (and it would have come with so much pain), and the ending starts careening at the viewer from that point onwards

the second-to-last scene, where you see haider and mumtaz talk prior to their wedding is just... oof. ouch. mumtaz :( me, sitting in this movie screaming at the screen to just get her the damned air-conditioners she wanted, at least! one thing!

and then lastly the neighbouring woman, who at first presents herself as all about that propriety, and who you then realise is at the end of what this journey is going to be. no longer useful, only a ghost, not even allowed to leave the house, and there’s no way she’ll do anything but accept this, even as she feels, deep down, there’s some way to have joy, and she even briefly offers a small fight for it, before she accepts her fate anew

in the face of all of this, biba’s is the story with the most hope, presenting out and proud transness as a gift rather than a burden that must be borne because nothing else is possible, as it often is. biba is not in a society where she’s safe, or accepted, or respected -- hell, she’s clearly the least privileged person we follow in this film -- but she is free

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #22 night

White Pony Tattoo - Part Three (Night)

A loud metallic bang ringing behind John’s back made him startle. His heartbeat sped up and he instinctively ducked, looking for cover to avoid being shot again.

The sound of hushed voices and the clatter of high-heeled shoes on cobblestones had John realize that it had been the door of car banging shut. Also, John was remembered that suffering from PTSD might give him a break but will not go away even after a multitude of sessions with his therapist and more than two years after the original traumatizing event.

Embarrassed about his behaviour that had made him look like a nutjob, John feigned to have ducked in order to tie a loose shoelace.

Peeking up from under his fringe that had fallen over his forehead, John saw Calais Reno disappearing in the White Pony tattoo shop. He could not believe his eyes. Standing up, close to the shop’s window, John watched as the expensive limousine turned around a street corner, feeling slightly dazed.

The internationally acclaimed movie star and recent Oscar-nominee who currently dominated the news of London’s yellow press had vanished in Sherlock’s shop to get tattooed. Dear God!

Knuckles tapping on glass made John turn around and look straight into Sherlock’s grinning face on the other side of the window pane. Sherlock winked and then pressed the suction cups of a second metal sign against the glass, and disappeared behind the purple curtain. The sign simply read “closed, don’t disturb”.

It was still early in the afternoon and the sun was shining, so John took the opportunity to take a stroll through Regent’s Park nearby. He sat down on a bench, sipping the take-away coffee he had bought on the way and remembered how he had met his old friend Mike Stamford on a very similar bench in this park two years ago.

They had talked about their training time at Bart’s Hospital. Mike had taken on a carreer in educating medical students while John took an army engagement. In the end, it had been Mike’s pointer that helped John to get hold of his current job as a clinic doctor.

Shortly after, Mary Morstan had come around and quickly won over John’s heart with her open, charming and uncomplicated nature and her dark sense of humour that matched John’s own very well.

It had been a day like this when they had got married. Seven months of happiness followed, at least for John. As it turned out, Mary had not been happy but instead became bored of John and started to have an affair. With their mutual dentist of all possible men. Who was also married and bored apparently.

John had only found out by accident. Coming home early from an obligatory three-day refresher course in emergency medicine, he had literally caught them in the act on the sofa in their sitting-room. Not in their marital bed, thankfully. Small mercies.

John might even have forgiven her, had it been a one-time misstep. But it hadn’t. Mary confessed quickly in the following tumultuous row that the affair had lasted for two months and that Randy Bernard, the dentist, was about to divorce his wife for her and therefore, Mary wanted to divorce John.

Too hurt and betrayed to argue, John agreed. He spent the night alone in their bed, having banned his adulterous soon-to-be ex-wife to sleep on the sofa. The next morning, Mary had left John’s flat to move in with Randy.

Albeit John scorned his wife for her unfaithfulness, he also missed her at home and in the bed. Everything was too quiet, too cold, too empty, too lonely. The nightmares of Afghanistan and getting shot in the shoulder, bleeding out in the hot desert sand returned in all of their gory glory and terror.

This had been going on for nearly four weeks, every night and it wore John down.

Mary had long taken her things and moved out, not leaving a scrap of hers in the flat. Not that John would have wanted. The only thing that stayed with John, irremovable, was the damned tattoo of the Virgin Mary with Mary’s face on his upper arm.

