#genre: self-portrait

[about-suffering]

Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting [La Pittura], c. 1638-1639 Artemisia Gentileschi (1539-1652)

[random-brushstrokes]

Alexei Harlamoff - The artist and his model (1875)

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Joseph Ducreux (1735-1802) "The Silence," "The Surprise" (1790s) Oil on canvas Located in the Nationalmuseum, Stockholm, Sweden

[kabukiaku]

self portrait of an eccentric artist who likes to share owl facts (if you ask them)

[art-portraits]

Self-Portrait

Artist: William Sidney Mount (American, 1807-1868)

Date: 1832, New York

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: The Long Island Museum of American Art, History & Carriages, Stony Brook, United States

William Sidney Mount was a 19th-century American genre painter. Born in Setauket, New York in 1807, Mount spent much of his life in his hometown and the adjacent village of Stony Brook, where he painted portraits, landscapes, and scenes inspired by daily life from the 1820s until his death in 1868 at the age of sixty.

[coochiequeens]

Ladies please share to spread the word about two exhibits featuring women artists in two different cities

Artemisia Gentileschi, Self Portrait as Saint Catherine of Alexandria (ca. 1615–17). Collection of the National Gallery, London.

Renaissance art calls to mind some of the greatest names in art history—Da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello, just to name a few. Lesser known, however, are the influential women artists who shaped the era.

Referring to a period that bridged the end of the Middle Ages and early Modernism, the Renaissance was marked by a widespread effort to recover and advance the accomplishments of classical antiquity. Originating in Florence, Italy, but soon spreading throughout Europe, Renaissance art saw the advent of advanced linear perspective and an increase in realism. Many women artists—famous in their own time—were among these great visionaries.

Though for centuries, these women artists were largely overlooked in the annals of art history, contemporary scholarship has begun a long overdue reappraisal and rediscovery of their lives and works. Evidence of this resurgence of interest in the women artists of the Renaissance can be seen in the two current major museum shows in the U.S. that are dedicated to just that. “Strong Women in Renaissance Italy” at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston brings together over 100 works from the 14th through early 17th century, exploring the lives and work of Italian women artists and is on view through January 7, 2024.  At the Baltimore Museum of Art, “Making Her Mark: A History of Women Artists in Europe, 1400–1800” is a sweeping exhibition that aims to rectify critical oversight and bring awareness to historical women artists, and is also on view through January 7, 2024,.

In light of these two important exhibitions, we’ve brought together a brief introduction to five Renaissance women artists whom we think you should know.

Plautilla Nelli (1524–1588)

Plautilla Nelli, St. Catherine with Lily (ca. 1550). Collection of Le Gallerie Degli Uffizi, Florence.

Plautilla Nelli was a nun of the Dominican order at the convent of St. Catherine of Siena in Florence—and is considered by many scholars to be the first-known woman artist of Renaissance Italy. A self-taught painter, Nelli led a women’s artist workshop from the convent, and she was one of the few women mentioned in Vasari’s seminal treatise Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. Because she developed her practice without formal training and was forbidden from studying male nudes, Nelli frequently copied works by other artists, as well as motifs from religious texts and sculpture.

Nelli’s work recently came into the limelight for her immense painting Last Supper, dating to 1568. Measuring over 21 feet long and 6 feet high, the painting remained in her convent’s refectory until the early 19th century, before being moved to another convent’s refectory and, ultimately, being placed in storage. Following an early 20th-century restoration and several more moves, it went on view to the public for the first time in over four centuries at the Santa Maria Novella Museum in 2019. Hanging alongside other masterworks by artists like Brunelleschi, it finally is getting the widespread recognition it deserves.

Catharina van Hemessen (1528–after 1565)

Catharina van Hemessen, Self-Portrait (1548). Collection of Kunstmuseum Basel.

Northern Renaissance painter Catharina van Hemessen was the daughter of prominent Mannerist painter Jan Sanders van Hemessen, and is the earliest Flemish woman painter with verified work that still exists today. Hailing from Antwerp, van Hemessen achieved success in her lifetime, including obtaining the patronage of Maria of Austria, regent of the Low Countries. She was included both in Vasari’s collection of artist biographies, as well as artist biographer Lodovico Guicciardini’s Description of the Low Countries (1567). Van Hemessen’s greatest claim to fame, however, is that she is attributed with completing the first known self-portrait of an artist at their easel—a compositional approach that has become a pillar of the art historical canon, as it has been taken up by artists ranging from Rembrandt van Rijn to Norman Rockwell.

Though she created religious images, she was most well known as a portraitist. Eight portraits and two religious compositions signed by van Hemessen have survived, dating between 1548 and 1552. Notably, there are no verifiable works dating to later than 1554, which have led scholars to believe she ceased painting following her marriage to organist Christian de Morien that year—though there are records she continued to teach three male apprentices.

Sofonisba Anguissola (ca. 1532–1625)

Sofonisba Anguissola, Self-portrait (ca. 1535–1625). Collection of Łańcut Castle Museum, Poland.

Sofonisba Anguissola was one of the most successful women artists of the Renaissance, with a reputation that rose to international acclaim in her lifetime. Born into a noble Milanese family, Anguissola was able to pursue her artistic aspirations with the support of her family, and began her formal training as a teenager; first apprenticing with Bernardino Campi for three years before working with Bernardino Gatti. Her position also allowed for her to become acquainted with Michelangelo, whom she exchanged drawings with. Her early career saw her complete numerous self-portraits as well as portraits of her sisters, including The Game of Chess (1555), which are noted for their realism and liveliness.

Sofonisba Anguissola, The Game of Chess (ca. 1555). Collection of the National Museum in Poznań, Poland.

Anguissola’s reputation as a painter quickly spread, and she was invited to join the court of King Philip II of Spain in Madrid in approximately 1559. Throughout her 14-year tenure there, she completed many official portraits of both members of the royal family and members of the court, adopting the formal and intricate style expected—though unfortunately, no work from this period survived due to a palace fire in the 18th century. Having garnered considerable royal favor, she ultimately spent the remainder of her life continuing to paint as well as teach and engage with young, up-and-coming artists. In 1624, one such young artist by the name of Anthony van Dyck visited Anguissola and recorded his visit in a series of sketches and noted that he learned more about the principles of painting from her than from anything else he had encountered.

Lavinia Fontana (1552–1614)

Lavinia Fontana, Self-portrait at the Spinet with Maid (1577). Collection of the Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome.

Trained by her artist father Prospero Fontana, a teacher at the School of Bologna, Lavinia Fontana is considered the first professional woman artist insofar as she supported herself and her family solely on the income from her commissions. Unconventional for the time, her husband acted as her agent and took a primary role in childcare for their 11 children.  She began her commercial practice in her mid-twenties, creating small devotional paintings, but later began and excelled at creating portraits—and became a favorite of Bolognese noblewomen who vied for her services. Unusual for the period, she also created large-scale mythological or religious paintings that occasionally featured female nudes.

