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unknown-saddened-user · 4 years

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When I’m Watching You Watch Him

Jason X Reader

Mention of Dick X Reader

A/N: Got hit with an oldie but good song. Watching You Watch Him by Eric Hutchinson, just makes me feel all sorts of ways. Anywho, my friend was making me binge some of the animated DC films with her and this just kinda happened, my bad.

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I love you from the bottom of my heart

And that's not gonna change, but things look grim

Oh, Jason had it bad. Really, really bad. Just watching her do the simplest of things made him melt into a puddle.

He had a slight crush on (y/n) before he died. And not to be dramatic or anything, but after all the care and time she had put into helping him recover he’s pretty sure she could hit him with a crowbar and he’d still put a ring on it.

What did all those gen-z toddlers call it, simping? Yeah, he was kinda a simp for her at this point, and there was use trying to escape the reality of it. Everywhere his mind took him always brought him back to the same thought, (y/n). That’s fine though, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was a man damned to eternal hell in the presence of a blessed angel from the highs of heaven. Well shit, this ain't gonna go well.

When I'm watching you watch him

Christ, there she goes again looking at his goddamn brother. Dick fucking Grayson, golden boy himself, the first boy wonder. All eyes were only Dick as he told countless tails in remarkable detail at the large round table. She watched him from across the table, an unmistakable sparkle in those lively (e/c) eyes of hers.

“C’mon (y/n) bring those pretty eyes this way,” Jason whispered quietly enough as to not be heard.

Both elbows of his elbows were on the table which was something that would drive Alfred insane. One hand tapped idly on the oak surface, and the palm of the other held his heavy head. His gaze focused on her, taking every feature, loving each and every bit of the angel before him.

He knew he didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t help but yearn for her anyways. Hell she deserved better than anyone in this damned family.

I give you the best a man can hope to give

He wants nothing more than to spoil her. And just when she thinks she’s seen it all he’ll surprise her with something new and filled with love.

Jason would do anything for her, if only she would only let him. He could repay all the love she put into him at least ten fold.

But I'm not feeling brave

Chances are slim

Jason was a man of action, words were never really his forte. But, of course it was something his brother excelled at. Capturing every spot light within miles of his being, there never seemed to be a moment when attention strayed from the eldest.

Of course there was so much Jason wanted to say to (y/n). However, everytime he got the chance, her attention was always pulled somewhere else. And when she came back to ask him what he wanted to say, he would always brush it off, completely missing his shot. So all the things he wanted to say went unsaid.

One would figure that literature would have maybe taught him something about wooing a lady, but alas, he is a hopeless romantic with no idea how to talk to his crush.

When I'm watching you watch him

Today was the day of another gala Jason was forced to attend. That meant that he had to dress to impress, tux and all, much to his dismay.

Jason of course arrives early to help Alfred prep with the rest of the boys. Which never ended well. When he opened the door he was greeted by the sadly normal sight of Damian attempting to choke Tim, and while most time he would have joined in the chaos, a dolled up damsel caught his gaze.

(Y/n) was trying to persuade Damian to let Tim go. She offered him cookies, however, Damian was not fazed.

God she was gorgeous, he thought. Lightly applied makeup on her already flawless complection, a dress complimenting her figure perfectly, hair topping it all off to complete the look. She was just, so her, and he loved it.

Just as he was about to lend a helping hand in her efforts, Dick stepped in to physically separate the two boys. Jason could only watch as she blushed when that dumbass winked towards her. Damian, of course, ran to her glaring at Tim as he asked for the promised cookie. Dick laughed as she raised a questioning brow at the boy hugging her waist. Jason let out a sign, walking past them to the kitchen, occasionally glancing at her, desperate for her to return his stares.

Oh, what is left to learn

When he will let you crash and burn

Dick was quite the flirt, it wasn’t hard for anyone to figure out upon meeting him. He flirted with every single person, heck he would probably flirt with a dog. Jason shuttered at the thought.

All Dick’s life he has been a player, toying around with others' feelings. A complete heartbreaker. It kills Jason to know that she could possibly become one of the many victims burned by his games.

He never gives attention

But you still yearn

It's obvious to Jason that she was enraptured by Dick, falling for all his empty flirting. Or at least that’s how he saw it. If only she could see it the way Jason did. Maybe then her heart wouldn’t ache for someone who never who would never see her in a romantic way.

Part of Jason is relieved that Dick isn’t into her. But still….

Where do I fit in

There she was sitting next to Damian who was fiddling with her fingers out of boredom. It was kinda sweet how motherly she was to him. And anyone could tell just how much that little demon spawn looked up to her. (Y/n) was someone Damian values above all others, even Dick. He was stuck to her side every moment he could be, only acting his real age around her. She just had that effect on him and Jason has no idea how she does it.

Every Wayne had a special place in her heart, just like she held a special place in theirs. The whole family was like her own, they were a family she never had growing up all alone in the streets of Gotham.

The same exact streets he spent most of his childhood wonder around. Having a similar past made it easy for the two to bond. Exchanging memories of hardships and prosperities while laying on the roof of Wayne Enterprise, tracing out shapes made from glowing stars in the moonlit sky.

When I’m watching you watch him

Jason sat alone sipping whiskey from the canteen tucked in the inside of his coat pocket. He could just tell by the way she was looking at his older brother who was dancing between a crowd of ladies that it was going to be a very very long night.

God only knows why I still wait around

Except I hate to see you cry

He doesn’t understand how Dick could just ignore her loving gazes. Does Dick not understand that the woman Jason practically worshipped was crying out for his attention? What a dumbass, Jason thought.

And I need you

But there are things I cannot do

If only Jason had the balls to go over there and ask her to dance. Steal her attention away from that play boy and focus it on the man who would die for her in a heartbeat. (Y/n) was his salvation, his savior from the twisted shadow that darkened all that good in his mind after being revived.

Though his mind was screaming at him to comfort her, he physically could not approach her. Not even Jason himself understood what was holding him back, it was not pride, not masculinity, god knows he would scrap all of that for her.

Maybe it was fear, the fear of not being good enough. The fear of being rejected by her angelic self.

Man, he sighed taking another swig of the bitter liquid, it was indeed going to be a long night.

And I want you

When he’s playing all his games

Jason watched her the whole night, even when she got her turn to dance with Dick. The sight really tore Jason to pieces. He would almost rather get beaten with a crowbar then watch that ever again.

It was hard to pick between swooning over the smiles and giggles passing those luscious lips of her and punching the absolute shit out of Dick as he led her on. But, he chose to just let her be happy for the moment.

However that moment was short lived as people who stood idly on the side were pulling into the center of the room to dance. Every time someone tried to coax him over he would snap at them. That was until she held out both of her hands out to him, at first he shook her off. But, unfortunately for him, (y/n) was just as stubborn as he was and she was going to get him out on that floor even if it was the last thing she ever did.

Puffing out her chest strut over to his isolated figure. Oh, how he wished she had not come over to him. Who the hell was he if he had denied the pouty expression on her face that was supposed to be a menacing glare.

And it gets hard to tell who's the victim

Both of them danced the longest together which kinda pissed off the baby bat who wanted her attention oh so badly. Jason could give less of a shit thought, he was going to make the most of this moment.

Two partner rotations had gone by as people swayed with the music, but he wasn’t quite ready to give her up. Life, like always, didn’t seem to want to comply with Jason’s wishes as she was swiped from him amongst the crowd as another person was thrown into him.

The two youngest were quick to catch onto Jason’s dilemma. Tim felt kinda bad, the longing stares of a broken man really did a number on the sleep deprived boy’s heart strings. Damian pretended to not give two shits, he values Dick as an important role model, but even Damian knew that Dick was no good for his beloved Ummi. If Damian had to choose between the two, he would rather her go with Jason.

When I’m watching you watch him

The cycle continued just as it had for months on end. Jason would look her way, but his gaze was never returned.

Oh, what is left to learn to learn

When he would let you crash and burn

She would give her romantic affection to the eldest, just like she alway had. And in return Dick strung her along like a lovesick puppy on a loose leash. Never committing to her, but flirting just enough to keep her hooked on in his delusional version of love.

He never gives attention

But you still yearn

One day, Jason prays, one day she will look his way. Giving her even more love then she could ever hope for.

But, that day is not today, or the next day, or the day after that. All he can do is wait hopelessly from his spot.

Where do I fit

Sometimes he wonders if she even sees him anymore. He feels as though he has become nothing but a forgotten memory filed in the back of that pretty head of hers.

Jason can only hope that one day she will see him the same way he sees her.

When I’m watching you watch him

As of lately something seemed to be off. Her eyes weren’t as bright as they were. She carried herself in an anxious manner, constantly fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

It concerned Jason to no end. He had no idea why she was acting the way she was, and no matter how far he dug nothing came up. And it aggravated him that Dick ignored her strange behavior, it really wasn’t that hard for someone to tell something was off if they had been around her as long as the Wayne's have.

Hell, even Damian took notice of her distressed figure. Her state caused the brat to cling to her hip even more than normal. Occasionally, Damian would send a glare the golden boy’s way as he approached the two. Damian’s worried expression shifts to her face to Jason’s stares in a pleading manner. It was if he was asking Jason to do something. Fix her, help her, comfort her; do something dammit.

God only known why I still wait around

Except I hate to see you cry

Imagine his surprise when the angel of his dreams shows up at his door in the middle of the night, tears staining the soft skin of her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy, it's not hard to tell that she had been crying for a couple of hours.

One of Jason’s old oversized sweatshirts draped over her much smaller frame. She bunched up one of the giant sleeves, a heap of fabric gathered into the palm of her still covered hand. Using the sleeve she wiped her wet eyes making tiny splotches of the fabric darken from the salty liquid.

Oh God, he didn’t know what good he had done for her to show up at his doorstep, but he wasn’t going to question it.

And I need you

But there are things I cannot do

(Y/n) was a sight for sore eyes, even in her grief stricken state.

Gathering her into his arms, Jason pulled her into the apartment quietly shutting the door behind her as to not startle her any further.

Jason had an idea as of why she was upset. Dick stood her up for their weekly coffee get together for the second time this month, opting to hang out with some whore he met at the gala the other month.

It was pathetic really. Dick had no concern for (y/n)’s feelings and it made Jason’s blood boil dangerously close to the lip of the pot.

And while this probably would have flustered him in any other scenario, leading to him awkwardly patting her back or something. But, there was only one thing going through his mind at this point. Comforting her. Making all her problems become nothing but a long forgotten memory.

And I love you

Like a broken record plays

But I’m a window pane

A phantom limb

No matter how much it hurt him to hold her so close, knowing that she didn’t return his fatal feeling, killed him all over again. However, he would suck it up to if it meant bringing a smile back to that gorgeous face of hers.

He’s a sucker for her, but at least he knows it. Jason might not be able to admit it in words, but he did his best to relay it through actions.

When I’m watching you watch him

“That woman was right, I’m just not worth it,” She whispered through hiccups.

Jason’s eyes shot down to her in utter shock, his grip involuntary tightening on her frame, causing her to let out a small squeak.

What did that filthy pig say to his angel? That gold digger didn’t have a clue what the word meant. Oh, Dick was in for it the next time he came around.

“I don’t know what upsets me more,” Jason muttered gently, “the fact that she said that or the fact that you actually believe that bitch.”

Clearly his statement caught her attention. Glossy eyes pooling with salty tears threatening to spill over peered into his own.

Fuck it, he thought, its now or never.

Taking a deep breath, exhaling hot air through his nose, he threw everything worry and doubt out the window and took his chances.

No matter how many times she tried to wipe her tears, they just kept coming as he spilled out all his thoughts about her. Telling her just how priceless she was to him. Jason made sure not to skip out on even the slightest of detail. His walls shattered, heart lying bare and utterly vulnerable before her. He, himself, couldn’t help but let a couple tears cascade down.

Taking her other dry sleeve she brought it to his face, gently wiping the water droplets away as they fell. All this time she has been looking at the wrong man. Listening as Jason’s walls shattered rekindled those mushy feelings she had for him back before his Robin days. Back during the times when they could care less about the world as they fought the harsh world side by side.

Those feelings she pushed down when he came back guns blazing. When he disregarded everything he once had, putting all his pain into the bullets in the barrels of his guns. Though she never gave up on him, it was hard for her. All he did back then was push her away, giving her the cold shoulder time after time again. Though all her efforts were kicked to the side and stomped on at the time.

Dick was the only one to comfort her back then. Maybe it was the comfort and reassurance that drew her to him all those times, but what does it matter anymore.

When I’m watching you watch him

Little did they know the two nosey pairs of eyes watching them through the window from a roof a couple buildings over. Binoculars peered into the living room where Jason and (y/n) rocked back and forth on their feet in each other's embrace.

Smack!

Both Red Robin and Robin let of a high pitched yelp as the binoculars were swiped from their faces. They stared at each other with wide eyes of surprise, a heavy grunt brought them from their daze. Neither one of them wanted to look behind, acting like toddlers being caught doing something they knew they weren’t supposed to.

To giant gloved hands extended palms up in front of their faces, a wordless demand to hand over the devices. Of course they did as they were told, but not without complaining and throwing a couple jabs at one another. The boys headed in the opposite direction to patrol the remainder of the city.

Once they were out of sight, Batman put the binoculars to his eyes. A rare smile graced his rough feature at the sight of the two. Hooking the lenses to his belt he went after the bickering boys.

It was a start. It was their start. The start of something beautiful in the years to come.

When I’m watching you watch him

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #dc #batfam x reader

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 4 years

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Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST—

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode?

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home:

All hail Incitatus the king

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts

oh god is that hamilton

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway)

Me internally vs externally

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance”

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

#opera #opera tag #results #screencaps #captions #caption #caption this #caption contest #this seems to have gone over well and I am Pleased

33 notes · View notes

kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

A Villainous Meeting

“Good morning, my fucklings!”

Verosika Mayday, the pink succubus, strolled into the room, wearing her high heels, heart-shaped sunglasses, short black and white dress and her faux pink scarf. She blew a bubble of pink gum before spitting it out in a nearby trash can. The fellow employees sat at a cracked black round table with bloodstained high-backed chairs with eyes on the tops. The Wrath Ring imp Striker merely smirked and nodded as he fiddled with the wheat stalk in his mouth. He wore his usual gray and brown cowboy gear with a hat and boots. Fizzarolli, the robotic jester imp, looked around eagerly at the small office room decorated with circus posters and porn magazine covers. Verosika was shown in a seductive pose with her gang on one poster, while another poster showed a sinister Fizzarolli with handcuffs advertising a “Loo Loo Land’s Fizzy Buddy, Brand New Vibrating Toy, Use At Your Own Risk!” A few pictures here and there displayed Striker riding his black hell-horse BulletProof through the desert with a mane and tail of fire. Finally, Vortex, the dark grey hellhound bodyguard, stared at his phone, wearing all black clothing.

They were located somewhere in the Lust Ring under a pink sky in an abandoned building that looked like a warehouse from the outside. Spray-painted in red were the words “D.I.C.K. Headquarters,” on the door to the office.

“Remind me why you choose “dick” to be our name?” Striker muttered to Verosika.

“It’s spelled D.I.C.K. It stands for Demonic Immediate Crazed Killers,” Verosika replied. “Figured it described all of us well, because we do what I.M.P. does, only better.”

“You and your sexual innuendos,” Striker began, and then winked. “I like it.” Fizzarolli giggled.

Verosika cleared her throat. “Do any of you fuckers know why we’re here?”

“Because I took this job after you and I got drunk and did a one night stand?” Striker asked with a smirk.

“No!” Verosika bellowed in anger, though she knew it was true. She then blushed and stepped back. “I drank too much beelzejuice after returning back from Earth, alright? And you happened to be there staring at me with lust in your eyes with a bottle of Inferno 66 in hand. Let me tell you, sucking prisoner dick with your gang is worse than eating shit out of a toilet. Besides, I needed some time to recover after having to walk around after Blitzo took my parking spot. When we were together, he left me to pay for the hotel room, rang three rings around Wrath and maxed my credit card...”

“…on shitty horse-riding lessons, yeah yeah, I got it,” Striker said with a wave of his hand. “You told us the story like five times.”

“Is it because that imp was so jealous of my accomplishments at the circus that he set all of Loo-Loo Land on fire and allowed my robotic counterpart Robo Fizz to get eaten by a dragon?” asked Fizzarolli.

“How did you hear about that?” Vortex asked without looking up.

Fizzarolli turned nervous. “My boss Mammon heard about the incident and was furious. He said that unless I helped boost sales, fix the theme park and capture him…”

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” Verosika sighed. “My gang and I got a bunch of warnings and threats from daddy Ozzie.”

“You mean Asmodeus?” asked Vortex.

“Yeah. He wasn’t very happy that I nearly exposed the humans to the existence of demons. We go topside in disguise to feed on their lust every spring. If Blitzo hadn’t kept that fact secret…well let’s just say Valentino pales in comparison to what Ozzie can do to you.”

Everyone shivered at the prospect of the Ring Overlords’ plans.

“To answer your question, Verosika, it is because I failed to kill that pompous owl prince Stolas?” Striker asked. “I was this close to finishing off that wimp imp and persuading Blitzo to join me. He’s a formidable fighter, and he’s half succubus.”

Verosika crossed her arms. “There’s nothing special about him. He just pushes people away when they get too close and only cares about his job, murder and his stupid horses!”

“Hmm…he’d be a fun little toy to play with,” Striker mused as Fizzarolli smirked. “We can all agree on that, right?”

Everyone but Vortex murmured in agreement.

“Yes,” Verosika called, shoulders square. “That is the reason why we’re all here. Because of them!”

Verosika pointed to the whiteboard which had pictures of Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie, Loona and Stolas pinned on it. Several knives were stuck inside the pictures and scribbles in red on the white board read “Fuck I.M.P.!” “Striker Is Better Than You!” “Fizzarolli Was Here!” and “Verosika, Call Me For a Good Time!”

“And I’m gonna led this shit!” she added.

“What makes you the leader?” Striker inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not the leader per se. Stella organized this group and Striker recruited us,” Verosika explained. “Though I’m technically higher than imps, sinners and hellhounds, so I say the position is a good fit.”

Striker scowled. “We get treated like scum in Wrath enough as it is. I ain’t gonna play nice if you don’t show me some respect.”

“Prove to me you’re better than that scumbag Blitzo.”

“I already did…in bed at the club, remember?”

Fizzarolli laughed much to Verosika’s disgust.

“While I will admit it felt amazing, that’ll be the last time I ever sleep with an imp. And I certainly don’t need some rogue cowboy to get in the way of my revenge.”

“Need I remind you, missy,” said Striker, “That I’m the one who recruited you and the jester in the first place? After you were getting over your hangover, you told me to fuck off or else your friends would have their fun with me.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I then noticed your heart tattoo on your shoulder with “Blitzo” crossed out. Then I asked, ‘Having imp problems, too? Wishing to see a certain imp?’”

“And I said ‘no, none of your damn business, imp.’”

Striker continued, “But then I told you, ‘I’m on a covert mission to take down a worthless royal…and to meet up with I.M.P.s leader. Perhaps I could offer you my services to you, monetary and otherwise, if you could tell me more about him.’”

“Yes and I did,” she said. “I remembered Robo Fizz back when I worked in the circus with Blitzo and figured he’d be a good person to talk to.”

“Hmpth,” Fizzarolli interrupted. “His business may be impressive, but his jokes were utterly pathetic! I got to be the star of the shows while he got to be alone and unloved! Ha!”

Verosika briefly stared at him. “You sure you didn’t get jealous because Blitzo left you behind and made more money killing people?”

Fizzarolli turned slightly red. “What?! No! How stupid are you?”

“Perhaps smarter than you think,” Verosika remarked, her boobs bouncing slightly.

“Get a room, love-fuckers!” Fizzarolli mocked to Striker and Verosika. “At least I was the first villain to appear in the show! First is the best! And my Ring is higher than yours!”

“Oh partner, even a sex bot like you…”

“I’m not a bot!”

“…could never handle what’s under these jeans.”

Striker smirked and continued the story. “Then I told slutty clown about Blitzo and he seemed to understand who he was,” said Striker. “I said, ‘A Goetia is giving me cash to kill a royal and that imp leader from I.M.P. What do you say we bask in riches, glory and chaos?’”

“I remember saying, ‘Is this a scam? Loo Loo Land must be fixed!’” said Fizzarolli.

Striker recalled what he said back to Fizzarolli,“’Mammon sent you off on a mission, didn’t he? Just like Asmodeus gave a warning to Verosika and what Stella did to me. All our stories and failures are connected. Connected because of what those imps did. If you can help me track down I.M.P. and that prince…no more worries for you.’”

“The show must always go on,” mused Fizzarolli. “It wasn’t like I had many other options. As long as my boss is satisfied…”

“And mine…” added Verosika.

“And mine…” added Striker.

“Indeed, we must all complete this mission, or else we’re all dead,” Verosika finished.

“Double dead,” Vortex corrected in a low voice, making the others shiver. “The Seven Deadly Sins do have angelic weapons. You’ll wish you were frozen in the Ninth Circle.”

“Hell only has seven,” Fizzarolli added.

“Shut up.”

“Loo Loo Land burned down, Asmodeus and Mammon got together, we took the Hellevator through the Ring portals and the rest is history,” said Verosika. “Now I’m stuck with an imp and a robot.”

“I’m an imp!” Fizzarolli protested.

“You’re just a robot,” Verosika replied.

“With partial robotic features! The model for all Robo Fizzs made by Mammon himself!”

“Still just a sex toy,” said Verosika.

“A useful one, nevertheless. One who Stella herself deems valuable, right Striker?”

“She did say to me, ‘I don’t care who you have to go through.’ Never thought I’d be dealing with a bunch of hooligans from other Rings,” Striker remarked.

After several minutes of loud arguments and hisses, Vortex barked loudly. “Shut the fuck up!”

Everyone then sat down in silence before Vortex stared at his phone again. “I never get paid enough for this shit,” he muttered.

“Somebody tell me any useful information about I.M.P. before I lose my shit!” Verosika barked, almost going into her demonic shadow form.

“The only reason why I’m here,” said Striker, his voice turning calmer and darker, “Is for my money from Stella. And revenge of course. Let me tell you where I think Blitzo will be at next.”

The villains crept closer.

“I came to the Lust Ring because I heard from Stella that this is where Stolas likes to “entertain” himself as it were.” His glowing eyes spiraled in yellow-green hypnotic circles. “Rumor has it that he goes to Ozzie’s place to cheer himself up. Heard he suffered quite a breakup from his dear hurt wife. And to have Stella potentially gain custody over his dear daughter…man that must’ve broken that bird’s heart.”