Once, John had loved it. It was a very well-done tattoo and the artist had captured Mary’s face in ink beautifully. But now, it reminded John every time he saw it of all the hurt that Mary had unapologetically caused and John hated it. Therefore, it had to go.

Drinking the last sip of his coffee, John took out his mobile phone and began to search for images of tattoos that had been done by Sherlock. The artist himself did not boast with his work apparently because all the photos John could find had been posted by the people who had managed to get one.

Quite a number of the lucky persons who had been deemed worthy of Sherlock’s attention were famous.

There was the lauded crime writer couple who only went by their pseudonyms “Solarmama” and “Plantsareneat” and never showed their faces in public. They had posted a photograph of their backs standing beside each other and the tattoo was a stunningly intricate diptych of flowers on a sunny meadow.

Another very impressive tattoo was a full arm sleeve of a majestic grizzly bear in a mountain landscape. It looked so realistic as if the bear might jump right off Peanitbear’s skin. The Grammy-winning singer/songwriter beamed on the photo and proudly held the tattooed arm close into the camera.

This evening back home in his flat, when John fell asleep in the empty bed after stalking White Pony Tattoo and Sherlock Holmes – which apparently was his real name - on the internet for hours, he did not dream of Afghanistan.

John dreamt of getting tattooed by Sherlock Holmes lying naked on a sunny mountain meadow while a large group of faceless but famous people watched and applauded. John had never been so happy before in his life.

+++++

I hope you like your cameos as famous people @solarmama-plantsareneat @calaisreno @peanitbear

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at

[suekre]

My next OC for retrOCtober isn't exactly idiotverse related. I mean, he kinda is, but I'll get to that, eventually! 😂

This boy's name is Lukas, and I came up with him waaaayyyy back in the early 2000s, I'd say. He was my main protagonist in an RP I was writing with an old online friend back then, and we didn't start out with Lukas and the gang, he was already part of our "Next Generation" at the time - ah well, it's all a little hard to explain. The setting was still in good old Germany and it was basically your average, age-appropriate school drama, spiced with over-the-top drama for our characters aaaand whatnot, yadda yadda, blaaah blaaah.

Long ass explanation and soul searching under the cut:

Lukas kinda embodied every boy I couldn't have back then. I was never a shy kid, but for some reason my old friends abandoned me after we switched schools after 6th grade, and I wasn't able to make new friends either. All of a sudden, I was was rendered "uncool", I became the unpopular girl who went unseen by most, even by her own family. I am currently working through all this in therapy, so I won't get into that here; all we need to know is that my school years were mostly awful and I also didn't get my happy end at the end of the teen movie. The reality was cold and hard. No one really wanted me around most of the time. I was tolerated at best. It was a simple as that.

Back to this boy, though. As I said, Lukas was everything I ever yearned for. He was the type of guy I was crushing on HARD back in my teenage years, but he also represented a lifestyle I was craving. He was one of the happy-go-lucky and cool alternative rock guys, with that slight brush of arrogance and aloofness, not too much but juuuust enough to make him endearing and interesting. It was the shaggy hair for me, as well as the cool clothes, always a bit shabby but never too shabby; just shabby enough to look wonderfully effortless. The type of guy who hung out with the slim, cool and confident girls (I was very chubby back then. Not a problem, you say? Yeah, no, try being a chubby teenage girl in the early 2000s.), who was always surrounded by friends, who everyone just knew and liked!

The type of guy I could only admire from a distance. A Lukas would never have looked my way, not even for a second.

That RP was fun for a good while, but things went downhill at some point, the way my friend wanted things to go was quite different from what I wanted. Even back then I wanted to weave in details, flesh out side characters, write actual character development… all things my friend didn't care about, she only wanted to play the main couples and that just no longer sat well with me after a while. These poor fictional people were barely in their twenties and had already faced lifelong drama, had several kids, faced gun violence… everything that could happen had happened to these young characters already. Everything, and a lot more. It was just FAR too unrealistic for my own taste.

I wasn't allowed to bring my own original ideas in, which is why I started molding and shaping our universe to my own liking. All in secret, of course. I scrapped most of the ridiculous things that had happened in the RP, rewrote the things I still liked and started writing the things I was never allowed to write. One by one, I scrapped/remodeled/replaced my friend's characters, too. Did that for a while, and it was fun in a way, but at the time (2007, 2008??) I had also discovered deviantart and wanted to be a part of that. I twisted and tweaked my universe here and there, but nothing would really fit or flow enough for me to say "Yup, that's it, that's what I'm gonna show the world!" so I went with various fanart for a while.