Lavinia Fontana, The Visit of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon (1599). Collection of the National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin.

In the early years of the 17th century, she was invited to Rome at the invitation of Pope Clement VIII and was soon appointed as an official portraitist at the Vatican, counting Pope Paul V as one of her sitters. Her career success continued to thrive, as evidenced by the numerous honors she received, and the bronze portrait medallion cast in her likeness by sculptor and architect Felice Antonio Casoni. She was also one of the first women elected to the Accademia di San Luca in Rome.

Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1653)

Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-portrait as a Lute Player (ca. 1615–1618). Collection of the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford.

Unlike many of her predecessors, Artemisia Gentileschi has maintained a level of renown over the centuries, with her dramatic and dynamic oeuvre that was unprecedented in her own time. Her Baroque compositions helped usher in a new era of painting. Today, her paintings draw the attention of global audiences. Born in Rome, her father was the painter Orazio Gentileschi, who trained Artemisia starting at an early age. Inspired greatly by the work of Caravaggio and his use of high-contrast compositions, her paintings garnered and maintained attention for their naturalism and nuance, as they broke from the idealism of generations past.

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith and Her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes (ca. 1623–1625). Collection of the Detroit Institute of Arts.

In 1612, Gentileschi relocated to Florence, which is where she first achieved major career success, including securing patronage from the House of Medici and being the first woman to attend the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno. From her oeuvre, Gentileschi has become most well-known for her self-portraits as well as religious scenes, specifically the story of Judith Beheading Holofernes—of which there are at least six known variations she completed. Gentileschi’s tendency to portray women as the protagonists of her works—and as equals to their male counterparts—made her innovative in her time and has subsequently secured her legacy as one of the most influential artists within Western art history—of either sex.

[markrus]

Please, no more playing with my heart

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winnie & bagel

[germ-t-ripper]

12FEB24 This OLDBOY (2003) long sleeve by Cult of Cult is everything!

[hannyoontify]

the way you said hello - kim mingyu

member | executive chef!mingyu x reader (ft. jeonghan & seungkwan)

genre | (implied) soulmates!au, meet cute, strangers to lovers au, fluff, (angst if you rlly rlly rlly squint)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | after a disastrous blind date, the night takes an unexpected turn when the restaurant’s handsome owner, mingyu, steps in. what starts as an act of kindness quickly becomes something more as sparks fly over a chance meeting

warnings | cursing, lowk kinda suggestive if you squint, kissing, one (1) mention of a knife, mentions of mingyu having previous injuries sustained from his occupation, there is a SIGNIFICANT time skip at the end but i don't specify how much LMAO that's up to ygs discretion

notes | requested by anon! i'm so sorry if this wasn't the direction you wanted it to go in 😭 i swear i tried my best! lowk don't know if i like this or not but i really liked the bickering between oc n seunghan NOT PROOFREAD

this can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to this mingyu fic!

You anxiously bounced your leg under the table, gently gnawing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the fancy restaurant. Across from you, the chair in front of you had now been empty for an awfully long time now and something told you that your blind date had ditched, leaving you with the incredibly overwhelming and taxing bill.

Fuck.

You rested your head in your hands and let out a tired sigh. There was no way this was happening.

As you reached for your wallet, you flagged down a nearby waiter to ask for the bill. He nodded at your request and you let out what seemed to the umpteenth sigh of that night. While waiting for the bill to reach your table, you began rearranging the leftover peas on your porcelain plate.

“Didn’t know we had a Picasso in the house.” An unfamiliar voice remarked next to you. 

You yelped in surprise and whipped around to see a tall, handsome young man peering over your shoulder with an amused smile. He was in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his prominent forearm muscles, tucked into a pair of dark trousers. “That’s very impressive… is that a self-portrait?”

You snorted in disbelief, your shoulders shaking as you let out a quiet laugh. “No, it’s supposed to be my date. Too bad they left before I could remember what they looked like.”

The mysterious man scrunched up his handsome face, as if to say ‘Ouch’. “Do you mind if I—?” He gestured towards the empty seat in front of you and you nodded.

“Go ahead. That seat’s going to be empty for the rest of the night anyways.” You let out a bitter laugh. He gave you a sympathetic smile and situated himself in front of you with an arm outstretched reaching over the table.

“Kim Mingyu. I’m the owner and executive chef of this restaurant. I received a report that there was an attractive young person who was left on their lonesome after their date mysteriously disappeared.” The man, Mingyu, tilted his head. “Didn’t think said person was going to be this attractive though.”

You blushed at his compliment as you shook his hand. “[Name]. Not sure who snitched on me, though I’m glad to have new company.”

“Are you… on your way out now? Since your date is gone?”

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the bill.”

Mingyu waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

After spilling coffee on your blouse this morning and running 30 minutes late for work, you were more than positive that the day was going to end in disaster. The disappearance of your blind date following a very long, tiring day at work only confirmed those suspicions. However, it seemed like that the goddess of luck was no longer hellbent on making your life a living disaster with the way the stranger sitting across from you managed to douse out the fire that had been burning within you for the past few hours with a single smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not. But if you feel pressured or aren’t comfortable with it, no worries!” Mingyu said lightheartedly. 

“Oh my God,” You ran a tired hand through your face and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “You literally just saved me from having the worst day ever. I was preparing myself to break down into tears once I received the check. Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

He smiled at your words. “Of course, just doing my daily random act of kindness for a stranger. Although…” He trailed off and you quirked an inquisitive brow at him.

“Although?” You asked.

“Although… would it appall you if I said it was my way of shooting my shot?” Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. His eyes nervously darted back and forth between your face and the half-eaten plate in front of him, left by your crappy blind date who was honestly, no longer in your realm of attention. Not when Mingyu was in front of you. 

Shooting his shot? You felt your cheeks burn at a temperature similar to the candle perched on a candelabra on your table at his words and you coughed before fumbling to find the right words.

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Since you’re my savior tonight and all…” Your voice faltered and Mingyu beamed.

“That’s great! Here’s my business card, if you ever want to contact me.” He pulled out a crisp card and handed it to you as he got up from the chair. “Well, I must be getting on my way now. I’d love to stay and chat but I have big boss duties to do.”

Mingyu tipped an imaginary top hat towards your direction. You smiled. “It was nice meeting you, [Name].”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mingyu. I’ll contact you,” You waved his business card and he nodded.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Bye, [Name].”

And with that he was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his perfume and the fluttering of your heart.

“Just call him!!” Your best friend urged you. He was sitting on the other end of the sofa, munching on a bag of chips as he watched you metaphorically rip your hair out over the business card you received from Mingyu a week ago.

“It’s not that simple, Seungkwan! What if he hates me now because it took me so long to contact him? I bet he’s forgotten about me at this point.” You pouted and continued to stare at the worn, but still elaborate cardstock in your hands.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re overthinking this entire thing. Listen to me,” He paused to fix his posture to face you. “He gave you the business card, right?”

You nodded.

“Did he ask for your number?”

You shook your head.

“Did he receive any kind of contact information from you?”

