#I would rather crumple up like a piece of paper than have artists see me gush about my 20 million fictional boyfriends...........

[bashfulkisser]

So mad because I want to be brave enough to reblog cute art of my F/Os BUT I DON'T WANT TO BE PERCEIVED BY ANYONE EITHERRRRRRRRR 😭😭😭😭

[liyahmackenzie]

This is Not a Foam Cup

A "short book" verbose crappost about turning a foam cup into a modern art piece.

Foreword

Job interviewers around the globe ask the same ol’ question: “How can you sell me this pen?” This book is an answer to a variant of that question. The following chapters are part comedy, part art, and part showmanship, all stemming from what can be done with a simple foam cup. Why would you want to read what is effectively a verbose meme, a play on the famous “This is not a pipe” art piece? The same reason you’d take a second glance at that painting: it’s a novel take on something you’ve seen thousands of times, and you’ll likely finish this book with a deeper understanding of art and its effects on society. Someone who failed that “sell me a pen” test could have done wonders in the position they were seeking, and conversely someone who passed it could be totally inept at everything else. Regardless of where you lie on the spectrum, keep reading to improve your odds of winning a boss’ heart. This book isn’t meant to jeer at abstract artists or decry some seemingly simple works of art. It’s made to convey how the words that explain what the art is, is art itself. Even if there are no words attached to the art piece, silence is art. It’s all art. It’s just the label and the words that make the difference between a crumpled napkin and 20 grand. Someone wanted it. Someone will have it. Thus we begin the show.

An Art Exhibit From Scratch

Making a thing! Clean up your own mess after sipping that Joe from your foam cup! Peel at the cup so you make a neat spiral thing-a-ma-jig. Congratulations: you have just created a unique art piece worth thousands of dollars! You could be enjoying a nice Bordeaux on a yacht a month from now. That is, if you can sell it to the right person. You also have to possess the right interpersonal skills. I know you can do it. If some guy can trade a paper clip all the way to a house, then you can make a living by creating something from basically nothing. I could easily end the book here and say “thank you for your eyeballs”, but that would be antithetical to my message. Instead, I want to take you on a long trip through your mindscape, time and space, to show you the power of verbosity, art, irony, and showmanship. I will give examples of combining those concepts to completely wow your audience. Here we have it: a new art piece made from our idea. And an audience of eight billion people. Before you meet those people, though, you must venture deep into your mind to see how you can best express yourself. To sell the cup, you have to gain a personal grasp of it. You may even be hesitant to sell it by then.

Why Did You Save It?

Giving life to the inanimate. Ask yourself: why did you save this particular (not-a) cup from the garbage? Why not another cup? Be honest. If it was just for the money, go ahead and say it. Your words are what sell this cup. Just don’t stop there. Never give up. Admire the cup and think of its positive attributes. Love it like a farmer loves his crops. Remember that you are a field yourself, a field that was tilled and seeded. Someone who was cultivated into a functional human. A field isn’t cultivated by itself but rather comes from farmers who tend to it. Much like a field, it is up to you to give the cup a life of its own. Don’t let it go fallow as it slowly decays. Tell yourself: “it’s meant for something greater than that”. Someone saved you from natural dangers when you were a tyke. Now you saved a piece of foam from being dumped in the landfill. You’re paying it forward by seeing the art in the trash and sharing your findings with others. It took another human to design the book you’re reading. Someone had to come up with the concept of book binding. All art. It’s up to you to recognize the art in everything, and by that point, you can easily express your appreciation for a cup you’d otherwise have no feelings about. You must convey that there is something about it that gives it life and meaning beyond sitting there and being drunk out of.

Your Art is for Good

Being ethical in the eve of disaster. You could have been a god of destruction, but you chose to stay peaceful. The cup may be inanimate, but with a person who has read the right (or wrong) books, it can be used as a component for napalm. Your mind, your conscience: it’s beautiful no matter what you’re going through. It’s art. And your conscience, channeled through your physical being, is responsible for creating a masterpiece out of a simple cup. Your creative power was made manifest as you tore away at the edges of the cup. You breathed life into a thing by making it unusable for its intended purpose. But you made it shine in doing so. This statement is for the better or worse. Just as how art can be made in construction, it is also made in destruction. Take Pablo Picasso’s famous piece Guernica for example: it depicts the bombing of a Spanish city in the midst of a civil war. It reminds us that we are not just artists. We are living art, and even the cries of a dying populace make that known. “What are you selling in that cup of yours, that ripped up piece of foam?” You are selling a life that unraveled when you molded it into a new creation. It’s not a cup. It’s not just a personified cup. It’s a life gone tragically triumphant. Its new life has the scars, scratches, and stains of its former self. But it still has a kind spirit. That’s what this not-a-cup truly is. You gave it life in its mangling. Without you, it would not be truly alive. Your surgery gave it a refreshed look on existence.

Physical Touches

Giving your piece some character. You can tinker with the cup to give it extraordinary qualities, rather than it being a plain and extra ordinary object. There’s a great array of possibilities to set the piece from the others, including scratches and bends. Choose one that you think suits the qualities of the art’s personality. Clothe it with a sheet if you must, but if you really want to go Hard Mode, do not attach anything like googly eyes to the cup. Your cup may have a hard time slipping into a dress, but I can’t stop you. I’m just a girl who’s typing away in the late hours. Come on, I know you can accomplish anything. Figure out what feelings you wish to share with others, so it could be a conversation starter. Imagine a multimillionaire buying it just because it brings them joy. That’s what we’re all aiming for, right? At least to enjoy, and not for some spooky tax fraud or something like that. You may choose to have its physical nature be similar to yours, but you may also find it interesting to make it in a way that represents an emotion, friend, or even another object. What fun! This cup has literally infinite possibilities. So go ahead and keep on keeping on. I’ll be cheering you on all the way to the bank.

Selling the Craze to the Sane

Extraordinary or extra ordinary? This cup of yours now has a mind and life of its own. What would the rest of the world think of it? To sell this cup, you’d have to sell it to yourself first. Get into the idea that your creation is a person, or at least like a pet. Think about what an “average person/pet” would do. Many people have some sort of social media. Think about what that cup would say online. And as each social media platform has its own quirks, ask yourself how your cup would navigate the sites. It’s a comforting thought experiment. Would it be one to share inspirational quotes, or would it just make its own memes and spread them in an effort to go viral? It’s all up to your mindscape. Let it all out so the cup can soak it all in. It’s vital that you understand why you molded that cup’s personality in the way you did. You can learn something about yourself by examining the way you pondered about the social media exercise. You could use that knowledge to better understand your mind and tune it to a potential buyer’s wavelength. You aren’t required to give a 50-page report on the cup’s attributes to the potential buyer, but it’s handy to remember the nitty-gritty. If you memorize it enough and feel an actual connection to your creation, that feeling would come off as appealing to anyone interested (or not interested) in your piece. Don’t feel frustrated if you can’t memorize everything, or even if you can’t make something up. Keep a journal and inspiration will strike all of a sudden. Give that cup a dose of life-giving energy. It no longer holds coffee, but it can hold all your thoughts and cares. You may think that is going too far, and you would be completely reasonable in saying so. However, you’re in it to make a life out of nothing. You are Frankenstein, and this piece of foam is your Modern Prometheus. A sprinkle of care here, a dash of love, a hint of scratch marks. That’s the character of a cup. Friend your cup on Facebook and post pictures of it everywhere. Feel free to even edit it on top of the Eiffel Tower if you’re adventurous and technically savvy enough. Give it personality to the point it’s a part of your lifestyle. Sell your time in exchange for good memories with what is essentially a poor man’s stuffed animal. The hilarious part is that you can even create multiple personas for multiple foam cups… Okay, that’s going too far. You must sell this insanely mundane object to the (usually) completely sane customer, not create an entire ecosystem out of something that ironically destroys the environment. I apologize for going this far. But I’m not sorry enough to stop writing this book, haha. The point is: the art is in your mind, and you’re projecting it through your voice and charm. You need to win the customer over through a series of tactics. Whatever fallacy is your cup of tea: the bandwagon, testimonials, fear of missing out, and so on. Every bit helps in the battle towards selling that cup of yours. Don’t sell yourself short. Sell with pizzazz.

Buying or Biting

Either way, reel them in. There will always be a potential customer looking to purchase good art, and it’s your job to make the piece, fall in love with it, and sell it to a good home. That takes cunning, tact, and good social skills. Break out of your shell and open a friendly dialog with the client. That’s half the battle for most people. The other half is actually landing the deal. Confidence in your training is key. You know everything about your companion you are going to sell. You’re their best friend. You’ve done everything together. Feel it and feel loved. Feel successful. Use everything under your belt to figure out how to strategically reel them into actually buying your stuff. Don’t let any emotional attachment get you down; there are more foam cups in the sea. Wait… that’s actually horrible. Anyways, you’ll do fine. Be masterful in your approach. Be concise and show your creativity to them. Explaining the innate details of a piece not only captivates the audience, but it also encourages them to ask more questions. The more questions answered – the more likely they will actually buy it. You’d do so well.

Closing

Congratulations!

Congratulations on completing this short book on how to sell a mundane foam cup. If upcycling were this fun, we’d all be doing it all the time. I’d definitely buy a cup from you (not really). I hope you learned a little bit on how to make things more verbose and why it’s important to sometimes personify the art you make. This was a short exercise, but I know it made me appreciate art more. I hope it did that to you too.

[stficblog]

What about Will and/or Jonathan bonding with El as siblings?

Jonathan and/or Will helping her out first day of high school or helping her with her home work

Jonathan and/ or Will comforting her after being bullied or will teaching her to draw

El learning about Lonnie and how he treated the family

The party hearing rumours about how horrible Lonnie was to his family ( pre series or pre S3 at least) and debating if they should ask Will about it.

Description: The Byers family moves into their new home in California and have a run-in with their neighbor, who is a little too much like Lonnie for their liking.

Warnings: F slur and general assholery

Word count: 900

A/N: This is the first thing that came to mind so I hope it’s somewhat similar to what you were hoping for. I feel like I’m good at writing assholes but not good at writing comebacks.

When the Byers family arrived at their new home on Sunday morning, it wasn’t a beautiful day. The sky was full of fat, dark clouds, and the wind threatened to push them all the way back to Hawkins. One by one, they got out of the moving van and stretched their legs for the last time.

They quickly decided who would take which room and got to work unloading the van. Then, like little ants, they trailed towards the house, boxes in hand.

A few boxes had to be opened to figure out who owned what. One box had a stack of Will’s drawings at the top, which were all blown out by a particularly mean gust of wind. Will and El scrambled to catch them all, unseen by the other two who were still in the house.

El chased one of the drawings all the way to the neighbor’s yard. With a thump, a foot landed on the flapping piece of paper, crumpling it into the grass.

She looked up to see a rather dusty looking man attached to the offending foot. He bent down and picked it up, not bothering to smooth out the wrinkles he had created.

“Is this yours?”

“N- no,” said El, “it’s… my brother’s.”

“Your brother drew this.”

“Yes. He’s very good at drawing.” El moved to take the paper but the man pulled it back out of her reach.

“Sounds like a fag.”

El frowned. She didn’t know what fag meant, but the way he said it, she got the feeling it wasn’t a good thing.

By now, Joyce and Jonathan had returned and saw El with the strange man. Will had just finished wrangling the last of his drawings and looked up in time to see his mother and brother walking toward the neighbor’s yard. He hurried to join them.

“Hi,” Joyce called to the man as the three of them came up behind El, “we’re your new neighbors.”

The man eyed her shrewdly, then turned his gaze to Will, who still carried a stack of drawings.

“You drew this?”

“Y- yeah,” Will said hesitantly.

“What kind of faggot spends his time drawing fairies?”

The air grew tense. Unbeknownst to El, the man had struck a particularly sensitive nerve for the other three. His comment was eerily similar to the ones that Will and Jonathan’s father used to make.

Joyce put a protective hand on Will’s shoulder and opened her mouth to respond, but El spoke first.

“He’s an artist,” she spat, “and that’s an elf druid.”

Will was surprised. Not at the fact that she had defended him, but that she remembered what he had told her about that drawing. He noticed, then, that his mother’s hand was shaking.

“You let your son make pretty little drawings of elves,” sneered the man, “it’s no wonder he turned out-”

“My children,” Joyce interrupted, “are turning out far better than what I see in front of me now.” Her voice trembled slightly and Will felt her grip on his shoulder tighten.

The man narrowed his eyes at her, then raised an eyebrow at Jonathan, whose hands were balled up into fists.

“And this one. Not man enough to fight me, are ya?”

Jonathan moved to step forward, but Joyce grabbed his arm and held him back. She shook her head warningly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the man sneered, “you stay right there.”

El snatched the drawing from his hands, seething with anger. No one talked to her loved ones like that.

“My brothers,” she snarled, “are stronger than you will ever be.” She stood protectively in front of her family, glaring at the man. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what they had been through -- what they had done.

“Get off my lawn.”

El grabbed Jonathan’s hand and towed him back to the moving van, followed by Will and Joyce. The man watched them go with beady eyes, then turned and went back into his house.

~

That night, the Byers family sat and ate their dinner on the dining room floor. Joyce’s hands still shook slightly. Will sat quietly, looking at the floor.

“I don’t like our neighbor.” Jonathan said what they were all thinking.

“I don’t like him at all,” El fumed, “he’s… mean! And- and-”

“And he’s just like Lonnie,” Joyce finished for her.

The boys looked at each other. Joyce never talked about their father. El looked around, confused.

“Who’s-”

“Our dad,” Jonathan explained, “he was always like that too.”

“He’s not dead,” Will said quickly, “but we’re glad he’s not around anymore.”

El’s eyes went wide and she looked at each of the others, noting the discomfort in their faces.

“Your dad,” she whispered incredulously, “was like that?”

El couldn’t fathom it. The only real father she had ever known was Hopper. Papa didn’t count, she knew. But Hopper would never have treated her the way that man outside had treated them.

“That’s what I get,” Joyce sighed, “for choosing the wrong man to marry.”

El frowned.

“No,” she said slowly, “you deserve… someone good. Because you’re good. You deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Will piped up, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve been through enough.”

They all looked at each other and a sort of understanding passed between them. They were going to make the best of their new lives here in California. They deserved it.

[memeadonna]

The Kingdom of Roses

You are the princess of Rusika, a kingdom neighbouring Novoselic. When one of your government’s high ranking officials is taken as a political prisoner, your kingdom retaliates by taking some of your own -- and they just might be more than you bargained for. 

Hello Everybody! My name is Jess and I’ve been a longtime fan of Danganronpa, from around 2012 or 2013 when I first played the games. I wanted to try my hand at writing a reader insert for one of my favourite characters (and my first ever husbando), one Kazuichi Souda. This beautiful art really inspired me (I scoured high and low for an artist credit, but I couldn’t find one. If you know who drew it please let me know and I will give them the appropriate credit), and I wrote an x reader. I hope you all enjoy!  Warnings: This work contains NSFW not suitable for readers under 18. Please do not interact with this post if you are under 18. 

Monarchies were a dying form of government. Most countries had established parliaments by now, but the Kingdom of Rusika, where you were born, and a few neighbouring kingdoms held onto their royal families until the very end. Novoselic was one such kingdom, one that until a few days ago had been your ally. Your father – beloved king of Rusika – had sent one of his most trusted advisors to negotiate a trade deal with the Nevermind family, rulers of Novoselic.

That advisor had been captured and held at ransom for some unknown reason. The Novoselic Kingdom really had no idea what they were doing, did they?

Sonia Nevermind was someone you had grown up with. The two of you had never been friends, per se, but you understood one another. You were Princesses tasked with leading your kingdoms towards prosperity. Your countries were similar enough – they had once been one, but after a civil war in 926, the country had been divided in half. While Novoselic’s exports consisted of luxury goods – wine, chocolate, and cheese – Rusika’s were more practical. Your main exports were related to geothermal energy and associated technologies, or mining precious gems. Your country – the kingdom of roses – was building the future. Hers was stuck in the past, weighed down by stupid traditions.

Your father trusted you more than Sonia’s father trusted her, and so you had grown up with more responsibilities. You had learned early on the burdens of leadership, and eventually began to find her boring. You made sure she never caught on, always giving her your full attention whenever she rambled about her silly life and silly problems.

Both of your countries had hit economic booms, so what need was there to worry? Gah, her philosophy was so stupid.

Today you woke up to find that your father had arranged the kidnapping of two of Sonia’s closest friends. She had just graduated from the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy, and had apparently invited her entire class to Novoselic to spend their last vacation celebrating.

It was strange of him to make such a decision without consulting you first. You were supposed to be queen of Rusika one day, and he always made sure you had a say in decisions. Today you were instructed to dress the part of a princess and come greet your guests. You were to show them hospitality and make them feel welcome. You might have kidnapped them, but you weren’t monsters. They would literally receive the royal treatment, and you were to be put in charge of them.

As your handmaidens helped you dress (corseting you, doing your hair and makeup, and fixing your jewelry could be a six-person job), you went over what you wanted to say to your prisoners. How the hell were you supposed to make them feel welcome?

You had never seen a person with two different coloured eyes before. You had also never seen a person with pink hair. Based on the way they looked at you, dripping in jewels and looking your part, you doubted they had seen Sonia in all of her glory yet. You smiled as you introduced yourself, trying your hardest not to look like you were studying them. You explained the situation to them, told them they were valuable political prisoners and would not be harmed or imprisoned as long as they behaved, and did not try to leave.

The man with two different coloured eyes called you a fiend, as well as many other dark names as he promised his Princess would come for him. The man with pink hair affirmed “Miss. Sonia will rescue me!” and shook his fist at you, trying his best not to look starstruck.

Eventually, you got their names out of them.

“How long will we be here?” Gundham asked you over dinner that night. “I wish to return home as soon as possible. I have responsibilities.”

Realistically, you knew it wouldn’t be a quick endeavour. You and Sonia had spent three months as prisoners in a neighbouring kingdom as Rusika and Novoselic had laid siege to the capitol. That was when you had learned she was boring. She kept to herself in her room, and almost seemed upset with you whenever you would negotiate with your captors, or walked the palace grounds like a free woman.

“As long as it takes” you answered coolly, glad that Japanese was one of the languages your family had forced you to learn. Members of the royal family having to speak thiry languages was one tradition that Rusika had kept from its time joined with Novoselic. It came in handy when negotiating with foreigners. “I cannot provide a clearer answer than that.”

“Don’t worry, Gundham,” Souda spoke up. “Sonia will come for us!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gundham spent most of his time observing the animals on your palace grounds. Your late mother had loved peacocks, so your father had taken up breeding them. She had loved many different animals when she had been alive, so the grounds weren’t exactly wanting. He enjoyed speaking with the vain birds, whistling and cooing until they would fan their elegant tails. His hamsters seemed to enjoy their accommodations too, with more seeds than they could have ever hoped to have eaten.

Souda, however, wanted to remain as unaffected as possible. He did his best to refuse any luxuries you offered him. It was only after you found out he had taken apart every electronic device in his room did you ask Gundham. The Ultimate Breeder had warmed up to you quickly, especially since you were the reason his hamsters were so well taken care of.