(I feel like mentioning that there was also a blue-eyed Lukas at some point, an alternate version of him who was basically the same person, and the universe had about the same tone, but he had a different circle of friends and everything was entirely free from the influence of the RP but that's a different story. 😂)

In 2008 or 2009 I discovered Tess Stone and his awesome work. I was drawn in first by his attempted webcomic "Without Void", but then he started writing "Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name" and maaaan, did that comic hit hard! The way it became popular, the way countless people were following it, bombarding Tess with questions and inquiries; and the way Tess managed to show his characters in all those funky and colourful artworks, the way he did all this so effortlessly… damn, I wanted that, too. I wanted it so bad. The comic and the ongoing hype really inspired me to try and get my own stuff out there.

My universe just kinda wasn't it, at least not the way it still was back then. I had enjoyed working on and off on it in private, but it never felt enough and it also never felt quite like "my own". Even though I had dropped most influences of my friend (the friendship was long over at the time), it still didn't feel quite right.

So Lukas and the others went through some changes, again. First of all, I went international. Lukas himself was still German, but he was now an immigrant living in the USA. I tried to make a supernatural world with zombies, I tried writing vampires and whatnot… ugh, I tried so many things but nothing really stuck with me. At some random point I had an idea, quite out of the blue, I think. I wanted to keep Lukas in the universe, but not the way he used to be. I had tried everything after all, but nothing really worked out. My gaze fell on his daughter instead, who was still a child in my then-universe.

That child was none other than my character Charlie. I aged Charlie up, she was now a 20-year-old college kid. I gave her her own environment, and I kept Lukas and the gang as the "first generation". And all of a sudden, I was hooked. I was in it for real this time. Everything just started coming to me. The experimental season 1 of my universe was born.

SO, in a way, that kid up there is THE original idiotverse character. The one everything else stemmed from. He was SO deserving of this redraw, I'd say. 😂

[i-want-my-iwtv]

I will be delusional as I want BUT I'll pretend that tom cruise going back to Warner Bros means we'll finally get the deleted scenes from the iwtv please please manifesting

🙏🙏🙏 Anon, embrace being delusional! I wish! If anyone's connected with Warner Bros please please tell them we want the deleted scenes!

Anyway since we're on the topic... over the years I've talked about wanting the cut scenes, and I wanted to reflect for a moment on why we want them. I think we want them because, like a delicious cake, once it's all consumed, we still look at the serving plate, hoping we can still lick the icing off the knife, or maybe the baker has some leftover cake back in the kitchen?? Or maybe they can tell us that the secret ingredient to intensifying the chocolate is ESPRESSO... We just want another taste so badly! We want to know the secret ingredients that set it apart from other cakes. And some filmmakers know that, and sometimes they're happy to share the cut scenes on a DVD release, maybe with commentary as to why the scenes were cut, like:

"Here's a scene were Louis kills a priest and ultimately we had an overall run time limit of 2 hours, but it was otherwise a perfectly good scene."

"Here's part of a set of scenes we shot early on where Lestat shows mortal Louis what killing entails, and although we loved it, we ended up improving the Lestat makeup & hair a few weeks later, and for the sake of continuity we had to cut it bc we couldn't go back to that location to reshoot, or it would have taken too much time to fix in post, etc."

Giving over the cut scenes is a little like an artist showing the scrapped versions of a painting composition, and that's fine when the creator wants to invite the viewers into their artistic process, but I think the IWTV filmmakers at the time (and for years after) really wanted the '94 movie to be serious* to the point that releasing cut scenes could have undermined their overall vision... maybe they simply didn't want to invite the audience into their creative process.

(*Serious, BUT there was certainly plenty of beauty, charm, dark humor, intimacy, desire, so much more! Maybe the filmmakers cut scenes that THEY felt didn't mesh well with the overall story they wanted to tell, like putting together an outfit and choosing accessories that go better rather than others... you know?)

WITH THAT SAID... What cut scenes would you have liked to see? That's what fanfic and fanart are for, so tell us and maybe someone will be inspired to create it for all of us 💝

IF Tom was still part of VC at all... one of my personal fantasy casting ideas was to have Tom play the Marquis in TVL, and now he's really old enough to do it! 😅 Can you imagine?? Tom playing his own horrible father! Cast younger actors to play kid!Lestat, teen!Lestat, etc.?? Tom!Marquis showing obvious preference for his two older brothers and being horrible to Gabrielle... it could be amazing.