You shook your head again.

“But he gave you his business card? [Name], he literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!” 

Seungkwan let out a frustrated yell and shoved another handful of chips into his mouth. “I swear, you have the IQ of Jeonghan’s pet rock sometimes.”

“Hey! Doljjong is very intelligent!” Your other best friend yelled from the kitchen. “He has really good hearing too, so don’t insult him like that or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and you laughed as Jeonghan came out into the living room to give his own two cents.

“But Seungkwan’s right. The entire fate of a whole new possible relationship with this mythical Kim Mingyu—”

“HE’S REAL. I SHOOK HIS HAND.”

“—is in your hands. Don’t blow it. Or else me and Seungkwan—”

“Seungkwan and I.” You corrected him.

“—will be—Okay, fuck you, grammar police—Will be taking this matter into our own hands so we no longer have to hear your bitching and whining.”

You let out a frustrated groan and threw down the business card that’s been putting you through pain and misery through the past week.

“God, he was literally perfect. I don’t wanna blow it and—”

“That’s what they said.”

“Jeonghan, I’m going to literally throw Doljjong into the bottom of Han River and you’re going to be joining him soon after if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Seungkwan burst into laughter and watched you and Jeonghan continue to argue back and forth.

“Forget it, it’s useless talking to a person who believes that a rock can be a pet.” You got up from your spot on the couch and reached for your phone. “I’m stepping out for some air. Lock the door if you leave before I come back.”

“See ya, don’t wanna be ya!” Jeonghan yelled from the living room as you left the house and you loudly groaned.

You loved both your best friends but they sometimes drove you absolutely insane.

The sky was dark but the countless lights from the skyscrapers and streetlights illuminated the Han River, making the surface twinkle and shine under the pale moonlight.

You were sitting on a lone bench, facing the river as you mindlessly fidgeted with Mingyu’s business card. The edges were fraying from the countless amount of times you’ve handled it between your fingertips, and you traced the black lettering of Mingyu’s name with your index finger as you silently sounded out every vowel and consonant of his name.

Seungkwan’s words rang in your head. ‘He literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!’

Like a switch was suddenly flipped inside you, you reached for your phone. The screen lit up and you pulled up a new message to type in the phone number that was written on the card in your hand. 

Without a single thought, you sent,

hey! it’s [name]!

Before you could even type the first letter of your follow-up text, the status of your message changed from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read 21:24’ and you let out a gasp.

And then the loud, shrill ringing of your ringtone cut through the peaceful night air.

You gasped louder than before after seeing the caller ID, reaching to frantically turn off the ringer before answering the phone.

“He–hello?”

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu’s voice sounded crisp and clear on the other end of the line. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “You almost had me thinking that you were ghosting me or something.”

You let out an apologetic groan. “I’m so sorry, Mingyu. I got in my head and kept putting it off. I swear it wasn’t personal…” 

Mingyu’s laugh was bright. “No worries! I assumed you had your hands full. Although, I did jump a little every time I received a text from anyone from the past week.” 

“Oh, man… I feel horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about it! Better late than never, right?” There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke again. “What are you up to right now?”

You hummed and looked out at the tranquil water of the Han River reflecting the bright lights of the city. “Nothing much. I stepped out for a minute for some air. What about you?”

“Oh, really? I’m actually out for a walk too.” You swore you heard a second voice near you, echoing the words Mingyu was saying in your phone. “Turn around for me?”

You whipped around with the phone still pressed to your ear to see Mingyu standing behind the bench, a small smile playing on his lips. You ended the phone call.

“Mingyu?”

“‘Morning, sunshine,” He slid into the empty spot next to you and you scooched over to make more room for him. “What a way to run into the guy you’ve been ghosting, huh?”

You snorted at his greeting, ignoring the slight burn you felt in your cheeks from the nickname he had addressed you by. “I told you, it wasn’t intentional.”

Mingyu grinned. “I know. Just felt like teasing you.” 

“What are- what are you doing here though? Do you live in this area?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. I moved into that apartment complex not too long ago,” He pointed to a tall building on the other side of the river. “Has a killer night view. You should come over to check it out sometime.”

You choked on your spit, resulting in you barking out a short, panicked laugh. “Do you—-do you usually say these… these things to people?”

“No, not really. I’m not usually like this,” Mingyu looked over at you with a slight tilt in his head. The night breeze brushed his bangs across his forehead and you felt your breath falter at the way the closest streetlight illuminated his honey-like, gorgeous skin.There was a particular glint in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Pardon me if this is too brazen, but I’m only like this when I feel like I’ve met the one. My soulmate.”

Your breath was caught in your throat.

“Does it… usually work?” You choked out. Your face felt incredibly hot and your clammy hands were sticking to the bench.

Mingyu turned back to face the river and your stomach did an odd flip. “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

Oh God. You thought you were melting on the spot with the way he was looking at you. Mingyu was holding eye contact with such intensity, you physically couldn’t look away. Your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage and you decided you were going to sign yourself up for the upcoming Olympics, with the way your stomach was doing flips like an Olympic gymnast. Simone Biles had nothing on whatever routine was going on inside you right now.

“… I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10.” You gave him the most nonchalant shrug you could afford, knowing that there were enough butterflies in your stomach to start a butterfly conservatory. Mingyu looked at you as if he was surprised by the score.

“Really? What would I have to do to win back the last two points?”

You gave him a pointed look, and the next words to leave your mouth almost sent you into cardiac arrest. “Hmm… live up to your words? I guess?”

And the smile Mingyu gave you in that moment was the brightest one of all. His entire being seemed to glow in ecstasy, glowing brighter than the streetlights as he looked at you with a suggestive glint in his eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Mingyu?” You called from the living room. Mingyu didn’t respond and the only thing you heard from the kitchen was the clattering of plates and silverware. “Babe?”

Pushing yourself off the couch with a quiet groan, you padded over to the kitchen where your fiancé was busying himself with preparing dinner. He was hunched over the counter, his hands and trusty knife busy at work as he chopped away on his chopping block. Careful not to startle him when he had a knife in his hand, you snuck your arms around Mingyu’s torso and peered over his shoulder to watch him work his magic.

“Watcha doing?” You asked sweetly. Mingyu acknowledged your presence with a short peck on your forehead.

“Hi, baby.” His voice was rough and the sound sent shivers down your spine. “Preparing to feed you. Why?”

You hummed and nuzzled your face into Mingyu’s back. He smelled like a mix of spices, sweat, and his faint woody cologne permeated your senses. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu set down his knife and turned around to face you, his back resting against the marble counter with his hands resting comfortably at your waist.

“What’s with the sudden question?” He quirked a well-groomed brow at you and you smiled.

“Nothing… I just read a blog about soulmates and I was curious about whether you thought they were real,” Your fingers danced along Mingyu’s strong, muscular forearms, your fingertips lightly tracing all the old scars and burn marks that signified his experience and years spent working to master his craft. You repeated your original question again. “So… do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I don’t think so, love. I know so.”