After Gundham cryptically told you about Souda, you gifted the Mechanic with a set of tools and new appliances to play with. Boredom could be so cruel, and the last thing you wanted was undue suffering.

Seeing him slip shyly into your study made your gift worth it. He was so awkward as he stumbled out a thanks, looking everywhere except your face. He was blushing and fiddling with a screwdriver as he spoke. “I still don’t trust you. You’re Miss. Sonia’s enemy,” he pointed his finger at you. “And any enemy of Miss. Sonia is an enemy of mine.”

“Would you like a workshop?” you asked him calmly. “I’m sure your room is a bit cluttered with all of those appliances. I just want to make your stay comfortable, I bear no ill will towards you, Mr. Souda.”

His cheeks flamed up and he stammered out a non-answer, shuffling out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Souda and Gundham had been with you a little over two weeks when the former finally cracked. He once more barged into your study, and looked you up and down. “I want somewhere to work,” he declared. He placed a crumpled piece of paper on your desk. “Here’s the list of everything I need.”

You saved the speech you were writing and logged off of your computer. “Come with me, Mr. Souda,” you stood gracefully, glad you no longer had to wear your ballgowns around him. It had always made you feel overdressed and obnoxious, especially considering he preferred to wear his jumpsuit rather than the clothes your country had provided him with. It had taken a lot to even convince him to let the servants wash the suit, let alone wear another while he waited.

In the end, you had commissioned seven identical jumpsuits for him, to match the one he already wore. At least he no longer reeked.

You paused at the door to the workshop you had set up for him. There was a guard stationed outside, but a nod from you dismissed him. Kazuichi’s eyes lit up as he observed all of the new-age tech he had to play with. He stammered out a bright-eyed thanks, and you gave him your brightest smile. You had done lots of research into what he would enjoy; he was your guest, not your prisoner. Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a month, Novoselic struck up a deal with Rusika. A hostage for hostage trade: Gundham Tanaka for your father’s cherished advisor. Kazuichi had not been mentioned in the negotiations at all, something that did not sit right with you.

He tried to pretend that he wasn’t upset he had been forgotten, but it was obvious to anybody with half of a brain he was torn up. You made efforts to spend more time with him. You had him accompany you on walks around the castle’s garden, and even took him out of the palace for a few walks around town for a change of scenery. Nothing you said lifted his spirits. He barely even looked at you now.

You watched him tinkering with his toys, but even that seemed to have lost its shine for him. He looked so sad, so bored that it made you anxious.

“May I ask you something?” you questioned on one such walk. The two of you had been caught in the rain and had sought shelter underneath a quaint gazebo. He looked back at you with a curt nod. “How is your hair pink?”

He blinked at you for a moment before he burst out laughing. It was the first time since he had come to Rusika that he had laughed, and it made your cheeks flame up as he smiled at you.

“I dye it,” he told you after he calmed down. “I first bleach my hair to take the colour out, and then I use a dye to turn it pink.”

“Colour?” You blinked up at him. “What colour is your hair supposed to be?”

Instead of answering, he removed his beanie to reveal about an inch of jet-black hair growing in at his roots. Your eyes widened in wonder. “So, it must be bleached again on the new hair?” you asked.

“Yes,” he smiled at you dopily. “It has to be done every few months or the hair will grow in its natural colour.”

“Does it feel different?” you asked. “The pink and the black?” Instead of replying, he took your hand and placed it onto his hair. Your blush only deepened as you felt how soft it was, and noticed his cheeks were bright red too as you pulled away. “Do you wish to turn your hair pink again? I will send for my stylist.”

He smiled at you, soft but genuine. “I’d really like that. Then I’ll feel a bit more like me,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Souda peeked over your shoulder. You smiled tiredly up at him and you stretched as subtly as you could. You had been taking daily walks with him for several weeks now, and he would always drop by every few hours to see how you were doing, or to show off his latest invention.

“I’m looking at the schematics for a new geothermal energy plant,” you answered. “I’m trying to sort out how we can make our energy extraction more efficient.”

Kazuichi looked over the blueprints on your laptop screen. “I’d have to do the calculations, but if you merged these two pipes here-” he pointed. “-you would cut down significantly on the energy wasted.”

“Pull up a chair,” you told him. “Let’s take a look together, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kazuichi had been in your care for three months now, and he hardly acted like a prisoner. He called you “Miss” (probably because you called him Mr. Souda), and tended to barge in on you whenever he wanted. He had repaired the castle’s heating system, boosted your internet connection, and even helped you overhaul the design of your new energy plants. These plants would be 46% more efficient than the last schematic, something that amazed you. You told him repeatedly how marvellous he was, if only to see his face light up.

Lately, he had started wearing the jumpsuits your family had initially provided him with – similar to his old one but stamped with your country’s crest on the back – and had been a bit more… touchy than before. He would put a hand on the small of your back while you walked, or gently brush a lock of hair from your face as the two of you had tea.

You were not experienced in the slightest with intimacy or wanting to be in a relationship – you were certain you would learn that after you became queen – but now he was all you could think about. You knew the basics, knew what to expect from a man, but your heart was uncharted territory. You had never loved someone before, and some deep-seated fear in your heart was worried he would think you were taking advantage of him.

“I was in love with her, you know,” he told you one day while you were out for a walk. The two of you were once more caught in the rain and taking shelter in the same gazebo. “I loved Sonia.” Sonia. Not Miss. Sonia.

“Did it hurt?” you asked back, and immediately felt stupid for asking. It was none of your business, why did you want to know?

“I guess?” he shrugged. “I don’t – she never treated me like I mattered. She made me feel like I was nothing. Just a pest. Like I was disposable.”

“Sonia is a fool,” you told him. You meant it, of course you did, but at that moment you just wanted him to smile. “Your contributions will certainly leave their marks on this world. You are a remarkable person with a remarkable talent. Anybody who would overlook you is an utter fool.”

Kazuichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a small speaker. He set it on the railing, and it began to play a soft, slow song. “Will you dance with me?” he asked shyly.

“Of course,” you smiled at him, holding out your hand for him to take.

His steps were sloppy and uncoordinated, but the feeling of his warm body in your arms made you feel safe. You wanted him to love you. Love you the way he loved Sonia, and then even more. A legendary love that would eclipse all others.

When he leaned down to kiss you, you automatically tilted you head to the side. It felt like the first time and the thousandth time all at once – something new and exciting, yet undeniably right. He grinned at you like an idiot and kept swaying with you while the song ended.

“It all feels perfect with I’m with you,” he told you. “Like it all makes sense.”

“I understand,” you smiled up at him. “I feel the same way too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He barely left your side now. He would let you work, of course, but wanted to spend his every waking hour with you. He held your hand on your walks, kissed your knuckles like a gentleman whenever he greeted you, and kissed you passionately when you were alone with him. You loved watching him light up at your presence – it was like his world began and ended with you.

His greatest joy was when he got to work with you. To see you listening carefully to his advice, offering insights of your own based on your knowledge. You worked to improve both your geothermal energy plants and plan for new mines. The number of precious stones mined this year was astronomical, and it wasn’t over yet.

Your father was impressed with the improvements he had made to the schematics he had been provided with, so he was gradually given more and more responsibility (along with his freedom, of course). Eventually, he began to receive an “allowance” as payment for the work he was doing. He spent most of it on new gadgets to tinker with or gifts for you. You would often retire to your room to find a vase full of flowers or a box of chocolates, and every time you saw them you would break out into a grin you could not stop.  

The two of you would text one another (he made himself a cellphone because he was “bored and wanted to try it”) until you fell asleep, and within those words he bared his soul. He told you about his horrific home life – about the man who had dared to harm him – and about the friends who had betrayed him. He told you how much you mattered to him, all of the things he would do for you. Give up for you.

When he told you about his father hitting him one too many times, you left your room and went to his. You just needed to hold him, make him feel safe the same way he made you feel safe.

You were glad you went when you did, because there was a woman dressed in black trying to drag him out of the window. You raised the security alarm, and she was apprehended. Mukuro Ikusaba – the Ultimate Soldier – was thrown into your actual prison, and you once more had trouble with Novoselic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You answered the door with bleary eyes, but seeing Souda’s tired smile as he mumbled about not sleeping was worth it. You used your new nickname for him – the word in your mother tongue that meant little pink rose – and he melted into your arms. You didn’t care that you were wearing your nightgown, or that it was early in the morning, you had your prince charming and he was safe, and he was yours. Yours.

“I had a nightmare,” he was curled up among your pillows, snuggled up under your blankets. “You forgot about me like she did.”

“I’m not her,” you reminded him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before resting your own against it. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips, and as you let your eyes slip shut your hands found his. “I will never think of you as less than extraordinary, my darling.” You promised.

He kissed your cheek, slowly painting his way over your cheekbones and down to your lips. You responded wonderfully, one hand cupping his cheek as you kissed him slowly. You opened your eyes to see him staring at you with pure adoration. He wasn’t wearing his contacts, and his eyes were a light, rosy brown colour. Stunning.

“I love you,” the words slipped out of your mouth unbidden. You were speaking in your mother tongue now, but based on the smile he gave you and the whisper of “Ai shiteru” you got in return, he had understood. More than understood.

Your lips met his again, a strange kind of hunger filling you. He must have felt the change too, the atmosphere crackling with energy as you traced your fingers over his body. As he traced his fingers over yours.

You both stripped completely and held one another, clumsy and laughing and so in love. “Tell me if it hurts,” he had whispered to you as he stretched you open with his fingers. You had kissed him in response, a smiling sort of kiss that you hope conveyed more than a simple “I love you”.

Your lovemaking didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to to be perfect. It felt like it was right out of a fairy tale, and your prince charming was here to save you from everything bad in the world. You were here to save him, in reality, but you were more than happy to indulge him in his fantasies, so long as you could play a part in them.

When you were done, he wrapped you in his arms and placed a kiss to your temple. He hummed softly and played with your hair, whispering his love over and over again. You smiled up at him, tired but satisfied, and when you fell asleep your smile did not falter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since that night you had shared, Kazuichi had been coming to your bed every night. You would fall asleep together and wake up together and talk until you couldn’t anymore. When you weren’t talking, you were either cuddling or doing something less… innocent. Your mouth had mapped out every inch of his body, and you knew what to do to make him open like a flower. He liked letting you do what you wanted to him – liked giving over the power and control and letting you make him feel good.

He loved it when you spoke to him in your mother tongue – no matter what you said he would squirm and turn bright red.

“Do you like it when I play with your pretty cock?” you asked him lowly, and he let out a sweet moan as his legs fell open. He could tell from the sound of your voice if you were being sweet to him or not, and you could tell based on the noises he made if he wanted you to be sweet or not.

You wondered what fantasies swept him away as you mounted him. When you pinned his wrists and mouthed at his neck, you wondered why he was mewling so much. Did he even know what he was begging you for anymore, or did his mind just go blank every time you began to kiss his scars?

You learned every embarrassing detail about his body, and he learned every detail of yours. He loved to have you on him – worshipping him, taking pleasure from his body – but what he loved most were the quiet moments after.

The moments when you would roll off of him and kiss him slowly and tell him how good he was. When you would worship every scar again, tell him he was beautiful. When he’d lay his head in your lap so you could weave your fingers into his hair and hum him lullabies. He always fell asleep in your bed after you made love. It was one of the most perfect moments you ever shared, and you felt so, so lucky to have shared so many of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today you woke up alone. Novoselic had finally sent an envoy to negotiate Kazuichi’s release. Today was the day.

Last night, he had helped you pick out your gown. He had chosen a white one with ruffles designed to look like flowers – Rusika was the kingdom of roses, after all – and as your handmaidens helped you get ready, you felt powerful.

You went all out – you wore your crown jewels and covered yourself in diamonds. You did not want there to be any doubt that they were dealing with a princess and would negotiate on her terms. Your father had been surprised when you had asked for this responsibility but granted you the negotiation opportunity.

Mukuro Ikusaba was wearing several chains, including a rather nasty-looking pair of handcuffs. She was positioned in a chair facing towards your throne, and she glared at you as you took your seat.

Kazuichi arrived only a few minutes after you, and his jaw just about hit the floor as he took you in. You gave him a smile befitting a queen as your eyes roamed his body – he was wearing a finely tailored suit and a ring with your family’s crest on it. You realized then you wanted to cover him in jewels. He would look so good sparkling.

He bowed deeply before taking his place at your side, breaking you from your train of thought. It was an old Novoselic tradition for the ruler’s consort to kneel on a special stool while the monarch conducted business, but while Kazuichi did kneel on the plush cushion, he tugged it towards you so he could lie across your lap. The action startled you at first, but as he snuggled deeper into your skirts and looked up at you with a smile, your fingers came up to weave into his hair in the way he found comforting, and he closed his eyes.

That lasted for a blissful minute before the throne room’s doors burst open and Princess Sonia Nevermind was announced. Her entourage filed in with her, and Souda tilted his head to get a better view of them. You recognized Gundham, and vaguely recalled hearing about a few of the others from Kazuichi. Classmates, if you remembered correctly.

Sonia had brought the Yakuza boy and the Ultimate Swordswoman as backup. She had also brought a hulking man with matching scars over both of his eyes. This man was someone you had never heard of, yet he was flanked by the usual Novoselic military honour guard. You greeted her in your shared tongue before switching to Japanese. “Welcome. What brings you all to Rusika?” you asked.

The princess of Novoselic cleared her throat and began once more in your mother tongue. “Apologies for interrupting, Princess Nevermind, but not everybody here speaks our language. I would like to include our guests in the matters we will be discussing,” Souda shifted in your lap, and you continued playing with his hair, sitting with the elegance of a queen.

Sonia began again, in Japanese this time. “I demand you release your prisoners at once,” she pointed at you. “Keeping a soldier hired by my country to retrieve a prisoner does not reflect well on the alliance between our peoples. I would hate for a war to break out.”

You sighed. “As a show of good faith, I will release the prisoner Mukuro Ikusaba to you,” you made a gesture and a pair of guards removed her shackles. You could feel Souda playing with your ruffles. “Was that all?”

“We are here for the prisoner Kazuichi Souda,” she answered. “I demand you release him.”

“Kazuichi is not a prisoner,” you corrected. “He has full autonomy and can choose to leave anytime he would like.”

“You kidnapped him as a political prisoner!” Sonia snapped, eyes locked on him. “Do not tell me that he is doing… that of his own free will!”

You gave his shoulder a pat with the hand that had been in his hair and he blinked over at Sonia. “I have done nothing malicious towards him,” you answered. “I have not-”

“Liar!” Sonia cut in. “You must have brainwashed him with Stockholm. You truly are a woman with flexible legs!”

Kazuichi raised his head a bit. “Don’t talk to my Princess like that!” there was a certain bite to his words. You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair as he glared at Sonia. “Gundham knows as well as I do that we were never mistreated here. We were given free reign, and I just so happened to be appreciated. I’m not a second choice here. I’m not forgotten.”

Sonia looked visibly upset at his words. “We did not forget you!” she assured him.

“You rescued Gundham after a month? A few weeks?” Kazuichi was bristling. “I’ve been here for eight. Eight months and you didn’t even bother to see if I was okay.” Sonia watched Kazuichi lie back down. “Excuse me for being happy. I forgot you don’t like it when I’m too overbearing with my affection.” He shifted around for comfort, burying his face in the crook of his elbow before tilting it out to the crowd.

“Is he truly able to leave anytime he wants?” Gundham asked.

“I am,” Kazuichi bristled once again. “I’ve got a job and everything.”

Sonia said your name. No title, just your name. “I would like to speak with you in private, future monarch to future monarch,” she was clenching her hands into fists.

“I’ll allow it,” you gave Kazuichi a gentle pat on the shoulder and he reluctantly pulled away. You stood, and he stood with you. He followed you down from your throne, and as you escorted Sonia towards your study you noticed Kazuichi was making a beeline for Gundham.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you were alone again, the first thing Kazuichi did was help you out of your dress. He was careful as he unlaced your corset, and as he helped you step out of it. He even hung it up properly so it wouldn’t get damaged. Then he was kissing you like he was about to lose you, pulling your body close and pulling you into his arms. He carried you over to the bed and tossed you into it, discarding his own clothes haphazardly as he followed.

“I love you,” he told you assuredly. “And nothing is ever going to change that. Not a single thing they say will convince me otherwise.”

You smiled at his words. “And I love you too, my little pink rose,” you gave him a deep, longing kiss.

It didn’t matter what the others thought or said. It didn’t matter what they did. All that mattered was what you and Souda thought. Souda was here with you. Souda loved you.

And no matter who decided to challenge that, they couldn’t take him away from you.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Don’t Let Them Hurt You- Ao3

It took a lot longer that planned, but this Pintroverts one shot is complete! :D

The plot around this one is based on Nico getting an anon hate message on song lyrics he posted online, and Thomas then comforts him and helps him see past it... It was something I had sitting in my WIP folder for a while but initially I was struggling with writing it. So I delved into the realm of personal experience for the hurt and the comfort parts ☺️

I hope you enjoy reading it! <3

General writing taglist: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @writerwithtoomanyships @red-imeanblue (If you’d like to be added/removed let me know!)

Read on Ao3!

Don’t Let Them Hurt You.

Pintroverts. Hurt/Comfort/Fluff

Warnings: Upset moments, anon hate message, self-deprication.

Nico scribbled furiously, his pen refusing to leave the crumpled piece of paper he found in his bag. The song lyrics raced into his mind while he was out with Thomas an hour ago. He smiled as he thought about his new boyfriend. It was like a breath of fresh air, a clarity in his clouded over world, the writer’s block he had been struggling with for months went away almost instantly after they met in that food court as few months ago. Before, he would stare at his laptop willing words to appear, but his mind wasn’t in it and his fingers wouldn’t type. As the days ticked on and not even a single word appeared on the screen, the lack of motivation set in, and he almost gave up on his newest project… but Thomas crashed his way into Nico’s life and stopped that from happening. In fact, he had already set up several more documents with song ideas in them ready to write as soon as he could, and he couldn’t wait to share them with the people who followed his blog.

Nico’s little following were always so kind and supportive, they were the main reason he kept going with writing songs. People have asked if they can perform his lyrics and he was always blown away by the sheer talent of some of his followers. How he got so lucky, he would never know, but Nico valued every single of them. He finally reached the end of the page, and as the pen fell to the paper with a satisfied clatter, he took a deep breath and pushed the chair away from the desk. He sighed and stretched his arms above his head.

He was never one to speak very positively about himself, but he had a feeling that this was his best song yet. All he needed to do was look it over, type it up and publish it. He hoped that his followers would feel the same. He felt like he should wait for Thomas to come back from getting take-out so he could be the first one to see it, he was the inspiration for it after all. However, the excitement got the better of him, and he remembered that Thomas has notifications on for his blog, so he would be one of the first people to see it. His mind was made up and Nico raced off to get the lyrics typed up.

