#i never understood how people could have posters of people they like on their walls

[slashingdisneypasta]

... I'm sorry. This is a poster? Someone has this hung up in- in their home??

They have this man staring at them like that constantly???

[whereserpentswalk]

The Night Hunt

I need to eat. It’s not eating anymore. It doesn’t feel like thirst or hunger. It’s not something I would have understood as a human. I feel like I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t think anyone would mind if I did. My mouth is shaped so differently than it once was, I can’t move my jaws, I feel empty, I need it to fill me, and I feel empty.

The upper west side vampiric community center was cramped, getting everything it could from limited funds and real estate. The walls were white and the lighting sterile, their deadness only broken by overly enthusiastic posters. It was strange looking at the other vampires in the building, most of them seemed to be doing much better than me. Even most of the ones that ones you could tell weren’t human at a glance usually looked more human than me. It felt like everyone I saw was doing better than me, the petite girl in a black dress talking to her parents on the phone, the bearded man with cats eyes dressed in fancy clothes he had probably owned some version of for centuries, the snake mouthed person guzzling down a can of commercially sold blood like it was soda. I could assume a lot of the vampires I saw here had supportive families, and many others were old enough to be well adjusted to their lives. It almost hurt looking at vampires who could pass better than me, or who could better mask vampiric traits, this embarrassing envy, that I was a monster even by the standards of monsters.

I could have socialized, but I was too tired, and too thirsty. I had just been denied a good behavior slip by the New York State government, and thus denied a month’s supply of donated blood, and the building stopped being somewhere I wanted to be. Most vampires can’t get a good behavior slip, A lot don’t even try just because of how humiliating and restrictive life during the audit can be. A lot of them live off of relatives’ and friend’s blood, or buy it wholesale. I don’t have the option for either of those, at least not consistently.

I walked up Broadway, when I left, below the safety of the dark sky, and the calming yellow light of the windows, past the old brick buildings of a childhood that now seems alien to me. Best to get outside time in while I can, it’s summer, giving me few hours before the sun rises. It’s strange to remember when I walked down that street as a human. That deep loss of something I can remember but will never feel once more. Remembering how easy things were. When the restaurants smelled good to my body, instead of sickly sweet. It would’ve made me cry to see myself reflected in a window, if my eyes had tears to cry. To see I was the type of vampire other even other vampires shunning, too vampiric perhaps, to close to what they all fear being, too close to what they’re all accused of. I used to think of losing my humanity was a horrible fate, and now I am the bad ending for so many other nonhumans. I wonder how many of my kind’s advocates think I’m worthy of oppression. They say not all vampires look horrifying to humans, but I look horrifying to humans. They say not all vampires think violent thoughts about humans automatically, but I find myself doing that so often. They say not all vampires are weak to sunlight, or are hurt by symbols of their prior faith, but I am, and it hurts, and if acceptance means telling people it doesn’t hurt I’ll just get hurt more.

I tried to think of something to distract myself. Tried to think of friends who still cared about me, about that show I wanted to finish, tired to think about that Lord of the Rings fanfic that I wrote in middle school that I had though about on that street, on a bright day so alien to the humid night I walked through. No matter what I thought about there was always blood in the back on my mind. Even when a vampire isn’t thinking about blood directly, when they’re low, as almost fatally low as I was, it’s always able to be felt in the background. I could feel my body’s desire for blood, feel the pain and weakness of not having it. It was strange, to know that my body hurt because it wanted like, that my body only transformed into a vampire because it would have died from being bitten by one if it hadn’t. My body wanted to live as a vampire so much more than I did. My hands shook, my gate more unbalanced, more stumbling than it usually was, my twisted and inhuman mouth, the most inhuman part of my body, salivating. The staggered and almost animalistic walk must have made me look even more like a monster. The pigeons flew away when they saw me, they must have known, or maybe that’s just what pigeons are like.

 My once tan skin now so pale my organs are visible, my once fit body now skinny, my brown eyes forever white, and my mouth perfectly round and unmoving and filled with sharp tooth after sharp tooth like a lamprey. All so perfect to drink blood, all built to drain blood. It hurts to think I’ll probably be in this body for centuries. The same hoodie I’d been wearing for days still covers me a bit, as does my mess of uncut hair, I don’t really have to wash these things without human oils on my body anymore. It’s not good to think too long about that fact. There is no wonder my parents would rather consider their precious daughter basically dead, than know that she lived as this. I might do the same if I had a choice. I think about when I was turned sometimes, how I didn’t get to be turned out of love, or lust, or spite, how the bite was meant to kill me, how it would have killed me if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital, or if I hadn’t fought the attacker off. I never even knew the name of the vampire who attacked me. I didn’t know why he did at the time, I assumed it was from hate, I understand now, I would never defend attacking someone like that but I understand, he was hungry, I know how it feels to want blood like how he must have. People would have had me better in their memories if I had died, nobody admits it, but it’s true, my parents convinced themselves I had on religious grounds, saying my soul had left my body, I understand why, my reputation was not tarnished.

As I walked past stores and restaurants that had closed hours earlier, saw how little the world wanted me. I wondered how I would keep existing. I remembered that my transformation has made it so I wouldn’t age, couldn’t die a natural death at all, I realized how strange it would be for me to exist in a body like the one I did for hundreds more years, thousands if I got lucky. There was the feeling that maybe I’d be murdered, most of society didn’t even want the most human passing, most privileged vampires to live, it sucked even for people who had it so much better than me, maybe I’d just die, maybe one of those monster hunter gangs would finally due me in like they always threaten to online. But what if I didn’t, what if I had to still live. If I actually had put the work in to having positive relationships with the community maybe some vampiric elder would be able to tell me. As it was I felt lost, I didn’t know what I could be doing a hundred years from where I stood. Would things be better than, for me, for us? Would I be ok?

For a moment my eye caught a girl around my age. As a human I would have felt lust for her, she had that exact look that I used to like. Glistening hair dyed a candy colored red, a pale pink Cowboy Bebop t-shirt covering her chest. I would have felt lust, or perhaps a more noble sounding attraction, but now that part of me is gone, and seeing a young healthy body like that just makes me think about what it would be like to drink her instead of making me think about being in bed with her. I knew it was wrong, but it would feel so good, to feel my mouth punch into her neck, and drain her dry. I don’t want to feel this way, the logical part of my brain doesn’t like feeling this way, but it’s a feeling in my body. When I looked at her soft skin my teeth ever so slightly extended outwards, and the tiredness from the pain of thirst temporarily ceasing as my body filled with energy, my dreaming mind fantasizing about holding her as I drank her blood, as ashamed as I am of such thoughts, as little as I’d want to ever hurt someone like her, it felt so good in the moment just to fantasize. It was the closest I still had to feeling anything sexual or romantic, as many social media posts as there are telling you it’s a myth that all vampires lose their sexual or romantic feelings, it’s true for me, I don’t even have breasts or sex organs anymore, as horrifying as that is to even acknowledge about myself. Just another thing that makes me seem less human, and just another thing that makes drinking human blood seem to desirable. I didn’t want to hurt her, just looking at her walking, she seemed so happy, so pure.

I did nothing, yet she still crossed the street. I understood, it was late, and I was a ragged looking vampire walking near her, she had a right to feel safe. I ran, as thirsty as my body was I didn’t want to be near her, and didn’t want to cause a scene.

Best to flee uptown, Time Square is filled with Faeries, and Central Park with werewolves, and neither take kindly to my kind in the places they tend to hang out. There is a safety in being human, despite all the stories of young maidens scratched up in monster’s arms, with blood contrasting on top of their pretty white skin, most monsters with ill wills are way more likely to target other species of monster rather than humans. Humans are often well armed, and well defended by the law, and so many monsters are so eager to prove their kind’s validity through their hatred of another species of monster.

My running only stopped when I had to cross the street to avoid a church. One of those big ornate ones you’d see a vampiric villain hang out in in a thriller movie, with that shining stained glass they haven’t built in generations. They say it’s not anything divine that burns vampires that are weak to holy symbols, it’s just the memory of faith that hurts, the memory of the most human of all actions. Doesn’t change the fact that the pope still says we don’t have souls. The church ghosts all fled, they floated somewhere else just from seeing me, I wanted to yell to them “What? Are you too good even to haunt me.” I didn’t of course, I didn’t want to cause a scene. Maybe I would have if I wasn’t so weak from thirst.

I can’t get blood. The state won’t give it to me. My friends would say no if I asked. I can’t afford to buy it. I dropped out of school when I was turned, there wasn’t accommodation, and late classes were hard to get. Most of the friends I still have either treat me like a tragedy to fawn over, or like I could kill them at any time, they’re only human after all. I guess that’s why they recommend socializing with other monsters. I barely look for work anymore, even well-meaning humans are uncomfortable around me, though to be fair I’ve done nothing not to make them uncomfortable, and it’s impossible to ask them to close daytime windows, or keep silver and garlic away.  I spend so much time on the internet. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be this thirsty. I don’t want to look this way, and I don’t want to need blood. I never chose any of this, never chose to be bitten, never chose to be saved.

For a moment I saw another person on the street, alone with me. Some rich kid staggering drunk and barely knowing where he is, a sweatshirt from some fancy wizarding school clinging on to his body. His rosy yet pale cheeks, so vulnerable, not so privileged that he could hurt me, just privileged enough to feel like every bad though I could have towards him was punching up. He was the exact type of asshole that I’d expect to call me a slur, to be proud that wizards like him had engaged in just enough vampire hunts in the thirties and forties to be considered another type of human. But he didn’t. He didn’t notice me at all, he just sang to himself with his earbuds in and his eyes glued to his phone as he stumbled past closed stores.

I can smell blood on his lips. I remember that there is another way to quench my thirst. I’d have to drain him dry so that nobody would know. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be that type of vampire. His body is so fresh, I’d be full for like a year. I can’t stop looking at him and remembering my life. He’ll run but I can catch up to him, and he’ll taste so good. And I would be so hard to catch if I drained him to death, he’s a stranger, the case would go cold. I need blood, and he has blood, it’s like a trolly problem, you don’t need sadism to pick yourself when you’re tied to the tracks. And I can’t think of another way I could get blood before starving to death.  It feels weird to grab his wrist as he struggles, too thirsty to think too deeply. I don’t want to look at his face when he screams, but something deep within me is excited to hear a human scream. I feel sorry for him I think, he didn’t deserve this, I didn’t deserve this, if things were different… well they aren’t different. God my voice sounds demonic with this mouth. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

[helioslover]

CHERRY - CL16

PAIRING : singer!charles leclerc x actress!reader SUMMARY : you listen to the song charles has written about you for the first time. you hate how in love with him you are. WORD COUNT : 4.4k TW : angst, mentions of alcohol, breakup, sex SONG : cherry - harry style

You hate planes. You also hate being too shy to ask the stewardess for a night mask so that you could sleep through the flight. You hate knowing who’ll be picking you up at the airport. You also hate the way you're happy to see a familiar face in a country where you don’t know anyone, even if it is this familiar face. But you mostly hate the way you're eager to see Charles.

You have spoken a lot through the last few months, and you think that maybe the heartache you've felt for so much time has finally healed. Charles' has been staying in Monaco -he now splits his time between there and London - for a couple of weeks as he is recording some new songs for the next album. As unbelievable as it sounds, you have meticulously avoided any of Charles' new songs until now. The only one you're familiar with is Sixteen but you know that title tracks aren’t the ones Charles puts his entire soul in. You aren't ready to hear the brown-haired boy that used to drive you crazy sing about another woman. Yes, you've seen the pictures of Charles and Alexandra and yes, you've cried in your pillow until your body felt so dry that there were no tears left to cry.