“Really?” Your eyes brightened at his words and he nodded.

“Mhm. I knew from the moment I saw you playing with those leftover peas on your plate that I was going to marry you,” Mingyu leaned in again, nuzzling his nose against yours. You giggled. “Sometimes, I have dreams where I knew you in another life. But those dreams felt so… real. Like they’re fragments of memories from a past I can’t recall.”

“Are we married in those dreams too?” 

“Mhm. We were happily married, just like we’re going to be.” Mingyu captured your lips with his, sighing gently as your fingers combed through his dark hair. 

“I love you, Mingyu.” You whispered against his lips, like a secret only meant for the two of you to know. Something to be taken and hidden away, kept a secret in the deepest depths of the earth. A secret so sacred, it can only be cherished in the deepest, darkest places so that no one else can know.

“I love you too, [Name],” Mingyu’s love confession was more bold. Something he uttered with purpose and intention. He wanted the entire universe to know that he was yours. His heart belonged to you. He was going to love you loudly and boldly. “I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

a/n: this is a big personal FUCK YOU to writer's block AHGJSJD i somehow managed to push through and finish this 😭 (it was at 300 words when i started today) albeit it was on my phone, in the dark, at 1 in the morning BUT I FINISHED IT. n now my insomnia's back LMAOO

[classicalcanvas]

Title: Self Portrait

Artist: Vincent van Gogh

Date: 1887

Style: Post-Impressionism

Genre: Self-Portrait

[multifandomme]

Arcadia

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu x Female Reader

Summary: When you think about Alcina, you just can't help yourself... but you soon discover that her self-control is as flimsy as your own.

Genre: Smut, (masturbation, oral sex, size kink, fingering, power dynamics, praise kink, hair-pulling), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 2.4k.

This piece is for day 17 of kinktober under the ‘oral sex’ prompt.

A/N: This is an edited version of a fic I wrote in 2021. And the second fic I ever posted to ao3.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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Silence descended upon the castle and brought with it an eerie ambience that seemed to persist. It was not often that such a luxury was afforded, the sound of shrill laughter and abrupt flurries of flies never too far away. The lasting dregs of evening remained suspended over the village, darkness soon to steal the glimpses of amber sky into its possession. The call of slumber fell on deaf ears, loneliness slowly beginning to infiltrate as you stared blankly out of the window, eclipsed by the thick drapes that framed it.

A beautiful portrait of Lady Dimitrescu hung in the centre of the room, eyes of liquid gold peering down from the wall as if she was studying you. She was the only solace, your mind plagued with fantasies which always led you back to her. It was a dangerous game, the rumours that flitted around only reiterating the way evil was allegedly so entwined with her.

But you couldn’t understand it.

She seemed to blur the line between fear and excitement, so muddled within you that you were unsure where one feeling ended and the other began. Adrenaline had become your lifeblood, a single glance in the Lady’s direction weakening you at the knees and causing your heart to rattle violently within your chest. You smiled wistfully in the knowledge that your infatuation was futile and in any case, the woman had larger affairs occupying her time.

You were insignificant, disposable.

Lady Dimitrescu’s voice echoed through the corridors, heavy footfalls following suit until they halted. Despite the mitigation of the walls that were enclosed around you, the mere sound of her voice seemed to trigger your furor. Your eyes flickered over to regard the portrait again, your teeth gnawing lightly against your lip as you dared to trail your fingers across your chest.

Goosebumps rose upon your skin, protruding from below the surface as you brushed gently over your nipples and roused them into sensitivity. The Lady’s orbs bored down from above as you sighed blissfully, wishing that your arousal was a product of her hands rather than your own. From within the confinements of your room, you could hear her voice falling in and out of clarity as you envisioned her beside you, lips pressed against your ear and whispering filth into them. It was all that you could think about, the only thing pacifying the insatiable urges that festered within you.

Encompassing desperation was only a hair’s breadth away, your fingers masterfully tweaking and pinching at the stiffened buds until pain incurred as a result. Your libido blossomed hastily beneath your touch, hands involuntarily manoeuvring towards your underwear until your fingers slithered below the fabric. A stifled gasp exuded from you, mindful as not to alert the woman who was unknowingly causing the depraved acts that you had undertaken.

Wetness collected against your fingers as you dragged them through the slick, circling over your clit until your hips to bucked wildly. Self-control dissipated the moment you believed you had it under control, your breath hitching. Every so often you would push two fingers inside of you, deeply as they aimed for places you could only dream of the Lady exploring. For now, imagining was all that you had and you would make the most of it. The idea of getting caught only added to the thrill that seemed to claim you and take you under.

Glassy orbs remained fixated on the portrait before you, short breaths blowing away louder moans that threatened to escape you. The Lady’s face was solidly imprinted in your brain, dragging you to the edge as you battled to stay quiet. The heavy footsteps that you had heard earlier suddenly grew louder, closer, but did nothing to hinder you from the task at hand.

The threshold had long been surpassed, teetering on the edge of an orgasm that you wanted and needed so badly. You slowed abruptly, torturing yourself as you danced on the brink, desperate to be filled but denying yourself that very pleasure.

Ragged breaths filled the room as you fought to prolong the bliss, hoping that the woman would put you out of your misery and debase you in every way imaginable. Your pussy clenched at its own accord as you entertained the very thought in your head, her long fingers slamming in and out of you until you begged her to stop.

You aligned your fingers once more, the suspense too much to bear as you stuffed them in to the hilt, obscene noises methodically sounding as you settled upon a steady rhythm. The pleasure that claimed you seemed to render you mindless, so much so that you had failed to notice the proximities in which the footsteps had now arrived at. And without a second to catch your breath or shroud your indecency, the door flew open and the Lady ducked into the room, eyes flaring as they landed upon you.

You froze in place, a catatonic state engulfing you as you stared back at her.

“Oh, my,” the Lady drawled, rouged lips curling upwards into a smirk. “It appears as though I have been gravely misled.”

You blinked, confusion arising in response to her strange reaction.

“You’re not the innocent that I had predicted, sweet maiden,” she commented, an air of surprise about her as she regarded your lust-stricken appearance with what appeared to be fascination.

Lady Dimitrescu brushed a slender finger against the mattress as though she was jostling with the urge to reach out and touch you. And then she ceased, departing from the bed side with her gaze ablaze, never straying from you.

“What could have caused this?” She queried, a defined eyebrow quirked towards you as she awaited a reply.

The shock derived of the situation kept you stilled, soundless as your mouth widened only for the words to fail you. Instead, your eyes lifted to the portrait in the hopes that the woman would understand the unspoken admission that you were attempting to reveal. At first, the Lady seemed perplexed to say the least, until she followed your ceaseless glare and hummed interestedly. Silently, she traversed over to the portrait and ran her fingers languidly over the golden frame that bordered it.

“My sweet, innocent maiden was thinking about me?”

The Lady was painfully patronising, a smug smile materialising from her crimson-painted lips as she inspected the picture as if she was trying to uncover a hidden meaning that had eluded her.