The word document was opened with lightning speed. The blank space was suddenly being filled with words and emotions at a rapid pace, it was becoming a tapestry right before his eyes and he began to realise just how much he had missed writing. Sooner rather than later, he was finished. He started at his finished work and then opened his blog. Should he really post this? It was his most emotive song yet, and it definitely makes it clear that there is someone in his life now. He couldn’t be happier. How someone as amazing as Thomas wants to be a part of his life, he’ll never work out, but he wasn’t complaining. He took a deep breath before opening his blog and creating a post. He fingers shook a little as he typed out his usual message that he puts at the end of all of his posts.

‘Hey everyone! Just wanted to thank you all once again for your support and patience while I took a while to come up with some new song lyrics! I owe this one to someone incredibly special who crashed into my life recently, and I hope it comes across in this song <3 I genuinely don’t feel like I deserve the support you give me but know that I value you all with my heart and soul. Nico <3’

The overwhelming sense of pride as he hit ‘post’ made his heart beat agonizingly fast, but he couldn’t keep the blog open otherwise he would start to worry about what people think. So he texted Thomas instead checking in to find out what time he’d be coming over. The reply came through almost instantly, 20 minutes, only 20 minutes he had to wait. As Thomas signed off with the signature purple heart, he smiled and held his phone close to his chest. Nico felt his pulse continue to race, he had never felt this for anyone else before and it was unusual, but in the best way possible.

His laptop began to ping with notifications and even though he tried to ignore them, he caved and opened his blog up. To say that Nico was blown away by the response would have been the biggest understatement of the century. He smiled widely as more comments and reactions poured in, at least other people liked the song lyrics as much as he did. He felt on top of the world, until one more comment popped up and it felt like the world was crashing down around him in a matter of seconds.

‘It's true that creators aren't entitled to support, but you. You don't deserve anywhere near as much support as you're getting. There are so many creators out there that are much better than you and they don't get recognition. What you post is nothing special, so how about you stop and let people get support who actually deserve it, you're not worth the time of day.’

Nico stared at the comment until he could almost burn a hole through his laptop screen. He’d never had a hate comment before, and he didn’t know how to take it. He was being so dramatic, it was one hate comment, but that was enough to knock him for six. His heart hurt; his mind was fighting the thoughts racing around. He backed away from his laptop until he hit the wall and he slowly slumped down it, holding his crumpled paper copy of the lyrics tightly in his hand. Is this what people really thought of him?

Well, they were right. He always said that he never deserved the support he was given. Why should he have anyone reading his work when there are other creators that are exponentially better than him? He was a nobody who wrote songs, what was that really? It’s not as if he was a singer, or an artist… someone of worth. He shouldn’t stand in the way of others, what was so special about him? That commenter was just bold enough to say what everyone was clearly thinking behind their screens. Of course it wasn’t real. People can say what they want when no one will ever work out who they are. He laughed bitterly as the tears fell down his face. How could he have been so stupid? No one likes what he does, of course they wouldn’t. He slumped his head on his legs and held his breath until he couldn’t contain his sadness anymore.

The doorbell rang, and he sighed. Of course, Thomas was going to see him like this… that’s going to scare him off. He got up, hesitantly walking to front door and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. God, he was a mess. His eyes were red raw from crying, and his hair was a mess where he clawed at it. He let one person get to him, one anonymous person hiding behind a screen, and he hated himself for it. As the front door opened, Thomas was putting something in his pocket while holding a bag of Chinese food.

“Hey! I saw your song! Nico, it’s incredible- hell, you’re incredible!” Thomas beamed but when he looked up, his smile dropped, and worry clouded over his eyes in an instant. Nico must have looked a mess, he was expecting Thomas to drop the food and run, he wouldn’t blame him.

“Nico? What’s wrong? Hey, hey, hey. Come on, let’s get inside.” As soon as Thomas asked what was wrong, he broke again. The tears began to cascade, and Nico hid his face behind his hands, he felt a hand wrap around his waist and gently bring him back into the apartment. As he was guided to the sofa, he heard Thomas scurrying around the kitchen putting the bag down then coming in to sit next to Nico. He rubbed his hand gently up and down Nico’s back, whispering that everything was okay. The tears began to subside, and he leaned into Thomas’ touch who happily reciprocated. He felt a kiss on his forehead, and he wiped his face of the residual tears off his face.

“So… can you tell me what has got the literal embodiment of sunshine this upset?” Nico smiled slightly and Thomas played with his hair, feeling himself instantly relax at the touch.

“I don’t know if I can… but… just look at my laptop. It should be there.” Thomas looked a little worried before heading over to the desk and reading the words on the screen. Nico saw Thomas’ hands clench until his knuckles turned white and saw how his breathing became slightly labored. The only comforting thing he could think of was, at least he didn’t imagine the whole thing. Thomas marched back over to the sofa and took Nico’s head in his hands before kissing him gently and he pressed their foreheads together.

“Now, you, Nico Flores need to listen to me. You are amazing, you are fantastic and so damn talented that it makes my head spin. The fact that one person is saying something horrendous while hiding behind a screen, it doesn’t take anything away from you. I mean, look at all of these amazing people supporting you and sending you love for your latest song!” Thomas went to the laptop and brought it over to Nico, the comments underneath the hate were flooded with positivity and love, he beamed when he scrolled though, seeing people defend him made his heart feel full.

“Everyone else feels the same way I do about you. You have a phenomenal way with words, they way you write is captivating and you’ve inspired me more than you know. You’ve inspired countless others too. Your posts are special, you’re unique in your own way… let some jealous nobody stay just that… a nobody. Don’t let them hurt you, hun. You deserve all the love in the world, and I will give you all I can! If anything, I don’t deserve someone as incredible as you. You give so much kindness, so much happiness to others… you’ve gotta save some of that for yourself too.” Nico smiled and looked down at the floor, everything Thomas said was true. He could feel all of his sadness and pain melt away so he wrapped his arms around Thomas, hoping he could say thank you without words, otherwise he’d start crying for a different reason this time.

“Right, okay. Let’s reheat the food and we’re just going to watch trashy tv until I have to go home. Sound good?” He nodded eagerly as Thomas stood up holding his hand out for Nico to take, and they talked in the kitchen until the microwave made its call. As they sat together arm in arm until late into the evening laughing at a comedy show re-run, Nico thanked his lucky stars that Thomas crashed into his life. When Thomas had let him know that he was home safe, Nico fell asleep smiling and forgetting the events of the day.

His alarm blared out across his bedroom and Nico rubbed his bleary eyes, attempting to find his glasses to turn off his phone. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realised it wasn’t an alarm, it was a series of text notifications. He stared as he noticed the time, it was rare that he slept in till 1pm but last night was the exception. Nico unlocked his phone and read the stream of texts from his favourite person.

‘Hey! Good morning, Sunshine! I hope you’re feeling better today <3’

‘You are amazing and fantastic; I can’t imagine my world without you in it <3’

‘Anywaaay, I’m rambling now haha. You have that effect on me ;) <3’

‘So, I know you're probably still resting, you had a rough day yesterday! But, when you wake up… go look at my YouTube channel okay? I’ve got a surprise for you <3’

Nico smiled as he read through the texts, and then he immediately went onto YouTube where a new video from Thomas immediately sat at the top of the page. He clicked on it and turned the volume all the way up, he heard music begin and Thomas was standing in the middle of his apartment singing. Nico stared in awe at how amazing his voice was, he’s heard him multiple times, but he was always blown away every time. It wasn’t until he started singing a particular part that Nico gasped and put a hand over his mouth.

‘If my arms were on a clock, I'd stop the time to be with you. Eternity I'd stop, just to be with you.’

These were his song lyrics from yesterday. He couldn’t believe how perfectly Thomas had captured the song, the emotions he was trying to express. It was a complicated symphony but sung with a perfect simplicity that made the words more powerful. He felt tears welling up in his eyes once again, he couldn’t believe that Thomas would do this for him and as the screen faded to black, he went to text Thomas but then he saw him pop back up on the screen.

“Hey guys! So, it’s been a little while since I’ve posted any music covers on here. I really, really hope you love this song as much as I do! The lyrics were written by my wonderful boyfriend, Nico. As soon as I read the lyrics, I knew I had to arrange and perform this song with the help of some brilliant friends who came together very last minute to help me out. I just… wanted to show the guy that I adore that he is amazing, and the words that he writes have the power the make the world a brighter place. So, Nico. This is all for you. Thank you to all my friends who came together to help, their links are in the description below. Thank you to Nico for inspiring me, his song blog is linked below. Thank you to all of you for watching, and until next time… Take it easy, guys, gals and non-binary pals. Peace out!”

Nico smiled proudly as he watched Thomas smile his trademark goofy smile as the video faded to black for the final time. He went back to the beginning and played the video again as he grabbed he phone and text Thomas.

‘Thank you for everything you did for me yesterday. The song and the video are incredible, you should share some of that talent Mr. Sanders ;) Seriously Thomas, I’m the luckiest man in the world to be with you <3’

He sent the text, and then the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Nico looked at the front door suspiciously, he wasn’t expecting anyone. He crept over and peered through the looking glass then opened it as fast as possible. Thomas was holding a large bouquet of flowers and a speaker. He smiled and kissed Thomas on the cheek before taking the flowers out of Thomas’ hands and smelling the delicate scent. Brightly coloured Roses, Chrysanthemums, Delphiniums, and Irises. They were simply perfect, just like the man in front of him.

“I needed to see you, and I thought I could give you a live performance of the song?” Thomas smiled holding the speaker up in air, Nico invited him in and quickly put the flowers into a vase he kept for ornamental purposes. They were truly beautiful, and he was impressed that Thomas remembered what his favourite flowers were after talking about it on the first date. When he turned around, music was almost swirling around them, and Thomas was standing in the middle of the room. He reached out for Nico’s hand, as their hands touched, Thomas pulled him in close and they slow danced while Thomas sang. As the song drew to a close, they came to a stop and this time, Nico pulled Thomas in for a kiss. When they parted, they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.

“You’re my entire world now, Mr. Sanders.”

“And you are mine, Mr. Flores.”

[hetaliatxtpostz]

“Winter” From the Four Seasons: PrusAus

Roderich’s hands linger over the keys of his piano, fingertips suspended in an abrupt silence that has sliced a hole in the music he was playing. Something has occurred to him quite suddenly, something deeply troubling. It’s about Gilbert. Gilbert Belischmidt. This— this infuriating person, he’s just realizing. A completely impossible German man with a grin like the devil himself and the red eyes to match it. 

“You—” But his words ring empty in the room the piano is sat in, and he’s reminded that he’s very much alone, and there’s not a point scolding Gilbert where he can’t hear it. He should hear it.

But Gilbert Beilschmidt had left that morning. Before he was even awake, at some ungodly hour of the day, as usual, Gilbert had packed up his things and left a note that he was going home early. Not a word about— 

Roderich pushes away from the piano and stands. What time is it? The note is still burning a hole in his pocket, after all, that’s what he’d been thinking about as he warmed up this morning, and, true to fashion, Gilbert has included the time of his departure for no real reason. 

I have time. That’s the first thing he thinks upon pulling out the crumpled piece of paper. It’s the only thought he can have after the realization that’s hit him. I have time if I just— 

Roderich is in motion, practically running across the house, tearing into the closet to throw on a coat, scarf, and hat that didn’t match to a degree that would have embarrassed him in a different situation. The only thing he can think, pulling on boots and tying a haphazard bow, is that he should have seen it at the time.

Gilbert unclasped the violin case, and his hands weren’t even tempted to shake because. Well. That just wasn’t the kind of person he was. And. It wasn’t as if there was anything actually intimidating about this, anyway. There wasn’t. He’d performed for Roderich a handful of times now and they’d all been. Unremarkable. 

Or. He’d been remarkable, of course, because he always was, and he would challenge Roderich to find someone wh— Rambling in his own head. Annoying. Not like him. It was just a violin solo! Just a solo. And, maybe, it was a song that meant something important to him, sure, but it wasn’t like he wrote it. Not the way that Roderich wrote his. Probably wouldn’t even get through, he thought. Probably wouldn’t even be any different this time. 

Still, there was that possibility that it would. That this would change everything. That he would stop playing and meet Roderich’s eyes, and he would understand what— But! There wasn’t any point to thinking like that because he might just be reading into things. Hearing messages in piano notes the artist never meant. And this message might go just as unheeded. Then he would know. 

Another solo. He lifted the violin from the case and picked up the bow. Took a breath in and let it out. Steady and measured. Things he could be counted on to be. Steady and measured. Just like he always was. Roderich wasn’t even awake yet. He had some time to warm up. To tune the instrument. To think about what he was doing. 

And either way, he told himself, either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Which was a lie, and not a convincing one. Still: doesn't matter to me. I can’t control anyone else. Just me. That’s all I need. Just me. That’s what this is. Performing. 

He tucked the violin under his chin. 

I’m not worried about this.  

Roderich gets all of four steps outside before he starts to actually think about what it is he’s doing. After all, Gilbert lives in the 21st century, doesn’t he? Fumbling a moment, Roderich gets out his phone and calls the number at the top of his contact list, the one with a little gold star beside it earned over hours of late night conversations. 

“Answer the phone, Gilbert,” he says, as if he’s listening. “You have always been so good about answering the phone.” 

It isn’t picked up after the third ring, which generally means it won’t be picked up at all, but Roderich lets it go the whole time. Then, he thinks, I’m wasting time. And he sets off at a brisk pace, listening to the voicemail come on. Then, he stops again, because he thinks, how far away is the station? Should I get a ride there? And he decides, not far enough that he has time to wait for a ride, and he starts off again. 

While he walks, he calls Gilbert again, and he receives the same voicemail, a rather professional sounding voicemail for the sound of what is clearly his little white dog in the background. Funny, Roderich realises listening to it, he’s never heard this voicemail before because Gilbert had never let a call from him go unanswered, no matter the time. The thought kicks him into an even higher gear, which must make him look rather hysterical to anyone he’s passing on the street. Is this really the first time I’ve chased after him…? 

Their whole relationship, Gilbert had been the one who complimented Roderich, who sat next to him and listened with a very serious expression when he explained the process of writing music, who seemed to be ready, come rain or shine, to help him with whatever physical task he was finding intimidating. He’d met Gilbert when they were teenagers, the pale rascal absolutely incorrigible. All of the trouble he’d ever been in, and most of it he’d gotten back out of, was because of Gilbert. There simply wasn’t any way that they’d spent so long together, that he’d lived so casually in the back of his mind making smart comments, and he’d never once… It couldn’t be. 

Another unanswered call. Roderich is tempted to start running. His breath is  coming in clouds of smoke around his face, clouding the glasses that he only really wore because Gilbert, at some point, had complimented him in a way that he probably didn’t even remember. It really couldn’t be. 

Roderich’s ankles were crossed, his head tilted ever-so-slightly. That expression meant he was ready to listen. It was the same kind of feverish intensity he always approached music with. One of Gilbert’s favorite things: how it cracked his perfect facade. All the work he put into his hair, his outfits, but when it came down to what mattered: all passion.  This morning, however, the expression was threatening. 

Violin tucked under his chin, Gilbert played the opening note. He wondered how long it would take Roderich to recognize the song. How long before the notes registered to him as something that he’d written? How long until he pinpointed the solo as the one he had played to Gilbert, the very first time he trusted him enough to hear something he’d written. It would take longer, he guessed, than it normally did. Because it had taken him some time to practice this one. 

He didn’t have the music for it. He’d only had a recording he’d taken that night, one that he’d listened to over and over again. Had to perfect it that way, the hard way. And he’d put hours into this performance. Every time he played it, over two years now, he would think: it’s almost perfect. But not quite.

Spending November with Roderich, waking up and seeing him every morning, that changed things. Every day it became a little less important that it wasn’t perfect, until he thought the intensity of his feelings might just stop his heart. So. He had to do something. 

A special show. He’d promised that. Before I go home in a week. Something you’ll like. It’ll surprise you. 

He couldn’t bear, just yet, to check and see if Roderich was reacting to the music he was playing. Right now, his eyes were closed and he was pouring his heart into the song in a way he hadn’t before. The first thing he was hoping Roderich would notice: the violin itself. Not his favorite instrument, but this was what Roderich had played. 

I’m speaking your language, Roderich. I’m trying to show you. I’ve learned from you. I’ve been watching you for a long time. The things you tell me, I remember. The things you show me, I can emulate. I’m here. I’m right in front of you. I don’t know how to live without you, do you see that? I’ve known for a while now, and it’s been killing me to pretend otherwise. It’s supposed to be just me. It’s always supposed to have been just me. But you’ve snuck up on me, and—

He missed a note, and he hardly noticed it. What did that matter, really? One note was nothing. It didn’t need to be perfect. He didn’t need to be perfect! That was the beautiful thing. They weren’t perfect, together. They were this mess of narcissism, and pride, and— and laughter, most of the time. And he wanted more than that. So much more than that. 

He had no idea how to say it. No idea how to bring it up, the way that Roderich’s touch sent lighting across his skin. How to even begin to say why he suspected he knew exactly the way that his hair smelled. The way that his clothes lay against his body. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started to be that way, at which point he wasn’t teasing anymore. He could pinpoint when it had started to take over most of his thoughts. 

He was ear the end of his solo, and that was going to be it. Please, he played. For the first time he wasn’t ashamed of that: to ask for something. The notes of the song faded out. There was this painful, and beautiful, silence. Gilbert opened his eyes. 

“So?” He kept his tone as casual as possible. “How was that?”

Roderich has abandoned his phone strategy, sticking it back into his pocket. He’s turned up the volume, however, and he’s listening in vain, hoping to hear Gilbert’s ringtone at any moment. The speed at which he’s walking can hardly be called that, only a step or two away from a jog. Around him people are parting on the sidewalk, murmuring behind him things that he doesn’t hear. He’s sure he looks crazy. It doesn’t matter, right now. If I don’t catch him, I’ll buy my own ticket. I know where he lives. I’ll see his brother. I’ll be right behind him. I’ll—

Roderich slams into another person, and he falls backwards onto the sidewalk. 

“Ah, watch where you’re walking!” The man, despite the harshness of his tone, still offers a hand. Roderich bats it away, practically leaping to his feet. He isn’t sure what kind of look he gives the man, but it must be something because he takes a full step back. 

“I have to go,” he says, to that man; to no one, really, because he just keeps thinking about Gilbert’s face when he was done playing that solo for him yesterday. I talk to him day and night about music and how important it is and I can’t even tell when… I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been so ridiculously dense. 

Roderich sees the glass front of the train station ahead of him, and he breathes a prayer of relief. Inside it's crowded, even more so than the usual foot traffic of the city, especially with holiday travel. This morning he had the benefit of skipping the lines in front of the ticket offices and self-service machines entirely. Muscle memory took him to the central display system, where his eyes quickly scanned over the departures until he found the one he knew Gilbert would be taking. 

That’s when he starts running, and he isn’t good at running, which Gilbert very well knew, and Roderich curses him for this mentally, because this is clearly his fault, and Almighty, please, he’s going to catch him and scold him when he catches him. He goes skidding around a corner, almost tripping over someone’s luggage and stumbling slightly before continuing, his breathing picking up. You’re an idiot, Gil, and I’m one too, agh, aren’t we a pair?? 

