#i wish i had planned the composition of this drawing a bit more but whatever. it���s fine. I love you ABIS mizuki🫶

[jayskaiart]

🧠 WINK PSYNC! 👁️

[albatmobile]

and even when the sky falls, I’ll be there pt. 3

[1] [2] [3] next: [4] || ao3

𓅪 Rated: M | 3.1k includes: angst, fluff

𓅪 established fem!reader x jason todd, fem!reader x roy harper, eventual fem!reader x Jason Todd x roy harper

The earthquakes start that same night, taking down entire cities as unstable energy from Earth’s core is released into the mantle. 

Time is never guaranteed, you know this, but you still can’t help but wish for just a bit more of it.

“Flash has been in the speed force since this morning,” Roy hesitantly tells you, not sure if you’re in a state to hear it, but the fate of the world was hanging in the balance. He needs you to come back to him. He needs you to be present.

There’s no more time for you to wallow in your zombie-like state.

Batman calls an impromptu meeting and you don Catwoman’s leather bodysuit for the last time. Roy, the kind man he is, had washed it at some point, so it’s no longer stained with your lover’s blood, though you know the fibers still carry it deep in their threads. In this way, it’s a deep-set, stubborn stain and a morbid reminder that death doesn’t leave so easily. 

“You know, you wear it better than she ever did,” Roy says. You snort lightly, knowing he’s just trying to get your mind off of what happened last time you’d worn it. “Sorry,” he sighs, “I’ve, uh, never been too good at goodbyes. Not that this will be one, though!” he hastily adds at your quirked brow. “It’s been a crazy ride. No matter what happens, I’m glad we had these few weeks together.” His light green eyes twinkle, sending your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies. “It’s been… a gift.”

If there was any way to say fuck-all and stay with him in this safe haven, you’d take it in a heartbeat. Anything to stay with him for just a moment longer without the fate of the world weighing down on you like a thick smog.

“It has,” you say, taking his hands into your own. “But it’s not over yet, remember?”

That’s exactly what he’d told you during the last battle.

After all the support he’s given you, now it’s your chance to return the favor.

“Of course,” he sighs. “Even if it is us just waiting around to see if we die or not.”

You laugh lightly, “Yep. At least we’ll be the first ones to know.” He winces slightly. “I was just joking.”

“It’s the truth, though. We’re all relying on that replacement core, but what if it doesn’t draw enough energy to replace what Apokolips has already destroyed of it? What if, no matter what, we’re fucked?” He rubs at the crease in between his brows. “We can’t ignore the fact that Superman doesn’t have the composition to get anywhere close to the heat that surrounds it anyway. It’s like the more I think about this plan, the more holes I find in it. It’s essentially all relying on this damn suit.”

Whatever remains of your heart breaks. You’ve never seen Roy so disheartened.

Batman, alongside Superman, end up creating a replacement energy core using an energy-secured capsule that can hold Captain Atom. Superman is then supposed to use a specialized suit that will, hopefully, allow him to withstand the environment, as well as the radiation, surrounding the Earth’s core. Batman, however, only had time to create one suit, thus the fate of the world rests on Superman alone to get the replacement core into place. 

You just hope it’ll be enough.

It’s a plan with many flaws, as Roy’s pointed out many times, which does nothing to calm your nerves. Regardless, you’re determined to remain as upbeat as you can. Even though it might be your last hour on Earth, at least you’re here with Roy. 

Flash is set to return from The Speed Force, but the big leagues aren’t waiting around to see if it’s going to work. Rather, Superman and Batman are busy bustling around your new base of operations in Happy Harbor. They’re hoping to use the volcano at Mount Justice to more easily infiltrate down to the Earth’s core. 

Heat-resistant drones were inserted into the volcano’s branch vents and have been digging down through lava chambers and through to the mantle. At this point, they haven’t stopped digging since they started, which was a week after you’d lost Jason. Even in this short time, the few remaining drones are nearing the outer core and are set to shut down a few miles short of breaching it.

When you actually arrive to the main scene, Captain Atom is already fully integrated into the replacement core with Batman helping Superman suit up. You watch silently as Batman points out certain switches and buttons as he straps the man of steel into, well, a prison of steel. The bulky suit seems to be the base of the suit Batman had used to fight Superman all those years ago and the irony doesn’t seem to be lost on either of them. 

It’s not exactly the same, though. Batman’s been tinkering away at the suit ever since he’d finished the drones, modding it specifically for the obstacles of the mission. The most significant change is the addition of nth metal, compliments of Hawkgirl and the Thanagarians, to the already titanium exterior in hopes that it’ll be enough to withstand the extreme heat. 

Then, it’s time.

Batman nods once, but Superman seems to understand the unsaid goodbye after years of knowing the man of such few words. 

Now, everyone’s gathered on the platform stationed at the mouth of the volcano, but Roy tugs you away.

It’s hot as fuck up there, so you don’t complain when he leads you down to the beach below. There are a few stragglers hanging around in the vicinity of the dirty, soot-covered sand the two of you plop down in, but they’re far enough away that they can’t hear you.

“It could work,” you say, though you can hear the dregs of doubt that litter your words. “It, at least, seems more solid than what I’d originally thought coming here,” you school your voice better this time and Roy has the decency to nod, if only to quell a tiny bit of your anxiety.

The sand you’d scooped up streams through the cracks in your fingers into little piles in front of you and Roy. It reminds you of an hourglass and the heavy feeling in your stomach that follows has you stopping in your tracks. Your soot-dirtied palm stills midway from picking up another handful of sand, knowing your fate is just around the corner- that you’ll come face to face with it in mere minutes. 

You are not afraid. 

Scratch that-

The Earth rumbles out another, albeit marginally smaller, earthquake. Still, the quake produces enough force that Roy ends up covering over you to protect you with his body.

When the shaking finally subsides moments later, you find that Roy’s arms still remain around you. You relax into his hold but nudge his head with yours until he finally shifts back enough to come face-to-face with you. 

“I…” he huffs and his eyes crinkle slightly in the process out of aggravation. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“So you keep telling me,” you tease through the steady forming tears in your eyes.

He wipes your tears away before they can even spill. “Please don’t cry, gorgeous.”

“Sorry,” you apologize with a tiny laugh.

His touch on your cheeks lingers until he gently caresses your cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You nod. “I…” you trail off.

I love you.

“I know,” he insists, his eyes search yours earnestly. “I want forever with you, too.”

Your happy laughter bubbles into tears when the weight of the situation settles down on you again. Roy has a habit of taking you out of your worrying, but it doesn’t mean he can completely prevent it. At least not forever.

You can’t help it, but you break down. Roy’s right there to keep you together.

Moments pass, looking into each other’s eyes. You don’t know how long it’ll take, but you try not to think about it and fight your racing thoughts to remain in the moment.

It feels like hours and, yet nothing at all as Roy holds you close, hands sifting through your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him present. Waiting is a constant debilitating, internally wrought, sickly dread that consumes every sense with tar-like tentacles. With so much riding on this one plan, it’s hard not to let the worry consume you while the seconds heavily tick by.

Screams.

Roy releases you momentarily to search around.

The others on the beach come closer to ask if you know what the screaming’s about, but you hardly know anything that’s going on.

“Did it work?” you ask, but it seems like everyone’s just as confused as you are.

Heads turn as everyone looks around for answers but find none.

Suddenly, there’s a huge rumble that’s grand enough to send boulders tumbling down to the beach. The loudest thunder you’ve ever heard in your life crashes against your eardrums, washing directly over Roy’s rampant concerns.

“That one side of the mountain is going to cave in,” Roy repeats again, shaking you out of your stupor. He doesn’t need to say any more for you to realize what it means. 

It didn’t work…

Why wasn’t it working???

Seconds tick by, then Wonder Woman drops Batman and the other League members off onto the sand while rocks on the other side continue to tumble. Everyone from retired superheroes to mutant kids who look fresh out of elementary school scatter around frantically, looking for some kind of direction, some kind of plan B, but there’s nothing of the sort.

The Amazon flies back up one last time to grab the last remaining member from the platform. Batman.

“Superman’s vital signs cut off,” Batman states gravely once his feet hit the unsteady ground.

“What are we going to do?” Wonder Woman trails off, looking around for an answer, but there’s none to find. “Is there anything we can do?” Her voice grows increasingly worried, which does nothing to quell the sinking feeling settling uncomfortably in your stomach. 

The rumbling only continues to intensify.

Batman’s silence is deafening.

You’re fucked.

You’re all fucked.

After all this bullshit, after all this fucking planning and you’re still fucked.

Roy seems to understand this at the same time you do because he focuses his attention on soothing you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here,” he says, looking awkwardly toward Batman for some reason, but you can’t dwell on it long. Hell, you can hardly question it when you only have mere moments left with him.

You waste no time in capturing his lips with your own before he can say some dumb shit like, ‘It’ll be okay.’

You don’t care about the stragglers on the beach, it’s your last fucking moments alive and all be damned if you aren’t going to get some sort of fucking action. 

You forcibly push Roy backward, giggling when he lets out a shocked, not to mention disappointed, grunt when his ass hits the ground. He doesn’t have time to question the action before you’re climbing into his lap and guiding the rest of his body down to the dirty sand below. You take a moment to appreciate his mundane beauty that seems nearly ethereal to you in your last moments. How the black, clouded sky does nothing to dull his radiant, effervescent charm. Your fingers trickle through his soft hair as the fiery strands tangle with the ashes and scattered shells that litter the beach below.

It’s hard to close your eyes because you want to revel in Roy’s beauty forever, but, nonetheless, they slide closed as his mouth moves slowly and tenderly against yours. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do and you know it, so you breathe your remlaining life into the kiss until Roy’s responding just as desperately.

His hands shamelessly move from the small of your waist to the globes of your leather-clad ass with a guttural moan. You find yourself inadvertently bucking into him when you hear a cacophony of screaming.

“YOU HAVE TO GO BACK!” Wonder Woman’s yelling from somewhere close beside you. “GO BACK AND STOP THIS!”

You gasp, trying to pull away, but he pulls you right back in to prevent you from seeing whatever horrors are descending. Tears trail from your cheeks to splatter across his freckled ones as you force yourself to focus on his tender touch.

“GO BACK!” More desperate pleas join in.

The screams only continue to get louder and, this time, Roy finally pulls away. 

A burst of red and yellow comes into focus and stops right in front of your tangled pile of limbs.  

Flash.

“Uh,” he scratches at the back of his head, looking around confused, “I don’t think that worked.” He puts his hands on his hips as he faces Roy’s way again. “The world is still ending and shit, right?”

Roy nods, unable to formulate a further response.

Wonder Woman and Batman sidle up to the group. Her panic is palpable enough that Flash backs up when she reaches him. Her strong arms grip Flash by the shoulders as she hurriedly relays, “It didn’t work. None of it worked.”

Batman finally speaks up, “You need to go back and stop this all from ever happening, Barry.” 

Barry?

Panic sets in as her words settle over you. 

You pull away from Roy’s bruised lips realizing you aren’t ready to give this all up. You don’t want to remove what happened between the two of you from existence. 

You can’t.

You refuse.

One look down at Roy proves he’s already thinking the same.

“You can’t!” you exclaim helplessly before you can even realize the words have escaped.

Both of them turn their attention to your precarious position with confusion written all over their faces. 

"Aren’t you, er," Flash trails off. All the while, he looks down at the two of you, still in each other's arms, with obvious hesitation before clearing his throat and trying again, "Weren’t you with Red Hood?”

You hope the glare you give him is enough to kill. Well, maybe not actually, considering he’s essentially your last hope, but still, the sentiment remains.

What confuses you even more is Flash also looks awkwardly at Batman as he addresses your new relationship. Batman, though, seems more preoccupied with saving a group of remaining League Members from debris coming from the collapsing mountain.

“Seriously?” Roy sighs, finally releasing his hands from your ass to help you stand on the shaky ground. 

“What?” He at least has the decency to look somewhat abashed.

“Barry, I’m like 50% of the reason she’s even still breathing right now. It killed me to see someone I cared about, to see her like that,” Roy says, shaking his head. “I wanted to help however I could. For Hood’s sake and hers. And y’know, maybe selfishly my own, too.” The redhead looks down in shame, but you’re right there with a comforting squeeze on his bicep. 

At this Flash’s, well, Barry’s face falls.

Even Wonder Woman looks at you with that same pitying look you’ve resented all these weeks. 

“Don’t worry,” Flash tries to calm the lot of you, though his confidence, or lack thereof, leaves something to be desired. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix everything. I know what I need to do.”

It does just the opposite.

“You see,” you sigh, looking at Roy from the corner of your eyes, “there’s a slight problem with that.”

Wonder Woman glares at Flash, growling, “We’re running out of time. There are no more ‘slight problems,’ only the main, big one.” She motions aggressively to where Batman stands solemnly, overlooking the remnants of his failed plan.

Flash makes to run off, but you can’t let this be it.

No, you won’t allow it.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one you don’t even realize you’ve made until his red costume is firmly clenched in your grip.

“Wait!” you exclaim. You grab his shoulder forcefully, all while scanning around the area desperately. “Does anyone have paper?” 

It’s then that you look down to find all the loose paperwork that litters the ground and waste no time gathering it up. You see The League’s crest at the top of the page and assume this will be enough to convince Jason that, yes, this is real. 

You don’t have any time left to search for a pen and realize there’s only one way you’ll be able to write anything. If anything, you hope that this will further cement to Jason that it’s actually you writing this to him.

Wasting no more time, you remove Catwoman’s mask from your head. You rip one of Roy’s arrows from his quiver and cut a long, shallow line right above your eyebrow, using the excessive spillage as ink with your finger as the quill. As savage as the spot you picked sounds, it’s a lot less painful and more fruitful than cutting anywhere else. Anywhere else, per se, like your finger, wouldn’t have produced nearly enough to write what you need to say with such little time remaining. 

This doesn’t stop the Flash and Roy from staring at you in absolute horror as the entire right side of your face becomes coated in a curtain of crimson.

“Babe, what the fuck?” Roy’s voice is guarded as he rips the arrow out of your hand, wincing at the blood that drips from his grip as he does. 

“What?” You look up from the beginnings of your crude writing. “We’re all about to die in this timeline regardless,” you say with a shake your head like it’s the most obvious thing in this ending world. “I need myself to know that you took care of me,” you look up shyly, “that you love me.” You hold back your tears for the league member’s sake and continue writing.

When you’re done, you hand him the wet paper with your clean hand. Flash stays for a brief moment more, watching as your attention settles fully on the redheaded man next to you. 

Roy wastes no time in gathering you into his arms, drawing you in for a chaste kiss with his chapped lips that causes your heart to swell at the bittersweet situation. The kiss quickly deepens into something more passionate, like he’s draining all the life he has left into it- into you. 

You look around at the remaining members as they take in their final moments, then focus back on Roy. Your rock, your love. 

“I should’ve done that when you first asked me last week,” he chuckles somewhat bitterly. 

“Oh, you’re telling me?” you laugh with tears in your eyes as your lips meet again.

The world is ending.

The world is ending and you have Roy.

You pull away from his lips, opening your eyes just in time to see a white flash spawn across the expanse of the sky and consume it just as fast as it appeared.

It’s actually over.

A/N: I'm a loser if u wanna know my calculations for how long it took superman to reach the core check out the author notes here

next chap is the last one!! (i had to split it in two bc the next scene is so long lmao)

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[wreckofawriter]

Pencil Sketches

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

Warnings: Ummm none fluffy

Word Count: 2,738

Summary: You start receiving sketches of yourself and find out who the artist is in a very surprising way.

A/n: Hi this is my first Cedric fic. I dont exactly love it buuuut whatever.

You remember when it all started. It was four months ago. You had just had a particularly hard day, you were late to Charms and got 5 points taken from your house, you spilled ink all over your positions essay, you got pumpkin juice on your blouse and forgot about a very difficult quiz in DADA. You were heading to the back of the library to choose a book when something fell out of the large amounts of papers you were holding. You groaned bending down to pick it up as you did you glance at the contents of the page and your heart stopped.

It took you only a second to figure out what was on the paper. It was you. You were glaring down at a notebook, your eyes appearing to shine as you clutched a quill in your right hand. Your hair hanging in front of your frustrated face, your lips drawn into a thin line. It was the best drawing you had ever seen, for a second you thought it was a photograph. But it was a drawing, a drawing of you, a drawing of you that looked so realistic it almost scared you. The pencil marks were flowing yet sharp, shading was done in just the right places to give your face depth. It was like looking in a black and white mirror.

  �� You stood in the middle of the hallway for what must have been a good five minutes just staring at the photo in amazement. You then realized what you were doing and continued to the library.

From there the drawings became a normal part of your life. You would usually receive five to six a week in your bag, waiting at your desk or even in your dorm room. You had no idea how they managed to swing that. Each one was more beautiful than the last and you swear that they made you look much prettier in the drawing than you really were. Most were done in pencil a few in quill and one in charcoal. Each one seemed to be a different mood, sometimes you would be scowling, sometimes smirking, sometimes smiling and one was even of you with your head down on a desk your eyes closed and your hair hanging in your face. The ones you received the most were ones of you laughing. Your lips split open in a smile and your eyes crinkled or just shut altogether.

Many times you had tried to find the artist who had drawn you without luck. They never left any notes or indications and it made it extremely difficult to find the culprit. You wished for nothing more than to meet and thank the person who had brought so much happiness into your life with their artwork. But they never revealed themselves even after four months, nothing. You began to worry, what if they never revealed themselves? It was your last year after all, you would be leaving in a few months. Eventually, you stopped looking and simply hoped they would reveal themselves.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” McGonagall called to you.

“Yes, Professor?” You asked your arms full of books as you made your way back to your common room.

“Could you please follow me? I have something we need to discuss.” She clipped, beckoning for you to follow her.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in momentary confusion before following the orders you had been given.

As you followed McGonagall through the castle you wracked your brain for what you could have possibly done wrong. Did they think you cheated on an exam? Did they find your stash of food in your dorm? Surely that wasn't that big of a deal. Then you remembered the bottle of firewhiskey under your bed and fear rose in your throat. What if they expelled you? What would you do? Your heart pounding you were lead into a room expecting all of hell to rain upon you, but when it opened you were greeted by Dumbledore's warm smile.

“Ahh Y/n, looks as if the last of you have arrived.”

You glanced around the room and easily recognized two-thirds of the famous fourth-year trio and a young girl you didn't recognize.

McGonagall went to talk to Dumbledore as you made your way over to Ron and Hermione.

“Umm do you guys know what going on?” You asked as you approached them.

“Not a clue,” Hermione responded with as she glanced around the room as if looking for clues on their current situation.

“Are we in trouble or something?” You inquired.

Ron snorted, “As if Hermione would ever get in trouble.” he jeered earning a glare from the bushy-haired girl.

“I think it has something to do with the next task.” Hermione guessed.

“Then why am I here?” you wondered.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but she was cut off by Dumbledore.

“I assume all of you are wondering what is happening, well as Mrs. Granger pointed out it does have something to do with the task tomorrow.”

Everyone else seemed very excited you, on the other hand, were very confused, what did the next task have to do with you?

“Tomorrow morning your friends are going to have to rescue something of great importance to them from the bottom of the black lake. You, my friends, are those things.”

Hermione gasped. Ron raised both his eyebrows and the girl seemed a bit frightened.

“You will be put under a spell and not remember a thing until you break the surface again. I promise all of you will be fine. So if you could just take som-”

“Umm excuse me?” You asked cutting off your professor, “Why am I here?” His eyebrows raised in confusion. “I mean I get the whole rescuing someone that is important to them thing, I mean Hermione for Krum.” Hermione flashed red and Ron rolled his eyes. “Ron for Harry and I guessing she's Fleur’s little sister or something?” You said gesturing to the young girl, “I just don't get why I'm here.”

Now Dumbledore's face was filled with amusement, a small smile on his lips. “You don't know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

He started to laugh, “For such a bright girl I expected you had already found out.”