“What do you mean you’ve never listened to my songs ever since we broke up ?” Charles had looked so shocked when you told him the truth (not the part about crying yourself to sleep, no, you didn’t mention this) that you had laughed. “Not even the ones from Fast Cars ? We were still talking when I released Fast Cars, Y/N !” His voice sounded raspy and you remembered that it was still early and that Charles had never been a morning person.

“Why are you up so early ?” you were clearly trying to avoid the subject.

“You called me, you idiot. I only answered because it was you. But now, I’m considering the option of hanging up. I mean… I’m not trying to brag but where were you for the last four years ? My songs have been everywhere.”

You chuckled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I know that. You have no idea how annoying it is to avoid your songs at parties, on the radio, on TV, everywhere, you’re fucking everywhere, dude.”

“Don’t dude me. I think we're a bit closer than that, Y/N.” He was smiling at the camera, showing off his dimples. Behind him was a patchwork of photos, posters and movie tickets hanging on a beige wall. You tried to imagine the rest of the room. “Don’t think I’m forgetting what you just admitted. Mon Dieu,” he sighed overdramatically, “how would you react if I said I never watched any of your movies, huh ?”

You rolled your eyes. “I never said that I didn’t know any of your songs, Charles. I know some of them. But, I hate saying this, I kind of did not want to hear you sing about other people. See what I mean ? It’s alright when it’s from a time where you didn’t even know I existed, I mean some of yours are probably part of my favourite songs, but not when it’s- not when I-”.

“When what, Y/N ?” Charles asked, his voice softened as if he understood how hurt you would feel by hearing songs that weren’t about you.

“Nothing, just leave it. And don’t even try to pretend you’ve seen all of the things I act in. I’m pretty sure you haven’t heard about half of them.”

Charles was now smiling again. “I’ve seen all of them, Y/N. And you were good in every single one of them.”

Something broke inside of your heart because Charles' voice sounded like a warm hug. His statement somehow seemed like a proof that you weren’t the only one to find it hard to get rid of what you felt. And somehow, you hated it. “I gotta go. See you.” And you hung up. You were feeling too many things at the same time. You hated it.

You hate delay. Your plane hasn’t taken off yet and you're already bored. Your neighbor looks like he could be somewhere between fifty and eighty-four and it’s too cloudy to see anything through the window. Your book is not as interesting as it looked like and you know you haven’t downloaded enough playlists. You hate it, not knowing what to do.

You checks your phone to see if Charles has seen your previous message, warning him about your flight being late.

‘its ok, ill still pick you up, y/nickname.’

You smile. Even after all this time, you still don’t know if you hate or loves it when Charles uses your nickname. Another text appears on the screen.

‘since you have time, listen to my favourite one.’

There’s a link leading to a Spotify song and you download it, right before the pilot finally announces that the plane is about to take off. You put on your headphones, press play and instantly, as the first notes of the guitar resonate in your ears, cry.

Don't you call him baby [...] Don't you call him what you used to call me

The first time you called Charles baby wasn’t intentional. You recall the exact moment it slipped out of you mouth and the look Charles gave you after. You were about to have dinner with his mom and his brothers in Charles' flat and you hated how stressed you felt about truly meeting his family even though you'd already been introduced.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you have to warn me about, huh ?” you asked Charles for the hundredth time as you put on a blue shirt that made you look older than you were. Dinner was ready, Charles was too : the only one that was still changing her outfit (for the fourth time already) was you.

“Y/N, I told you : you have nothing to worry about. And you met them already, it’s not like they’re complete strangers.” Charles said from the kitchen where he was setting up the table.

You sighed. You couldn’t help it. The last time you'd seen Charles' family, you were just the girl who starred in his debut movie with him, not the girl he fucked every night. “Maybe blue isn’t my colour, don't I look kind of pale ?" you asked as you joined the kitchen.

“Shh, you’re making me crazy. You look perfect, just like you always do.” Charles handed you a glass of wine. He was wearing a red jacket on some beige pants and looked good. Like really good. “Drink this, it’ll help you.”

The wine was good, really good, and Charles' hands massaging your shoulders felt even better. You hated how Charles always seemed to know what you needed.

“Jesus, baby, this feels good.” The word flew out of your lips so naturally you didn’t even notice at first.

“What did you call me ?”

Your cheeks were turning red under Charles' sharp green eyes. You had seen this look before and knew exactly what usually came right after. “I- um, baby ?”

Charles took a deep breath. His body had gotten closer to yours. “And she does it again, Jesus, Y/N.”

You didn’t exactly understand why such a simple word had such an effect on Charles but you liked it. You liked having this power over him when you usually were the one looking like a middle-school girl talking to her crush for the first time. You felt a knot forming in your stomach, getting eager for a contact with Charles' skin. “Well, baby is gonna have to calm down. At least for now.” you answered, smiling wickedly.

Charles lost his smile. “Y/N. Stop it or I swear I’ll-” The doorbell had rung. Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo were there.

We're not talking lately

You hate the fact that every line in this song seems directly aimed at youYou. He clearly remember Charles telling you this one word for word. It happened a couple of weeks after your breakup, after you'd moved out of Charles' London flat and had taken all of your things, even the ones you'd always left behind during your previous crises. You never really believed that this time was going to be the real one, that all of the years you'd spent around Charles were on the verge of becoming memories and nothing more. You couldn't even remember the reason you had started fighting. All you knew was that words couldn’t be unsaid and that you couldn’t look at Charles without remembering all the things that had been yelled that infamous night. So you had packed your bags in the middle of the night and had left.

Charles hadn’t called. For about a week, all you could do was look at your phone every ten minutes, hoping for a message, a missed call notification (though it would’ve been merely impossible for you to miss that call), something that would prove you that Charles cared about your relationship. You had walked away so that Charles would realise that he couldn't keep on treating you like you were granted and you had ended up losing it all.

Weeks had gone by without a word from the man you now called your ex. And then weeks had turned into months. Tabloids had sparked dating rumours of Charles and some amazingly pretty girls and it looked like the 'Y/N' chapter had quickly been forgotten. You had felt like an idiot until you'd received the long awaited message.

‘hey y/n, i hope you’re doing good. we’re not talking lately but i just needed you to know that i miss you’

Your heart had stopped beating. Or had it started beating faster ? You had felt like your insides were burning and your mind stopped functioning. It’d been so long since Charles had gone out of the picture that you weren’t even waiting for a sign anymore. You'd started moving on, helped by some of your friends who, tired of hearing complaints about the way things should’ve been, had decided that you had to create a Tinder profile. You'd been on dates, you'd met men that were willing to fill you heart with pure joy and some who were just willing to fill you. But you'd taken what you wanted from both categories and you'd stopped aching with the simple sight of Charles' name on a billboard.

But this message, it wasn’t supposed to ever be sent, it was too late now. It disrupted every plan you'd made to deal with the loss of the one you'd thought would be the love of his life. So you did what you believed was the best to do for your heart. You never answered.

I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it You hated it but you still knew every single part of Charles by heart. You'd learned over the years how to decipher every single one of his expressions, even the ones Charles thought nobody would notice. You knew what a half-smile meant, what the subtle frown hid and what the quick eyes puckering could be translated as. And this particular knowledge of Charles' feelings also meant that you totally knew that he was lying when he was claiming to be really happy for you. Charles hated it, he wanted to disappear, to go back in time and never let you leave because he’d never been as happy as you'd made him ever since. You knew that, you could read in the discrete clenching of his jaw.

You weren’t supposed to meet, not more than two years after your last interaction. Charles' message had been left unanswered and he’d never sent another. But awards season was always the theatre of a lot of unwanted encounters.

Charles was as beautiful as ever in his white turtleneck and black pants. His eyes sparkled when they met yours and there was nothing you could’ve done to avoid the conversation.

“You look quite good, Y/N.” You shivered, you hated the way your entire body still reacted to the simple sound of Charles' voice. “How’ve you been ?”

“I- erm…” You hated yourself for having to clear your throat, “I’ve been alright, thanks for asking. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. I thought you were on tour.”

Charles smiled when you admitted knowing his schedule. “Yeah, I wasn’t supposed to come but then they sent the guest list and I don’t know, I guess I figured I’d stop by.” He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was openly flirting with you.

You hated the way you'd missed out on most of the ceremonies because you did not feel ready to face Charles. You'd been right. The sight of Charles' ringed fingers, his grown hair, the sparkle in his eyes, the smelling of his very own scent that hadn’t changed a bit ; it all made you weak. You just knew by the look on Charles' face that you were sharing the same thought : how could you have let go of what you had ?

"Well I’m glad you’re here.” You weren’t, but you hoped you weren’t as easy to decipher as Charles was so that you could keep the act on long enough to be convincing. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to win every single one of these things. You always do.” This last part was genuine : Charles was one of the most talented people you knew and even though you had no idea what his new album sounded like, you were pretty confident it was good.

“Oh thanks, Y/N. I’d be surprised if your movie didn’t win anything tonight. How ‘bout we go out after that, huh ? I mean, if I get to win something and to see you, this night might become the best I’ve had in a while.” His green eyes were reflecting a malicious light that almost made him look mischievous. You felt a knot forming in your stomach. You knew it was physically impossible to refuse Charles' offer but also knew how bad of a choice it would be. You were stuck weighing pros and cons in your mind, well aware that your silence was getting a bit too long. You hated the way Charles' presence made it almost impossible for you to think straight.

Your phone rang in you pocket, a sort of a way out you clung to. “Hi, baby, where are you ?” On the other end of the line, Daniel, your new boyfriend – was it really a boyfriend if the only thing you shared was an appreciation for each other’s body and a fear of being entirely alone ? – answered but you didn’t listen to anything he was saying. Instead, you focused on Charles' visible frown and the tears that he was fighting back. He mouthed something that looked like “I’ll see you”, though you both knew it wasn’t true and left without ever looking back. It took you a couple of seconds to process what had just happened before you were able to concentrate on what you were being told.

What Charles never let you know – perhaps because he hated how uncontrollable his feelings for you were – was how big of a mess your encounter had turned him into. He then fully understood that he’d lost you, that it was over, your love had supposedly died when he still believed he would be able to bring it back to life. He hated himself for being selfish, for hating it when you looked so well, for being the one unable to get over it. His wound was still bleeding when yours seemed to have already healed, at least from what he’d seen. And it was at that moment, as he was curled up on his bed, wondering if he was a bad person for hating the way you could be happy without him, that Charles started writing Cherry.

[...]

You hate the way your eyes will look reddish and puffy for the rest of the flight as much as you hate the tears that are running down your cheeks. You secretly hope your neighbour won’t notice your unease and replay Cherry. You already know you've missed out on some lyrics and you don’t want to. You want to hear every single one of Charles' words, the ones that seemed to have been written only for you to hear.

And suddenly, you hate the fact that other people have been able to hear this song (even more so that they did it before you). It feels like such an invasion of Charles' intimacy, of what he has shared with you. Everything sounds so obvious – from the lyrics to the title, reminding you of how you'd learnt a French endearment and always used it to call Charles : chéri, chéri, chéri – it’s an open window on your relationship and the way its ending was handled, the effect you had on Charles.

But then, now that you think about it, you also come to the realisation that, except for those of your friends that know and the few people in Charles' life that are aware of the two-year-long relationship you had, no one knows that you and Charles even kept in touch once the promotion of your movie ended. It’s not an absurd logic : you don’t think Charles has ever seen any of the other actors in years. And this, the fact that for the majority of people, what you had never existed, brings more tears to your eyes. Nothing in the song gives off any hint on who it is written to for people who’re not close to Charles. You somewhat feel deceived. As much as you hate the feeling of losing some privacy, you hate the fact that you can’t really brag about this song being about you. It is a beautiful song, you have the right to feel quite proud of inspiring it.