Obviously it wouldn't be adorable like this but... I've always loved Tom Cruise characters when he interacts with kids and teens, he's always seemed very in touch with his inner child, even when that inner child is more of a 12 yo brat. Whole novels could be written on his layered performances with child and teen actors, but for now, just a few thoughts...

^From Jerry Maguire. I can't quite articulate why this was so compelling... iirc, maybe because his character is really frustrated/demoralized in this scene, and there's something comforting about a kid naively telling you that "the human head weighs 8 pounds," as if to say, "Your problems are not really as big a deal as you think they are; live in the present moment." And Tom in this character seems to absorb that deeper meaning and it gives him some relief, it's a step towards his character's growth.

When Tom played Ray in War of the Worlds, he had a teenage son, and there was a heartbreaking scene where Ray had to choose between protecting his son or his daughter. From That Moment In:

Desperate to keep his family together, Ray is forced to leave the terrified Rachel alone for a moment as he puts his weight on Robbie and forces him to the ground as the air around them lights up with smoke and tracer fire. Meanwhile, another couple, fleeing the madness, sees Rachel standing by herself and attempt to rescue her, not knowing that her father is nearby. Looking back, Ray sees this and becomes torn between his children, not wanting to lose either but forced to choose. Robbie assures his father that this is what he wants, “I want to see this,” and to please let him go, which Ray finally, achingly, submits to, seeing that Rachel is being whisked away. Father and son say goodbye as Robbie runs over the crest and Ray rushes down to get his daughter as a hellfire of explosion overtake the hills, giving us the impression Robbie has met his end.

I just love the idea of Tom playing the very character that had caused so much pain for Lestat, that Lestat was always on defense from that man, looooong after he died. Despite all the torment the Marquis inflicted on Lestat, Lestat still gave him a comfortable place to live out his last few years, the roles pretty much reversed as happens with aging parents, Lestat actually nurturing this man (not always in the kindest way but still!) in his feeble old age... and couldn't bring himself to even kill him out of mercy.

Nature & Nurture, Lestat was damaged by his father genetically and emotionally in his formative years, and so much of Lestat's bravado and verbal attacks seem to be a shield for the awful feelings of growing up unloved, unwanted, and beaten for expressing his own desires. So much so that even in canon he often expresses the intensity of his desires far more eloquently and frequently in the narration than he's able to do verbally, even with the characters he cherishes the most. Because to express his love exposed himself to losing it.

Tom could for sure pull off a performance that would capture the Marquis, because he essentially played Lestat with the qualities of a victim perpetuating some of the abuse he suffered from the man who was supposed to be (and was!) his role model for becoming the man he became. 😭

[pragnificent]

Tagged by @tina-mairin-goldstein! Tagging whoever else wants to play.

1.How many fics do you have on AO3?

78.

2. What's your total word count on AO3?

934,933. Wow, maybe I can break a million this year....

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just HANNIBAL right now (and for like the last seven years or so). Been vaguely thinking about picking up a second but nothing has caught my interest strongly enough.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Attachment - 7,592

The Fisherman and the Beast from the Sea - 4,565

Sashimi - 2,807

Hungry Ghost - 1,585

Identically Different - 1,382 <- This is my best series and yall should give it a shot <3

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to, and I enjoy doing so, but sometimes the brainworms win and I don't get stuff done even when I really want to.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Breathless

I don't love this story, but "Hannibal is effectively braindead after the fall, but Will keeps caring for the body and feels that Hannibal is there with him, up until the body dies and Will turns himself in because there isn't any point anymore" probably counts as the most angsty? If you are in the market for a "Hannibal receives a brain injury and he, along with everyone else around him, has to cope with that" story Tina's For Remembrance (Holes in the Floor of the Mind) is a much better pick. And as I continue to think about it, Means of Influence has a pretty angsty ending.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my stories have slightly bittersweet but still mostly happy endings. Part of the thing about that is I think it's really hard to envision a situation where Will is like 100% Happy Happy, his own mind hates him too much and every little scrap of happiness needs to be fought for and then vigilantly guarded. But I put both him and Hannibal through so much that I always want them to be as close to content as they each can be.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have gotten two flavors of Fic Hate. 1.) People calling the five year old kid OC in ATTACHMENT slurs like "r*tard" and saying "he belongs in jail" and etc.