“Yes, my Lady,” you admitted, shyly as you grabbed ahold of the bedsheets in order to veil your exposed body from view.

The woman intervened quickly, hands prying the sheets from your grasp as she shook her head in avid disapproval.

“Oh, no,” she tutted, her lips lightly pursed, “I want to see exactly what I have done to you.”

A blush burned itself into your cheeks as you averted your gaze, humiliation beginning to make itself known. The Lady ignored the blatant flustering that she had induced and moved to perch atop the bed, gentle hands slowly exploring the skin of your thighs.

She wasted no time, her sights firmly set on the apex, digits dancing through the arousal that had accumulated. A fresh intrigue lingered within her celestial orbs, no words exchanged as she took her time in inspecting you, rubbing the residual liquid between her index finger and thumb as though she was confirming its existence.

Lips found their way between your teeth, clamping harshly as you tried desperately to prevent your body from thrashing due to the oversensitivity that had incurred. And without a second thought, she raised her long fingers to her mouth and sucked heartily as if she wanted to savour every last remnant drop. The seduction that oozed from her did nothing to stymie your appetite as it reignited, a fire blazing inside of you.

“Just as sweet as I anticipated,” she noted, huskily, her tongue laving her bottom lip with saliva.

The mere act had your thighs tensing back up once more, that same throbbing feeling from earlier returning with an unrivalled intensity.

“As much as I’d love to play into your fantasy,” she began, her voice low and sultry. “I have a few of my own.”

A manicured finger pointed towards you and then to the floor, the unsaid command hanging in the air as you climbed out of the bed and situated yourself between her legs.

“What can I do for you, my Lady?” You questioned, meekly, your skin ablaze in the knowledge that the woman was allowing you to play a part in whatever this was.

The Lady smiled, a little burst of breath huffing out from her nose as she observed your subservience, knees securely pressed against the cold flooring beneath as you awaited instruction. Her hand outstretched towards you, fingers cinching softly around your chin as she forced you to meet her eye line.

“You’ve had practice,” she remarked, though the lilt in her voice seemed to imply that it had been a masked question.

“No, my Lady,” you rebutted with a stifled giggle, “but I’d like to.”

The woman beamed as though impressed, her hands gathering the material of her magnolia gown until she had it confined to one fist. Her free hand fell to secure itself atop the crown of your head as she willed you forwards, your nose mere inches from the black underwear that had been newly exposed.

“Such an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Before you had the chance to respond, she forcefully dragged your face to meet her underwear, your nose brushing along the length of the black material. Despite the woman’s blatant impatience, you pulled back, wanting to cherish the moment and admire her in her entirety.

Gentle fingers ghosted the pale skin of her legs, observing tentatively as she shuddered almost undetectably below your touch. Your lips finally made contact with her inner thigh, daring to bite and suck, her legs jolting every so often. Her self-control had been surprising, coolness prevailing as you continued your vehement attempt to leave it in shreds.

Purpling bruises adorned the Lady’s ashen skin, soft as her thighs enclosed around your head almost involuntarily. It was clear that despite her earnest efforts to hold off, her natural responses had begun to betray her. Cunningly, you brushed your thumb across the length of her underwear and though sound was stifled lightly from your positioning, you swore you heard a gasp escape her.

Her hand reached down and grappled with your head, nails grazing your scalp with brute force as her patience thinned to the point of nonexistence. You were mesmerised, intent on exposing what lay beneath that thin layer of material, a slight patch of arousal visible through the black lingerie if you stared deliberately enough. It spurred you on to no end, your mouth introducing its languid ministrations, suckling painstakingly over her clothed clit as you felt her buck slightly against you.

“That’s it, darling, yes,” she encouraged, breathily, her fingers combing aimlessly through your silky tresses as she urged you on, “don’t you dare stop.”

Courageously, you yanked her underwear to the side, too consumed by the reactions you were procuring from the woman. The opportunity was too good to pass up as you drew more arousal from her with every touch you applied. Her flesh glistened, your eyes half-lidded as you became intoxicated by the scene so close in front of you. Briefly, you gazed upwards, hoping to meet her eyes and when you did, hers glared back in what seemed like frustration, desperation.

You took her clit into her mouth, toying softly with it as you pressed your tongue against it and smoothed it with saliva. Her taste was unlike anything, unable to draw yourself away once you had her on your tastebuds, your tongue slipping further inside of her. The previous combing of her fingers through your hair ebbed out abruptly, replaced with a ruthless force that educed a wince from you in response. And just when her legs began to tremor, you entered her with two probing fingers, aiming for deeper territories.

“Good girl,” she groaned, shamelessly, her voice causing an intensified pulsating sensation to persist between your legs, your heartbeat pounding without rest.

Every jerk and shiver pointed in the direction of an orgasm, her hands clutching you so forcefully in place that you couldn’t forsake her even if you had wanted to. Your fingers worked overtime, pounding zealously as her moans rang out into the room and emptied your mind of any coherent thoughts. Her pleasure was all-encompassing. She ground herself against your mouth and fingers with reckless abandon, no concern thrown towards your wellbeing as she used you. And truthfully, you were enjoying every single moment spent serving her.

Her arousal slivered out of its confinements, painting itself across your chin and mouth as you fought to maintain the rhythm that you had enlisted. Oxygen was hard to secure, a lightheadedness whipping up and only thrilling you further as her flesh pressed tightly up against you.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” she complimented, shakily as the pleasure clouded her, her movements more abrupt and desperate. “I’m so- uh, so close.”

The warning had you throwing every last modicum of effort into the task at hand, your fingers gradually feeling the pinch of her inner walls around you. And soon, they were spasming with vigour as she came undone with a thunderous moan that seemed to shake the room.

“My sweet maiden,” she panted as she attempted to regain control over her breathing, “you have surprised me.”

On your knees, you stared up at her, awe-struck by her post-coital appearance. As usual, she was enchanting, but there was something more, something different. Without a hesitation, she rose to her feet and sauntered towards the far wall, her hands reaching out to pluck your beloved portrait from it.

“No, My Lady!"

“Settle yourself,” she instructed, firmly, the picture dangling from her hand, so small in comparison to her enormity. “I’m going to replace it with something a little more, realistic.”

With furrowed brows, you regarded her with confusion, your interest piqued nonetheless.

“And what might that be, My Lady?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

The Lady strutted over sexily, hips swaying as she leaned down to address you. Her hand cupped your face, a distinct gentleness radiating as her eyes seemed to soften all of a sudden. A long exhale exited from her lips, a smile forming in the corners until it spread across her features.

“Well…” she drawled, suspense rising as your heart began to quicken, surprised to find the Lady repositioning herself beside you in bed. “Me.”

––--– ♡ –––--

––--– ♡ –––--

[random-brushstrokes]

Torajirō Kojima (Japanese, 1881-1929)

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Augustus Leopold Egg (1816-1863) "Self Portrait as a Distressed Poet" (1856) Oil on canvas

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 1

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 4k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

Once a month, Hoshina Soshiro drops by your apartment for tea with you. 