You were beginning to feel stupid, “Found out what?”

“Have you been receiving drawings for the past few months?” He mused glancing at Mcgonagall who also seemed amused.

“Y-yeah, wait how do you know about those?”

“It's impossible to miss,” Mcgonagall said sweetly, “Cedric is constantly pouring over as sketchbook in his classes, particularly the ones you are in, Ms. Y/l/n.”

You heard Hermione let out a giggle as your face flashed a brilliant red. Your head was spinning. Cedric was the one who was giving those to you? The golden boy of Hogwarts was spending his time sketching you?

“Cedric is the one drawing me?” You managed to get from your mouth, the sentence came out squeaker than you would have liked but at least you managed it.

“Yes Y/n, I'm quite surprised you hadn't noticed the boys admiration in you.” Dumbledore smiled as your eyes got impossibly bigger and your stomach began to fill with butterflies. “Now we don't want to waste much more time." He sighed, “Take some of this, it will put you straight to sleep, although I must warn you it tastes terrible.” He passed each of you a bottle full of a deep purple liquid.

You downed it quickly and almost immediately your world grew dark.

Cedric had grown exceedingly nervous as he stood on the docks in the middle of the lake. While the others around him seemed to be scared of what lurked in the dark of the lake he was concerned at where you were. He hadn’t seen you at breakfast, where he was planning to slip his newest drawing into your bag and now he couldn't find you here either. What if you were sick? Where you ok? Had you gotten hurt? He silently shamed himself for caring so much for a person who didn't even know he existed but he couldn't help it. He had tried to stop caring about you, but fate seemed to work against him as all he could do was see you no matter where he looked. It was as if you had been placed behind a glass case in a bakery, with a price tag much too high. So all he could do was look and wonder how your lips would taste against his own.

Finally, he gave up looking for you and looked at the challenge ahead of him. If you weren't here he wanted to make sure you heard from everyone else how he had won. Determination took over his features, he had a plan and he just hoped the others were less prepared than he. Just then the horn was blown and he dove into the water quickly casting a bubble charm around his head and begging to swim into the depths of the lake. He quickly located the singing he remembered form the terrible egg he had gotten and swum toward it. He almost choked when he saw what was waiting for him. You. Your ankles were tied with rope and your beautiful y/e/c eyes resting closed as your y/h/c hair floating in the water. The others tied around you suddenly meant nothing as he stared at you. He thought you resembled an angel floating in the water, all you were missing were wings. He then remembered he was in composition and swam towards you at a quickened rate. He thought for a minute, inspecting the rope holding you before muttering a spell. As the bounds broke he snatched you and began to swim upwards. He then saw Harry come into view, he nodded at him and continued upward.

Your eyes popped open and you found yourself gasping for air as you coughed up water. The first thing you noticed was how cold you were, everything thing was cold except an arm swimming you towards the dock. You looked up to see Cedric dragging you towards the dock his face full of worry. He glanced over at you and smiled and blushed.

“Are you alright?” He asked over the cheering of the crowd. You nodded still coughing.

When you reached the ladder you were helped up and quickly wrapped in a wool blanket as you continued coughing tiring to get the water out of your system, finally you were able to intake air and breathe normally and you saw that you were on a dock in the middle of the lake but you could hardly see anything over the crowd of people swarming you, well more swarming Cedric. You then realized that Cedric had his arm securely wrapped around you as he maneuvered you through the crowds and your face flushed red. Cedric led you to an empty bench overlooking the lake on the platform getting congratulated all the way. When you sat down he pulled you close to him in attempts to warm your shivering your form. You instantly leaned into his warm body, looking up at him to meet his grey eyes. He blushed bright red and looked away from you. Just then the crowd erupted into cheers and you looked up to see Krum emerge, Hermione, gasping for breath as she appeared to shriek a bit at his shark head before he quickly changed back.

    “I hope Harry’s alright.” You murmured as you peered into the water.

    “I'm sure he's fine, I saw him when I was getting you.” Cedric blushed a bit when he mentioned you.

    “Did you see Krum?”

    “Uhh no, I didn't,” Cedric answered.

    “Why is he up here before him?” You questioned worriedly, your eyes scanned for the young boy in the water. You didn't know Harry well but you wished for no harm to come to him.

    “I don't know.” Cedric seemed just as confused as you.

    You both waited for Harry to show up as the minutes ticked down. Then suddenly you gasped. In all the excitement you had completely forgotten that Cedric was revealed as the mysterious artist.

    “What is it?” The grey-eyed boy asked you.

    You turned and looked at him. There was no denying that he was absolutely stunning. He was beyond handsome with his sharp features and kind eyes. You saw him blush a bit as you took in his profile, which only made him more attractive. But not only was he gorgeous he was amazingly kind, talented and smart. You opened your mouth to confess your knowledge on the portraits he had drawn of you. But you were interrupted by shouting and yelling and you both turned away from each other to see Harry emerging from the water, with not only Ron, but the young blonde haired girl as well. You sighed in relief and looked back at Cedric who was already staring at you. He blushed for the 1000th time when you met his grey orbs and looked away again. Then he turned back to look at you with something new in his eyes, determination.

    “Hey Y/n I need to tell you something.” He said his voice a bit louder than it had been before.

    “Sure what's up?” You asked.

    “You probably have already realized this but clearly you mean a lot to me, I mean with the whole rescuing you think that was probably obvious but umm,” He paused then continued, “Imtheonewhosebeengivingyouthedrawings” He said quickly his face burning a deep shade of crimson.

    If you had not already known what he was going to say you would have been thoroughly confused, but because of your recent discoverings, you had managed to gather about what he said.

    “I know.” You answered simply.

    “Oh ok- wait, WHAT?” He said his eyes wide his face getting impossibly redder.

    You giggled rolling your eyes playfully.

“For how long?” he gasped.

“Umm, it's almost noon so about, I'll say 14 hours?” You guessed.

He blinked rapidly then smacked his forehead with his hand. “Of course you know, they probably told you before they put you in the lake.” He said clearly feeling very stupid.

“They're amazing by the way.” You complemented, “Although I'm pretty sure you make me look much better in the drawings than I am in person.” You giggled.

He looked at you and scoffed, “Are you kidding.” He murmured running his thumb along your jawline. “The most talented artist in the world couldn’t do your beauty justice.”

You flashed a deep red as you felt your stomach erupt with butterflies once more. You bit your lip, the exact place his eyes lingered.

He leaned in millimeters from your lips, “May I kiss you?” He asked his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You simply closed the space between the two of you in an answer. His lips were warm against your cool ones and your hands found your way to his damp hair. The kiss was sweet and passionate, his lips moved slowly against your own making you swoon. As you pulled away you were for the second time in the past hour gasping for air.

“I have something for you.” He whispered turning to grab a bag next to him. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to you.

You couldn't help the small smile on your face as he looked at his newest drawing. You had your head thrown back your eyes closed and a smile wide on your face, it was clear you were laughing.

“I always loved drawing you laughing.” He said shyly.

“I still don't understand how you are so good.” You said in amazement.

“Thanks.” He blushed

“No, thank you. Thank you so much for all of these. They made my day so much better.” You said, “Just looking at them made me happy.”

    Now as you looked at them you felt your world fall apart. Sobs wrecked your body as you stared at the drawings you had saved. You couldn't think, your head throbbed and you felt like you were falling into a deep dark pit but you could never hit the bottom. Your tears soaked the picture of you with your head thrown back in laughter and you were sure you would never laugh again.

Masterlist

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: how the heck have I gone this long without a deep dive on Ultravox?! I mean, I named “Passionate Reply” after one of their songs, for crying out loud! Find out what makes *Quartet* my very favourite of their albums. Transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’m finally getting around to talking about one of my all-time favourite bands: it’s Ultravox, and their 1982 album Quartet. Quartet was the sixth album to be released under the Ultravox name, and the third to feature their best-known lineup, fronted by Midge Ure. While the band’s classic lineup would never match the impact of 1980’s “Vienna,” they enjoyed fairly consistent mainstream success through the mid-80s. Their preceding LP, Rage In Eden, produced only two singles, but both were well-received.

Music: “The Thin Wall”

While none of the four classic lineup LPs are what I’d consider skippable, I do think Quartet is the strongest of them overall, as an album. Vienna has great highlights, but feels like a varied patchwork of different ideas. Quartet, though, is probably their most cohesive work, both musically and thematically--in addition to boasting some of the most iconic singles of their career, like “Hymn”:

Music: “Hymn”

The sweeping grandeur of “Hymn,” and the way Ure’s powerhouse vocals propel the insistent urgency of its pleading hook, make it a very easy track to fall in love with, and it’s easy to see why it was a hit. We can read its lyrics as an earnest request for a just reward from God, or the vain wish of a crass and selfish believer who wants what God is too good to give, or perhaps the struggle of someone who wants God to make the world right, but knows there is no God listening...or, more darkly, that the God listening isn’t benevolent enough to fix things. Given that “Hymn”’s music video portrays each member of the band making a deal with the devil and being consigned to Hell for it, at least some level of irony is probably intentional. It could be argued that Quartet is a concept album about music itself, and the choice of the very meta title of “Hymn” for this track makes it fit in nicely alongside tracks like “Serenade” and “The Song.”

Music: “The Song”

A memorable closing track if there ever was one, “The Song” is perhaps the clearest representation of the motif of music as a dangerous, but irresistibly beguiling force, that draws us in against our will and does with us whatever it wants. The emphasis on rhythm really sells that idea here, seeing as rhythm is far and away the element of music we are most likely to react to involuntarily--tapping our feet, swaying in time. Quartet is the Ultravox album where their percussionist, Warren Cann, really gets a chance to shine. While Cann had a background in playing traditional rock drums, he also fully embraced the potential of mechanical percussion, and the allure of hypnotically perfect rhythm. Rather than seeing it in opposition to his practice, Cann would go on to combine elements of both live drumming and electronic percussion on many Ultravox tracks. Cann also delivers some backing vocals, in his deep, Canadian-accented voice, on the track “We Came to Dance”:

Music: “We Came to Dance”

The dark and slinky “We Came to Dance” would prove to be a successful single for Ultravox, though the single version would omit Cann’s spoken part in that bridge. But lest you think every track on Quartet is entirely percussion-propelled, look no further than the single that preceded it, “Visions In Blue”:

Music: “Visions In Blue”

With its tinkling piano, tense moments of silence, and one of Midge Ure’s more dramatic and virtuosic performances on lead vocal, “Visions In Blue” is a slice of baroque pop that bears a strong resemblance to “Vienna,” Ultravox’s original smash hit. Overall, Quartet has a bit less rock and roll to it than much of Ultravox’s other work, and particularly when compared to the heavier guitar solos of their preceding album Rage In Eden. That said, there are still several tracks here that are more guitar-driven, such as “Mine For Life” and “When the Scream Subsides.”

Music: “When the Scream Subsides”

The cover art for Quartet was designed by the famed Peter Saville, who would work with Ultravox for several of their best-known releases. Saville was inspired by renderings of architecture, and the four traditional views or angles from which a building is shown on plans or blueprints. From left to right, the cover of Quartet presents an imaginary building from each of those angles.

Given the more overt riffs on Cubism and Surrealism found on some of the single sleeve designs from the same period, I’m tempted to think the ghostly, empty architecture portrayed in the “metaphysical paintings” of Giorgio de Chirico may have also been an inspiration here.

The title of Quartet also suits the fact that at this point in their career, Ultravox were, indeed, a four-person band. While somewhat prosaic in that sense, I like that it calls attention, once again, to that theme of “music about music” that I mentioned earlier. While a lot of rock bands are comprised of four players, the term “quartet” is more strongly associated with classical and jazz, and I think those connotations enliven the baroque touches of tracks like “Visions In Blue.”

After Quartet, Ultravox would release one last album with their classic lineup, 1984’s Lament. Like Quartet, Lament would stick to a more cohesive theme--as its title implies, it’s a fairly morose and despondent album, with more gothic themes than their prior work. Lament was also a hit for them, with the single “Dancing With Tears In My Eyes” becoming one of their best-known and best-loved tracks.

Music: “Dancing With Tears In My Eyes”

Lament was the last album to feature Warren Cann, who was dismissed over creative tensions during recording sessions for their 1986 follow-up, U-Vox, shattering the classic lineup that had brought them so much success. While Cann’s absence is far from the only thing wrong with U-Vox, I do think it played a significant part in the album’s poor reception, which would eventually lead to the abandonment of the Ultravox name altogether.

My favourite track from Quartet is “Cut & Run.” While I like it mainly for its thin synth blasts in the beginning and those delightfully 80s breath samples, it’s also one of the most sinister compositions anywhere in the Ultravox catalogue. “Cut & Run” basically glorifies suicide, in a pretty straightforward manner, portraying the act as “something spiteful and true.” To contemporary ears, it’s truly almost shockingly taboo, and I can’t imagine any artist getting away with it nowadays--especially not when placed alongside “Hymn,” and the demonic themes of its music video. Ultravox basically did substantially more than Judas Priest ever did to encourage devil worship and suicide, but I suppose their foppish synth band aesthetic let them off the hook? Listen for yourself, and see what you think. That’s all for today--thanks for listening.

Music: “Cut & Run”

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating.  ... 18+? 

word count.  ~5200

note.  THIS GETS REAL NON-PG-13 REAL QUICK.  I'M SORRY.

chapter 6.  

You don't think you'll ever get used to it.  The kisses pressed to your crown, over your eyelids, coaxing sandman's dust from your lashes.  The saccharine laughter muddled by sleep and swept into messy sheets, threaded into stitches and saved for another day.  His hands and his warmth, all over and everywhere and yet never enough.  He was like a straight shot of adrenaline and you were a junkie, desperate for the thrill. 

Every day was like some wonderful dream - some quietly whispered wish come to life.  

And it was all thanks to Taehyung.

Since that first night, you'd fallen into an easy routine.  Good morning texts and on occasion, more, his deep drawl acting as a lullaby rather than a wake-up call.  Flowers at your doorstep when he knew you didn't have class;  a coffee and boxy smile ready when he'd meet you after your last.  Date nights every Tuesday, because your lectures ran late and you didn't have time to cook on those days.  Your favourite meal from the nearby mom-and-pop shop memorized as easily as his own name.

He was so good to you. Too good to you, you insisted, only for him to brush you off.  

Because he'd swept into your life like spring rain and where there'd once been monotony - pretty but boring shades of grey - there was now colour that blinded you.  Swaths of red and blue and yellow you'd never seen.  Some kind of King Midas, you thought.  

"Are you hungry yet?"  You're partially inclined to believe he's speaking to someone else - whoever's on the other side of his voice chat - but fail to realize he's behind you, broad frame curled around you as he traps you beneath him.  His arms span either side of you, palms planted firmly on the tabletop where you've made a bit of a mess.  There are notebooks and loose papers, a textbook with dogeared pages that looks like it's on its last legs.  There's even a half-eaten stick of Pocky sticking out from its container, lonely and forgotten.  

You turn and peer up at him, trying to focus despite your swimming vision.  You've been working on the same composition for the better part of three days and it's been hell.  No matter what you do, it doesn't come out right.  

When you almost go cross-eyed in your vain attempt to reconcile the two figures in your line of sight, he's slipping your thin gold-rimmed glasses over your ears and off your face, setting them down gently beside your pencil case.  You think he's frustrated - you would be, too, if you'd been invited over only to be ignored all night - when his hands find your jaw.  You know he isn't by how gentle he is, pad of his thumb pressing soothingly over your bottom lip. 

"Take a break, okay?"  It's a demand dressed as a request, seducing in its tenderness.  You know he's not going to take no for an answer.

You hesitate nonetheless, ready to present your first, second, and third excuses.  He silences them before they can see the light of day, coaxing them back into their hiding spots with the sweetest graze of his mouth.  Cheater.

Before you know it, you've forgotten yourself and all the reasons why you'd been so ready to return to work, fingers curling over the backs of his hands.  It's a makeshift handhold, your way of finding balance after being swept up in the storm that is Taehyung.  "Not fair,"  you chide, not unhappily.  You draw his hands to your lap, ignoring the awkward way his body shifts to accommodate the movement.

"I'm just looking out for you,"  he responds, like that's a good enough reason.  You huff.  He rolls his eyes but there's no venom behind it.  

"What do you want to eat then?  I think we have some kimbap leftover from yesterday."

"I ate that earlier when you were having a mini breakdown."  You ignore the teasing in his tone because there's adoring understanding too, and a hint of concern.  He's not part of your world but he's trying to be.  You appreciate that.

Unfortunately, your gratitude doesn't fill hungry stomachs.  "How about jjapaguri?"  

Taehyung's brow quirks and you know he's going to make some bad joke before it leaves his lips.  You recognize the tell-tale signs in the little twitch of his mouth, the way his cheeks tighten and release as if he can't hold back the absolute genius that is he.  It's only been a few weeks but you can already read him like a book.  (Also, he's a really easy book, like Goodnight Moon.)  "Are you trying to tell me you're hiding your husband in the basement?"

"Damn, you got me."  You're as deadpan as possible.  There's more tonal variety in dry toast.

You stare at each other for half an eternity and then you're both giggling.  The sound curls out of your mouth and flits into the air, dragging weight from your shoulders as it ascends.    

"You're the silliest."  It's meant to be a compliment as much as a rebuff.  Darling Taehyung takes it as only the former, beaming proudly.  He pulls gently at your hands, coaxing you to straighten with him.  He's got you where he wants you now, cradled to his chest like porcelain, and you can't help but relax into the welcoming embrace, cheek pressed to the velveteen cotton of his Celine shirt.  When you speak again, it's muffled.  "Thank you."  

You feel more than hear his laughter, his shoulders reverberating with the motion.  "Nothing to thank me for, jagi."

When he uses the term of endearment, poppy red sprouts across your skin, blooms prettily from the tip of your nose to your temples.  You still weren't used to it and you're grateful for the cover of your hair, the expanse of his chest that you're burrowed against.  "I'll go make food.  You stay here."

Then you're gone, scurrying from your bedroom before he can say another word.

Your setup is perfect.  From your chair - functional yet pretty, you'd boasted the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom - to the custom-built aluminum keyboard with cat paw esc key, it's a gamer's paradise.  Your mouse has all the sensitivity he's used to and it shifts dreamily through the colours of the rainbow, moulded grip lightweight in his palm.  (He wishes it were a little bigger, but that's a him problem.)  Even the tri-monitor display soothes his secret nerdy itch, filling the void of being away from home with it's insane resolution.  The fact that there's thousands of dollars worth of studio equipment in and around it doesn't even deter him.  He appreciates that you trust him enough to be seated here. 

Pulling your headphones over his ears, he aimlessly reaches for the attached microphone before remembering it doesn't exist.  That was something he was still getting used to.  He's not really sure where or how the sound is being picked up - maybe by one of the two microphones positioned strategically on either side of your desk, though he can't bother to figure out which - only that it is, and it's good enough for him.

"Ready?"  He prompts, watching as his user tag lights up to indicate his question.  

 JKMKNAE lights up below him.  "To kick some ass?  Yeah." 

Overwatch loads, the FINDING GAME screen sliding into view.  The timer rolls on, seconds dragging, and he makes small talk over voice chat while he waits.  No one else is on yet - their usual group of near and far online friends still showing offline on Discord - so it's just the two of them. 

"Are you going to that party?"  He's referring to the little get-together being thrown by Hoseok's new girlfriend.  Honestly, he can't remember her name - Gahyeon?  Dohyeon?  She was nice enough and his friend was clearly smitten, but given that he'd met her in passing only once, he hadn't committed it to memory.  He'd learn it before Friday, though.  Maybe.  H'd have to, if he planned on introducing you.  

Couldn't really say 'Jiyeon, meet Hoseok's unnamed girlfriend.'

"Don't know."  The response comes indistinct and he imagines Jungkook is shovelling ramyeon into his mouth - can practically hear the slurp slurp slurp through your state of the art earphones - while they queue up.  It makes his stomach growl.  "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Slurp.  Swallow.  Response.  "It sounded like a freaking animal."

