#i had been trying not to put straight up fanfic on this sideblog but....the vil inspo was too strong on this one

[chasingbluebirds]

Fracturing

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Character(s): Vil Schoenheit Word count: 638 AO3 Version Written for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial theme, "Fracturing Forms"!

Vil flicked his thumb down along his Magicam profile, glossed lips pursing thinner and thinner as he scrolled. Attention on his posts was dropping, however gradually, and Mira was reporting fewer comments than ever on his photos lately.

He'd known, of course, the risk he was taking by rejecting so many roles. Celebrities lived and died by their presence in the public eye. His agent was good - better than good, in fact, she was far and away the best he'd ever had. But even she couldn't keep him relevant forever on only high-heeled photoshoots and perfume ads. His stunning movie roles were what had earned him his fame, and here he was, refusing one audition after another.

It wasn't really a matter of his schoolwork, though it did make for a convenient excuse to the media. Between his talent and his work ethic, truthfully, Vil was more than capable of managing acting work alongside his other responsibilities. Besides, the teachers were well familiar with his work, and they would have undoubtedly accommodated any demands of his career as needed. And the magic mirror guaranteed that even the most remote filming location could be just a simple commute back and forth to the academy.

What he couldn't stand, however, was the crushing idea of another nine months of filming opposite everyone's beloved Neige LeBlanche.

As his eyes scanned post after post of the past few months, he could feel his jaw clenching with frustration. But no, he couldn't afford the wrinkle lines from making such unpleasant faces. No matter his feelings on the matter, he would never be the most beautiful if he ruined his own looks with his displeasure.

He closed his eyes, reminding himself to breathe deeply and relax his muscles again. He needed to be able to look at himself calmly and objectively. He had always put in the work, and if that wasn't enough, then he'd just have to figure out what piece was missing. He'd make himself enough.

The fractured forms of dozens of pictures of himself gazed back at him, each cleanly composed with perfection. In one, he showed off a gleaming golden watch on a dark violet suit, his expression focused distantly on some point just out of frame, surrounded by sleek, modern skyscrapers in a glittering city. In another, his carefully refined smile showed off the apple-bright shade of his red lipstick. From yet another, he glowered arrogantly in the background of a movie poster, mouth curled in an elegant sneer towards Neige, who smiled sweetly at the camera, oblivious to his fictional nemesis's disdain.

Sweet. It was a type of role he'd never gotten to play. He wanted to, desperately. He could do wonderfully at it, if someone would just give him the damn chance to. But why would they, when they could always get the adorable, endearing Neige LeBlanche for it instead?

Clicking on his rival's tag on the movie poster, he was taken to a new flood of images, all cohesively linked by the same earnest, friendly smile on the younger boy's face. It was an effortless-looking, natural sort of prettiness, bright like a spot of sunshine reaching through the clouds. It was the sort of beauty that people wanted to trust implicitly, and so they did.

It was also the complete opposite of that glamorous, blinding brilliance of Vil's, which shone more like the bulbs on his vanity, highlighting perfection from every angle but too bright to stare at directly.

He had spent his entire life refining himself into the perfect picture of beauty. He had worked towards it for as long as he could remember. But how could he possibly compete with that natural, lovable charm?

The bitter aftertaste of dandelion greens lingered on his tongue as he took another sip of his beauty drink.