#gothic?idek

[sageburn]

[lambnotincluded]

no promise of heaven will make me march with my final breath I deny the church

[cruesuffix]

….ok that’s enough internet tonight.

[leggeteconme]

Added even more dramatic little wall trinkets to my living room after hitting up my two favorite thrift stores today (and picking up a stunning framed print from Spirit Halloween of all places) ^^

I also bought more books. My favorite thrift store was having a giant garage sale moment today and holy mother of sin there were HUNDREDS of books in row after row after row of boxes. Just… soooo many books 😩 Most were $1-2 ($2 max though!!), but a bunch were one grocery-sized bag for $1. I bought 21 books for $7. I’m too tired to take more pictures and make another post tonight, but dw I’ll share tomorrow ;)

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

pencil jar at my grandparents' house.

[plutos134340]

More quizzes

I made lyric quizzes for the cj gothic literature songs! Also, i finally figured out how to link the quizzes to the post without having those weird links, so thats good ig.

The Ballad of Dr. Jekyll

The Mr. Hyde Jive

Wilhelmina Waltz

A Styrian Rhapsody

The Monster's Lament

An Elegy for One Roderick Usher, or 'The Haunted Palace'

Dead Man's Sea Shanty

Ode of the Cog

Dear Machine. Hate, the Cog

Monster Mash (Encore)

bargaining/compromise

And, as always, if i spelled something wrong or missed anything, please let me know

[the-window-monster]

REALLY POLISHED SHORT STORY FROM LAST

TW: Light descriptions of gore, someone being killed by a car, maybe someone going crazy

Kevin kept his gaze steady on the road in front of him. His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. He hadn't had to take a turn in miles, and he had frequently taken one or both hands completely off to grab a handful of potato chips from the last gas station or to check his email. He wouldn't put it past The Portland Source to message him that time of night, asking for some update on his "supposed big story" or giving him some progressively more pressing deadline.

Kevin shook his head and tried to squash work out of his brain. It was dark, and as he drove forward, he noticed more and more dirt and dust that had begun to kick up in his path. He must have really been getting into the countryside. 

Kevin yawned.

He hadn't seen a gas station for fifteen miles, and he'd have to bargain that it'd be another fifteen until another one cropped up. All around were trees that seemed to wall themselves around his car like a tight, pin-needle blanket. It was at that moment, looking at the linearity of the dirt road in front of him and the trees around him, that he came to the realization that the only way to go was forward in the forest. There was no turning around or getting out. No turning to the side, either. You could only march forward toward the next stop, hoping to find something of your use there. Then you'd have to take up and keep going again, like a bird taking wing in migration, whether it be toward heaven or hell.

So were the tangents that Kevin's mind went in on these sorts of late night drives. It was what he did to keep himself occupied. There was a heavy, unfeeling buzz coming from the radio in his car, like static pouring from the sky and into his mind. Kevin must have been braindead, because at the moment he couldn't feel his eyes focus on anything. He tried to center himself, able to pick up on the faint smell of skunk, from somewhere far away. 

Was it skunk?

A strange thought occurred to him. If someone died out where he was, would they ever find them?

No.

Nobody would ever find them.

Kevin was alone on the road.

He kept on driving forward. Everything had looked the same for the past fifteen miles. Maybe more. He couldn't remember.

In the distance, he thought he might have seen a flashing light, some sort of faint specter in the Kentucky air. A mirage of sorts, not from heat, but of fatigue. Kevin disregarded it, and kept moving forward. He started to blink his eyes shut. Two days, driving out of Maine with about as much sleep as a journalist on Adderall. Kevin scoffed. That's exactly what he was. His publication's errand boy, nabbing at little, local stories like a hungry dog nipping scraps off the table. He hoped that it wasn't for nothing, all of this. Perhaps, somehow, he could finally get a step ahead after all this time being discarded.

Not to mention all that snow and ice he had driven through. That was a nightmare.

He dreamed of one day taking up and moving down to a place like Kentucky. Starting a family. He always thought he'd like to have a son. He would teach him how to fish and how to build a chair or a table.