It must be the fourth time Cherry replays when you catch on some line and realize that, intentionally or not, Charles has left a hint as to who’s the song about. It is not really obvious but you know how fans are eager to decipher any small details.

I noticed that there's a piece of you in how I dress

You had hated this interview. Six months had eventually gone by after Charles' last attempt of talking to you when Alex and Lily had shown you the extract. You were in their apartment, sharing a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes, having just learnt that Alex had gotten the role in the movie he’d auditioned for.

“I never thought he was hurting as much as you did before I saw this” he had said, lighting another cylinder. His living room was already full of smoke. “but I swear, I might not be the closest to Charles, but I’d never seen him look so sad, Y/N” he had added as he was searching the video.

It was one of Yuki Tsunoda’s restaurant interviews. Charles looked as good as ever and you had hated the way you'd had to repress a smile from appearing on your face. Something looked different but you couldn’t point out what it was. In the restaurant, Yuki asked Charles about his fashion style evolution. You couldn’t figure out why Alex wanted you to watch this.

“I don’t really think I tell myself : oh yeah, this is the kind of style that I’m going to go for. I truly believe that my outfits are a way of expressing the way I feel and also that the people who surround me have a great influence on the way I dress. I mean, you asking that is funny because right this morning I looked at myself in the mirror and I started thinking of the way, you know,” and suddenly, in a matter of moments, Charles' eyes had started shining from tears that threatened rolling down his cheeks. His voice sounded hoarse and full of sobs, “there’s quite literally a piece of the person I love in how I dress. I still have some clothes that I used to steal from our closet and that I forgot to give back. Like this,” Charles pointed at his sweater, “this one’s Y/N's but I love it”.

The name had slipped out of his mouth but neither he, nor Yuki, seemed to have noticed, too focused on his emotions (Charles had to actually wipe a tear) to care. But you had noticed and so had others. So had Alex and Lily.

But this wasn’t what had retained most of your attention. There was no point in lying but you had hated the way you'd loved hearing Charles refer to you as the person he loved.

I just miss your accent and your friends

It happened once. Between their infamous encounter which had led to Charles starting to write Cherry and the day he finished the song, you and Charles had only talked once. 

You had broken up more than two years ago and yet, you couldn’t say that you were over Charles. It would’ve been safer to just say that you'd just learned to live without him. But you'd gotten pretty good at it. It struck you sometimes at night and you would find yourself crying in your pillow. But then, you were able to go on for days and weeks without thinking about Charles. Things still reminded you of what you had shared but it did not make you automatically cry anymore. It was pretty much like learning how to live with a missing limb. You can live without it, sometimes you can even forget that it’s not there, but somehow it always feels like something should be here and isn’t. 

That’s what you tried to explain to Alex as you were heading for the bar in which Carlos and Pierre were waiting for you. All of you had met while filming the movie Carlos directed. Alex, Pierre and you starred in it as well as Charles who also created the soundtrack. You all got awards for it. 

“You guys are so late it should be illegal.” Pierre said as he tried to look annoyed. His face almost immediately broke into a smile. “I’m glad to see you.”

You laughed as you sat down next to him, a pint of beer already waiting on the table. “We all know it’s because of Alex.”

"Shut it, Y/L/N."

“Well, at least, you’re not as late as Charles. He’s the worst.”

Your eyes went wide hearing Charles. Except for Alex, none of the boys knew how hard it was for you to get through this breakup. They all believed you when you swore to be over him. You couldn’t blame them for inviting him, you just had to play pretend. “Oh, erm… I didn’t know he was coming tonight, I-I thought he was still in Monaco.”

It was Pierre who had told you that Charles was now splitting his time between the two cities and you had felt a sort of relief mixed with this silly feeling of regretting the way things had become. 

“Oh no, he’s not. Speaking of the devil !”

You didn’t even have to raise your eyes to feel Charles' gaze planted on you. Yet you did and for a minute, as your eyes crossed, it felt like there was no one else but the two of you in the entire pub. He was still as beautiful as ever, just like you remembered him to be, but something had changed. Charles was no longer the young man you'd known, he’d grown into a real man and was now entering his golden age. It saddened you to realise that you were both evolving without the other one to witness the changes but it quickly faded away as you felt your stomach twisting with desire. 

“God, I missed you guys !” Charles almost cried after breaking eye contact with you, something that seemed to have cost him an effort.

You internally thanked your friends for being so chatty. The night had been going on for a while now without requiring too much effort from you. You mostly drank, comfortably seated in the settee and squeezed between Pierre and Carlos. You also tried to discreetly check Charles out, though you weren’t really sure your glances had gone unnoticed. You couldn’t resist it. It felt so weird to see him, just a couple of metres away from you. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here.” God, you hated unisex bathrooms. His green eyes met yours through the mirror. His cheeks were a bit reddish and you couldn’t say if it was because you were here or it simply resulted from the heat of the pub.

“You mean, here as in the toilettes, sorry, in the bathroom or here in the pub ?” You knew he was tipsy from the casualness of his voice. Charles squinted as your gaze took an inquisitive look. “Are you mad at me ? For coming ?”

“I”m not.” A sigh escaped your mouth. The water was still running from the tap. “What are you doing here, Charles ?” 

“I don’t know.” You were now side by side.

“I had forgotten about this you know, the way you squeeze French words in the middle of sentences. It's funny, I guess I just miss your accent and that, being there with our friends.” You could imagine the heat of Charles' skin and the way his lips would feel if he kissed you just right here. You shook you head ; Charles wasn't the only one affected by alcohol but you weren’t just tipsy, you were completely drunk. 

“Oh, really.” He was trying not to sound unsettled, you knew it. “Is that your way of saying that you just miss me ?”

You chuckled and his green eyes sparkled. “You get to choose, Charlie. Is that your way of telling me you’re missing me too ?”

You hated the way you had missed the taste of Charles' lips and how his hands clung to you body when you kissed. The water was still running from the tap. 

[...]

“Did you like it ?” Charles is literally glowing under the Monégasque sun. His skin is a little tanned and you love how weak in the knees it makes you feel. You're in his garden, drinking beers and smoking. The sky is so blue it seems endless. You love the way it feels like summer. 

“What are you talking about ?” Charles' hand strokes you bare arm gently as you're laying on the grass. You're so relaxed you're not even thinking about the hours you spent crying on the plane. Your eyes are still reddish and puffy, though. 

“Cherry. Did you like it ? I mean, you obviously cried but I hope it is because you regret boycotting me during all these years.” 

“I hated it.” You answer, eyes closed. You can feel Charles' body shifting. He’s now looking at you from upon you guess since you feel his breath crashing on your face. “As much as I hate you.” You add, smiling. 

This time, it’s Charles who kisses you. You love how there’s nothing to hate.

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢 - 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐛𝐚

Word Count: 1k+

Contains: Gender Neutral reader, kissing, not sure if I missed anything.

proof read and edited.

Kirishima chuckled, his laughter filling the room as he glanced at the frustrated blonde. "Come on, Denks, don't start lying now," he teased. Denki pouted, his mind racing with frustration. No matter how many times he mentioned having a partner, his classmates just wouldn't believe him. "But I'm not lying! I really do have a lover," he whined, feeling exasperated. "Their name is Y/n."

Mina raised an eyebrow, her finger resting on her chin as she pondered. "Y/n… like the violin player?" she asked, her curiosity evident. Denki shook his head, slamming it on the desk in frustration. "No, not like the violin player. They are the violin player," he explained, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Bakugo scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I highly doubt a professional violinist would go for an idiot like you," he remarked. Denki sighed, feeling defeated. He didn't know how to convince them otherwise.

Suddenly, Sero spoke up, offering a glimmer of hope. "I'll believe you when we see them," he said. Denki's head shot up, a spark of realization in his eyes. "Why didn't I think of that sooner? You're so smart, Sero!" he exclaimed, quickly grabbing his phone and checking his calendar. "Are you guys free after school?" he asked eagerly. Kirishima nodded, followed by the rest of the group. "Yeah, I should be," he replied. Denki's face lit up with excitement. "Y/n has a performance today. I can take you guys to meet them," he said, his voice filled with anticipation.

Iida chimed in, remembering something he had seen. "A performance? Isn't their band's concert quite expensive?" he asked, recalling a poster he had seen on the streets. Momo grinned, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Yeah! My family gets invited every year. We always make sure to attend their shows here. I'm really close to Y/n, and they haven't mentioned any of you," she said, causing Bakugo and Kirishima to burst into laughter at Momo's remark.

'We've only been together for a couple of months! This performance is completely free, and it's only Y/n performing"

Mina smirked, "I'll tag along just to see if you're full of it as usual." turning her attention back to the front of the class. Sero chuckles and nudges Bakugo, "I wonder if he hired someone to be his partner." Deku smiles and places a hand on Denki's shoulder, "I believe you, Kaminari, I can't wait to tmeet them" Denki gives him a grateful smile, saying, "Thanks, man"

After school, Denki convinces half of his class to come and watch you perform on the streets. They walk for a few minutes until they hear a beautiful melody echoing off the walls of the buildings. "That's them!" Denki exclaims with excitement. The class gathers in front of you, watching as you close your eyes and let the music flow through your body. The song fills the air, and you can sense the presence of more people around you, which only fuels your performance. Your fingers dance swiftly and effortlessly on the strings, and as the song nears its end, you can't help but smile at the gasps of awe from the crowd. Many people play the violin, but you've been told that you possess a special talent.

You stood out from the rest, even though you never quite understood why. But that didn't stop you from giving it your all, as if every performance could be your last. As the applause filled the air, you opened your eyes and bowed, acknowledging the small crowd and the passersby.

Your gaze shifted to the people who approached and dropped money into your jar, offering them a warm smile. But then, your eyes landed on a familiar face - Denki. "Denki!" you exclaimed, handing your violin to your manager before rushing over to him. He welcomed you with open arms, and you embraced him tightly. It had been a few days since you last saw each other, with his school life and your work life keeping you apart.

"You came," you sighed happily.

"Of course I would. You know I always try to make it to your performances," he replied, releasing you from the hug. You couldn't help but smile, but then you noticed the curious onlookers around you. "You guys must be class 1-A! I've heard so much about you all. It's nice to finally meet you," you said, extending a friendly smile.

"Wish we could say the same, but we didn't even know you existed until today," Kirishima admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"Nuh-uh, I've been talking about Y/n for a month or two. Not my fault you guys don't trust me," Denki chimed in, rolling his eyes as he stood by your side.

"Momo, it's great to see you again," you said, spotting the tall girl and pulling her into a hug. Momo returned the embrace with a smile. "Likewise, Y/n. Why didn't you tell me you were dating my classmate?"

You shrugged. "It must have slipped my mind. You know, these past few months, I've been stuck at the studio."

Mina slumped in defeat, resting her head on Sero's shoulder. "I can't believe Denki found someone before me," she sighed. Bakugo, with his usual brashness, questioned, "How did you even meet that idiot, Dunce Face? Did he bribe you or something?" You turned your head towards Bakugo, the ashy blonde guy Denki had mentioned before. "Well, Bakugo, he didn't pay me. Denki would always come to my busking performances after school. He would watch me play and I couldn't resist his smile," you playfully nudged a blushing Denki.

"After each performance, he would treat me to boba, especially taro since he knows I love it. We would hang out and talk until we felt like it," you explained.