Every time Hannibal or Will fuck someone who isn't each other at least one person decides to Yell At Me.

I think I've gotten the old "you didn't tag for bottom Hannibal!!" nonsense once or twice too, but who hasn't?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

A little. I actually started Hannishark bc I was really intimidated by sex scenes and wanted to see if I could pull off a short monsterfucker story. I feel like I've gotten better at writing these but am generally more comfortable leaving them sparce on anatomical details and big on feelings/conversations.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one?

I've got a WRONG TURN crossover series that I'm very proud of here: Bear Mountain Road AU. You don't need to have seen any of the movies to read it, or anything, the movies' premise of "a clan of inbred mountain cannibals waylays travelers" is really just an excuse to put Hannibal (and Will and D, as child members of the cannibal family) In Situations. If I counts as a cross over, I've got a universe swap between the novels and NBC HANNIBAL here: Shiloh

I also have a vague idea for a SAW / HANNIBAL crossover but I've been sitting on that for so long, who knows if it'll ever happen?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not so far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yep, a couple of times.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Hannigram and Reba/D (guys we need a fuckin ship name).

15. What are your writing strengths?

Character, emotions, dialogue.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sex scenes, pacing.

17. Thoughts writing dialogue in another language?

Fine by me, tho I only think I've done it one or twice.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

FARSCAPE.

19. Favorite fic you've written?

Identically Different AU !!!! This it the best thing I've ever written and probably the best thing I will ever write.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Into the Ninjaverse: Rewritten

Good timezone, guys, gals, and everything in the beautiful spectrum~

I recently got brainrot from this idea, but after an old private discussion from someone who got interested in the AU - I realized I created too much of an overlap with the original ITSV/ATSV movies, so first let's talked scrapped/dropped/discontinued ideas for the AU!

Scrapped Concepts

~ The Ninja suit is more like the Spidersuits. I decided I had no idea what to do with this- unfortunately, I came to the conclusion to let this go. Like, it felt too much of a direct copy for one thing, and two I was running myself ragged in trying to figure out what this meant

~ Randy finding the USB? Yeah, no. I have no idea why I included that in an older post- that made no sense to me whatsover

I can't think of anything else I wanted scrapped; if you count the idea of Randy and the rest of the gang having been Spider People, then that's technically another but for now just consider it like, an AU of the AU ig?

Now comes the fun part-

Lore

I can't share everything because of spoilers, but I will share some stuff I can tell you~

The Ninja Society, which are ninjas tasked with keeping monsters and other evils from destroying the multiverse, was founded by "Nomi" and the First Ninja from E-616. Now the dimensions themselves are from ITSV but that's purely to keep myself from getting overwhelmed; Nomi and the Fin had gotten concerned following a sudden rise in problems, but the 'head honcho' - so to speak - is Nomi since Fin is technically retired.

Prior to that, the multiverse mostly kept to its own devices- not fully aware there were others, but of course - following a discovery from Nomi, this entirely changed and well, some universes were far more 'stable' than others. What does this mean exactly? Well, let’s just say, not all of the dimensions in the multiverse have happy endings. I don't know if canon events are a thing within the context of the AU, but I got mean with some of the backstories.

Monsters obviously exist around the entire multiverse and hardly any of them are spared from their influence. This will be key to the storyline later, but honestly the plot deserves its own post and once I can figure out how to do a masterlist- I'll be including it in that too!

As for the characters, I can't share too much without fully giving way the full plot but I will give credit to @thesoundofmadness because it was their Randyverse which gave me inspiration to write this.

I will be sharing more for this later but I'm going to be writing a separate post to explain something for a new blog I'm trying to make since I have no self control.

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

I'm kinda scared because I remember Hori said something about how he changed the ending to MHA than what he originally made, and I'm scared that this new ending has Bakugo become the No. 1 Hero because of his popularity (since, like him or not, you can't deny that he is super popular) so I'm scared that the og ending was Midoriya becoming the No. 1 Hero and now he changed it to be Bakugo who gets the happy ending.

I think Hori’s referencing the second movie’s ending being the scrapped original ending. However, I’m in agreement with you in that I’m worried about Izuku’s ending. Something tells me that part of his ending is going to be cut so that Katsuki can have a better one.