#STILL MORUNING THIS MAN.

[7975348473]

I stared at this for longer than I would like to admit. I love you Matthias.

I'm not really part of the Six of Crows fandom anymore, but I saw this and it made me really sad for some reason. Credits not found.

Okay, well somebody's been pretty rude, i was literally just waiting to see if the argument in the comments had died down yet.

Art by the amazing @echo-bleu

[sunny6677]

It's Spooky Month! - Spooky Month: The Novellized Version - Book 1.

Summary:

After eagerly waiting all day and night for the month of October to finally spring—a kid who calls himself Skid goes on wacky adventures with his friend who goes by the name of Pump! What sort of adventures will they get into? What sort of antics will arise? The answers are kind of unknown, because there's no predicting what can possibly happen when they're around!

Chapter 8: The Candy Club.

TWS FOR GRIEF, MORUNING, IMPLIED NEGLECT AND UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS

————

It was still a night under the cold chill of the black sheets that blanketed the sky—flickering with all sorts of stars that appeared to stare down at the town. Almost, as if watching. The moon shone down as well, bathing anything within the radius of its rays with such glowing light.

And beneath the light—two small children walked along the sidewalks. Vehicles passed by with simple whir, and a brush of air flowing against them for a brief second before quickly evaporating into the atmosphere. They giggled, and of course, the two small children in question—wearing giant pumpkin and skeleton masks, were Pump and Skid.

They hopped, barely being able to hear the crickets chirping from nearby areas as some people walked past them or rode on bikes past where they were running. They had passed by a donut store along the way, a simple diner down the street that had closed a little while ago, a mall. Yet none of these places were their destination—there was only one destination these two had in mind.

And of course.. as they turned a corner, they gasped.

"Oh, hey! Eheheh! Look—there it is!"

Pump giggled, pointing in the direction of a slightly giant building with white walls, blue painting on the lines of the entrance, and yellow coloring around its windows. Within the interiors of its windows were gigantic, seemingly fake lollipops in bright green and pink coloring. Bright, artifical light seeped from out of every single pane of glass on the building. And there was a neon pink, bright taffy wrapper shaped sign from on high that simply read in white bold writing: "The Candy Club."

They didn't stop in their tracks, now quickening their pace and nearly stumbling along the cracks of the sidewalk below as they got closer and closer. Wind brushed wildly against their little faces while they giggled, and giggled—until they eventually came to a mild decrease in pace in front of the yellow plastic doors. They were automatic (obviously), and very much see-through. So see-through in fact they could see the cashier from inside just standing there at the counter.

The two quickly ran foward—the doors came open with a slight whir. The moment they ran onto the white tiled floors of the store, a chill enveloped their little bodies. It even felt so cold that they nearly shuddered upon entering the store. Still, they kept running, and their little eyes began to curiously look around the place.

The interiors held dark and high magenta walls, the ceiling from on high being tiled and white. Artifical square lights hung from the ceiling in various rows. All around them were large machines containing different candies—from almost comically large gumballs, some kind of liquid that must have been a sweet one, jawbreakers. There were little boxes from below the machines too—containing taffy candies, chocolates, hard candies covered in wrappers. There was even a poster on the wall in blue and pink coloring that was seemingly an advertisement for the place—only stating, 'The Sweetest Candy Store In Town! Come Down and Get Yourself A Treat!"

In front of them though was a white plastic counter, with such a reflective surface they could practically see their own reflections in it. Behind it though was a man they hadn't seen before. A tall man, in fact. He had black bangs in front of in hair that was so curled it almost appeared like a swirl, the bottom half of his hair poking out like he had gotten it cut by a really bad barber or something. His face was slim and long—with tan, warm-brown skin.

His brows were black and arched. Beneath his brows though were a pair of half-lidded eyes with dark brown pupils inside. The man had his head cocked to the side, a thin smile plastered on his lips. His neck was long, but thin. And on top of his head was a single cap that seemed almost a bit too big for him—with a singular pastel pink c written on the top, and a blue line plastered across the roof of his cap.

He was skinny. Lanky, in fact. With a white button-up over his slim body, his sleeves with a singular pink stripe across seeming almost a bit too big over his long arms. He wore a bow-tie around his neck, with a pink bow that was shaped like a wrapper, and a white swirl drawn upon the center. They couldn't see his lower half, so it was hard to tell what pants or anything else he must have been wearing.

They weren't able to think about that for long though—for then he spoke. In a low, nasally, almost croaky voice—"Hi." He smiled. "What would you two kids like?" He said with a slight tilt of his head.

Skid paused to think for a split second, the scent of candy seeping into the holes of his mask and all the way to his nostrils. He gave a giggle, "We—eheh.. we want candy!"

"Yeah—do you have any—any gummies?" Pump asked, raising his hand.

"Uh.. no." The man slowly answered. "Sorry, kids. We're kinda out of those."

Their smiles faltered, and the man looked upon them for a moment, his frown quickly becoming a big wobbly as he spoke.

"We're—uh—we're selling candy cans though!"