"Wow, Denki, I never knew you were such a romantic," Uraraka giggled at the shy boy, who hid his face from his classmates. "It's really sweet," Momo added. "That's what I love about him. No matter how busy we are, he always makes time for us," you smiled fondly.

Mina couldn't hold back her tears any longer and burst into sobs. She hugged Momo tightly, crying her heart out. "When did you become such a man?" she sobbed. Momo comforted her and said, "Excuse us. We'll see you soon, Y/n. Feel free to come over anytime." With a smile, Momo walked away with a crying Mina. "Yes, please come to the dorms. We'd love to get to know you," Kirishima said, giving you a friendly pat before he and the others bid their goodbyes and walked away.

"Did they really not believe you?" you playfully asked Denki. Denki glanced at you and burst into laughter. "I swear, they didn't! I was about to give up today, but then I thought of bringing them to meet you." You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips, and gently cupped Denki's face, planting a tender kiss on his lips. "Mm, I could never get enough of your kisses, bubs," he said, smiling warmly in your embrace. "Well, I still have a few more songs to perform before I have to leave. Would you like to stay?" you asked, walking back to your manager who handed you your violin. Denki grinned and replied, "You already know the answer to that. I'll go get us some boba."

"I love your way of thinking, Denks."

[kairoseas]

request from @coffebean: Can you do umm a Sukuita one about sukuna fantasizing about yuji in a bride dress Sukuna's never been one to fantasize. It's more of an activity reserved for those who cannot make their slightest whims a reality at the flick of their wrist; it was something the brat did a lot, but not he himself. He was more inclined towards making what he imagined in the darkest recesses of his own mind a reality when he simply saw fit to. This was not an occasion where he could simply put his idea to reality, much to his own painful chagrin.

That doesn't mean he hasn't had... a passing whimsy. A fantastical image. This modern era has changed a lot, certainly that was so, but others had remained very much the same. He'd first gotten a glimpse of this idea from the brat's posters, some gaudy older woman far too out of his league on his dorm room walls, flashing a particular kind of staged smile (he recognized it, it was similar to the ones he was once forced into giving at events) that made her expression all the more false to anyone trained in the art of expression. He, however, was elated at the slightest. "Oi, brat." The sudden speaking had Yuuji jumping in surprise, and it was a little on the adorable side, if Sukuna had anything to say about it. Still, like a good vessel, he answers when prompted: "Mmn? Something you need, 'kuna?" No, there wasn't anything he needed per say, but there were questions to be posed, fancies to be taken into consideration, and while he could search the brat's 'brain' (whatever was in the space between his ears, he certainly wasn't that optimistic) for his answers, he found it easier to lounge in the same way a lion did, surrounded by artifacts of his domain. "That woman. What's she wearing?" he asks from his place on Yuuji's cheek, the singular protruding eye stuck on the image in his magazine. Yuuji blinks before he realizes that Sukuna's talking about the image in front of him in modern print, fully colored, beautiful in a lot of ways, even when some were lost on him. "It's a wedding dress. You had those, right?" "It was different than that." "Really?" Not that the infamous Ryomen Sukuna paid much attention to marriage ceremonies of any sort, since he was never interested in participating in one up until ... these past few months. Thus, the culture surrounding them caught the curse's attention, caused him to absorb what information he found in passing. Yuuji, too, didn't have too much of an eye out for things pertaining to a wedding in their everyday fight for survival. "The wedding-kimonos were more ornate than that. More ... unique. These atrocities are mass manufactured, aren't they?" "...? How'd you guess?" "... they all look too similar to one another. Isn't the point of a wedding to be unique to all others in accordance to the tastes of the bride and groom?" the curse states with genuine disgust; how could people water down such a beautiful custom? Ah, well, it was one of the many things that the modern day watered down and diluted. "Heh, 'kuna has some romantic ideas. Did you ever marry anybody?" "What do you think?" "... no? But you were famous, right? Wouldn't you have been chased after?" It's at this point that Sukuna rolls his eyes, shaking his head inside of his domain at the very idea; he was courted many times, but it was never once returned in any regard. That was one of the problems with being all-powerful. Romance was trickier, more obtuse. "That's not to say that I was not courted, brat." "Courted...?" Ah, right, another word long gone out of fashion, Sukuna had to watch his own language if he wanted to speak and be understood by anyone, including his own vessel. "Others wished to romance me often. They were all foolish." Sukuna answers him easily, to which Yuuji laughs a bit. "Yeah? I can see you turning a lot of people down. You seem more like a loner to me." "Correct. ... have you entertained marriage?" "Not really." What a shame. In the Heian era, women were groomed to be brides fairly early, and it was around this time that they would have been wed away for power. Even if Yuuji had no desire yet to be by his side for an extended stay, well, safe to say Yuuji didn't get a say in the matter. He was the other half of Sukuna's rotten soul, everything he was not, tied to his littlest finger. "Doesn't matter. Don't get any bright ideas." Sukuna pulls back, resting his knuckles against his face as he sat on the throne of bovine skulls, You're still my vessel, and you won't belong to anyone besides me anyway." ... we'll work on the wedding dress part.

[noircartoons]

Bauhaus, 1920 vintage poster

Ofélia SQ @abstract-mind

It was 2AM, yet i found myself looking at products with discount in the abyss that is online shopping. An addicting desire to find a decoration for our wall, one just for myself. Even if i have to share this wall with four people—this small corner, this painting, is mine.

I found a poster i had not seen in quite some time. The poster did not credit an artist, it only said "Bauhaus 1920 vintage poster". The art was clearly done digitally, to be mass produced and sold online effortlessly.

I found myself...drawn towards those posters. They were pretty, yes—but not in the way a flower is pretty. In the way a siren song is pretty. I was never one to fall for sirens myself, i have few desires to fill me with such carnal instincts to seek for it at all costs once under a spell, the feeling of it being so close you could dig your canines into it's neck is enough to speed any man's heart.

That was not what i felt, no. It was a whisper, almost. I was unsure what had drawn me in. I could see beautiful colors and lines without the desire to buy them, what is different about this one? It was simple enough and i knew enough techniques that i could repaint it myself, but it was not enough, it would have flaws—i needed the one they sold. The one forever frozen in this A3 paper that would either catch dust in my wall or be forever locked inside it's plastic bag, gasping for air as no treasure has ever asked to become a treasure.

I pondered more over my strange feelings, if it could be remade and did not impress me that much, what made me feel this way? Why could no other poster strike my attention like this one? Why did i feel incomplete without it?

A friend of mine, an anarchist at heart, would call it blantant consumerism. A hole barely disguised with a carpet of leaves, only waiting for me to get distracted. Yes, i understood his reasoning, but i was far too inteligent to be compared to such a foolish act! Yet, my brain failed to provide me with any other results,

for such a simple question none the less; "Why do i like this?"

I look at the corner of our room. It has several canvases, some unfinished, some white, some complete. My piece is there, as well. The only piece i had ever produced: A painting inspired by these posters, abstract and with limited colors, though the materials were what shined. A patchwork of handmade canvas fabrics, glued in several spots, barely connecting, over a plane piece of paraná paper. Behind the paper, i had painted and glued some cheap thin foam that was used as a pizza plate under the store bought pizza we cooked. My anarchist friend is the one known for recycling, yet when i broke that foam to throw it out, I found it beautiful.

That was my first and only painting. I struggled to paint since, despite wanting to. When i look at these cheap, consumerist posters, it's my art that i see. Is that what drawns me in?

When my anarchist friend began volunteering in an art gallery, i found that people tended to like art that they could see themselves in. My friend had very intense emotions despite his calm demeanor, his lines were shaken and blurred and sketchy. He refused to draw otherwise. He refused to draw prettier, or more convenient. He enjoyed a canvas that was too small, and other that was taller then him. He enjoyed throwing his ink on the canvas to the point he always had to shower after a painting to get the nankin off of his hands and thighs.

I believe my fascination with him...would be how strongly he carries himself. He is no shadow, the sun competes with him for attention. I do not need such futile things, no. I do not need to be remembered, or known. Yet, when we're in an exposition together, he photographs everything with so much passion, he sees everything with so much beauty, he gives all of his body to his paintings to the point i wouldn't be surprised if he covered himself in paint and rolled over a canvas.

I believe...he is a better poet than me, although visually. He gets a good part of the wall for his art. I only made my only painting, that once it had dried the first thing i did was change completely its color palette and repaint it. When i was in the art gallery with him, all i could find where things i'd do differently, or feel nothing at all. I fear my love of art is not enough to melt my dried heart into proper ink to finish writing this poem.

It is 2:30, and i have yet to find out why i love those cheap Bahaus posters, made specifically to sell. I believe, on one hand, i understand being superficial to better sell yourself. It is all i know how to do. On the other, there's a beauty in the abstract, on not needing to be understood. Perhaps it is just a pretty poster with lines that overlap and find each other, or sharp black and white pinaccles against a burning red sky. Perhaps it is just a red square against a cream colored background. There is no texture and no technique, it is a commercial design over a painting. There are much better abstract paintings over there, with fantastic techniques. Yet—this is the one i'm drawn towards. There is nothing special about it besides it's superficial beauty, but perhaps i can find a beauty on it if i seek hard enough. And perhaps, i will want to seek that beauty on myself, as well.

[katnisspeetaprim]

AiB You Are An Idol

You Were an Idol

Before the borderlands happened you were a famous idol, constantly gaining popularity over time. You got a lot of stares from people in games and at the beach since they obviously recognised you which you could honestly do without. Its life and death in the borderlands so you wished that they would honestly just get over themselves.

Because of the constant attention from people you’d rather not have, this caused you to gravitate more towards the people who seemingly didn’t recognise you, or just simply didn’t care enough to bring it up.

Kuina

When you told Kuina about what you did before this her reaction was to be expected.

‘Ah really?! That’s so cool but your a terrible friend for not telling me sooner!’ She was pouting for a while after that.

In the end she would want to know everything about your career, like the supportive friend she is, and you happily tell her.

‘I expect special treatment and access to all your perks when we get back by the way.’ She wouldn’t let you off easy knowing that you could basically get whatever you wanted.

Chishiya

‘I’m not surprised. It fits you well now that I think about it.’ He chuckled to himself, thinking about you prancing around a stage. A stark contrast to how you had been in this world.

He wasn’t interested in that kind of thing if he was completely honest however, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about what kind of music you made, and would be looking you up the first chance he got.

Niragi

You had never told Niragi about being famous, mainly because you don’t associate or hang around with the guy, so naturally he found out through the grape vine.

He became fascinated by you, having never been with anyone famous before. He would make it his mission to engage with you at every opportunity, he wouldn’t be subtle about his intentions either.

He would most definitely hate your music if he actually heard it though by the way.

Arisu

Lowkey already knows who you are, maybe he had a poster or two of you on his walls at some point.

He would have first seen you at the beach and was gobsmacked. He wanted to come up to you but was afraid of bothering you so he kept his distance.

It was you who approached him in the end, you had noticed the guy trying not to make eye contact with you a few times now and thought that he was cute.

Arisu was a stuttering mess when you asked him if he wanted to grab a drink at the bar with you, but with a gentle nudge from his friend Usagi he was agreeing to your request.

‘I’d love to! I’m a big fan by the way, I don’t know if you could tell...’

Usagi

She also already knew who you were but she wasn’t bothered by it after all, in the borderlands everybody was in the exact same position.

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Constantly being in the public eye?’ She would ask you with a curious gaze. Most of her experience of being publically known had been negative after and just before her fathers death, so she couldn’t understand why someone would put themselves in that situation willingly.