“Oooh what a charming little theater!” Fizzarolli remarked. “Stripper dances, pole dances, lots of lustful siren songs. Winged imps serve you food and other imps are in cages for display! Hahahaha! It is almost as good as the Big Top in Loo Loo Land!”

“Was, you mean,” Striker smirked before the jester seethed.

“I still perform there,” Verosika said. “When I’m not traveling around the Rings on tour. Lust is my home, after all.”

“Greed is mine!” Fizzarolli said.

“You already know where I’m from,” said Striker. “No one fucking cares.”

“Mammon and Asmodeus heard the news as well,” said Fizzarolli. “I heard Stella had a meeting with them at midnight last night. That was before we all got our orders to come here to Lust.”

Vortex looked up in concern. “It’ll only be a matter of time before Lucifer hears about this, too. Not just about the trouble I.M.P. has caused, but now that humans know of Hell…”

“Let’s focus on one problem at a time,” said Verosika with a deep breath. “We’re in no rush. It’s not like our leader’s gonna call us and demand…”

Just then, Verosika’s pink computer beeped and rang.

“Shit,” she muttered. “It’s her.”

Everyone straightened up as Verosika pushed a button. Stella’s angry white feathered face appeared on the Zoom/Doom screen. She scrutinized all their faces with pink glowing eyes, her face appearing on the screen.

“Striker,” Stella began, her golden crown shining on her head. “So this is the gang you recruited?”

“Yes ma’am!” he grinned.

“Hmm…” she pondered. There’s you…there’s some clown imp, there’s a fine-looking succubus…from who knows where…”

“The clown is Fizzarolli or Robo Fizz,” said Striker. “The succubus is Verosika.”

“Working for a queen, Striker?” Verosika asked. “How…”

“Long story, I already told you,” Striker said. “She’s desperate…”

“You bet that’s right!” Stella barked. “Then again, I’m…mildly impressed that you managed to get such a…diverse crew together.” She didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Well done.”

Striker beamed with pride.

“But we’re far from done! You have no idea how long I’ve waited to properly unleash these feelings in me.”

Fizzarolli giggled and Striker elbowed him hard.

“That stupid prick of my husband thinks he can sleep all he wants with that assassin imp…in our fucking bed behind my back! If he stays any longer, my family will be a laughing stock. I’ll be stripped of my royal status and goodness knows what bad influence he’ll have on Octavia.”

Stella paused, brief hurt in her voice. She didn’t dare cry, though. “Sometimes I wish he didn’t have to die. That all three of us could be a good family again like we once were. He could’ve been a proper responsible father, kept the grimoire safe from the imp, and none of this would’ve happened.”

Fizzarolli cried tears at the rant while Vortex rolled his eyes. Striker yawned. Verosika, however, seemed to listen with a common understanding. She and Blitzo had been together and then they were broken up and fighting. Although she wanted power and revenge like Fizzarolli and Striker, she knew what it was like to get the short end of the stick in a relationship.

“Then again, I was forced into marrying Stolas millennia ago by my parents. It’s obvious I’d concern myself with status and wealth and hold my resentment inside.”

‘All that wealth, all that power,’ thought Striker, greedily. ‘Watch her talk on and on until the rug slips from under her feet…and the glory becomes all mine!’

“I love my daughter and Stolas…I really do…but…I must do what has to be done!” Right then, her regal imposing side was back.

She stared into their eyes, glaring at Striker in particular. “First of all, if any of you land a finger on my daughter, I’ll make sure your screams are heard by every Ring in Hell. She must not be harmed. But…if I have to use Octavia as leverage as a last resort to bring Stolas to his knees…then so be it. I don’t care what we have to do…I just want him dead. Do you all understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Striker. The others nodded.

“Good. Now to review the plan. Stolas and I recently had our breakup. He will be going to the same place he always goes to when he’s upset: Ozzie’s place. If you spot I.M.P., follow them, but do not attack yet.”

She continued. “Striker, your objective is the same: kill Stolas with your angelic weapons. Keep them safe in your hands at all times, but eliminate anyone who gets in your way.”

Striker already glowered at Fizzarolli and Verosika who were staring closely at his pistol.

“If you use it on anyone else important,” Stella said, suspicion already in her eyes. “I’ll fuck you with your own horns.”

Striker nodded, with the tip of his hat.

“Verosika, you will track down Blitzo and distract him inside the club,” said Stella. “Use any manipulative means necessary to catch him off guard. Fizzarolli, you and Asmodeus will sneak behind Moxxie and take down the other I.M.P. members. Verosika’s crew and some Robo Fizzs will also join in.”

She added in a sing-song voice, “You’ll all receive an extra bonus and royalty favors if you bring me their heads!”

Fizzarolli grinned. “This is gonna be so fun!”

“The rewards. Striker, you’ll be rewarded by me for killing Stolas. 10,000 souls or more. And a new home in Wrath for you and your family.”

Striker had to roll his eyes. He didn’t have a family anymore. He didn’t just want 10,000 souls. Now that he thought about it, he wanted much more.

“Fizzarolli, Loo-Loo land will be repaired and you’ll get to lead future productions in Lu Lu World. Plus money, your own brand and perhaps…” she whispered so only he could hear, “…freedom.”

“Oh goody!”

“Verosika…more tours, more sex and money for you. You’ll be the star of every Ring in Hell.”

Verosika grinned and fluffed her long pink-white hair.

Stella smirked in a manner unfit for a queen. “And to make things a little more fun…as a way to show Stolas what his infidelity means…a special prize for the first one to kill Blitzo for me…”

She playfully massaged her boobs under her pink dress. All the villains minus Vortex blushed in delight and shock as they knew what she was implying. Verosika’s gang in the far back of the room watched while eating popcorn. Vortex made a face of disgust.

Seconds later, Stella was regal again. “And you there, dog!” Stella called, making Vortex look up. “Verosika has a special assignment for you.”

“What?” he asked.

“Keep a close eye on that loony hellhound of theirs,” Verosika grinned deviously.

Worry was etched onto Vortex’s face as he nodded. Though he had a girlfriend, he had found Loona adorable at the beach on Earth. He couldn’t believe what he had to do now.

“I’ll keep you updated on Stolas’ whereabouts and when it’s time to move,” Stella finished. “Do not disappoint me.”

The screen went dark.

“Well, that’s a wrap folks,” said Verosika. “Meeting dismissed. Fuck around, get some sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Verosika took out her phone and began texting.

“Who are you texting?” Vortex asked.

“There’s this pink southern succubus sinner named Martha,” Verosika grinned. “She says she leads an army in the name of Satan and they want blood after being killed by you know who on Earth. Ralphie and her two kids live with her there. She also wants this Mayberry sinner dead.”

“What does that mean?” Striker asked.

Verosika grinned. “It means…we have a potential ally in the Pride Ring!”

“Awesome!” said Fizzarolli. “Their enemies keep growing and growing!”

The villains laughed.

“With so many souls seeking revenge, I.M.P. won’t know what hit ‘em!” Fizzarolli cackled.

“Yes, but let’s focus on our main mission first,” said Striker. “Perhaps we’ll have the honor of getting to them first!”

The villains laughed again and retired to bed.

‘This plan better work,’ Striker thought. ‘Because Stolas’ blood will not be the only blood that’ll be on my hands soon enough…’

#helluvaboss #villains #legion of doom

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wordsafterhours · 4 years

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Ticket to L.A. (3)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

A warm, tingling sensation spread throughout Rowan as the girl, who had captured his attention so completely, rested her head against him. It was late, she was probably tired, as it was inching further into the wee early morning hours. They’d had a few drinks, talked and laughed, leaving her no time to get any of her work done. He wanted to feel bad for distracting her, but he couldn’t muster up an ounce of regret no matter how hard he tried.

Deciding to live in the moment, Rowan leaned his head against hers, reveling in the companionable silence that had settled around them. He needed time to process this entire situation anyhow. He’d never flown by the seat of his pants a day in his life, but reason had evaporated the moment he’d heard her laugh. It was almost as though he was coming home for the first time in his life.

Jesus man, you sound like a damn romance novel, Rowan internally chastised himself. Fate. Serendipity. Whatever this was with her, right now. . . these things didn’t actually happen in real life. This was just two strangers sharing a moment because they had nothing else to do, right?

“Ro?” she said quietly, almost so that he missed it amongst the raging thoughts in his head.

“Yes?” he asked in the same hushed tone.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

He tried to stifle a laugh but was unsuccessful, causing the woman to lift her blonde head from his shoulder—he promptly felt the loss of contact so acutely it was almost painful. With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat and proceeded to answer her rather random question. “A hawk.”

She smiled, quite wickedly, and a rather mischievous glint filled her bright blue eyes. “Oh, like those birds that eat dead animals off the side of the interstate?”

“No! Those are buzzards. Hawks are majestic and powerful. Buzzards are straggly, ugly even,” indignation punctuating his words.

“Goodness, you sounded wounded, Buzzard. I was only kidding!”

“Buzzard?” She couldn’t be serious, likening him to a bird who ate dead things for a living. Disgusting.

“Yeah, that’s your nickname now, Buzzard.” She informed him, her smile growing larger by the second.

“That’s it, I’ve found your only flaw. You’re a terrible nicknamer. If I’m a bird, I’m a hawk. I mean have you seen me? Tall, muscled, green eyes most women would kill for? Look like I could grace the cover of a men’s fashion magazine?” he rapidly fired while motioning up and down along his body.

“I don’t see it,” the stranger deadpanned with a facial expression to match.

Rowan craned his head back, trying to decipher if she was serious. Several tense seconds passed amongst them before she cracked up, nudging their shoulders together.

“I’m only kidding. You should have seen your face! Gods, you’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and my best friend is a male model, so I would know.” He watched suddenly as her face grew beet red for the first time all night at the realization of what she’d allowed to cross her lips.

“Oh, so the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, huh?” he mused and waggled his silver brows.

“I think I’ll just melt into the floor now,” she muttered, sliding down in her chair, a beautiful pout taking residence upon her face. The maneuver caused her white t-shirt to ride up, revealing a small silver of tanned skin. His throat grew instantly dry and subconsciously he reached out, tracing the bare skin with a calloused fingertip.

Her soft hand brushed against his, starling him. Like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar, he tried to yank his hand back, all too aware of the multiple boundaries he’d carelessly violated. However, she latched her hand onto his, preventing him from severing their contact.

Pine green met turquoise and the air grew thick with unspoken feelings. Both continued to stare, bodies moving closer until lips were barely a hair’s breadth away. It would take nothing to feel her velvet, pink lips against his and Rowan wasn’t going to waste the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut, a clear invitation to kiss her, but he never got the chance as a loud voice rang out over head. Surprised by the unwelcome intrusion, they fell apart, moment ruined.

“Flights are now starting do board. The storm has moved out of the airport’s vicinity and it is safe to resume flights. Please check the information boards to see updated flight schedules regarding arrivals and departures. Again, we apologize for the delays, thank you for your patience.”

I can’t believe I almost kissed him. I don’t even know him. Damn PA system. Aelin internally cursed while avoiding Rowan’s heated gaze. “Uh, I guess we should check out those updates,” she said lamely, gesturing towards the cluster of monitors with her thumb.

“Oh, I guess you’re right.”

He stood, offering his arm to her. She looped hers through his and both awkwardly wandered towards the screens. She eyed the small text up and down, finally noting when the flight to L.A. was boarding out of gate 22. A small glance to her right revealed a brooding Rowan.

“So, when does your flight leave?”

“Looks like I still have a while,” he replied quickly, schooling his features to replace his frown with an impartial look instead.

Aelin turned from the board and started to walk back to their seats, tossing over her shoulder, “My flight appears to be boarding next. Well, if that shit is to be believed.” Rowan’s steps faltered for just a moment, like he needed a pause to digest what she had said, before he resumed following her. Perhaps he didn’t want this night to end either but then again, she could be projecting her own feelings onto him. There was a strong chance the sentiment was not mutual. That possibility caused her heart to painfully stutter and she rubbed her chest, trying to quell the ache that was taking root.

The duo plopped into their chairs, both electing to stay silent. Finally, it was Rowan who breached the chasm that had developed, “I guess you’ll have to answer your emails and write your blog post on the plane ride. I’m afraid I’ve occupied all your free time.”

“Looks that way,” she muttered, picking up her discarded laptop from the floor and shutting it down prior to slipping into her bag. Aelin wasn’t why, but his remark had further soured her mood. She would do anything to spend another few hours with him. Sell a kidney. Send a nude photo to Arobynn Hamel, the creepy lawyer that worked for uncle. That man was always hitting on her, but she’d never felt like this before and desperation was setting in by the minute.

The part of her that was used to be disappointed and incessantly let down was reminding her of all the reasons this couldn’t or wouldn’t last. Quite honestly, she was sure the bubble the two had forged couldn’t last past tonight. She’d get on that plane and Rowan would end up being just another person, floating out of her life as quickly as he’d entered it. Things didn’t work out for her, ever. Her parents, Chaol, Sam… all of them finite examples of how life shit on her when she least expected it.

Too wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself, Aelin hadn’t noticed Rowan move closer to her, until she felt the same calloused fingertip that had branded her skin earlier, apply gentle pressure beneath her chin. Willing herself not to cry in front of a stranger, she glanced up through her lashes. He looked concerned, the tip of a question on his tongue.

He kept his finger perched beneath her chin and leaned his forehead against hers. “You never told me your name.”

She snickered. If he had been trying to distract her from herself, he’d certainly succeeded. He was right, she hadn’t told him her name for a good reason, and she wasn’t sure she’d tell him; a little mystery could be a good thing. “I know, it was intentional. You could be a serial killer after all. You are good looking, give off a mysterious air, sought out a girl sitting alone in an airport. All these things just scream serial killer, ya know. I binge watch murder shows like the rest of the country.”

“First, you liken me to a buzzard and now I’m a serial killer? No wonder you’re single, you can’t give a compliment or flirt to save your life,” he jested, not moving at all while he did so.

Aelin pulled back and scoffed, “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent flirt. Shame on you for suggesting otherwise.” She paused, tucking a piece of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. “Besides, you don’t know I’m single! Buzzard!”

“Well, I hope you are,” he confessed, staring intensely at her.

“I’ll get back to you. I’m pretty sure there’s this very attractive man just waiting to take me out. I mean, I am a solid 10 and swim 5 times a week. You should see me in my bikini. It’s gold—” She would have continued torturing him, but Rowan sounded like he might cough up a lung. Being the merciful woman she was, Aelin leaned over and patted his back, trying to hide a shit eating grin the entire time.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he stated, waving her off. Mmm, I bet you are.

Before the two could continue, the same monotonous voice from earlier sounded overhead yet again, “Now boarding flight 547 JFK to LAX. Please make your way to the proper gate with your tickets and ID ready. Again, flight 547 JFK to LAX now boarding.”

Aelin’s stomach dropped at the stark reminder that their time was indeed ending. Rowan’s face crumpled as he came to the same realization.

“That’s me,” she mumbled, sadly. Rowan, being a gentleman, stood and bent down to pick up Aelin’s bag from the floor. He tenderly slipped the bag onto her shoulder, making sure it was in a comfortable position. Both stared, unwilling to utter goodbye. It was in that stubborn and stifling silence that Aelin decided she would divulge her name but not in the way he probably expected.

She rifled through her bag, finding a Sharpie. “Give me your hand and close your eyes.”

Rowan did as she demanded and extended his large hand towards her expectedly for the second time tonight. She scribbled her name and number on his open palm and then pressed his fingers around it, sealing it with a featherlight kiss. “Please don’t look at it until I board the plane.”

Rowan cocked his head, finding her request peculiar, but decided to acquiesce, giving a slight nod. Aelin smiled faintly whilst placing a hand on his shoulder, rising to her tip toes, and brushing a soft kiss against his stubbled cheek. Her lips lingered for a few more seconds than necessary and before she could stop herself, she hastily turned and disappeared through gate. 22.

Rowan watched the beautiful golden blonde woman until she disappeared from his view. He then gave himself another ten seconds before he opened his hand, revealing what she had written.

Aelin. 423-555-9048. His face split in two. Despite no longer being in front of him, this woman was still making an impression. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. He slunk back down into the uncomfortable plastic chair that he’d occupied for the previous 8 hours and continued to stare at his hand. Time seemed to stop as he sat there, analyzing his feelings and the situation that was quite literally, at hand. With renewed purpose, he sat up straighter and pulled out his phone, googling the distance between Seattle and L.A.

One state—Oregon. 1,135 miles. 18 hours in a car. A stuffy plane ride. This was just a short list of what separated them. This woman—Aelin—could in fact be the love of his life and here he was wasting time compiling stupid lists. He should be calling her. Gods, he should have chased after her. But he’d already acted out of character when he rashly scoured the airport for the owner of such magical laughter.

Could I really do it? Could I chase after someone I’ve only known for 8 hours? He repeated this over and over to himself until he could no longer counter himself.

Having spent so long talking to Aelin and then spending more time agonizing over what he should do, Rowan had missed his flight to Seattle by a couple of hours. But he wasn’t sorry. This day had started out in such a shit way and by the time he had gotten to the airport, Rowan was ready to curse Hellas and label it the second worst day of his life.

If you asked him now though, he’d tell you it was the day that changed his life.

Was it cosmic forces? Fate? Luck? He didn’t know but he wasn’t going to question it any further. He picked up his carry on and slung it over his back as he approached the ticket counter.

“Ah yes, I need a ticket for the next available flight to LAX.”

#aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowan #aelin ashryver #rowaelin #rowaelin prompt #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #aelin galathynius #ticket to L.A.#throne of glass

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ranger-report · 4 years

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Review (In Progress): THE WITCHER 3: WILD HUNT (2015)

The third and final (so far) game in The Witcher trilogy is big. Very big. Massive. Supermassive. Maybe I’m just a little intimidated by the depth and width and density of the game, but as of this writing, I’ve clocked in 62.4 hours on the game. That’s compared to the 48.1 hours of The Witcher and 31.5 hours of The Witcher 2. I’m closing in on the point where I’ve played Wild Hunt more than the first two games combined. From where I sit, there’s no end in sight, either; I have yet to complete the story, in addition to multiple sidequests, witcher contracts, and treasure hunts, not to mention the jawdropping expansion quests Hearts of Stone and Blood & Wine, which combined supposedly equal the length of the main story quest itself. Throw everything in a blender and pour it out, and I’ll be surprised if I eventually finish everything I’ve a mind for in under 150 hours. This is a big game. This is a dense game, packed with content every couple of miles or so, in a world where you can’t walk into a town without stumbling onto someone -- or something -- in need, and that’s ignoring the contracts on notice boards. People walk, talk, argue, cough, stumble around drunk, and get into fights with you. Oh yes, run afoul of local gangs, and they will come for you. Meanwhile, the vast open world is teeming with monsters to battle and loot, from the continual presence of drowners to the new griffins and basilisks. An overwhelming amount of content in a series that already packs plenty of content into each game. It would be far, far too much and monotonous if it wasn’t for one thing: developers CD Projekt Red write compelling material, and they know how to write a damn good story.

When the game opened up, it looked just like any other open world game I’ve ever played, and immediately I felt a pang of disappointment. I’ve done Far Cry 3, Horizon: Zero Dawn, Grand Theft Auto V, Assassin’s Creed: Origins, and like many of my gaming generation I get what to do. Seek out loot, checkpoints for fast travel, towns, fight things to get xp, ignore the “pressing” main story in favor of side quests for cool shit, yadda yadda yadda. Considering the first two Witcher games felt like original experiences in what they were trying to do, to walk into such a generic open-world framework was such a let down.

At first.

But then, something strange began to happen: I settled in. Two random quests twisted and convoluted into a connected thread, which was followed by a third main quest which circled back to this thread and elaborated on it. Suddenly a character who just seemed off her rocker was now a fearfully sympathetic human being, now seen in the light of someone else’s story. CD Projeckt Red hooked me, hooked me bad, and now this wide wide world was no longer a series of performances, it was the lives of people in this world and how Geralt affects them -- just like in the previous games. Only here, it’s bigger and wider and seemingly less connected, but it still all comes back together. Choices matter. People matter. The world itself twists and winds according to you, the witcher, and who you side with/fight for. Every other open world game I’ve played has had Things To Do, and this is no exception, but now suddenly it feels like everything matters. Before, everything I did felt like it was to further a progression percentage, to get trophies and upgrade items and simply arcade my way through a sandbox which promised “openness” but really was just all the levels of a video game laid out side-by-side so you could see them all at once instead of having to press through to get to the next one. This is the first time where I’ve really, honestly felt like I was walking through a living world, and to say that it’s captured me is an understatement. Where once I would have rolled my eyes at sidequesting in the face of a main quest where the point is to track someone down or save someone because it is incredibly important, now it feels like the most natural thing because the main quest requires you to go through some shit first. Every contract and quest met along the way furthers the main quest in some way or another, particularly when you open up new quests AFTER helping old friends, friends who now desperately need your help again, and what would happen if you weren’t there? Combine all of this with exceptional voice acting, talented writing, detailed animations, and we have compelling content literally around every corner. And that’s even when you’re just out searching for treasure or diagrams to make better witcher armor! Stories pop up everywhere, all of it interesting, even the slightest of things, and it truly crafts a distracting world to be enveloped by.

A living breathing world would be one thing all on its own, but thankfully Wild Hunt features the best-looking graphics in the series to date. I was genuinely worried that my old rig wouldn’t be able to handle a massive open-world game from 2015 without some tweaks (my desktop is old, shut up), but for the most part I’m running everything on high and it is breathtaking. Weather effects, god rays, BLOOM jesus christ I’m appreciating bloom in a video game for the very first time and I hate that I am but god fuck the first time you see the moon behind clouds in this game with bloom on, and I’m talking a full moon so it is BRIGHT and BEAUTIFUL and just. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Detailed textures and character models, the best in the series so far, a wide palette of colors (which sometimes makes the game look like a living painting, in the best of ways), absolutely masterful work. There’s the odd object-poking-through-something-it-really-shouldn’t, or the glitchy human being moving/acting/dying in ways they shouldn’t be, but that’s also a staple of both open world games and this series in general. Jank happens, especially in a game this size. It’s not as breaking as it has been in certain aspects of the first two games, and it’s mostly Bethesda-level charming. What matters though is that it doesn’t kill the experience, nor does it happen so often that it feels like the game is bugged or broken.