Had Jungkook heard his stomach?  No way.  "That was me."

This seems to surprise the maknae, who takes a moment to cease his endless eating noises.  Thank god - Taehyung had been worried the call was about to turn into a full-blown ASMR session, complete with smacking lips and clinking chopsticks.  It wouldn't have been the first time.  "Did you get a new headset?"

"Uh, no," comes his response after a beat.  It's enough for his friend to latch onto, bowl of noodles long forgotten in favour of the unravelling string of his hesitation.

"You do sound clearer actually.  Which did you get?  Sennheiser?"    

"I didn't get a new headset."  Taehyung sounds a little as if he's frustrated with having to explain himself and that only makes the other all the more curious.  He should've known.  Since they'd been teenagers, Jungkook had been like this.  Endlessly curious, tripping over his own feet to be included in whatever news their friend group had to share.  It was almost always endearing.  

"Then are you wearing a mic taped to your stomach?"  

Another pause, punctuated by a sharp exhale. 

It's only been a few weeks - three as of this weekend, in fact - and Taehyung's still not sure where you stand.  Even when you were opening yourself up to him, there was always another layer.  You were an enigma.  An enigma wrapped inside a burrito.  He chuckles at the thought and reminds himself to use the comparison later.  He's sure you'd laugh and he loved the sound - like it was the most beautiful song in the world.

When Jungkook doesn't get an immediate response, Taehyung can practically feel the chagrin rolling through the chat.  As much as the youngest liked to tease his hyungs - and he did it often,  whether with words or action - he'd never purposely upset anyone.  He didn't have a bad bone in his body.  

Before he can apologize, Taehyung's cutting him off with a rush of words, like it's the greatest secret ever spoken into existence.  "I'm at Jiyeon's."

He'd expected some sort of excitement or downright bro-like congratulations.  It was how Jungkook operated, his bravado presented for all to see.  Anything to hide that big soft heart of his.  (He was different like that - hiding his sensitivity whereas Taehyung and Jimin paraded it around, shouted it from rooftops.)

Instead, there's silence.  Because what he doesn't see is Jungkook looking like he's been sucker punched, dealt a straight shot to the gut that he hadn't expected.  And why hadn't he expected it?  He'd known you were seeing Taehyung, heard about your frequent dates from his friend himself.  He'd had to smile along, offering congratulations like the mere thought wasn't burning him from the inside out, like battery acid hadn't replaced the blood in his veins. 

"That's great, hyung."  It sounds off to Taehyung's ears, cutting over the connection.  For a moment, he wonders if he's jostled a cable.  You'll kill him if he has.  Then there's a bang, an ear-splittingly loud crash.  "Shit!  I have to clean this up."  

Then there's the sound of a participant exiting the channel and he's left to queue all on his own.  

"Four packages was two packages too many."  You're groaning into your hands, your arms, anywhere you can bury your face.  The cold glass of your coffee table is soothing against your cheek, your heated breath forming condensation across the surface.  

Above your head, somewhere on the couch behind you, Taehyung laughs, the sound punctuated by chewing.  "I could've told you that."

You're not sure how he's still eating, diligently working through his bowl of noodles when you feel like you might explode like some scene out of Alien.  It's hard to breathe - in fact, you think you can feel the tail end of a noodle at the top of your throat - and you bite back a gag, shoulders shaking a little with the exertion.  

You're being overdramatic, you know.

"I thought I was hungry!  I thought you were hungry!"  A hand is flying up, wrist weaving bonelessly through the air as if it'll help you drive your very poor point home.  

"I am hungry."  More laughter.  You reach behind you, flailing wildly in the direction you know his legs are, and huff in triumph when your knuckles collide with the sharp bone of his shin.  You ignore the fact that you've somehow hurt yourself, too.  "You probably haven't eaten today so your stomach is the size of Po's."

As if on cue, the feline sweeps into the room, sniffing curiously at your prone figure before flouncing off to the kitchen in search of more interesting things.

"Why are you so reasonable?"  You croak like a dying woman or a frog. 

Somehow, against all odds, Taehyung still finds you adorable.  He sets his bowl down on the side table, careful to place the chopsticks neatly across the rim, and bends at the waist to fix his hands under your armpits.  You can already feel the upward momentum but whine nonetheless, the sound tipping out of your mouth like some sort of Dickensian street urchin. 

"No!  Stoooop."  

"Come here,"  your not-boyfriend boyfriend coos, dragging you onto the couch.  You slump against the cushions when he releases you, rather than falling into his side, eliciting another crinkly-eyed smile from him.  It's hard to resist when he's like this, playful and enticing.  Still, you try.  You pretend like it's nothing, curling your arms around your middle as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't feel good."  It's a statement that demands payment. 

Taehyung happily gives it, peppering kisses over the delicate bones of your face, his broad chest encompassing your frame.  He locks his arms around you, sliding them into place around your own, and holds you recklessly close.  You don't think you could run if you tried.  Whether it's from the noodles you've all but inhaled or the hazy desire that blooms beneath each of his kisses, you're not sure.  Maybe both. 

"I can make you feel good,"  he purrs, his mouth feather-light and teasing.  He's focused on the sensitive dip by your ear, right where your pulse throbs, and you swear you hear him chuckle before you lose all sense of your surroundings.  

The flat of his tongue presses against that sweet spot, laving hungrily at the skin like he might be able to taste the copper that sings beneath it.  You whine, louder and higher than you'd meant to, desperate even to your muffled ears.  You hear his laughter more clearly this time, breath hot against the outer shell of your ear, and you're not sure whether you're burning up on the outside or just internally.

"See, aren't you feeling better already?"  Every word from his mouth is honeyed and intoxicating.  You chase the sound, turning your face just in time to feel his lips against yours, more forceful than you'd anticipated.  As much as he teased you, he was a kind and forgiving lover, bending to your will as easily you did his.

"You're terrible."  You mean it like an insult but, in true fashion, he accepts it like the greatest compliment he's ever received.  He preens with it, tossing his head back, causing his hair to fall prettily over his eyes.

Eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you'd let them.  They're so dark, the ring of his iris all but engulfed by the desire that presents itself in the void of his pupils. 

Your heart stutters in your chest.  Your breath catches, hitches and careens into a gasp.  Somewhere, just beyond the realm of comprehension, you recognize a familiar fluttering in your core.  He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen and he wants to bang - hang - you on the wall, where you belong. 

"Do you want me to stop?"  Despite whatever war wages in his mind and the thrum of want that skitters up his bones, he's genuine in his delivery.  He wants you to want this as bad as he does.  He won't hold it against you if you don't.

You owe it to him to be honest.  "I'm not sure."

You don't miss the way his expression slips, fall just an inch.  He's so careful to retain his composure, offering you the most heartfelt smile you could ever hope for.  It doesn't quite reach his eyes, despite his best efforts.  You feel awful.  Worse then awful.  Like you'd shut the sun out.

You reach for him all at once, long fingers framing the edges of his face, thumb sweeping just beneath his eye.  He blinks once, twice, and says nothing. 

"I want you,"  you start.  It's not clear where you're going with this but you hope you find it along the way - for both of your sake's.  "I like you, Kim Taehyung."  His eyes sparkle when you say his full name and you want to give up this conversation and smother him in kisses instead.  "I really, really like you.  But I'm also scared."  You say it out loud, though you're certain he already knows.  

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb that's drifted and found a rhythm in soothing circles at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm an assa."  You don't seek pity or understanding.  You'd chosen this;  you liked it this way.  "I don't let people in often.  Those I do, I trust explicitly."  Your hand slides to his chest, palm flat down the column of his throat to the expanse hidden just beneath his shirt.  You settle there, over his heart, and tap experimentally.  "I don't want to ruin this - whatever it is - because I expect too much.  We deserve to be on the same page.  I don't want to ask for more than you can give."

Where the words have come from isn't clear but they spill forth, settling like lead into your veins.  He's only been good to you, accepting all of your quirks and flaws in stride.  From the first time you'd lashed out - irritable after a long night of rearranging notes - to the time he'd found you half-asleep in front of the fridge at 3 AM, he's accepted you without hesitation.  Time and time again, he'd proven his capacity for kindness, for giving you everything and asking nothing in return.

But you can't help the little voice in your head, the same one that demands love in the same breath it rebuffs it. 

"I'm right here with you."  As if to drive his point home, Taehyung's hand finds yours and squeezes.  He's so heartbreakingly handsome like this, unwavering in his sincerity.  "But even if I weren't,"  he indulges your worries, because he knows he needs to face these demons with you, lest they steal you away,  "we'd still be reading the same book.  You'd just be a few chapters ahead and that's okay."

Not for the first time, you're reminded of how overwhelmingly good he is.  It makes your heart swell ten sizes and you crash your lips to his because you want to and he wants it, too. 

"You're so poetic,"  you muse, withdrawing just enough that your words don't get lost.

He grins and does that same toss of his head, chin cocked as his tongue swipes over the soft pillow of his bottom lip.  "O, Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?"  He's inching closer, like it's a game, and you're nearly stumbling back, though you have nowhere to go.  "Deny thy father and refuse thy name."  There's mischief in this expression, setting his smile aglow.  "Take all of me."

You only manage to get your taunting response out, a snarky "that's not how that goes" before he's upon you, devouring you whole.  

Despite the hunger in his kiss, the way his mouth slants over yours in a demand, it's anything but rushed.  He takes his time in coaxing your mouth open, seeking out the warmth with tentative passes of his tongue.  You hum appreciatively when he chases yours with his own, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as some sort of punishment for getting away.  You think you could do this forever. 

So you pout when he withdraws, out of breath and delirious.  You think you must look the same, can see it reflected in his blown out pupils.  

As if to sooth your ache - it's not enough - he caresses your jaw, the delicate line of your neck, capable hands running the gamut of hot and heavy and soft and searing.  He's sprinkling weak kisses where his hands go, following the paths they carve over your exposed skin.  When he dips his tongue into the dainty turn of your collar bone, you keen, chasing the sensation when he exhales cold breath over it.

"We have lots of time,"  he parrots with a grin so smug, so salacious, you want to cry.

You're pouting, fingers curling into the silk at his nape, tugging none-too-gently on the hairs there. 

He seems to find that funny, his nose brushing the collar of your shirt, the valley of your chest that he aches to explore.  "Patience is a virtue."  

"Who says I'm virtuous?" 

You're meeting his surprised stare with big doe eyes, a coy smile playing over your kiss-swollen lips.  Taehyung almost considers giving in.  Almost.

Instead, he returns to the task at hand, trailing open-mouth kisses across the front of your shirt.  He's grateful for the flimsy cotton, the way it drapes over you like wrapping paper begging to be torn apart.  You're reclined against the cushions but it's not enough - there's no more space for him to nose past your rib cage.  He stops;  you whine.

"Tell me we can keep going."  The words are nearly lost into your skin.  He's holding you so intimately, the curve of his cheek pressed to the underside of your breast.  He can feel the scalloped trim of your bra.  It's not nearly enough.  He wants what's underneath, exhales his need in a throaty moan, lips seeking out his hidden treasure. 

You don't immediately respond and his head snaps up, a little concerned.  But you're not looking at him, lost to the ceiling above and the heavens beyond.  You look so hot.  He feels his cock twitch and he has to remind himself to wait, to hold out for your breathless yes. 

The moment it comes, you're in his arms and your eyes snap to his face, bewildered.  He's an anomaly beneath you, equal parts hard and soft.  The planes of his stomach are taut but comfortable;  he's lean muscle beneath a yielding layer.  You've never been this close, body pressed recklessly against his as he carries you to your bedroom.  Your ankles lock around him, heel of your bare feet digging into the expanse of his lower back.  He says nothing, simply nuzzles into your softness of your neck and smothers you with affection.

"What was wrong with the couch?"  It's meant to be mocking but it loses its edge when Taehyung releases you atop your bed, eagerly slotting himself between your knees when your hold on him releases.  

His hands are driven, making quick work of your tee shirt, and then he's feasting like a man-starved, taking in every line of your body like he can commit it to memory.  "You're so beautiful,"  he says in response, diving into your skin that begs to be touched, soft as silk and unblemished.  He hums happily against your throat, licking a wet stripe from your clavicle to your ear, pausing to bite thoughtfully on the lobe.  The sounds you make should be illegal.  He wants to hear them forever, until the day he dies.

The strap of your flimsy bra - pretty periwinkle lace, he notes with a quirked brow - twists around his finger and he can feel you staring at him, expectant.  When he lets it fall and you huff, he wants to laugh.  He doesn't, though, choosing to drop his head to follow the trail of his hands over the swell of your chest.  Thumb and then mouth catch, teeth nipping at your nipple in a way that makes your back arch.  He flicks his tongue out, circling the pebbled bud with precision, and he thinks he might be stealing the breath right out of your lungs by the way you're coming undone beneath him.

"Sensitive?"  He drags the edge of lace down between his teeth until the fabric is caught beneath your tits, showcasing them proudly.  He leans back on his calves, catching your wrists with ease when you try to cover up.  You're so pretty like this, head thrown back, body on display.  Like a piece of art.

He wishes he had his camera.  

"You're a tease, Kim Taehyung."  You don't know how much he loves it when you say his name like this, a little authoritative and full of want.  

Your own personal Adonis settles over you once again, kissing you as if his life depends on it.  He swallows you whole, taking all of your moans and pleas like they're prayers and he's your deity.  Maybe he is.  "Patience, jagiya."  You can feel him grinning against you, sweet as sin.  You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging the edges of your teeth over the sensitive petal.

Now it's his turn to whimper, hand fisting into your hair before relaxing, fingers soothing the roots he'd just pulled. 

"I said patience,"  he repeats.  You don't have time to test him again, suddenly encompassed by the feeling of his warmth pulling away, drifting lower.  You miss the weight of him, his chest pressed to yours. 

But you like this, too, his hot breath fanning over your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.  You like it even more when he licks a strip down the valley of your cleavage, inhaling your scent.  You're sure you're coloured like a neon Christmas sign, rouge blossoming over your skin where you want more - need more. 

"I'm going to be so good to you."

How he manages to be so unrelentingly sweet, even while mouthing sloppy kisses over your bare abdomen, you're not sure.  He does it so well, like this side of him is only for you.  It makes you see stars.  They flicker brightly in your vision, sparked to life with each pass of his lips, each concentrated glide of his hands.

"Look at me."  It seems almost impossible that his voice has dropped even further, the lower octave simultaneously exciting and surprising.  It sinks like weights in your stomach, forcing your eyes to his face.  He's at the edge of the bed, his head ducked against the swell of your bare thigh - when had that happened? - eyes half-lidded as if swept up in dreams.  You know he's paying attention when he nips gently at the sensitive flesh, manipulating your softness with firm, unyielding hands.  "Do you know how crazy you drive me?"

You thought you'd had a clue - had spied it in the way he kissed you in the morning, held your hand in his - but you were wrong.  You realize that now, watching him watching you.

"Show me,"  you all but whisper.  An appeal, a wish, a begging demand. 

When he looks at you, it's as if your words are the keys to his heart.  He smiles that blindingly handsome smile and dips forward, shifting your calf over his shoulder.  You think you might die from the sight alone but you're sure you do - heart stopped and all - when you feel his breath at the juncture of your legs.  

He inhales deeply and you blush scarlet, the desire to clamp your thighs shut twitching your limbs.  As if he can sense your sudden shame, he redirects your attention with the tip of his tongue.  You nearly buck at the sensation, somehow already wound so tight that the feeling is a harsh constriction of the coil in your stomach.  You need him.  "Tae, please."  The sound is a garbled whine, half bitten into the pillows you're buried in.  

Luckily, he needs this just as much as you do.  He's generous with his love, spreading you wide open and nearly groaning at the sight.  You're already dripping, inviting him to sink his tongue into you.  He alternates between long, languid strokes along your slit and teasing, penetrating delves of his tongue into your hole. He dutifully ignores your clit.  You writhe beneath him and he mimics the motion, grinding his straining erection into the bed.  He feels a little bad when the motion jostles you but he thinks you don't care, too far gone in your own blissful heaven to notice.

"Tae,"  his name barely registers, so caught up in the taste of you and the way you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin.  "Tae.  Baby.  Please."  You're keening, teetering dangerously on the edge of ecstasy.  You hadn't known how badly you needed this and now it's eating you alive, burning you from both ends until you're left in ashes.

"What, jagi?"  Taehyung's the devil in disguise, pausing his ministrations to suck a wet kiss into your thigh.  Wet from his own mouth or your juices, he's not sure.  

"I need more,"  you whine, the neediest he's ever seen you.  He's so turned on.  He curses his choice of pants, the soft cotton too inconsequential against him and his useless rutting.  He needs a zipper or your hands or better yet, your mouth.  But this isn't about him. 

This is about you.  He'd come later.  Literally.

"Is this more?"  The last word disappears, a shot in the dark as he wraps his lips around your aching clit and sucks, simultaneously sinking his middle finger into your feverish core.  He groans when your hips undulate with the pressure, seeking out more like the greedy kitten you are.  He pumps into you once, then three more times for good measure, before adding his ring finger, endlessly proud of the way you take him to the knuckles without an ounce of hesitation.  "You're doing so good,"  he praises you as if he knows you need it, laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting attention.

He can feel it before you're able to verbalize the words, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your plea careening off your tongue.  "Please don't stop.  I'm so, so close."  A hiccup.  Your voice is wet.  "Tae, please."

So he doesn't, instead twisting until he finds that spongy spot at the front of your pelvic wall.  He rocks against it, fingers tapping with brutal precision.  It's what sends you over the edge into an Earth-shatteringly strong orgasm that he fucks you through with tender care, rolling your clit over his tongue and basking in the feel of you soaking his hand (and face and chest).

Your head's still in the clouds when he pops up, triumphant.  Even in your fucked-out bliss, you recognize he's drenched.  If he didn't look so proud, you think you'd be mortified.  

"Well, that's a first." 

notes.  as @fortunexkookie and @taehyungforreal (two of my main reasons for writing, tbh, and people i fangirl over from afar) once said, kim taehyung remains the reigning king of lovemaking.  i hope i did him justice.  xo

[kenkamishiro]

Ishida Sui’s Review of 2019

I didn’t think I’d ever finish this with my onslaught of classes including pharmacology, but I somehow managed! 6k word count, the longest TL I’ve done to date besides Parvati’s interlude for FGO. Lots of insight into Jack Jeanne’s production and what Ishida’s been up to for the past year. It was tough to translate because it was so long, but I had a lot of fun.

Let me know if there are any mistakes, I’m sure there’s a whole bunch. Have fun reading!

Original can be found here.

＊＊＊

2019. I’m reflecting on this past year while flipping through my agenda. Since I’m writing this for my sake, there’s going to be a lot of sections without much explanation.

January

○ This was when Jack Jeanne had yet to be announced, so I was mostly doing preliminary work at the time. Stuff like “BU” and “character facial expressions” will be finished some time this month, is written in my schedule book.

○ New Year’s party in Tokyo from the 16th - 19th. The New Year’s party is a joint party that’s comprised of the 4th editorial department (Shueisha’s seinen magazine branch) that’s held every year in January. I attended the party with the staff every year during serialization, minus my first year.

2019 will be the first New Year’s party since the series ended, but I thought I should stop inviting the staff to attend since we’re not working together anymore (plus it’d be a hassle), so I didn’t really invite anyone. But the day before the event, Editor M brought up the topic inside the taxi and asked, “Are none of the staff coming this year?” (Even if they’re invited now, it’s going to be impossible, asking them to fly the next day and causing a ruckus…) When I replied, “Hey, I’m sure it’d be fun if you invited them and they all came~”, the editor contacted Goubaru-kun, and after said, “He said he’s going.” Guess he wasn’t busy. In the end, the staff during serialization and several people from OB and OG came, almost identical to the lineup from previous years, and it occurred to me that maybe I should have just invited them from the start.