The moment he sees the train, a train that is still in the station, a train that hasn’t left yet, his heart races. “Gilbert!” 

He calls his name before he sees him, or knows if he’s boarded yet; he calls the name as loudly as he’s called anything, at a very embarrassing level. People turn and look at him, and he doesn’t care, because none of them are the one he’s looking for and, as of this morning, his world has suddenly become a lot smaller. 

“Gilbert!” He takes the stairs two at a time, almost somersaulting off the end of them, but catching himself on a bench. “Gilbert!” 

Most of the people are still streaming onto the train, after having cast him a curious glance or two, and he desperately looks around for anyone who might have stopped. Am I going to have to board this train and buy a ticket?!  “GILBERT!” 

There, through the crowd: a red jacket that he could name the brand of eyes closed. Yes. Yes! Roderich shoved through a line of people, broke into a clearing, and there he is. Gilbert. Oh, Gilbert... eyebrows drawn in concentration, looking around himself trying to locate the sound of his own name, his hand on a suitcase that Roderich is sure was hastily packed for a man who insisted on folding even underwear.  

“Gilbert…” Roderich crosses the few steps left between them and throws himself forward.

“Ugh,” Roderich said, rolling his eyes. “Why on Earth would you choose that song, of all the songs that you could have possibly chosen? That is a terrible solo! Oh, I hardly knew what I was doing.”

The words were like a knife to his chest. Okay. He thought. He didn’t get it. That’s fine. Of course he didn’t. He’s reading too much into this. And he knew that, he did. That he was reading too much into things. Putting too much weight where it was in danger of breaking something. Not communicating. Not really. He knew he was going about this the wrong way, but he…  

“You thought it was terrible?” Tone still casual. Still light. Like it was. He was joking.

“Oh, no, your rendition of it was fine, but— well, I can’t really hear past the mistakes I made, I’m sure you understand, being such a perfectionist and all.” Roderich leaned back and surveyed the violin as if it had personally failed him. 

Numbness spread outward from Gilbert’s chest, to his fingertips. God. He cared, and that was so fucking stupid of him. What did he really think was going to happen? Of course it was going to be the same as it always was between them. When had Roderich ever even hinted to him that he might— 

“I thought you’d like to remember,” he had to pause to keep his voice steady, “that first night you played it. When you trusted me to—”

“Yes, yes, I do recall Gilbert. I couldn't ever forget it. You don’t need to dredge up my old failures to remind me of time we spent together.” Rodrich pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But, you know, now that I think about it, I don’t believe I still have that particular sheet music any longer. How did you get your hands on it? Are you composing from memory? That would be impressive.”

“No, I… I recorded it, that night.”

Roderich made a face that made Gilbert want to step out of the room entirely, maybe just go home at this point. Maybe try again later. Maybe put all of his feelings in a box and lock them permanently. 

“Did you? Ugh. A shame. I’d really rather that all be forgotten. You know, Gil, if you want to play something of mine, I can simply give you music next time. Or! Even better, would you like me to write something for you? I’ve been thinking about that. I think you’re rather inspiring.”

The words fell flat to him, his ears still ringing. He didn’t get it at all! Why would he! Gilbert was being, and he knew this, he knew, he completely understood, that he was being irrational. He was expecting too much while not saying anything, but he just thought. He really thought. Hoped. That if anyone would understand. That if anyone could read between the lines. That if anyone would just get him, after so so many years...

But. It was fine. This was—

“Don’t worry about it,” he told Roderich. He was already thinking about going home, at that point. About nursing this wound somewhere private. About escaping before he revealed too much more. After all, Roderich still didn’t know. That meant, in some sense, he was still safe.  

“Well, thank you for the performance, nonetheless. I do prefer you on flute, and I suspect you prefer that as well, but you are more than adequate on violin.” Roderich stood up, dusting his hands as if of the whole affair. “Have you had breakfast yet?” 

Gilbert shook his head. 

 Roderich’s arms wrap around Gilbert’s neck, and he hears his luggage hit the ground with a thud as he drops it to catch him. 

“Rod— what are you doing here?” Gilbert sounds bewildered, and Roderich has never been more relieved in his life to hear that voice. 

“I— ” Words: suddenly he is at a loss for them, pulling back enough to look into those eyes. “— you are a complete idiot!” It’s not what he means to say, and he’s out of breath, so it doesn’t even come out dignified, or elegant, or whatever other things he liked to think he was. 

Something pulls over Gilbert’s face then that he recognizes, like he's closing up his emotions, drawing himself as deep within as possible. It’s so far from what Roderich wants to happen in that moment, needs to happen in that moment, that he almost shakes him. 

“No, no, Gilbert— I didn’t— oh, this is— I think I understand your problem, you—” The realization is far too much, too important, to put into words, and even though he knows the answer, and he’s fairly sure he knows what the response will be, the thought of saying it makes his hands shake, makes his heart pound. 

Committing to this will change everything between them.

“I have to go,” Gilbert motions to the train. “My ticket.”

“No, no, Gilbert,” Roderich repeats. “You don’t have to go.” His arms tighten around him. “I don’t… I don’t want you to go.” 

Gilbert’s eyebrows raise, his mouth a tight line, but he doesn't say anything and he doesn’t move. How in the world, Roderich wonders, did it go from feeling like they had nothing but time to feeling as if this was the last moment he would ever have to speak his feelings? 

“I should—”

Before he can put anything else between them, Roderich bends down slightly and kisses Gilbert. It certainly isn’t a very romantic kiss, there in the crowd of people and amidst the noise of the announcements, their lips chapped from the cold outside. The kiss is rough; it’s rushed, and it might just be the only kiss Roderich will ever care to remember no matter the rest. After a moment, after he’s sure that Gilbert has to understand what he means, what he wants, he starts to pull back. 

A hand rises to stop him, fingers in his hair, and draws him back down, into a deeper kiss. This time it’s gentle. Beside them, the train doors close with a hiss, and neither makes a move. When they finally break apart, the train is already gone, and Gilbert looks like he’s been split open down the middle, his eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry,” Roderich says, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening, I was so blinded by my… by…”

“Your pride and arrogance? Your inability to think of other people?” 

Roderich opens his mouth to respond indignantly when he sees the look on Gilbert’s face, the soft, fond smile, and his cheeks flush instead. “I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly. But, yes, perhaps, something along those lines might be accurate.”  

“Might be?” 

“Yes— I— you know, Gil, if you had just told me how you felt, we wouldn’t even be here in the first place! If you didn’t have this absolutely debilitating aversion to admitting you experience the full human range of emotion, I wouldn’t have had to run to you— which I was terrible at, mind you!” 

A look of wonder crosses Gilbert’s face, and he brushes a strand of hair from Roderich’s forehead, no doubt knocked loose during the chase. “You did, huh… run after me? I didn’t think you cared this much.” 

“You didn’t think—! Of course! I can see that you weren’t thinking! I care about you, you— you— you’re my best friend, you complete disaster! I don’t care about anyone more than you! If—” Roderich straightens up. “In fact. If I hadn’t caught you here, I would have gone all the way to Germany looking for you. I would have never stopped.” He bites his lips a moment before sighing. “... you taught me that, after all.” 

“Okay, okay. I… I’ll admit a little fault here, sure. Maybe. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to risk—”

“Make me uncomfortable?! You don’t think it’s uncomfortable for me to be running about the city like I’ve lost my mind, shoving over strangers on the street, scaring the children?” Roderich shook his head. “There is nothing, Gilbert, nothing, that you can do that’s going to change us! If— look, if I didn’t want you around, you know I would make that very clear. No one in my entire life has ever been more annoying than you, more frustrating, more difficult to have a normal conversation with, and I look forward to seeing you in a way that is so deep it’s an ache some days, and you have the nerve to doubt that I would— I would—” 

They must both be hopeless when it comes to saying it. 

“My point is, Gil, that your convoluted little plan to play me my own song, to show me how much time you put into thinking about me, it was ridiculous, and I— I’m so sorry I didn’t get it.” Another train pulls in somewhere past them, the force of it blowing their hair about their faces. 

“Rod,” Gilbert says, and this time Roderich hears more than what he’s saying, what he means. “I want to go home.” 

“Good.” Roderich steps back and Gilbert picks his suitcase up off the ground. Once he’s got it in one hand, Roderich offers him an arm, which he dutifully loops his through. 

After a moment or two, just needing to add something, he says, “but I’m not running again.”

Gilbert laughs. “You didn’t pull anything, did you?” 

“We’ll see!” Roderich smiles to himself. He can’t stop smiling, and that’s silly, because it’s normally not a problem for him. “I really don’t understand what’s so appealing about that to you, that working out thing. It was dreadful.” 

“All four steps you took?”

“It’s a big train station.” They’re walking much slower now, the sound of the luggage wheels clicking along behind them. “My legs aren’t that much longer than yours.”

Gilbert rolls his eyes, something that Roderich can feel in the way he gently bumps him with his shoulder, muttering something about their heights that’s no doubt incorrect. They board an escalator. “Ludwig is already probably annoyed about my sudden change in plans, and now I’m going to be changing them back.”  

“I’ll talk to Ludwig for you, if that’s going to bother you.” 

“You’re not my secretary. I’m just making a point about what I’m sacrificing for you.” They step off the escalator. 

“Right, well you’re the one who keeps telling me about the importance of family on the holidays, so it seems to me we should be… together. By your standards, anyhow.” 

“The holida— ha! You don’t even celebrate Christmas.” 

“Well. I did specify: your standards. Your holiday. Consider it… emotional support.” 

Outside, snow is starting to fall over the city. Roderich wonders, looking up into the infinite and dizzying sky, if snow has ever seemed so magical before. A childish, wonderful thought; Roderich is tempted to stick his tongue out and catch a snowflake only to turn and see Gilbert already doing so, his nose crinkling slightly, eyes squinted. 

“You…” Roderich begins. 

Gilbert looks over, “what?” 

“... you’re just. I—” Roderich keeps walking. “Come on, then. I need to get changed, I look like we belong together.” 

He’s going to say it, he is. 

Gilbert is sitting sideways on the cushioned bench out on the balcony, his legs across Roderich’s lap, bent so that he’s leaning into his side. They’ve made coffee, and the steam of it rising is mixing with their breath. The first thing Gilbert wanted to do was be this close to him. Something he’s been denying himself. 

“I just cannot,” Roderich is saying, “believe that you thought I wanted to watch you workout out of— what did you think it was?-- scholarly interest?” 

“No!” Gilbert snorts. “I didn’t think about it!”

Roderich eyes him. “And the sleeveless shirts? You thought I didn’t notice that? The tank-tops? How you continuously volunteered to lift things for me? You really thought I was that weak?”

“I, uh, I did actually.” 

“No! I wanted to see— I wanted— I liked looking at you do it. You’re such a show-off, normally, and I liked it when I felt that you were…” he takes a pointedly delicate sip of his coffee “... performing for me.” 

Gilbert almost chokes. He manages to recover like a champion, though, and no one can tell. “I— okay, so I was showing off. But you were the one doing your hair up all fluffy for no reason and dressing like you were in a fucking magazine-level photoshoot, even if you were only seeing me—  so you can see how I was getting these ideas. Before you.” 

“Before— did you not hear what I was saying? Do you—” Roderich’s cheeks color, and it’s clearly not just from the cold. “Ah, this is going to betray some things, isn’t it? But! Fine— When we were nineteen—”

Nineteen?! That early? 

“-- and you insisted that we go skinny dipping, and you stripped down there on the spot and—”

“And you were so embarrassed! I remember that, yeah. Ha! You wouldn’t even look at… Wait.” 

“Yes.” 

“What?!” 

“Yes.”

“That early?!” 

“Yes, Gilbert! That early!” 

“But…” Gilbert frowns down into his coffee. “Wow. I had no idea. You never— hey! Hey, wait a minute, all those little barbs about me being emotionally repressed? And— since 19?!” 

Roderich’s blush got worse. “It might have been… I was deflecting. A bit.” 

“A bit?!” 

“Well! When exactly did you know?!” 

“That I was in love with you??!” 

Silence. The words had simply slipped out in the moment. It’s something he’s been thinking about for a while now. The whiplash of them colors his cheeks to match Roderich’s. 

“That… that you wanted to sleep with me, I meant.” Roderich says, but then quickly adds, “but I love you, too! Just so that you know! I love you, so don't you dare go running off again on me. Don’t think otherwise, I won’t have you doing that thing you do where you—”  

Gilbert interrupts him with a kiss. He tastes like coffee, like whipped cream. “I’m not going anywhere.” He replies softly. 

“Well, you ought to… to stay in my bed. So I can feel sure about that.” 

“Gladly.” A pause, Gilbert nuzzling his head against Roderich’s shoulder, which is something he only ever imagined doing. “And it was around twenty-two, for your original question.”

“What happened at twenty-two?”

“I— you are never going to remember this— you made this joke, agh, this is so embarrassing I should have thought of a lie. Hold on, I need to think of a cooler lie.” 

Roderich jabs him. 

“Hey! Fine! Fine. I’m going to spill your coffee if you do that again. So, the joke. You were talking about how nice your clothes are. You said all the layers. All the way down to your underwear. Er, and until then I hadn’t really, uh, really, thought about your underwear, but then you went and added this bit about. Okay. Context, I guess. I said something like what like you’re ordering lingerie? And you said. Uhm. Yes. Which was quite the mental image. And then I thought about it every day for years. Actually. I’m still thinking about it. Right now.” 

Roderich regards him with an expression that he has no idea how to read. “I wasn’t joking.” 

“You— you—” Gilbert’s eyes drop down a bit. “You— weren’t? Joking? You’re saying that, right now, you’re…”

“No, of course not! Ah, does the idea of me in lingerie really affect you so much? You’re normally sharper than this.” Roderich takes a sip of Gilbert’s coffee. “I’ll have to remember that. It actually isn’t one of the things I’ve thought about doing for you, and to you, in my rather extensive catalogue of fantasies.”

“Ex...tensive?”

“It— I told you— it has been since nineteen, Gilbert. I’ve had seven years now.”

“So…” Gilbert waggles his eyebrows. “When we’re done with coffee, huh?” 

“Yes. Absolutely.” 

They watch the snow swirl past them, against the slate grey sky. It’s weird, kind of, after all the drama… how normal this felt. Natural. Right. Like nothing had changed between them at all. As if they’d always been like this, curled up together. 

“Hey, Rod?” 

“Mmmm.” 

“I love you.” 

“Are you going to finally admit to how sentimental you are? Start being the sappy self I know you are internally?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Good.” 

Somewhere below them, the sounds of someone playing music. 

“Hey, Gil?” 

“Yup.”

“I love you, too.”    

[adorablele]

wrist aches; h.rj

hello!! could you write a renjun fluff where they're like soulmates and they finally meet each other? your works are literally so cute uwu 

↬ genre; fluff // soulmate!au

↬ word count; 1.8k+

↬ summary; your wrist aches every time he paints about you

↬ a/n; THIS GIF OF RENJUN EXISTS AND I ONLY KNEW ABOUT IT NOW?? he looks so ~boyfriend material~ ahem, let me collect myself for a second,,,,,right, so this ended up being longer than I planned it to be, but please enjoy painter!renjun

“why are you hurting?” you mumbled, staring at your right wrist.

your frown deepened, the ache in your wrist similar to a growing pain but not quite the same. you closed your eyes, stretching your arm upwards, letting it hang in the air. it was three in the morning, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

nothing changed, even after five minutes.

you sighed, letting your arm drop and turning your body to lay on your back. just as quickly as it came, the pain went away.

-

renjun gasped awake, afraid that he was going to get hit by that girl’s arm. he stared confusedly at the paintbrush in his hand and was even more confused at the finished painting in front of him. the last time he checked, he fell asleep in his bed.

and oddly enough, he found himself wanting to kiss your ache away.

“that’s amazing, ‘sung!” you told your brother, leaning forward on your balcony railing. you looked at your wrist, the ache starting to bother you.

“it was magical,” jisung dreamily sighed. you knew your brother’s eyes matched the starry night sky.

“I believe that this is the first time I’ve ever heard someone say that getting punched in the face was magical,” you chuckled.

he was silent.

“hello?” you asked, moving your phone to see if he disconnected.

“have you gotten your soulmate mark?”

you swallowed, the throb in your wrist increasing, “it’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“y/n-”

“goodnight, ‘sung.”

you hung up, brushing a hand through your hair. stretching your limbs, you held onto the railings. the various buildings of the city mushed together in front of you.

you looked up, closing your eyes as a shooting star passed by.

“I’m getting impatient,” you sighed, “find me soon.”

-

renjun blinked his eyes open, another painting finished. he stared at his outstretched hand and brought it back to his lap. why couldn’t he see your face?

he sighed, looking out the window. how was he supposed to find you if he didn’t know what you looked like?

well, at least he knew your name. his phone let out a ding.

‘I know a place you can display your art!’

you ignored the giggles of the girl to your left.

“stop,” she quietly told the guy next to her, continuing to fold clothes.

“but my girlfriend looks so cute,” her boyfriend smiled, snapping more photos.

did they have to do coupley things at 3 in the morning? you chucked more clothes in the washing machine. couldn’t they leave you to wash your clothes by yourself? you aggressively added the laundry detergent, gritting your teeth at the ache in your wrist.

“no! don’t post that,” the girl whined, trying to grab the phone from her boyfriend. he watched in amusement, stretching his arm to make it out of her reach.

you slammed the washing machine door closed. the couple jumped, looking over at you. you continued to ignore them, picking up the empty basket.

“would you take cute photos of me?” you whispered to yourself, eyes trailing to your aching wrist.

-

renjun tilted his head at the painting of you, your back towards him, yet again.

“most definitely.”

“another night without sleep,” you frowned, adjusting the ice pack on your wrist as the clock glared 3:46 am.

you closed your eyes, laying your head down on the table. you thought about the instagram account jaemin showed you today.

“this is the artist’s account,” he explained, giving you his phone.

“who are you?” you read. the post showed a painting of a girl laying down on her side, her back in view. her right arm was stuck up straight in the air and her hair was a mess on her pillow. purple, iridescent sparkles glowed on her wrist, floating around in the air and trailing to her open window. an empty spot on the bed sat next to her, almost beckoning someone to lay with her; it felt rather cold.

there was something about her that made you feel funny, like you knew the girl.

“that’s one of the paintings we’re hanging tomorrow,” jaemin commented.

“huang renjun,” you sighed, finding it odd how smoothly his name rolled off your tongue, “your gallery is in two days and you haven’t once met with us.”

-

who knew his heart would race this fast because you said his name? or maybe it was beating fast because you uttered the words:

“‘haven’t once met with us?’” he repeated, eyes wide as he stared at the painting.