Combat, meanwhile, is still not perfect but it’s the best it’s been in the trilogy. Fast and furious, yet rewarding for those who have more patient skills, swordplay is easy and comfortable and versatile. Similar to the second game, one needs only turn the camera towards whichever enemy they want to attack and Geralt automatically goes for whichever monster or human is highlighted. Sometimes this can be fraught as the game will erratically highlight a different character than the one you’re facing, or will transfer the highlight to a different enemy if the one you were facing dances out of sight due to a roll or dodge or other maneuver. But it’s only frustrating sometimes; this was a flaw far more prevalent in the second game than here, and the lock-on mechanic is a godsend when paired against high-level creatures. With patience and tactics I’ve been able to competently square with beasts far too high level for me to tackle, and actually come out the victor, an idea that would be absolute suicide in the first two games. But now strategy versus simple number rolls can prevail, provided you are prepared and/or willing to have the patience to chip away while dodging for your life.

Wild Hunt is one of the few game worlds I’ve entered that feels stunningly alive. Whenever I start up the game, I am transported. Taken away. Breathlessly in awe of how real and vibrant the physical presence of the visuals on screen are. What a strange gift to behold. And, yet, aggravatingly, it frustrates me that most opinions I have encountered are that players don’t need to play through Witcher 1 & 2 in order to play this game. You certainly can, but so much context is lost. Geralt’s relationships with Triss and Yennifer and the struggles between them (that is, should you decide to romance Triss); the nostalgia and heartache of coming back to Kaer Morhen and revisting the other witchers; the friends and former alliances who pop up under vastly different circumstances; the paths taken and decisions made which impact where and how you begin this story. Wild Hunt is the culmination of a near-decade’s worth of storytelling, and the rewards for having played through the previous two games are plentiful. Nilfgaard’s invasion has extra oomph knowing where they were before, and walking through Vizima’s capital now occupied by Emperor Emhyr is especially chilling and devastating. I have no doubt that someone could pick up this game and play it and get the jist of what’s going on without playing the first two games. But will it mean as much? I daresay no. It is absolutely essential to play the first two games to truly feel the depth of impact that this story -- this world -- has to offer.

At this point in time it seems I’m coming upon some kind of resolution to the story. I’m off in search of allies to help combat a vicious foe, meaning it’s time to wrap up any side quests I still have in my ledger. There’s a lot to do. Once I’ve reached the conclusion of this game, this story, I’ll provide a wrap-up review. For now, this deep and still ploughing through, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt is not only the best of the trilogy, it makes me want to go all the way back to the first game and play through the whole series again with different choices, for different outcomes, if only to see the roads I did not take and who was left behind. This is an amazing experience with literally hours of content to take in, and I am eager to devour the remainder.

Score (So Far): 9/10

#the witcher #wild hunt #blood and wine #hearts of stone #geralt of rivia #Yennefer of Vengerberg #Triss Merigold #CD Projekt RED #pc gaming #rpg #review #ck burch #ruby ranger #ranger report

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wcndcr · 5 years

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HSHQTASK033: NEXT GEN

this is going to be the longest essay ever & i’m not sorry bc @irenaemilija & i have a lot of headcanons.

when anton and irena fell in love and pictured their forever, children were not in any part of it. anton never saw himself be a father and irena didn’t want children because her own family experience as a child was so shitty ? after her convoluted abdication, she wanted to live life without pressure or obligations. however, they were nudged about children a lot as the years passed and eventually after lots of therapy, irena began to warm up to the idea. yk what these two are like, when one wants something, the other one will enable it. so these kids were carefully planned and had after a lot of discussion. the pregnancies themselves were traumatic, irena didn’t take to being pregnant very well and anton kept apologising for getting her pregnant everytime he witnessed her discomfort ( he’s soft ok sue me ).

there was parental panic like oh god how do we be parents, how is life going to change, what are we going to do, what if we're shit at it and screw them up, what if they grow up to be the antichrist. ——— this made them grasp blindly at anything and everything they could to learn” books, classes, advice from nice normal people, an equally paranoid team. AS A RESULT, anton and irena unintentionally eventually became very hands-on and involved ( but also quite rookie, confused and not-as-authoritative ) parents even though they did have help.

so laura & i present: ALEN HENRIK & GRETA KATARINA BERNADOTTE ( julian schratter & lyndon smith )

irena named them. these children were put on this earth for the sole purpose of torturing irenton and not in the way you might think. they wanted for nothing and went on many travelling adventures sitting on anton’s shoulders with irena ready to fight anybody who upset them. anton and irena didn’t magically change, when they became parents. they didn’t filter themselves and were simply genuinely curious about their children and wanted them to grow up safe & healthy and find their place in the world. the result shockingly was two individualistic, well-adjusted, secure, albeit headstrong and stubborn people, who unfortunately, really love being around their parents and talking to them about stuff bc they’re fun and therefore will meddle and cockblock and give unsolicited romance suggestions to their own damn mother and father WHO JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE. error 404: boundaries not found. irenton thought they could resume their idyllic ‘let’s run away and do things together’ life after both kids hit 18. this backfired big time. alen and greta are their parents’ keepers. they own them. they fuss over them, they keep them in line, they believe their parents would be lost without their glorious presence. there is nowhere in this world irenton could go where alen and greta can’t find them & join them bc they know their parents too well and lowkey get a kick out of it tbh, they’re demons. irena is secretly baffled that she has managed to raise kids that actually like her & that’s something she is so proud of but also like alone time w anton??? when?????

ALEN got the best of both parents in terms of looks. it’s hard to tell who he really resembles more, but he has irena’s deep brown eyes and an even brighter smile than vera, anton and sol put together, jaws chiseled like both parents, anton’s enviable hair with a darker hue of brown. he’s unseated anton from his wonderbrow throne because his are thicker. he’s a true creative who unlike anton, has channelled that wild imagination and gift with handling people into something tangible. he had a strong personal style by age six and a really good eye for themes and colours, by his teens he was doing theatre school, dabbling in modelling, and playing the guitar, piano, drums — and for some strange reason, rugby. he received military training as a royal member like his father did, did his MBA and after that his pursuits became more technical in the creative sphere, he became adept at photography, capturing landscapes and shooting film, visual storytelling, and was the media’s favourite darling with his smile, comfort in front of the cameras and generally interesting life — the opposite to irena at that age. he’s a passionate guy, something he inherited from both parents and enjoys his family dynamic, because honestly seeing his peers and their parents really made him realise how he and greta really have it good. he DOES also... have irena’s temper, and is confrontational. he doesn’t necessarily start arguments, but he’s argumentative and will engage when provoked and will finish it — pursuing the matter until the case is closed, he won’t stop once he’s started and won’t let you run away from it.

he and his sister tend to bully and tease their parents in a good-natured way with their quips and pranks, thinking they’re smarter than both parents and have the sheer balls to give their own parents relationship advice. prob have been doing it since they were 5. ( this is anton's fault, who told him to ask toddlers what to buy mommy for her birthday and tell them all his decision struggles? now they think they're cleverer. ) they’re also not ashamed to tell their parents tmi things about their lives and irenton tries to find new ways to die each time.

GRETA got vera and ebba’s startling blue eyes and anton’s hair colour. her features are much softer and rounder ( probably from irena’s mother, but we don’t talk about her in this house ). she was born 2 years after alen, much to his dismay and chagrin. they grew up fighting, wrestling, bickering and picking on each other, but also being each other’s best lieutenant outside of the immediate family sphere. greta is a genius at puzzles, games, complex equations, and does occasionally have the tendency to copy her brother and compete with him, for no other reason than for bragging rights and to annoy him ( it’s ok he does it right back ). she is also the most chill zero-drama albeit sarcastic person in the room who will be like, jESUS cALM dOWN drink some chamomile tea. barbarians really offend her tbh... unless she’s hitting her brother. which she doesn’t really do in public anymore. greta is also the legend who has kindly and resoundingly let her dad know know he isn't hot shit since age 11 months. anton has spent every year since trying to impress her. he’s still trying. other than that she’s loyal, generous, and an activist. she wants to change the world via sustainable technology and has changed her major about 7 times, girl’s just so interested in so many things. today it’s anthropology bc why are you the way that u are? the next it will be finance, and then computer science, then who knows tbh. out of the wider bernadotte family she’s the one who takes charge and plans big family events because her event planning skills are that good, and is gifted at herding a crowd.

#hshqtask033 #here u go j

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chelleaslin · 5 years

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Adrinette April Day 12- “Adrien’s Girlfriend”

@AdrinetteApril

Adrien eyes widen as he walked into school to see everyone staring at him and whispering. What was going on? He spotted Nino and Alya by the staircase worriedly talking to one another, while on their phones. He was too far away from them to hear what they were saying but their lips freaquently formed the words Adrien and Marinette a lot.

He put his head down, trying to shield himself from the stairs as he hurriedly made his way towards his friends.

About three weeks ago, Adrien, discovered his had feelings for Marinette.nhe was shocked a first but after some thought he realised they were there for awhile but because of his stupidly crush on Ladybug, he never had the chance to explore them. Around two weeks ago he told his best friend, Nino, about them he was shocked to discover that the black haired girl had feelings for him as well. Since then Nino and eventually Alya have urged him to express his feelings to Marinette but he was too afraid to do so. After pouring his heart out to Ladybug over and over again, only to be constantly rejected, he was scared. Scared that Marinette would love someone else as well, someone better then him.

“Hello?” Adrien awkwardly greeted as he walked up to the teens, trying to pry their attention away from their portable devices. The couple jumped, whipping their heads up in confusion until they spotted Adrien, whose face lit up at the attention.

Alya’s face suddenly turned absolutely murderous as she stalked towards him, Adrien flinched back in confusion and fear.

“Alya!” Nino yelped grabbing the thick haired girl and holding her back, barely containing her in place.

“I thought you had feelings for Marinette!” She growled out, glaring holes into his very soul.

“I-I do.” He stuttered out, blushing a little at admitting it out loud, dispite that fact that the two teens have already heard him say it multiple times before hand.

“Then who the hell is this?!” She yelled, shoving Nino away and pulling out her mobile as shoving it in his face.

On the screen was an online article on some silly tabloids web address. In big bold letter the story title read ‘Adrien’s Girlfriend?’ Underneath it was a massive photo of him lovingly holding hands with a pretty blonde girl, wearing matching red and white clothes.

His face blushed a dark pink in embarrassment. Oh no.

“It’s not what you think!” He blurted out quickly. Alya’s phone vibrated before a text came though, Adrien didn’t mean to read it but it was directly in front of his face and hard to miss.

Mari🌸

I told you he didn’t like me! But you had to insist and get my hopes up...

Adrien’s heart broke, Alya told her about his feelings and now this stupid article would give her the wrong idea and he couldn’t imagine the heart break she was feeling right now.

“Uh Huh, The ‘It’s not what you think’ cliché.” Alya sneered as she pulled her phone back and checking her messages. Her eyes softened as she read the message, a deep frown setting onto her features.

“It does look pretty bad, bro,” Nino piped in, standing behind Alya looking very conflicted. “Who is she?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Alya suddenly spoke up, “Marinettes heart broken..” she softly whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Her name is Laura, she an Agreste model and that.” He growled, pointing to the phone Alya was clutching to her cheats, “was for a photo shoot I took 3 months ago for Fathers sweethearts line, coming out this February. She is nothing to me but a coworker I had to temporarily work with”

Alya face dropped to one of guilt as Nino looked a little shocked at his friends outburst. If Adrien was honest he was a little shocked at himself as well, he was always kind and level headed, not the type of person to lose his cool and explode like that.

“Adrien, I-“ Alya started, before being cut off.

“Don’t worry about it!”

“But-“

“The only important thing right now is finding , Marinette.” He sternly said as he turned around, where would he even start.

“Behind the biggest Oak tree, at th park near her house. It’s next to the water fountain. It’s her special spot.” Alya quietly mumbled. Adrien didn’t even thank her, he just sprinted out of the school and towards the park. Ignoring the calls of the teachers yelling at him to stop, the consequence be damned.

Marinette sighed after sending the text to Alya, she shut her phone off and sighed. The imagine of Adrien holding hands with a beautiful blonde, fresh in her mind. When she first saw it that morning she assumed it was fake, Adrien didn’t have a girlfriend, if he did he would have told them. Plus, the last few weeks, things between them have changed. Adrien, who was normally confident, had became shy around Marinette, always looking for a chance to compliment her and loosing his train of thought when gazing at her for too long. If Marinette didn’t know better, she’d say he was in love, but that was impossible, or so she thought.

Alya, bless her, had ran up to her at school one day and dragged her away from a conversation with Adrien, to talk. She informed her that Adrien had feelings for her, which she, of course, didn’t believe. Although the very thought of it made her heart swell.

Alya then explained how she knew by telling her what Nino told her, what Adrien told him.

Marinette didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t really, but a small part of her had started to hope and open up to the possibility. According to Alya they both liked eachother and knew the other person liked them, they were just too nervous to make the first move, so for about two weeks the pair have danced adorably around eachother, they become flirting-blushing messes.

Then that article came out...

Marinette sighed, throwing her head back against the tree in frustration and leaving it there.

Her ears suddenly picked up the loud sounds of sprinting footsteps and they were getting closer and closer. She opened her eyes and stiffened up, on high alert, what if it was an akuma?

Suddenly a white and blue blur appeared around the side of the oak tree before skidding to a stop.

Marinettes eyes widen a the sight of a very exhausted Adrien Agreste. His eyes wide, scanning around her before settling on her, huddled up at the roots of the tree.

“Adrien?”

He ignore her though as he suddenly dropped to his knee and cupped her freckled face with his hands.

“I love you and only you, Marinette.”

Then suddenly he was kissing her, Marinette gasped a little in surprise and tried to pull back, Adrien let go of her lips but keep their foreheads pressed together.

“But your girlfriend?”

“The only girlfriend I’m hoping to have his you.” He whispered in reply, her cheeks blushed at that. “The photo was an old photo a tabloid must have taken at Fathers new clothing line photoshoot, she’s just a model.”

Marinette felt her heart swell and her lips stretched into a smile. Adrien is single and very much so in love with her!

“I love you too!” She cried back, leaning in and capturing his lips in another sweet kiss.

#miraculous tales #miraculous ladybug and chatnoir #ladybug #marinette dupin cheng #adrien agreste #chatnoir #kwami #Angst #Adrinette #Adrinette April

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k-marie-lagesse · 6 years

Text

The Legend of Creyin's Vision

Chapter One: Jason Holsentof

“A talented seer of our bloodline will completely destroy them. Their blasted beliefs will crumble. Their entire being will crash down. And whosoever takes upon their name will fail. Kallo, Kallo – my son. He is going to tear them down – don’t forget that. My son will. I only wish… with every breath that I have left, that I would live to raise him, but I won’t be.”

The voice quivers, it is shaking and weak. “Remember that – I will not be there.” He says strongly, stern – finding a strength that does not exist. “So please, stand in my place and watch my son grow.”

The man looks up, his pretty eyes finding Jason. He has hazel-green eyes and a bleeding cut under his right one. He blinks the tears from his eyes and clenches his jaw. “My son.” his lips move, but the voice is in Jason’s ear and not coming from the man’s mouth.

He is tied to a chair made of stone and the man can’t move. His hands are bound behind him and he speaks to someone in the darkness. There are shadows surrounding him, but he isn’t talking to any of them, “My son.”

Just like that… Jason’s eyes flutter open. It is the same dream as always. It is mostly of shadows dancing, splashes of red occasionally taking the scenery. He can never make true sense of where his mind has found such a thing. This dream of his promptly began to haunt him after his mother’s death two years ago.

To add to the strangeness there is no such name as ‘Kallo’. It is like a fantasy – a name not found in their indexes. It has bothered Jason enough to have him actually take the time to look it up, but the name doesn’t come up with anything. There is no Kallo anywhere to their knowledge.

He looks towards the drawn shutters, sunlight forcing its way through the gaps. He glances at the analog clock on his bedside table – past noon already. He yawns into his hand. He is barely thirteen, his birthday in mid-December and it still being September. He kicks his legs over the side of his bed and leaves his room to the hall.

His father is not home – he is at work at these hours on most days. He can hear the radio though, meaning his father left it on – again. “Well Rick, I don’t believe these ‘ambassadors’ are proving much of a point. They are monsters and they flaunt that around like they should be proud!” one of the announcers says with disgust.

Jason leaves the restroom and nears the counter to listen to them for a moment. “Now, hang on Hal!” Rick defends, “They are trying to make peace. Let us hear them out – if things come to worse we still have Little Oakside’s school of Hunters to protect us!”

“A contingency plan is always one to be grateful for.” Hal chuckles.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Yes, most of the residents in Little Oakside are certified hunters. It may be a small town, but there is no competing with Jacob Hutchens’s Academy of Hunters!”

Jason turns the volume meter down, since the on-off button is temperamental and unlikely to work either way. He slides the knob until their voices die down to even lower than a murmur.

The human realm only knows of three mago countries, though Jason never really took the time to learn them himself. Magos can pass into the human realm, but humans cannot pass into the mago realm. They claim it is just unsafe for humans due to their lifestyle depending on magic.

Magic – it isn’t something just anyone can have. No… only the magos have it and one must be born from a mago family. Though there are so many kinds of magos that one must wonder how long it will take before the world has magic together?

Peace has evaded the two realms for centuries – two at the least. Yet war has never really taken place either. Once, a long time ago, the Hutchen’s academy attacked the mago school just across the border. Instead of retaliating, as the academy had assumed, the headmaster of the school separated the two worlds with a barrier that humans cannot pass through.

Little Oakside is a small town, the population is just shy of seven-hundred, but it is a well-known town thanks to the academy of hunters. It is the only academy of hunters in all of Tercotte – Jason’s homeland.

The school was founded about five-hundred years ago. Doctor Jacob Hutchens was mayor of Little Oakside and legend says he befriended a mago before building the school. Instead they had begun construction of what was to become the greatest hospital in all of Tercotte.

It is said that the mago turned on him and that the doctor was forced to kill him in self-defense. Shortly thereafter the construction of the hospital was made into a school instead. Training began. The ages to attend the academy are: twelve to nineteen to the five-year school. An exam has to be passed, unless born in Little Oakside in which one gets a free entry to attend.

Thus far it is Jason’s only option thanks to his less-desirable aptitude results. Jason is smart enough to pass, just too lazy to try hard enough. He doesn’t like to do well either because he despises all thoughts of people’s expectations for him. Just the mere thought of people thinking he will do great annoys him.

Jason’s father was once a student at Hutchen’s, but that was a long time ago and James, his father, never tries to curve Jason’s own opinions. He always tells Jason that it is unfair to assume that they are all monsters. Thanks to his father Jason does not have a hatred for magos.

Jason looks at the folded newspaper as he sits to enjoy his bowl of wheat-based cereal. The town newspaper is called the Oakside Gable. He sees the title at the top and sighs in annoyance, Greene Academy’s True Dark Nature. Uvelde Greene’s Academy of Magos is supposedly the finest school in the entire mago realm – or so is the rumor.

Greene is the school that the academy attacked. They set fire to one of school’s wings and from what Jason has heard… several children were killed. The youngest child was fifteen, but even so… it seems cruel to attack a school that focuses on children of the same age as the academy, twelve to nineteen.

They killed a few teachers, but they mostly killed children. If he recalls properly the burning building managed to kill thirteen children and four teachers. The whole idea sounds… horrible.

His mother never liked the academy, “And I’ll be damned if you ever attend that school!” she’s likely rolling in her grave now that Jason is only a few days from his first day of classes.

Jason smiles sadly at thought of Celia. Not to boast about his own mother, but there is no other woman like her. She was, easily, the loveliest woman on their block. She was so beautiful.

He finishes his breakfast and then goes about his morning chores – as to not get scolded by his father later. He washes the dishes and sets them to dry on the rack before heading off to the living room to at least organize it. Ever since Celia died the house has been… well… a disaster.

Celia was a housewife – she liked to clean the house and cook the meals. She never had a job, but James didn’t ever ask her to work. He let her do her thing as long as she let him do his. Jason remembered asking her why she didn’t work instead of staying at home.

Her answer was, “Jason, my beloved boy.” He was eight at the time. “You are why I rather stay home. To stay with you and protect you is all I ever want.” She then kissed his forehead and he never asked again.

He passes the family portrait that sits on a table in the living room as he goes about collecting the various throw-pillows his mother had collected over the years. The blue-colored glass frame is eight inches by six inches in size. He was ten in the picture.

Celia sits in the green grass under the old maple tree in their backyard. Her platinum blonde hair is long and wavy as it falls to her waist and trails a little into the grass. Her blue eyes stare, practically smiling, into the camera. She leans against James’s chest as he has an arm around her shoulders with Jason between them.

James is a rather handsome man himself, though no one could see how he captured the model-like beauty. James has strong features too though. He is a little lanky, but his sharper form is intimidating to most. He has blonde hair as well, though his is styled in a more business-style as it is brushed back neatly in the photo. His eyes are a soft brown and nothing like Jason’s.

Jason’s appearance is not at all like either one of his parents. He sees a few of Celia’s softer features. He has her straight nose and high-cheekbones, but everything else doesn’t quite match either. His hair is a light-brown that looks a little golden when the sun bounces off of it and his eyes… well… they’re hazel-green.

Jason drops the pillows into the longest lounge they own, most of them rolling off, and takes hold of the picture. On the surface, as he examines the last family picture they took together, he can make out his own reflection. He blinks at the picture as it almost appears to move from having stared at it too long, but once he blinks an image flashes across his reflection.

Five long scars cut across the left side of his face. He drops the frame and it lands on one of the many pillows as he reaches up to touch his face. There is nothing there. He shivers once before reaching down and picking up the frame. A small chip now decorates the edge and he frowns. He puts the frame back onto the table and returns to picking up the pillows.

He doesn’t organize the pillows and merely goes back to his room. Again he stops at the picture to stare at his mother – she was too young to have died. He traces his fingers on her face and then shakes loose the tension building in his shoulders, right… no time to brood.

He returns to his room and sends a message on his crap-of-phone to his closest friend, but Arthur doesn’t answer right away. He changes into his clothes for the day, which consists of a graphic tee and torn jeans.

As he slips his tennis-shoes on his phone beeps. He reads the message that basically states that Arthur knew he was going to be late and that they’re at the café waiting for him.

Jason quickly finishes changing and heads out the backdoor. He grabs his bicycle and rides to the town center. He sees his friends and jumps over the low fence of a café’s outdoor dining.

Arthur leans towards his girlfriend, Anita, who smiles a little coyly at her boyfriend. Jason slides between them and as Arthur pecks Jason’s right cheek Anita gets his left one.

“Jason!” Arthur immediately chastises in annoyance.

Anita giggles as Jason rubs off Arthur’s peck before smiling really big. Jason likes interrupting their time together. The last two boys at the table laugh as well – they are Arthur’s friend and not Jason’s. Jason is more of a loner than anything else – he made exceptions for Arthur and Anita, though many people wish to befriend him.