Maybe he could homeschool his son, if he could get a good enough deal with a publication. His girlfriend, whom he was nearly sure was going to end up being his wife, would be amazing with that. Sylvie had expressed how much she would love a situation in which she could stay home. 

Now Kevin's mind was racing. He could also help teach his son how to write. How to construct a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph, and then an article or a story or a poem. He could buy a big house out in the countryside for the family, and it all could start with this one story. Just a few interviews in Texas. Then things would look up.

He was going to be better, now.

He opened his eyes.

The light he had once seen now completely encased the front side of his car.

He heard a shout, then a scream. Muffled, then cut short.

He pretended he didn't hear that.

His car rolled over something. Rumbled through the metal. Stopped the radio.

Silence.

Dead silence.

The sound of the radio flickered back, trickling down from the ceiling and drowning him, filling his lungs and boiling his blood. He was in Kentucky. It was a deer. No other animal was that size. Hunters did worse to deers. After all, nobody else was on the road.

His car wasn't running right, cracking and squeaking, down in the axels. He stopped it.

He opened the door and looked behind him. He wanted to scream, to get on his knees and bawl, but when he tried to, nothing happened.

No one was there. No one would know.

No one would find the body.

It wasn't his fault, was it? They jumped out in front of him. He would only hurt himself if he told anyone. The police would arrest him.

Sylvie’s face appeared in his mind. The way her hair fell in front of her ears, the little sparkle her eyes would get when she talked about the future. He couldn't do that to her. It wasn't like saying anything was going to bring anyone back to life.

What was done was done. He could feel his ears ringing, his stomach was turning in on itself. No, no. This happened to him, too. He didn't ask for this. He was just as much a casualty.

He got back in his car.

Dead silence outside.

The sound of a crow, cackling from a tree. Kevin looked at the bird, which looked back at him in such a manner that Kevin knew that he had to leave. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He could hardly keep his hands around the steering wheel, shaking, white and pale. The shadow flew above his car, circling around it. He sped down the country road, faster than he had driven ever in his entire life. If there would have been a sudden turn, he would have flown off the road and down into a ditch to burn, but the curvature of the road remained the same. 

The bird was still above his car.

No, it wasn't. Birds didn’t move that fast. If it was still above his car, that meant it wasn't a bird at all.

He had just killed a man.

Or was it a woman? He couldn't tell in the condition the body was in.

Why did he care about a bird?

Why?

He slowed his pace down, back to what he had been driving at before. Nobody had to know. Keep on toward Texas, he told himself. What could he do about it? Though he greatly grieved the situation, it was their fault for standing in the road. Kevin hadn't been drinking. He hadn't done anything wrong. He just needed to go on and start his life.

There was dead silence outside.

Nothing could be heard. Not a cricket, not a rustle in the bushes, just Kevin, a sputtering car engine, and the faintest sound of a bird flying above him.

The cackle of a crow grabbed him, shook him back to his senses. He pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal, as fast as he could. There had to be a gas station somewhere within the next few miles. He'd go there. He had to get off the road. Every single one of the trees that had once smothered his car now hugged it like a scarf, tightening their grasp and making sure he choked. 

Kevin couldn't breathe. He looked up, above his car. A bird's silhouette, stark against the moon. He slammed his head into the steering wheel.

"God, I'm sorry!" He screamed as loud as he could.

What looked like a building was coming up. He could recoup there. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing, going a bit crazy after all the time driving. He pulled his car into the parking lot and ran into the gas station. Nobody was inside. The shelves were stocked with food brands that Kevin had never heard of, and a machine carried out the transactions with a clawed tray and a monotone, beeping scanner. Dirt and filth stuffed itself in the corners of the building.

Kevin needed to go to the bathroom. It was just about the only place he felt wasn’t a madhouse. He would splash some cold water on his face, take a breather, and turn around to go to Louisville.

He repeated the name of the city in his mind over and over. Louisville. Louisville.