“does this girl seem lonely?” you frowned, head tilting at the painting you were hanging.

the girl was at a laundromat, right hand clenched around the washing machine door. her wrist had the same glow of purple as the one in his instagram post. although you couldn’t see her face, her tense shoulders gave off the vibe that she was annoyed by, you presumed, the blurred out couple to her left.

“what makes you say that?” jaemin asked, adjusting another painting.

you pointed at the girl in his painting, “well, she’s alone in all of these.”

jaemin chuckled, “there’s a lot of people alone in pictures.”

you shook your head, “but doesn’t it feel like she’s looking for something- someone?”

the girl in the painting held onto the balcony railing, her right wrist glowing the same purple as the shooting star in the sky. her head was tilted up, back towards the viewer. the purple sparkles were sprinkled lightly around the cluster of buildings in front of her.

“and what about this one,” you told him, pointing to another painting. the girl was sitting at her kitchen counter, an empty seat across from her. her face was tucked away behind her left arm, her other arm stretched across the table with an ice pack resting on her glowing wrist. the spotlight of the lamp above her did nothing but accentuate the fact that her apartment was empty.

“don’t you want to hold her hand?” you mumbled sadly.

after a moment of silence, jaemin spoke.

“well, I don’t think she’s alone.”

“why not?”

“don’t you see all the purple? it’s on her wrist, right?” he shook his own wrist, “that’s where most people have their soulmate marks.”

you stared at him, still confused, “what’s your point?”

he rolled his eyes, “I think the artist is trying to say that even if you feel like you’re alone, you’ve got your other half there with you.”

-

“is this everything?” you asked, hanging the last canvas.

you looked over to jaemin, confused as to why he looked nervous, “I think we forgot one.”

“well, he can just bring when he comes here, right?”

he frowned, “he’s not coming in today.”

“we’re supposed to open tomorrow! how are we supposed to-” you inhaled sharply, pain suddenly shooting through your wrist, “I’ll just go to his studio.”

“renjun?” you called out, knocking on his door. you clicked your tongue, your phone going to the automated voice message system.

“hello?” you called out again, surprised to see that his front door was open.

you wandered inside, not seeing his shoes by the door, but you did see the painting you forgot.

“is anyone home?” you shouted, picking up the canvas.

there was a girl on it, her knees hugged to her chest. her purple glowing wrist covered her eyes, the tears still dripping down her chin. a crumpled wedding invitation laid next to her on the wrinkled bed sheets, words glimmering under the moonlight. a weird sense of deja vu swirled in your stomach and the ache in your wrist worsened.

“am I going to be alone forever?” you wailed, fridge empty of any ice cream that you could use to eat away your sorrow..

chenle held his fiance in his arms, the both of them smiling as they looked into each other’s eyes. it didn’t help that you just finished watching a kdrama that made you feel single AF.

you dropped the wrinkled piece of paper next to you, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. the ache in your wrist was nothing compared to emptiness in your heart.

“just got myself until then, I guess.”

you placed down the painting and shook away the memory. “I can give you a ride to the museum,” you announced, exploring further into the apartment. sketches of a girl littered his apartment, none of them revealing what her face looked like.

“renjun?” you asked, slowly pushing open the ajar door, the ache in your wrist dulling away.

he was there, facing away from you. he sat in front of a canvas.

“it’s you.”

your furrowed brows soon rose in shock when he turned around, revealing a painting of you. you stood in the open doorway, face caught in surprise.

“you’re way more beautiful in person.”

“that’s...that’s my face,” you dumbly replied.

renjun chuckled, “I believe it is.”

your face felt hot and you wished that he didn’t looked so good with messy brown hair that shined under the sun. you really hoped you weren’t drooling.

his eyes crinkled with joy and held the same relieved look as yours. for a moment the two of you stared into each other’s eyes, the world put on pause.

“wait,” you suddenly said, everything clicking in your head, “are you the reason why my wrist hurts?”

he chuckled, stepping closer to you. he gently grabbed your right wrist, giving it a peck, “sorry ‘bout that.”

if possible, you felt your face heat up even more, “you can make up for it with a date.”

you stepped away from him, “but not before we add the final touches to the gallery.” you quickly turned away from him, annoyed that your face hasn’t cooled down and that your heart was still pumping like you just finished a race.

“let’s go,” you mumbled, hurrying out the door.

renjun raised his brows, taking the painting of you and the other painting that you initially came for.

“can’t forget these, can we?” he reminded, meeting you by the elevator.

you blinked, away your daze. “of course!” you told him, looking ahead. did he have to be so handsome?

when the two of you got into the elevator, you stood in the farthest corner, away from him.

“you know,” he started after a few moments of silence, “for someone who seemed very eager to meet me, you sure act like you don’t like me.”

you turned to him, his teasing smirk making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. “well, being around you makes my mind go blank.”

the elevator dinged and you didn’t waste any time to bolt to your car. you scrunched your face in embarrassment, hoping that maybe the earth will swallow you up.

“if it makes you feel any better, I can’t think straight when you’re naturally adorable like that,” he told you, easily catching up with you.

“don’t say things like that,” you pouted. your face was burning hotter now.

“but it’s true! you’re acting cute right now,” he laughed. your heart thumped at the noise, the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard.

you sighed, opening your car door. this boy will be the death of you.

[ejzah]

A/N: A small fic based off the post I made earlier today.

***

“Hi Caleb, how was school?” Deeks asked as the five year old as he got in the car. As he pulled out of the car rider line, Kensi reached back to hand him a packet of goldfish.

“It was good. I got to pick out of the prize box!” he answered without looking up from his snack. The tip of his tongue stuck out as he focused on opening the bag.

Deeks and Kensi shared a smile, linking fingers as they quietly drove for a few minutes.

“Hey, when we get home we gotta work on your science project,” Kensi told Caleb, tapping his knee when he didn’t respond.

“Ok.” He popped another yellow fish in his mouth with a loud crunch. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Stacey says she wants to talk to you and daddy.”

“Did she say why?” Deeks asked, instantly concerned. In his opinion, it was rarely a good thing when teachers wanted to talk outside of parent-teacher conferences. Caleb was typically a pretty good kid, but he did have a curious nature and could be mischievous.

Kensi lightly bumped his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“She said it’s because of my art project,” Caleb explained, reaching for his back pack. Deeks looked at him in the review mirror with a frown.

“See, I told you it was nothing,” Kensi said with a roll of her eyes. “Caleb’s a great artist. I’m sure she just wants us to know how well he’s doing.”

Caleb handed her a folded piece of light blue construction paper with slightly crumpled edges. Kensi opened it, her mouth tilting up at the corners.

“Oh, he drew us, Deeks. Wait, am I holding a knife?”

“Uh-huh. And daddy has a gun.” Caleb leaned forward, pointing towards the picture. I wanted to draw Uncle Callen and Uncle Sam too, but I runned out of room.”

“You ran out of room,” Deeks repeated faintly. Caleb nodded, clearly thinking his expression dad expressed disappointment rather than disbelief.

“Yeah, but I’ll make another one with them,” he said, handing Kensi another paper. “And Miss Stacey gave me this letter for you.”

Kensi opened it gingerly and began reading.

“Mr. and Mrs. Deeks,

Yesterday we completed an art project in class. Caleb chose to draw a picture of his family. Although I am very impressed with Caleb’s creativity and skill, I have concerns about the subject matter.

When I asked Caleb what he had drawn, he told me that he drew his father “with a gun because he is so good at catching bad guys” and his mother with a knife, because “mommy loves knives”.

I understand that Caleb did not mean any harm when he drew this picture, but I would appreciate it if you explain to him why this subject matter is inappropriate.

When you have time, please call me to discuss this issue.

Sincerely,

Miss Stacey”

“Damn, our kid is going to get expelled in kindergarten,” Deeks muttered, shaking his head.

“Am I in trouble, daddy?” Caleb asked worriedly, catching on to his tone. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the back of Deeks’ seat.

“No, of course not,” Kensi said quickly.

“Yeah, you did a great job on your picture.” Caleb instantly smiled at their reassurances.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Kensi told him, making his grin widen.

“But maybe next time, you can draw me and mommy doing something that doesn’t involve guns or knives,” Deeks suggested. “Like when we all go swimming together.”

“Or when you wrestle with mommy on the bed,” Caleb suggested happily. Kensi made a strangle noise, shooting Deeks a look. He sighed, shaking his head.

“We really need to get locks on the bedroom doors.”

“And probably look for a new kindergarten,” Kensi added dryly.

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Licht is hired to compose a soundtrack for a play Hyde is directing. Unfortunately, Licht has writer’s block. (LawLicht, Modern AU)

“How is your new song coming along, Licht?” Kranz asked and Licht didn’t answer him aside from a swift glare. He knew it meant that he hadn’t made progress on the song. His cold response didn’t offend Kranz because he had been his manager for years and he was accustomed to his attitude. He understood that Licht was frustrated with himself and the song rather than him.

“I’ve been staring at a blank page for the last hour.” He sighed heavily. His statement wasn’t entirely true since he had written several melodies but the song would become a crumpled piece of paper on the ground. A small mountain was forming next to his feet. Licht turned in his chair and kicked over the pile of discarded songs. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to discuss your new album. There’s no rush to write a new song. You don’t have a deadline. We haven’t made an announcement or signed a contract with a production company yet. You don’t need to trap yourself in a room and force yourself to write like this.” Kranz was worried that Licht would overwork himself. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“I think I did.” He said but Kranz knew that he was merely evading his question. Licht loved playing the piano and he had toured the country ever since he was a child. When he turned nineteen, he released an album of original piano pieces and it had been a success. He would often be asked about his next album but he couldn’t answer them.

For the past three years, Licht had been plagued with artist block.

“I have the music room booked for another hour. I’ll grab something to eat after practise is over. My recital on Friday will be the last one on my tour. I should have more time to work on my new song after that.” Licht collected the paper on the ground to throw them away properly. He told himself the hours he spent on the songs wouldn’t be wasted as long as he found a new song.

“I wanted to discuss a potential job. It’ll start after your tour is over. This director wants to use a few of your songs for his play. There are a couple adjustments he needs for the songs to fit his vision for the play.” Kranz told him. He took out a folder from his bag to show him the details of the play. “This should be an easy job. Maybe a change of pace and something more structured will help you with your songwriting block.”

“Hyde Lawless Servamp? This name sounds familiar but I don’t remember what movie I’ve seen him attached to.” Licht skimmed the description of the play. “What if Romeo was an angel who fell in love with a human? I haven’t read a play from Shakespeare since high school but this is interesting. I’ll talk to the director and decide whether I want to work with him.”

Licht entered the theater an hour before his meeting with Hyde. He planned to watch the rehearsal and see how the director interacted with the actors and production team. Many were respectful to him but he knew it was because he was a famous pianist. He would see who the director truly was from how he spoke to the crew. As an angel, he refused to work with a demon who mistreated those around him.

The large room was quiet when he entered and he couldn’t see anyone on stage. While the lights were on, it was clear no one was in the theater. He wondered if he arrived too early and the rehearsal hadn’t started yet. At first, Licht was irritated that his plan failed and he had wasted his time walking to the theater. He began to leave but then he noticed a piano standing in the orchestra of the stage.

He had an hour until his meeting with Hyde and he could practise the piano while he waited. Licht made his way down the stairs and jumped into the orchestra pit. He brought a few of his original songs and placed them on the piano. Kranz told him that Hyde wanted to make small adjustments to his songs so they would fit his play. Will it be a simple key change or would he want to rearrange the chords?

“If that man wanted something that would fit his play, why doesn’t he just ask a composer to write an original song?” Licht asked out loud to himself. He had never collaborated with someone before because he didn’t work well with others. He only decided to speak with the director after Kranz suggested that it could give him inspiration for his next song.

Ever since he was a child, he never had trouble composing a song. His parents had taught him that he could do anything as long as he imagined it. Licht continued to hold concerts where he placed his songs and other classics. Yet, he struggled to write another song. He didn’t know why he was having trouble when writing music came so easy for him in the past.

Footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned towards the sound. Licht saw a blond man walk onto the stage from the sidelines. He didn’t know if the person who entered the room was the director or someone from the crew. He didn’t want them to kick him out so he stood to introduce himself. Licht stopped at the man’s voice. “O’ my love! My wife! Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath.”

The man on stage didn’t seem to see that he had an audience of one as he walked through the scene. He stopped under a spotlight and then knelt on the ground. He touched the air before him and spoke to a person who wasn’t there. Licht couldn’t fully understand what the man said but he pieced together that he was acting out Romeo’s death scene.

“Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For feat of that, I still will stay with thee and never from this palace of dim night depart again.” He suddenly stood with his arms circled around the air. A hint of madness tainted his voice as he danced around the stage.

The actor was alone on the empty stage but Licht was able to envision the full scene around him. A fallen angel danced with the corpse of his lost love. He lowered his invisible partner into a dip and said, “The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss. A dateless bargain to engrossing death.”

Hyde almost fell forward when he was startled by the notes of a piano. He thought the theater was empty but it was clear that he was wrong. The orchestra pit was shadowed by the stage so he didn’t see the pianist until he stood. He easily recognized him since he was a famous musician. He walked to the edge of the stage and knelt in front of him.

“I thought our appointment wasn’t until eleven, Angel Cakes. You’re an hour early.” Hyde was able to see him better in the light. He had seen videos of his performance but he was surprised by how handsome he was up close. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that he was truly an angel. “Do you want to go to the lobby and talk about the play?”

“No, do that scene again.” He commanded. Licht sat down and played a song that Hyde didn’t recognize. He repeated the same cords a few times and he heard small changes in each. The passion he placed in each note drew Hyde to him and he stepped onto the top of the piano. “What are you doing, Shit Rat? You can’t put your feet on a piano like that! Get off!”

“This piano is strong enough to handle my weight. I’ve walked on this thing a thousand times to enter the orchestra pit. It’s quicker than walking all the way around the stage.” Hyde reassured him but his words only caused Licht’s eyes to turn cold. He didn’t notice his glare and jumped off the piano. He landed next to him and sat on the piano bench. “Is that an original song, Angel Cakes?”

“When you were acting out the scene, I thought of what kind of song Romeo would be dancing to. I came up with it on the spot.” Licht drew music notes on his notebook. He struggled to write a song for years yet the melody suddenly flowed to him. He couldn’t describe why seeing Hyde dance inspired him. “Would Romeo dance with Juliet’s corpse like that though? It’s an interesting acting choice.”

“A pair of star-crossed lovers.” Hyde quoted the opening of the play. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder but not for this pair of star-crossed lovers. The distance made them more desperate to be with each other until love and lust drove them mad. Poor Romeo and Juliet were doomed the moment they saw each other. You must be a genius with the piano to be able to write a song for the scene. It’s beautiful and haunting. It’ll be perfect for the scene.”

“The director said he wanted to use my original songs for the play. I should wait to hear his ideas before I decide if I want to re-write my old songs.” Licht started to play his song without thinking. “You’re the lead actor for this play. Have you worked with the director before? I want to know what kind of person he is. I won’t lend my piano to a demon. Then again, you’re a demon yourself since you walked on this piano.”

“I think Hyde’s a good person but I might be biased since we’re the same person.” Hyde saw shock and surprise on Licht’s face. His expression was surprisingly cute and he chuckled at the reaction. “You accepted this job without knowing who I am? I think that’s a first.”

“I just thought your idea was interesting.” Licht took out the script Hyde sent to him as a proposal. He opened the book and showed him the different highlights he made. There were small notes in the margins where he thought they should include music cues. “Kranz said you want to turn Romeo and Juliet into a gothic novel. Will you be acting as the lead as well as directing?”

“I haven’t acted since I was a teenager. Lately, I’ve missed the stage but I couldn’t find anything that inspired me to act again. My brother suggested that I put on a play for myself.” Hyde admitted. He continued to play the piano as they talked and his music made him feel relaxed. “Since I’m already producing and directing the play, people will think I’m pretentious if I give myself the leading role.”

“Fuck what other people think.” Licht’s blunt statement caught Hyde off guard. He appeared serious as he turned to face him. “I’ll agree to work on the music of your play if you’re the lead.”

“Really?” Hyde was surprised that he agreed to join the project before they discussed the play in depth or any payment. “I’m happy that you’ll write music for the play but that’s a quick answer. Can I ask why though?”

“I heard music when I watched you act out that scene.” Licht answered him and stood. “I’ll have Kranz come and negotiate a commission for the songs. I want to start writing this song right away. Can you act out the balcony scene?”

“All this is but a dream, too flattering sweet to be substantial.” Hyde winked at him before he climbed back onto the stage to act out the scene.

[pandoraswrld]

ROMANTICISM

— in which aejung gets a tattoo

characters / oh aejung, kasper yang

words / 2.5k

warnings / none, just fluff n some kissing that’s all

Aejung looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hands, a phone number roughly scrawled on to it. The phone number belonged to that of Kasper Yang, the soloist she had met a couple weeks ago at a club with Sera.

They had only shared about two hours with each other but in that time she was sure that he must’ve been her soulmate or something close. She fondly remembered how easy it was to talk to him and how they just seemed to ‘click’ on the dance floor. Their conversations flowed so naturally and Aejung swore that there was a connection there, her feelings validated at the end of the night when he gave her his number along with a wink and a smirk.

Within the past minute that she had been staring at the number the ticking of her bedroom clock had become even louder and more obnoxious. Her eyes drifted to the clock, reading quarter past twelve. Her appointment was coming up soon and she couldn’t waste anymore time pondering over whether or not she should call him.

Exhaling deeply, she picked up her phone and began to dial what she hoped was his correct number, “Hello, Kasper?”

“This is he.”

“It’s Oh Aejung, remember from the club?” She nervously bit her nails, he couldn’t have forgotten her already? Had she waited too long to text him–to call him?

“Yes! Aejung, how are you? I actually thought you lost my number!” He sounded rather jovial which relieved Aejung significantly.

“I’m good, I’m good, it’s just that I’m getting a tattoo today in about a couple of hours and I wanted to know if you could come with me?” Her heart was thumping out of her chest and she began to think of everything that could go wrong as a silence began to form between the two of them.

Fuck, what if he’s already got plans? What if he’s got no plans and just doesn’t want to come? What if he flat out just says no and hangs up?

“How comes none of your group mates want to go with you?” He chuckled on the end of the line and Aejung breathed another sigh of relief, accompanied by a small smile at hearing his light laughter.

“Well they’re all doing stuff today and I didn’t wanna go alone, plus you have a tattoo yourself so you know what it feels like and you can be my moral support!” Aejung nearly punched herself thinking that she was being too enthusiastic.

“Wow you remembered the tattoo!”

“How could I not? It was so cool!” She recalled the compass she had seen on his forearm under the neon lights of the club’s bar.

“Well in that case, I’ll come! Just text me your location and a time and I’ll come pick you up.”

Upon hearing his words she jumped in excitement, she had succeeded in her plan and now all she had to worry about was the tattoo itself, any earlier fears of the pain ceasing rather quickly.

“Amazing, I’ll see you then!” She waited til he had said bye to her before hanging up the call and squealing into her pillow like she was a teenage girl again. Now all she had to do was get dressed and prepare to meet him.