Arthur’s friends are Henry, the smartest kid at their school, and Julius the most charming guy at their school. They are not very interesting in Jason’s opinion, but Arthur likes yes men. Arthur has to focus on image due to the fact that he is one day going to be poster boy of the academy – it is Arthur Hutchens’s fate.

“You’re late.” Anita says as she wipes the lip-gloss stain from his cheek with a rough rub of her finger against his skin. Anita’s skin is as white as snow and her eyes are a deep auburn that almost appears to be red. Her hair is long and straight and so dark Jason swears it is black.

She cocks her head to the side, “We tried calling, but you never answered.” She informs with a gentle smile on her face.

Arthur nods, “I even went and knocked on your door – but your dad answered. He said you were sleeping.”

“Yep, I like sleeping.” Jason argues plaintively. He looks at Anita again after shoving himself between the couple. “You know I get jealous when my friends get all snuggly and close without me, right?”

Anita smiles again with a gentle tease on her lips, “Oh, well… then we’ll just have to make certain to snuggle with you, now won’t we?”

“Hey now!” Arthur defends in warning, “I am not snuggling with Jason.” He waves his finger, “You’ve never seen him sleep – he kicks! He also bites when he eats.”

Jason shrugs, “What can I say? I don’t like being touched – not by other men at the least-.” He says half-teasing.

Anita’s face turns red, “Jason!” she slaps his arm hard. It is no secret that Jason and Arthur are the most attractive boys at their preparatory school, Little Oakside Prep. They are handsome, flawless almost.

He laughs and shortly after Arthur joins.

Anita purses her lips before saying, “You two…” Anita is easily the prettiest girl too – it is not wonder to the jealous girls that she is the one who caught Arthur’s attention among the flocks.

It is the end of their last summer all together. Anita has been accepted to some prestigious school across seas, Henry is going to a medical school across Tercotte and Julius has prepared to head off to some high-grade business school.

Jason and Arthur are the only ones staying in town. Arthur, as heir to the academy, must attend the hunter’s school. Jason just doesn’t have another option here.

Arthur squints at Jason, “Can I sit next to my girlfriend now?” he gestures that Jason make space between his thigh and Anita’s. Jason smiles mischievously at Arthur before scooting even tighter by her. “Jason-!” Arthur catches Jason by his collar locks his head under his arm, “You little-!”

Jason pulls loose before Arthur manages to give him a noogie and sticks his tongue out at him. Jason does not have those kinds of feelings for Anita, but teasing Arthur about it is too much fun. Jason puts an arm around Anita’s slender shoulders, and if were anyone else other than Jason then Arthur would have kicked their ass already. “Like I said,” Jason begins, “I get jealous when my friends snuggle without me.”

“Jason!” Arthur hisses, “This relationship has no space for you!” he catches Jason by his shoulders and pulls on him. This causes for Anita to fall into Jason’s lap and make Arthur’s face go pallid. He releases Jason as Jason’s laughter fills the café courtyard.

Anita sits up and straightens her white blouse and fixes the large rimmed sunhat on her head. Only she can pull off this elegant style at her young age. “You two are so childish.” She warns before standing and putting her hand out to Arthur, “Come on, we better take Jason to the park before he decides to tackle someone-.”

Jason has too much energy sometimes.

Yet her comment comes too late as Jason is no longer sitting with them. “Where did he go?” he asks Henry who directs, with the cock of his head, to a table at the opposite end. “How the hell did he get there so fast?” Arthur demands as he releases Anita’s hand and leaves to collect their ‘pet’.

Jason is sitting and eating someone’s pie, “Really? I never would have guessed-.” He barely manages to get out before choking on his collar as Arthur yanks on it from behind. “Argh!” he chokes between the collar and the bite of pie now in his throat.

Jason catches the seam and tries to pull it loose, “Arthur-! You’re killing me-!”

The cure girl Jason was flirting with giggles into her hand at them.

“As if it would be that easy to kill you.” Arthur mutters angrily. He glances at the girl and politely apologizes for Jason’s rather direct behavior, “Please excuse our dog’s overly excited nature. We made the mistake of not taking him on his morning jog.”

Jason pulls free and growls, “I am no dog-!”

“Really? What have you done today?” Arthur challenges with a josher tone.

Jason defends with, “Sleep, eat and piss on your day.”

Arthur nods before saying, “Come on. Let’s go. Anita is waiting.”

“Yep, all right.” Jason looks at the girl as she calls for his attention. She holds up a piece of paper for him and he easily accepts it – though he does it looking innocent anyone who knows him knows he is not as innocent as he seems.

“It was nice meeting you, Jason.” She smiles, revealing perfect teeth rimmed by pink lip-gloss “I hope to hear from you soon?” she says as Jason glances at the contents of the paper to reveal her name and phone number.

He smiles at her, “Yep, bye… Amber.” He waves the paper at her and follows after Arthur as he mutters, “Unbelievable.”

They return to Anita and Arthur grumbles to Jason, “How-? When? What did you two even talk about for less than a minute?” he is in disarray with how easy that was for Jason. “I mean… sure… you’re a good-looking guy, but-!”

Anita glances at them and asks, “What are you griping about, Arthur?”

Arthur directs to Jason with both hands as he growls, “The dog!”

“I am no dog~.” Jason nearly says in a sing-song voice. He waves the paper at Anita and she giggles as Jason continues, “He’s just mad because I got a cute girl’s number only a few seconds after meeting her while he had to grovel and beg you for a whole year before you caved.”

“It wasn’t a year.” Arthur defends, but then adds quietly, “It was eleven months.”

“And three weeks with five days.” Jason mutters.

Anita shakes her head at them before saying, “Of course you managed to get that number so easily. You’re too charming and confident for your own good, Jason. I mean really…” she sighs in slight annoyance.

Arthur catches Anita’s hand and mumbles something that neither catch as they begin to leave the café. His phone begins to ring only second after they exit a horrible little tune of dread.

Both Anita and Jason know whose ringtone that is. It is Rebecca Hutchens – Arthur’s overbearing mother and headmistress at the academy. He grumbles something else before answering, “Yes ma’am?” he releases Anita’s hand and gives them his backside as he steps away to take the call.

Anita glances at Jason with worry in her pretty eyes. “The more she calls him the more he starts to believe her, Jason.” At first Jason doesn’t understand what she means, but then she says, “He will be blinded by her beliefs.”

Jason frowns.

Arthur has not true thoughts over the mago matters. His mother fills his head with hatred and anger, and it scares Anita how easily influenced he can get by her. Anita’s father often argues that magos are just like humans – so her opinions are more about peace and love than hatred.

Jason offers her a reassuring smile when she finally meets his gaze, “Well, you know…” he begins his usual teasing, “if he does become blind with mago-resentment I’ll be here for you.” He winks at her and then gestures to his self-amazingness.

She looks at him wide-eyed before punching him hard on his arm, “Don’t joke like that! Arthur isn’t even listening right now!” that is her usual reaction to his flirting when Arthur isn’t around.

Jason chuckles as Arthur ends the call. He clenches the phone tightly in his grip before letting out a sharp sigh. He looks at Jason, “Sorry, my mom wants me to go with her somewhere.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, “I have to go. See you guys tomorrow?” Whenever he speaks to his mother he can’t ever meet their gaze afterwards.

He looks at Anita for a long second before saying, “I would have liked to walk you home, but… you know.” He pecks her cheek lightly and leaves them behind with his head hanging low.

Jason’s smile fades, “Oh, that’s what you mean.”

Anita nods, “He has a lot of weight on his shoulders, Jason. The thought of both of you at that wretched school…” her shoulders begin to shake, which means she’s about to cry. “To expect all magos as evil is cruel and unforgivable!” that… honestly sounds like something Celia would get worked up about.

Jason and Arthur are both aware of her hatred for the academy. They’re almost certain this hatred was spurred by her father – though Jason has never met the man in person. The man is known for being stern and strict.

Jason catches Anita and pulls her into his arms. He loves her like one would love a sister – or so he assumes. “It’ll be fine – you’ll see.” He hugs her tightly before kissing her gently on the top of her head where her hat stabs his face. He whispers, “Come on. I’ll walk you home. I know how worried your mother gets.” He starts to walk, though something tugs at the back of his mind – is he forgetting something?

“Yeah, she worries when you’re the one walking me home.”

He looks at her innocently, “Me? But I’m a saint!” he feigns having been hurt by her words.

Anita raises a thin eyebrow, “Even my mother has heard of you.” She assures – he’s one of those boys most mothers warn their daughter to evade.

He shrugs, “It’s not my fault.” he mutters. He is not one to keep quiet if he dislikes something, after all. If he likes something – or someone, he is not about to keep that to himself. Jason is not bashful.

His mother was often criticized for his behavior. The other mothers would claim that Celia had not raised him with proper behavior, but his mother was always proud of his honesty.

Celia would tell him, “Few people are brave enough to speak up when they know something is wrong. Not everyone is brave enough to live in honesty, Jason. Always, and I mean always, be honest. Strive to keep the truth, baby.” Then she would plant a kiss on his forehead and say, “I am so proud of you.”

James is the same. When the school dean would call to complain that Jason had caused, yet again, another ruckus James would challenge it. “What did he say? Oh, is that all? What’s so wrong about that? Maybe you should be calling other parents, Dean Richards. Or maybe I should file a complaint about school integrity if you want to try to hold that against my son?!”

Jason and Anita chat quite a bit as he walks her to the nicer end of town. They enter into a gated community where Anita has to push in a code to gain access. Jason asks the question he dreads the answer to, “So… when do you leave to school?” after all… she is going very far away.

Anita shrugs, “In a week, I believe.” She sighs, “A little more than.”

Jason nods slowly, “We should throw you a party!”

Anita laughs that laugh that always makes the tips of his ears burn with the pretty sound of it. She then says, “Really? You and Arthur preparing any kind of gather sounds like a dreadful idea.” she admits.

“Hey now… just because the last time we planned a party things got a little out of hand doesn’t mean that we’re bad at it!” he immediately defends. “I didn’t know that those balloons were flammable! And Arthur, being the stuck up pampered brat that he is, didn’t know how important eggs are to a cake’s stable integrity!” or that one should first crack the eggs before putting it into batter, but that was a different occasion…

Anita laughs harder, “I was actually referring to the party you guys put together for the basketball team – not the surprise party you guys tried to make for me, but thanks for reminding me of that attempt as well.”

Jason is thoughtful, “Huh, I suppose we have failed twice at it. I guess we are bad at that kind of stuff?” he scratches his chin. “I had forgotten the basketball team’s party.” Jason was the team captain and since they started the season off so well Arthur suggested throwing a ‘good-work’ party. A small gathering to thank their efforts. It ended as badly as Anita’s party when the Hutchen’s family villa’s great hall curtains, which there were about ten of, caught flame.

Anita nods, “Yes, how about we just go out and eat?” she nudges him happily. “I’d rather it were just us three and not a swarm of people who could really care less.” She smiles sadly.

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

She shakes her head side-to-side, “You know? You and Arthur are the reason I sad about leaving – just you two.” She bites her lower lip. “I’m going to miss you guys so much. Arthur may be my boyfriend, Jason, but you are my best friend.” She covers her face – here come more tears.

Jason puts his hand on the top of her hat and says, “Anita, we’ll keep in touch. I’ll text you, or call if you rather? I’ll even write you letters!” he smiles big – mischievously as he immediately comes up with really horrible things to send her. It is her response that makes him suddenly believe that he will never see her again though.

She smiles at him, but it is not at all sincere like the rest. He sees in her pretty auburn eyes are hiding something. They are sad, because she is lying. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll stay in touch.” Yet if she is lying… does that mean it will be her fault they don’t talk anymore, not his?

It isn’t long after that they arrive to one of the larger houses in the community. Jason runs up the steps of the estate as Anita shouts, “Jason-! Please, your face is the last my mother wants to see-!” but he was already knocking on the door.

It isn’t Mrs. Jenkins who answers though, but an older man. His eyes almost look like blood, but after a moment Jason realizes they are just a redder auburn than Anita’s own eyes. This must be her father, Mr. Tyler Jenkins – millionaire.

That doesn’t at all intimidate the poor boy, because he puts out his hand and smiles broadly, “Hello, Mr. Jenkins! I’m Jason Holsentof.” He holds his hand out with a big and handsome grin going across his chin. He waits patiently as Mr. Jenkins studies him.

“Is that so?” the older man says slowly, still evaluating Jason. He finally accepts Jason’s outstretched hand and says, “You look more like… a Battelle to me.” He releases Jason’s hand and wipes his palm on his shirt as if Jason may be carrying a disease. Jason only offers a condescending smirk in response.

Mr. Jenkins gestures to Anita, “You are early.” He states rather plainly.

“Why are you back already?” Anita nears him at the door, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until Friday?” Anita asks him as she pauses to stand by Jason. Mr. Jenkins’s eyes flick between the two teens before he gestures to his daughter to enter.

Anita looks at Jason, “Thank you for walking me home.” She kisses his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jason nods as the door begins to close on him. He shivers with a thought – he is never going to see her again, is he?

Chapter Two: The Man at the Grave

Jason walks around the block towards a place he knows is nearby the Jenkins’s manor. He walks past the park then the convenient store, and finally he see the large sign over the entrance of his goal. It reads: Oakside Cemetery. He never visits unless his birthday or her own, but he is too close by not to visit.

He freezes at the entrance as he sees a tall man at her tombstone. His back is to him so Jason can’t make out any features other than the light-brown hair that falls over the back of his neck. Jason nears slowly to hear the man actually talking to Celia the way Jason does.

“Here I am again. Anniversary of the first day we met, my old friend.” The man grumbles a little sadly. His voice is familiar, though Jason cannot fathom why. “I should have come sooner – I shouldn’t have left.” The man whispers, then his hands form into angry fists, “I shouldn’t have let you leave – I am so sorry, Cylia (sī-lēʌ).” That isn’t exactly her name.

The man then chuckles uneasily before saying, “You should have run from him! Why did you attack him?!” is he… crying? He continues with, “No, I know why. For him, I get it – of course. I would have done the same, but… Cylia! I was the one meant to die, not you!” he slams his fist on the top of Celia’s tombstone.

“Hey! Stop that!” Jason shouts. That is his mother he’s attacking there!

The man’s body stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. Instead Jason hears the man whispers, “So it begins. Forgive me, Cylia. I know you do not wish for him to meet me, but it will soon be time.” He bolts, running into the forest trees of Havoc – the boarder of mago and human realms.

“Wait!” Jason shouts as he chases the man, yet once the man enters into the canopy of trees that only hunters are permitted to enter he stops. He stops right at the edge of the forest.

The man, realizing Jason has stopped following turns to face him. The shade of the trees blocks his features a little, but… he looks familiar. The man smirks at Jason and he says, in that familiar voice, “We will meet soon, Jysaine (jī-sān).” He turns and bolts forward again.

“I will remember you!” Jason shouts angrily. How dare that man hit Celia’s tombstone? Jason shivers in anger before turning around and walking back to her grave. He stops when he sees the fresh flowers there, pink carnations – those were her favorites.

Jason feels his tears prick, “Mom.” He bites hard on his lower lip before shaking loose his tension. “I’m sorry.” The guilt he feels is something impossible to compare to any experiences he has had in his life.

She wouldn’t have been out that day if he hadn’t been avoiding her all day. She was out, frantically looking for him, but why? She knew he didn’t like to come home early, Jason hated everyone back then.

He was once cheery and upbeat, like he is now. Jason’s behavior changed when he turned ten and he began to understand the rumors people would tell about his family. He was embarrassed of them and ashamed of being a part of that family. That phase continued until she died, then he realized everything he lost.

His mother’s favorite time with Jason was when he was laughing or teasing his friends, so in her memory he is what he wants to be again. Jason likes bringing laughter, even at his own expense.

Every year the only thing Jason can muster to tell her is that he is sorry. He can’t explain why he is sorry, only that he is. James is the only one who understands why Jason is sorry too. Celia was out looking for him that day, the day the car took her.

James doesn’t blame Jason, but he does understand that Jason is in pain about it. He doesn’t try to soothe him anymore, he only keeps him company. Jason came today to talk to her, finally. No words other than ‘I’m sorry’ will leave his lips though.

He shakes his head again – nothing else will leave them. “I’m sorry.” And now he’s sorry for not having more to say. Jason could spend hours telling Celia about his day – maybe exaggerating a little here and there – but not today and not tomorrow. Nothing ever leaves his lips once he is there.

He walks home, head low as the rain begins to slowly pelt into his hair. It was raining the last time he saw her too. It should have been snowing, but it rarely snows in Little Oakside.

He was walking off, because he was mad at her. He can’t even remember what about. She ran out of the house, chasing him with the red umbrella in her hand. “Jason! Jason!” she run to him and catches his arm gently, “You’re going to get sick!” she holds the umbrella out for him.

He pushed her hand away that day and walked off without a word. “Be careful!” she shouts after him, holding the umbrella close to her, but she was wounded by his actions and couldn’t bring herself to follow him again.

Whatever happened after he wasn’t sure? He doesn’t know what caused for her to leave after him yet again, but she was hit by a car that towed her straight into the side of a house. The drive managed to get out unscathed, but Celia… Jason shivers at the thought.

That same evening James left work and rushed to collect Jason, who was at the police station. Celia was dead by the time they arrived and the man who killed her went to trial for involuntary manslaughter – he wasn’t even intoxicated. It was all odd.

He fell asleep at the wheel, though he claimed he hadn’t been tired until that exact moment. He was given five years – five. That’s all.

James arrived at the station only ten minutes after he got the phone call. When Jason had tried to leave home before his father arrived, but the officers told him to stay put, because that was his father’s orders. They don’t live far so Jason figured he could leave home on his own.

“Your father said you are to wait here for him. He also told us to not to let anyone else pick you up.” which is peculiar from James.

When James arrived and took him home he was quiet. He had likely had no time to mourn yet, but his main preoccupation was Jason. When they got home Jason watched as his father ran around the house locking doors and pulling the shutters down. Then he vanished to his room – without a word.

Jason stole a peek that evening into James’s room to see him preparing his hunter’s pistol. Ever since that day James has slept with the gun under his pillow and Jason still doesn’t understand why.

He looks up as a familiar black car comes to a slow halt by him, “Need a lift? You know, I hate picking up hitchhikers, but seeing homeless children breaks my heart.” The man teases from behind the wheel.

“Hey dad!” the boy says cheerfully. Jason runs around the front of the car to take the passenger side seat. He slides into the seat and then looks at his father, “How was work?”

James sighs, “I was lucky to escape as early as I did today.” The car begins to move forward.

“Dad?” he whispers, finally wanting to talk to him about it.

James hummed, “Hmm?”

“I miss her.”

James smiles sadly, “Me too, but… I still have you.” He parks into the driveway of their tiny home and looks at his son again. “And I am so thankful that I do.” He reaches out and tousles Jason’s wavy hair, “You look just like her, Jason.”

Jason smiles, “I do not look like her.” which is partially true. Jason has a few of her features, and none of his father’s. Jason does not understand why that is. “All right, I should make us dinner.” He claims as he climbs out of the car and heads towards the door.

“Yeah, especially considering I was promised a homemade breakfast this morning!” James shouts jokingly, “Although I should have known seeing as how you never wake up before noon unless you absolutely must.”

Jason shrugs, “What can I say, dad?” he enters the house and stops suddenly behind the couch, “Fuck!”

“Jason, language-!” the older man begins to chastise.

“I forgot my bike!”

James stares at his son wide-eyed, but then he begins to laugh – just like him to forget something like that. “Oh, I will pick it up in the morning, Jason.” His father assures. If it isn’t at the café any more than it is more certain that one of Jason’s friends took it home for the night.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, I’ll ask Arthur if one of the other two took it.” They likely did since everyone knows that Jason is forgetful. He sends the message quickly before heading off to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

“I expect a delicious supper!” his father warns teasingly.

“Yeah, I make no promises.” His phone beeps and Arthur has replied. “Alright, Julius took it when he saw it outside the café. Julius says he’ll drop it off in the morning as he goes off to his summer club.”

“Is he the tennis kid?” James asks from the living room.

Jason looks out to see his father with the glass frame of their family. He has it open in the back and it appears that he slid something in the back before closing it shut once again.

Jason finally answers, “Yeah, he’s the one in the summer club in order to keep up with his tennis practice.”

James looks at him and smiles softly before putting the frame down on the table. “Need help in the kitchen?”

Jason shakes his head, “I got it dad.”

Chapter Three: The True Beast

“A talented seer of our bloodline,” Jason tosses in bed as the voice repeats that sweet promise again, “will completely destroy them. Their blasted beliefs will crumble. Their entire being will crash down. And whosoever takes upon their name will fail. Never forget that, my son.” There is an awkward beat before a handsome man enters his vision.

He has wild light-brown hair and those piercing hazel-green eyes – he looks like Jason, only older. He has a small scar under his right eye. His pretty eyes land on Jason and his eyes turn silver as he says, “Wake-up!” a cruel hand of glass, not of the mans, slashes at Jason suddenly and blood obscures his view.

Jason sits up in his bed. A cold sweat coats his body and he is panting heavily. Fear tickles his spine and finally he lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes that it is all just a terrible nightmare. He leans back and lets out a second breath of relief and his eyes begin to drift again.

Before they settle close the man shouts into his ear again, “Wake-up Jysaine! You must get up! They are here.”

He sits up again. He isn’t sleeping, so why does he hear that voice? After another second of silence he hears shuffling within the house. Feet are running on the soft carpet, and then he hears grunting. “Dad?” he says groggily. He pushes open his door, but pauses as his view is greeted with several people in thick hoods standing at the end of the hallway and within their living room.

He slowly and softly leaves his room to see better, but what he sees only makes his skin turn to ice. His father is on his knees in the center of them, “Tell me the truth, James! Was that bitch a mago or not?!” the woman who stands before him demands. She is also wearing the thick black cloak of the Hutchens Academy, but her voice is familiar.

Jason looks at the smaller figure by her side and immediately realizes who the woman is – Rebecca Hutchens, Arthur’s mother. Arthur stands by her, uneasy. He is not a student, so he is not wearing a cloak. He grips tightly to his wrist with the discomfort of this situation, after all Mr. Holsentof was always nice to him.

James looks at her, “What do you want to hear?” He then adds angrily, “I married her instead of you! Do not hold that against her-!”

Rebecca pulls her hood down to reveal the same attractive blonde hair her son has. “I do not care about that! Was she a mago or not?!”

“Even if she were,” James shouts, “you have no reason to persecute her!”