You took the time to to explain how much you loved your career and how hard you worked to get

 to the position you were in now. Usagi still didn’t get wanting to be in the spotlight but she understood you better once you explained to her.

Kyuma

You and Kyuma had met before the borderlands, maybe you had both been performing at the same venue at one point.

You would have met again in his game for the King of Clubs. It would be a shock to both of you to see each other in this situation but were happy to see a familiar face, that was until Kyuma started to explain the game  to your group.

You wished you could have met again under different circumstances.

Banda

Of course he knows who you are in fact, you had been on his radar for quite a while now, not even because of your music he was just... obsessed with you.

You would meet officially in the Jack of Hearts game where he would constantly be watching you from across the room.

His stares made you feel uneasy but you would be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by the guy.

Banda would make sure that you survived this game so he could have you to himself later.

[ask-missparker]

You walked in and my heart went boom! / AU series

Pairing: Charming!Nikolai x Snow!Amelia

Summary: The looks turned into letters from one another became secret meetings away from the walls of the hills. Until one night, they were crumbled among them.

Note: They go by Nicholas & Amara sometimes

Setting: Enchanted Forest

Extra characters/mentioned: Captain Hook!Jeremy, Mr. Smee, King Midas, Princess Jemma and etc.

———

——

‘I have never been one to try and grab the spotlight, but all of it happened on a hot night. Tried to focus on the mission to steal the jewelry and I stumbled into you. Your eyes dazzled as you were captured by the loom and my heart secretly went boom. Tryin' to catch our eyes at the sight outside of the ballroom, despite the band top volumes. Sometimes I wonder how many nights I can spend without seeing you, but when I remind myself, even without you I am not doomed.’ - Love, Nicholas M.

Amara Snow—Amelia, would smile to herself at rereading the letters he sent her and the ones she return by morning light. Her heart belonged not to her fiancé, but yet another. The Dark Prince’s charming and awfully wildly dashing hearted brother. He was a little insane and jumped first into danger based on her letters and stories she’d hear from him in the late hours of the night and yet, that was comforting to her.

Tons of letters stacked and or hidden pieces in the desk of her vanity. She’s write in her letters back, ‘Helpless! Look into your eyes (Oh, look at those eyes). And the sky's the limit. Down for the count, and we’re drownin' in 'em. You can sometimes see past the falsely shows and sneak your way into the halls, even if your mind wondering how I’m even it. Every week gets better with every note that you write me, rushing into my room and my heart will go boom. Sometimes my mind will just rewind and remember those nights for the rest my days, hoping to see you again like it’s a play.’

Charming Nicholas—Nikolai smile opening up the letters as short much they seem, he knew she meant every word. His life was never easy and cheerful, always trying to find a sense of peace and belonging. He found it in the woodsy hills of the kingdom, living in caves and then old vacant homes for a reasonable price of shelter. Yes, his brother wanted him gone out of pure jealousy and villainous pride, having posters to reward whoever could find him firsthand. He never thought he would find some company nor comfort out here until he stumbled into her by accident, the same princess he stole from, making him believe there was still good in the world.

Resulted in him slowly but surely start to open his heart and small home to others he seemed, such as Cinderella one night and The Huntress who speared his life. Helping out people in need like he used to before running away from the castle and trying to be of service. Yes, it seemed like it was a small gesture to many but yet it spoke to who understood what he meant.

He stood on the ground near the old house he called home, reading one of his love’s letters. He chuckled and snorted as thoughts filled his head, when suddenly an impulse decision came to mind. To see her again. It’s felt like a lot to do, bring flowers, sneak into the castle walls of King Midas, and arrange an agreeable plan to have them escape into the night together. He just needed to see her again, tell her a few short words in person.

And he smirked knowing exactly who to call.

Hook.

He was a young man based on honor and loyalty but couldn’t resist a good challenge, no matter how small.

As well as the thought of golden treasure hidden behind locked doors in the castle of Midas.

———

With that he found his one handed friend leaning against a barrel of beer at the marketplace. He seemed like he just finished buying some fruit and ready to head back to his ship.

“Hook!”

Jeremy, also known as Hook, turned around to sound of the accent being the one to belong to his friend. He raised a eyebrow smiling softly, “Yes, Nicholas? What is it that you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?” Nikolai reply with a matching smile.

“The way your captain’s hat is tiled and your suit is fitted for a dueling requirement for today. You know I’m open to hearing what it is.”

“That’s why your my friend. I want to do something tonight but I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“I need safe passage on your ship to do so.”

He snorted, “Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas! Why it is that we need my ship for this and not steal a carriage?”

“We need to go to the half side of the forest near the bay of the Kingdom.” He added half smirking.

“And what for? Don’t tell me it’s for another girl now?”

Nikolai was silent and smirked sheepishly with a wink. Jeremy snorted loudly and nodded, “Of course it is. What’s this lovely lady have to offer?”

He explained glancing around as he did, “She doesn’t know I’ll be coming. And we not being to any home but Midas’s castle.”

That seemed to catch Jeremy’s attention as the brightest grin filled his face. He always wanted to sneak into Midas’s castle to steal from treasure from the bottom of the home and never found a reasonable time to do so, until now. The blonde nodded leading him onto his ship as they chatted, deciding where they would get in and then get out.

Better yet, getting some drinks and food once the trip was over. In Nikolai’s eyes, his friend wasn’t just a pirate but a knight with a heart of gold.

—————

At the castle, Amelia was wondering around in her brown dress as her fingers played with a tiara talking with Jemma who talked about her latest story riding the horses in the stables and going on a picnic with her love afterwards.

Jemma asked, “How was the last time for you with Fitz? He seemed stuffy..he told me that at the party he was more focused on bringing in new guests than dancing.”

“Ah yes. He was mainly having a headache wanting to head home instead as I tried to help him nurse the pain. I talked with other royals as he went to use the restroom.” She explained, “But he seemed more like he wanted to dance with you.”

“We did dance that night but his father hasn’t noticed anything yet.”

“I hope he does…”

“How about you? You seem to glow lately, what it is that is making you a bit lighter?”

“Let’s just say I met someone who makes me smile. I hope you meet him one day.”

Jemma grinned, “Ohh how darling! Is he a knight? A prince? A baker?”

The girl blushed in return, “No, yes, and no..he is a artist that’s much I will tell you.”

Both ladies giggled, walking past their chambers into the maid grounds to visit the staff of the castle and get something to eat. What they didn’t know is that King Shaw’s guardsmen were listening in on them every now and then to report back to their royal office, as one of them casually walked in on one of princess’s rooms to accidentally glance at a letter that seemed to be semi-finished…

———

A couple of hours past, Jeremy and Nikolai were on the ship having a round of views as they sailed the seas. Hook’s crew were friendly to the ex-prince turned bandit, ordering him rum and all types of snacks they brought of board, as their captain discussed his plans to enter the vault of riches underneath the castle without being seen or shot at, needing half of his crew to distract the guards meanwhile the other follow them to collect the treasure of diamonds and gold. Having at least two of his crewmen follow Nikolai up the stairs and across the front tower head for he can see his lovely lady and possibly get any insight needed on the royals.

Hook’s crew followed suit with the plan, some knowing that their captain tend to have a mind of his own possibly stealing more than jewelry on the way out of the home. Once they arrived at the castle, Jeremy step foot inside with his crews behind him knocking out any guardsmen around, he had to use his swords to wack a few leaving a scar on a face or two. He shrugged.

Running down the halls and across the stairwell to the bottom of the castle, Hook and his men sensed it far and well, a room filled with riches of many. It was locked but Jeremy used his sword to slice the first handle and cracking open the combination to the second look with his hook, swinging some guards on his way in.

As he stepped into the room, he placed his sword back in the handle glancing over a fallen knight and rolled his eyes. He scoffed, “If you were my men, I would’ve never made you down so easily. But I would say, your men did put up an impressive swing, for royals..I guess.”

Mr. Smee, his former right hand, called him off as one of crewmen, LightFoot, found the set of riches they were looking for. To say Jeremy’s jaw dropped was an understatement.

He had seen plenty of times riches, potions, jewels and items of many. But the moment he kneeled down to run his fingers across it, he knew this was all very breathtaking. King Midas was known in tales for turning anything and everything into golden suns, stealing and sometimes sharing his own foundation with others as rare as it may seem, he did.

“My gods…” He muttered, never wanting to leave the place in order to bring it all home but he knew he had to be fair. He can’t take it all in one sitting and thinking possibly striking a little deal with the king sooner or later, but not tonight.

Jeremy stood up opening his sack as he piled in as much as he can could, ordering his men to do the same. As Hook was scanning the room, even finding a sword on the wall to take, he noticed a small pile of golden coins and yellow diamonds likes the ones he past earlier on his way in. However rounding the inner layers of diamonds stood a oceanic blue one, more than one, that called his name. Picking it up, Jeremy noticed two out of six large diamonds were engraved in rings.

He smirked, “He will love this..”

The ring was grand yet elegant and perfectly fine for a gift, a promise ring one might say. Mr. Smee noticed his Captain face and nodded liking the thought of him being pleased with himself especially after finding a satisfying reward such as a ring.

~~~~~~~~~

To say Nikolai was grateful for his company tonight to the castle was unbelievable thing but he was. He was lucky enough to be accompanied by theses men in moments like this. As he made his way through the whole deeply him halls, he swung his sword in his hand and use his shadows to guide him through the staircase. He had thwe two men walk his six from the narrow ends.

In his pocket, he held a small handful of daisies as he made his own way between the columns in the deep deadly silence. He bit the bottom of his lip, entering the tower head of the castle ready to make a left turn to find his lady when two knight stopped them, he was able to take them down as a 3rd ordered him to follow him to a decorative room filled with trinkets, tables, a warm fire and the king.

He expected for it to be Midas but it was Shaw. He was confused asking where was Midas’s chambers as Shaw said he was out on leave for the next couple of nights with his son and will return in the morning, he was requested to watch over the castle while he was gone. Nikolai asked what exactly he wanted with him, lying about just here to see a friend.

“Enough. I know everything.” King Shaw said holding up a letter in his handwriting with a small doodle in the corner, “You’re clever to not use your own name, I had to do some digging to find a match. You poisoned her heart and now her marriage, because your pathetic behavior towards one another. I’ll have you know love is disease and like all diseases, it can be released from the body in one of two ways.”

Nikolai was silent wanting to hold his tongue but spoke up, “Sir. Love is not a disease or any kind, people don’t want to accept that it’s—”

“Foolish boy, it is. Only two ways to stop it, a cure or death. Do you know where your beloved is right now? She is right now that hall wishfully unpacking away her things for official stay, for a new life with her husband.”

“She will never know I’m here…”

“Oh yes she will because you’re gonna walk down that hall and crush her stupid little heart.”

“You hate your daughter that much?”

“She’s not my daughter. Never was, if she were, she’ll know when to listen and stay shut!”

“….”

“You’re gonna sneak in and tell her that you received her letters. Tell her why your here. Because you don’t love her, never did. Never will.”

“…it was break her heart in two…what if I don’t? You’ll kill me?”

“Oh no. Then I’ll turn you over to your brother for that precious reward for your capture. It’s will save both of you the trouble, if you just tell her the truth. It will cure all of this.”

“And if you kill me?…that will only make her love me more and run away from her wedding day, leaving you with no choice but to go after her head as she tries to bring me back to life..but if you have her killed by accident, Midas would break your deal for those riches..”

“Ah, you are smart. No wonder you are so badly wanted for your crimes against the prince. Now go.”

——————

The room was pretty quiet. Dark, as the only shining down was the ones coming from the moon and light setting stars stirring in the night. The Princess Snow was holding up her favorite brown skirt from her bags smiling to herself. She looked over her shoulder hearing the door crack open, expecting it to be one of knights or Jemma coming to feed her mind with her latest book of discoveries. But to her surprise, it was Nicholas—Nikolai who stepped in shutting the door behind him with a soft smile on his face walking over to her.

She blinked in disbelief letting out a breathless sigh, “Nicholas…”

“Amara..” He replies with a nod still smiling softly, “.. I uh, I got your letters and I came to see you. Surprise.”

“It is a surprise. H-how did you get in?”

“I have my tricks.”

She walked over pulling herself closer, gently placing a hand on his cheek as he placed both hands on her hips in a almost tight manner not wanting to let go soon but he must.

“You came! Y-you came to see me.” She said about to lean in to press a kiss to his cheek but he stopped her.

“Wait, Snow.” He said as one hand slipped to hold her wrist, “Us. It can’t happen. I can’t be with you.”

“W-what? No..it can happen. All our talks and sneaking off to see one another shows that we can work..I know it will be tough and might cost—”

“I won’t be the one to cost you, your happiness. I am a prince and your just some farm girl, it can never work out.”

“Yes it can. You came all this way to see me, it was for a reason..I love you and now that I know you love me to—”

His face fell to a neutral yet serious face, no emotion written as he cut her off again with no smile, “I don’t.”

“Wha..” She replies with tears pooling a small shower within her eyes.

“I don’t love you. I come from a family of lies, I was only playing cards here. I will never be in your heart , Amelia, that’s too cruel of fate.”

“B-but..no. Nikolai please..”

“Go live your life. With me, because I’m not in it.”

“Y-yes yo-you are…we were gonna..we were gonna..”

“Gonna what? Live happily ever after like in the fantasy your heart made up? I’m sorry, love. It won’t be true. Fill your heart with love for someone else, someone who can love you the way I never have…and never will.”

Before she can say anything else to his face, he removed her hand from his cheek and the other from her waist walking out of the room stone cold. She was left there holding herself whimpering as light sobs came into the air of the room, sitting down on her bed unable to breathe nor believe what she heard. As Nikolai walked out shutting the door behind him, he can hear the crying noise along with her voice as he fought his body to rush in and comfort her, and just gave a nod to King Shaw…

