#*of course* it should be grim with gratuitous blood and gore

[quasi-normalcy]

I think that they should make a Lower Decks spinoff about Ma'ah and Malor, but it should be done in an r-rated grimdark anime art style without anyone ever remarking on the shift.

[imagine-this-doesnt-suck]

Sleeping with Spiders

YellowJewl

Summary:

Your art had caught his eye. It was vile and unsettling and he wanted it. And thieves do take what they want after all. Though you were not so fond of that idea. It was no matter though, he could take care of you and have a little fun doing so.

Notes:

I love Feitan. Like i am down bad for him. Hes just so cute i want him to stab me and call me cute and i hate myself for that. So this is the product of all that Smut in chapter two, chapter 1 is plot i guess or whatever

Chapter 1

Before the two of you met, you were an artist. Not well known in many circles but you were proud of the pieces you had sold.

Your family on the other hand, were not as proud. As if it wasn't bad enough that you had chosen to become a freelance artist instead of going into nursing as your mother wished, your subject matter was a bit less than favorable in their eyes.

"Too grim" your father had called it.

"Were you possessed by the Devil? Whatever could have compelled you to make something so appalling!?" Your mother had screeched, refusing to mince words as your father had.

You see you always had a soft spot for horror. Your eyes would light up whenever a gorey scene played out on screen, you would become immersed in reading countless horror mangas, and while other children feared blood and the monsters that creeped within their closets, you had embraced all of it. You loved gore. There was just something about it, maybe the aesthetic, the taboo, but whatever it was made your heart race.

So of course the prints you sold were painted to be unapologetically bloody and disturbing. Body horror was a favorite among clientele, mutilation, faces and limbs sprouting from severed body parts, and or gratuitous shows of violence. The canvas was littered with blades, blood, and bodies and you liked it that way. You weren't the only one. 

It was a cold October night when you were having your first gallery show in a long while. You assume that as everyone neared the "spookier" season as it were, they were a bit more comfortable viewing your work. You weren't one to complain, business is business.

You stand next to the craft services, never wandering too far away so that you can continuously stuff your face with fancy cheese and cheap crackers. The show seemed to be going quite well so far but unfortunately it didn't look like many buyers were out tonight. 

"(Y/N). Pst!" A gallery worker waves you over towards them and you reluctantly leave the safe haven of your charcuterie boards. "Do you see that man over there in the suit? The short one, black hair?" They say pointing towards a gallery patron standing in front of one of your larger pieces, staring up at it. "He's been looking at it for a long time. I think he might buy it, you should go over there and seal the deal." They say giving you a little nudge.

You give your shoulders a shrug, a bit reluctant to speak to anyone tonight. "If they buy it, they buy it. If not, that's fine."

The gallery worker furrows thier brows at you, "(Y/N), all night you have got nothing but people wandering in here like it's just some haunted house attraction. You finally have a potential buyer and you don't even care? Do you want to sell tonight or not"

You let out an exasperated sigh from the stern talking to, knowing that they're right, and begin to trudge over towards the man.

As you grow nearer, you are able to better make out his appearance. His raven black hair falls just above his shoulders in length and frames his pale face. You're a bit surprised at just how short he actually is up close. Probably just below five foot if you had to guess. But despite his stature he possesses an almost lethal aura about him and when his sharp grey eyes dart to meet yours, fear itself almost makes you turn tail and run. But you don't.

"Ya like it?" You say sticking a thumb out at the peice.

"... It's vile." He answers after a short pause. 

"Thanks," you drawl out sarcastically, it wasn't something you hadn't heard before. At least he was honest, though. Sleeping with Spiders was one of the largest pieces in this collection with a height of seven feet and depicting a lifesize woman laying across the canvas. Or rather strung up by her ankles. From her ankles to her throat the nude was wrapped up in silver thin spider's thread that was pulled tight against her skin, binding her and leaving cuts where the web was too taught. From her mouth a hoard of spiders erupted in waves of black bile, covering the woman's face but leaving room to reveal her cold dead eyes.

"I like it a lot." He said as the two of you stared at it in silence.