It isn’t often that you both get the same day off. Him, with his vice captain duties that never end because Kaijus don’t deign to give him a break, as he often complains. You, spending hours if not days buried in the blade forgery at Izumo tech so much so your parents remark dryly that they’ve forgotten your face. But every so often, the universe smiles upon you and you get to spend an afternoon sitting on your narrow balcony with your oldest friend. 

It always begins like this.

He drops a plastic bag full of fizzy drinks on the table that only he drinks, whilst you brew a pot of tea. There’s dessert in the fridge that you get to feed his sweet tooth, and he’ll consume both because you’ll claim you have no appetite. After a few perfunctory questions about your wellbeing - the same as always, nothing’s changed, he’ll turn his mind to the sole focus in his life. 

“You gave the latest tech to my brother?!” he yells, outraged. “His main weapon isn’t even a blade.” 

“Orders are orders”, you respond. “Besides, didn’t I just tweak your katanas last month?” 

“About that”, he grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got more ideas -” 

“Not again”, you groan. 

He’ll rattle off a long list of things he wants you to work on next month. Blades made out of some kaiju bone, just to test its mettle. A blade to be worked into his boots - an idea he cheekily admits stems from some stupid shounen manga he reads in his spare time. So many of his ideas belong in the trash bin, but you entertain him anyway, studiously jotting down each of his requests. 

“You’re lucky I put up with you”, you tell him. 

Lazily, he flops onto the floor, rolling to lie his head in your lap. “As if you wouldn’t”, he laughs, poking up at your cheek. 

You don’t get the chance to answer him. His phone goes off, as it always does, and he has to go. 

“Seeya next time”, he waves, without leaving you another glance. The sliver of sky between the buildings surrounding yours is dark when you get up from your seat to clear the cups. 

Your cheek still stings. 

Your family always had close ties to the Hoshina clan. The clan of swordsmiths sworn to the Hoshina clan of swordsmen. A tie that can be traced centuries back to the Edo period to today. Your father crafted his father’s blades in the fires of your family’s forge, yet another in your family’s lineage who were born to serve the generations of Hoshina swordsmen. 

Even though you were born a girl, you never accepted that it should be different for you.

You were only seven when you accompanied your father on a delivery to the Hoshina estate. Your stockinged feet echo in the wooden corridors that stretch out before you, seemingly without end. There are portraits of imposing swordsmen in every other room, blades displayed, their former owners’ eventual fate captioned beneath. You are too ashamed to admit that you’re afraid of one such painting with kaiju-like yellow eyes that seems to glare at you that you bolt when your father leaves you aside to talk business with the Hoshina patriarch.

Foolishly, you forget that the Hoshina estate dwarfs your family home. After the fifth rock garden you come across (which admittedly to your seven year old self, seems to blend into each other), you are well and truly lost, so you sit on the porch of some courtyard and wait to be found for a stern reprimand by your father. 

Clang. 

But you’re drawn by the sound of steel clashing, so you follow your ears, and your eyes thank you as you watch two boys spar with dull blades. 

The older, with silver hair, has a clear edge. He’s taller and stronger, so he bullies his younger opponent into a corner. The younger, with dark hair, doesn’t seem daunted, standing his ground with precise swings and savage slashes that his older opponent only manages to parry with difficulty. 

Though you hide yourself behind a pillar, the older boy spots you anyway, breaking off the fight to grab you by the front of your top. 

“Intruder”, he shouts, waving his blade at you.  

“I’m - I’m sorry!” you squeak. You panic, fearful that he’ll throw you out of the estate, because if you can’t even figure your way out around the compound, there’s no way you’re going to find your way back home across half of Osaka, so you hiccup and cry and beg to be let go - 

“Hey! You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of a losing fight.”

Courage has never been your strong suit. It’s easier for you to hide behind your father or older brother’s legs, so you’re taken aback by how quickly the younger boy jumps into the fray on your behalf, defiant even in the face of a larger opponent.  

Your captor’s nostrils flare. “What did you say?!” he demands, but he lets you go with a sneer. 

“Another round then”, the younger boy says, as he tugs you to your feet, brushing the dust off the pretty kimono your mother took the effort to dress you up in. “Maybe this time you’ll actually be serious -” 

His brother brandishes the blade at him. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, you insolent brat.” 

You spend the afternoon watching them from a safe distance until your father finds you, apologising to Hoshina-sama for his wayward daughter. 

You’re formally introduced then to the brothers - Sochiro the elder, who doesn’t even acknowledge you with a nod, and Soshiro the younger, who smiles like the sun when you tell him that he’s amazing in a fight. 

“I’ll show you more next time!!”, Soshiro says. His eyes remind you of violets blooming in spring. 

Your mother hears of your adventures in the Hoshina estate. 

She comes to brush your hair after your bath. “The Hoshina family sees ours as a vassal clan”, she states baldly, as the comb sticks on a particularly tricky tangle. At your noise of confusion (and pain, because she’s none-too-gentle at getting the snags out of your mane), she explains. “That means our family is bound to them by our usefulness in making katanas, the instruments of their success.”  

She clucks her tongue at your obtuseness, as you stare at her, uncomprehending. “We supply swords, not brides to them. There are no engagements between their sons and our daughters. If you wish to associate with the Hoshina boys, you must be of use to them.” 

Perhaps, in her ungentle way, your mother was trying to do you a kindness. 

But you took her warning as instruction instead. So, though you’ve always been afraid of the loud forge your father and older brother work in, you badgered your father for enough lessons in sword making, hovering over him every minute you have out of school so you can learn everything you can.  

It’s worth it, when Soshiro comments on the shiny scars on your forearms the next time you visit. 

“I’ve been learning how to make katanas”, you explain, suddenly shy. 

“Wow!” you catch another glimpse of violets through wide eyes. “You must’ve worked really hard!”  

You peek at the blooms of bruises on his shins, the angry red scratch across his face. “So have you”, you reply. 

He beams, dragging you off to play.  

More often than not, that devolves into him showing off his latest moves, and you applauding his every action. He revels in the attention, which you find strange because surely everyone with eyes should be able to discern that Hoshina Soshiro is wildly talented, even at the tender age of eight, but then whenever his brother surfaces with taunt regarding Soshiro’s swordsmanship, you can see the chip of his shoulder grow, an invisible burden that drags him into the ground.

As an outsider, it’s not your place to comment on the unfairness of being knocked around by a boy five years his senior, so you try your clumsy best to bandage Soshiro’s wounds and slip in an encouraging word or two. You never want to see the violets in his eyes wither and die. 

“I’ll make you the best blade in the world when we grow up”, you bump your elbow against his. “So you can beat him.” 

“Promise?” 

You loop your little finger around his. Half moons brighten into stars. 

// how abt a blade that can separate into 2 // 

// or or or // 

// maybe three?! // 

// would your ancestors roll in their grave //

You wake up to a text. Or three. 