Once he got to the city, he could stop by a nice hotel and get the sleep he deserved, then this bad dream would finally get out of his life. He’d make his way down to Texas, interview the Dallas police force, write up a few articles, and go home. He’d talk to Sylvie, and he’d put the money back into his savings. Then everything would be normal.

The cold water felt good on his face. It seemed like it had washed off a non-existent layer of dirt that had caked onto him. His hair was disheveled. He took his fingers and combed it until he thought that he looked at least somewhat presentable. The word repeated in his mind again. Louisville.

Kevin got out of the bathroom with a sense of peace, an innate calmness that rested in his chest. He was going to be okay. Everything was. He took a bag of off-brand potato chips, put it in the transaction machine, and pocketed it. He got outside, took a breath of sweet old Kentucky, and started to walk back to his car.

That’s when three jolts of pain shot through Kevin’s head and down into his neck. He fell down onto the cracked asphalt, looking up to see a ruffled mess of black feathers and screechy cackling. He put his arms around his head in an attempt to ward the bird off, but it didn’t do much but make it retarget itself to his hair. It started pulling out chunks of hair with its beak, and Kevin had started screaming from the pain. He got a hold of the bird, not without it taking one last lock, and chucked it down onto the pavement. It made a pained noise before scuttering away into the darkness.

Kevin looked at his car. It was splattered all over the front, from the bumper all the way to the hood. Kevin broke out in a cold sweat as tears started rolling down his face. For a moment, Kevin turned around back toward the gas station and tried to control himself, but he couldn’t stop. There was blood on his car, all over it. The sound of his weeping resonated through the unfeeling forest. It was futile. So, so futile. Kevin held his arms around his body in a sort of self-hugging. He felt guilty for even that. He was a murderer.

He wiped his eyes and looked around. There was an old water hose attached to the side of the gas station. He could tell it had used to be green, but now it was brown from all the years of wear and tear. It barely reached his car, but the water could easily wash everything off. Kevin bowed his head down and did so. He had no other choice, he reasoned. Wash it away, he told himself. Just wash it all away. Pretend it didn’t happen. 

Kevin threw the hose back to the side of the gas station, not even bothering to put it back on the hook.

He went to the door of his car, and that’s when he realized that it had come back. He heard a rustle in the trees, and then he saw it. Its wings were spread out in the air, catching the moonlight in such a way that it looked like an unholy angel, descending from the heavens. He lurched his head back, but it didn’t quell the crow at all. It swooped down, talons extended, and landed on his shirt collar, weaving forward and biting his neck. He tried to push it away again, but when he tried to, it was gone.

He got in the car and started it. The engine gave a low growl, and the car radio was playing some song from the fifties or sixties in its staticky, muffled way. That’s when he decided to check the damage. He put his hand on his neck where the bird had bit him and held it in front of his face. His palm had a considerable amount of blood on it. He squinted at it for a moment, and even under the fog of his vision, something didn’t quite feel right. His nails felt sore, an almost seething, stinging sensation.

He turned his hand around only to discover, burrowed into his nail beds were little brown strands. For a brief moment, he thought it could have hair, but he quickly disposed of this thought. He was being tricked by the bird, and the only way to escape it was to get out of these woods.

“Louisville,” He whispered to himself, under a whimpering breath.

He was back on a straight, dirt road, just like the previous fifty miles. He diverted away from the road where the accident had happened, instead taking a longer detour. He would not look at what he had done. Never. He kept down the road, and on this street, he saw less forestry and more of those big country houses with clouded windows that he thought he might have seen a figure through. Was it looking at him, or was it looking away, disgusted? He sped past those roads. 

After long enough, he finally saw the road sign, rusted on the side of the road: “Thirty miles to Louisville”. 

Kevin felt hope trickle into his car. Even on the radio, the song “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles was playing. Something still stuck to him, wormed its way under his skin and into his brain. He understood that feeling would never go away, but maybe he could try to live a normal life. He thought about his girlfriend. Sylvie. 