"Candy cans?" Pump repeated.

"Yeah. They're.. like a bucket of candy. And they're free right now, so.. I can just give you those."

The two paused, and then slowly started to grin again. Skid nodded rather rapidly while jumping up and landing back down on the floor. "Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Yeah! Give us—give us candy cans!" Pumps lispy voice practically yelled out.

In a matter of a few seconds, they both began to yell out at the same time while the man's smile on his thin lips slowly began to twitch downward. He arched a brow, looking upon them with what looked like confusion, and something else.

"Give us candy cansssss!" Skid beamed.

"Give us candy cans! Give us candy cans!" Pump said in a sing-songy tone.

The man was quiet, and then sighed. "Okay—okay. You don't need to shout at me."

The man then turned around. From behind him on the shelves were several items of candies. Some of them were lollipops, other were triangular rock candies. From a row of plastic yellow buckets with pink lids and a pink taffy symbol over it, he grabbed one of the buckets, and then another before finally turning back around.

He then held his arms out. Skid looked at the bucket with wide eyes, giggling with slight excitement, and Pump only smiled at his—eagerly taking it in his little hands the moment the man held it out.

"..well? Are you gonna take it?" The man asked Skid.

"Yeah! Eheheh.." He took the bucket in his hands right then, holding it close to his chest. Looking up, he tilted his head. "Oh—uh.. who are you?"

"..me?"

"Yeah—we haven't seen you around!"

The man arched a brow, but answered. "Uh.. I'm Kevin. I just kinda got a job here, so thats probably why."

"Ohhh! Eheheh.." Skid giggled. "Well, we just wanted to—to come here to see the new candy store my grandma was talking about!"

"Yeah, the candy tasted spooky!"

"Your grandma—" Kevin repeated, and then stopped. "Wait—how come you're both wearing costumes?"

"Cuz it's spooky month?" Pump answered. "Duhhh!"

"..its.. not even Halloween yet though."

"So? It's still spooky month!"

"Yeah, but it's still not time to trick or treat—"

"Its still spooky month!" Skid insisted, frowning.

"..yeah, sure. Okay." He flatly replied. "So.. do you two want anything else, or are you just gonna stand there?"

"Mmm.. no! It's okay!" Skid shrugged. "We just wanted candy."

He then turned around, giving a simple giggle. "Let's—" He whispered, "Let's go check out the graveyard again!"

"Ehehehe.. okay!" Pump whispered back.

Skid then turned his head around briefly, "Okay—we're gonna go now! It was really nice to meet you, Devon!"

"Kevin."

"Yeah—Kevin! Bye-byeeee!"

The two then began to make their way back over to the artificial doors, giggling the whole way as they did so, and seeing the plastic translucent yellow doors get closer. They felt Kevin's eyes simply watch them from behind as they ran. He muttered something neither of them could hear.

Yet it didn't matter, for as soon as the doors opened wide, they ran back into the chill of the night.

————

Skid sat beside Pump on the bench with his shoulders minorly slumped, letting his eyes gaze at the street in front of them while his candy can sat on the ground below. Pump ate mindlessly from his own jar—crunching and chewing random candies he ate as he did so.

Crickets filled the empty silence. And after a while, Skid spoke.

"Hey, Pump?"

Skid asked as Pump sat beside him on the wooden bench in front of the gates of the cemetery.

"Yeah?"

"..you ever miss your parents?"

"Uh.. yeah, I do."

"..."

"You ever miss your dad" Pump asked, taking a piece of candy from the bucket beside him, and opening it slowly.

"..yeah."

"Is.. that why you keep coming here?"

"..."

Pump was silent. The sky was still a sheet of black, with barely an people around on the lone street as the two simply sat in silence. The moon shone down. Skid had his shoulders slumped, looking down at his lap from behind his mask. He sniffled, feeling his eyes begin to water.

As they sat, Pump looked up at the sky, and then widened his eyes. "Well, that's okay! Let's not think about it. Let's just—get back to spooky month."

"..yeah." Skids voice brightened a little as he spoke again, "Yeah—let's do that!"

[little-ligi]

29. Moruning and Lancelot (as in Lancelot is the one doing the mourning not being mourned)

Hey Nony!!! Thanks for the prompt, I made myself sad while writing this one! (and spent an inordinate amount of time researching the meanings of flowers for mourning, which was only fractionally relevant... 🙈)

Under the cut because of death and grief.

Lancelot stares out at the rising sun; the sky is a deep red that promises rain later in the day. But all the red sky does is remind him of the blood. He stares until his eyes water and he has to look away from the blinding light creeping over the horizon. He is up on the tallest battlement of the castle, tucked against the stone wall with his knees pulled up to his chest.

It is the spring equinox; the welcoming of the light, warmer months, the celebration of life.

But all Lancelot feels is dark and cold, all he thinks of is death.

There is a festival in the lower town today, as well as feasts and parties in the palace, but Lancelot cannot bring himself to go to any of them. His heart is too heavy. For today was the day that his family – his whole village – were slaughtered.