<Gremlin>. You text back. <Soshiro-kun, go to sleep.> 

// you wound me // 

// seeya later // 

// visiting Izumo tech for my new suit!!! // 

// make sure you lend me your lunch discount at the cafeteria // 

You snort.

<Cheapskate>. The rhythm of your conversation thrums. <are you asking me to have lunch with you> 

// someone needs to keep me safe from my fangirls // 

// don’t leave me in their clutches // 

An eye roll. 

< Die >. You turn your phone facedown, resolutely refusing to respond. 

Despite your complaints, you end up eating lunch with him anyway. 

It’s difficult to concentrate on your meal when your childhood friend turned the most eligible bachelor in the Japan Defense Force sits across from you in a skintight uniform, your giggly co-workers sitting two rows down watching his every move. So you push your tray away and just watch him as he chatters away through a mouth full of food (something he’d never do back home because he’s been raised with manners befitting the second son of the esteemed Hoshina clan, but around you he seems to turn into a demented manchild), but you’ve always found it endearing how he’s his chaotic true self around you - 

“New recruits are coming in next month so I don’t know when we’ll have time to catch up -” 

“There’s nothing to catch up on when you keep text me in the middle of the night with your train of thoughts - “

“That’s all work related”, he says. “I want to know how you are doing.” 

You’re not about to tell him that your parents have informed you that they’re tired of you mooning after a man who’ll never love you back, and have started haranguing you via text to get your ass back to Osaka so you can meet suitable men your age who’d be willing to accept an unladylike wife with burn scars trailing up her forearms.  

“As if you really want to know”, you grumble. “You’re only interested in talking to me when it’s about your weapons and tech.” 

“You wound me”, he dramatically claps his hand to his chest, miming hurt. “You don’t believe that I care about my oldest friend?” 

“Nope.”

“Rude”, he sing-songs. “C’mon.”

“The only reason we’re even lunching is because you wanted more upgrades - plus, now you want a shield against your fan-girls, who, by the way, are going to mob me in the bathroom and make me recount for the thousandth time, why and how I know you, the - I quote - cutest guy in the Japanese Defense Force, though they really should get their eyesight checked out in my opinion -” 

“Oohhhh - people think I’m good-looking?” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s in some 80’s shampoo commercial, throwing an exaggerated wink over his shoulder to the nearest fangirl. You hear a thump on the floor. You hope she didn’t hit her head too hard (but perhaps it might make her sole brain cell work a little better if she did). 

You tap his knuckles with the back of your chopsticks. “Get that ego on a leash.”

His grin is cheeky. “I can’t help it if people think I’m good-looking.” Your heavy sigh makes him pout. “You don’t think I’m good looking?” 

The lunch bell comes to your rescue. 

“I have to get back to work”, you tell him, all too ready to make your escape. 

“So do I”, he gobbles down the rest of his lunch. “Seeya around.”

“Stay safe”, you add. “Don’t let a Kaiju eat you up.” 

“Eat me up?!” he squawks with mock outrage. “Don’t you know I eat Kaijus for breakfast?” 

As if you don’t. In Tokyo, the third division is exceedingly popular. Captain Mina Ashiro of course, takes up most of the attention with her long, dark hair and prowess as the nation’s foremost sniper, but once in a while, the newspapers and magazines run features of Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro, and you dutifully keep cuttings in a scrapbook that you hide under your bed. 

In every interview, he talks about how it’s patently untrue that there’s no space in the Japan Defense Force for those who prefer to wield a blade rather than a modern gun. “Captain Ashiro believes in me”, he says, so seriously that it’s hard to recognise your usual jovial friend. “For that, I’ll be thankful for every day.” 

He said the same thing to you the day of his promotion. 

“She believes in me when no one else did”, he tells you in disbelief. 

That’s a lie, you want to shout. You reminded him that there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d fail the entrance exam into the Japan Defense Force, and he’d indeed pass with flying colours. You calculated his unleashed combat potential from your lab in Izumo Tech, saw him exceed and excel so much so that an exception was made for him to carry katanas which you spent sleepless nights crafting for him. He won his first promotion as platoon leader nary a year in after a stunning victory decapitating yonju across Tokyo, and your congratulatory text to him was ‘See, I knew you’d do it.’ 

So no, Mina Ashiro was not the first person who believed in Hoshina Soshiro. You are. 

Unless, in his eyes, you don’t count. 

<okaa-san>

<Yes, I’ll be glad to meet your friend’s son>

< No promises on anything more>

The date your parents arranged for you is a man with a pleasing smile who has as much romantic interest in you as you in him - which is to say, very little at all. “I’m too busy with my job, but my mother insisted”, he confesses.

You like him all the better for his honesty. “So did mine”, you respond with a wry chuckle. 

Yamamoto-san is good company, nonetheless, even if his only interest in life other than his demanding job as a corporate slave is tending to his houseplants, so since you both share an interest in getting your overbearing mothers off your backs, you agree to have lunch once a month just so you can say to your parents without lying that you’re seeing someone. 

A part of you that you tuck deep into your chest hopes that word gets around to Soshiro, who’ll come beat your front door down, demanding that you, instead, turn your eyes to him (as if you’ve ever looked elsewhere for as long as you’ve known him). And when Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, pops into your office for his own tweaks to his tech and rounds upon you with a wicked twinkle in his eye, you’re sure that whatever you share will be conveyed as salaciously as possible to his younger brother. 

“Soooo”, he drags each word out obnoxiously. “Your older brother mentioned that you’re seeing someone now who isn’t my younger brother.” 

You smile blandly. “Soshiro-kun and I have always been just friends.” 

“Just friends my arse”, he retorts. “You’ve had a planet sized crush on him since you were seven. It just can’t be helped that my brother’s got a katana up his arse.” 

You try your best not to wince. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain Hoshina?” you gesture at the door. “As you can see, the mountain of work that’s been piling up ever since you stopped by my office needs to be done, and I really don’t have time to sit around and gossip like old women.” 

“So grumpy”, he hops off your desk. “So, should I tell him that he’s missed the boat?”

“Tell him whatever you want.” You begin to type furiously on your laptop. “As if he’ll care.” 

Five minutes later. 

// u have a bf?! // 

// and i had to find out fr Sochiro?! // 

// AND u said there’s nothing to catch up on? // 

You lock your phone in the drawer beneath your desk. 

// are u ignoring me???? // 

“You ignored my texts!” 

This is a first. Hoshina Soshiro, cranky even when a stack of golden brown pancakes soaked in maple syrup wobbles enticingly in front of him. “I was busy at work”, you say. A flimsy excuse, one that fails to placate him as he continues to pout, childlike at you.

“So?” he demands, slicing right through the pancakes with his butter knife. “Is it true?” 

“Is what true?” 

His eyes narrow as he waves his knife accusingly at you. “You decided to tell Sochiro that you got a boyfriend before me?” 

You take a sip of coffee to steady your nerves. “You know I don’t talk to your brother unless he decides to invade my lab. But I guess he and my brother still text from time to time.” 