Then he thought about the way she’d look if she saw the blood on his car. Then he thought about how he would feel if Sylvie had disappeared one day, only for him to slowly come to the realization that she was dead. He would sit and not know what happened to her, pouring over their text messages for some sort of clue. 

The image of a blood-soaked corpse lying motionless on a dirt road entered his mind, and he almost threw up.

Then he felt a presence.

“God, please no.”

In the passenger’s seat of his car, perched so calmly, was the crow. Kevin jumped back and swerved completely off the road, tumbling down a small hill and crashing into a fence post. He was launched forward, barely catching himself on the steering wheel before he broke his nose. Somehow, his car had seemed to suffer minimal damages for the situation, but it sure as hell wasn’t in a driveable state.

The bird hadn’t moved an inch. It remained in the exact place it had been before he had crashed.

“Kevin.” It spoke in a raspy voice.

Kevin shook his head.

“Did you really think I’d let you keep going?" The bird itself almost sounded pained.

"I don't…It's not my fault."

"That's your problem.”

“I don't…” Kevin reached into his pocket and got his phone out. He opened his camera, turned on his flashlight, and pointed it at the bird.

Where it had been, only dust and leather. He turned the camera off, and the bird was back, sitting in the exact same place it had been before. He swiped it past the bird a few times, finally throwing his phone down into the car floor. He thought he might have heard the screen crack.

He kicked it over and over until he felt satisfied, then he glared back at the car seat next to his.

"I'm sure you can find a better use for your cell phone, Kevin."

Somehow, he knew exactly what it had meant. He thought he must have looked like a scared puppy, but nonetheless, he reached down and picked his phone up. He dialed 911, slicing his finger in the process. 

A singular drop of blood fell on the phone screen. He normally would have felt something about it, but all that he could muster was numbness.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The respondent sounded like a middle-aged woman. She spoke professionally, like she had done this a hundred thousand times before.

“I’ve run my car off the road. I crashed into a fence post.”

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Is anyone else in the car with you?” He looked at the bird. Its eyes were hollow, directed on him. Even from two feet away Kevin felt like the bird was breathing down his neck. “No ma’am.”

“How much damage has your vehicle suffered?”

Kevin stumbled over his words a bit, “The front looks like a crushed soda can. I don’t think the engine’s working.”

“I advise you to step out of the car. We’ll have officers heading your way soon.”

Kevin spoke in a meek tone. “Thanks.”

The phone hung up, and Kevin got out of the car, not taking his eye off the bird.

It didn’t really matter if he got out, because the bird simply turned its head, opened its beak, and kept talking.

“I didn’t want this for you.”

“Well it sure as hell seems like you did.”

“You’re a coward.”

“Why would you say that?” Kevin already knew why, but for some reason, asking felt appropriate.

The bird spoke, or did it? Kevin didn't actually see its beak move. “I said that because of the mangled body you left behind. He drew his last breath only minutes ago.”

Kevin didn’t say anything.

The bird’s voice cleared. It sounded almost human-like. “He laid in agony for hours, Kevin. I knew the hit was a god-honest mistake, but driving away wasn’t.” The bird fluttered onto the car window, and perched there. “You could have stopped. You could have saved him, but instead, you let your fear bury your conscience.”

“Oh, how nice of a life you could have had! The world was at your fingertips, waiting patiently for you to grab it. You, Kevin, only you, have destroyed it all.”

As the sirens from the police car became progressively more audible, the bird cackled. “I hope you have the life that you deserve.” The crow spread out its moonlit wings, and whisked off into the trees.

Kevin turned around to see a police car and fell to his knees. He must have looked crazy with pulled-out hair and blood-specked clothes and a car driven off the road for seemingly no reason. 

As the officer approached, Kevin spoke between strangled breaths.

“Officer, I have a confession to make.”

[selachimorphic]

Self portrait......