You don't know if it's the way he said it or just the cadence of his raspy hushed voice but the tips of your ears grew red hot at the praise. "Thanks", you muttered again, this time a bit quieter and more sincere.

"You painted it?" He tilts his head at you, his sentence structure is a bit choppy and you wonder if this isn't his first language.

"Y-yeah… I did, I painted everything in here." You stutter out feeling a bit flustered as his icy eyes pierce through you.

"And that's you?" He asked, pointing at the piece. 

In a way it did resemble you a bit. You shared the same skin tone, though the painting's was more muted and drained. You wondered if you had subconsciously chosen to paint your hair. Heck, even though most of the face was submerged in insects, even the cold dead eyes resembled yours. "I guess." You said as you studied it a bit closer. It hadn't even occurred to you that you had put little pieces of yourself in the work.

The silence between the two of you was thick but not in a suffocating way. You were used to gallery snobs that would march in and talk out their asses to fill the quiet and make themselves sound smarter than they actually were. This was different. It was nice. Welcomed. And it actually made you want to talk to him more.

"Have you read Trevor Brown?" He finally asked, turning to you once more.

You shrug, "I've seen his work, not really into fetish art. Junji Ito and Katsuhisa Kigitsu are pretty cool." 

"What are you? A weeb?" He sneers

"So what if I am? You got a problem with that shorty?" You bite back

"Just not very realistic. Transformation Gore." He says as he gestures towards another piece across the room depicting a man hunched over as multiple arms erupt from his back like an explosion of limbs.

You give a light chuckle, "Well, with a little bit of ingenuity and a lack of morals, anything is possible." He quirks a brow at you in question. "I mean it doesn't take Dr. Frankenstein to cauterize some wounds and sew some limbs onto some new interesting places." You snort out a laugh at the mental image of your own dark joke. You look for the man's reaction, only to see his face turned away from you. Had you gone too far with that one? You thought you had been keeping the conversation pretty tame.

"Are you any good?... At sewing?" The man asks as he turns back to you, his expression now twisted into a wicked smirk. 

Your eyes widen and a faint blush takes to your cheeks. You aren't sure why, it wasn't like he had said something romantic, maybe it was the insinuation of his words that made your heart beat so fast. You laugh off the feeling as you flash him a smile and answer, "I'm not as good with a needle as I am with a paint brush but, I can get the job done." And as if your heart wasn't beating enough, he hits you with another amused grin.

You try to recover as you remember why you came over in the first place. "So um- Uh, were you looking to buy?" You ask, gesturing to Sleeping with Spiders . 

The man's face returns to that of boredom when he answers, "Not sure yet. Show still happening tomorrow? 'Might come back to buy it then."

Your face falls, "Oh. I probably won't see you then. Tonight's actually my last night in town. I'm supposed to be leaving early tomorrow morning and if the gallery sells anything, they're just going to mail me a check or something."

"Moving?"

"I guess. Don't know where to yet, though. Been thinking about just dropping off the face of the earth for a bit, get a cabin in the woods and just paint. You know, revel in that total isolation."

Beside you he clicks his tongue as he shakes his head, "what a shame." You wonder if he's really upset that this may be your first and last time seeing each other. It's odd, but the prospect of never seeing this stranger again, kind of twists you up inside as well. 

You nod, "Yeah. What a shame."

The two of you stare ahead at the piece in silence. The quiet music playing from the gallery speakers in the background and the chatter of the gallery's other patrons, seem so distant as you two stand stagnant in your own little world.

Finally you dig through your purse and pull out a small business card. Handing it to him you say, "Here. I don't know if I'll even get cell reception where I'm going but, if you don't buy this piece, maybe I can do a commission for you sometime. Or um- you know if I'm ever back in town maybe we can catch a movie sometime. I obviously love horror but I'm open to any genre." He gingerly takes the piece of paper in his hands as he stares down at it. "That would be nice, right?"

He doesn't say a word but the small nod of his head says a thousand. You were quite excited at the prospect of seeing this man once more one day. What you didn't know was how soon that day would come.