~~~~~~

He kept his face netural on, gripping his sword tightly as his eyes water and a sense of anger filled his shoulders wanting to release it somehow. He wasn’t one to feel this way unless it was personal and this, it felt personal.

He walked out of the castle walls, allowing the tears to finally fall as he took one last glance at the castle, tower head where he left a crying Amelia. He wanted his numb himself of this pain and needed to do it quick.

The crewmen follows him out and onto the harbor where Captain Hook stood there grinning at the jewelry in hand about to ask how did it go with his lady but paused seeing the booking look of regret and pain on his face.

He knew that look all too well himself as he placed hand on his shoulder and said, “My friend, it will be alright. You need a drink.”

“No, i don’t need a drink. I need food, and a lot of it..and a tree to stab with my sword..” Nicholas replied with a light glare looking down at his grip.

“We can go down swinging later, drinks and food now. You need it, we all do.”

“Okay..yeah, I..I do think I need to take a breather for a moment.”

Jeremy smiled hearing that, clasped his shoulder letting his friend rest his head there knowing the pain of heartbreak himself. I wished he got an answer to what might’ve led him to feel this way too but knowing his past and the crossroads that they both faced, he can already pictured he was forced into a room of decision making. He knew that drinks and food of any kind would satisfy their stomachs tonight, later they can duel it out in the woods to release whatever bowling emotions within.

Nikolai followed him, entering the town’s deep well kept bar passing the men and women inside to themselves a booth, a couple of Hook’s crew members stepped in to have a round themselves. That night beers, chicken legs and singing was done in that bar at full volume. It numbed the rubbing sadness against his chest, he lied to her face saying that he didn’t love her, but the truth is…

…he did. He doesn’t know when or how but he will find a way to get her back, even if he has to wait for it. But for now, he sat and drank his feelings away like the honorary pirate that he is. Jeremy brought the first couple of rounds talking about his nicely designed ring he took from that treasure room he will give to Cole when the timing is right as Nikolai chuckled softly. He knew what they were doing.

Meanwhile Amara Snow—Amelia stood in front of her full body mirror whipping away tears that kept coming. She wanted to stop the thoughts that came across her mind but the words were so recent in his mind like cutting a freshly squeezed orange. She sipping the glass of water in her nightstand as it felt like a small headache was coming on. Yes the words were said but there was an uncertainty laced over his body language even though his face coney something completely different.

There was this bit in the bottom of her stomach, a swirling dizziness and foggy touch to it all just didn’t even bother to get her a warning. It hurts, the harshest of his tongue and the face he gave her was serious, numbness filled with a slight hint of glassy eyes, as if he wanted to tell her something else to this speech. She thought it was his brother then she into the hallways to find Shaw speaking softly with his guards, she sighed as it clicked. He said something that changed his mind..

And she basically seemed like she lost him. But a strong part of her wants to rush out and find him, reason with the man she claimed to love. But she had a wedding to attend. Her own little wedding with no say to even what type of dress she could wear, but she doesn’t know if she sneak off into the woods or worse, find a way to suck it up and go ahead with the plan.

Either way, she will probably enter up sniffling a tear.

——

So here it is! I had this conversation in my head for a while and had to make the fic sooner or later. What do you guys think?

Yes, in my head Jeremy & Nikolai have a small bromance and it’s called ‘CaptainCharming’!

Remember to like, share and comment with your thoughts

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @rooster-84 @thecavalrywife @cherrysft and etc

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

It's disability pridemonth, so it got me thinking on my internship at a school for physically disabled children again (it's been over a year holy shit).

I remember that, the day I got there, I had no idea what to expect and how to deal with anything. Well, not even because those children were disabled and I'd never actually met disabled people before, though that certainly played a factor, but by pretty much the entire situation. (I don't think the adults there were really equipped to handle a socially awkward teen on top of everything else either, to be honest.)

The second day a teacher-slash-more of a childcare worker i think? took me aside, spent time to explain everything to me, gave me specific instructions and after that everything went pretty well, and I learned a lot in those five days.

I unlearned a lot of my own internalized ableism, of course. Like the children who couldn't talk "properly" - they still understood everything just fine. It's really sad that I needed to see this to get it, but I'm glad I did.

I could barely understand that one girl, but man, she was fucking amazing at doing maths in her head.

But honestly, the most surprising thing about my internship?

The reactions from people around me.

I was asked so often if it wasn't hard, seeing all those disabled children.

The truth is, no. No, it wasn't. Because I got to know them in an environment that was made specifically with them in mind.

There were railings in child-height all along the walls, so the kids who had trouble with walking could still get everywhere on their own. Doors were automated and wide enough for multiple wheelchairs. The area outside was all flat and open, so all the kids, including those in wheelchairs, could play tag. There were always adults around to help them with whatever they couldn't do on their own, whenever they needed that help.

I saw happy children first, and disabled children second.

Of course they were disabled. Of course I know they'll never be able to have normal jobs, and lead normal lives, and many won't be able to live independantly. I saw a poster in a hallway in remembrance of a girl there who died. I know that this school and daycare was the only of its kind in a way too large area.

But I got to meet those children. I got to help them. I'll never forget the little boy whose hand I held to help him walk when we went to get ice cream with that one group of kids, and when he told me he loved me (children are the absolute sweetest). I'll never forget all of them just being kids, wheelchair or none, speaking or not (or with an aid, I'm not sure what it's called tho, sorry).

I'm so very glad I got an internship there.

And I'm so fucking infuriated that the world refuses to accomodate them even in small matters. I'm fucking mad that these children will grow up to be treated as stupid or lesser just because of a disability. These children are physically disabled, and they are children.

It's one of the most important realizations I needed to have, and I hate that it wasn't a given in the first place. I hate that society made it necessary to see.

Fuck ableism. We gotta fight for a future these children, and any disabled people - physically or otherwise - can live in.

If I used any offensive wording or anything, feel free to correct me, I'm trying and always open to learn more :)

[sminny-wew]

Dragon Ball is such a unique and interesting series to me. Even if you're only so familiar with it, it's more than likely affected or influenced you in a greater way than you realize. You could know absolutely nothing about Goku, but if someone showed you Goku, you'd know it was Goku. He has a distinct personality, distinct skills, a distinct silhouette. You recognize him even if you don't know him.

I was both a 90s and a 2000s kid, not really a Millennial but not really Gen Z. Right on the cusp of both. So when the mainstream American anime boom kicked off around that time, I was Team Sailor Moon. Of course I was; they were pretty like my Barbie dolls, but unlike Barbie, they got to beat the shit out of evildoers, and I LOVED it.

But as much as that show occupied my attention, I couldn't pretend that Dragon Ball Z didn't catch my eye on some level.

When I did manage to catch it on Toonami, I couldn't look away. I'd never seen such intense action scenes before. And even if I felt like things dragged on sometimes, when things got good, they got GOOD. I wouldn't have called myself a DBZ fan at the time, but I still understood the hype behind Vegeta, Frieza, Super Saiyan Goku, Future Trunks, the Androids, Perfect Cell, Majin Buu, Gotenks...all of it. I remember my older cousins were really into Dragon Ball Z. One of them had a black and white poster on their bedroom wall with all the Z Fighters. I remember when they would play with me, they'd pretend they were going to fire a Kamehameha at me, and I'd giggle with excitement because they sounded just like Goku.

The show's impact was not lost on American media; you can open YouTube, type "dragon ball references in tv shows" and see for yourself. And that's just in America; Dragon Ball has a massive presence in cultures across the globe, and back in Japan, it was turning out to be a strong influence on the likes of One Piece, Bleach, and shounen manga/anime as a genre.

Growing up as a Sonic fan in the early 2000s, I cannot understate the influence that DBZ had not just on the Sonic series itself, but on Sonic fan content in particular. I'm talking countless videos of Sonic X clips set to audio from DBZ, with Sonic as Goku and Shadow as Vegeta. All the fan art and sprite art of Sonic going Super Saiyan 3. One of the most widely-known fan projects in the community is the Newgrounds animation Nazo Unleashed; animator Chakra-X (who was in high school when he made this thing!!!) took an unused design for Super Sonic that showed up for 3 seconds in the first Sonic X trailer...

...and, influenced by DBZ villains, permanently altered how most people perceive this design: not as a scrapped Sonic transformation, but as his own unforgettable villain. It didn't matter that Nazo wasn't canon, all we cared about was the jaw-dropping Dragon Ball-style fight scenes that Chakra-X gave us. I highly suggest you watch Nazo Unleashed on YouTube if you've never seen it before, it's an awesome piece of fandom history.

(Also quick shoutout to Edwyn Tiong, his performance as Nazo absolutely gave Perfect Cell energy)

And as seen with games like Sonic Frontiers, and characters like Surge and Kit who (as it turns out, unintentionally!!) parallel the Androids, that influence carries on to this day.

Look at the first boss fight from Sonic Frontiers.

Look at this. Look at this and tell me this doesn't scream Dragon Ball.

The DBZ energy radiating from these boss fights was so hype that people started taking clips from DRAGON BALL ITSELF and setting them to the soundtrack!!! A complete 180 from what people were doing on YouTube in 2008!!