[mwagneto]

okay google how do i move out of eastern europe but stay in the eu but go somewhere i speak the language but somewhere that has healthcare and somewhere where i dont need to become a construction worker and also somewhere that is not germany. thanks

[fair-fae]

This is being randomly dumped in /yell chat in game. Idk who compiled it or the accuracy of everything but I CAN say firsthand Dolly randomly sent me graphic and unsolicited f*ta porn of their character without warning, so :') maybe consider it's not all off brand

[my-chemical-aromance]

I think if I fell apart and was sewn back together as a freak, I would live happier. I could understand, with my bulging and yellowed eyes, greying skin, and unnatural proportions. I could understand then, the looks I receive, the daggers always planted in my back. My heart would ache less, if my loneliness were justifiable. If I am so clearly a monster, ought I not look like one then? If my heart is pure, my eyes wide and kind, born of the same parents as anyone, I am human. Then why do I feel so unfortunately unique?

[murd3rhouse]

cure concert 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[manqo]

i don’t think i can find that obscure book

[kohamarsonist]

did anybody ask for this long post? no but you are getting it anyways

This is so funny to me because like take Stoker's Dracula novel, for instance. It's undeniably gothic literature and the thing about gothic literature is that it's indeed born out of romance - the modern and the ancient one. During the 18th century, when novels were often viewed as trivial, romance was actually synonymous with Gothic tales. The term itself - Gothic - is essentially an anachronistic descriptor which just means it's a term coined years after the era these Gothic stories were coming out in. So these stories were initially and originally labelled as Romance, not Gothic. They thrived around the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries which is like a time characterized by decay, decadence, and degeneration. We've got beautiful works like The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the Yellow Wallpaper and ofc Dracula exploring themes of the unconscious mind, repression, fear, desire, guilt, dreams, nightmares, and the uncanny.... yada yada yada, you get it, all of these things are very much Gothic.

Now, I'm just throwing in my 2 cents here but to expand on what I mean by ancient and modern romance, the Gothic genre tends to focus on ancient spaces and old crumbling structures y'know the general hallmarks of gothic form, certain kinds of iconic images that pop up when you say Gothic, but it always makes comments on the contemporary. By creating that tension between the old and the new, it offers us a contrast between ancient romance, filled with imagination and improbability, and modern romance which is governed by probability drawing heavily on Walpole and the Walpoleian model here btw . In its core, the genre provides us with supernatural tales and far-fetched adventures while simultaneously instilling a sense of uncanniness, and suggesting these events could possibly occur, could possible be Real. This distinction between romance and realism lies in the possibility of occurrence: romance embodies the impossible, while realism portrays what could happen.

The thing about romance, as well, is that we might initially think of love stories. Romantic comedies and plays. However, romance as a form isn't holy or solely preoccupied with love, though it does surface as a theme and this is because romance springs from folklore. From legends and mythology; from quests and tales of chivalry and magic and monsters. Think Old Breton Lays, the Arthurian Legends, Don Quixote and their equivalents in other European cultures and folklores.

Yet another thing that spring from folklore is the vampire - it is deeply ingrained in folklore worldwide. Shocker. Anyways. It's like an omnipresent archetype kinda similar to that of rebirth - vampires don't literally exist but their ubiquity across cultures suggests they hold symbolic significance (kinda like the undead, ghosts etc). The demonic entities drain one's life force through blood and in most folklores they often merge with seductive, femme fatale figures like Lamia, succubi, sirens, strigoi, gumiho, rusalki... you name it. So what we see here is sex and death side by side. And we see a tonne of sex in Stoker's Dracula ngl blood drips from every page and sex steams off every page so again it is hilarious to me when peeps complain about the modern vampire being sexualised

Going back to modern times though, the 19th century witnessed growing disillusionment with empire and colonialism, alongside fervent desire for female suffrage. The "new woman" that challenges traditional gender norms and her voice are everywhere in Stoker's novel - Lucy Westerna asks why should a woman marry one man, why can't she marry like three? lmao hella valid question sis, I wanna know the answer too But the point is we get this increasing awareness about the injustice women in society are facing. It goes back to me saying Gothic stories address old structures, as well as new existing ones, the contemporary issues in society. You might ask, how did gothic literature use vampires to explore such contemporary issues when the bloodsuckers were merely wild creatures of the night feeding on rural livestock? Well, it has something to do with the development of the vampire into an aristocrat.