About an hour and a half had passed and Aejung was sat on the dorm sofa waiting for him to arrive. She knew she wanted to dress to impress, however the weather was making it rather hard for her. Ultimately, she decided on a flowery dress that she’d cover in a thick coat to ensure she wouldn’t freeze, after all she wanted him to be speechless when he saw her and no amount of cold weather was going to stop her from getting that.

Right on time, she received a text from him telling her he was parked just outside her building. Rushing to grab her things, Aejung looked in the mirror to tousle her hair a couple more times before she finally set off downstairs to meet him.

She hadn’t seen his car before but was alerted to a white sports car when she saw Kasper standing near the hood of it looking out onto the car park. She quickly noted how nice the car and he, himself, looked before waving out to him.

“Aejung, hello! You look very pretty today.” He threw his arms out, inviting her for a hug, which Aejung quite nervously pulled herself into.

“Thank you!” Her cheeks blushed a light pink as her head rested lightly on his chest. The two pulled away from the hug shortly and moved towards their seats in the car.

“So where are we off to?” Kasper asked after he had slammed his door shut and put his seatbelt on.

Aejung pulled up the address and directions on her phone, quickly explaining the place she had been to a couple weeks back. The tattoo studio that she had picked out was actually one of Hyebin’s recommendations and seemed like a rather cool place when she visited it.

“No way, that’s where I went to get mine done!” He exclaimed, his eyes widened with excitement and Aejung couldn’t help but to notice that he looked so much like a puppy when they did.

“That’s crazy, maybe the artist is also the same as your one as well!” She matched his wide grin.

“Also, I wanted to ask you something before we head off?” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, instead at the wheel in front of him. It was kind of cute to Aejung that he seemed to be the slightest bit nervous himself.

“When you’re done with the tattoo would it be okay if we hung out afterwards, we could go someplace to eat or something?” His smile became awkward and lopsided but he quickly brightened up once Aejung answered his question with another grin.

“Sure! We could even go back to your apartment if you wanted, I’d love to see what it looks like!”

Aejung simply hoped that the rest of the day would go just as positively as these first few minutes had gone. Perhaps it might even end up way better than she would expect it to, well, that’s if she doesn’t make a fool out of herself later on during her appointment.

Surprisingly, the tattoo was finished after only an hour and a half and she got through the entire thing without crying, although this was helped mostly through encouraging words from Kasper and a lot of hand holding that she hadn’t originally planned. After leaving the studio, the two decided on just going straight to Kasper’s which was only a couple of minutes drive away.

Once she had stepped foot in his apartment she quickly noticed how nice it was, the inside easily reflecting the modern building on the outside. She counted at least three potted plants around the living room area and a rather sophisticated looking kitchen. From just one glance around she could see he had a rather minimalistic style to his apartment, one she quite liked.

“Here let me take your coat.” He pulled her winter coat off from behind her and hung it up on the coat rack next to him. She saw that he had a delicate touch when it came to her or her things, almost like he was afraid to break them.

“Can you show me where the bathroom is?” She asked, to which he pointed to the door at the far end of the apartment near his TV.

Once the bathroom door had closed behind her she let out a huge sigh and found herself in the reflection of the mirror above the sink.

“C’mon Aejung! You got this!” Her cheers only seemed to half work as she frowned at herself, “He’s not gonna bite you, you got this far and he still seems to like you.”

She took another deep inhale and exhale and looked back into the mirror, “You’re pretty, you’re gorgeous, he likes you, now work your charm!”

She had learned those mantras from Sera, often hearing her repeat them to herself before going out and telling all the girls that they should try them too. For the most part they seem to be working. Aejung took a mental note to thank Sera for that later, but for now she had to focus on Kasper, fluffing up her hair a little and fixing her dress.

“You okay?” Kasper’s voice called out from behind the door.

“Yep!” She smiled, exiting the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

“Brilliant, do you want anything to drink? I have a wide range, from apple juice to red wine.” He was already rushing about in his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

“Water’s just fine.” She walked over to the kitchen island and settled herself down on the middle seat, Kasper standing directly in front of her with a second glass of water

“So, was there any other reason you wanted me to come with you today?” He was perched over the island as though he were a bartender and Aejung was his customer, his grin seemed oddly reminiscent of one too.

Aejung stopped to think for a second. Does she tell him the truth? No, that would be too forward, she thought. Although, perhaps he would like to hear that she hadn’t stopped thinking about him since that night, after all isn’t that like the biggest compliment?

“Well, I did want to see you again,” She stared down at her glass of water, all of her thoughts racing as she spoke. “I wasn’t sure how to ask you out so I thought, why not get you to come today, it gave us something to do.”

“Ah, I see.” He had already finished his glass of water in seconds, “That was a pretty smart plan of you, I wanted to see you too but I didn’t have your number.”

“Oh sorry about that!” Her cheeks began to warm up.

“No, no, don’t worry about that! I’m just glad that we had a good time today. Well I had a good time, it certainly was something to have you crush my hand as he started tattooing.” He chuckled.

Now her face had to be a bright red, she could even feel his ears burning, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought I would’ve handled the pain better!”

“No, I think you should give me compensation! Look at my poor hand!” He feigned a limp wrist, shaking it about as she laughed.

“Fine, how about five hundred won?” She played along, resting her head on the palm of her hand.

“Yah! Higher!” He exclaimed, shaking his wrist again before quickly bursting into laughter.

Aejung leaned over the island to shove his arm playfully, “You’re fine!”

“Ah, you’ve caught me, I have to admit the truth!” He hung his head lowly, “I lied.”

Aejung grinned, everything was going great so far, not a single slip up or embarrassing moment yet. She had almost forgotten how much Kasper could make her laugh.

“Speaking of, how is your arm, still tender?” He had now walked over to her side of the island, his back leaning against the counter and his eyes looking down at the fresh tattoo.

“A little, do you have a mirror here? I wanna look at it again.” She hadn’t actually looked at the tattoo since leaving the shop, almost forgetting it was there during her little pep talk in the mirror.

“Yes, in my bedroom, let me show you.” He took her hand in his own and led her to the door at the far right of the apartment, nearest to the front door.

Pushing it open, Aejung was greeted with the sight of Kasper’s bedroom. It was just as clean and neat as the living room, however, she spotted that his bed did not follow the same modern style as the rest of his apartment, finding it to be decorated with a rather old looking duvet and blankets with several pillows she would’ve found in her grandmother’s house.

Turning to her left she found a full-length mirror by the shoe rack. She stared at her arm in the mirror, admiring the line work of the black rose and behind the red heart.

“Let me take a picture of it, it looks so gorgeous on you.” Aejung suddenly became extremely aware of how close Kasper was behind her, seeing his head just above hers in the mirror.

She nodded, walking over to his bed and settling on the edge of it. He smiled once he took the picture, showing Aejung as he came to sit next to her.

“I forgot to ask, does it have any meaning behind it?” He looked at the image once more before turning off his phone and throwing it onto one of the blankets.

“No, not initially. I always wanted a tattoo of a rose, and it just so happened that fate put me in a group called Black Rose.” She chuckled, “I think it’s rather romantic, the heart and rose combination.”

“You’re a romantic person?”

“Hopelessly, I’ve been dreaming of my perfect romance since I was a little girl. I love romance more than anything else.” She smiled.

Aejung liked to remember what she wrote in her diary at age twelve, describing her ‘perfect romance’. Most of it was unrealistic, seeing as she had written herself as a princess and hoped that one day a real prince would come and whisk her away like the fairytales her mother used to read her. However, there was one thing that had stuck with her, the perfect first date. A candlelight dinner under the stars that ended in true love’s kiss with her soulmate. This particular part of her dream being inspired by her own parents’ love story, one that she had always admired and loved to hear.

“What are you thinking about?” Kasper’s voice quickly brought her back to reality, moving her focus from his bedroom wall back to Kasper himself.

“Oh nothing, just some silly romance stories I used to make up when I was a kid.” She couldn’t help but smile. One day, she thought, one day she’ll have her perfect romance.

“Hey.” His voice was just barely a whisper.

The change in his voice made Aejung whip her head up to face him again, met with softened eyes and a longing gaze. She would be lying if she said it didn’t make her a little nervous.

He placed a tender finger underneath her chin, pulling her face towards his to connect their lips together. In that moment, nothing mattered, not to him or her. She became aware of the cologne that lingered around his neck and he began to taste her strawberry scented lipstick. All they cared to feel was each other.

For a moment the two paused, their faces inches away but their eyes boring into each other. She noted how his eyes had little specks of light brown in them, the way the corners drooped slightly towards the ends and how the skin underneath them was discoloured a faint and tired purple. They were beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful pair of eyes she had ever seen.

She drew in closer and left a gentle peck on his lips, smiling as she pulled away.

“That was nice.” Her forehead lay to rest on his own, creating a space that only they could share.

He hummed in agreement, neither of them wanted this moment to end. Everything was going just right.

[the-magnus-backlogs]

Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare?  I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

[frstbiitten]

cw: drug mention, fire, death, gore.

The changes in the house didn't happen over the days, it didn't take Rose many hours to give Frost a new look, one that seemed more human. It would be complicated to be able to adapt her to her social circles, to invent a not very dramatic story about why there was a new girl in the house. It was all a process of adjustment, and Frost didn't say anything about it.

Rose had set up a room for her that had been Dalhia's room when she lived in that house, didn't remind her about the apartment she once shared with her mother. Sunlight streamed in through a wide window, it had a view of the forest which was the first thing one could see in the morning, the pale pink walls, the already somewhat worn wooden bed. More things had to be tailored to fit her, like the clothes in the closet, they were new and all for her, but most of them were meant for Eirwen, too many dresses and too many shirts.

It occurred to Rose that it was a good idea to have a family dinner, as so far she had been eating alone in the room. It was also a test, Rose wanted to see if Frost/Eirwen was ready to move on, commitment on her part was important. Shedding who she was was going to be the most complicated part, getting used to hearing a name she hadn't heard since she was little, she had abandoned Eirwen with the promise to leave her behind, in the worst place of all if it had to be necessary, Frost had never repented, but it was someone else watching her in the mirror.

In her room there was a vanity, it hadn't been refurbished so the wood kept the same features as the bed in the room. Rose had left her some makeup, basic things that Frost didn't quite understand how to apply without help, and also a wig inside a clear plastic bag, she didn't know exactly the length of it as she hadn't opened it yet. Heard Shawn's footsteps down the hallway near the room, he had just come out of the bathroom so could borrow a few minutes of his time.

"I need your help." She grabbed his arm in surprise before he continued walking to his room, it was obvious she had startled him. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to spook you."

"It's okay... I'm still not used to all this." Shawn relaxed for a few seconds, he hadn't felt the girl's coldness at any point, apparently, all this time his mother had been playing scientist had worked. "What do you need?"

"...I have no idea how to do my makeup with what Rose gave me." It sounded too pathetic, and even generated some embarrassment in a way. 

"Oh... do you want me to help you with that?"

"Please?"

"Okay, I think there's something I can do."

Frost sat down in front of the vanity, somewhat unsure of Shawn's artistic abilities, well, he didn't seem like the right person for this, but she trusted him more than his mother. Instantly, Shawn noticed that the color of the foundation was a few shades lower than Frost's skin color, it could be the paler shade that the brand would have, or maybe it was her way of making the off-white tone of her skin go unnoticed. And how exactly was this done? He wasn't the kind of guy who questioned these things, but it was hard to keep a pulse and finesse when it came to applying something on the other person's face. The foundation was a powder and came with a sponge, he miscalculated the amount too poorly and ended up putting a lot of powder on her face, she started coughing as a result.

"Shit... the last time I wore makeup was for a school play, I had to act as a mime, which suited me just fine because I had a loud mouth back then, I guess my teacher said 'perfect, this will keep him quiet'." It was an attempt to lighten the situation and elicited a chuckle from her as she tried to calm down and breathe. "Did you even get to go to school?"

"Yes, although I don't remember exactly how I did, it's kind of confusing, because once my mother realized what was going on, she decided to remove me from school and teach me at home." Frost had no recollection of having friends, nor did she recall having a favorite teacher or activities she enjoyed, that time had become fuzzy and she could hardly remember it at all.

Shawn gave his best effort as far as doing Frost's makeup was concerned, wasn't very skilled but he gave it his best shot, especially with the lipstick, although at the last minute he preferred to opt for gloss, it was easier to apply. Instantly Frost noticed that this one had a fruity taste, that prompted her to lick her lips and was interrupted by Shawn.

"Frost, please don't eat the gloss."

"Sorry."

The time it took him to finish with his 'masterpiece' shortened, Shawn helped Frost put on the wig, which, incidentally, didn't feel comfortable at all. She couldn't remember at any point in her life of having to wear something so uncomfortable, she wouldn't require a nylon fabric cap at least, as her natural hair was short enough to hide it under. She couldn't tell it was fake hair at first, even when she ran her fingers through it, had that strange sensation from not so long ago that reminded her of her previous style. Perhaps her biggest annoyance had to do with the color. Dark chocolate that reached halfway down her chest, sinuous waves fell over her body, she saw someone else in the mirror, it was her and it wasn't at the same time. 

Dinner time was approaching, why did she feel so much adrenaline reserved in her shoulders and they were weighing her down? Frost didn't know how to feel, not even how to stand or wait. Earlier Rose had recommended a set of clothes to put on for that specific night, she had to get used to wearing other items of clothing, different things, accessories, anything to be able to fit in more easily. She let Shawn go do his thing, refused to say how she felt in this environment, almost as being on the surface but without enough ability to breathe, didn't have chains to hold her still but the sensation that they were still around her body persisted.

Ended wearing a pale green shirt, almost a grayish tone, a suede ribbon adorned the neck area in a discreet bow, while a black dress over the shirt, thin straps and without much grace, reached a few inches above her knees, the shoes at least were not uncomfortable to wear, low and triangular tipped. It wasn't her in the mirror. An old acquaintance perhaps, but it wasn't Frost.

The food wasn't ready yet, it was a little while before dinner, though Rose had asked Eirwen to help her "set the table"...

"What, and... how do you do that?" She was a bit confused, as it was the first shock with reality, it was supposed to be something simple, right?

"You're going to have to learn basic stuff, and fast, okay? It's all about placing some tablecloths on the table, 3 for us, then you place some napkins on the side, the plate in the middle, a knife and fork on top of the napkin, and lastly, a glass."Rose took her time explaining, rather, it would be the last time she would do so.  "You look decent tonight, Eirwen, did you do your own makeup?"

"... no, I got some help with it."

They both stood silently in the kitchen for a moment, a disapproving expression settled on Rose's face.

"Mm, not bad, but please put these on, they have almost no focus so your eyesight won't be affected much." She gave to Eirwen some simple glasses, they were slightly square, as she put them on, noticed that her eyesight was semi-blurred and she had to blink constantly. "Now, set the table, I only need to finish cooking the meat."

After blinking a couple of times, Frost accomplished her task of setting the table, the most important part was remembering the order and not getting the items wrong, although she would have to be too forgetful to mix everything up. One of the knives remained in her hand, directly on the plain white plate, it was where she was going to sit in a few minutes, but silence reached Rose's ears. It was a very suspicious silence, after turning over the chunks of veal, she turned to find Eirwen in a position as if frozen in time, holding a knife in an atypical way at mealtime, with the point on the porcelain.

"I don't recommend you do anything crazy, did you hear Eirwen?" she hadn't seen the gun on the cabinet near Rose, she would decide to kill her no matter how much she had never done it before and refused to do it. But she wouldn't take the chance.

"Ma?" Shawn had arrived at the best of times, but his attitude seemed more reserved than before, he had entered the room taking discreet steps. "How much longer until dinner? I'm starving."

"Oh, the meat's still to be finished, the vegetables and gravy are ready." Rose turned the meat over the pan again, it was 3 large portions for each of them.

Frost's attention didn't linger on the previous threat or the sound of the hot meat and oil, she heard the hissing but it was Shawn's gentle touch on her shoulder that brought her attention back to the real world again. As they exchanged glances, he handed her a not too crumpled piece of paper for her to read, the message was clear. "Fire. Upstairs." Though it seemed more like a code, which Frost didn't quite understand. Her pupils expanded and now she's in doubt, what did Shawn have in mind? She didn't know him well enough to know exactly what was going through his mind. She quickly handed the paper back to him before Rose finished cooking and they both sat down in their respective places.

The plates were filled with vegetables such as roasted tomatoes, asparagus, and diced sweet potatoes, a sauce with hints of sweetness and reddish color accompanied the medium-rare meat, it looked juicy once sliced and the sauce permeated every millimeter of the piece. The smell ascended to her nose, increasing her hunger, even more, that's when she heard her stomach growl, couldn't remember eating something like this before that attracted her eyes as much as now. The side dish consisted only of water, nothing too fancy at the end. The first bite was accompanied by the asparagus and a few pieces of sweet potato, this was even worse, Rose knew very well how to please the palate. Anything could look appetizing to her, for she had gone years without tasting anything that was made with care. Rose noticed her conflicted attitude instantly, the girl refused to confess how much she liked the first bite, and the second, she let the silverware do the talking for her.

"It's really good, ma." Great, Shawn was given to indulging his mother's ego and with his mouth full.

"Thank you, and what do you think, Eirwen?" Rose was doing this on purpose.

"Please...don't call me that." She was folding so fast and right at dinner time, her words didn't sound like her voice usually did, it was almost a girlish voice, but that shell was cracking and she couldn't take it anymore.

Both Rose and Shawn were silent for a moment, exchanging glances as Frost breathed almost silently. It was a somewhat strange sight to see, and feel as well, the coldness of her body had left her but not the paleness of her hands, the hair seemed to take all the attention of someone who didn't know her saw her and didn't pay attention to how strangely cold she still felt. She hadn't reached a standard body temperature to human yet, which had frustrated Rose as if the girl's nature kept refusing all the work of her research and experimentation. It was like bringing in an abandoned dog, with rage in its eyes and sharp teeth, her intention was always on taming the girl, reintegrating her into society as someone merely "normal" if she survived.

The young girl's hand abandoned the fork, dropping it on the table to bring it to her chest, an emptiness suddenly began to invade her, she had felt something like this before in her worst nights, but this time it felt overwhelming, like snakes crawling from her chest to her head and enveloping her with electric shocks, it wasn't that, there was no electrical device insight and Rose hadn't moved towards her. The emptiness turned to pain, not an ephemeral one, but much worse, it paralyzed every inch of her body. Couldn't help but feel her chest contracting, her body felt heavier than normal, eventually, this led to her falling to the dining room floor with a sudden faint and her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Mom? What did you do now!!!?"

"I just did the usual, but this time I gave her oxycodone!"

"Mom she might die if you keep abusing her like that!"

"Well maybe that was the goal? Don't you understand, son, please!"

"What do you want me to understand, that she's not like you and me?"

"YES... please, Shawn, what solution do you see to this?"

"I don't know, but this is not what you should be doing, you disappoint me."

...