Anyway, at this year’s New Year’s party, I don’t really remember much of what happened. I talked with my senpais from back when I was an assistant for Kingdom, and outside the venue I sobered up from the agoraphobic dizziness I was feeling inside. At the second party I remember people talking to me haphazardly and being photographed. I wish I’d refused. Also, I was sexually harassed by Rikudou Matsubara, my senpai from the same region as me. This New Year’s party will be my last.

February

Briefing session for the game held in Tokyo. Key visual created. It says here [on the agenda] that I want to go to Kagoshima. Every week there’s a checklist for 10 km of jogging and weight training 2-3 times a week. I spent about a week doing some composition work. It ended up being helpful for me, but it made me decide not to work anymore with people with different levels of interest from me.

○ TRPG is written for the 28th. Usually we use the DX (Double Cross) system, but this time one of our participating players, M’s schedule was under mysterious attack. As game master, taking consideration of everyone who’d made time in their schedules for tonight, I thought we could switch to Cthulhu and asked them to wait an hour. 2 hours later I finished coming up with a scenario and began the session. It was fairly fun.

March

Finish BU this month, is clearly noted down. BU stands for bust-up, which are drawings of characters in standing poses [sprites] that are common in ADV games. Normally, since it takes a huge amount of work, the BU work is always divided up. The original drawings are done by the illustrator, in this case I do the base illustrations (line drawing & colouring), and using them as the base, the department sharing the work cleans up the line drawings and recolours it...that’s how the process goes. But since I’m a mangaka and don’t have the technology needed to make gaming assets, I thought it’d be best to leave it to the pros in that field, so that was how that stage proceeded. At that point in time at least.

I also had plans written down to go to Kagoshima. Looks like I didn’t go.

○ TRPG on the 25th. Player M’s schedule lined up with ours, so we played DX with 6 PL plus me as GM. We went to the aquarium, were attacked by witches, and so on.

April

Finish BU, is faintly written down. It seems like the work was more or less completed earlier this month.

○ High school friend K’s wedding on the 6th. Up until then I’d only been to two other wedding receptions. The weddings were for a different friend from high school, and Tajika-san, one of my senpais from Kingdom. This suddenly reminds me of that time at Tajika-san’s reception, when I took a super early flight because I absolutely didn’t want to be late whatsoever, but I ended up not being able to fly for about an hour and a half because of engine trouble or whatever, so I entered at almost the same time as the bride and groom during the reception…

K’s wedding was the first time in my life where I was present all the way from the wedding to the reception, but how should I put it, I was struck by a beam of light. I don’t know who he’s getting married to, I have no clue what their relationship is like. But I was somehow bombarded...by all these thoughts that became jumbled in my head, like the energy in this place, the power of their oaths, questioning what it was, how light isn’t always justice.

I got the feeling that this was what proper, respectable humans take part in, but since I'm fine with not being a proper, respectable human, I decided to not do anything other than what my heart desires.

I'm definitely not good with places where I’m in the spotlight. But congratulations.

○ “Play Sekiro” is strongly noted down. Thank you for supporting me in the first half of 2019.

○ TRPG for the 29th - 30th. DX. Player M’s character dies.

May - June

My schedule book is starting to look more scattered now. On the other hand, since I’ve got a good memory of this time, I can write while recalling the events.

○ I did the covers for the Touken stage play book.

I drew the cover illustrations for the Touken [Ranbu] stage play that Mikasano-san, who I’m grateful to for his work on the anime and movie scripts for TG, worked on. In my mind, it feels like I'm watching the back of who I'd consider my older brother in the creative world, or a fellow comrade on another battlefield fighting to the death. I think it came out quite charmingly, so I’ll include the links for now. Link 1 | Link 2 | Link 3

During this time of work for Jack Jeanne, I was working on “model sheets”. Blueprints for the characters’ attire, not just from the front but also the internal structure.

Unlike most other games, Jack Jeanne has “performance costumes” in addition to normal attire. Because of its “revue” theme, costumes that will be worn onstage needed to be prepared. I was shocked when I suddenly admitted that I needed model sheets for 5 different performances (spring, summer, fall, winter, final) for the 6 main characters, making 30 designs in total.

Back in the TG era, these kind of drawings that I just explained, or drawings that needed a lot of layers, were a pain in the ass. Plus I wasn’t good at them, so I thought that I didn’t want to do it for the rest of my life if possible. But it seems like I have to do this myself. With a sense of determination, I decided to work solely on this for all of May. At the same time, I made nothing but curry for all my meals. There’s no deep reason behind it, but my aim was to kinda boost my ability to concentrate daily by choosing to be decisive in that action.

○ Working on model sheets It came with an unintended effect. Because I spent a month on work that required balance and consistency, my right-left checking skills got better, and completely unrelated, I improved in drawing perfect copies. The design work for the model sheets itself became really fun to do, starting around when I became obsessed with the scarf design (sumo wrestler drawing) I definitely couldn’t use for Neji’s summer costume. I discovered that it’s precisely because I’m not good at this that my labour bore fruit. I feel like this was my experience for the latter half of the year.

July

The cast members were chosen. Unlike TG, there are 6 people + 1 person who can be referred to as the main character, so it was interesting to have a cast with some breadth.

Seems like lyrical work was the main thing I worked on.

Lyrical work. In Jack Jeanne, each performance contains several songs to sing and dance to, so each one is supposed to be sung. ...hence the lyrics.

The topic of what to do with the lyrics was brought up in November 2018. What happens typically is that, let’s say there’s singing in an idol game, then a company that specializes in it is asked to produce the songs. Even for Jack Jeanne, there were several candidates I could pick and choose from. But after a quick look-through, frankly speaking, they all looked the same to me. There’s one person that’s good, it’d be great if we could get them...is what I thought, but, “Even though I don’t have the skills, I’m the one who understands this world the best,” crossed my mind. ...should I try? I tried it. To be honest, I was super embarrassed since it’d be seen by a lot of people, but it evolved into, “Who cares if you’re doing it?” And so Jack Jeanne’s lyrics were tasked to me.

I mentioned this earlier, but there are multiple songs for each performance. So if you combine those plus the opening and ending songs, that makes 17 songs in total. Lyrics for 17 songs that I’m fully responsible for. What the hell...am I doing? Maybe it was from that moment that I started losing it.

Including the lyrics that I’d been working on bit by bit every month, the remaining ones were finished in one go this July. By the time I finished everything, my current state was, “Give me more songs...let me write more lyrics!” But it wasn’t over just yet.

August

Every time I meet someone I tell this story. I’m thinking of keeping it up. Here I am, relieved to have finished the lyrics, when a message pops up on the Skype group chat. It’s from Yamashita Daisuke of Broccoli.

To briefly touch upon Yamashita Daisuke, he is a young man who’s been involved with this project since October of 2018, and a poor soul who was tasked with conducting very important meetings on his third day of working at the company.

The producer from Broccoli was going on maternity leave, so he was scouted as her replacement. As an aside, if I have to be honest, the exchanges between me and Towada-san, and Broccoli’s Jack Jeanne team up until then were quite frustrating. “How about doing it like this?” they would counter. And we’d respond with something like, “This part is going to be developed later on, and since this will become foreshadowing for the entirety of the story, it can’t be modified that easily.” This kind of situation, having to explain everything in detail one by one, going 3 steps forward and being held 2 steps back, had been going on for about 3 years, so the two of us would often whine about it over drinks, going, “When should we quit, this is ridiculous,” etc.

Finally when things began going more smoothly, the producer who was leading the project took her leave, so I wondered if we’d be able to get along with Yamashita Daisuke, but he was, how should I put it, very diligent. For the last year I've been working with people who don’t put in their best effort, so I was very hopeful and thankful to him.

But I digress. This was the gist of the message that Daisuke sent.

“Kosemura-san’s who’s in charge of musical composition wants ‘scratch vocal tracks’ for when the singers are recording.” “Does Ishida-sensei happen to know anyone he could ask for this favour?” “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you!” “Frankly speaking, it’s okay even if they’re bad.”

Huh. Well, as you might have already guessed, even with the lyrics, it’s impossible to really understand the song at first sight without knowing what kind of rhythm, what kind of emotions are being expressed in the bar measure. Of course we’d need ‘scratch vocal tracks’ to explain the general feeling of the song.

Now, what Daisuke said was, “Do you have anyone you can ask? It’s okay even if they’re bad. Or even you can do it.” But if I found a “it’s okay even if they’re bad” kind of person, we’d still have to show them how to sing it and explain how the rhythm goes. Daisuke already knew which was probably why he asked for the favour. “The person writing the lyrics would be able to make the scratch vocal tracks the fastest.” ...come to think of it, the demo songs that Kunimitsu sent me every time that were sung using Vocaloid, weren’t they also scratch vocal tracks?

Daisuke must have been in a pinch trying to figure out how he should ask me candidly. Ishida-sensei, I couldn’t just ask you to sing it, so I had to ask in a roundabout manner.

I’d already given my answer, but I was still hesitant. It’s true that after I finished writing the lyrics for the 17 songs I’d already lost sight of myself, but if I sang, my singing would reach Broccoli and Kosemura-san’s team’s ears. But I couldn’t just leave poor Daisuke hanging.

So I consult Towada-shi, whom I’d been collaborating with in creating the scripts for Jack Jeanne, for advice. (He had been in charge of TG’s novels, and I’ve known him for a long time.) “Did you check Skype?” “I did.” “What do you think?” “Start by looking up scratch vocal tracks,” so we paid a visit to YouTube. The first search result that came up for ‘scratch vocal track’ was a video of a vocalist who was used to sing a scratch track for AKB or something. I see, so that’s what it looks like. Innocuous, but I could see it was very professionally done.

And the second result that came up was Tsunku♂-shi. The figure of Tsunku♂-shi himself recording a scratch track for his idols. The producer himself became an idol, and was singing really cutely, in his emotions and how he sang it. “This is it?” I said. “Yeah, it is,” Towada-shi agreed. If Kosemura-san and his team, and the people who will be performing the songs have to listen to it, it’d be a disservice to them to half-ass it. I don’t like people who don’t try their best. That means I have to show that attitude myself. Let’s come out of my shell for poor Daisuke as well.

“You’re gonna become Tsunku♂.” “Yeah...I’m gonna be Tsunku♂!” And that was how I became Tsunku♂.

I replied to Daisuke on the Skype group chat. “Understood, I’ll do what I can.”

So this guy, who doesn’t even know what the ‘D’ in DTM stands for, first downloads the software, and begins setting up a recording environment. Other work is pushed aside. I set 3 days to work on this.

I timidly begin working on the scratch tracks. From the perspective of someone who doesn’t have to listen to their singing for a living, it starts out as a living hell, but you get used to it as you listen to it over and over.

And so I kept learning new things. I noticed I was harmonizing with myself.

Just like Tsunku♂-shi, I’d change the voice for each character. If it was Jack (male in a male role) I’d sing like a man, and if it was Jeanne (male in a female role), then like a woman, while the main character Kisa (female) should sound cute... No, Kisa needs to be cuter! I re-recorded her part many times. Depending on the song, I’d sing for 7 people. I was Jack Jeanne now.

Tsunku♂ (I) recorded 17 songs in 3 days, and sent the data first to Towada-shi. Since I was now Tsunku♂, I no longer felt any sense of embarrassment.

“I listened to it,” the reply came, and I called him. Towada-shi was roaring with laughter. I regained the embarrassment I’d forgotten.

“Oh no, I was laughing ‘cause I was impressed,” he said, but my heart was already as fragile as that of an abandoned dog.

“Even this is a big help to Kosemura-san, and Daisuke should be grateful, right?” Yeah. Although Towada-shi guffawed at me, Daisuke will surely thank me. And then he’ll definitely tell me what a good job I did!

I dumped the music into the Skype group chat. “I did what I could,” I added.

How will Daisuke react to my Tsunku♂? I waited restlessly. Three days later on August 5th, a formal message arrived after it was received.

“Thank you very much. We will schedule a meeting with Kosemura-san…”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hard work got dismissed with, “Thank you very much.”

Daisuke, why? I thought you were in a pinch, so I...were...were you fooling with me from the start? Answer me! Daisuke! Just tell me I did a good job, or follow up with something, I’m fine with anything! So much for my heart being like an abandoned dog, it’s more like a grown-ass man left naked on a snowy mountain. I did what I could! This feeling was welling up inside me, but was it myself that managed to do it?

○ Later, at a meeting with Kosemura-san “It’s great that you could do this much for us. You didn’t have to do all that.” With the gist of those words, a warm blanket was finally placed over my heart, which had almost frozen to death.

“I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t sure if Sensei was the most who did it in the first place,” Daisuke said, so I decided to satisfy myself by threatening, “I’m gonna tell this story until the day I die.”

September

○ Responses to the Questions to Ishida Sui contest We did a “Ask anything to Ishida Sui” contest as a project for the art book “zakki:re”, where purchasers could apply with a postcard. I was writing the replies for them.

I thought there’d be a lot more questions about TG or its contents, but surprisingly there were a lot of questions asking for life advice. There were quite a few questions that I had to seriously think about to answer.

It was kinda tough since there were over a hundred of them, but I thought it’d be nice to get in touch like this every once in a while.

○ BU work for Jack Jeanne Once the music-related tasks like lyrical composition and scratch vocal tracks were completed, I worked on BU. ...BU work? Wasn’t it finished back in April?

Well, a similar situation arose just like what happened with the lyrics. Regarding sprite quality I might not be able to beat the pros, but since I’m the one who best understands how the characters look best and their body balance, I had decided to do all the line drawing colouring myself in June. I had no clue whether I’d make the deadline or maintain the quality, but thanks to Broccoli’s understanding, I was allowed to make it myself.

I realized once again that I’m terrible at splitting up work. If I can do it by myself, I will.

Plus, it’s, how should I put it, starting from my TG days, even though it wasn’t a lot I got to see various types of workplaces. I’d see places where there was no sense of responsibility whatsoever, or the work may have been divvied up appropriately, but it felt like they were making something without a sense of purpose, like a main plot line that isn’t going anywhere.

It’s impossible to accomplish big things with that kind of stance, and I understand that the more people that intervene, the more uncertain the core becomes, so I didn’t like that kind of approach. It makes me wonder whether there’s any meaning in creating a work that’s conservative and unchallenged, and if it’s nothing more than a money grab.

Since I don’t have any desire for material things, getting fed up about it is useless, but I just can’t help thinking about it.

Of course, it may be difficult to get what I want 100% of the time, but I want to create things in an environment that I think is beautiful, even in places that I’m slightly involved in.

...in other words, BU work is tough, but I began remaking the sprites once again by myself. This was the toughest work I’ve ever done out of everything, including the serialization...

○ Scratch vocals training camp at the end of September I went to the recording for the scratch vocal tracks. Based on the scratch tracks that I made, we got professional vocalists to sing it again properly. This is what the actual cast would use as a reference to sing. (So my version was like the pre-scratch vocal track.)

I was stuck in Tokyo for almost a week. Wake up, get ready, go to the recording studio. Come back at 8 or 9 pm, rest and sleep, repeat.

It was like I was back in school, and since I don’t have a steady lifestyle, I enjoyed it.

Kosemura-san’s team is really great, and I know I mentioned this before, but I felt like their workplace was a very healthy production site. When I was drawing manga, I never had much time to talk with fellow manga artists, and I’ve never had the chance to experience what other professionals’ workplaces were like, so it was very exciting for me to see people as professionals tackle one thing seriously. The vocalists were as amazing as I expected, and although my scratch tracks were played at a loud volume to annoy me, I had a great time.

The game might have a high level of entry, but it’s worth listening to just for the songs, is what I truly thought.

○ Parting words to Editor M-shi This might have been back in August, but from 2018 to 2019 I had a lot of things on my mind, so I began talking to the editor.

In between the 11 years of serialization starting from my rookie days, I’d received guidance from him so it wasn’t easy, but I expressed to him that we should keep our distance for any future works.

“I want to become absorbed in myself, not to Ishida Sui or Tokyo Ghoul,” I told him. The other part said he also felt the same way, and accepted it. The next time we meet, I hope we can talk about what we’re into, what we’re going crazy over, he said.

And so, 2 months after that conversation was the scratch vocals training camp in Tokyo, and I had the chance for the two of us to talk again. That day I was completely tuckered out from recording the scratch track, but it was a day filled with accomplishments.

He took me to a restaurant with delicious food in Ebisu or somewhere, and after concluding our brief business meeting, I tried throwing out the cliched, “So, what are you up to lately?” As the lead writer, there was a part of me that was curious about how he was doing after that talk we had.

The editor began talking about homemade curry.

...that’s what he’s into? I decide everything from selecting and picking the ingredients myself, and next time I want Ishida-kun to also see how delicious the curry is...he told me passionately, but how should I put it, the conversation wasn’t very spicy.

The food was delicious.

October

○ BU work

What’s hard about BU work is that it’s difficult to separate the layers according to the face, hair and clothes, and they all have to have the same style and touch to it. If it was manga, then maybe...no, even in manga, there’s still some need to match the outfits, but it doesn’t really matter to that extent.

It’s because I don’t like game sprites. “This character has so much energy from their sideways pose! Amazing!” This never happens…

Around this time of the year, my older sister called this elaborate task, “the task you’re probably the worst at.”

○ The bean life I’m not really fat in particular, but I made up my mind to try dieting. At the time, my body fat percentage was at 18%, and I’ve never been below 10% ever in my entire life, so I’m thinking of aiming for that. Instead of eating rice with unseasoned chickpeas and black soybeans, I began my lifestyle of consuming vegetables and cuts of meat with less fat. Hopefully I can achieve my goal in about six months’ time.

○ Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke, and I After Ano-chan left “You’ll Melt More!”, her official Twitter account removed every single account she was following, but for some reason only two people remained. Those two people were Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui. To Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui belonged in the same category. After some time passed, even we were removed, but I consider this one of my hottest mysteries of 2019. Ano-chan! I’ll always be waiting, so let’s have tea some time with Honda Keisuke!

November

○ BU Need I say more.

○ Main cast’s first recording session from the 26th - 27th.

I visited Tokyo with Towada-shi to supervise the main cast members’ recording session. Wow, everyone was so amazing~

Of course, not just the main characters. Terasaki Yuka-san who plays the main character, Tachibana Kisa, was wonderful as well.

In this kind of game genre, the position as the main character feels less important than the male characters, but I want her to stand firmly in this story’s script. I thought it’d be nice to have the main character not stand out too much and have her watch over the male characters, and I felt that Terasaki-san’s voice and acting fit that image perfectly.

About the cast members, it seems like there’ll be a chance to speak to them eventually, so I’ll come back again.

○ 1 month into the bean life I’m steadily losing weight. Basically I always work from home. I go to the gym and supermarket 2-3 times a week. I started cooking for myself. I got a brand new refrigerator to replace the one that suddenly broke. It actually cools things down now. Living standards have risen.

December

○ I break off ties with M who I played TRPG together with. He was a former classmate who was even chief assistant at some point during the series’ run, but eventually he ended up getting fired due to falling asleep at work. He said he’d attend the last session for the story that day (although his own character had already died), and I was working on a schedule to accommodate him, but once again he cancelled at the last minute.

It’s fine to cause trouble for me (although I’ll probably get pissed), but I can’t overlook treating others the same way. And it’s not the fact that his schedule didn’t match up, it’s because he was complete trash who didn’t know how to behave like an adult once he made plans with others, that I felt sorry for the other TRPG people who took time out of their schedules. Since I felt ashamed when I was together with him, I decided I’d had enough.

This was a year where I cut ties with a lot of people, but I think what they had in common was that I was ashamed to be with them. From now on, I don’t want to associate with such people.

What’s more, when I finally told him, he didn’t even try to deal with it and just gave up, responding, “So that’s how you felt about me. Okay. My bad.”

I won’t go anywhere with those kind of people again.

○ The bean life ⇒ the potato life. I changed it to potatoes.

○ BU is over...