Making them aristocrats allowed the vampire characters to move around. To travel vast distances, and to go to Europe; to walk the streets of town; and to mix in with the rest of us, with the money they now have. It meant the vampire became mobile and introduced new dynamics at play. With these new dynamics, with the vampire entering high society and becoming an aristocrat, they also became more overtly sexualised. oh noooo people lamenting about the vampire being corrupted by sexualisation... besties i don't think you can corrupt a vampire figure more than it already is by definition, bye

Basically sexy vampires ain't nothing new and the only thing that's changed over the centuries is how explicit we're allowed to be wrt to that ✨ sexiness. ✨ For some reason, rn there's the trend of bringing back the fearsome side of vampires which like am all for but plz keep them sexy xd

“vampirism is too romanticized these days” damn that’s crazy. I’m romanticizing it even more now though because you’re whining like this

[k7lldeer]

[vixensbrainrotts]

The one behind the mask

Content: Short imagine

Tropes: tattoo artist! reader, hairdresser! reader, vaguely gothic! reader, Draken is kind of obsessed with the reader here, but nothing really too deep

Warnings: some mention of scissors and tattoos (lmk if i missed anything)

Summary: Takemichi has to find out more about the past-you, so he decides to ask around the gang to see if anyone has any connections. To his luck, Draken deems him fit to meet you, and so Takemichi gets to experience your expertise first hand

Vixen’s two cents: This is such a random idea, idek where it came from but lmk if you like it or not. Also! Requests and asks are open, and if you’d like to be a moot (to perhaps proofread or triangulate ideas) pleaseeee feel free to message me!!!! Now enjoy

"She's the best at what she does, trust." Draken's voice left no room for argumentation, his gruff voice sealing the deal as he leans back into the couch behind him. He was on an endorphin high of sorts, his confidence boosted due to the fresh lineup he just got, the growing hair now cut shirt, his signature style refreshed.

Akkun frowned behind Takemichi a little, a bit disheartened by the 'threat' you posed to him and his future business. "So... She cuts hair and therefore she's under special gang-internal protection?"

Draken chuckles heartily and shakes his head. "No, no. More than that. She‘s the best tattoo artist i know too! Ask any guy who got a tattoo in the past three years who tatted it, and she's your answer. She does it well, too. I remember back when a guy wanted an impossible coverup for an ex's name- she made it work, right as rain! And there was an awful lot of ink to cover."

Takemichi didn't quite grasp why or how you achieved the status you unintentionally had in the gang, but it was vital information for his future, real-time version. When Naoto had asked him to research you a little closer in person, Takemichi had expected you to be another fierce gang leader- one who dons the same scary-looking plague mask as you in the future.

What he had not expected was to learn that you were apparently a hairdresser-tattoo artist fusion type thing. Why did you play such a big role in the future? Sure, he understood having a favorite barber, Akkun being the best example for that, but placing them in the closest circles of a highly criminal gang for exclusive trimming rights? That's a little far, no?

"You don't get it, do you?" Draken asked, his hands on his thighs, rubbing them as he rose to a stand in one movement. Takemichi flinched a little, a bit taken aback at how easily Draken would read him. "No, not really. I-" Before he could finish, he was interrupted.

"What's this about?" he was cut short by the other twin Dragon. "Mitsuya-kun!" Takemichi startled. "Y/n. He doesn't quite get why she's has the place she has here." Mistuya's eyes widened a sliver at Draken‘s words, and he threw an arm around Takemichi's shoulder. "You got any plans Hanagaki?" Takemichi shook his head no in response. "Good, 'cause we're givin' her a visit."

And with that, Takemichi's fate was sealed. Mitsuya and Draken pulled him along towards their bikes, Akkun tagging along behind him per Takemichi's request. The group settled onto their bikes and drove off, and Takemichi tried to keep track of the path from hither to thither, but lost track after the turns got too confusing.