"Look what you've done Eirwen." Her world was about to sink into deep shadows again, until she felt a tap on her shoulder, only seeing shadows and an intense light like an orb of fire over her head. "If it were up to me, I would gladly trade your soul for my sister's."

They both heard a thud upstairs, it was like a thump or a crack, Frost wasn't in the best condition to differentiate noises. Apparently, Shawn wasn't with them, he handed her a note earlier, it could have been a warning, maybe? The pain in her body wouldn't let her think clearly until she started breathing repeatedly, deep and focusing on herself instead of what was going on around her. She gathered strength in both hands and that's when she heard an explosion upstairs, followed by an extremely strong smell filling her lungs at an alarming rate. Rose left Frost alone in the living room and ran upstairs, listening to her screaming and banging on the door, without a result

The reaction in her body could be compared to the time Lewis had abused Frost's body with sleeping pills for months, her nature would have found a way to reverse the effect, in the worst possible way, but it was what she needed to get up. The glasses had shattered with the blow and even her head was spinning, the fire was spreading upstairs and she heard the structure weakening with the seconds. Rose came down the stairs like a frightened demon, not turning her eyes to Frost on her way to the exit, and before she could leave the room, she caught her arm in surprise.

"Drugs...guns.... what else are you going to do to kill me without using your hands, Rose? Or are you afraid to be like me?" As much as she still felt somewhat weakened, it didn't take away her pleasure in trying to provoke Rose, her face overcome with despair and now, fear.

"Get your hands off me Eirwen!" In her act of desperation to get Frost's hand off her arm, Rose attempted to remove her grip by pushing Frost back with her other hand, all she succeeded in doing was getting it too instantly caught in an almost inhuman grip.

"My name is Frost, asshole!"

Dislodging her axis of balance was easy for her, and more satisfying was throwing her against the table in the room, an accurate push in the right direction, and a kick and it was enough to land her body without much effort on the food. It took Rose a few seconds to come to her senses and focus, the gun, it was near the oven, she wasn't a fool for thinking it would be a good idea to have it near. Before Frost could get any closer, Rose rolled across the table to be back on her feet on the floor and reach for the gun, the young woman had stopped a few inches away from it, at what point exactly had she turned the table over? She was regaining her muscle strength, and Rose didn't hesitate to point it in Frost's direction. But it wasn't enough, this gesture didn't intimidate the cryomancer one bit, before Rose could pull the trigger, Frost forced her hands to point at the ceiling, listening as the shots went in the direction of the fire over their heads.

"I don't care if we both die in here, at least you won't be among the humans anymore." Rose no longer looked like the calm-faced woman she pretended to be, the sweat and soot had stuck to her skin, the dark hair looked like it had no shape anymore, her clothes had been torn to shreds with the blow against the table. Rose's gaze was only focused on the girl who was supposed to be her niece, but in her, she saw nothing of value that would make her reconsider their blood ties, saw a stranger with blue eyes with the same intensity as her own, both were determined to kill the other.

"Don't even think I'll die here with you."

In a burst of adrenaline, Rose managed to break free of Frost's grip, didn't seem like to be close to a human and she might never get her point across. The weapon was empty but that was no deterrent to not using it against the young girl. She struck the girl's face just above the right eye, her scream of pain was enough to let her know that she might have an advantage against her. Rose swung her arm in the opposite direction to deliver another blow to the girl's face, her arm resembling a whip. But the movement was interrupted when Frost managed to grab her fist, once again the girl refused to give in, no matter how much she was holding back the pain with deep breaths, they almost sounded like roars of an animal at the limit of its patience. Her eye was bleeding, rather her eyeball was bloodshot and she had a cut under her lower eyelid. Still, it was a sight that chilled Rose's blood, and the pain was present when Frost impulsed her fist into her elbow, she heard how her arm had dislocated and the pain was released from the area in fireworks under her skin. Frost took advantage of the moment to remove her from her center of balance again, if she had her on the ground Frost might have more leverage over Rose. She placed her body under Rose's as she had the damaged arm extended over her shoulder, flipping over her and causing Rose to hit the wooden floor.

It was evident that the old house would not survive the damage, although she had no idea what had caused the fire. Rose had noticed that they were near the cabinet, the food had been scattered on the floor, the pans and other things were beginning to scorch, but there was something that caught her attention. A bottle of oil.

She took the bottle of oil in her hands, and twisted off the cap, removing it with the flick of a finger.

"What are you doing with that?"

Frost had no intention of not using the oil.

"Put down the oil, Eirwen!"

"Shut up asshole."

Rose had realized something late, too late. Frost let the oil drip onto Rose's face, it was a liter of sunflower oil, and by the end, the bottle would be completely empty. Rose tried to block the liquid from her face but it only made her face even wetter, and a few strands of the liquid spilled out onto the floor. Frost could finish the job, though this time, just this once, she wouldn't be the executioner. "You, Rose, should have left me alone, and now I'll do the same to you."

The door could be unlocked or locked, the keys were near the vase at the entrance, for she didn't know whose they might be, however it was, that was her next target. She abandoned Rose to her fate,  could hear her screaming for mercy as she walked away, the least she wanted to do was to give her another minute of her life. The fire continued on its natural course of feeding on whatever it could find, soon the fire would catch up with Rose, and no matter how much she cried for mercy, Frost will not save her. Didn't know what she would meet on the other side of the door, be it firefighters, the police, or the apocalypse itself, there is no longer a point of return, well, there never was.

The fire had reached Rose ravenously, heard her scream before she could open the door, the keys were merely hot but Frost couldn't feel them either way. Took one last glimpse at Rose, who was crawling in her direction, engulfed in flames and burns, the oil making the process even quicker and more painful. He couldn't quite make her out because of the fire, nor did he want to watch her in her last moments, but in a few seconds, there would be nothing left of her.

As she opened the door, the sky had been tinted with black by the smoke, perhaps someone would have already noticed it in the distance, the sky darkened by the natural blue of the night, the moon had already settled in the sky, although she couldn't see it because of the smoke. Beyond the chaos she had witnessed and participated in, Frost was relieved, saw a car in the distance and Shawn was inside and seeing that Frost managed to escape, and he got out of the car, heading towards her. Her first steps out of the house were calm, her eye wound was bleeding and her eye was starting to hurt more, walked down the stairs of the porch that she had been shot down before. The wood creaked like a hungry monster, it was the house that was slowly collapsing on its foundations.

Once they met halfway, Shawn helped Frost into the car, into the of the seats of the back. The dress was somewhat burned, the wig hardly seemed to have been damaged, though she took it off almost immediately. She didn't want to spend the next few minutes sitting and watching them leave the house behind, her body couldn't take it anymore. Frost wasn't listening to what Shawn was saying, did he have a plan now? All she cared about was getting the car to start moving forward, and getting away from that hellhole as soon as possible.

[ditch-witches]

Eyeliner (Dean-Charles Chapman x reader)

thank you to my dear love @chokopieeater​ for the moodboard. god bless your soul, you are everything to me.

(PART TWO)

requested: yes/no (If y'all want a part 2 lemme know because I wouldn't be opposed... maybe smutty...?)

pairing: band member!Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: stUpId DiaLogUE

word count: 1,943

a/n: This brought me back to my Queen fandom days :)))) (also we can all agree that the boy isn't coordinated enough to play guitar, right?)

You slouched against the bar counter, stirring your drink and wondering why the hell you had gotten talked into attending this shindig as your friend circulated around the room, greeting people she knew from class and so on.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Your friend smiled across the booth from you, her eyes dancing with excitement when she found out a local band was playing and she could get the two of you in.

"Yeah, what are they called again?" You asked, rather uninterested and debated making up some homework assignments to use as an excuse. She rifled through her bag rather violently, seemingly looking for the event flier one of the band members had probably slipped her in class. She was an undeclared groupie of the boys, swearing that one day they would blow up and you'd be sorry for not following them from the beginning.

"Something that starts with Revolting, I think..." she huffed, continuing to look for the crumpled green paper.

"I don't know why you're so obsessed. They're just trying to be Blink-182-"

Her head shot up, glaring at you. "Don't belittle their music. They are artists."

So there you were, head already clouded with the cigarette smoke hanging in the air and the residual smell of frat boy sweat. You sighed, thinking of the ungodly hour you had to be up the next morning and how much you would have rather been bundled up in bed watching Happy Days reruns right about now. The bartender gave you a small smile, topping off the drink you had barely touched and you gave him a nod in acceptance. You didn't look up when you heard the noise of amps being plugged in and guitars plucked, instead downing what you had in your hand and feeling your headache worsen by the minute. Someone came over the mic, introducing the band. The cockney accent sounded vaguely familiar to you, causing you to look up and lock eyes with the lead singer. You weren't sure where you met him before, maybe you just knew him from your friend's obsession.

You stood, walking over to lean against one of the beams holding up the ratty ceiling and crossing your arms as the singer smiled at you slightly, his pick tucked between his smile. How he so focused on you in a room full of crowded people puzzled you. Maybe he wasn't actually looking at you, the lights had to have been too bright. You watched his fingers swiftly moving from chord to chord, head bobbing slightly with an easy smile on his face. He was definitely in his element and you couldn't help but feel a sense of attraction to his confidence. You moved to another section of the crowd, performing an experiment of your own. His bright eyes were brought away from his instrument as he began to sing, his sight gliding over the audience before finally settling on you again, his smile brightening. You slyly looked over your shoulder to see if he could possibly be looking at another girl around you, fighting a small blush to creep onto your face as it almost felt like he was singing the unrecognizable garage band song to you.

Their set consisted of flirty glances and smirks sandwiched between the bass player fumbling around and adding solos that seemed like none of the band members were expecting, yet took in stride. It didn't seem like any of them were actually serious about playing. You caught sight of your friend, screaming her head off and jumping up and down with a few other girls that were probably just as into the band as she was. At one point one of the girls took the cigarette the lead singer was sporting and nearly screamed as they took a puff of their own. He just shook his head and chuckled at their actions. As the band made their closing remarks, you moved over to the bar, deciding that a water wasn't a bad idea for your trip home. Your friend was at your side almost instantly, peppering you with questions about what you thought of the show and what your favorite song had been. "God, isn't Dean so sexy?" she gushed, leaning her back against the bar next to your stool.

You furrowed your brows, deciding to humor her despite the fact that you had no idea which one he was. "The sexiest."

"I think we should go next time. I'm pretty sure there's a show on Thursday." You tilted your head at her words, furrowing your brows with a slight smile, but her eyes were glued to something else. The lead singer was moving through the lingering crowd of girls and---who you were assuming to be---friends of the band. He took a few pictures with people and signed a few body parts, his eyes continuously darting towards you and your friend. You rolled your own, turning back to face the bar and tipping the bartender, a man that you had grown to trust throughout the length of the night as he kept your glass filled and didn't ask for more money. "He's coming this way..." she whispered beside you, seemingly shrinking in size. You nodded, less than amused as you heard her titter slightly.

"Hey, thanks for coming out," the accent was suddenly behind you and you turned, looking at your friend taking his extended hand before she asked to get a picture and shoved her phone at you. You sighed, telling the two to smile as she hugged him tightly to her side and he obliged, lightly laughing at her actions.

"You guys sounded great tonight. I don't know if you remember me, but we have English together-" His eyebrows raised at your friend's comment, nodding his head and continuing in conversation after he finally remembered her name. You looked between them before your eyes flashed over to the crowd of girls slightly glaring at the two before you. It was quickly becoming clear to you just how popular this boy was. He leaned forward to whisper something into your friend's ear and her face lit up as he slipped her a piece of paper. You rolled your eyes as she almost bolted to the stage area, straight up to the drummer.

He leaned against the bar counter where she had previously stood and you damn near gathered your belongings to head out, but then remembered your friend. "So, is this your first show?" He asked. Despite the fact that you were sitting on a stool, he was still taller than you were, not in an intimidating way, but you made note of that fact. You also couldn't help but notice just how blue his eyes were when he was this close. For being in a grungy band like he was, you were surprised at just how pretty he actually was.

"Yeah, I came for moral support," you joked.

He grinned sarcastically. "That's so sweet of you." He put his hand over his heart and chuckled.

You couldn't help but smile. "Anything to back the cause," you quipped. "What did you tell her?" You asked, gesturing to your friend engaging in light conversation with the drummer; her smile a mile wide.

The boy next to you chuckled, looking at them too. "He wanted to talk to her. Thought she was cute, you know?" You gave him a look suggesting he was full of shit. "Okay, and I wanted the opportunity to talk to you."

You bit your lip. "And recruit me to be a groupie?" You fought not to laugh as he blushed slightly, the tips of his ears also turning a shade of pink.

"The captain position is open if you're interested?" He jeered, making you scoff.

"Tempting." Your friend rejoined your side with a huge grin on her face and bouncing with excitement. Your eyebrows raised in her direction as a smug expression made its way onto your face. You and the singer watched her compose herself. You heard him giggle quietly at her joy. "So?" You began, pretending the suspense was killing you.

She took a deep breath. "He asked me for my number."

You gasped. "That's great! Are we leaving now?"

"Rude," the boy beside you mumbled and you elbowed him, making him almost snicker. Your friend, still firmly on cloud nine, nodded at you, hugging her purse close to her chest. She thanked the boy and practically danced out of the bar and into the cab you had called. You turned back momentarily and met eyes with the boy again and he waved at you, a stupid grin sent your way to keep with you until you saw him again.

Little did you know, you wouldn't have to wait for long. The next day seemed to bring him right to your doorstep as you exited the building of your first class of the day and almost rammed into him. You tore out your headphones out of your ear and tilted your head at him. He grinned brightly. "Sorry," he muttered. In all honesty, you hadn't even recognized him in the daylight. You rocked back on your heel, relaxing slightly.

"Stalker," you jeered, starting to walk on your previous path. He turned to walk with you. "How'd you find me?"

He clicked his tongue, smiling at his shoes as he walked. "Your dear friend loves talking about you in class, and is incredibly nonchalant about dropping hints," he bit his lip slightly. "I figured I would pop by and see if you wanted company?"

"Yeah so, not stalkery at all," you stated sarcastically, making him chuckle. He looped his thumbs in the straps of his backpack.

"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you," he coyly stated, slightly cringing at his words.

You pursed your lips to fit the urging smirk from breaking your exterior. "I bless the rains down in Africa..." you finished, causing you to break the tension in the air. He fully let out a laugh, a sound sweet and light enough that you couldn't help but grin at. It still shocked you just how soft he was, a complete hypocrisy to his appearance on stage. Despite it being a surprise, you liked it. "You look different without all the eyeliner," you quipped.

He inhaled sharply, as if nervous for your answer to his next question, his evident confidence becoming a facade before your eyes. "Good different or bad different?"

You shrugged slightly. "I like both, really. So good different, I guess," you answered and you could have sworn you saw the kid beam as you bumped his shoulder.

"Thanks, it's my mom's," he joked, making you smile again and shake your head. "I'm Dean, by the way." He stuck his hand towards you and you shook it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dean." The two of you got to your next building. You were slightly later than you wanted to be but as you took a few of the stairs towards the door and looked back at the boy in the dark hoodie, you knew it was worth it.

He smiled up at you and then his brows furrowed, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck---one of the first blatant signs of just how nervous you made him. "Before you go," he seemed to fumble for the right words, "are you busy tonight?" His blue eyes darted up to yours and you chuckled, your heart exploding with excitement you hadn't felt since you got an A on your calculus midterm.

You leaned against one of the railings. "Depends what you're doing. You can pick me up at seven if you're not busy."

His smile made your heart flutter as his face went from a taken aback manner to one of pure joy. "I'll clear my schedule."

[lunarapocolypse]

Shigaraki Week: Day 3

Sorry if this is bad, I didn’t have much inspiration today

Party?/Split/Tainted

@shigarakiweek

Tenko, no, Tomura writhed around in his bed, pulling at the artist gloves that seem to caress his hands. He doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like them at all. He supposes one would expect that, since he’s never had to wear them before. He’d been training himself on finger dexterity but until he mastered sleeping with curled fists he wouldn’t be able to sleep without his gloves. Oh how he loathes them.

He gets up to check the time. 3:00 AM. Three hours from the time he was supposed to wake up. Sensei said 6 hours was a good amount of time to sleep for the eleven year old, not too little so it wouldn’t damage his brain cells much, but enough to train him to not need rest as much. Tomura didn’t really like it considering that he woke up in the middle of that time anyways, but he’d go along with it for now. When he became king he could make his own sleep schedule and not have to listen to Sensei’s words all the time. Not that he minded too much. Sensei was kind to him, Tomura just preferred to go at his own pace. 

He sighed, getting up. There was no point trying to fall back asleep, he was far too awake. Might as well get an early start. He rolled out of bed, not bothering to turn on the light as he went over to the computer monitor. He’d eat later, since he didn’t have to wake up until later might as well play games to pass the time. Games were the only joy he had throughout the day. 

Three hours passed by quickly, he groaned as he logged out. He wondered if Sensei would notice if he took a day off today. He didn’t feel like doing anything, and Sensei wasn’t home at the moment. He had left a few weeks ago, something with All Might. Whatever.

“Happy birthday Shigaraki Tomura.” Says a monotonous voice from behind the bar counter. Tomura opens the fridge, getting out orange juice.

“That’s today?” He asked, pouring himself a cup.

“April 4th, you’re turning 12 today. You don’t remember?” Tomura shrugs at that.

“Haven’t been keeping track.” If Kurogiri could frown through that mist he would be.

“I’m getting concerned for you, Shigaraki Tomura. You should be more aware of your surroundings.” Tomura rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. What’s so special about a birthday anyways? It’s just the day I was born.” he complained, rolling his eyes. Kurogiri’s worry only increased. He could remember a five year old boy smiling excitedly as his master gave him a cake. The change of Tomura Shigaraki was necessary in order to defeat All Might, but sometimes the mist felt like his master pushed the boy too far.

“Is Sensei still gone?” Tomura asks, as usual. Kurogiri only nods. 

“Tch.” Tomura sighed, walking away.

“But he plans to be back back by this evening.” That halted the boy.

“Huh?”

“He wants to be there for your birthday, so he’ll come by this evening.” 

“I...I see.” Tomura mumbles. A wave of relief coms over both of them as Tomura lets a small smile slip. Kurogiri knew he missed the man, no matter how much he tried not to show it. 

“Whatever, I’m going. Sensei left me some work.” He mumbled, walking away. “See ya Kurogiri.”

“Until later, Shigaraki Tomura.”

Kurogiri sighed as he wiped the bar counter. All For One was planning on fighting All Might of all people, did he expect to be done in time to celebrate Shigaraki Tomura’s birthday with him? That would be possible, but it would cause a problem if he got hurt too badly. He just hoped his master kept his word.

Tomura hummed lightly, finishing the tasks Sensei sent him. It was nothing much, just tests that would help with building his IQ as well as giving him logical skills. Apparently his brain was developing so he needed to do a lot of these. He wasn’t really sure but he didn’t question it. Sensei had his reasons, and Tomura trusted him. He had always trusted Sensei, he was the only one who truly cared. He let another smile slip knowing he’d be back in the evening. He couldn’t wait to see him again, it had been so long.