On December 17th, I finally finished the BU work that I spent ageeeeeeeees on.

Although I said that serialization is tough, as long as I finished 18 pages a week that was it (although there were times where I was chasing myself with other work), so I could finish it as long as I didn’t sleep. I somehow managed to finish both the manuscripts and the colour illustrations this way, so expecting BU to be similar, I wasn’t really scared about it never ending, but BU truly was despair. When is this gonna end? I’m even working super hard… This is how it went on the entire time for over a month.

There were about 200 different sprites I had to make myself, including the different costumes and poses, and I had to do all of them.

For one thing, when, “This process is necessary,” came out, I had to go through the same process roughly 200 times, that it felt like I was facing the final boss who already transformed many times. Also, it’s like not equipping myself with a lot of equipment and recovery items in the previous town, but the dungeon I somehow managed to enter is extremely dangerous and even though there’s no safe points anywhere in sight, the boss suddenly comes up behind you, and you go I’m gonna die I’m gonna die

○ If you eat a lot while you’re losing weight, you’re going to have a bad time.

On December 15th I had trouble concentrating, so I tidied up the living room, created a space in the middle of the room, and darkened the lights. After an hour of meditating, only the sound of my breathing could be heard in the room, and so I went back to work with renewed concentration after confronting the issue (like a monk?).

On December 16th, I’ve been working the entire time since morning. I thought today was going to be the last day, but an entire day has passed and I don’t have any energy...

I’ll buy a midnight snack, replenish my energy, and end it once and for all. I’m trying to lose weight, but I went to the convenience store while thinking about how I’m gonna eat a katsu sandwich (I didn’t have the energy to cook).

While looking for something at a convenience store I can eat during weight loss, I think back over the last few months.

Like how it seems like BU is finally over, how a lot of things have happened, how I’m working hard, how lately I’ve been eating only potatoes, vegetables and meat.

And then I suddenly thought, “I wonder if the reason I don’t have any energy is because I haven’t had any rice lately.”

...I thought I should go on a diet in October, so I’ve been living a very modest life since then. Thanks to that, my weight has steadily decreased, and my body fat percentage has gone down 3% to 15%. What will happen if I continue with my relatively strict dietary restrictions during this difficult time?

...even if you’re losing weight, there’s a technique you can set up to binge eat during periods where weight loss stagnates, called cheat day (though results may vary), but what is it that makes no-cheating so inefficient even for weight loss?

...should I have a cheat day today?

“Huh, is it really okay?” I asked my mind. “Do it!” was the answer I got. From that moment, everything around me morphed into things I could eat.

No exaggeration, my knees trembled.

I crammed into my shopping basket carbohydrates, carbs, more carbs… It’s okay just for today, I say as I shove cream puffs, dorayaki, pudding, Family Mart chicken and ice cream. (Even if it's a cheat day, it’s probably not a good idea to take non-nutritional foods, but shh.)

With food in both hands and in high spirits, the first thing I ate was the delicious part of the Family Mart chicken.

I groaned loudly, all alone in the room.

Alright, let’s finish this work! I was energized, but my blood sugar levels spiked so much that I felt extremely sleepy and went to bed instead.

The next day on the 17th, I wake up at 4 am and immediately notice something unusual. My body is burning. I’m sweating.

I immediately wake up, and overflowing with energy, I head for my desk. I’m working actively, and I finish the BU work. It felt like I was pushing forward with only positive energy, feeling uplifted.

I break out a laugh at a slight joke I found funny from a foreign drama (The Mentalist) I’m playing while working. The greenery of the plants and the lighted sink glisten, and the scenery is vivid.

What is this?

I suddenly recall the story of a YouTuber I saw recently. He lives in a region where medical marijuana is legalized, and he explained in detail what changes would occur if you smoked cannabis.

To put it roughly, you feel calm and your senses sharpen. Trivial things can become funny, and funny videos can make you roar with laughter.

Then maybe...I thought, I'll watch Nagareboshi (a comedy duo) on YouTube. Usually I go, haha, that's funny! But that day I exploded with laughter...all of their videos were just too funny.

I learned that when you’re losing weight and suddenly eat a lot, it alters your mind and body as if you smoked cannabis. (※ Just to be clear, I don’t know what cannabis is like.)

Thus the BU work ended with me being high as a kite.

(※ I’m covering it with mosaics for now. I’ll remove it once I can announce it.)

○ I stopped playing TRPGs. I’ve been doing it for about two and a half years, but it also helped me in honing my creative skills. I’d sometimes perform, so it was useful when I was recording the scratch vocals… It was a good experience, managing to vicariously live the energy of ending a story. It was a story about a group of friends, so it was easy to appreciate.

Summing up 2019

After the weekly series finished in 2018, I was in a daze for a few months, but in 2019 I worked only on Jack Jeanne for the year.

This year I tried various things, and trite as it may seem, felt the possibilities within myself expanding. I had many opportunities to realize how important it is to keep a distance from bad things that don’t do anything for me.

During my work on Jack Jeanne, I vaguely thought about my future creations. The work I’m doing now in game production is fun so I wonder if I can keep working in this field, but I’d also like an environment where I can release things more constantly.

I can’t promise anything specific, but I’m going to work on things that I want to do.

I look forward to what 2020 has to offer. Have a happy New Year.

2019.12.31 Ishida Sui

[do-what-the-knight-tells-you]

Blood is Rare (and Sweet like Cherry Wine): 8/8

Short Ficlets in a Witcher!AU for Sterek Valentines week

Beginning: tumblr / Ao3

(also, this one has a readmore cuz it got a lot longer than the other installments. whoops. sort of.)

For valentine’s, a bit late, First Kiss

(also I had a prettier twilight-on-river shot initially, but i figure the misty element probs matches the witcher show tone better. I’ll throw the pretty one on the end.)

7- Destroy with a Sweet Kiss

The fight goes sideways.

Derek was not supposed to be there, was supposed to be safely away, but the kikimore they’d been tracking had clearly turned and decided to track them, and it had caught them. Derek got out of the way fast, hauling on Roscoe’s reins to keep her clear of the fight while Stiles engaged, and slapped her into a short run once he thought they were unlikely to attract the attention of the embattled pair.

Stiles was holding his own, but twilight was falling, and the monster clearly had better vision (and more limbs). Derek knew Stiles had a potion he normally took to improve his vision during the hunt, but he hadn’t had a chance and, though Derek had seen a hand go for that pouch several times, it looked like he might not get one. Not seeing a better option, and not able to stand there and watch the person he loved be dragged into death, one small gash at a time, Derek got a stupid idea.

He picked his way around to the opposite side of the fight from where Roscoe had run off, collecting moderate sized stones on his way. Once on the other side, and with his eyes on his escape route, a clear path and large tree, much taller than the kikimore, Derek began to lob his projectiles at the monster.

By the third rock, it worked, Derek saw it lose focus and begin looking for him, saw Stiles get a hand into his pocket in the gathering dark… and realized he needed to make a run for it.

He tried.

Even as fast as he could be when he really made the effort, Derek was not fast enough, and not experienced enough still, clearly, to know better.

The creature caught him in midair, just as he was leaping for the lowest branches of his chosen tree. Derek had one profound moment to recognize the impact and change of trajectory, to wonder why there was force but no pain, before he hit another tree, and knew no more.

The next thing Derek was aware of was wetness on his face, and pain in his ribs, back, his whole torso. He tried to draw breath and it caught and he coughed, white-hot agony coursed through him.

He opened his eyes. Stiles was staring at him.

“You- you’re alive? How…”

Derek forced himself to look, to acknowledge the fucking tree branch protruding from his miserably destroyed doublet, grimaced and tried to get his breathing under control enough to say something, anything.

“Get. It out.”

Stiles looked so sad.

“Derek. It’s, you’ll bleed to death. If I pull it… you’re going to… there’s no way…”

Derek shook his head, coughing and spitting blood once more.

“Won’t” he managed to grind out.

Stiles just shook his head mutely.

Derek reached out with one hand, limply grasped a shoulder piece on the Witcher’s armor.

“Please.”

Stiles looked so resigned, so regretful. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if drawing strength. Opened them with determination.

“Are you sure? I mean there’s no… you’re not going to survive this either way, but… there’s maybe time…”

Derek shook his head, grabbed Stiles weakly with both hands, and tried to pull himself off the spike of wood.

Stiles made a noise almost like a sob, partially drowned out by Derek’s deep grunt of pain, slid his hand up Derek’s back, braced the other on the tree, and pulled.

With a sickening sucking sensation and sound, Derek came free, nearly passing out again in the immediate blood loss Stiles had known was coming, but Stiles, despite clearly believing it was futile, clearly believing he was witnessing his friend’s last moments, still did his best to apply pressure to the hole in Derek’s chest cavity. Derek clung to consciousness by his finger tips, focused on breathing.

Several minutes passed, and though the Witcher was still stooped with agony and grief, Derek cradled in his lap… Stiles’ look of desolation began to be edged out by confusion, and then, with the realization that the blood pool had stopped expanding, and Derek still wasn’t dead yet… maybe even a little hope?

After twenty minutes, twenty minutes of lying in Stiles’ lap, trying to figure a way out of the coming conversation and failing, Derek finally decided he was patched enough to talk without tearing something open.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles gaped.

“Am I? Am I okay? You ass. You utter… how are you alive??”

Derek offered a little smile.

“Destiny?”

“Shut the fuck up. You are so full of shit, you… seriously. How. What… what are you?”

And it was Derek’s turn to look away. All this time, and he still didn’t know how to say it, but it looked like his time was up.

“You, do you,” he paused, cleared his throat, and sucked it up. “When we first met, do you remember. The song?”

The witcher paused.

“Bisclarvet. The lai of Bisclarvet.”

Derek nodded, waiting for it to sink in, knowing he was probably healed enough to sit up, being completely unwilling to.

“You’re…” Derek could practically see the wheels turning. “You’re a werewolf.”

Derek forced himself to nod in a way that did not betray how badly he wished he could run. He turned his head at least, not wanting to see the moment his friend’s surprise turned to anger at the lies, hatred of what Derek was. Had always been.

He was surprised a moment later, when Stiles touched his face, gently, turned him back so there was no hiding.

“You can’t… I don’t know how you hid that from me all this time. I can usually…”

Derek smiled, a tiny bitter thing.

“I’m not just fastidious by nature.” It was mild, but the herbs he added to his personal oils and soaps had natural scent-suppressive properties. A decent enough feature in products meant to keep one smelling fresher and cleaner than one was, and as long as he didn’t do anything to enhanced that part of his scent, transform, or anything… “And I’ve a charm.”

Stiles frowned, touching his witcher pendant, “I would know…” his eyes went distant. “It’s on Filivandrel’s Lute, isn’t it?”

Derek nodded. He had figured, correctly it appeared, that the elf lord’s instrument was magical enough that Derek’s little notice-me-not charm would, indeed, be overlooked in the general swell of enchantment.

Stiles looked back at him, and Derek could quite clearly see the hurt in those normally guarded golden eyes. There was a song in that somewhere…

“Why… did you never… do you have that low opinion of me, that you would think I’d, I’d find out and could ever…”

Not really, but Derek couldn’t, it was a risk he could never… He sighed. Stiles had earned the whole story, many times over, and if he chose to depart Derek’s company after, then that was more than understandable.

Derek took a deep breath, and was distracted coughing again. Stiles, now fairly confident Derek was not about to die, propped Derek up against the faithful tree, whistled Roscoe back, and was offering Derek a water skin by the time he could breath again.

Fairly sure all his internal organs were intact, Derek drank greedily, realizing suddenly how desperate he was to replace all the fluid he’d lost.

Stiles sat in a sad silence until he’d drained the water completely, and then held out a compressed cake of nuts, fruit and honey, which Derek gratefully accepted.

Finally, Derek could put it off no longer.

He told him. He told him about falling out of trees as a child, about long golden afternoons on his family’s estate, rolling and frolicking, and being so happy and alive in their skins, he and all his siblings, safe in the knowledge that nothing could ever harm them, that no one would ever cross their mother.

He told him about the growing political tensions as he grew, and the thread of instability that crept into the pack when his uncle left, the fights he was not supposed to hear… and the woman in town to whom he went when it all became too much.

Derek forced himself to tell Stiles of his great mistake, how foolish he’d been, and what a price had been paid, by everyone but him, half the pack dead, their secrets aired to the world, their target hung neatly in the hunter halls for any newcomer to try to make his mark.

How, when he was old enough, he did what his remaining family could not bring themselves to ask him to do.

He left.

He’d always been drawn to music, had a good ear for it, liked the way performance and composition could let him forget sometimes, take him out of himself… he joined a bardic college, and didn’t go home.

He told stiles about his plan, his sorry little dream, his hope that, between the coin he sent home, and the sympathetic and nuanced portrayal of folk like himself he tried to spread, he could begin to pay back the damage he’d done, in his youth and arrogance.

His surprise to meet stiles, but the instant knowledge that this was it, this was how he made that difference, this was how he learned what could nt be found in books of men, and how he reached the far reaches of the known country.

Derek faltered a little, Stiles’ face betrayed nothing once again, and Derek decided enough damage he likely already been done. He took a swig from the new skin Stiles had passed him partway through the tale, and went for broke.

“And, I know that sounds like I only valued you for what you could do for me professionally, and it may have started out that way, but it hasn’t been like that for a long time. For a long time now, I’ve… And I know I’ve no right to ask for, for forgiveness or understanding, but I want you to know, that you are… you are everything. You have so much integrity, you’re kind and generous, and funny and brave, and, and beautiful, lords, and if I could ask one boon of the universe, it would be to be always by your side, in whatever capacity you would have me. I lo-”

And Stiles lunged forward, and kissed him.

It was not a gentle kiss, but Stiles was still clearly using every bit of his Witcher strength not to press upon any of Derek’s so recently knitted flesh, and Derek, as his brain finally caught up with his mouth (okay, he had a limited supply of blood to work with at the moment), decided his did not give a shit about guilt, or pain, or whatever, and he was going to take what was on offer, apparently. Goddamnit. He mustered his strength, and shoved back at Stiles, taking one moment to appreciate the look of surprise on the Witcher’s face as he fell on his ass, before following him down, claiming his mouth again, and laying them both out on the rocky ground.

—

Eventually the pain, and thirst was enough that they had to come up for air. Also Derek found he could only ignore the putrid mess of kikimore stuck to Stiles’ outfit for so long. Also, did he mention, really needed to be having a greater blood volume than he had if he wanted to be taking things much further. It took little persuasion, though a deal more coordination than Derek was prepared for, to get them both stripped and in a river (thank all gods it wasn’t winter).

Derek himself had drunk about half his weight (and made stiles go back for the rest of the honey cakes and jerky), by the time he deemed them both clean enough to not foul their fresh(ish) clothes and bedding, and began to make his way out of the water, when Stiles pulled him back. Derek would have been all for some swimming hanky-panky in other circumstances (his self-imposed celibacy/punishment on the circuit had not, in fact, diminished his libido, or increased his modesty a bit), but he really was still a little too light-headed to be sure of his ability to stay upright on the slick rocks for anything more than they’d already been up to… but the look on stiles face wasn’t lustful. There was a hunger there, Derek thought, but… oh.

Stiles was gently tracing the fresh pink skin on Derek’s torso.

“I had wondered,” the witcher began, swallowed, began again, “I had noticed that you had no scars to speak of. Your being genteel was not a surprise, though I had also wondered why, for as much as you play, your hands were still soft.” There was wonder in Stiles’ voice, as he traced the shape of Derek’s light musculature, traced the slight protrusion of collar bones, up his neck, finally across his face. Derek closed his eyes instinctively, as Stiles’ rough fingertips, only slightly softened in the water, glided across cheekbones and eyelids, thumbs joining a moment later to smooth the length of Derek’s brows. There was a long pause, and Derek let his eyes flutter open again, surprised, as ever, by the way the witcher practically glowed in moonlight.

“Show me?” Stiles whispered, and Derek knew what he meant. And for the first time in decades, it was easy, first to let the blue bleed into his eyes, and then to let the rest of the beta shift flow over him.

Stiles gasped a little, but didn’t pull away. His hands resumed the soft caress, and Derek had never felt so whole, complete, and seen, in his entire life.

--

fin

--

--

End notes:

Who knows, we could come back to this, I feel there’s still a lack of witcher/werewolf sex, which can’t help but be good (mutual scent kiink anyone? Also neither having to hold back, because they are well matched in physical strength/durability. But also also probs some real tender lovin’ at some point, probs at least once when stiles truly processes the idea that he might have found a partner whose lifespan could match his own holy shit he might not have to bury Derek). But also, I felt like Derek needed some sleep first, and didn’t want to start a new section. So that’s it for now!

Bits that didn’t make it in:

Stiles being grumpy over the idea of spoiled, genteel werewolves. Derek coming to their defense, explaining that Laura and Cora, his two surviving siblings, were actually much more, uh, physically inclined than he was, Laura training to be the next alpha, presumably, and Cora, a knight, in service to a bit of a warrior queen (lydia, absolutely).

Stiles insisting that derek needed:

1. Fighting clothes

2. To learn how to fight properly. Like, stiles was not intended to subject him to the worst of the hunts, but the showing derek had put up with the kikimore was pitiful, and even a werewolf probs couldn’t survive being beheaded or eaten, so. Self-defense at least.

Eventually, Stiles helps Derek decide to go home again. Cue teary reunions, forgiveness, and maybe Derek getting called out on having found his mate and not telling anyone. Including, oops, well, now the witcher knows. XD

[Masterlist]

[arosnowflake]

Cracks in Concrete

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Wordcount: 4285

Warnings: a panic attack, general mental health issues, canon-typical use of cults (albeit it with minor implications that the Psycho Helmet Cult had more negative influences on its users than portrayed in canon). 

Summary: Character study/character development fic of Mezato, and how she grows up after the Divine Tree Arc. 

Notes: Mezato has ADHD in this fic, because I’m ADHD and I love her. 

///

Mezato woke up in the middle of the street, and around her, a crowd of people did the same. They blinked, stumbled, clutched their head as they looked around in confusion, a cacophony of voices asking each other what had happened, how they’d gotten here. Among the crowd there were members of the Psycho Helmet C ult she recognized, but also classmates, acquaintances, and many, many strangers; it was as if the entire town had simultaneously flowed into the streets for some kind of parade, only to then forget who’d organized the event in the first place.

The ground shook, someone screamed, and then, the Divine Tree was floating. It raised itself up from the earth and towards the sky, following a flock of birds towards the horizon. Still in a daze, Mezato raised her camera to snap a picture, only to find her fingers wouldn’t move.

“It must be Lord Psycho Helmet,” Eiji muttered next to her, wonder in his eyes as he looked up towards the flying broccoli.

Mezato didn’t answer. She simply watched as the Tree disappeared from view.

///

The only thing the News Club would talk about was the Divine Tree, and the mass amnesia the city had experienced. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing any kind of news outlet would talk about, even as the citizens of Seasoning City slowly began to accept and forget it, as they always did when something strange occurred.

“The disappearance of the Divine Tree was most peculiar, yes,” said the news anchor. “But for many people, the most distressing part was finding themselves on the streets with no memory of how they’d gotten there. Of the theories proposed, mass hypnosis seems to have the most credibility, but it’s likely we will never find an answer to the question of what happened that fateful day the Divine Tree uprooted itself.”

Forums on the internet were dedicated to answering that question. What was left of the Psycho Helmet Cult was convinced that it was their Lord who’d done it. They might be right. If anyone was capable of pulling off a stunt like this, it was Mob.

But whenever she thought about it, tried to figure out an answer herself, she got nauseous, and something settled heavily into her chest, an emotion she hadn’t felt in years.

Somehow, Mezato thought that all this might’ve been her fault.