And this is just the influence of Dragon Ball. Unfortunately, I don't know enough about Dr. Slump, Chrono Trigger, or any of Akira Toriyama's other works to do them justice. All I can really say is that Toriyama went from writing gag manga to inventing modern shounen action tropes without even intending to. We've lost a genuine legend. But to quote the opening of DBZ Kai: "Nothing ever dies. We will rise again."

Rest in peace, Toriyama-san. Yours is a legacy that no one will ever forget, whether they know your name or not. And one of these days, when I'm able to sit down and properly watch through all of Dragon Ball, I'll be thinking of you and what we have because of you.

Thank you for everything.

[withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus]

I think visual kei is the longest obsession I’ve ever had. It took me 11 years to finally be chill about it. xD I’ve reached a point that I don’t care much about the scene, never seeing them live, missing releases like...this year I’ve managed to slowly detach.

Ever since I was a little girl, my favorite musicians were my life. They gave me a voice, a purpose and a dream. I wasn’t a casual listener, I was the kind of girl who needed to see them as much as possible, listen to music like 6 hours a day, if not more, my walls were always full of pictures of them, I always talked about them...they were my life. And even after getting into visual kei, I didn’t drop any of my previous favorites, I just wasn’t as focused on them as before. With previous artists I felt my enthusiasm was fullfilling and healthy, an energy boost, an inspiration, a place where I felt understood. It was sth I loved, people I loved etc. (and if you are one of those who think you have to know sb very well to love them, get the fuck out of my blog, I know what I felt and if a person can hate sb at first sight, they can love at first sight too. Yes maybe what I loved was 90% illusion, but I believe 10% was actually real cause, no matter how much a person likes to appear perfect and always friendly etc, cracks will always be there). Anyway visual kei felt like more than that to the point I really thought it was destiny to actually work with them (cause I’ve always wanted to work with my favorite artists, I just switched from wanting to go to the USA to Japan after a while being a fan). And you know what, it was fun as long as it lasted. It took me out of the dark, pulled blades away from my wrists, it kept me sane, lead to writing 2 and a half books, it lead to finally getting my hands on photoshop and honestly becoming a better person. But yeah those things aside, I realized that the goal-part was another lie I built to feel I belonged. In reality, it was another lesson in life which, once I got it, it had to go.

I’m closing 30 and I have not much passion for art or music anymore. It was painful forcing myself understand my dreams were silly, but the peace I feel now makes me think I finally made it. I can now look at their photos of the past with nostalgia and not feeling like I failed, cause it was never for me in the first place. I kept seeing people travelling there and being able to see them and, some even got chances to work with them, so I wondered wtf I was doing wrong. It was eating me alive and I desperately wanted sth to work but well...it’s all gone now. ^^

Currently I don’t have any goals but I know some old stuff came back. As a child, besides trying every artform I could get my hands on while listening to music, I also played a lot of games. We had 3 drawers and 1 cupboard full of videogames at home and I feel like I am slowly getting back to that. I limit myself only to genshin now, for sure, but I watch more playthroughs again of games I don’t have and maybe soon I will try getting a console to try more stuff, who knows. I also started watching anime again, which I had stopped for a few years.

Oh well, regardless of what the future holds, I am thankful to all those people who dared chase their dreams and inspired me do the same, my lovely musicians, even if I eventually got nowhere, and I will keep listening to their songs from time to time. And posting their pics cause nostalgia. My only complaint is that I spent the past 10 years of my life being upset that I lived in a house that didn’t allow me have posters on my walls (fucking humidity and mold ye see) and now that I can and my room is healthier, I have nobody I want on my walls. xD I will fill it with Genshin and anime characters xD.

[kingwarden]

Navigating grief is incredibly difficult, and life never prepares you for it. I had a very lonely childhood and very lonely teen years. One Direction truly was the very first thing in my life that made me feel seen and connected me with other people. I was 11 when I discovered them post X-Factor but before the Up All Night release. My best friend and I had their trading cards from the Up All Night CD and we would take them with us on walks, feeling connected to five boys not much older than us, who made us feel seen in ways that no one around us could at that time.

They were my first foray into fandom. I was on the OG forums back in the day, writing fanfiction under my own name and telling everyone that I was the same age as Harry when in reality I was 12. Throughout puberty, I was wishing ill on every girl around any of the boys. I was unable to reconcile that I would not end up married as Mrs. Styles, with the members of One Direction being my brother-in-laws. I was the definition of a fangirl, my best friend and I were known as the first annoying One Direction fans in the area. Walls and ceilings fully covered in posters. Lipstick stains on each of the boys cheeks, jumping up to try to reach them. I’ll kiss Harry and Zayn, she’ll kiss Louis and Niall, we’ll both share Liam to be fair. I was cutting out anything even mentioning them in any teen pop magazine at the time. It’s a badge of pride we’ve been wearing since we discovered them 13 years ago.

I’ve grown since then. The young girls and women who thought they were talking to an 18 year old, I can never apologize enough for that betrayal of trust. I understand that navigating relationships with children is fundamentally different than navigating with people your own age or in similar age ranges. But also, I can’t say that I will ever regret anything I did there because without any of that, I would not be who I am. Those girls and women treated me like their equal because that’s who they saw me as, when no one in my own life could do the same even when they were trying their best. Those were fully formed friendships, that were entirely genuine, and as soon as I understood that deception does not allow full genuine connection for both parties, I disappeared from the fandom completely. I never wanted those memories to be tainted with the truth for me, but also, for them, either.

Looking back now, maybe even some of those girls did the exact same thing I did. I don’t know. It certainly doesn’t change anything on my end for how I feel, but that just demonstrates how special and close that fandom was for us at the time, and the way it was a lifeline for so many.

My best friend and I haven’t lived close to each other in years. I used to be able to go to her house on a bad day, or we would go to the beach, or the movies, and just talk, and talk, and talk. We went from seeing each other daily, planning our lives around one another, to having to adjust to the fact that life leads love into different avenues. I no longer see her everyday. It’s not nearly as easy to hear her voice the way it used to be at 11, at 14, at 16, at 19. I think in the same vein, I genuinely believe I could count on one hand the amount of days we haven’t been in contact with another since we became friends 13 years ago. I carry her with me in every single thing I do, and I will for the rest of my life. That’s my soulmate, my other half, no person knows be better than her, or loves me better than her. We’ve had two fights ever and they were over the dumbest things ever and we both blew them way out of proportion because we cared so much about each other.

Would we be the best of friends today if we didn’t have One Direction? I like to think so, she’s my person. But I have One Direction solely to thank for granting me this special thread that weaves us together, even now.

In the past few years, it seems like everything has fallen apart for everyone. As we get older, our eyes open to how much injustice there is, and how little control we ourselves directly have over our own selves. Our driving force is autonomy, and yet we squander our own. My family has shrunk exponentially, but it’s also shifted.

I spent my teen years simultaneously terrified of how my family could make me feel with their words because they did not love themselves, and in awe of the love they demonstrated that they had for me. I have childhood trauma responses from parents who love me and accept me wholeheartedly because their parents never showed them better. My parents do better every day. I’ve hated my father and loved him simultaneously. Liked him and loathed him. Every day I’m grateful he gets to wake up. Every day I’m beyond happy that he’s choosing better than he did before when he didn’t know better.

My sibling lost their best friend recently, their person who saw them through their childhood, to suicide. He struggled his entire life. He was the kindest, sweetest person. The first crush I had as a little girl was my older brother’s best friend. It’s been two weeks since, such a short amount of time. I have no idea what to say to my brother, we were never so close. I ache for him to my bones. So much of my pain for my brother is empathy, I genuinely cannot imagine how he feels right now, and yet, somehow, I know deeply exactly how he is feeling.

The passing of Liam Payne, whom I never met, whom I never was in a room with, whom I cannot personally attest to any first hand encounter, has shifted something within me and so many. He was a bright light and a joy, and he is a huge reason why I am alive today.

The past few weeks I’ve only just been able to listen to my favourite One Direction songs with the feelings I had as a child because I’ve healed from the trauma. One Direction was making me happy again because it was no longer a necessary safe space. And then this. And I just feel like the universe does so many things all the time to let you know that it’s not random, there’s little signs everywhere. I know that I’ll always have One Direction and never have them again. It’s awful.

I just need to get this out and give it somewhere to go. If anyone got this far and ever needs to talk, I’m always around for you. Please reach out. Tell me a fun fact. Tell me what makes you sad. Tell me what makes you happy. I’m tired of growing up with the weight of what it means that so many never will bearing down on me. I’m here. You’re here. We’re still here, and there’s still time.

[chaos--mode]

The first time Dawn Matthews saw Eddie Munson, it was like getting splashed with a bucket of cold water.

She was 14, fresh on the heels of puberty and desperately trying to understand why everyone was suddenly so obsessed with boys. Cheryl Watters had a sleepover the week before the official start of freshman year, where they played a round of truth or dare that somehow devolved into the entire group of girls going around in a circle talking about what boys they had a crush on. Dawn had nothing to offer but it seemed like a weird answer to say "I don't like any boys", so she awkwardly stammered out what seemed to be the most popular answer. Nobody called her on it, and then eventually the group of sugar-high girls succumbed to the pull of sleep almost all at once.

Her dream was... different than usual, that night. It didn't feel like a dream at all. She opened her eyes, almost blinked into consciousness like she was actually waking up, in a small room filled to the brim with stuff. Posters practically plastered the walls, bands she'd never heard of before, clutter and books and magazines strewn everywhere. There was a guitar with the words "this machine slays dragons" written on it in block white marker that Dawn had to tilt her head almost upside down to read.

There was music playing, something loud and angry and discordant that somehow made it work. It smelled weird, which probably should have seemed strange to her considering she was dreaming, but the part of her that would usually question something like that seemed blocked, like it was still sleeping.

And then there was the boy in the room. He was older than her by at least a year or two, a proper teenager, with a bob of wavy brown hair that came down past his chin. What really got her, though, the thing that would keep her up at night for the next six years with stars in her eyes and a soft kick of her heart, was that he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the messy room, tongue stuck out one side of his mouth and brows furrowed in concentration, as he coloured in a flock of bats that he'd outlined on his forearm.

He paused after a minute and looked up, casting his eyes around the room. Dawn expected him to look at her, maybe say something, but his glance carried right over her like she wasn't even there. He seemed confused for a moment before he shrugged and went back to his doodling.

Dawn had never understood the sudden obsession her friends had with boys until that dream. He was the prettiest boy she'd ever seen, all soft edges and big eyes. She'd never had a crush on any of the boys at her school. They were all rough and mean and gross, trying to shove their spit-slick fingers in her ear or putting their tongues in places they very much did not belong. And they were never soft or pretty like he was, this boy, drawing on his arm in that stuffed-full room.

It took her a surprisingly short amount of time to realize that she wasn't dreaming. Dawn didn't see that boy again until she was 15, had mostly forgotten about it save how she'd always compare any boy that asked her out to the one from her not-a-dream.

This time the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg folded under him while the other dangled, strumming on the guitar with the writing. He was good, great even, and she found herself sitting on the floor of his room to listen. He hummed softly under his breath, doing certain parts over and over again until he seemed satisfied with them, crooked little grin making Dawn's heart do treacherous things.

The third not-a-dream a few months later was when she found out what the boy's name was. She'd had other non-dreams in the interim, seen glimpses of other people's lives, and had come to realize what she was, what she could do.

So she was curious, as always, wanting to know more about him, still trying to figure out why she went on these little visits in the first place, why she saw these people specifically.

Someone called the boy's name from outside the room: Eddie. A man's voice, gruff and low with a sharp southern twang. Eddie answered with a quick "be out in a minute!", and Dawn realized it was the first time she'd his voice proper.

Pretty, she decided, just like the rest of him.