“Little Oakside is my right!” she screams back. “We do not allow any magos here! You know that!” she is filled with anger, “Is your son a mago? Did you really intend on sending him to Greene without my discovering the truth?!” she then laughs almost disgusted. “You truly are a foolish dumbass. I know everything that happens in Little Oakside-.”

“You will not have him!” James shouts with some frantic fear. “Jason is under the protection of Greene and the Saints!” he says with a growing anger in every word. “You lay a single finger on him and Peo-!”

“The Saints?” she scoffs. “They died out a long time ago in a battle against the Yurelles!” she waves her hand dismissively. “And as for Peolenore Greene – he wouldn’t dare show his face here. His appearance would incite more fear and hatred. He knows that.” She then gestures to her men, “Get the boy. Catch him alive. We will make an example of him.”

“Do not fear, Jysaine. I am near.”

Jason’s body tenses – the man at the grave?

The cloaked men turn to see Jason in the hallway behind them, “Found him.” One says as they catch his arm, yet Jason is not afraid. He feels reassured. There is a presence here that makes him stronger. He doesn’t understand it, but… he feels security.

James’s eyes grow with fear, “Release my son!” he shouts, anger in his words. He flies onto his feet to rush at them, but the man behind James kicks him behind his knees and forces the older man back to the ground.

Arthur steps back with his eyes widening. Something about this causes him fear – to witness such a thing as a hunt is scarring, Jason is certain. Jason is almost positive that Arthur is as afraid as Jason is now.

“Your son?” the angry woman repeats. “You and I both know that is not the truth.” She catches Jason by his shoulder and looks him in the eyes, her deep blue eyes finding his hazel ones. “Tell me, what sort of beasts lies under your skin?” she pulls out her dagger from her belt and puts it against his chin.

What sort of beast lay under his skin? The Hutchen’s Academy teaches their students that what lies upon the skin is not truly what a mago is. A mago hides their true appearance with the skin they wear, yet Jason was born just as he is now. So if he is truly a mago, which he terribly doubts, then the magos are human in appearances, just as Mr. Jenkins always claims.

“Be strong. I am here.” The man assures. Who is he though? It is the man from the grave – no… that voice is from the dream?

Jason looks at Arthur and then at Rebecca, “I am not the beast here.”

Her eyes widen and she slaps Jason across the face, tumbling him to the floor with her force.

“Rebecca! Don’t you fucking touch him!” James shouts, using language he never uses.

Jason sits there as she berates him, “All magos are beasts under their skin! Magos like your bitch mother!” she grabs the family portrait with the glass frame.

“Put that down!” Jason shouts, finding a strength he did not have only moments before. That was the last picture they had taken as a family before she passed away. They had a few pictures scattered around of them together at the beach or on a picnic, but none were as authentic as that single day under the tree.

It was that day in which Celia made peanut-butter sandwiches with Jason’s help. It was on that day in which James came home early from work to surprise her with a bouquet of red and yellow carnations. It was on that day in which Jason showed them his new basketball tricks. It was on that day in which they all had together to just talk, laugh and catch up on one another’s happiness. That day under the shade of the tree in their backyard was a special one.

Rebecca looks at the boy unfazed, but Arthur flinches and steps away as his mother and best friend stare on another down. Tears sit on the edge of Arthur’s eyes – he had never seen a hunt, and Jason is certain it is going to scar him forever.

“What was that?” she challenges that the boy repeat himself. Her one mistake in assuming she would win is that Jason never backs down.

Jason narrows his eyes, “I said, put it down.” He punches the floor under him as his tears pinch his eyes now.

“Put it down?” she repeats, disgusted. She reaches out for Jason, but he crawls backwards until his back meets the wall. He narrows his fierce eyes on her as she catches nothing but air with her finger. She stands straight and glances at the family photo. She looks at Jason and then she throws it.

“Jysaine, duck!” the man shouts, but a little too late.

The frame crashes by the left side of his face, the glass splintering with the force and shattering. It cuts Jason’s face and his hand flies up to feel the glass embedded partially into his skin. He screams as James begins to shouts words that Jason never hears leave his lips before, “You fucking bitch! How dare you-?!”

Jason pulls a piece of the glass from his skin. Jason could only see red through one eye. He feels light, but stands up all the same. His fingers take hold of the picture before shoving it into his pajama bottoms pocket. He then hisses, “You’re a beast!” Jason clutches a large piece of the broken glass in his other hand.

He clutches it so tightly that it cuts his hand and makes him bleed. “You… you are the only beast here!”

“Jason…” James is pinned to the ground by one of Rebecca’s accomplices with tears leaving his eyes. “Please, Rebecca! Leave my son alone!” he punches the floor with one hand reaching out to his son, “Leave him! Don’t lay another finger on him!” he punches the floor again, “Please!”

Her accomplice places more weight onto James’s back. His right hand is twisted back against his spine. He reaches out to Jason once again, “Please, let me go! Leave my son alone!” James had once been a high ranking officer on the Hunter’s Guild, but about fifteen years ago left that life suddenly.

“You!” the fearsome woman spins to look at James. “A graduate of Hutchens and yet you fell for a blasted siren’s spell?!” spittle flies from her lips as she says this. Even Jason knows of her resentment to Celia. Rebecca has hated her ever since James married her instead.

James had a history of being a flirt back in his youth, but he had dated Rebecca for nearly eight year. She had asked him when they would marry and his response was that he was not at all interested in ever getting married. Then he dumped her, about three weeks later he met Celia and they married only a few months later.

“It was no spell, Rebecca.” James says sternly, “I love her.”

“And this boy,” she gestures at Jason as if he is some sort of mutt that has been left on her clean doorstep, “isn’t even your blood!”

“That may be so, but he is still my son!” James suddenly kicks the man off of him and reaches under the armchair he was being smothered next to. By the time he is on his feet he is holding out a rather fancy looking pistol in his grip. The bottom of the handle has the guild insignia – his old pistol?

His gun is aimed steadily at Rebecca’s head. James is a certified hunter as well – he graduated at the top of his class and even now he holds his gun so steadily in his grip. His expression is almost stoic, but there is an anger wavering within his eyes.

Rebecca has her dagger out and is holding it straight before her. “I will kill you if you dare to pull that trigger, James.” She warns him.

“I’m not planning on pulling the trigger.” James takes a single sidestep with his gun still aiming at her. He doesn’t look at Jason as he speaks, “Run Jason. Run as fast as you can and never come back, to the Forest of Havoc – run!”

He wants him to go to the Forest of Havoc? It is the forest with the barrier from the mago realm to their realm. It is the place where people easily become lost. Celia always told Jason to never enter the forest.

“I can’t.” Jason manages because he fears going against her wishes.

James shouts, which is something he rarely ever does, “You must!”

Jason flinches, but then he turns around and runs out of the kitchen door. He hears the gun go off as Rebecca shouts, “Arthur, go after him!” but Jason refuses to turn and see if his friends does, in fact, trail him.

Jason jumps the low fence of his backyard. He runs through the alleyway to the edge of the street. He runs across and then through the alleyway again. He jumps the trench and then skids to a halt on the wet grass on his bare feet at the foot of the forest.

He is too scared to enter the forest. “Enter, Jysaine.” The man whispers, “I can protect you, but only if you enter first.”

The trees are dark and they loom over him – frightening him. The he hears when he fears the most, footsteps behind him. He turns to see who, but he had already figured he knew who it was. Arthur stands behind him, “What, are you going to beat me, like your mother?” he challenges as half of his eyesight is obscured with blood and darkness. His eyesight is beginning to fail though none of the glass cut his eye – why?

Arthur only stares at him for a moment. He shivers and then says, “Jason, why didn’t you tell me?” his throat clenches, “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend! You could have told me you were… one of them!” he gestures past Jason towards the forest behind him.

“First of all!” the bloody young man defends angrily, “I didn’t even know! Besides… you made it very clear that there is a them.” He pauses before shouting, “I am just as human as you! You’ve seen me bleed!” he directs to the wounds on his own face. “You’ve seen me cry!” he refers to the day they buried his mother at the cemetery. “You’ve seen my laugh, dammit!” Oh, Anita would have protected him, not gone after him. “So tell me, where is the ‘them’ in all of those time?”

Arthur steps forward, “Jason, I-.” he pauses, “I don’t understand.” he admits. He looks to the ground as he says, “I thought we knew everything about one another. I mean… we’re like brothers, aren’t we?”

Jason bites his lower lip, “Like brother?” he repeats with some anger. He pauses and then looks at the forest over his shoulder, “Then tell me… why do you look so guilty?” He shoots Arthur a look, “Why do you look so damn guilty, Arthur?!”

Hi friend looks to the ground again – it is then that Jason sees why. A wild looking man with black hair and green eyes rushes towards them from the alleyway. He is cloaked in the black cloak of the Hutchens Academy over his heart – a dove carrying a stake, how colorful.

Jason shakes his head as his eyes finds Arthur’s guilty filled ones. Jason spins on his heels and without hesitation he runs into the forest that sits against their little town. He races in and the man quickly closes the space and is now right on his heel.

If Jason is truly a mago, which he is still not convinced that he is, he will be able to cross the barrier and leave the man behind him. He feels the man getting closer and closer on his heels. He races faster, his legs hurting and his lung burning. The man is maniacal! He is laughing! He is laughing at Jason’s fear!

Jason runs harder, the mud slipping under his bare feet, rocks cutting the bottom of his feet try to slow him down, but he is too scared to let the pain win him over. He doesn’t know where the barrier is – or if it is even close! He can’t stop to find out now – he has to keep going or else live as an example!

He doesn’t even want to know what that means! He thinks of his father. He thinks of his mother. He thinks of the words that Rebecca formerly used, beast. Jason is no beast. He runs harder; branches slapping his already aching face as he races up the slight slope of Greene Mountain. It is more of a hill than a mountain, but Mara has claim of the mountain since long ago and the humans lived with that.

Something shimmers and wavers before him, like plastic wrap that is being pulled. It nears Jason as he feels fear strike him as a small white light shines into his one good eye.

Jason trips and rolls to a sudden stop. He hits the ground as the plastic wrap wall passes over him. Jason turns around, sure he is about to get caught by the maniac, but as the man nears he stops and tries to move, but cannot take another step forward. He is a foot away from Jason, who crawls away with bloody feet, hands and face. The man beats against the barrier, with every punch a blue light ripples across every punch.

“The damn – the barrier was further in! Who the fuck moved it?!” he narrows his eyes on Jason and says, “I will get you, you little brat-!”

His voice is cut off as a bright light strikes him from the side and sends him rocketing into a tree. Jason’s head snaps to the side to see who had done whatever-that-was, but not even a shadow is left over.

Jason looks around – he is within the barrier. He is a mago. He swallows hard and stands slowly, but stumbles forward and hits the floor with the pain in his feet. He cringes and lets out a soft whine of pain before finally managing to stand and stumble through the trees. He flinches with every step he takes, but then he sees a warm orange light swaying side-to-side.

It gets closer and closer to him and it grows in size until a man holding a lantern tops before him. He is breathing hard and he examines Jason before looking at the barrier that is no longer being beaten on. “De barrier ‘az veen mooph’t.” He sees the blood on Jason and puts his hand against the boy’s forehead, “You need do rest-.”

Jason’s eyes turn back and everything around him rings. He sees the canopy of trees begin to spin above him as everything around him goes dark and the ringing ceasing.

He no longer feels any pain – he feels nothing, not even cold. He’s numb.

He hears the voice one last time, “I will always be near, Jysaine.”

His mind plays the thoughts over and over again. Arthur, his best friend, betrayed him. How could he do that? Was it fear of disappointing his mother? James and Celia always said Arthur fears that. They feared he would go lengths to prove to her his value.

Then his reoccurring dream begins, “Kallo. Kallo, my son.” he assures. “A talented Seer of our bloodline, Hersh, will completely destroy them. Their blasted beliefs will crumble. Their entire being will crash down. And whosoever takes upon their name, Yurelle, will fail. Kallo, Kallo, my son. He is going to tear the Yurelles down. Never forget that, my son.”

This is all I shall reveal of this project. Hope you enjoy it!!!

#my writing #fantasy

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no-ill-wind · 6 years

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Top 10 Tracks of 2018

After the announcement of Grammy nominees, I sat down to sort out my ten favorite new tracks of 2018. Last year saw major releases from my top three favorite acts and releases by a few more groups that would become new favorites. This year did not pack that same punch but thus allowed me to branch out further and latch onto some other artists I might not have explored as much. As usual, I’m only sharing one track per artist.

10. Best Part - Daniel Caeser feat. H.E.R. A favorite in pop circles in 2018 that also offers some of the most distinctive and delectable harmonies of the year. These two collaborators come together so genuinely that they sound like they’ve been one act all along as they sing, “You're the coffee that I need in the morning // You're my sunshine in the rain when it's pouring.” What a beautiful sentiment. From dancing to this song with my partner to hearing my guitar students eager to learn it in class, this song has followed me through the semester and I am glad for it.

The list continues below with Gorillaz, Childish Gambino, and more.

9. Black Eyes - Bradley Cooper While not the banner song of the crowd- and critic-favorite film A Star is Born, “Black Eyes” is no less impactful, being the electrifying opener to the 2018 film. It strikes you with the one-two punch of, “Wow, can Bradley Cooper sing!” and “I can’t wait to see what else this film has in store!” It’s a moment of true musical cinema. Cooper and Co. leverage the power of music in incredible ways from start to finish, and as a result this introductory song stayed with me long after leaving the theater.

8. Suspirium - Thom Yorke Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke followed in the footsteps of his counterpart, Jonny Greenwood, in pursuing film score this year. While Greenwood has already enjoyed an Oscar nomination for his soundtracks, Yorke is just now applying his electronic and ethereal musical sensibilities to the world of film music. Despite the appropriately eerie and desolate electronica that accompanies most of this year’s Suspiria remake, the title (ish) song that also served as the soundtrack’s lead single is a bare but entrancing piano waltz. “Suspirium” thus captured my imagination immediately, as I knew it would as the latest brain child from the brain behind my favorite band. Everything that I love about Radiohead is here.

7. This Is America - Childish Gambino Donald Glover proves himself to be one of my favorite working artists with everything that he does. The mere fact that he does everything is inspiration enough. For years he was one of my favorite actors and comedians. Then in 2016 he surprised even die-hard fans with what unarguably became the best song of the year with “Redbone.” “This Is America” deserved all of the attention it got. A pastiche of musical styles and a barrage of complicated images, the video which introduced this song to the world is as complex as they come. The music is visceral, perhaps the most significant factor that divides casual media with serious and meaningful art. The answer to “How could he top ‘Redbone?’” is this.

6. Magic City - Gorillaz Everything about this album is a reaction to 2017′s Humanz, from it’s length to it’s relative though glaring lack of featured artists. As someone who cherished Humanz as the first release from the band I experienced as a converted fan, I struggled to really get into The Now Now at first. I am all about it now, but from the beginning the track that I felt perhaps the most affection for was “Magic City.” With surreal imagery and sincere emotion operating side-by-side, this track works as the heart at the center of this chill and synthetic album. It plays in my head constantly.

5. 100 Years - Florence + the Machine Though The Guardian deemed this track a “misfire” in their tempered review, I knew from first listen that it would become my favorite from the album. Though I agree with some of the reviews that High as Hope marks perhaps F+TM’s most tepid album thus far (don’t get me wrong, it is still remarkable), I disagree here and knowingly go against the grain of criticism in declaring “100 Years” the best song on the album. What the album suffers from is a low-rumbling sense of self-parody, as if this album was someone else’s attempt to create “Florence” with a capital F. Here on this rousing track, Florence and her machine rise above their own formula to bellow out the most fresh, bold, and sincere thrill since How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.

4. Movement - Hozier Hozier’s next big hit, though arriving late in the year, was instantly captivating. Perhaps it was the bewitching switch from minor to major as the music flows from verse to chorus. Perhaps it was the hypnotic grace of dancer Sergei Polunin. “Movement” boldly announced itself as a worthy successor to Hozier’s breakout “Take Me to Church,” perhaps its superior. In suitable fashion, Hozier reasserts himself as beloved purveyor of graceful, harmonious indie rock.

3. Make Me Feel - Janelle Monae This might be Monae’s year, as she wields the potent weapon of her third studio album, Dirty Computer. She sets her sights on the hearts of critics and audiences alike with music that is both intensely addictive and socially advocative. The song feels like the moment just before bubblegum pops, like the euphoria of feeling so in love that you can feel it in your stomach. It’s the song that has come to define “bisexual lighting” while also being one of those songs that you can put on repeat and never lose the way it makes you feel. I am afraid that Dirty Computer is too interesting to walk away with the Album of the Year award it has been nominated for - the Grammys prove time and time again to be bound by the gravity of what is simple and what is everywhere - but Monae certainly deserves the accolade if the Recording Academy can muster the courage.

2. Please Don’t Die - Father John Misty God’s Favorite Customer was Father John Misty’s The Now Now. It is an about-face from an album released the previous year that many people deemed too big or too full, focusing less on the outside world and turning inward to the artist himself. Unlike Damon Albarn, however, Father John Misty stayed jarring rather than go languid. The fifth track from his fourth album is jarring before you even hit play with such an abrasive and forthright title. What follows is a heartfelt and concerning look at his own self-destructive habits from the outside, specifically from the point of view of his concerned wife. She shows up in the music video as the angelic hero he has always painted her to be, but the daring falsetto that strains above the plodding undercurrent of the devil’s sleigh bells intimates the fear that it might be too late to be saved. It is a potent song that wakes the album up from the ennui of formula. While the album is angsty through and through, it sounds at times like someone else was paid to write a Father John Misty album based on the model of his first three albums, in much the same way that Florence’s new album does. “Please Don’t Die” thus plays the role of wake-up call in more ways than one, and from the first listen claims the title of enduring favorite that will, ironically, outlive the rest of this album.

1. Beyond - Leon Bridges By perfecting a throwback sound that you can’t help but look forward to, Leon Bridges has crafted what is easily this year’s most charming music. The Fort Worth darling has proven himself more than just “interested” in recreating the sounds of decades past, but damn good at it. If we opened the yearbook of this year’s musicians to look at the Superlatives, Bridges would be “Best to Bring Home to Mom and Dad.” It all seems genuine though. It’s more than just a novelty act, summoning the Ghosts of Soul Music Past. The whole album delivers the power of soul straight to present audiences like he’s a man dancing by a jukebox in a diner in the past who is so in love that his song can be heard not just across space but across time. As catchy and endearing as it is well-constructed, “Beyond” is wholesome music that feels like butterflies, probably best summed up by the wonder-struck fadeout, “O me o my I can’t explain, she might just be my everything.”

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moonbelt · 7 years

Text

»whiplash | 01

↳ fake dating au | college au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: soft angst + fluff + sexual themes

⇢ word count: 8.059

⇢ description: as an aspiring big-shot photographer in a slump, you’re looking for something that inspires you and unfortunately — or maybe not — it comes in the form of a guy named Chanyeol.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

There was nothing particularly fascinating about love — in your opinion. To be frank, you thought the whole experience of butterflies in your stomach, fire in your veins as you fell in love was one of the most ridiculous clichés ever created. The idea of love, at first sight, was amusing to the say the least. Everyone wants to believe in things written between starry nights and coffee dates. But at this point in life, you'd resigned yourself to think that kind of love only existed through the confines of recorded videos and fabled literature. Why build yourself up only to have it ripped apart?

However, the minute your camera lens catches a glimpse of him, against your own will and everything you know, the only thing your eyes can focus on is him.

There are two kinds of people in this world: people that love and appreciate art and the people who just don't. And as you stand with the spring heat beating down hard on your neck, the fabric of your t-shirt relentlessly sticking to your skin, you're glad that you fall into the first category. If you weren't, there was a high chance you'd be more irritated by the lack of quality in the photos you had spent all afternoon trying to capture.

Taking deep breaths, you continue to snap away. You aren't sure what exactly in the world you're looking for, but you know something is missing. You'd hoped that coming to a more languid environment would push you to find it but, it was proving to be futile. In particular what you are searching for is something with a bang! effect. Something that immediately makes you think this is the one.

Mindlessly, you fiddle with angles as you take snips of rolling waves across the beach's shore. It's early April, and although technically it's still spring, it feels like summer. The beach is, for the most part, abandoned except for the few tourists loitering about and for the umpteenth time that day you wonder why you decided to camp out here. The park, or anywhere with relatively more people, would've been better.

There's a smile on your face though as you stop to check the photos you've recently taken. Most of them come out better than you expect; you're lucky the light reflecting on the surface water makes it appear to be crystalline. Damn, these are good ones, you think to yourself in accomplishment. You'd only taken up photography a few years ago and compared to the people in your advanced class in college, you were far behind regarding skill. But you aren't going to allow that deter you. That's why you had come to the beach in the first place because you were determined to find something — someone — it didn't matter what, that ignited a fire within you.

Although at this point, you're willing to put a higher bet on getting sunburnt than finding anything useful.

Your professor had held you back after class days ago to discuss your artistic rut. Specifically, she'd asked you to find a muse that “inspired" you. You hadn't realized it, but your work was beginning to come out as mundane and without feeling, or maybe you had realized but didn't bother too much with it. She'd suggested you take the time to figure out what exactly you wanted to portray with your art. The most obvious answer would be pictures that makes one feel at ease. You might be cynical towards to the love epidemic, but you did realize that love came in different forms. For instance, the love you held for photography.

Raising your camera back to your eye level, you scan your immediate surroundings. Click. You capture a little girl in a yellow floral-patterned shirt and matching pants — typical tourist attire. She looks about six, laughing at something her father, you assume, says. You chuckle to yourself as you swing your camera away to take a picture of something else. And that is the moment your lens finally rests upon him.

The sensation that feathers through your body is nothing short of unexpected as your eyes rake over his dark chestnut hair, the single piercings on each earlobe and his relaxed posture as he sits placated to the ground. He reminds you of that one Greek mythology class you took last semester. Precisely, he reminds you of a modern-day Adonis. He doesn't look any different from any of the other tourists around except maybe the fact he's not wearing a bright orange shirt and sandals. Instead, he's fully clothed in denim jeans and a loose-fitting gray sweater. In other words, he is completely out of place, and yet he seems to blend in seamlessly. Before you can stop yourself, you take a picture of him. And then a set of others for reasons you're still unsure of.

In the back of your mind though, you are wary of this feeling. It feels comparable to the how you always imagined walking on clouds must be. Something intangible and exquisite that needs to be held with utmost care. Nonetheless, that does nothing to hinder the impression of emotions on your chest.