///

Her phone rang and rang, but when she kept ignoring it, eventually, Eiji stopped calling. She should’ve picked up, at least done him the decency of saying she was quitting the cult, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mob was acting strange. Had been since the Divine Tree incident. Maybe it was just because Mezato watched him much more closely than she had before, but he seemed lost - or well, more lost than normal. Recently, he’d gained confidence and drive, and while he didn’t lose all of that, it seemed a bit off now. Sometimes, he’d drift off in class, or glance at nothing and seemed startled for no reason, or fall still when writing, his pen hovering over his notebook. When he did put pen on paper, he took less notes in class, and just seemed to doodle some kind of cloud over and over again.

It was always hard to tell with Mob, inexpressive as he was, but if you payed attention to the details, you could reasonable draw the conclusion that there was something wrong with him.

Mezato considered pursuing it, like she normally would when she smelled a good story, and this could be a good story indeed. Mob acting like he’d lost something right after the Divine Tree had been removed from the city, combined with the knowledge that Mob had psychic powers, made for a strong possibility that he’d been involved in whatever had happened back then. If she could get the story out of him, she could sell it to actual news outlets, rather than being content with her little part in the school paper. It would be the smart move, and could possibly be interesting, too.

Mezato let it go. They weren’t close enough for these kinds of discussions.

///

None of her pictures had any pizzaz anymore. The composition was flat, the lighting bad, and the meaning missing. She struggled to write anything for the school paper that month, staring blankly at her laptop for hours before finally giving up and slamming it shut.

It wasn’t for a lack of interesting material; there was plenty of that. Even aside from the Divine Tree incident, there was change brewing within Salt Mid; Takane Tsubomi, most popular girl in school, was moving away, bringing all her admirers crawling out of the woodwork. Even Mob was planning to confess, and although, in all honesty, Mezato didn’t expect anything to come from it, she did hope for his sake it would work out.

She could write about the actual lines that had been formed by confessors, how Tsubomi had politely yet firmly turned all of them down, speculate on whether that was because someone else held her heart or because she was moving away soon, pretend that her turning down boys whom she’d never even spoken too before was somehow unreasonable. She had plenty of material to write a salacious story.

And yet, she couldn’t. All she had to show for hours of agonizing work was a blank Word document.

She let the deadline slide by, and didn’t offer any answers when the president came knocking.

///

Without the Psycho Helmet Cult or the News Club to distract her, all Mezato had to do was her schoolwork, and she’d never been good at that. She was plenty smart, but as soon as you put a worksheet in front of her, she lost all ability to think. It didn’t matter how much distractions she removed from her workplace, she would always drift off. Even a blank wall was somehow more interesting than her homework.

So she sat in her room and stared at her books, willing herself to write a summary, to study for the upcoming exams. The words blurred together, there but meaningless; she’d reread this paragraph fifteen times, and still couldn’t tell you what it said. The silence was maddening.

Vaguely, Mezato remembered the reveal of Lord Psycho Helmet, streamed for all Psycho Helmet followers to see. The Lord’s face was blurry, a spot she couldn’t quite place, but she knew it wasn’t Mob, because she’d never gone to pick him up. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t. She couldn’t remember why she’d dismissed him, the next morning. She couldn’t remember why she’d helped distribute Divine Tree candy. She couldn’t remember why she’d encouraged people to pray to the Divine Tree. Then, she couldn’t remember much of anything.

Had there been something in the candy? Had she somehow helped to brainwash the entire city?

She clicked her pen, again and again and again. She could say that she’d never wanted that, that she’d never wanted to hurt people, but, well, she ran a cult. But it was a nice cult, really more of a club than anything, not anything like the ones you saw on TV, the way the (LOL) Cult had worked, where people became zombies completely dependent on the cult doctrine. It was just a group of people coming together in shared admiration for the mysterious Lord Psycho Helmet.

Only he wasn’t so mysterious to her at all, was he? She knew who he’d been since the start. She could’ve told everyone, put an end to the mystery real soon. And without the mystery, the cult wouldn’t have lasted; much as she wished he was different, Mob simply didn’t have the charisma to keep a group that large together. She’d seen how he’d behaved when he ran for the student council. He wouldn’t have lasted a minute on stage.

So why had she been so insistent to get him up there, then? Why had she kept the cult alive, why had she kept pressuring Mob to lead it? What did she have to gain from it?

Her leg was bouncing, and her pen had started leaking. She laid it aside, calmed her leg, sat back and stared at her textbooks.

She slammed them shut and stood up, shoving the chair so roughly it creaked. She’d take a walk. Maybe afterwards, she would actually be able to concentrate.

///

The boredom was suffocating. The teacher droned on, his words turning to gibberish before they reached her ears, and Mezato tuned it out, staring blankly at the board to give the impression she was paying attention.

In the end, those were the questions she kept returning to, again and again. Why had she lead the Psycho Helmet cult? Why had she tried to force Mob to lead it, despite knowing he couldn’t?

Why had she wanted to start that cult in the first place? Why had she decided to investigate the (LOL) Cult? Why had she joined the News Club?

She was bored. She was restless, but bouncing her leg or drumming her fingers or clicking her pen or anything else would get her in trouble, so she sat as still as she could and tried to ignore the way her muscles itched. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped her pen, as she gripped it tighter and tighter in an attempt to relieve the stress without actually moving, until -

Crack. It broke, sending the plastic casing flying off her desk and spilling ink all over her hand.

“Miss Mezato, care to explain what happened?”

The whole class was looking at her. Mezato groaned.

“Any day now, Miss Mezato.”

“I broke my pen, sir.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Please go clean your hand, and get cleaning supplies from the janitor to tidy your mess.”

Ink had dripped all over her desk now, too. She stood up, carefully keeping her hands in front of her to avoid more ink onto her uniform, and hurried towards the toilet.

The ink was easy enough to wash off. Mezato watched it disappear down the drain, staring at the streaming water.

She was bored. She was always bored. Things only excited her for so long before she had to move on to something new, something shinier, something that she could explore, until she’d inevitably grow bored of that as well. Was that why she hadn’t been able to write anything for the paper?

Her hand was getting cold under the stream, but she couldn’t get herself to move. Was this how it was going to be? Was she just going to flit from one transient thing to the next for her whole entire life, never satisfied, always hungry for something she’d never get to eat?

Her hands shook. She tried to turn the faucet off, but couldn’t find a grip on the handle. She leaned on the counter, trying to breathe.

She couldn’t study for her exams. She could tell herself that she’d be able to do so next year, but that’s what she’d told herself her entire life. It’s what she told her parents when they scolded her, and she knew it was a lie. She wouldn’t be able to study any better next year, and she’d never be able to get into a good high school, let alone keep up with the studies required there. She’d have to drop out, and what then? What kind of future did she have?

She pressed her hand against her mouth, leaning over until she rested against the mirror, trying to focus on the cold glass against her forehead, but her heart was going a hundred miles an hour and her hand didn’t stop her from hyperventilating and oh god, she was having a panic attack over a stupid broken pen in the filthy school bathroom, great, fantastic, fucking awesome, she thought she was done with this goddamnit, but nooo, something as small as this was enough to set her off again because lord knows her emotions couldn’t just behave normally for once in her fucking life -

A pair of hands pulled her back from the mirror, and in reflex, she punched at them, hitting air. Everything was blurry, and she was pushed towards the ground, and then her head was pushed onto her knees, and she heard someone say something, but couldn’t understand what it was. Her breathing was erratic, and she desperately tried to gasp for air at the same time she tried to remind herself not to, because no, she wasn’t out of breath, she wasn’t dying, she was just hyperventilating and she needed to take less breath not more, she knew that, she did, but it was just so hard.

From somewhere, a voice filtered in. “Breathe in, one, two, three, four, five, hold, one, two, breathe out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breathe in, one, two, three, four, five -”

She latched onto the rhythmic counting, matching her breaths to the rhythmic counting, and slowly, slowly, she found herself coming down. The ground beneath her was cool, her uniform somewhat itchy, and the bathroom stalls smelled as horrid as ever. With a final deep breath, she lifted her head, blinking her eyes against the harsh, flat light.

Next to her was Tsubomi, sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor, staring at her with a blank expression.

“Are you okay?” she asked, monotone.

“Yeah,” Mezato said, her voice hoarse. Tsubomi nodded.

“Good. See you.” As she went to stand up, Mezato felt her throat constrict, and without thinking, she grabbed her sleeve.

“Stay,” she said, and tried very hard not to beg.

Tsubomi studied her for a bit, then sat back down. Mezato relaxed, focused on her breathing again, tried to return to a better state of mind.

They sat there for a while, on the bathroom floor underneath the sinks. Mezato barely even noticed Tsubomi, but her presence was just enough to help keep her grounded in reality.

“You know,” she finally said, after her legs relaxed enough for her to move them. “most people stay with someone after a panic attack. To make sure that they’ll be fine.”

Tsubomi just stared at her with that blank expression. “You said you were okay, so I assumed you were.”

There was a flaw in logic there, probably, but her brain was too scattered to find it.

“How did you know what to do?” she asked instead.

Tsubomi shrugged. “Panic attacks really aren’t that special. I know at least five people who get them on the regular.”

“Yourself included?”

“I’m not telling that to the school reporter.”

Mezato managed to snort at that. “C’mon, I’m not fishing for a story here. Haven’t even written anything for them in over a month.”

Tsubomi didn’t ask why. Neither did she answer the question. After a few seconds of silence, Mezato pressed: “Seriously, I won’t tell anyone. I really owe you one after that.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Tsubomi said bluntly. “I don’t know you, and this is personal.”

Oh. That was... fair, actually.

Mezato shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your business.”

Again, silence. It was awkward, but Mezato felt that she could be forgiven for not keeping the conversation going, under circumstances.

“Can I have my sleeve back?” Tsubomi asked.

Mezato blinked. Finally, she noticed that she still held Tsubomi’s uniform in a vine-like grip.

She let go, and Tsubomi pulled her arm back. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Mezato’s first instinct was to say yes, but remembering Tsubomi’s earlier reaction, she shook her head.

Tsubomi shifted. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?”

“Yeah.” Mezato drummed her fingers against her leg. “Hey, why did you help me?”

Tsubomi pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, thinking. “It just seemed needlessly mean to leave you there when I could help,” she finally declared.

“You don’t seem like the type of person who cares for people you don’t really know,” Mezato replied, tapping her feet.

Tsubomi raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?”

“You turned down an entire line of suitors one by one, ruthlessly.”

Tsubomi rolled her eyes, quite possibly the loudest expression of emotion she’d made thusfar. “I didn’t even know any of them. I could’ve ignored them entirely, or turned them all down at once. Instead, I took the time to turn them down individually, because that was the polite thing to do.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just because I don’t let people walk over me doesn’t mean I’m cruel.”

Mezato stared at her for a while, and she stared back, not even blinking.

“How do you do it?” Mezato finally asked.

“Do what?”

“Just...” Mezato gestured to all of her. “You really seem to know what you want.”

“I mean, it’s not hard to figure out you don’t want to date someone you’ve never spoken to,” she said, deadpan.

“Well yeah, but like -” Mezato made a noise of frustration. “I can’t place it. It’s just. I have this feeling that you aren’t easily persuaded to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Well, neither are you,” Tsubomi retorted. “You’re well known for being stubborn, Mezato.”

“I know, but...” she trailed off, closing her eyes. Her feet tapped against the bathroom floor, and she counted to its rhythm. It was strange how infiltrating a cult was easier than speaking honestly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, refusing to look at Tsubomi. “I’m probably not gonna get through high school, I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up - I have nothing to do, really. I distract myself with an endless string of hobbies that never go anywhere, and still, I’m always bored, and that’s the only thing I can see for myself in the future. Just an endless sea of boredom.”

Tsubomi blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to give your life meaning in a public bathroom?”

Mezato burst out laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and laughed harder than she had in months, perhaps even years. When she finally finished, looking up through her tears at Tsubomi, she saw that even she had cracked a smile.

“Alright, fair enough.” She rubbed her eyes. “Guess I gotta figure that out myself.”

“I can’t do that for you,” Tsubomi confirmed. “I barely even know you.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Mezato waved a hand. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“It’s okay.” Tsubomi seemed to hesitate for a bit, then added: “Maybe buy a lollipop on your way back home.”

Mezato blinked. “What?”

“They always help me calm down.”

Tsubomi stood up and rubbed the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Are you okay?” she asked, holding out a hand.

Mezato grabbed it, and let Tsubomi help her up. “Yeah,” she answered, and she meant it, this time.

///

Why had she joined the News Club?

Why had she started the Psycho Helmet Cult?

Why had she tried to persuade Mob to lead it?

Because she was bored. Because she needed a goal. Because she needed something to give her life meaning.

Eiji picked up after only one ring. “Mezato!” he cried out, his voice tinny through the phone. “I’m so glad to hear from you!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she said, and she didn’t quite mean it, but she was getting there, maybe. “I’ve been going through a rough time lately, and I don’t think I can keep up with you guys. Sorry, I’m going to have to rescind my leadership position.”

Eiji sighed. “That’s a shame, but we did expect something like that. Losing the Divine Tree was hard on us all, and after the earthquake in January, I certainly don’t blame you.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated for a second, tempted to chicken out, but she steeled herself and asked: “Eiji, why do you follow our religion?”

When the answer came, it sounded baffled. “Because Lord Psycho Helmet gives my life meaning, of course. Because he does so for all of us.”

She breathed in. Breathed out. “A word of friendly advice. Find something else to chase.”

“What do you mean?”

She thought. And she thought. “Nevermind,” she finally said.

They hung up, and Mezato stared at the ceiling.

///

Mob had been doing better since the disaster in January. He was much more alert, didn’t look like he lost something, and in many ways, he seemed more relaxed than he’d ever been before. It was a sag of his shoulders, an easier way of talking; small things, like always with Mob, but they made a world of difference.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

He turned, waving at his brother to go on, and said “Sure, what is it? Does the Pyscho Helmet Cult want something?”

“Ah, no.” She tapped her fingers on her leg. “I dropped them, honestly.”

Mob raised his eyebrow, only a little bit; she was paying attention and even she barely noticed. “Really? I didn’t think you ever would, to be honest.”

“Well, I guess you could say I got some perspective, recently.”

There fell a silence. Mob stared at her, didn’t make a move to continue the conversation, and for the first time, she understood what he might have seen in Tsubomi. They were unnervingly similar, in a way.

“Listen.” She clenched her fist, then relaxed. “I need to ask you a question, okay?”

Mob cocked his head. “What is it?”

And before she could lose the nerve, she rushed out: “That whole mess with the Divine Tree. Was that my fault?”

Mob blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s pretty clear that the problems started thanks to the Psycho Helmet Cult, which I was directly responsible for.” Her voice sounded steely, confident. Good. “Or at the very least, it wouldn’t have spread as quick as it did without them - without us, me. I don’t remember a whole lot from back then, but I think that, whatever it was, I was at least partly responsible for it. Is that right?”

Mob was silent for a while. “You’re sort of right,” he finally admitted, slow and deliberate. “Without the Psycho Helmet Cult, whatever it was probably wouldn’t have spread as quickly as it did. My memories were also wiped, but I talked with someone whose weren’t, and he confirmed that the Psycho Helmet Cult was instrumental to city’s brainwashing.”

Mezato clenched her fists.

“But,” Mob added. “he could’ve done it without you. You just happened to be there, and be convenient. So I wouldn’t say it’s your fault.”

Mezato let out a deep breath. “I - thanks. That’s nice to hear.”

She stood up, squared her shoulders. “I have one more thing to say.”

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath, and made sure to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Mob blinked. “What for?”

“For using you.” She looked him in the eyes. “I wanted you to lead the Psycho Helmet Cult not because I thought you genuinely could, but because it would be entertaining to see you try, and because it was entertaining to try and convince you. I’ve grown to genuinely like you, and I started convincing myself I really just wanted to give you a chance, but I was lying to both myself and you. I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh.” Mob shifted, breaking the eye contact. “That’s okay. I’m glad you admitted it, though.”

Mezato blinked. “That’s it?”

Mob stared. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just...” She started playing with the hem of her shirt. “I treated you pretty badly, because I didn’t really care about you, at first. I don’t care about a lot of people, honestly. I try to, but it’s hard, and I forget to try pretty often. So this just feels a bit too easy, I guess? Shouldn’t you be angrier?”

Mob shrugged. “You apologized, you seem like you mean it, and like you’re trying to do better. It’s in the past, and you won’t do it again, so you’re okay now.”

Mezato gaped. “I just admitted to not really caring about other people, and you think I can do better?”

“Well, at least you’re self aware about it. That’s a good start.” He frowned. “Wasn’t that something you said about Tsubomi, though? That it seemed like she didn’t care about people?”

“Yeah.” Mezato scratched her neck. “I might’ve been projecting a little.”

“That makes sense,” Mob said, shifting his bag. “Was that all?”

For a moment, Mezato floundered, then confirmed: “That was all.”

“Okay. See you later, Mezato.” Mob turned to walk away, but stopped short.

“Actually,” he began, reaching into his bag. “I have a friend that you might like.”

Mezato raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”

“Yes.” He pulled out his phone. “His name’s Hanazawa Teruki, and he goes to Black Vinegar. I think you two might get along.”

He looked up at her. “You want his number?”

She stared at him for a second, then cracked a smile. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.”

///

She made the next deadline for the News Club, turning in an all-out expose on the delinquent war between Salt Mid and Black Vinegar. The president was lyrical and the paper was well-read; the article was a slam success.

She’d written nearly all of it in one go, and when she’d been done, she’d sat back, smiling.

She might not know what she wanted to do in the future, but she knew what she wanted to do right now, and maybe that was okay. She was still young. She had time to grow.

For now, she had a fantastic article, a new friend, a bag of lollipops in her drawer, and she’d be fine.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Boyfriend! Kim Jaehwan

Thank you for requesting this @hyukwonz! It’s been awhile since I’ve done a Boyfriend scenario, so let’s hope I can do this one justice! Jaehwan is such an interesting character, so let’s find out how he’d be as a boyfriend.

Please note: his Different Kisses was also requested and will be posted tomorrow. They will directly tie into this scenario.

Confessing:

Like most things in life for Jaehwan, if he wants something, he’s going to do his very best to get it. He noticed you on campus at the start of the first semester, charmed by how you stood out from the rest. He had learned you were an art student, and whilst you seemed much more reserved than he was, you definitely knew who you were as an individual and that attracted him. But you were aloof in behaviour when he tried to approach you, giving him short answers and polite smiles before departing quickly.

It took him some effort to actually get you alone enough to ask you out on a date, and even when he did, well, you seemed to have a lot of excuses. He wondered if you just weren’t all that interested in him.

That wasn’t the case at all. Jaehwan steadily became the muse for all your art, secretly drawing him in your sketchbook over and over at night when you couldn’t get him off your mind. Sometimes he’d end up within your projects too; his hands or his eyes captured by your pencil only becoming obvious when you finished. He was a distraction. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to date him, you really did. But you had made a promise to yourself that for the first year at university there would be no boys. You wanted to establish good grades and friendships but nothing more. You didn’t even know where you would have the time to date either with how busy your schedule each day was. Frankly, you over-thought the situation and that’s why you became flustered whenever Jaehwan would approach you, wanting to run and hide in case you blurted out how much you thought of him in an embarrassing way.

By the second semester, he backed off though. You heard from friends that Jaehwan had really liked someone and they had turned him down after all attempts. It made you feel guilty but you managed to continue through, chanting that you were here to get good grades in art, not kissing. When you also heard Jaehwan was planning one last attempt and would give up after this, it made you strangely hopeful. For the next two days, you floated around campus in a daze, waiting to see what Jaehwan was going to do next. When nothing happened though, you filled with dread. What if they hadn’t meant you? You tried to keep your head down and focus on your semester project and not on foolish daydreams of you painting whilst Jaehwan played his guitar.

It was actually the sound of a guitar that attracted you to the court the next day. He was strumming his guitar outside the art building too eagerly and had garnered a small crowd, enjoying the free show. When you stepped into the circle and he spotted you, there was more than just the guitar sounds. The crowd gasped when he started to sing, his love confession strongly delivered through the song.