After a while, both bikes came to a stop, pushing down the Kickstands in front of a grungy-looking little shop, the doors glazed in a matte cover, only leaving an outline that looked like a Plague-doctor's mask. Ah. There was a parallel he could draw. "Is this the place?" Akkun asked, his voice laced with a bitter touch of distaste, probably intimidated by your place in the hairdressing market.

"Yup! This is where dreams are made a reality!" Mituya spoke, his voice a lot livelier and genuine than usual. "She's gonna have a field day with you Mitchy." Draken snickers as they push open the doors to the shop, a little jingle playing in response.

"What's that supposed to mean-" Takemichi's voice died in his throat when his eyes fell on the interior. Dark, weird, gothic, wonderful. Those were the words that come to him t describe your shop. Kooky portraits, lacey details, and a million different shades of black were highlighted only by the mahogany of the front desk and the dimly glowing lamps and candles littered around the walls and surfaces.

There was a black bulletin wall with a few dozen sketches pinned to it, the title "Please let me put this on you" in the center of pictures of flowers, bugs, lace designs, birds, and many, many others that didn't fall into the eye too directly.

On your desk and on a shelf behind it laid a few skulls of animals Takemichi couldn't even begin to place, the only hint being the type of sharp, white teeth they did (or didn't) have.

There was a scent of something in the air, but Takemichi couldn't place that either. It was a pleasant mix of natural and synthetic, a unique mix that lingered in his nose and clouded his mind with a very welcomed sense of calm.

"Coming." An unexpectedly soft voice called. What however emerged from the corridor leading off to somewhere next to your desk, looked nothing like the voice Takemichi just heard. The guy was almost bigger than Draken and just about the same amount of bald, his face littered with piercings and clad in a style much too modern to fit the shop.

The guy didn't talk to them however, he only turned to the desk, pulled out a wallet, and started fidgeting with the bills. With his back turned his scalp was on display, an impressive image of a burning, hyperrealistic black and white skull faced the group. It was new, they could tell by the slightly red skin, and the shiny coat of a second skin placed carefully overtop. Takemichi held his breath. So that's what you do. Draken pointed a finger at the fresh tattoo and pulled his brows upwards for a moment, clearly impressed with how clean it looked.

Then a second pair of footsteps sounded from the same hallway, and this time Takemichi was sure it was you. Lo and behold your figure emerged, clad in something much more appropriate to the shop's aesthetic, black latex gloves still on. "Ah." you looked a little unimpressed when you caught sight of the group looming in your reception.

"Didn't I just get rid of you?" it was purely rhetorical, because the moment you passed them, you were tending to the guy standing at the desk, showing him a clipboard and then mumbling a price at which the guy nodded and passed the money, saying his thanks before bidding you a pleasant afternoon before leaving the shop, the door falling shut and the little jingle playing again.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" You ask, sorting the money into the register, separating the tips and putting them into a little box beside it. "Hi y/n." Draken started, grinning from ear to ear. "Hello, Ken. Speak. What do you want?" You didn't spare them a glance as you finished up and pulled the gloves, chucking them into a bin under the desk.

"Right, so, I've brought you someone in desperate need of your assessment." Draken finished finally, stepping to the side to reveal Takemichi in your line of sight, and it was as if you felt the shift, you looked up.

When your and his gaze locked, a shiver ran down his spine and he could feel sweat trickle down his nape. He gulped and shakily brought up a hand to send you a little wave. “Oh fuck.” You mumbled to yourself, eyes darting form his face to his hair and down to his face again. “Yeah alright thanks for the charity case.” Takemichi didn’t know whether to feel offended or not.

“It’s bad, isnt it?” Draken leaned over your desk and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Takemichi. “Worse.” You replied curtly and then waved your hands at the group, ushering them to back up a little. You bustled your way to the hallway, waving a hand to them again. “Come then.”

You left the group a bit aloof, but after a few seconds of standing in silence Draken and Mitsuya started following you into the side rooms. Take Michu and Akkun shared a look before following cautiously, a little unsure of what to expect.