The village was setting up for their own small festival, the food and ale aplenty. Lancelot – aged nine at the time – was helping in the baker’s shop, his sleeves rolled right up to his shoulders as he kneaded dough beside the baker’s daughter. She was thirteen and had a tumble of brown curls framing her rosy cheeks and big brown eyes. In his own childish way, Lancelot was in love with her.

It was while laughing at the fact she had flour on her face from brushing back a loose curl with flour coated hands, that Lancelot had heard the first screams.

His mother ran into the bakery, telling them a group of bandits were attacking the village and to grab weapons. She told Lancelot to hide but he snatched up a knife and followed his mother back out into the street. Just in time to see his father cut down by a man on a horse swinging a huge axe. His mother screamed, snatching the sword from her fallen husband’s hand and flailing it at the bandit, until she too was bleeding on the ground.

The slaughter was quick, the people of the village unused to fighting, many of them without proper weapons. Lancelot tried to fight, wielding his knife frantically at anyone that came near him, but he was helpless. He took a bad cut to his chest and only survived because he surrendered to his mother’s final wish and ran to hide in the cowshed.

He crouched among the large animals, sobbing silently with a handful of straw pressed against the bleeding cut on his chest, for hours, until he could no longer hear the sounds of the bandits ransacking homes.

The horrific image that met him when he left the stable still haunts him to this day. The blood, the fires; his parents, his friends. The pointless deaths that he had been helpless to stop…

Lancelot gasps as his chest heaves with a huge sob as the memories overtake him. He presses his fingers to his lips as if he can hold the sorrow inside. His shoulders shake as he tries to keep the tears at bay, but it is too late. The grief overwhelms him, like it always does on this day.

He bows his head, tucking his face into his knees and lets the tears pour from him, his breath stuck in the lump in his throat.

The sun in well and truly up by the time he finally catches his breath. He can hear people in the courtyard below, their voices so happy and carefree as they prepare for the upcoming festival. He draws in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out again in a shaky, shuddery sigh. Then wipes the end of his sleeve over his face and pulls himself to his feet.

He picks up the bunch of white and yellow chrysanthemums he picked yesterday from the palace garden, then walks over to the other side of the battlement; the side that overlooks the patrol path that heads deep into the woods.

He wishes he had graves for his parents, somewhere to lay the flowers, somewhere to hold in his mind. Instead he gently pulls the petals from the flowers, scattering them over the battlement walls one at a time, releasing a prayer and a memory with each one.

Each petal that floats away on the wind reminding him of the ones he mourns. His mother with her sweet smile, always softly singing as she went about her work. His father whose strong hands taught him so many things. The baker’s daughter and the innocent love he felt for her. And everyone else who lived in the village.

He watches the petals drifting on the breeze through a haze of his tears, before bowing his head and turning away to make his way back to his room.

And later that evening, as he walks to the stables to fetch his horse for a solitary ride, when he spots a few chrysanthemum petals clinging to a haystack, his lips pull up in the smallest of smiles, a loose tear trickling down his cheek. He briefly closes his eyes and whispers a thank you to the breeze.

I will still be accepting prompts until the end of March so please, if you liked this... here is the prompt list! Send me a character and a number and I shall write more little snippets like this!! (I may regret asking for more when there’s only ten days left of March but... meh, I am having fun and want to do more)  Also thank you to @whumpster-dumpster for the prompt list!

[kapustainu]

Here's the original bc I forgot to post it before.

Info dump about the painting under 👇👇

First of all, this is a symbolist painting. Not an expressionist one. Most of Munch's paintings are actually part of the symbolist movement, which rejected the values of realism. Among this movement you can find artists like Gustav Klimt and Odilon Redon.

It's a pretty eclectic movement but one of the constants in it was the view of women as both a blessed and a cursed creature (yes, most of the painters were men. Unfortunate but that shouldn't stop you from liking art, u can give another meaning to it too!). This prototype of woman usually represented as red-haired, sensual and mysterious (picking up a bit the archetype left by Pre-Raphaelite painters) is said to be an antecedent to the femme fatale archetype in cinema.

The painting "love and angst" aka "the vampire", it's meant to represent an unhealthy relationship between the subjects. It looks as if the woman, the vampire, is drinking the man's blood. Her hair contributes to this interpretation due to its similarity to blood falling off his neck. The man, on the other hand, seems to not even notice being fed off at all. He looks too distracted by his own pain and sadness. I like to interpret the painting as two lovers who morun their harmful relationship, as well as not doing anything to get away from it or fix it. Maybe they don't know any better.

Why I decided to kamukoma this? Well, as much as I love and headcanon kamukoma as a healthy relationship, at least despair kamukoma probably were a bit like this. They would have good times, they would love each other, but loving themselves would be hard. Kamukura, being created with the purpose of serving as a tool and Komaeda having all the problems he has, it would just affect them both a lot. They would depend of each other, knowing well that they shouldn't be like this, but still, unable to take the needed distance, therapy or break.

Love and angst (but make it kamukoma)

Based on Edvard Munch's painting :)