It was obvious it was for you with the way he stared at you as he said each word, smiling a little when the crowd encouraged him on. And on the final line of the song, he mentioned your name, asking if you would finally accept his heart.

Of course, you did. I mean, you couldn’t let such an amazing performance go to waste in front of everyone, right? But on a serious note, you had been so touched by the song that all resolve you had to ban yourself from dating was all forgotten then.

Starting out:

Once you got over the initial worry about dating Jaehwan, it was surprisingly very easy to grow comfortable around him and his playful nature.

Physical affection started almost from the beginning too and soon you were that college couple that everyone wanted to hate but couldn’t because they were too envious at how in love you both were.

Lots of cuddles and sweet moments occurred when you were together, but it was evident he had a really quirky and fun side to him right away too.

Although his loudness took a little to get used to when you’re a quiet person by nature, you enjoyed the vibrancy and colour he added to your world and the encouragement to break out of the structured lifestyle you maintained was exciting.

You were both different from each other, and sure, sometimes it meant you had to work to understand each other more, overall it made your relationship interesting and worth all the added learning on how to work together.

Dating pros:

Everything is always exciting and interesting with Jaehwan. He adds an element of anticipation to everything you do together just with how hyped up he often is. It keeps you on your toes and you like this about him.

He’s comfortable, you know that even when he’s joking around he’s only doing it to have fun with you. This has taught you to relax and allow yourself to be whatever you want to be around him without judgement.

His goal in life is to see you smile and be happy and he fulfils this every day he is with you. There is no way you’re not happy when he’s around. Even if you’ve had a really bad day, Jaehwan knows how to turn it around and have you smiling in no time.

He’ll do anything for you. He might whine as he does it or tease you incessantly, but he’s never going to let you down when you need him.

And on that note, he’s very much so a tease to you all the time. He loves hearing you whine and begging him to stop, it’s something that makes him feel fulfilled when he’s got your full attention like that. He finds you the cutest when he’s teasing you and often diffuses it with lots of kisses.

He’s the ideal romantic underneath all that joking he does, he is the proper wine, dine and cherish you kind of guy. I mean, he confessed with a freaking love song! He is well in touch with his emotions.

His laughter is so loud and piercing yet it’s addictive and makes your energy levels rise with it.

Jaehwan is dedicated. He works hard at any goal he wants to achieve, in a methodical and admirable way. He constantly challenges himself to be a better person and partner, and you’ve noticed yourself influenced by his mannerisms, striving for your own goals with better precision than before.

This means you’re a very productive couple who speak often about any problems that arise and have solutions for them promptly. Communication is a huge part of your relationship, both through playful and serious moods, and you can understand each other very well now.

He knows when to be extra, but more importantly, Jaehwan is able to tell when he needs to tone it down, which is such an attractive feature to him. Get yourself a man who can do it all.

He has an odd sense of humour and in the beginning you didn’t understand it completely, but now you live for all his dumb jokes and get excited when you can give him one back.

He’s very affectionate and showers you in physical and emotional attention which you give back in equal amounts too.

Will happily pose for you whenever you need him to for your artwork and openly offers to be your nude model teasingly (which he’s done from the start and was the cause of many of your earlier blushing sessions until things got intimate).

Likewise, you understand his music is very important to him, and you support him by listening to his compositions, and helping him fine tune anything that’s not quite right to you.

Ending this here, he has the voice of an angel. How are you not blessed whenever he sings to you? Lullabies, ballads, upbeat bops, he is always singing and serenading you.

Dating cons:

Even though you love his happy bursts of energy, some days you are too tired/stressed for his antics, and it irks you when he can’t take anything serious (even though he’s very capable at doing so). He’ll tone it down immediately when he notices your mood, but sometimes it’s a bit too late for you.

His laughter is amazing, but it’s also very loud. In fact, he’s just loud by nature. On days when you need to think, he’s not the first choice of person you choose to be around.

He sometimes pushes himself too hard when striving for his goals. He can easily get wound up and self-critical and whilst he has a great determination to get to the other side, he can often get so invested that his focus on you or your relationship can be pushed aside to cater for this greater need he has to improve/meet his deadline. Whilst you understand this as a fellow artist always striving for further realism and creativity from yourself, you wished he would sit back a little and enjoy the process, instead of rushing through.

Since becoming an idol, he’s naturally been a lot more invested with his work, and it was hard to deal with in the beginning since you started dating before his big break. You knew his determination would always make him succeed with his dreams but it was definitely hard on you both to adjust to his idol life.

He’s domestically challenged and very lazy. It’s ironic how lazy he is when it comes to how driven he is, but he prioritises things very differently from some people and being clean or doing chores is not something he puts high on his list. If you ask him to do something, he’ll try so A+ for effort, but his actual efforts aren’t worth praising and you’ve just naturally adapted to doing all the cooking and cleaning for proficiency.

When arguing, he’s petty and easily wound up which makes you defensive. Fighting can be loud and dramatic.

He’s clumsy, but so are the best kind of people in life (aka me). So you know to have the first aid kit well stocked and heaps of healing kisses on standby!    

Intimacy:

Jaehwan is a passionate lover and knows what he wants from his partner.

He’s always been very strong with his PDA from the beginning and to this day he showers you in his attention no matter where you both are. He’ll also expect it back, and whine if you don’t offer it up right away.

Forehead kisses and back hugs!!

Always touching you, no matter where you are, he has to have a hand on you at all times, a constant connection is important to him.

Loves days where all you do is snuggle up together and eat good food (cooked by you or take outs because you’ll never let him in the kitchen again after he almost burned it down that one time).

Because he’s naturally affectionate, kisses happen often and so does making out. You can read more about his kisses in the link in the reblog (coming soon).

Making out with Jaehwan is where things get easily worked up so you have a pretty active sex life.

He likes to be in control and hear you beg.

A needy lover, Jaehwan wants to make sure all his wants are met whilst meeting all yours as well.

Not so much of a slow and sensual guy but he can make that happen if you want it.

Prefers making love with you in a way that is loud and active. Definitely vocal in bed and knows how to have you singing out all night long, if you get what I mean.

Morning sex is his favourite and because he’s naturally a tease, he’ll often wake you up with his hands and lips as opposed to anything endearing and soft.

Long and arduous sex sessions are a must after being away from you for too long.

Aftercare is somewhat lazy but he has a way of looking at you as if you are a piece of artwork.

And to him, you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen so he’d definitely admire you in that satisfied glow you feel after sex and tell you just how much he loves you until you fall asleep together.

Dating Jaehwan is lively and full of the unexpected. Even from the start, you anticipated what he would do with you, and nothing has changed there. Although you know each other well, you know he’ll continue to keep you guessing for the rest of your lives and that’s part of the reason you love him so much. Even though you are complete opposites, you definitely attract endless love and excitement from each other.

____________________

I accept requests on other idols for the Boyfriend! series whenever my requests are open! To check to see if I’ve written your bias already, check the reblog or my bio for the Boyfriend! Masterlist and my Main Masterlist. 

[whatscallion]

don’t panic!

Pairing: Flirtatiously Quill x Unnamed OC ( it’ll make sense )

A/N: This is the first time I’ve really done an OC / Reader insert deal, but figured that the writing challenge set by @spxderbarnes would be a good time to start! Besides, who doesn’t enjoy Quill (okay, ignoring infinity war bc obvious reasons). Hope I did this remotely right. Lots of references to one of my favorite book series, and a fun film - ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. Best if read in the voice of Stephen Fry. Summary: A failed date at Milliways, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that is unabashedly crashed by a group of rowdy individuals - including one Star Lord. Shooting and great hair ensues. Word Count: 3,097

Special thanks to @cptsteven for dialogue help.

There were once stories written in the stars, carefully planned as to not tip any balance one way or another. There are those who wish to see this done, just for the sake of planetary chaos. This rarely bode well for the galaxy’s inhabitants. Yet amidst it all, there tended to be a common denominator, one that would surprise even the most powerful of beings.

And he had a knack for timing.

Milliways was, as always, a popular destination for all kinds of critters across the universe, both intelligent and not. The establishment boasted its exotic dishes through dismal advertising - most of which was by word of mouth, passing through the different curls of languages painting the cosmos. It was most known for its drinks, all of which required an incredibly high pain tolerance in order to consume. If that was survived, then surely the hangover would do the trick in granting untimely death. Fortunately enough, only about 5% of the universe’s populace could actually afford such a drink, so lesser beings didn’t have to worry, often opting for the local tap water, which was arguably just as bad.

But there she was - that bored girl from Terra who’d been unfortunately stood up in one of the most far-reaching restaurants anyone has or hasn’t heard of. How she managed to get there required a ridiculous amount of impossible abnormality. It was enough to require a change of clothing and sugary coffee to get by all those stars and that unending void. But it did end, in a sense, because that’s where Milliways was. There were all kinds of physics surrounding how it managed to ride the wave of the expanding universe, offering unparalleled views into a very true and very seamless abyss, but that was neither here nor there.

The tap water had something of a metallic taste to it, and our girl only took a sip or two before finally letting that scowl bleed through to compound her already lacking disposition. Through months of travelling as an unexpected guest aboard some intergalactic pirate ship, the novelty of alien compositions had worn off completely. Every possible color of the rainbow had come in every possible shape and texture any one being could think of. The excitement of the Final Frontier had waned, just as the restaurant’s atmosphere had over the course of several millennia. A once posh venue serving only the elite, Milliways had degraded itself to a tourist trap with questionable patrons and even more questionable dishes.

She grumbled about her absent date, expressing her disdain for what she’d been dressed in ( iridescent mesh had not been her choice, but that of the ship’s captain ) through a deep sneer and a subtle fidget. It was also incredibly uncomfortable, but of course, she’d been reassured she’d draw more attention than a Ta’avarian on the planet Nucleux, whatever that meant. It was becoming more and more apparent that the ship she’d been on had been waiting to unload their unwitting bounty to get on with their lives rather than pander to a fragile Terran who couldn’t even hold her breath for longer than a minute.

For a moment, she wondered how improbable it was to get a hamburger in this place that was made from a discernible meat. But thoughts were ceased as the doors to the restaurant whipped open to reveal a handful of very colorful individuals who immediately commanded attention through presence alone.

That and they were quite loud.

A tree ent, a raccoon ( that she assumed lived in a nest on the tree ent ), a scowling green woman, a larger scowling green man with intricate markings ( which she assumed was the reason he was shirtless in a restaurant ), and a man who looked surprisingly normal despite wearing green ( short ) gym shorts, a sweater, and flip flops. Never in her life had the Terran seen such a diverse group of individuals, prompting her to stare longer than what was deemed admissible, even by a Kloxin’s standards. For those unaware of the race known as ‘Kloxins’, they are an arachnid type species that can ensnare the mind if all eight eyes are met simultaneously. This would wreak havoc on the universe if everyone had eight eyes as well, so the Kloxins are doomed to simply control one another for the time being until evolution can throw them a bone.

The seemingly rowdy group went and sat in the corner of the restaurant, which held a perfect view of absolutely nothing while boasting about shooting this or slicing into that. The Terran girl only looked away when she felt the dryness of her tongue since her jaw had dropped somewhat. Right when she thought she’d seen it all, or at least became numb to it all, she became surprised at what this team was comprised of. She turned in her seat, greeted only with her reflection in the mirror at the back of Milliway’s bar, though it was frowning at her. Envy, curiosity, anxiety - they all wracked through her system, and she’d offered whatever imaginary greater force her soul in exchange for regular clothing. Her kingdom for denim. Whoever that was was obviously busy, for her attire didn’t change in the slightest, bringing her to groan in self-pity.

Hidden behind her hands that had been stained blue since first being picked up off her planet, there was a subtle shift in the space next to her. Some sort of extra-sensory thing she wished she could put her finger on, choosing to believe cosmic radiation had started to change her when really, she was just being perceptive and it was oddly quiet. She peeked through her fingers, finding that the most normal of that loud crowd had chosen to sit beside her, though he wasn’t looking at her.

She couldn’t help but glance down at the gym shorts that looked as if they’d gotten two inches shorter since he’d entered the place.

“You look normal,” he finally said, just before hailing down the robotic bartender for a glass of tap water, neat. “Like you’re not from anywhere near Centuri or anything.”

For those unaware, the radiation belt surrounding Centuri covers millions upon millions of lightyears of space, thus turning most inhabitants into something that resembles what your aunt would bring to Thanksgiving for dessert: globby, bits of things floating in it, and unappetizing in color.

“Uh,” she started, unaware that she’d been served something that resembled a hamburger, but strong suspicions would have her believe it was merely a facade for something tasting akin to celery. Mind reading robots tended to operate that way, acting on visual dreams rather than the substance that created them. “I guess I’m normal? I don’t know what to categorize as normal. Earth isn’t very normal to begin with.”

This managed to grab the man’s attention, bringing him to turn in his seat to face her completely, making it increasingly difficult to not steal another glance at the magically diminishing shorts. His eyes were alight with curiosity and relation, which forced the Terran to assume he knew the planet she was from. She could only hope that his opinions of the place were good, making him one of the very few she’d come across with the right attitude. More often than not, she feigned being from Earth’s moon which was the equivalent to being from America’s Alaska when traveling abroad.

Same neighborhood, but unassociated to those who don’t know better.

“Earth? Really? Hey, I’m from there. What a coinkidink. Did ‘Temple of Doom’ just blow Indiana Jones out of the water or what?” He looked too hopeful for that, but the truth was out of her mouth before she could really stop it.

“What? No. It’s the worst of the original trilogy. Earth collectively doesn’t even talk about the fourth one.” The girl sounded harsher than she intended. Probably.

“Trilogy? They made another one after ‘Temple of Doom’? And another after that?” While he looked minutely downcast, there was an eagerness to know more about the planet she came from. Which was his planet as well. “What uh- What else did they do?”

“Remade ‘Footloose’.”

“WHAT.”

His exclamation was enough to draw the attention of the restaurant’s patrons, all of whom were now settle with varying gazes upon the two at the bar. While she seemed a bit shy about the attention, her neighbor seemed unphased by it, as if he were used to being watched with differing states confusion.

He was oblivious, until someone spoke up.

“‘Footloose’? You’re kidding me.” It was more a growl than anything, followed by the unmistakable noise of a chair skidding across worn laminate flooring. The man in the shorts turned before the Terran girl did, both now looking across the dining room at what could only be described as a heaping pile of slimy ropes mushed together to vaguely resemble a bipedal . . . thing.

This was a member of the Gliphtrin race, who are infamous for finding sheer joy in throwing small rocks at bigger rocks, then eating said smaller rocks. But eating was unnecessary since they were all collections of smaller beings that greatly resembled boiled hagfish, absorbing their needed nutrients from the air around them. They are, collectively, notorious for having tempers and holding grudges. In fact, they hold the record for longest grudge held, which predates the universe’s creation by three and a half days.

No one is really sure what the grudge is, or who it is against, but it is known to be fierce and misplaced.

“Ooooooh, heeeey . . . you.” The green-shorted man had obviously forgotten this particular alien’s name, and it was apparently the wrong thing to do. The Terran girl could just sit there and watch as if a fly on the wall, wishing she had a glass of water she could hide behind - preferably one that didn’t threaten her livelihood. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it hanging? Low and a little to the left?”

“You stole my fuel! And left me deserted on a desert planet! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THAT IS FOR MY SKIN?!” This growing conflict between green shorts and rope monster was growing a bit comfortable as far as the Terran was concerned, which would explain why she slipped from her seat to put distance between her at the verdant booty shorts. This felt like an inevitable disaster, which would be truly fatal considering they were in a place that was nothing more than a pocket of air in the vastness of space, which had no air.

The lingering sensation of possible death sat heavily at the back of the Terran’s mind as she continued to sidestep away from the only other Earthling she’d met in roughly six months. This felt like a bad mix of whatever was going between the two and tainted water, which was proving to be volatile, even by the universe’s standards.

“Hey! YOU said you had spare fuel! YOU said I could have what you had in order to get to Knowhere! YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR TRUSTING ONE OF YOUR WEIRD TALKING FACE HOLES!” The flipflopped man had a way with words, it seemed.

Nowhere? Huh, thought the Terran, now at the edge of the bar.

The rope monster roared with all billion mouths it apparently had, which rightfully incited chaos almost immediately. The Terran girl dove behind the bar in a shimmering flash of iridescence, quick to curl into a ball against the shattering of numerous bottles that had been adorning the back counter. Fear held her tightly, keeping her from even imagining the war carrying on just a few feet away from her small safe haven in the corner of a dingy countertop. Imagine her surprise when a body had hopped over and fell to the floor beside her.

The booty shorts man. And he had a gun. Or what she assumed to be a gun. It wasn’t a gun by Terran standards, but it was definitely something you pointed at something else to make it stop moving one way or another. Part of his sweater was burned off.

Oh.

That got the Terran’s attention. She hadn’t quite noticed there could’ve been muscle beneath that poly-blend.

“DAMN IT!” He wasn’t nearly as happy that his clothing was ruined. “Rocket! ANY LUCK?!”

There was nothing but cackling in return, which had actually been a good answer since the tension of the situation slowly dissipated from him as he sat up, checking the gun thing in his hand and finally noticing the girl he’d been talking to was right beside him.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think you were alive. So that’s cool. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held out his free hand, and took her own, but the destruction raining down around them kept her from really returning the favor and giving him her name. From the pocket of his shorts ( which she really could not get over ), he produced a small device - an MP3 player. “This calls for some mood music, yah know?”

She immediately recognized the tune as he put it on.

‘Kiss’ by Prince. A classic.

“If we all get out of here alive, wanna come with? Couldn’t help but notice that whole forlorn doe-eyed look you had going on earlier. We could use a girl on the crew.” It was mind boggling to the Terran that Peter was so calm as glass and splintered wood peppered the air so continuously. This must be a somewhat common occurrence.

“I-...what? That green woman-..”

“Gamora? She’s alright. Bit rough around the edges. Actually, a lot rough around the edges. Did you know she slept with that Iron Dude once? She said he cried.” There was ample snickering on his part, which made up for the complete lack of comprehension on the Terran’s part. “But hey, you should definitely think about it. It’d be fun and nice. We’re cool. I’m the coolest, because I’m the captain. I have my own ship and everything. And music.”

She was just so . . . flabbergasted.

“Peter, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything since we just met, and there’s a lot going on, but are you flirting with me?” Part of her hoped he wasn’t, just because the timing would be so strange - almost too cinematic and cliche.

But a much larger part of her hoped he was.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He spoke as he reloaded his gun thing, or so she assumed. “Is it working? Because if it is, I’m definitely flirting.”

This man wearing shorts that left so little to the imagination and ( what she knew to be ) Old Navy flip flops was being so smooth despite the complete hot mess he made himself look like. The crooked smirk beneath the slightly grown facial hair was the kicker. It was then that the Terran found herself budding a whole new appreciation for the jaded hue and a new take on casual wear.

Before she could answer, the entire bar area fell prey to what had been a nega-space hand grenade, which had instantly condensed the entire bar structure to one single atom before exploding it outward in a grand display of absolute annihilation. But in the wake of something so absolute, there was only silence. Who had lived through that?

Everyone.

The Gliphtrin had scattered after basically being disassembled during the blast, and most of the patrons had been dubiously ( and conveniently ) knocked out as well. It was undoubtedly the crew that Peter had arrived with that were the first to stir from where they’d landed during the fight and subsequent explosion, murmuring curses at both parties involved. It was pertinent that they leave immediately before word of their usual shenanigans got to the Vogons who would almost literally bury them in necessary paperwork.

“That was less than I expected,” the raccoon cackled as he scrambled for the door, Treebeard following with only one arm less than he’d shown up with. “I’m disappointed in kids these days. Ain’t a good fight in the stars.”

“We’re not really looking to fight, Rocket,” the green woman spoke, sheathing a sword that had been hidden away when she’d entered the restaurant. “We’re running out of places we’re not banned from. If we keep this up, we’ll be eating whatever Drax feels like cooking.”