[kosi-annec]

something i wrote last year as part of a school project, featuring my bnha oc, Shinori

---

“It’s about time we talk about your future hero career.”

Shinori should’ve expected this. With him graduating junior high in just a few months, he’s not surprised that his mother would barge into his room unannounced to confront him on the topic.

With both of his parents being pro-heroes, it’s expected of him to follow in their footsteps. Both of them studied at UA, Japan's best school for heroics, so it’s obvious what high school he’d be applying for. Right?

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the idea of being a pro-hero. It’s every kid’s dream; protecting people from danger and putting villains in their place. He even designed hero costumes for himself and his two best friends when they were all kids.

At the same time, he loves fashion. Stitching up clothes from scratch with his own hands, the thought and craftsmanship that has to go into making a good outfit; something about it calls to him. It’s a form of art that he’d love to explore further.

This brings him to his current predicament, what career path does he choose? The one he’s expected to take or the one he’d thrive in?

So, he does what any teenager going through a minor crisis about their future would do. He avoids the question.

This doesn’t work.

The only warning he gets is a sigh when his book — he was pretending to study so he could avoid eye contact — is abruptly taken from him.

“This is serious, son.” Oh, she was putting on that tone. “No more of… this.”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“What I meant,” she gave him a look, “it’s about time you take this seriously. You’re going to graduate soon, so you must be prepared for the entrance exams — they’re very difficult.”

He deadpanned at that last bit. Not the best way to boost a person’s confidence.

“I am serious about this.” Now he let out a sigh — most children wouldn't dare talk back like this, in fear of getting scolded for “being disrespectful”. But Shinori never had that fear.

“I’m just… conflicted. Between heroing stuff and my, uh, hobby.” He hoped his mom understood what he tried to convey. And it seems like she did if the softening of her eyes was any indication.

“There are plenty of pro-heroes out there that do work outside of their hero duties, Nori.” She glanced at the wall that was dedicated to posters of his favorite heroes. “I mean, look at Best Jeanist. He's a pro-hero, yet he’s leading the fashion world with tremendous popularity.”

Japan’s number four pro-hero. One of his all-time favorites, second to his parents. He was an inspiration to him, in both the fashion aspect and the usage of his quirk — they both have very similar abilities.

When Shinori thought about it, his mom had a really good point. So, he made up his mind.

“Well… Mi-mi and Yama are applying for UA once they graduate,” he mumbled, subconsciously playing with the thread he created between his fingers. “Would be cool if the three of us trained together as heroes.”

The sparkling proud joy that formed on his mother’s face made any lingering doubts in him retreat into the back of his mind. His father has said on multiple occasions that he and his mom have the same bright smile.

“Perfect!” She clapped her hands together, having put away the book somewhere. “I already have your training schedule planned out – your studies are also included in it. So, if we…” He tuned out the rest of his mother’s rambling. She can get like that when she’s excited.

Shinori’s happy that his mom’s happy. He thinks that the hero's life will work out for him. He’s going to train under two pro-heroes, after all. And if he, Shikami, and Yamaho all get accepted into UA, he’ll get to work with his two best friends. How cool is that!

But when he’s finally alone, that small bit of doubt creeps in. Was this really the right path for him? It makes him wonder about the what-ifs and the different future that he’ll never know.

---

Writing Prompt: use a memorable conversation from a movie as inspiration

[15ktherapy]

mams also always had this. weird thing wth “I know you” or. well the best way I think I could say it is that. in this weird way she thinks people can’t change. at least not her children. because she knew us when we were kids and How We Are Now Is Nit How We Were Then. it’s. odd. I was a veeeeery hyper child. such a thing I am not anymore, nor have I been for yeaaaaars and years. and yet my mother asks me “when will She come back?” and for posterities sake I do nothing more offensive than roll my eyes- even if I want to say “SHE IS DEAD AND I KILLED HER. THIS THING EBFORE YOU IS WHAT REMAINS. FEAR ME. FINALLY ACCEPT AND MOURN FOR YOUR PITIFUL LOSS.” and do an evil

laugh. but I do not think mother would be too happy with me if I did that. sad! you wish for a dead thing- a changed thing. a thing I am no longer. boohoo. there are some things that will never change- I’ve certainly always been a smart ass. mother had said so herself. and I’ve always laughed at things that would make other children cry (it’s true. it was dinosaurs. ha. all those idiot three year olds. they did not know what I did ^_^ THEY KNEW FEAR AND I WAS TOO STRONG FOR SUCH A RHING. PLASTIC CANNOT FOOL ME- PLASTIC CANNOT BIND ME. AND I CERTAINLY WILL NOT BOW TO IT) I will always be sarcastic and have my suppressed rage with this world. that is me. bounce off the walls though? yeah that is Gone. people do not like hyperactive little girls. that was beat out of me yeeeears ago. they could not take the rage though ! I will always have my rage. heheheheheheh. And my resentment. those are things that could not be taken from me- so that is why they remain. it’s the way I think. you can’t much stop thought- you can certainly get me to sit down though. after you fawking gimme trouble and trouble and trouble that will impact me Very Bad. thanks by the fawking way.

I am different I am simply that— I cannot be understood, I don’t think anyone truly can be. or maybe it’s just you. not sure. I do have a less than stellar way with people. well the compliacted thinsg with them. I’ve never been suited much for a perspective outside my own. but I try! I am honing my skills you see. hehehe. one day I shall be great and be properly feared and respected as I should be. I await that day. I really do. but I should certainly try harder for that. but I have the fear! oh so sad! the fear I mock others for a boast about not having as a child is something that very much controls me now. and so I never leave the house u-u. and so I cannot much help myself. but I try! usually at the midnight hours. what was I saying again

[kiryll-antiqua]

Kiryll was visiting a local bookmaker in Ul'dah, an old friend who insisted on bringing the art of leather craft and printing to the desert. Materials were sparse and expensive, which made his friend able to afford just a bit more than living wage for his crafts, which is more than some artists could say for themselves.

Kiryll had decided to stop back in and check on his mother for a few days. He used a local craftsmanship holiday as an excuse to stay the weekend.

He had arrived too early in the day and forgotten to get a copy of the key to her door, or otherwise misplaced it between here, Thavnair and Garlemald. There were hours to kill, so he thought he'd look up an old friend.

Cl'harich Tia was a gentle soul, and he had made early friends with the preeminent typesetter in Ul'dah. He was now no longer an apprentice, but a master who taught. Typeset books were to be the way of the near future.

It had been the future in Garlemald for at least two decades, but for as long as he had known Harich, he had withheld his origins for fear of judgement. Kiryll could have easily joined his Sunkeeper friend, but had put it out of mind for fear that they might find out that the young man on the newfangled printing press was half Garlean. He wished he had floated that fear to his mother instead of just backing away from it silently after having an excellent day of sorting placeable typesetting blocks.

Cl'harik was the sort that was so far in his own studies that he may only barely remember what Garlean typesettings looked like. He belonged in Sharlayan, but the love for his craft and those around him kept him here. He had never moved in his entire life.

He had met Harik when he had been brought on to replace Beaufort. One of the many people who had to end up replacing Beaufort. Harik was exceptional at inventory, napkin folding, laundry arrangement, note-taking, maths, and handwriting, but had a lot of trouble asserting himself. Kiryll had tried to coach him at getting better with the social stuff, and some of it took, but just when things had started to click, his apprenticeship application went through, and he was catapulted into the heights of assured, stable employment that aligned with one of his interests.

"Kiryll, I would like you to see this!"

Harik showed him the large dye roller, which looked to be quite the intricate work of Goldsmithing.

He spread what looked like green paint on one end of the roller and orange on the other, and turned the machine on. It started rolling the paint into a sunset-stlye gradient. When it looked good enough to Harik, he pulled down on a metal arm on the ceiling Kiryll did not notice was there before, and a claw arm fed a piece of paper into the roller. Harik held the paper in place and kept it from dropping onto the ground, turned around and showed Kiryll quite proudly.

"It's...very...nice-looking! Smooth, and uh, over the whole paper. I haven't kept up with all this unfortunately."

"Ah, apologies, friend, I'm part of the walls here, as it were! This is special because all you need to do to make many a poster in color is a re-application of paint! Each poster is similar to its sisters, but unique enough that it is its own work of art, should a lady want a memento of an evening out at the Opera or the Arena!" Harik had grown a mustache to hide the edges of his nervous smile and it was quite endearing. He had never been able to hide glee at any sort of new discovery - be it who was embezzling the lady's funds, using dip pen nib railroading to draw with on purpose, or knowing just exactly how much of each towel was in which state of being washed, but this amount of glee was beyond any Kiryll had ever before seen.

He gave the piece of paper for Kiryll to hold and inked up another one, and led him over to an apparatus Kiryll remembered from his youth - a block press. The relief of the poster sat affixed to a lever. Kiryll placed his paper into a tray he understood to be the target for the block. Harik pulled on a lever that compressed the print to the paper, and Kiryll remembered to hold it in place when the block retracted.

"Live on stage, the Lexentales!" The block print was a beautiful relief of the Prima Vista.

Oh, Jenomis...

Kiryll kept himself from shaking his head. He got so attached so quickly there. He tried to focus on the beauty of the print and not his awkward heart. "This is beautiful! Did you do this one?"

"You know I don't draw. And! We're not finished."

"Not finished?" The average newspaper page had done more than one hundred in the time they had just the two prints.

Harik walked across his laboratory and placed his copy on another tray. Gold paint adorned its block and Kiryll’s jaw dropped. A golden garnish on the peaks on the letters appeared. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Kiryll looked around the laboratory, at the blocks with the gold and black paint. "How did you get everything to line up like that?"

"By being very, very precise. It's easy to make a mistake, but they have to be made for each other, elsewise it won't look good."

Kiryll blinked, trying to hold a sentimental memory of a soulmate back. He had been so focused on the soulmate thing. "This is amazing! This is like a painting, almost. Are you worried that the artisans will come knocking?"

"Kiryll, please don't flatter me so! It's not that impressive! At least not compared to what you've done with yourself these last ten years."

Eight of those years as the Warrior of Light. He bore more scars, looked more muscular, had gotten just a bit more tan, and so much more wounded than he was willing to let his friend know. But his eyes having changed color from a cheerful amber to a molten red was one silent social sign Harik began to see the more he looked at Kiryll's eyes. Kiryll was not on hugging terms with Harik, but he invited him to sit in his own workshop chair. "My dear Harik, I would often wish my work to be as quiet, intricate, and peaceful as yours."

"But your work spans the entire world."

"It is not as important as keeping propaganda off the streets. Which I know you've always done." Kiryll liked talking to born Eorzeans in a way that stoked their excitement about questioning authority. He didn't mean it in any kind of explicitly sexual way, either. A values crush? "Hey we didn't have that kind if excitement in Garlemald when I was a kid and seeing you mad at one if their practices gets me feeling a certain way."

Of course, he didn't say that, and Harik just seemed a little nervous. Kiryll forgot how intimidating he could be to some people. Just his hair being different, or seeing him in a different outfit put his mother off if he didn't return to see her for months. Kiryll did realize he'd come across severe, and he exhaled.

"The...war is over."

The poster advertising the Lexentales in Ul'dah was proof of that. Time had passed. A year, in fact. "Sorry, I...forgot myself."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"I think what I meant to say, in war or peace, art matters."

"I know it, friend." Harik said, his smile denoting that he genuinely understood. "Would you like to keep this one?"

If he refused, it would feel less sweet of him, and therefore suspicious. "Of course. One of a kind."

"First of its kind, but still unique in that regard."