“Argh...another headache…” He groaned. He’d get headaches often, it always felt like he was forgetting something important. But he couldn’t remember what. Perhaps it was his childhood? He couldn’t remember it but that was okay for now. He’d remember it someday, Sensei said he would. Until then he had to wear his family. His family would help him feel the anger he needed.

He wondered if there was ever a time where he wasn’t this angry, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. So what if there was a time like that? It couldn’t have been any better than right now. Right now he had Sensei, and he was set to become the king of his own world in the future. Who needed a time without anger if that was the case? 

But the idea of it often slipped into his mind. And some days, he was in the mood to entertain it. 

Perhaps there was a time when he wasn’t so angry. When he wasn’t so damaged, so tainted. So cracked and broken. Perhaps there was a time when he was happy and laughed like any should. Perhaps there was a time when he wasn’t so stressed, when he was okay. Perhaps there was even a time where he idolised heroes!

The him of that time would be so foolish. 

“Kurogiri?” He asks, after a while.

“Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?”

“When is Sensei coming back? It’s 5:01, that’s the official start of evening.” Kurogiri chuckled.

“Patience. If evening has only just begun, he’ll come by later.”

“You seem doubtful.” Tomura pointed out. Kurogiri heaved a sigh.

“...I’m worried he might not make it in time.” Tomura laughed at that.

“Of course he will! He said so, right?”

“He did…”

“Then it should be fine.”

“I suppose it will.”

Shigaraki Tomura’s faith in his master was both admirable and unnerving. It was supposed to be that way, but Kurogiri couldn’t help but think this was a little too much. He went back to cleaning glasses, trying not to care. He wasn’t supposed to care.

-----------------------------

“Kurogiri, it’s 6:00.”

“He’ll come, don't worry. You said it would, right?”

“Yeah.”

Tomura sighed, glancing out of the window. The sun was shining brightly on his eyes, making it hard to see. Annoyance bubbled inside of him. What was taking him so long? He sighed again, making sure to be as loud as possible so Kurogiri wouldn’t forget he was there. He often did that because he was so quiet. He stared at the clock once again and let the minutes pass him by.

---------------------------------

“7:00. Where is he?”

“Patience Shigaraki Tomura, he’ll come.”

Tomura could only hope he would. His patience was wearing thin as well as his hope. He could vaguely remember a time something like this happened, like a deja vu. Interesting. Was it a memory of the past? Perhaps it was. If so, then this wouldn’t turn out the same way as it did then. Tomura knew he was different now, better now. Sensei said he was. So he’d believe it.

--------------------------------------------

“9:00. Is he coming?”

“....”

Tomura flicked a piece of crumpled paper Kurogiri’s way after hearing the lack of response. The mist man seemed to just sigh and pay no mind.

-----------------------------------------

11:45. 11:45 and Sensei wasn’t back yet. Tomura scratched at his neck.

“He said he’d come he said he’d come he said he’d come he said he’d come…”

There were still 15 minutes left, right? He’d come by then, right?

“Shigaraki Tomura.” He looked up to see Kurogiri staring down at him.

“Yes.”

“Your Sensei has contacted me. He deeply apologizes, but it seems he won’t be able to make it today. Or come home for the next few months.” Tomura’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“He got into an accident. I am not aware of the details, but he was barely alive. Doctor Ujiko is helping him, but until then he cannot return home to you.”

“....I see. I’ll be in my room then.” With an awkward shuffle, he walked back, a dejected slump in his posture. He didn’t even throw his switch at the wall, or decay part of the floor like he would when he were angry. Rather than angry he seemed saddened.

“Shigaraki Tomura.” The boy turned back with a vicious glare.

“What?”

“...There’s still fifteen minutes left. Would you like to blow out the candles?”

“Huh? Candles?” Kurogiri warped a small cake to the area, Tomura stared incredulously at it.

“I made this earlier, we were supposed to cut it with Sensei. He can’t be here, but the two of us can celebrate at the least. And when Sensei comes back, you can tell him about it.”

“...You made this?”

“Yes?”

Tomura scuffled over, still black faced.

“Thank you.” He mouthed. Kurogiri smiled through the mist.

“Anytime, Shigaraki Tomura.”

Perhaps Sensei wasn’t the only one that cared. And as he blew out the candles Kurogiri had lit, Tomura let out a dark chuckle. Some party. But it was okay. 

Shigaraki Tomura may have been tainted, may have been the opposite of what Tenko was, but that was okay. 

He wasn’t angry at the moment.

[hazel-writes]

Summary: After a brief encounter with the mysterious Kylo Ren, you find yourself caught in a moral dilemma - one that gets you in trouble with a certain notorious General onboard the Finalizer. As you find out more about your internship and its conditions, you start to regret your decision to leave home more and more.

Word Count: 1,900

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence, blood

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Images of broken light

Which dance before me like a million eyes

They call me on and on

Across the universe

• Across the Universe - The Beatles •

He was tall, really tall, and wore an all-black ensemble of expertly-fitted linens. His robes, like an ebony waterfall, fell down below his feet. His cape billowed behind him dramatically, almost like a prince. Your eyes drifted up to his face, or rather where his face should’ve been, as he was wearing a mask. You recognized his visor; you would be surprised if there was a single soul in the galaxy who didn’t.

You immediately knew the face that lied behind it:

Commander Kylo Ren.

As if you had said his name out loud, the Commander, who had previously been reprimanding a stormtrooper, snapped his head to the side to meet your eyes.

You froze, panic starting to build in your gut. He cocked his head to the side. You were finding it difficult to avert your eyes from the metallic twilight of his mask. After a moment, you realized that you were still staring and quickly turned your head back to the map.

You continued to feel his piercing gaze for a few more seconds as you attempted to slow your breathing back to a semi-normal rate. After what seemed like an eternity, he focused his attention back onto the anxiety-ridden stormtrooper who stood before him. With a casual flick of his hand, the Commander threw him against the nearest wall, where he crumpled down to the floor, unmoving.

Oh stars. Oh stars. Oh stars.

You bore your eyes into the piece of paper in your hands with an extreme ferocity, not daring to look up. You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding when he finally turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the unfortunate trooper unconscious on the floor.

Now you faced a dire moral dilemma: help the injured trooper and risk being late to your meeting, or walk away and arrive on time. After going over the options in your head, you started to realize how selfish and inconsiderate you sounded. Is this what working on the Finalizer did to people, scare them into a self-preservational mindset, prioritizing duty over empathy?

You remembered something your dad used to tell you: Nothing bad can ever come from helping those in need.

Though you were aware the same may not be true for life on the Finalizer, you hadn’t lost your Lothalian morality.

Not yet.

With a newfound confidence, you made your way over to the fallen stormtrooper, proud of yourself for honoring your father’s advice. You bent down until you were on your knees in front of him. Everyone else in the hallway continued to go about their business as if nothing had happened. After carefully removing his helmet, you found he was seemingly unscathed and breathing steadily. The man who lied before you looked young, maybe only a little older than you were.

He looks so… normal.

You gently shifted his head so that he would be more comfortable, and after doing so, found your hand covered in blood. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern and you peered down to view the source of the fluid, finding a large gash at the back of his scalp.

Oh stars.

You were saying that a lot today.

You looked around frantically, hoping that someone else would see the predicament you were in and offer their help.

No one did.

You started to become angry; angry at the normalization of violence within the First Order. But you weren’t naive — you understood that violence was always going to be present, no matter where you were. You were more frustrated by the reactions, or lack thereof, to that violence. You found yourself becoming more and more uncomfortable with the idea of working on the Finalizer, surrounded by people who seemed to lack every empathetic bone in their bodies.

You decided to channel that anger and frustration into making sure the stormtrooper would be okay — a fate you knew wasn’t shared by other victims of Kylo Ren and the First Order.

I need to stop the bleeding.

After one more desperate look around the hallway, which was still crowded with troopers, various lieutenants, and droids, you spotted a man wearing a long coat that could definitely help stem some of the bleeding. You heard yourself calling out to him:

“Sir! Excuse me, sir!”

He glanced down at you as he approached, seemingly confused and irritated at the sight before him.

“I’m sorry, but I- I need to borrow this!” You gestured towards his long overcoat.

His mouth opened in protest but before he knew what was happening, you had grabbed the coat off of his shoulders and placed it at the back of the stormtrooper’s head. The man’s startled expression evolved to one of anger as he roughly grabbed your arm, bringing you up to a standing position. Not letting go of your arm, he snarled in your face.

“What is the meaning of this?” He growled.

Is he serious right now? you thought, incredulous to the man's behavior.

“I was just trying to save his life!” You pleaded, before adding, “Sir”.

“General,” he seethed.

“Right, sorry, General,” you repeated.

The unnamed General loosened his grip on your arm slightly. You stood there in a silent panic, not knowing what was coming next.

“Who are you? Where are you stationed?” the General spat.

Great, you thought, I'm gonna get fired and I haven't even started working. Mother will be real happy about that.

“Uhh… I’m a - an intern. In the Office of Imperial Promotion, Galactic Truth, and Fact Correction.” You shrugged nervously and gave a sheepish smile. “It’s my first day.”

“Obviously,” the General frustratedly sighed. He slowly looked you up and down, considering something. “You don’t happen to be from that dreaded planet Lothal, are you?”

Surprised at his knowledge of this, you replied with a twinge of shock and confusion in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah I am. How did you-”

“It seems you are late for our meeting.”

Kriff.

“You’re General Hux?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“That is correct,” he replied slowly through clenched teeth.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. There was no way this was going to end well.

Gently extricating yourself from his grasp, you knelt again by the stormtrooper, checking on his wound. It was still bleeding, but much less than before. Your eyes drifted to his face, a deep brown color, accentuated by kind features and lips that were downturned in a slight frown.

He looks sad. You sighed.

“Is there anyone who we can take him to?” You asked helplessly, gesturing to the body next to you.

“I do not concern myself with the business of trivial trooper mishaps,” Hux spat back, irritated.

You chuckled humorously. “This was hardly a misha-”

Hux cut you off. “I know a mere intern wouldn’t dare speak back to a commanding General on their first day of work, now would they?”

If you wanted to keep your job, and probably your life, you knew you had to comply with his orders. Resisting at this point wouldn’t do you, or the trooper, any good.

“No General, they wouldn’t,” you replied solemnly, eyes downcast.

“Good. I will let the fact that you ruined my irreplaceable coat on the account of a replaceable trooper slide for now. But any more trouble of this sort, and I will see to it myself that you are executed.” His eyes narrowed and nose scrunched in a threatening glare.

“Yes, General,” you replied.

“Follow me, and don’t fall behind,” he gestured in the direction of the hallway he initially came from.

With one last look at the trooper, you stood and followed him, thoughts spinning through your head.

You remembered his words: replaceable trooper.

Surely that meant you, a young intern, were far below the status of replaceable.

Yes, that’s right.

You were executional.

———————————

You followed Hux to a medium-sized office. There was a large, sleek desk in the center of the room. On one side of the desk was an uncomfortable-looking chair with a tall, rectangular back. On the other side was another chair, this one smaller, but just as uncomfortable-looking. The lighting in the room was dark, making it difficult to see Hux’s face. His ginger hair, however, stuck out like a sore thumb, and you found yourself wondering if he was ever made fun of for it as a kid.

“Sit,” he demanded.

You did as he told, bringing your hands to your lap to fiddle with your fingers: a nervous habit.

“So…” you started.

Silence.

“Umm…” More silence.

You sighed. “This… chair. It’s nice, ya know. Sturdy. Real sturdy.”

Your nervous babbling was met by yet another bout of silence.

“And those curtains are-”

“You’re an artist,” the General interrupted. Though it was meant as a question, it came out as more of a statement. Maybe a questioning tone was too polite of a gesture for his 'intimidating' persona.

“Yes,” you replied. “Well, mostly. Kind of.” You stumbled over your words, trying to find the best answer.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, which is it? Yes, mostly, or kind of?”

“Yes, General.”

“Were you briefed on your internship duties here on the Finalizer prior to your arrival?”

“A little, General.”

“And?” he questioned impatiently.

“And I am supposed to help in the creation of propaganda posters and flyers in support of the First Order.”

“That is correct,” he replied blandly. “They will then be mass produced and distributed on planets that we are attempting to apprehend. These will hopefully lead neutral parties away from the grasp of the Resistance and into the hands of the First Order.”

“Will I have others working with me?” you asked hesitantly.

“We have assembled a small team to assist you — but should the work produced disappoint us, it will be your head in the trash compactor.”

You shuttered at his words because you knew that what he was saying was true. Thinking back to the fate of the poor stormtrooper you came across earlier, you couldn’t help but imagine what your own fate could be.

Twirling the end of your bracelet, you thought of home. You’d been doing that a lot lately too. Images flashed before your eyes: your mother, an old song whistling through her cracked lips, spiralling hair flying behind her as light whirled and danced over her body. Your father, painting in his makeshift studio, an organized chaos of antiques — rusted paint tins, bristled brushes, and half-finished canvases surrounding him. Your brother, perched on the raggedy wood fence that surrounded your home with one arm rested on his beloved speeder, eyes staring longingly at the marshy horizon, almost as if he was begging it to come just a little closer. And you. Watching everyone else as if it were the last time you would be able to do so…

You blinked and suddenly you were back in the present, however something was now clouding your vision. You hadn’t noticed when the tears had started to fall.

Hux just stared at you, and you stared right back, not knowing what to say.

Finally breaking the tense silence, the General abruptly stood. “I believe that this will be enough information for today. You will start work tomorrow. Directions to your workspace will be posted to your door.” He paused. “That is all, you are dismissed.” He gestured to the door.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you stood and made your way into the hallway, not saying another word.

——————

Previous || Masterlist || Next

[poisonepel]

Can you do headcanons for Idia, sebek, and cater with a smol male s/o that is really insecure of their drawing abilities despite being amazing at it

as someone with 0 drawing talent, who only shares my “art” with others when the intention is “LOOK HOW BAD THIS IS, LAUGH WITH ME” I will try to put myself in these shoes ;A;

also julie I hope you know how lovely your art is !! I’ve only been able to look at your twst stuff but it’s all very adorable and amazing !!

Idia

Idia’s not the type to push for things. His s/o has told him several times that he doesn’t want him looking through his sketchbooks, and Idia respects that.

…As long as his s/o’s not in the room.

He knows he’s breaching his trust, and he feels bad about it, but his s/o spends so much time scribbling away in that thing that he can’t hold back his curiosity. Half of him doesn’t have high expectations, since his s/o is always downplaying his art skills, but the other half of him thinks it’s because his boyfriend has been making embarrassing drawings.

But???

Idia is blown. away. If his s/o doesn’t even consider this good, he can’t imagine what “good” looks like according to his standards. He ends up completely forgetting that he’s not supposed to be going through that book and flips through the whole thing, admiring every single page that’s been drawn on.

He’s so absorbed in them that he doesn’t even hear his s/o come back.

“…Idia?”

Idia immediately drops the book, eyes wide.

“S-Sorry—”

He needs a while to rebound from the fear he had felt in his stomach when he got caught, and from his s/o’s betrayal/irritation with him, but once things calm down (which will probably take at least a day), he’ll think about bringing it up again.

Idia would never mind it if his s/o wanted to gush about his passions to him, but he’s not sure how to get that across to him and let him know that he thought the drawings were incredible.

He ends up not ever bringing it up again though, because he’s too worried his s/o will get mad at him. But, if he ever hears him mutter to himself that his art skills “suck” or anything like that, Idia will gently tell him he thought his sketchbook was filled with the most beautiful drawings he’s ever seen.

He’s not very good at comforting him ;; but, he tries.

Sebek

Sebek sneaks behind his s/o as he’s sketching one day, and loudly exclaims how nice his drawing looks. Startled, his s/o jumps up and slams his sketchbook shut, before glaring at his boyfriend, very upset.

Sebek is a bit taken aback. That… wasn’t the reaction he expected.

His s/o asks him to please not sneak up on him like that; he doesn’t like people looking at his drawings.

“………Why?”

Sebek doesn’t understand. His drawings are gorgeous, what’s there to be ashamed of? But, whatever, he thinks. He won’t bother him about it anymore.

That is, until he realizes that his s/o doesn’t just want people not looking at his art - he honestly believes that he’s not any good at it.

This is when Sebek starts feeling like he should step in.

He starts without addressing the drawings directly; he first compliments his s/o’s tenacity for dedicating so much time and effort into his work, and raves about how passionate he must be. He makes sure whenever they go out together that he remembers all of his s/o’s drawing supplies, making it clear that he knows how important art is to him.

If his s/o gets comfortable enough to let him take a peek sometimes, Sebek makes sure not to waste the opportunity. He gives him honest feedback - which is usually full of praises anyway.

He encourages him to participate in art contests, too, and he’s 100% his s/o’s biggest cheerleader. Sebek himself is clueless when it comes to art, so he’ll like a piece just because it has a lot of bright colors or intricate-looking lines, but he always thinks his s/o’s contributions are the best-looking, simply because they were made by him. Rather than judging art by the outward look, Sebek focuses in on how much work had gone into the drawings - and he knows first-hand his s/o put in a lot.

Cater

Cater thinks his s/o is just trying to get attention. This doesn’t make sense to him at all. His s/o is clearly amazing at drawing; how could he be so insecure about it? As a result, he doesn’t take his insecurity seriously.

Cater has dabbled in painting himself, and he believes confidence is one of the core keys to feeling motivated to create art. His s/o is already extremely motivated - he just prefers to keep to himself. So, if he really was so insecure, how could he keep dedicating so much time into that sketchbook of his?

Cater doesn’t outwardly accuse him of lying to get attention, but he doesn’t try to help him at all. He encourages his drawing, since he knows it’s clearly a passion of his, but he doesn’t think he has to step in to encourage him.

His opinion becomes even more resolute when his s/o scores a position at a fairly large art competition. How could he be insecure if he knows his art has been seen and selected out of thousands by major figures for a competition?

…But then he sees the crash.

His s/o begins to panic. He gets stressed and very anxious when he starts to doubt himself, doubt his talent, doubt the fact that he was even actually chosen for this competition. He wonders if someone had altered the auditions and replaced a better artist with his name. Seeing this, Cater feels horrible for misjudging the situation. But, he’s thankful his s/o had never caught onto his internal feelings about this, and so he immediately switches into supportive boyfriend mode.

Cater finds dozens of crumpled paper balls featuring sketches and drawings which his s/o had thrown away. He first sees them in his s/o’s bedroom, then in all the trash bins around the house/dorm. He’s shocked to see that a lot of them are actually very well-done, and so he begins fishing out any crumpled ball he finds. True, not all of them are fantastic, but there’s so many that really do have potential, so he saves them all.

He doesn’t tell his s/o that he keeps all his rejects. But, he definitely switches up how he addresses him about art. He makes sure to be a lot kinder about it, and way more encouraging, and reassures him that forcing himself too hard will only burn him out - he needs to just take a breath, know that Cater, at least, thinks his talent is something to very much be proud of!! and keep going as best as he can.