With your face still flaccid against your camera's body, you don't take your view from him. Strong winds billow through his hair, and you watch transfixed as his eyes crinkle around the corners. You don't know why but your heart starts to pound faster than you'd ever thought possible. He is beautiful. No, it's more than that. You'd never tried to believe in the something as vain as love at first sight, and this most certainly isn't love per se but it sure as hell is something. He isn't paying attention to you at all — his sights are set farther ahead on the crashing crystal waves, and still, you find out that you can't pull yours away from him.

Your fingers pry the camera away from your face, and you quickly flip through taken photos until you find the first one of him. He looks beyond breathtaking, and you can tell there's a kind of appeal to him. You came here searching for something that you felt had been absent from your art, and the inner feeling in your gut is pointing with blazing neon lights that he might be it.

Hesitantly, you start to make your way towards him but not even a moment in, his eyes flutter up and hook on you. Wow, if I had eyes that gleamed like that, I'd never blink again, the thought fleets through your mind as you halt your steps. The craving to take a snapshot of him looking directly at you is compelling. But at the same time, you have enough rationality to think it to be against his privacy. Instead, you force your legs forward and come to a stop only when you're a pace away from him.

Clearing your throat, you say. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd allow me to take a few pictures of you?" You wave your camera lightly at your side.

There's a beat of silence as he looks you up and down; in your khaki shorts and a loose blue t-shirt, you scream more tourist! than an aspiring photographer. Still, it is one of the comfiest outfits you own, and you figure you'd rather be comfortable than sluggish in this hellish weather.

"Are you studying photography or is it just a hobby?" His voice comes out smooth and tranquil. Now that you're closer to him, you notice his ears. They’re big and they frame his face. It's cute.

"I'm majoring in it," your voice falters a bit, so you quickly add. "I need some good shots for my portfolio."

A small smirk quickly adorns his lips. "And I'm a good shot?"

With more eagerness than he can swallow, you practically throw your camera closer to his face. "Look. It basically loves you. I've taken pretty great photos before if I do say so myself, but this... this is different. There's a vibe to it."

He crooks his eyebrows at you. "A vibe?" The incredulity in his voice is sharp, but he doesn't deny that he really does look impressive in the photo. It also doesn't help that you can see a sliver of curiosity in his eyes. You bank on it.

Nodding your head, you say, "yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like it if you could model for me."

"Do you usually ask random strangers to model for you? Or am I just an exception?" His grin is slightly lopsided with the shadow of a scoff marring his features. "You don't even know my name."

In the spark of the moment, you completely forgot anything close to introductions. Realizing your actions, you try to hide your grimace by shooting him a meek smile. "Sorry about that," you laugh nervously. "I'm Y/N, by the way, and you are?"

"Park Chanyeol," he answers with a quizzical undertone.

"Cool. So do you want to partner up with me, Chanyeol?"

He laughs softly at your question. The timbre of his voice helps, at the smallest degree, to elevate the nervousness bouncing inside you. You begin to wonder if it truly is a wrong idea to have approached him at all. It's not like he has anything to win in this deal, but at the same time, he has absolutely nothing to lose either. You shake your head to try and diffuse the thoughts. All he needs to say is a simple yes or no and life will continue to go on as it always does.

"Sure. But one question: what's in it for me?"

You blink a few times. "Huh?"

"Do I get paid for my services? Recognition? What exactly am I getting out of being your model?" The question itself doesn't catch you off-guard because you're expecting it, but it’s the intensity of his stare that makes your heart leap into your throat.

Standing your ground, you raise your camera to your chest. "Well, I'm still in college, and I don't really have any money right now, but I can help you with other things. Non-sexual of course."

Chanyeol chuckles at your addition. "Of course. But it's not like I have anything I need your help with." On cue, his ringtone ceremoniously blares out effectively breaking the conversation, he sends you a sympathetic smile once he checks the caller ID. "Can I take this?"

Nodding your head, you use your hands to signal him to go on. To give him some privacy, you take several steps back and idly kick the sand with your converse. Is it a bad idea to offer your help to him as payment? Especially when you don't know what the stuff could possibly entail? Yes. But you can't bring yourself to truthfully care. Besides, all you need to do is hang around him for two weeks. By then you should have enough shots to submit to your professor for the art showcase happening in the upcoming months.

You squat down and meddle with a cluster of seashells near your feet. Ah, you can't clearly hear what he's saying on the phone, but you decipher from the tone of his voice that he's not amused. Maybe this is a bad time, and you should rather go and ask the aspiring models that linger around the Student Union Center for help instead. They have always been more than willing to pose for you, and they rarely asked for payment in cash. Most of them just want recognition — credit their name somewhere, and they're good to go.

You dust sand off your shorts as you stand up and turn on the heel of your foot. Concurrently, Chanyeol wraps up his phone call and starts to trudge your way. Now that you've thought about it, there's no way in hell that he is serious about helping you out. He most likely just agreed as an in-the-moment kind of thing.

"Sorry about that. It was my mother," he sighs out, coming to a stop in front of you. You didn't realize how tall he was, but now you recognize that he truly is the ten percent.

"No, it's fine. I totally understand," there's that urge again; to take a picture of him. "So, you were saying you don't have anything you need help with? That's a bummer, but I guess it's—"

"Wait!" His fingers latch onto your forearms, and your eyes widen in alarm. "Let's rewind a few paces back. I think there is something you can definitely help me with." He pulls his fingers away from your skin, and for an asinine reason, your body feels like it's been lit on fire.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stare up at him. "There is?" To distract yourself from the furious pounding of your heart, you cross your hands over your chest. It does nothing.

"Be my girlfriend. For three weeks."

You blink a few times. "What?"

Now, you've had your share of irrational moments but not even in the darkest parts of your imagination would you have ever conjured up this kind of proposal. In your college career, you've been asked to do all kinds of things for models as payment; online assignments, midterm papers, coffee runs and generally doable actions on your part. But nothing that came close to pretend relationships. What is this? A poorly produced rom-com from the early 21st century?

In an attempt to control his utter humiliation, Chanyeol furiously runs his fingers through his hair as he begins to offer an explanation. “My ex-girlfriend she... won't get off my back and my mother genuinely thinks she's the one true love for me — it's a long story — but her intentions are misplaced. So, now she keeps making arrangements on my behalf to get back with her. I've been trying to explain to her that it's not going to happen, but she's oblivious."

Your heart heaves in your chest. "Can't you tell your mom you don't wanna date? At least not right now?"

"I have. But she's hell-bent on setting me up," a look of exasperation crosses his face. "Look, I wouldn't want to ask you or anyone for that matter, to do this for me on a good day. But I'm kind of desperate."

Desperate enough to ask the first person that’s looking for his services. Sighing, you bite your lower lip as you take a small step back. You decide to humor yourself and — maybe — in the long run, him.

"Hypothetically speaking," you squint your eyes up at him. "If I agree to this what would I have to do?"

"Hypothetically speaking, we'll have to go on dates and do basic relationship stuff. Most likely we'll 'break up' in three weeks. I'll tell my mother I'm beyond devastated and hopefully, she'll lay off me for a few months."

"You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for three weeks... and you'll accept this as payment for your services as my model?" You try to disguise your skepticism, but he notices it regardless.

He nods as he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets while you mull over the situation.

You take a deep breath. “Question: can’t you just lie? How hard can it be to fake an imaginary relationship without a real partner?”

Chanyeol shakes his head vehemently, dispelling the idea before it even takes flight. “Wouldnt work. Tried it before and my best friend ratted me out, mistakenly but big difference.” Upon seeing the disbelief swimming your eyes, he adds. “My friends are ridiculously close to my family. If I start dating, they’ll ask around and the only way it’ll work is if the relationship is solidified as ever by then.”

Thinking about it rationally, there's really nothing bad about it. You knew he was going to ask you to do something anyway, even though you would have preferred it to not be fake dating. But there isn't anything exceptionally wrong with that, is there? It's not like you have feelings for him or will have. For the love of God, you'd only just met him. And no one could fall in love with someone in three weeks. Even if they believed they had, you knew it was nothing more than stupendous misplaced infatuation.

"Okay," you say, stretching out your arm. "It's not like I really have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Y/N." Chanyeol clarifies, taking your hand, his grin brighter than the shimmer in his eyes. And just like that, the deal is done.

You should have listened to him — he was right. Maybe if you weren't so blind to everything else that didn't happen through the eyes of your camera, you would have realized that. There is a fine line between premonition and intellect. And right now, you should've known that your luck was balancing on borderline insanity.

"If any of us wants to step out of this agreement, all you have to say is the word." You make sure your voice is steady. "No questions."

Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders blithely. "Of course. This is a business transaction after all. Also, if there's ever a time that something arises that either of us doesn't want to do, it's always okay to say so."

Nodding your head you pull your camera up to your face, focus, and then take a photo of him. "Sounds good to me."

Exchanging numbers with him, you smile a little to yourself as the both of you eventually part ways. You remain at the beach though and watch as he body disappears on his motorbike. It’s fast obviously and before you know it Chanyeol is gone and you have to pinch your sides to make sure you're not dreaming. You focus your attention back to the crashing waves and wonder if your decision is a good one but before you can decide on an answer you decide to let it go. It’s a win-win situation. You get your model and he gets his fake girlfriend. It’s like Chanyeol said: a ‘business transaction.’

And as you walk the way to the bus station, the one thing that seems capable to grab your attention is the painting of the sky as the sun sets overhead. Beautiful shade of orange and purple that dangerously remind you of the sparkle you saw in his eyes.

The next time you meet up with Park Chanyeol, dark clouds and dewy raindrops highlight the skies, but in spite of that, you can't stop the smile that threatens to crack your cheeks open once you spot him.

Over the course of four days, you and Chanyeol kept in contact through consistent text messages. You found out that the both of you were attending the same local university and his major was Music [specifically songwriting] with a minor in Ethnic Studies. You also find out that his ex-girlfriend, Mai, also happens to conveniently attend your university. You wonder if the two of them had come straight out of high school and into college, hoping or maybe dreaming that they’ll be together forever. This possibility rubs your heart the wrong way like maybe your worst fears about love are in actuality very true.

He also had a quirk of randomly texting puns in the middle of the day. Some made you laugh in the midst of your Art Appreciation class while the majority of them made you cringe out of your soul.

In fact, you were the one that had proposed meeting up today because with the more time passed, the more anxious you got about this whole situation. You had asked one of your best friends, Sehun for advice but he didn't really see what there was to be anxious about. After all, this wasn't a fairytale, and it was just payment. Payment for services you were demanding. It also didn't help that you currently weren’t dating anyone and Sehun had always been passive to these kinds of things.

The cafe you choose to meet at is an obscure one; sandwiched between a vintage looking music store and a newly renovated bookstore. You brave yourself as a daunting breeze blows past you. You forgot, albeit naively, to check the weather before you planned your outfit and now you're regretting it. A stream of nervous energy bubbles through you but dissipates into dust when your eyes, after minutes of searching, finally finds his.

"Hey! Sorry, I'm late; my class went longer than usual," you breathe out once you run up to him.

"Better late than never." He gives you a dazzling smile that contrasts deeply with his dark jeans, navy blue coat, and the weather.

"Still, I'm the one that chose here. Have you been waiting for long?"

There's laughter in his voice as he pushes the glass cafe door open, his dark hair falling in waves across his forehead. "Does it really matter? Let's act like we arrived at the same time. I mean, it is our very first date. Can't have you owing me already."

You don't attempt to hide the grin on your face. "Aren't you enjoying this way too much for someone who's on a fake date?"

"I'd rather enjoy it than hate it," Chanyeol states matter-of-factly, sending you a wink as he does.

"Right..." your voice trails off as you step into the building and pull your light jacket closer to you to shake off the feeling of ice seeping down your bones.

The smell of warm caffeinated drinks and pastries intoxicate you. You turn your gaze away from him to take in the people encompassing the small space. This is one of your favorite spots near the university campus, partially because it is one of the few places that you could afford to splurge on with your limited budget.

You lead the way to a secluded booth that sits facing the window and easily slide in. Chanyeol takes his side opposite you, and you hope he can't read how nervous you are. Even though you know the menu by heart, you pluck one out and scan it out of formality. From the corner of your eye, you watch Chanyeol bite his lower lip as he too decides on what he wants to order.

"By the way," he says without raising his attention from the menu. "What's the theme you're going for?"

"Theme?" You scrunch your eyebrows together.

"I'm your model, right? What theme are you going for with my pictures?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure yet. I usually do landscape, but recently I've been having fun observing people doing stuff in their natural habitat. Kind of like shadowing? Because my professor wants me to expand my horizons and try something different."

He looks up now, and you can see the flash of interest in his eyes. He flips the menu shut before he leans forward and rests his face in his palm. "Hmm. Then why did you ask me for help when you haven't decided what you want to do?"

That is a question you're still trying to find an answer to. You don't want to tell him the honest truth which is: you don't know. In the stories, you'd read as a child and a chunk of your early teenage years, the protagonist always went through instances where their body acted on its own. This was something akin to one of those. Although you would never admit it willingly, the feeling that had overwhelmed you back then felt oddly transcendental. But it sounds foolish to your ears, and you're sure it'll sound the same in his.

Luckily for you, a waitress approaches the two of you and cuts through the conversation asking if either of you were ready to order. You relay your order back to her from the top of your head, and Chanyeol smirks at your blatant sigh of relief but does well to not call you out on it. Instead, he sends a broad smile to the waitress as he tells her what he wants. Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention outside through the window. It's finally starting to rain, and you watch as passersby straddle each other as they run to find shelter.

You don't notice the waitress has left until Chanyeol clears his throat, successfully dragging your attention back to him. "I know I've said this like a million times already but, I'm really grateful that you've agreed to help me with this."

"Don't sweat it, it's called give and take for a reason,” you sigh out and hope it relieves the nervousness in his shoulders.

Slowly, you ease off a question that has been bothering you for days now. “I really want to know why it's such a big deal that you broke up with your ex. If you're comfortable with telling me that is." You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear matching his unwavering gaze with yours.

There’s a pause as Chanyeol searches for the right words.

"Mai and I... how do I put this?" He taps his bottom lip with his forefinger. "It just wasn't working out — conflicting interests and the like. She was my girlfriend for five years, and I guess my mother got it stuck in her head that I was going to marry her."

"But what's the point of us pretending to be together if Mai or your mother, doesn't even see us."

Chanyeol sighs back into his chair. "My mother wants me to come home during Easter for dinner, and I agreed to it before I found out she also invited Mai. Although, if you're so keen on putting your acting skills to use, you can come along with me. I plan to eat and get out."

"Isn't Easter in two weeks?"

He nods but doesn't add anything else to the discussion, leaving everything to your interpretation. You open your mouth to say something but before you can get the words out the waitress returns with your orders. Hastily, you thank her as you grab your drink from the spot she placed it and shove the straw in your mouth. The temptation to text Sehun and ask for emergency advice is unbecoming. Sure, you'd agreed to this whole dating scam but did you really have to fucking go all the way and meet his friends? His parents? You peer your eyes up from the small table and scrunch them at Chanyeol. Something was definitely wrong with you, whatever it was, and it all had to do with him.

"Are you, like, a goblin or something?"

You've never seen someone's eyes widen as large as you see his. It's almost comical, and you have to steel yourself to stop a laugh from spilling out. But he doesn't even bother to hide how amusing he finds your question.

"A goblin?" He snorts at that. "Now why would you think that sweetheart, I'm perfectly human."

"You're totally giving off a goblin vibe right now," you say leaning back in your chair and sizing him up with your eyes. "First off, who even asks strangers to pretend to be their significant other?"

"The one that gave me a chance was you, Y/N. Oh God, if that's the case, who asks random people to model for them?" You don't want to admit it, but you sort of like the way your name rolls of his lips, every syllable pronounced to perfection.

Scoffing, you use your finger to twirl the spine of your straw. "Lots of people do that, sweetheart. Have you never heard the success stories of high-end fashion models? Literally, all of them were approached by scouts because they look good."

Chanyeol's eyes spark up at that, and you watch as he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, smirking at you devilishly. "Do I really look that good?"

Rather than answer his obvious bait for compliments you reach over, grab a breadstick and stuff it in your mouth. He snickers at your actions, raising his cup of coffee to his mouth and taking a long sip out of it.

You clear your throat before stirring the conversation back on track. "If I'm going to play the role of your girlfriend, I think I'm going to have to know more about you — other than the fact that you may or may not be a goblin."

"I'm not."

"Debatable."

He gives you a smug look, using a hand to mess up his hair a little. Regardless of how you want to feel, you can't deny that he truly is attractive and he knows it. The worst kind.

“So tell me about your friends, the ones that snitched on you.”

He rolls his eyes at your jab, fiddling with a napkin. “Well, there’s Baekhyun. He’s the nosiest and will most likely take our ‘break-up’ harder than humanly necessary but that's normal. Probably will ask to hang out with you with or without me, doesn’t matter. He’s the one that snitched on me, by the way. Jongin is more on the quiet side but that's only if you're stranger. and will probably be the first to sense that we’re not really together. So if he believes us we deserve acting contracts.”

You snort but urge him to continue. “Lastly, is Yixing. If you laugh at his jokes he’ll probably love you forever. He tends to ask a lot of questions though, but I’ll do my best to help with those. Ah, he’s also Mai’s best friend. So whatever he knows, she will get to know and hopefully leave me alone.”

Chanyeol sees another question brewing in your eyes and breathes out. “What?”

"It's just weird, isn't it? I mean, if you broke up with her why is she trying so hard to get you back. I'd never do something like that; it'd hurt my pride... I think."

"You've never actually been in love Y/N, have you?"

It's like an arrow wedges itself right in your voice box. All your friends have told you, repeatedly, how cynical you could be — are — but it wasn't something you actively tried to change. It was basic instinct, right? Love was one of those things that had formed from fairytales, and it didn't actually pertain to reality.

"That's not the point. People blame everything they do on love. Love makes you mad, love makes you stupid, what kind of bullshit is that?" You chuckle lowly to yourself as you bring your drink to your lips once more.

Chanyeol cocks his head at you but nods his head in subtle agreement. "I guess you're right. Pessimistic, but right." You take a small bow accepting his statement as a compliment.

You spend the next few minutes with him discovering the trivial things about each other. His favorite color is blue, he makes music with a few childhood friends of his [including the three he had explicitly told you about], he loves his parents but wishes they weren't so involved in his love life. Fell off his bike when seven that resulted in a scar permanently etched onto his left side. Occasionally, he threw such badly conducted pickup lines that your insides literally caved in.

"Ah," he says now, dramatically looking out the window. "I figured out why the sky is so gray today."

Folding your arms over your chest, you decide to appease him — an olive branch to redeem himself. "Why?"

Cockily, he looks you dead in the eyes and says. "Because all the blue is in your eyes."

"My eyes are brown."

Your words don't deter him, and you have to give him credit for his tenacity. "I know, it was a joke, Y/N." Pure disappointment drips from his voice. "And since you think you're so good at pickup lines, how 'bout you lay one on me."

"I'd rather not, I don't want to have you bawling your eyes out in my arms," you say cheekily as you check the time on your watch. Your shift at the university library begins in the hour. "Quick question: how did the two of us start to date?"

There's a slight pause as Chanyeol ponders over his answer and then suddenly he snaps his fingers in the air like he's had an epiphany. Leaning forward on the table, he beckons you closer with his hands, and you comply. When you're close enough that you don't feel like your invading his space, and he yours, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"That's easy. We met at the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off me, so you approached me and wooed me with a one-liner: wanna be my model? I was skeptical at first, I mean I didn't even know you, but then I thought what's the harm in helping you out? And suddenly, it's been a month and a half since we started dating and I'm head over heels in love with you."

"That is... very simple, to say the least. Are you sure your friends would buy it? You can't fall in love with someone in a month."

He shakes his head at you. "Ah, sweetheart, it bothers me how little you know about love."

"What are you, a poet?" You reply baffled. You don't mean to come out as pessimistic as you sound, but you can't help it.

Chanyeol doesn't shake his gaze from yours, and now you realize that the space you'd left in-between has steadily closed to become practically non-existent. Through his eyes, you see a thousand reactions to your blatant mockery — firstly there's disapproval hidden around acknowledgment. He understands why you might feel that way, but at the same time, he is romantic and doesn't believe a word you said.

"I guess you'll find out how important love is when you experience it. I can tell you all I know, but I doubt that'll change your mind in any way." He states with absolute clarity that pulls you away from the little bubble you'd been enclosed in.

Looking up you see that Chanyeol has relaxed back into his seat, so you do the same, uneasiness weighing down on your lungs.

“Did you love Mai?”

He doesn’t seem surprised by your invasive question but it does take him a few moments to answer you.

“Yes.”

Such great a love that was then if the only way to get her off your back is to result in fake dating. In the back of your mind, however, you know you shouldn't shit on love because even the fakest of things have some aspect of truth to it, but you'd seen people do things and throw the outcome on love.

Your parents, prime examples for this, had divorced years ago back when you were in middle school. Your father had sat you down in the living room one evening, tears streaming down his face, as he explained how effort does not guarantee success in relationships and how love doesn't always count. And you believed him. As you watched your mom pack her stuff and move three states over without holding out to you, you believed him. What else was there possibly to do?

Fast forward years later in high school, you got another dose of hard reality in the form of your first boyfriend. The worst thing known to man. High school boys have always been nothing special but you’d been drawn in by false words and attention. Turns out you weren’t the only one that had fallen for his so-called charm. Three other girls can testify to that.

Sometimes love just wasn't enough, and you'll be damned if you ever had to hang on to it.

You keep your thoughts to yourself though, something tells you that Chanyeol wouldn't appreciate what you have to say. He’s a sucker for love or maybe the concept of love? Either way, you know where your limits are.

“How do you feel about parties?” Chanyeol is the one to break the comfortable silence.

“If I’m invited to one, I’ll go?” Your statement comes out as a question and Chanyeol raises an eyebrow at you. “Parties are good, I guess. No hate against them.” You give a solid answer.

He thinks to himself for a moment and you watch Chanyeol lick his lips — deep in thought, an act you know is not meant to be perceived as sexual. But for a split second, that you blame on the too cold weather, you wonder how it will feel if you inched a little bit closer and closed the distance. How they'll feel pressed against yours. Would anything truly happen, not that you want it to, but... would it? If he’s the type to smile when kissing or —

“Then I’m inviting you to a party on Thursday. Baekhyun’s hosting, and it's a perfect opportunity to introduce you to the gang,” he looks strangely nervous like maybe you’ll decline his offer.