Once they entered a room you had already set up a chair in front of the biggest mirror Takemichi had ever seen, and were sorting out different tools and products on a tray in front of the mirror. Draken and Mitsuya had taken a set on a couch adjacent to the seat and were idly chatting about this and that to you in terms of the shop as well as a few questions regarding your previous client.

Idle chit-chat halted when you laid eyes on Takemichi and gestured for him to sit. “Well then, please sit.” Takemichi shares a brief look with Akkun again, who by now has taken seat in the grandfather armchair beside the couch the others were on. “Mkay..” he mumbles and sits stiffly.

“Relax!” You say as you come up behind him “You look like you’re about to shit yourself. I promise i wont stab you or anything.” Your face morphs into something that might resemble a smile before you grab his hair cautiously, carding your fingers through it, judgemental eyes scanning his hair. “Hmm Ken, when i said you should bring me your worst i didn’t really mean it.“ Ken laughs in response “You should know me by now, i dont make promises i cant keep!”

You roll your eyes a little “I would have appreciated a heads up if i knew that this is what you’re bringing me…” you pull the hair out of his face and tilt his head to different angles. “He has a good face with strong features, its just unfortunate how he’s decided to work with it.”. You speak as if he’s not in the room with you.

After a few moments of silence you release his head again and grab the scissors hanging from your belt pointing them at Takemichi through the mirror. “I know what i have to do with him.”

Mitsuya and Dranken whooped in response. You tell him about what kind of hair he has, how to treat his scalp, what colors and shades would (and wouldnt) suit him and how to style it properly.

By the time you’re done, you and him had agreed on a cooler, slightly darker shade of blonde as well as a more maintainable cut thats easier to style. Then you began unleashing tool after tool, product after product, and Takemichi thinks that this is the longest and simultaneously shortest hour he’s ever experienced.

When you finally deem your work as finished, you have him turned away from the big mirror in anticipation. “You ready?” You ask him with a slight smile on your face and grab the back of his chair, ready to spin him around. Before he answers, Takemichi looks over to the guys sitting on the couch.

Draken nods approvingly, “You’ve dont it again y/n, i cant believe it!”. Mitsuya wolf-whistles jokingly, “Damn Mitchy! Your girlfriends about to be real happy.” and Akkun’s mouth hangs open in pure admiration “How...? what…?” And thats all the approval he needs to turn nod at you, allowing you to turn him around.

For a second Takemichi wasn’t sure who was looking back at him through the mirror before he realized that it was his reflection, eyes just as wide as his felt, but the hair about a million times better than the last time he looked at it. All of a sudden he understood why the guys cared so much to keep you to themselves- you were a one in a million find.

“So.. What do you think” you ask, knowing well what the answer was. Takemichi wishes he could have answered but the words caught up in his throat, so he stayed open-mouthed like a fish out of water. “I think he likes it.” Draken answered for him and rose to a stand, the others following suit behind him. “We’re done here then.” You conclude and pull the cover off of Takemichi’s still frozen body.

“How much do i owe you?” Takemichi finally chokes out once Akkun had pulled him out of the seat and towards the shop’s front. You glance up at Takemichi and shake your head. “Nothing. I had enough fun fixing you, so perhaps just consider coming back when time’s due?” You walk behind the counter, checking something that looked like a schedule. “Now it was a pleasure doing business, but i have a client coming in for a sleeve in half an hour and i think i want a lunch break beforehand.”

“Thank you so much!” Takemichi says again before turning to the door, running a hand through his hair confidently. Akkun follows closely behind him, keen on inspecting the new cut from every angle, whilst Mitsuya throws a “We’ll leave you to it then!” Over his shoulder to you and leaves the little shop as well.

Takemichi is still too caught up in the bliss before he realizes that one of them is missing. “Wait!” He stops abruptly, “What about Draken?!” Akkun gasps in realization too and goes to turn around but is quickly stopped by Mitsuya who pulls the both of them along.

“Leave him to it, I think he’s getting lunch before his appointment so dont you worry about them.”