“Hrm.” he puffs out his cheeks, blows out a breath heavy enough to flutter his bangs. You restrain the urge to reach over and straighten his hair. “Fine.”

“I’m just seeing a guy that my parents set me up with.” You rehearsed exactly what you wanted to say, but your insides churn, the coffee you drank not doing you any favours. “I guess they’re just worried that no one will ever want me as I grow old and unmarriageable.” 

His chuckle is blithe, uncaring. “Parents are all the same, aren’t they? Just last week, my mother called me to ask if I’m interested in being set up on a date with someone - as if I’d ever be interested, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date, and besides, she probably just called because my older brother’s a master at dodging such calls -” 

You let him ramble on as you gather the remnants of your courage deep within your guts for a final advance. 

“Soshiro.”

“Hm?” he looks up, mid-chew. “Sup.”

“If I really did get a boyfriend, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” 

“Why would I mind?” He laughs, reaching over to prod at your cheek. “I mean, I guess as long as you don’t stop making me awesome katanas, and as long as he doesn’t mind that I text you my brilliant ideas on improvements -” 

Unknowingly, he cuts right through your heart. But in fairness to him, you offered your heart on a silver fucking platter, even handed him the blade to stab it with.

“I was just worried you’d be unhappy”, you mumble, blinking back tears furiously. 

Thankfully, he’s too focused on clearing his plate. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious”, he laughs. “What a silly question.” 

“Yeah”, you manage to croak. “What a silly question.” 

He goes on to fill the rest of the afternoon with chatter about his new recruits. You sit numbly and listen to his tales of a Shinomiya slip of a girl who blows all recorded numbers for a recruit out of the window, an old man who confounds his techs by registering a big fat zilch on their combat scales, but he entertains his candidacy because he’s a great source of entertainment. 

“You okay there?” he frowns, stopping mid-story. “You kinda look down.” 

“Indigestion”, you lie through gritted teeth. “Never you mind.” 

“You shouldn’t take milk in your coffee if you’re lactose intolerant, silly”, he teases, confiscating your iced latte. 

“I’m just an idiot”, you try your best to smile. Fortunately, he accepts a pained grimace. 

Your mother was both right and wrong. You know that Soshiro cares for you as a friend, because he could never be callous enough to reduce you to your usefulness to him, but it’s true that he has no space in his heart for you. 

A year or two ago, you piled yourself in a car with both Hoshina brothers to brave the Obon traffic to get back to Osaka for the holidays. You hadn’t been able to afford the jacked up prices for the shinkansen, and Soshiro only found out yesterday that Captain Ashiro took pity on him for missing consecutive New Year holidays that she gave him Obon off as a consolation price, so their parents nagged Sochiro into ferrying you both home. 

“Shouldn’t you have your own car?” Sochiro groused. 

“Why would I need a car if I’m on base 24/7”, Soshiro replied. “Why do you need a car? Unless the sixth division is slacking off -”

The car screeched to a halt. Sochiro kicked open the door, yanked Soshiro by his collar and shoved him into the driver’s seat. “To keep your smart mouth occupied, you can drive us the rest of the way to Osaka.” 

“Aren’t you scared I’ll crash?” 

“If you do, I’ll skin you alive.” 

Your forehead nearly split open from all the bickering. “Guys, I can drive -” 

“No!” Both brothers yelled at you in unison. It’s the first time they’ve probably agreed on anything in their life.

The bickering finally ended when Sochiro fell asleep in the back, head pillowed against the window glass on one side in a way that he’s bound to wake up with a neckache. Still, you’re forced in close proximity to Soshiro, the puffs of warm air from the overworking air-conditioner blending with the scent of steel and citrus, from the shampoo he probably uses, you mused half dizzy, head heavy - 

“If you puke in the car, Sochiro’ll make you lick it up.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Talk to me so I don’t focus on your terrible driving.” 

By the time Soshiro’s done with his recounting of the last four fights he’s been involved in, the massive disappointment of this year’s recruitment exercise and his admiration for Captain Mina Ashiro (which made you want to scream, kick your foot through the windshield, perhaps), the afternoon sun is low to the ground, streetlights along the expressway flickering on. 

You couldn’t help but ask. “Do you ever think about anything other than your job?” 

“Nah.” he chuckled. “I don’t have time for anything else. I gotta spend time to train y’know, otherwise I’ll really die on the job.” 

“Soshiro!” 

“That’s why I got good life insurance”, he deadpanned. 

“I guess that was a silly question”, you slump back in your seat. 

“It really is”, he teased. “So, what else d’you wanna hear about my all consuming job?” 

The memory stings your eyes. 

You make up an excuse to return to your apartment without haste, waiting until he disappears around the corner before you give in to the tears that you’ve been keeping at bay all afternoon. Strangers on the train ride home give you a wide berth, because they certainly don’t want to catch whatever malady you’re clearly suffering from with your swollen eyes and hiccuped sniffles. You stumble into your shoebox apartment, kick your shoes off at the genkan.  

Tonight you’ll give yourself the grace to mourn the death of a dream.  

You crack open the beers he previously brought, one after another. Drunk, you sit on the balcony, the half-moon reminding you too much of a certain vice captain. You let your mother’s words flood your mind. You are meant to offer him blades, not a bride. In another lifetime, in every lifetime, perhaps, the noble born son of a samurai clan would never open his heart to the lowly daughter of a swordsmith. He would be raised to always put duty before love. 

You don’t know why you hoped for anything different. 

So when you roll off your sofa in the morning, you glare at yourself in the toilet mirror, eyes rimmed red, a hangover in full effect. 

“You are an idiot.” you slap your cheeks so hard it turns pink. 

You will not allow this to continue. Hoshina Soshiro is not yours, has never been yours, and will never be yours. You are pathetic for hoping otherwise, stupid for living in hopes that he’ll look at you some day, an utter idiot for letting every choice you’ve ever made in your life be guided by your infatuation with a boy who doesn’t have space in his heart for you.

You could’ve been like your older brother, been content with sticking to the family business of sword making instead spending every spare minute on your engineering studies so you’re well positioned to be snapped up by Izumo Tech as a weapons specialist. You had the leeway to be based in Osaka near your family, but accepted a position in Tokyo just to be closer to where Soshiro’s based. You could’ve had a social life, perhaps even friends outside of work, if you’ve not dedicated your life to your job, working after hours tirelessly, just so you secure promotion after promotion, cementing yourself as Izumo Tech (and by extension, the Defense Force) go-to for anything blade related, just so you fulfil the promise you made to Soshiro all those years ago. 

You cannot live the rest of your life this way.   

a/n: so...i know i've only ever written for the hq boys but the way hoshina soshiro grabbed my throat in a chokehold in that gym training scene just forced my gremlin brain to start typing and get to work on this story for him.

hope you guys like it <3

[lionofchaeronea]

Title: Self-Portrait in a Spanish Costume Artist: Edward Okuń (Polish, 1872-1945) Date: 1911 Genre: portraiture Medium: oil on canvas Location: National Museum in Warsaw