You shake your head in bemusement. Maybe if you actually believe relationships could work, you would've like to actually date him. Up till now, he had been nothing but thoughtful, always wanting to be considerate of your side of things. However, you don't believe relationships could work long term. So you banish these thoughts to the back of your mind, squashed behind nearly-forgotten-but-not-yet promised that you made to yourself.

Taking a large gulp of your drink, downing it all, you return Chanyeol’s grin and if possible it's wider. “Let’s do it.”

The days that lead to the party are filled with consistent meetings that always result in you having more than actually needed photos of Chanyeol stored in your memory card. Not that you minded, it gave you more options to choose from in the long run. So far, the two of you had gone back to the beach, checked out pastel backgrounds that you'd found roaming the city with a few of your friends. You hated admitting it, as you always do, but he truly was aesthetically pleasing. Didn't matter how candidly you took the photos, he always came out in HD.

Sighing, you flip your phone in your hand as you wait for Chanyeol's car to pull into the parking lot of your apartment. Ideally, you had called and texted your handful of friends where you were going to be for the night. And like clockwork, the one person that was highly against the deal was WooJin. His reasoning being Chanyeol could be a serial killer or worse — some creep that was looking for a roundabout way to date you.

The problem though was that you were the one to first propose helping each other out. And in the grand scheme of things, you knew mothers really could be the bane of anyone's love life even if it were practically non-existent. You viewed this three-week girlfriend position as one of your few good deeds to the world. It was better to think that than to blame it on your lack of judgment but even as Chanyeol's car pulls up the driveway, you have a hard time believing your judgment is the only thing you have a hard time controlling.

"Get in loser," he says as he winds down the window. "We're going to meet the gang."

You've long since stopped bothering to ask him why he refers to his friends as ‘the gang.’ You think it to be something that had formed in their childhood days and now seems unbearable to part with. You also find it oddly endearing.

"Should you really be calling your savior a loser?" You cock your head slightly. "This whole plan literally depends on me."

Chanyeol smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "I know that," he unlocks the door and you do quick work with sidling in. "But who can resist a pop culture reference?"

Rolling your eyes, you buckle your seatbelt and wait for Chanyeol to drive out of the lot before you ask him for the aux cord.

"Isn't it the driver that gets that right?"

"Rock, paper, scissors for it?"

The corners of his mouth turn up at your proposition. "I'll have you know, I've never lost a game before."

"That's what you say now," You adjust your position in the seat. "Don't take your eyes off the road, okay? After the count of three say your pick. Sound good?"

He nods, and soon you're cracking your knuckles as you relax into your seat. Raising your hands to your eye level, you say as clearly as you can. "Rock-paper-scissors!" you pull out a rock.

Confidently, Chanyeol yells. "Scissors!"

"Told you so," you wave you fisted palm smugly at him. Reveling in your victory. "I won. Hand the aux to the rightful owner."

"Damn," he sighs out handing you the chord without much opposition and you can't help but feel that maybe he wanted to lose.

Using this opportunity to take in his appearance, you come to a realization that he is always dressed impeccably well, no matter what time of the day he and you meet up, he was always looking his best. Even now in his beige turtleneck sweater and dark jeans he still manages to put off an air of cool, calm and collected.

Dragging your attention from him, you search through your phone until you find the playlist you want and hit play. The next forty or so minutes are spent with you humming to the songs while Chanyeol belts out the lyrics to the songs he knows at the top of his lungs. You laugh at him when he tries to nail all the raps that filter through your playlist and even clap when he gets a few of them right. After a while of fighting the temptation called sleep, you lose and find yourself dozing on and off. You don't notice the amused looks Chanyeol keeps shooting your way whenever you abruptly startle awake.

"You know you can just sleep if you want right?" He finally speaks up after your fourth attempt at staying awake. "I'll keep you safe, I promise."

"No, no. I'm fine," you sit up sharply. "How long till we get there?" You rub the tips of your ears and blink a dozen times.

"About six minutes or so."

"Great," you look at him. "Question: how sure are you about your friends believing us?"

He returns your smile but doesn't take his eyes off the road. "Around 30%"

“What?” Your eyes pop out and you only realize that Chanyeol is pulling your leg when his ribs threaten to crack under all the pressure of his laugh.

“I’m joking,” he manages to wheeze out. “Joking, Y/N. We’ll do great, half of them will be drunk off their ass anyway.”

Checking your phone, you see four text messages from Sehun, freaking out because you haven't replied to any of his messages. Quickly as you can you send a reply to him and let him know that you're not going to be able to send him messages every blessed hour. He sends an unimpressed emoji as his response.

You snort before you lock your phone and shove it deep into your pocket. Outside is rather dark, looking like it's about to rain. When you realize that the car is parked outside a relatively small house but with too many people littering outside, a mountain load of nerves finds solace in your shoulders. Fuck, this is real? You're going to walk in there and pretend to be someone's partner and hopefully play the part of a new, happy couple? You don't realize you've been holding your breath till Chanyeol is slightly touching your arm, trying to bring you back to the present.

"Hey, are you okay?" The concern in his eyes is palpable, and you have a hard time remembering that you're not actually dating each other.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Totally. I'm great. Don't I look great? Cause I definitely am."

He shakes his head at you a small laugh escaping his lips. "You definitely look great, no lie. But... you're nervous. I can tell, you always word-vomit when you are."

"OK maybe I'm a little bit nervous, but I'll get over it. Just give me a minute." You say rubbing your palms together. "I'm going to be the best damn fake partner you've ever had, Channie, be ready."

For a moment there’s nothing but silence as the two of you register what you said. "Channie," Chanyeol airs the nickname out and you try not to fold into yourself.

"Too fast?"

He bites his lip, a ghost of a smile in his eyes "Definitely not, sweetheart."

Sweetheart, you want to make a gibe out of it but instead pour all your energy into restraining yourself and pushing your body out of the car. You wait for Chanyeol to lock the car before you follow him to the front porch. Narrowly, you manage to by-step a duo of intoxicated girls as they make their way around back. Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, and when you don't push him off, he intertwines his fingers with yours and squeezes. You admit that it gives you the confidence to pull through this farce.

"Let me know if you get uncomfortable, okay?" His voice comes out low and understanding, his fingers in yours feel more concrete than ever.

"Thanks." You squeeze his palm softly and relax.

As Chanyeol maneuvers his way through the front door, keeping you close enough by his side that you don’t feel overwhelmed but at the same not too far apart, you begin to hope for something you didn’t think you would. You hope he doesn’t fall in love with you or you him. In the past week and a half that you’ve been around him and known him, you’ve come to the realization that Chanyeol is the type to fall in love easily, quickly and... hard.

He falls in love with the pictures you take, the lyrics he creates, the stack of plushies he has arranged to perfection back at his apartment — you know this because, during a particularly really hard day, he had sent you pictures of them to lift your soul. He’s the kind that falls in love with the beauty of things and not beauty in the sense of appearance wise. Instead, it’s the beauty of how things connect with his soul.

It’s the kind of effortless love that makes you wonder perhaps if you had met him earlier, before a time when you’d already become hardened to the prospect of that love, that you would have actually wanted to date him. Properly. And for a moment it scares you how easily you know it will be to become accustomed to him. He surely doesn’t make it hard at all. So when you stumble, courtesy of not looking where you’re going and having two left feet, he manages to catch you.

Shit, you think. Not because Chanyeol and you are having a moment. You are — with his chest pressed tightly against yours and his breath fawning over your face. No, that’s definitely not the reason. It’s due to the fact that you’ve finally realized just how hard it’s going to be to keep your guards sky-high. Because you know once you get accustomed to him, you will most likely stray down the path and fall in love with him. And love is... messy, for a lack of a better word. It’s overbearing and ridiculously romanticized and you don’t notice you’ve been staring at Chanyeol’s lips for far too long to be considered “appropriate” and the only thing that seems to be able to push both Chanyeol and you apart is the arrival of someone new.

“Chanyeol!” The person says now, loud and friendly and boisterous. He wraps an arm around Chanyeol’s neck — although you notice from the corner of your eye that he has to tiptoe to do so — and successfully releases the tension you didn’t even know was there. “For a second there I thought you had ditched me. Oh, the horror.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chanyeol seems to gather himself faster than you expect. He clears his throat and he shoots his friend the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. “I was like what, five minutes later than the proposed time?”

Baekyhun clicks his tongue at him before his eyes zero in on you. You with your hands still holding onto Chanyeol’s. Baekhyun notices this as well and you can’t tell if the sparkle in his eyes comes from the alcohol or something else. His eyes flicker rampantly between Chanyeol and you but his smile remains amiable and welcoming.

“And you must be?”

You open your mouth to reply but Chanyeol beats you to the cut, slipping his hand out of yours and quickly using his arm to draw you closer to him by your waist. It all happens way too fast for you to register that the change has been made. You’ve gone from slightly near each other to being full-on connected at the hip.

“This is Y/N,” there’s a sort of pride in his voice. “My girlfriend.”

⇢ masterlist

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prettyallfriends · 4 years

Text

Pretty Rhythm: My☆Deco Rainbow Wedding Chapter 7+8

(We keep getting Picock-blocked and I am not here for it)

Chapter 7: Aiming for my Modelling Debut!

Mia: Woah! So this is where they do photoshoots for magazines, huh?

Ayami: There’s a lot of beautiful models around here…

Reina: Player’s debut as a model has me super excited!

Mia: I wonder what kinda shoot this’ll be, I can’t wait to find out!

(Camera flash)

Mia: AAAH! The flash is way too bright!!

Mion: Hehe, I got a nice candid.

Karin: Mion-san!?

Reina: You’re the cameraman today, Mion-san?

Mion: Yup. Since we’re all teammates with Pretty Top, I thought I’d be the best at capturing your natural reactions!

Karin: Even if we are teammates, having you take our pictures… it’d make anyone galactically nervous!

Mion: Really?

Karin: Yeah! (Crying but in the anime, not-serious way)

Mion: It shouldn’t make Player nervous. Hey Player, you can show me your prettiest smile, right? You’re not too nervous?

Choice: Yes, I’d be happy to!/I’m a bit nervous, actually…

Mion: Hehe, I thought you’d say that! Our photoshoot is for a huge magazine feature on prism stars.

Reina: Woah, that’s so cool! Your modelling debut’s going to be in a magazine feature!

Mia: I’m so jealouuuuuus!! I wanna be in a magazine tooooo!!

Mion: Yeah, yeah, fine. Mia can be in the shoot next time. Player, I’ll be taking pics of you performing a prism show, okay? Go get changed… wait, huh?

Reina: Is something wrong?

Mion: That rookie over there, she’s been looking at Player this whole time…

(Rinne appears)

Rinne: Player…

Mia: Ah! Rinne!! Why are you at the photo studio?

Picock: So you are all gracing this studio with your presences as well…?

Mia: Eugh, Picock! You’re here too… Well, Player has a photoshoot right now so don’t try to get in their way!

Picock: I would never dare to get in their way. Rinne is also partaking in a photoshoot, and is quite busy.

Mia: Really? Why’s Rinne doing a shoot?

Picock: It. Is. A. Secret!

Mia: What difference does it make if you tell us or not!?

Picock: Regardless, Rinne shall be featured in a much more prolific magazine than Player.

Mia: Really…? In that case, there’s no way Player will lose to you guys! Player, put on the best show you can and become a waaay better magazine model than Rinne!

Rinne: I want to see… Player’s prism show…

Mion: Hehehe. I’m not too sure what’s going on here, but it looks like things are getting fun! Player, make sure you show me the most heartfelt smile you can!

(Prism show)

Mion: Nice smile! I got a lot of great photos! You looked like you were really enjoying yourself during your show. I also started smiling while taking your pictures!

Rinne: Your heart… was sparking! Player really is my…

Picock: It seems that you’ve gotten ahead of us this time. Ah! I cannot allow this, we do not have enough time to be messing about with these people!

Mia: What do you mean ‘these people’!?

Picock: Coocoocoo! There shall be a surprise awaiting all of you tomorrow morning.

Mia: Huh? A surprise? What’ll it be?

Picock: You shall know tomorrow morning. It is now time for Rinne’s photoshoot. We are leaving!

Rinne: Okay… See you later, Player.

Reina: That Rinne girl has a pretty weird vibe.

Karin: Yeah, and that peacock on her shoulder was weird too…

Mia: Pretty sure Rinne and Picock are after the Rainbow Charm.

Mion: I see. Do you know why?

Mia: I have no clue… Though maybe that ‘surprise’ Picock mentioned is related? What’s gonna happen tomorrow? I wanna know!!!

Chapter 8: You’re my Rival!? Rinne’s Letter of Challenge

(In a bedroom, which I assume is the player’s?)

Karin: I’m glad the photoshoot went so well! Maybe you’ll become super famous now!

Reina: What did Picock mean when he said there would be a surprise tomorrow?

Mia: Yeaaaah, I’m sooo curious!!

Ayami: Oh, Player-san!

Reina: What’s up, Ayami?

Ayami: The TV! Please put on the TV!

Reina: The TV…? Why?

Ayami: Just hurry up and turn it on!

Mia: Yeah, yeah. The TV is… on!

Reina: What the…? “Press conference regarding a huge new prism star’s debut”!?

Karin: Woah, there’s a whole lotta people there!

Reina: This many people at a prism star’s debut is unthinkable…

Ayami: Oh! It’s starting!

Television: And now, the prism star who can change her image based on her coord… Rinne’s debut shall now commence!

Mia: RINNE!? Huuuh!? Rinne’s debuting as a prism star!? Why would Rinne’s debut be this popular!?

Reina: Shut up, Mia! The rest of us can’t hear!

Mia: But… I’m surprised!

Ayami: Rinne’s about to talk!

Rinne: Hello… I am Rinne. From here on out, I will be aiming to reach the top of the world of prism shows… I am the prism star chosen by the rainbow to bring forth the Rainbow Wedding!

Interviewer A: The Rainbow Wedding!? Do you mean the legendary coord that has never been seen before?

Rinne: Exactly. However, my rival currently has the Rainbow Charm that I require.

Interviewer B: You mean to say that a star has appeared who has the Rainbow Charm!?

Interviewer C: Rinne-san, please tell us the name of your rival!

Rinne: My rival’s name is… Player!!! You’re watching, aren’t you, Player? I will beat you and complete the Rainbow Charm! No, I must! I will definitely defeat you!

(Back to the bedroom)

Reina: ...damn, that was chilling.

Mia: Her character changed again, huh… She became a cool character this time. And she called Player her rival. Why does she want the Rainbow Charm that much!?

Penguin-sensei: Hey, Player! What’s the meaning of this!? Pretty Top’s been getting flooded with calls about “Rinne’s rival, Player”!

Mia: Woahhh! She’s created a huge fuss!

Pengun-sensei: We don’t have enough time to respond to everyone…

Mia: Player, we should go!

Penguin: Please go to the Prism Future Arena at once! There are a bunch of places to hide there, now hurry!

(The gang goes to the arena)

Mia: Haaaah, we somehow made it here… wait, huh?

Rinne: Player…

Mia: Rinne! What the hell was that press conference!?

Rinne: Player… are you angry?

Choice: I’m not angry/Why the hell did you say all of that!?

Rinne: I’m really sorry. I hurt your heart… But I need the Prism Charm no matter what. Seven-hued metamorphosis… Change! Cool!!!

Rinne: Player…

Mia: Ahhh! It’s the same cool character as before!

Rinne: I will defeat you and acquire the power of the seven coords! If I don’t, then I’ll... always be empty! (Okay so. It may be ‘it will always be empty’ referring to the Rainbow Charm, take this one with a grain of salt because it was unclear to me at least)

(Prism show)

Mia: AH! The Rainbow Charm!

Mia: You got the power of the cool coord…

Rinne: …Player…

Picock: It was useless…

Rinne: Picock, I’m sorry.

Picock: It’s alright, you do not need to apologise. Player, it seems that you really are a star befitting of being Rinne’s rival. However, Rinne is yet to awaken her true power.

Mia: No way! You mean she can improve even more!?

Picock: This time we just wished to see how much you’ve grown as a prism star. I have prepared a stage befitting of a true battle between Player and Rinne. That stage is.. The Rainbow Cup!

Mia: Huuuh!? The Rainbow Cup hasn’t been put on for forever!

Picock: That is correct. However, now that two stars chosen by the rainbow have appeared, the Rainbow Cup has been revived.

Rinne: The winner of the Rainbow Cup will acquire the Rainbow Wedding.

Picock: Please perfect your My☆Deco in order to compete in the Rainbow Cup!

Rinne: …

Picock: Farewell.

Mia: They left… “Aim for the Rainbow Cup”, huh… Rinne seemed kinda sad. Being able to change her personality with the seven coords is amazing, but who is the real Rinne?

#pretty rhythm #pretty rhythm aurora dream #pretty rhythm dear my future #pretty series #prdmf #mdrw

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flordemens · 7 years

Text

Ephemeral Iridescence

Pairing: Wonho x OC

Characters: Wonho, OC, Monsta X, BTS

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Romance

Haru watched as the vibrant color swirled around her hands, glowing red for the anger she felt. Seeing all the colors of the damn rainbow was horribly useless. She already knew what mood she was in, Haru didn't need the stupid colors to show her.

What was the damn point of all of this?

Day in and day out she wished for something to change, longed for the colors to disappear. But what happens when Haru can suddenly see someone else's colors?

Well, isn't life just one cruel motherf*cker

Haru had always been able to see the colors swirling around her fingers, ever since she was five.

At first, she thought they were beautiful and amusing, like little silk ribbons. Haru enjoyed watching the beautiful colors flow and dance before her eyes.

“Haru baby, why do you keep looking down at your hands?” Her father asked her at the age of eight. “The colors around my hands are a pretty light blue papa,” Haru smiled and looked up, raising her hands so her father could see for himself. “There’s nothing on or around your hands, Haru. What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion scrunching up his features. Haru retracted her hands to her lap, staring at how the color slowly changed from the light blue to a muddy orange. “The colors. You can see them, can’t you? See, right now it’s orange!” Haru said excitedly again as she stretched her hands straight up in the air above her head. “Haru, there’s nothing there…”

After insisting that she indeed had colors floating around both of her hands, her parents decided to take her to a psychiatrist. There had to be some logical reasoning as to why she was seeing these things.

Just as she had explained to her parents various times, she explained the colors to the psychiatrist, but this time with much less enthusiasm. Haru knew the reaction she would get.

Soon after the visit, Haru was told by her parents that she needed to take medicine to make the colors go away; because as they had worded it, ‘it wasn’t normal.’

But the medicine did nothing for her. After taking it for half a year, she could still see the colors just as clearly.

The kids at school would tease her for taking her medicine. They told her she was all sorts of crazy and that no one should go near her because they would catch whatever she had.

Soon enough, she grew to dislike the fact that she could see her colors. If she was the only one who could see them, what was the point? It was wasted beauty.

As she got older, the emotions flooding her system wreaked havoc before her eyes.

Sparks of a variety of reds would shoot up into her field of vision when she would get angry and light swirls of feathery yellow would cover her hands when she was happy. When she was sad, a deep blue would stagnate at her fingertips, looking almost as invisible as she felt.

She dealt with how she felt by herself for the longest time. She pretended to take her meds to make her parents happy and she never mentioned the colors to anyone unnecessarily.

Then one fine high school spring day in her first year, she met them.

Life was infinitely better from then on, bright yellow flowing out from her hands more often than she had ever seen in her whole life.

Now, Haru was in her second year at Korea National University of Arts, majoring in fine arts.

Haru loved every minute of being able to photograph beautiful scenery, but her favorite was taking photographs of people. There wasn't anything more satisfying to her than capturing a human’s natural beauty through her lens, and them feeling equally as confident about themselves after. It made the yellow swirls extend all the way to her elbows when people got a confidence boost from her work.

But today was a Wednesday, and Haru absolutely hated Wednesdays.

Wednesdays meant she had pure general education courses, meaning she would be bored out of her mind all day.

Since second semester of last year, Haru planned for Wednesdays to be the main day to get her gen eds out of the way so she could enjoy her major classes in peace.

As Haru got up from her bed, she looked at her left hand pressing down on the mattress, a mist of gray floating over her hand. She sighed and grabbed her phone to check the time, only to see a message from her mom asking if she’d taken her pills yet. She typed out a quick yes, a little white lie she told her mother every day. Haru lived alone in a one bedroom apartment with her cat Butter, what her mom didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

She glanced at her hands again, the gray starting to turn into a hot pink as she spotted Butter at the end of her bed. She loved her lazy orange cat to pieces, but the colors that emitted from her hands whenever she saw or hugged him were blinding.

The colors were all too much for her these days. Sometimes she was so happy that the brightness of all the yellows would give her a headache, other days she was too calm and the blue would drive her up a wall. Frankly, Haru was sick of seeing these colors day in and day out. Sick and tired of the same shit every day.

Haru was really trying not to be bitter about it all. She had people who loved her for who she was now, what more could she ask for? But love couldn’t take away the constant emptiness she felt at the pit of her stomach.

Haru decided to take a seat at the back of her English class as usual, far away from human interaction. Unlike with Butter, where she would gladly suffer through her blinding colors; Haru did not feel that humans were worth the effort. If they weren’t her muse for her photos, she preferred the least amount of human interaction as possible.

Also, she hated these classes and it definitely showed on her face. Resting bitch face usually kept them away, so it all usually worked out in her favor.

As if on cue, the color around Haru's hands swirl into a hue of amber. Amber for her meant calm, but unsettled or nervous. And indeed, she was slowly becoming more and more unsettled as she watched the class room fill up with people she didn’t know.

Suddenly, a tall model like guy sat right next to her and oh god does she want to move, but Haru doesn't want to be rude and just get up and change seats right in front of him. She stared straight at her hands as the amber glowed more vivid now, going past her wrists. It wouldn't be that much of a problem if he hadn't brought his little posse of friends along.

Haru watched as model guy and the rest of his friends joked around, but quickly noticed something off about one of them.

She squinted and rubbed her eyes with her palms once, and then twice, because what she was seeing couldn't be possible.

Model guys friend had his hands supporting himself as he leaned back against the table, his hands emitting a mist of gold. Haru had never seen such a bright, almost glittery gold in her whole life. Hell, she had never been able to see anyone else’s colors except her own, so what the fuck was happening right now? Was she truly crazy and hallucinating it all?!

"His hands are radiating gold, and I can fucking see it. I have got to be going insane," Haru mumbled to herself, a hand against her mouth to hide her blatant astonishment at the sight happening before her.

Haru decided to get herself together and stop staring so openly at glittery gold guy. She decided to put her head down on her arms and mind her own business until English class started, because thinking of the latter would just drive her more insane at this point.

"Hyungwon can get a modeling contract so easily, but can't even talk to any of the girls he models with other than 'Hi, let's work hard today' or my absolute favorite, 'Thank you for your hard work.’ Our Hyungwonnie really is hopeless."

What a way to roast a guy so openly, Haru thought as she tried to keep herself from eavesdropping.

"Hey! Leave him alone Minhyuk. At the very least he can speak respectfully to them, that’s something."

"Shut up Wonho. Like you're one to talk, you’re the ladies man of the group. You should give Hyungwon some tips."

They started to laugh and Haru turned her head to the side from all the noise, instantly locking eyes with glittery gold guy as he was still laughing. He was actually quite attractive, she thought in retrospect.

As their staring contest continued, one of glittery gold guys friends abruptly interrupted.

"Hey Wonho," the guy said, waving his hand annoyingly fast in front of Won...ho was it? "Earth to WONHO!" His friend continued as he smacked the table, effectively bringing Wonho back to reality. "What were you staring at?" The persistent one asked as they all began to turn their heads, signaling for Haru to quickly turn away in the other direction.

"N-Nothing. I gotta go to my class though, I'll talk to you guys later," Wonho said as he noisily got up from his seat on the table.

When Haru opened her eyes again, the color around her hands were pitch black.

How did she go from wanting her own colors to disappear, to seeing someone else’s? It’s too cruel to be true. In fact, she was convinced it wasn’t. It was her mind playing tricks on her, a fluke. That’s what she was going to believe.

The only thing she was certain of was that this school year was off to a damn strange start.

If you would like to read more chapters, I have them all posted here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743249/chapters/23814861

#chapter one #Ephemeral Iridescence #flordemens #fic #bangtan #monsta x #monstax #wonhoxoc #bts #synesthesia #college au #punk au #wonho #shin hoseok #monsta x wonho

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essenceoffilm · 7 years

Text

Primal Binary Battles

One does not regularly remember the name of J. Lee Thompson nor should one, really. Sometimes good films appear in unusual places, in the hands of understandably overlooked directors. For Thompson’s thriller classic Cape Fear (1962) might just be the only decent film in an otherwise sub-par oeuvre. When Brian De Palma remade Howard Hawks’ classic tale of fascist megalomania in Scarface (1983), he felt it necessary to dedicate his re-imagination to both Hawks and scriptwriter Ben Hecht. Such sense of responsibility did not occur in the mind of Martin Scorsese when he remade Cape Fear (1991). Kudos to the performers and the music of the original version, Scorsese cast the original actors Gregory Peck, Martin Balsam, and Robert Mitchum in supporting roles, used Bernard Herrmann’s original score, but essentially changed the film’s visual aesthetics. The reason might be that the 1962 version of Cape Fear is not representative of Thompson’s mediocre cinema -- one can recall the catastrophe of Mackenna’s Gold (1969), Death Wish 4 (1987), or two terrible Planet of the Apes sequels -- but is actually quite a solid film, most likely due to a multitude of reasons: from Thompson’s strokes of luck with John D. MacDonald’s tight pulp novel and Herrmann’s Hitchcockian music to Mitchum’s bestial performance as the psychopathic criminal Max Cady, Cape Fear remains a genre classic and a gem to visit whenever one feels that one has memorized the Hitchcock canon through and through again. Its story is such a frightening reminder of the fragility of our legal system that Michael Haneke might be inspired, but its plot also seems to capture a deeper, primordial myth of conflicts within humanity.

The story encapsulates this myth into a dramatic conflict between two characters, or two sides of the same coin. Sam Bowden, a lawyer, a husband, and a father, played by Gregory Peck, has created himself a sustainable career and a reputation as a successful model citizen of the American idyll. One day a creature from the past emerges when an ex-con by the name of Max Cady approaches Bowden, reminding him of an old case where Bowden performed as a witness to Cady’s crime which sent Cady to prison for eight years. Soon Cady starts making a mockery of everything Bowden has believed in and built his whole life on. Cady’s very presence in Bowden’s vicinity seems to mock the American legal system whose loopholes Cady exploits in order to drive Bowden crazy and have his vengeance. Where Cady uses legalities to get to Bowden, Bowden, conversely, must resort to crime, the external world to his secular god of law, to get to Cady. Their conflict culminates in a thrilling sequence where Bowden tricks Cady into attacking his family in their houseboat on the Cape Fear River. Even though things take a surprising twist, Bowden is able to find justice, keep his family relatively intact, and capture Cady for the police.

As mentioned, Cape Fear is based on a pulp novel, The Executioners (1957) by John D. MacDonald. The film adaptation was allegedly supposed to be directed by Alfred Hitchcock, but unclear disputes led to an (we may assume) unfortunate directorial change from the master of suspense to Thompson. Hitchcock’s presence (whether as a possible storyboard artist during pre-production or just as someone who saw cinematic potential in MacDonald’s story) illuminates the film from Herrmann’s score, which sounds very similar to his score in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), to Thompson’s use of stylized lighting with heavy contrasts, striking choices of camera angles, and a narrative relying more on subtle innuendo than graphic depiction (which is completely altered in Scorsese’s remake). A further, though minor, connection to Psycho is that Martin Balsam plays the hero’s assistant in both films. Both films also discuss split personality: Psycho does it more directly in the schizophrenic character of Norman Bates, while Cape Fear does it more indirectly in the dualism of Bowden and Cady. These make Cape Fear a contender for “the best Hitchcock film Hitchcock never made” against Cukor’s Gaslight (1944) and Donen’s Charade (1963).

Unlike Cukor’s traditional Victorian period picture and Donen’s lighthearted romantic adventure, Thompson’s Cape Fear was quite a bold film for its time. Sharing another similarity with Psycho, Cape Fear most likely succeeded in shocking its contemporary audience. Although the film was toned down from the MacDonald novel to the extent that the word “rape” was not allowed to be mentioned, the threat Mitchum’s character embodies feels very real and urgent. His nihilistic disregard for his own life and his greater maliciousness toward Bowden and the bourgeois society he represents are further accompanied by the innuendo regarding Cady’s sexual interest not only in Bowden’s wife but also in Bowden’s pre-teen daughter played by Lori Martin. While failing to attain the level of Psycho, Cape Fear still remains shocking and not only for the sake of being shocking; its atmosphere of threat and danger reflects deeper, mythic themes studied beneath the surface level.

It is sometimes preferable to leave things undisclosed and avoid a conventional exposition in the beginning of a film, but the introduction of Mitchum’s character in Cape Fear succeeds in simplicity and represents pure visual art of exposition. The film begins with a man in white clothing walking to a courthouse. Walking the outdoor stairs, the first thing he does is taking a look at a woman’s bottom. When inside, walking the indoor staircase, he nonchalantly passes by a woman who drops a book without the slightest consideration of giving a helping hand. As the man finally reaches the door of a courtroom, where Sam Bowden is currently at work, another lawyer takes a long look at him. The man is an outsider. The man is Max Cady. This succinct and concise wordless exposition establishes the character’s disposition: his carnal licentiousness, his promiscuous relation to women, his selfishness, and his unsuitability to the surrounding environment.

These features come to determine Max Cady, the devil in white clothing. The solid exposition associates sexual virility with impoliteness and licentiousness, but it also importantly emphasizes the disproportion between the character and the environment. Max Cady does not belong to the courthouse, to this town, to the United States, to this human world -- or so people like Sam Bowden, those who built that world, would like to think. The reason for this disproportion between Cady and the world, both moral and ontological by nature, is the fact that Cady represents anarchistic fascism. He is the Hobbesian man in the state of nature where man is a wolf to his fellow man. He embodies the primal forces which threaten western democracy, the natural forces which ought to be repressed by a social contract. He is the evil which lurks in darkness to attack the good residing in broad daylight.

In other words, there is a battle between nature and civilization, a battle which normally remains hidden in the hearts of men, but which now emerges on the surface of the society. The conflict between Cady and Bowden constantly drives the latter on the brink of abandoning civilization and its pillars of law as the barbaric impulses of nature allure him. “Cady is an animal, so you have to treat him like an animal,” affirms a private detective who suggests Bowden to hire a couple of thugs to beat up Cady. The forces of nature embodied by Cady tempt Bowden who is about to deceive Cady, to abandon the rules of civilization, to play by the rules of nature, but, in the end, or at the eleventh hour, Bowden finds strength to rely on civilization and gives Cady to the police. He cannot murder Cady. At the last moment, he realizes that he cannot abandon everything he has believed in and built his whole bourgeois life on. Despite the seeming return to the tranquility and peace of the civilization in the end, primal hatred and lust for blood gleam in Bowden’s furious eyes as Bowden denies Cady of his last wish to die (”I just don’t give a damn’”), finding pleasure in describing the torturous length of Cady’s prison sentence to come. Thus the primal forces of nature find their vague embodiment in the world of law, too; they manifest in the justice of punishment under the accepted guise of the social contract.

Given the social nature of the themes treated in Cape Fear, there is an undeniable presence of class conflict in the dramatic battle between Bowden and Cady. Although the spectator probably identifies with Bowden’s anguish, they must also notice Bowden’s higher social status to Cady’s blue-collar being. Bowden has good relations with the police, whereas the police take a doubtful attitude toward Cady. Bowden can afford a private eye and a couple of thugs, whereas Cady must rely on his own physical force. Bowden has had not only the time but also the social opportunities to build a family and a career, whereas Cady has lost both. Cady’s lower social position is highlighted not only by his relaxed clothing and the doubt he evokes in those around him but also by the relations between him and the other characters. A woman, who Cady picks up at a bar and later rapes, tells Cady how good it feels to know that one “cannot sink any lower.” To her, Cady is the “rock bottom” she is now hitting. Cady’s unsuitability to the social environment surrounding him only emphasizes his determination: what does Cady have to lose?

In one sense, Cape Fear traces the sources of the vigilante ideology to these feelings of disappointment. Cady takes not law but moral justice to his own hands when he feels (erroneously or not) that the former has not been in service of the latter. Bowden does the same when he feels that the law is incapable of protecting him. The vigilante heroes of the American society are disappointed individuals who seek justice beyond civilization. The suggested path, of course, is not that of the vigilantist but of Bowden who, in the end at last, is able to find solace in the realm of law. The irony is that the solace remains just as sadistic. It is still dominated by fear and hate.

Cape Fear is really a treatise on these primal emotions or their myth. The film concerns fear and hate that are both rational and irrational. It is fear that guides Bowden to act against Cady’s hate, but fear and hate are close companions -- just like Bowden and Cady in their battle. If Bowden’s fear slowly turns into hate, it takes a little longer for Cady’s hate to turn into fear, but eventually fear begins to gleam in Cady’s frightened eyes as well when Bowden corners him in the woods of the Cape Fear River and denies Cady the possibility of death his suicidal behavior was aiming at; when Cady loses the reality of violence, the only reality he knows well enough to call home, and receives an anticipation of his sentence to come. Cady becomes a scared animal in the darkness of nature. Fear might turn wolves into rabbits, but hate also makes villains out of heroes. As the camera slowly tracks backward from the narrow clearing in the woods where Bowden has Cady at gunpoint, what else but a mixture of fear and hate gleam in the eyes of Bowden and his family as they quietly sit on the boat in the middle of wilderness. The film brilliantly ends with a picturesque shot of the boat sailing across the Cape Fear River surrounded by the woods whose trees frame the shot into an ominous image of contrasts. These trees are by symbolic nature the same trees that grow in the backyard of the Bowden residence; they are the trees which remind of the triumph over nature but also inevitably of the fragility of civilization. The trees frame the boat’s journey on the foreground but also on the background as the dense forest looks like an impenetrable wall of darkness. The Bowdens have survived, but the battle has not been resolved. It continues in the infinite circle embodied by the dark, unpredictable world of the trees.

This ending is telling of the cinematic potential in Cape Fear. While far from being a masterpiece, the film is still thrilling and atmospheric precisely because the appropriate cinematic execution has been discovered for the articulation of the primal battles constituting the drama. Fitting to Cady’s estranged disposition, Mitchum plays the role like a beast among men. His expressionistic acting of exaggerated gestures, cocky poise, and dry malicious remarks has been subdued from his lunatic embodiment of the big bad wolf in Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter (1955), but the power of his presence still manages to electrify the natural forces his character of Max Cady represents. Enticed by these forces, Bowden is conversely played by the restraint and cool, yet constantly on the verge of exploding Gregory Peck whose solid face contains these characteristics effortlessly. Herrmann’s string-based score discovers a parallel dimension in music where low sounds are juxtaposed with sounds of a higher pitch. The calm editing rhythm is likewise associated with a deliberately surprising cinematography which, at times, switches from the fluency of slow movement to rapid tracking shots following the tightening of the characters’ nerves in action. The same goes for the film-noir-esque use of light and shadow in the film’s stark mise-en-scène of contrasts, playing with the aesthetic conflicts of day and night, narrowness and width, distance and closeness. The spaces have been carefully chosen and constructed to aid in the elaboration of mood for the entire film. The finale marks the shift to the titular milieu of Cape Fear in North Carolina where the counterpoints collide in physical battle. It leaves a lasting impression of vulnerability and threat due to a new found awareness of the presence of fear and hate. Cape Fear is definitely worth remembering.

#Cape Fear #J. Lee Thompson #1960's #American

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writtenthroughtime · 8 years

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This would totally be an AU fic but I would love to see Claire teaching a figure drawing class and Jamie being one of the students draws her.

So this is a bit of a role reversal from what you requested @lindseyylu17, but I’m enjoying it.

“We have to what?” The entire class exclaimed in disbelief. The professor smirked and relaxed against the lab table.

“All of you heard me just fine. I expect to see the results from this class and Professor Montgomery is already expecting you starting tomorrow night. Don’t worry about supplies, Professor Montgomery says that he’ll have things ready for you each class, just remember to sign in on both of our rosters. This class starts at 8pm sharp tonight! I don’t want to hear about any of you being late!” Doctor Randall looked down at her wrist and waved her hand towards the door dismissing us.

I packed my bag with my head still reeling from what Doctor Randall required, Life Drawing, a class designed to embarrass all of the parties involved. Naked men and woman lounging for hours at a time while a gaggle of students attempted to draw their forms from various angles.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” I whisper yelled to myself as she made her way across the empty campus. “I can’t take a life drawing class I just… can’t! I can’t draw to save my life! Besides how does life drawing even fit with an anatomy class? I should be learning how to—”

“Talking to yourself again, Claire?”

“Agh!” I swung around nearly hitting my former roommate with her bag.

“Jenny!” I exclaimed clutching a hand to her heart, “you know not to sneak up on me like that!”

Jenny laughed and settled her hands on her hips, “Och aye but that’s the best time to sneak up on ye! What were you ranting to yourself about this time? Did fuddy-duddy Professor Whitman assign another frog dissection?”

Jenny’s strong Scottish accent lilting with each word and I smiled at the familiarity of if. “No, not Whitman…this time.”

I laughed and Jenny snorted, linking her arm with mine as we made our way to the library.

“So if it wasn’t Whitman who and what did they do to deserve the horrible Beauchamp rant?”

“Doctor Randall. Not the history professor, his wife the biology professor,” I amended quickly. “Doctor Annie Randall, who isn’t even a doctor by the way! She dropped out of her residency and decided to teach Bio 425 and she’s forcing us to go to Life Drawing instead of our lab class for the next two months!”

Jenny’s eyes went wide, not only in shock but in the way I knew she was plotting something. “So ye have to take the life drawing classes this quarter?”

“Ugh! Yes. I really don’t see the point in this class. I’m in biology not art!”

“Quitcher whinging Claire and just go to the damn class. Ye never know what ye might find or should I say who.”

——–

The art room was small, cold, poorly lit and reeked of chemical adhesives. Was this really happening? I kept asking myself. Was I really taking a life drawing class? I groaned thinking of how my time would be better spent studying or in the lab examining specimens, rather in this dank room foolishly facing a class I felt was beneath me. Why art? Why did she have to send us to an art class, what good would this do or bring to us? Artist are careless junkies that will get nowhere in life. This chosen path won’t pay their bills or get them the type of scholarships needed to further pursue a career. I couldn’t fathom their reasons for joining a group that might lead them to ruin.

“Class! Come to order now, please!” The hippie who I assumed was Professor Montgomery said with a clap of his hands.

“Please cease your conversations and begin to find your way to an easel, then position yourself so that you may see the stage unobstructed.”

The so called ‘stage’ was compiled of ratty boxes haphazardly draped with tattered striped cloths and a wicker chair that look as though the weight of a butterfly would cause the fibers to crumble.

“On the easel in front of you, you shall find a fresh pad of newsprint. You have five minutes in a medium of your choice to do a nice warm up sketch of the popcorn kernel I am passing out now.”

“What?” I mumbled to myself as everyone around me pulled out pens, charcoal, pencils and pastels, even my fellow biology classmates had found a tin of pencils and were passing them around to one another.

“Ready?” Professor Montgomery paused, looking around. He pulled a stick from behind his ear and handed it to me. “You may begin!”

With the oddly shaped pencil I paused with it’s point on the paper, not sure how to start. The lumpy, misshapen mass in my hand did not resemble popcorn in the least. The people around me were making wild gestures with their arms, beautiful curves appearing on the easels I could see. Taking a steadying breath I mimicked their motions and had the faintest of curves when the timer went off and we were told to stop.

“Perfect! Now that we’re all warmed up I would like to introduce our first two weeks model.” He swept his hands towards a side door that cracked open slightly. “This is our model’s first time sitting for a life drawing class so please, everyone give the warmest of welcomes to Mr. Alexander Malcolm!”

The model appeared from behind the door clad in a fluffy blue robe. His steps were sluggish and hesitant, I got the feeling he didn’t want to be there as much as I did. He slowly made his way towards the stage, but not climbing into position.

“Mr. Malcolm, if you please.” Professor Montgomery said gesturing towards the boxes.

Mr. Malcolm stared at the professor. From the reactions I could see of my classmates and the professor, the model was challenging him.

“Mind if I work up to disrobing?” A deep and thick Scots accent drifted my way.

“Fine!” Came the angry reply from Professor Montgomery. “But this is for tonight only! I have you for only four sittings and tonight is a shortened class due to first day bullshit! Tomorrow I expect you to be prepared from the moment the class arrives.”

Mr. Malcolm nodded tersely. He kept his head down as he approached the stage and settled himself on the wicker chair, which creaked with his weight.

“Mr. Malcolm will sit in this position for ten minutes, before adjusting to a different pose in a different direction.There will be five different poses, each lasting ten minutes tonight. Typically we do twelve fifteen minutes poses, but tonight we shall adjust! Please capture as much as possible given the circumstances. I want your drawings labeled per pose, with your name on it, and date at the end of the class. Other students use these pads so please try not to be heavy handed. You may begin!”

From my angle all I could see was the bulky collar, the top of his shoulder blades and his shoulder-length curly red hair. I tried to capture the way his shoulders fit the robe and disappeared behind the wicker chair. However, when I looked at the drawing the paper reflected back a mass of scribbles that no matter what way you looked at it, you could not tell what it was meant to be.

I huffed out a breath and tried again, this time focusing on his hair. Again the spirals on the page no more reflected the coils of Mr. Malcolm’s hair than it did the curve of his shoulder. Our time started to dwindle down on this first pose, Professor Montgomery began to adjust a small space heater to point towards the stage. I noticed the model’s shoulders tense and his arm begin to shake.

“Stop! Readjust!”

Mr. Malcolm stood and took a deep breath before untying the front of his robe. The fabric swung to his sides. He turned and began to sit on a block directly in front of me, I finally caught a glimpse of the man I was supposed to study. His muscles were well defined, smattered with freckles and curls of fair blonde and red hairs. They made a trail that lead to a patch of even thicker curls that surrounded, while flaccid, still a very impressive penis. My clinical mind took over, examining his every muscle and curve. The way the skin was stretch taught in areas, and bulged in others. I wondered what activities he must do to maintain the way he looked. Even sitting there wasn’t a roll or wrinkle of fat. His body was the perfect biology project.

“Stop! Readjust!”

I jolted from the sudden exclamation. Looking at my easel, I realized I hadn’t sketched a single line. I had to shake myself out of this. He was just a man. A very well defined, attractive man, but still just a man. Think of him as a patient and this is how you’re to figure out what’s wrong with him! Get your head on the assignment, Beauchamp!

Three more positions followed and with each one Mr. Malcolm slowly became more and more unclothed until finally the robe was laying across the floor out of his reach. My temper rose with each minute. This man was most likely being paid for this, but still he was being put on display in front of complete strangers who are meant to analyze his every feature. I could not understand why he was putting himself through this torture, he was clearly not comfortable no matter how long the class went on and I couldn’t blame him. Not only was he being exploited but the amount of females in the class started to overwhelm even me. These girls shouldn’t be allowed to look at him this way! He wasn’t theirs to oogle and treat like a piece of meat! He’s not yours either, a small voice reminded me. Yet, he felt like he was mine. I felt the need to cover him up and hide his body from sight, to protect him and comfort him….

My internal rant lead to the rapid end of class. I didn’t even hear the final instructions nor did I care I only had two of the required five drawings. I signed, dated, and numbered them before tearing the sheet off of the pad and handing it in. Mr. Malcolm had already disappeared from sight. Slowly I returned my supplies and stared at the door he had appeared from at the start of class. Tomorrow then, I thought and hitched my bag over my shoulder just as the side door squeaked open. The lights were dimmed even further than before and I could just catch the glint of his red hair as he darted out of the classroom.

“There’s the nudest!” A bellowing, familiar, laugh sounded.

“Shut it Ian, or I’ll make ye!”

“Och, come off it Jamie! Ye ken I’m just pullin yer leg! How was it? Did your cock come out to play and make the lassies faint with desire?” The sarcastic tone was cut off by a loud thump. I slipped through the door in time to see none other than Ian Murray rubbing his jaw from where Mr. Malcolm, or Jamie, had hit him. Ian merely laughed more.

“Are ye tellin me there wasn’t a single thing good to come from that class?” Ian’s tone was similar to that of his fiancee’s, sneaky and up to something.

“Nay!” Jamie roared as they made their way to the elevators. “I canna believe ye and my sister dared me and not only dared, but forced me to do this after losing a bet! There isn’t enough money in the world to make me want to come back tomorrow night! It’s definitely not worth the sixty pounds they’re paying me!”

Ian had his arm around Jamie’s shoulder as the two of them entered the elevator. As Jamie/Mr. Malcolm turned around we made eye contact, maybe the first of the night, but his eyes went wide. He was saying something to Ian but I couldn’t hear nor make it out as the doors shut and I was left alone on the abandoned art floor.

#should i continue this?#new au #figure drawing au #claire x jamie #outlander #outlander fanfiction #unedited fic

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