“I make great meals. I don’t know what you’re talking about, making it sound like torture,” the large tattooed man said, flicking what looked to be a finger off his bare shoulder. “If I wanted to actually torture you, it would not be with life-sustaining food.”

“On the bright side, we’re all alive, right?” Peter had gotten up, somehow forgetting the Terran’s existence in the process. Maybe the blast had scrambled his brains a little. “And I know, I know - I say that every time, but I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

They were heading out when they heard a very meek ‘hey’ from the collateral left behind them. When Peter turned to look back at the noise, almost expecting one of the mini-rope monsters egging him on, he could only do that damned crooked smirk again at the site of torn mesh.

The Terran girl.

“Hey, buttercup, you’re alive! Wanna come with?” Even if he’d been unabashedly flirting before in the midst of a firefight, there was still some semblance of sincerity there as he watched her stand, completely ignoring the incredulous looks from his cohorts. “We’re heading to uh . . . I think it’s Gre’qrium next. Right?”

He had to look to those standing around him for confirmation, which he got by way of enthusiastic nods before they began to amble off.

“Whaddya say? I heard it’s got rivers of pearls, incredible food, and a really relaxed policy on clothing.”

“Hell yes, I do,” she answered, more than thankful that her date had stood her up at that god awful restaurant. She started to walk with him towards a teal and orange ship that looked a lot cooler than the pirate ship she’d previously been on. “Wait, what do you mean relaxed policy?”

“It’s a nudist planet,” the green woman answered from inside the ship.

“Oh,” said the Terran. “That’s uh . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, throwing an arm around the girl in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s not like they look like us.”

“They look worse,” said the one she assumed was Drax. “Beautiful, but worse.”

“We’ve got a trip ahead of us. Tell me what I’ve missed at home. Clothing optional.”

Peter winked.

Everyone but the Terran rolled their eyes.

[ko-yeop]

Lovecraft: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Coming Soon

Characters: Saeran Choi X Reader

Word Count: 4,093

Genre: Witchcraft!AU, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse

Summary: After an unfortunate drunken night, you, a fortune teller who was cursed from a young age by an unknown witch, breaks your own creed and read your own fate. Seeing nothing but ruin and isolation in the future, you seek out an apothecary named Saeran, who gives you untested potion called Aphrodite’s Blessing, not for free though. In return, he wishes to study and document it’s effects on you. Can his creation not only save you from fate, but also break your longstanding curse?

No matter how many times Saeran rolled over, tugged the sheets above his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, the banging on the door didn’t cease. And it would’ve been a lovely morning too, with the way the sun was shining outside, and how the birds were singing their merry tune. That stupid lady just had to go and ruin his mood with her hollering at this ungodly time in the morning.

Running his fingers through the tufts of bedhead, he tried to smooth it out, make himself look presentable in some way before he greeted the irate woman screaming outside his door. He wasn’t in much of a rush, after all. Secretly he hoped that if he took long enough she’d up and leave, but considering the fact that her screeching had been going on for the better part of half an hour… Well, if she was going to leave she likely would’ve turned tail and left already. The walk downstairs seemed longer than usual, but perhaps it was just him dreading what awaited him on the other side of the door. Sighing, he reached for the door. This lady, and all the others like hers’ rapping at the door was likely why it was so rife with splinters.

“Do you realize how long I’ve been standing here?” The middle aged woman yelled as soon as the doorknob turned. Saeran wondered if the deep wrinkles on her face were caused by the excessive use of expression by her. The display she wore was far too over dramatic to be natural. Was that truly how she looked, or was she exaggerating on purpose? Her eyebrows pinched together, corners of her mouth downturned, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets...You’d think she was auditioning for the part of evil witch in the upcoming play, not harassing a shop keep before most of the town had woken.

“Long enough to manage to wake me up,” With his long nights of mixing different compositions, reading endless page after page on herbs and their uses, and downing blue vulneraries trying to see which batch let him rest more peacefully, he tended to sleep in later, and deeper than most people. Somehow, sleeping until the afternoon did nothing to help the purple bags under his eyes that never seemed to fade.

“Whatever! Your useless potion did nothing for me!”

“Oh? And which one are you talking about?” Saeran folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. It was freezing outdoors and he was in nothing but a thin pair of pajamas, but it was instinct to look cool and nonchalant to one up her. He knew exactly which item she had purchased too, he remembered quite well how her musky lingering perfume infested his shop a week ago, how she demanded he craft something custom for her needs rather than buying what was on the shelf, trying to bargain with him as if she couldn’t pay the price despite the gaudy jewel encrusted necklace covering the majority of her chest… This woman had already used up all his patience, and he was going to do everything he could to piss her off.

“Your anti-aging one!”

“Do you mean Hebe’s Nectar?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t read the label!” She tossed her hands in the air, continuing her dramatic display.

“Well, considering it’s the only anti-aging thing I sell, we’ll go with it. How are you using it?” Saeran had confidence in his works. Everything was tested on either him or another person, if there weren’t good results, it didn’t go on the shelf. Anything on the shelf was either his personal creation, or something passed down to him from Jihyun. He was not too fond of the implication that his potions were ineffective.

“What do you mean how am I using it? I take a spoon everyday like any other potion!” Silently, he prayed this woman would never reproduce, no child deserved to inherit a brain as small as hers. Their upbringing would be hell too, gods save any kids she may already have.

“Well ma’am, if you read the label, you’d know it’s supposed to be added to bathwater once a week, not ingested,” Saeran couldn’t believe this, just how stupid did she have to be to not read a label and then come screaming at the seller? He may not put price tags on products out of laziness, but he made sure the instructions and ingredients list was attached. Does everyone who owns a shop have to deal with people like this? Did his late teacher have to deal with this?

“W-Well you should have told me that when I bought it!”

“I tell every customer to read the label, whether you do or not, is not my problem,” The lady was flabbergasted, taken aback by his words. Her long, cracking nails dug into her balled up fists in an attempt to contain her anger.

“Well, am I going to get sick now? From drinking this stupid thing?”

“Likely not if you haven’t already, but maybe since you’ve been ingesting it, it’ll help with your ugly personality,”

“Excuse me? Are you implying something here boy?” She accentuated the final word, as if it were some insult to call him a child. He knew he was too young to be running a shop, and to be an apothecary. It wasn’t slander, it was a mere fact. He refused to let this woman use his age as a tool to demean him.

“Yes, now please leave, I’d like to get some sleep,” Saeran slammed the door in her face, far more pissed off than he should’ve been. It was people like her that made him question why he even ran a shop in the first place. He was kind enough to share his practice with the townsfolk and this is how they treated him? Abhorrent.

Judging from the position of the sun, it was too late to go back to bed. If he wanted to open up Lovecraft at a respectable time for once, he was better off just getting ready for the day. Sitting down at his desk, he opened the leather bound journal to an aged page. It was the last ingredient list he’d used for creating Aphrodite’s Blessing. Tea stains dotted the scribbled writing. All the markings were remnants of long past nights where Saeran was so sleep deprived his hands shook as he reached for yet another cup. Picking up the quill nearby, he began to jot down notes about his test subject. Your name, gender, age, basic physical traits… There was quite a bit of necessary information missing, however. Saeran made a mental note to ask you about your past experiences with potions, allergies and whatnot the next time you met. All factors in this test were equally important, from which kind of rose petals used, to your height. It was always unknown what results could turn up, so it was best to keep notes of absolutely everything to learn the properties of different ingredients, and their effects on certain people.

He moved to close the journal as he got up from his desk, but a brush of his hand sent it tumbling to the floor by accident. A detailed pencil drawing that had previously been tucked in between pages slid out. Carefully picking up the print, Saeran’s eyes took in every aspect. The tiny indents of the man’s pores, the cracks in his lips, and the shimmer in his eye.

It was of Jihyun, his former teacher. Saeran’s eyes began to well with tears as Jihyun’s charcoal mouth smiled onwards, as if trying to tell him not to cry, to smile instead. It was just like Jihyun, to want to be remembered as smiling. The portrait was the only picture he had to remember his face by. All the memories seemed to come rushing back to him whenever he looked upon the drawing, no matter how many times he told himself he was over his death. That was why it was tucked away, so he didn’t have to look at it. It was expected for him to still be upset though, Jihyun essentially raised him after all.

Saeran’s mother passed away when he was 8. It never really upset him though. He was more traumatized by the way she treated him than her death. She was a horrid lady, not unlike the one who had just visited to do nothing but complain and blame him for her woes. Bruises and cuts were no stranger to him. She had driven his twin brother to run from her when he was very young. He hardly remembered him anymore, his brother left early on in his life, leaving him behind to bear her abuse. It was by some god’s grace she was always too drunk to notice him sneaking out the window, running to the nearest potion shop, which just so happened to be Lovecraft. He remembered how he cried and begged for help, how much pain he was in. It felt like someone had placed needles under his wounds, the side of his face felt swollen, every movement put him in agony. Jihyun had nearly burst into tears himself at the sight of the small boy. What kind of monster could do that to a child? Jihyun began teaching him how to make his own salves and basic balms to treat his injuries when he couldn’t make it to the shop, whether it be because she had shackled him to the bed, or he was too weak and injured to move. After that, Saeran simply wanted to know more about what kinds of things apothecaries could create. He was enamoured by the fact that a mixture of common items could create something that could help people. He wanted to end his own pain, and perhaps, do something for his mother. Saeran wondered if she was in pain because of how often she cried into whisky glasses. Jihyun would only smile whenever Saeran would tell him about his plan to create “a really strong potion that will stop mother from hurting,” The child thought that maybe, just maybe, if she wasn’t in pain, she wouldn’t create pain for him either.

It was a serene night when his mother passed, everything was quiet for once. No screaming, no choked sobs, no broken glasses. Saeran recalled how he she didn’t move, how she didn’t snore or bolt out of her rocker to yell when he made the smallest of noises like she usually did. He poked his head out of his room, inhaling the overwhelming scent of alcohol. Half empty bottles were spilled everywhere, smashed glass littered the floor. Carefully, he had poked at her arm, just to see if she’d move. He shook her arm, nothing but a flop of her head. He reached his small hand up to her face, striking her as she had done to him countless times. No movement, no reaction. Saeran bolted out of the front door, running into the streets teary eyed. Rather than running to inform a town guard, he ran to Jihyun, frightened at his first hands on experience with death. The only guardian he had, even if she was a poor one, was gone. Jihyun cradled small boy in his arms, and cried with him. Saeran never understood why Jihyun was crying with him. He still didn’t know why, even though now he was older and wiser. From that point on, Saeran moved in with the apothecary, and learned to craft potions from him. Life seemed the brightest when he was with him. Jihyun was his sun, and since his departure from the world, Saeran had decided to carry on that feeling of warmth he was given, passing the same care to others.

Living with him meant sleeping in bed that creaked in the night as he rolled around, trying to escape the nightmares that haunted him, but that was fine. It was better than the sheetless mattress, or the cold splintered floors he was used to. In fact, having a bed with pillows was quite the luxury to him. At least he had somewhere comfortable to cry as he tried to sort out his feelings, tried to remember that he was no longer a small child who could only rely on the woman who’d strike him with broken bottles and forget to feed him for days on end. He was no longer trapped physically by her, but her presence, the damage she caused, lived on and encased him.

Jihyun had begun developing a relief for his nightmares before he passed. It typically took several years to perfect a potion, and sadly, he had passed before he was able to complete his work. Creating the elixir was his way of apologizing to Saeran, for not being able to remove him from his mother sooner. For letting this continue on rather than alerting the authorities. The very least he could do was to ease his nightmares. As Saeran ran his fingers over the edge of the drawing he still held, he wondered why Jihyun did what he did. He had faith in his choices, he was always a wise and calm man, but he just wish he got to know why he made his decisions. What did he foresee with his actions? What was he trying to avoid? Would the authorities have done nothing to save him from his mother? Why didn’t Jihyun act sooner? When Saeran took up his work on Bane of Phobetor, the elixir he had been working on until his death, along with running Lovecraft, he could only hope that by continuing Jihyun’s work, he could find the answers he was looking for.

Wiping stray tears from his eyes, Saeran tucked the picture back in the pages of his notebook. There wasn’t time to dwell any longer, he had a shop to open.

You found yourself staring at your own reflection at lot longer than usual of late. The eagerness to see any signs of change overwhelmed you, the thought occupied every hour of every day. You were paranoid about every minor thing, taking note of every twitch, your skin seeming to be a hue too pale or too dark, was your hair suddenly longer? Why were you more tired than usual? You had reason to be paranoid though, you were a test subject after all. You kept hoping that perhaps someone would bump into you on the streets, someone who’d genuinely be intrigued by you, someone who wanted to get to know you. However, nothing so exciting had happened yet.

You tugged the wide brimmed witch’s cap down, trying to shield yourself from frigid winds as you braved the walk to Lovecraft once again. A few days had passed, and like you promised, you’d meet up with him so he could take note of the effects. You weren’t sure there would be anything for him to write down though, but perhaps an apothecary would know better what to look for than you.

The bell chimed as you burst through the door, quickly shutting it to prevent any snow from getting in to warp his floorboards more than they already were.

“Ah, there you are,” Saeran poked his head out from behind a shelf filled with lilac coloured potions. They were haphazardly placed, far too many bottles crammed onto the weakening shelf. a few bottles threatening to dive off the edge, some knocked onto their sides.  “I was wondering when you’d stop by,” He stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off his pants. You noticed the book he held in hand, some sort of encyclopedia perhaps? You couldn’t read the title very well from this angle and distance, but it was thick with pages surely full of knowledge, gold foiled leaves decorating the burgundy cover.

“Were you in the middle of something? I could stop by later if that’s better for you,” You didn’t want to interrupt him, and you silently needed assurance that this was a good time to drop by. It was roughly early afternoon, judging by the position of the sun hanging high in the sky, but you’d heard rumours of Lovecraft opening quite late due to the shopkeeper's sleeping habits.

“Oh no, I was just doing a little research on herbs. Come, have a seat,” He motioned to the stool by the counter. You took up his offer, wanting to rest your feet after the small journey you made to get here. It wasn’t a long walk to get to the shop, but the cobblestone roads combined with thinning soles on your boots didn’t allow you to trek with much comfort.  “How have you been, noticed anything different?” His eyes eagerly looked you over, searching for any signs of physical change.

“I’ve been… the usual, I suppose,” You sighed.

“You sound a bit down,” You were caught off guard by his insight. Most people simply asked how you’d been as a pleasantry, they didn’t genuinely care how you were doing. That’s how life always was for you after all. The curse you were burdened with hung on your shoulders, as if it was scaring off anyone who perhaps wanted to ask how you really feeling that day. Someone who wanted to say more than “That’s awful,” when you explained the worst day of your life to them. Anyone who offered consolation, just… someone who listened.

“I… I’m just worried that it feels like nothing is happening,” You confessed.

“Don’t worry so much, sometimes it takes longer for certain potions to begin to take effect. And other times, the differences are so minute that you don’t even notice them,” He smiled warmly, trying reassuring you that things would be alright.

“But I’m betting everything on the hope that this concoction of yours works,” You were nervous, this was your future after all.

“I guess I’ve got high expectations to live up to,” He laughed. You appreciated how upbeat he was despite the situation you were in, he was much like a beacon in your darkest hour.

“But I suppose you’re right, I shouldn’t be worrying so much,”

“Here, let’s take a look and see if there’s any changes from my perspective,” Gently, he grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side. “Hm, Your cheeks look a bit pinker than last time…” You were taken back by his abruptness. Most strangers didn’t just grab someone’s face like that, and he was getting awfully close to you. Did he just lack decorum? Did he not understand social cues?

“I-I’m just cold, it’s freezing outside,”

“Is it? I haven’t really left the shop today,” Saeran tried to not remember how the winds whipped at his flesh while he stood in the doorway earlier in the day. Looking smug definitely had it’s cons. It’d be better for him to just forget the woman from this morning, she wasn’t worth his anger anyways. He turned your head to the other side, examining and jotting down the hue of your skin. Touching the back of his hand to your cheek, he noted how warm they were too.

“Didn’t you have to leave your house to get to the shop?” Did this guy honestly not leave his shop? If so, how did he manage to earn a reputation for opening late when he was always here?

“No, I sleep here. My room is upstairs,” He said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve lived here ever since my teacher took me in, and I don’t think I’d have it any other way,”

“Isn’t this place a little too worn down for you to live in?” You went from thinking this guy was a weirdo to being concerned for his well being. The winter months were rather cold here, and he was sleeping in a barely insulated shop?

“I think it being worn down is what gives it its charm, don’t you think?” He ran his hands through your hair, examining for any colour changes in the strands. The gesture was a little odd but… Intimate, almost. It felt so relaxing, soothing. Subconsciously, you leaned into Saeran’s touch. You saw the smirk catch on his lips for the briefest of moments. “Does that feel nice?” He asked as he repeated the motion, slower this time. You weren’t sure at this point if he was still examining you or if he was toying with you.

“Ah, sorry.” You jerked upright, only now realizing your actions. “It’s just… No one ever did that and I...Uh...Yeah… It does feel quite nice. Is that a side effect of the potion?”

“Most people enjoy this, so I’m gonna go with no,” You felt your heart sink that no changes had been noted yet. He continued to tug gently at your roots, eyeing your expression.

“Well, physically, there’s not much change aside from your face being redder than usual. Emotionally, you seem slightly less reserved, but to be fair you did just meet me,”

Saeran wondered why you were so alone, and why your cards gave you such a grim reading. It’s not like you weren’t pretty, nor did you have a bad personality from what he knew about you so far. Just what was keeping people from you? And why did you being alone cause such a ruinous future? Was your problem stemming from yourself as a person, or was there a third party interfering? He didn’t believe in divination being absolute, other forms of magic such as potion, spells, curses, and enchantments could always change the future. But why were things as they were for you? It felt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle that could help him resolve your problem. There were so many questions he was trying to resolve, and you’d thrown a new quiz at him. Of course, he wanted to refine Aphrodite’s Blessing first, but he did want to assist you as well. That’s why he continued to run Jihyun’s place after all, because he wanted to help people like him, like Jihyun had done for him.

“I think I would like to try something with you,” Your head perked up, nervous at what he was about to suggest. “I’d like to go to the market with you, I want to see how you react with other people, and how they react to you,”

“Right now?”

“No no, maybe tomorrow if you’re free?” He offered. “I think I might get some better insight to how to potion is affecting you if I’m able to observe interactions with people other than myself,” He did have a point, you hadn’t really done much socializing the past few days aside from the odd reading here and there. You joked about a prince charming popping up out of nowhere when he proposed the idea of taking Aphrodite’s Blessing, but you hadn’t been acting on your own and yet you were still expecting results.

“That sounds like a good idea, but don’t you have to watch your shop?”

“I own it, I can close whenever I like. I’m not going to miss much business anyways,” Customers were few these days, and he wasn’t located in a high end of the city. The district was filled with commoners, all trying to sell their own craft to each other when no one had any money to spare. Plenty of product, yet no demand. Capitalism at its finest.

“What time did you want to meet up?”

“Noon perhaps? That’s when the market is at its busiest. The more people the better,” Saeran was scribbling away unknown notes in the journal he had laid on the counter. You were inclined to ask just what he was writing, but refrained. What if he thought you were being too nosy? Perhaps there were things you didn’t want to know.

“Sounds good to me, I’ll see you then, I suppose?” You reached for the door.

“Yep, I’ll see you tomorrow,” With a wave of his hand, you were off, braving the chill yet again.

Saeran buried his face in his palms and breathed deeply. He picked up the qull once again and began to jot more notes down.

Noticeable difference in skin hue

Skin warmer than average body temperature

Cute expression when hair is played with

No change in hair colour

Not much of an emotional/behavioural change, noted changes could be due to her warming up to me

Avoids eye contact

Glancing at his notes one last time, he realized something.

He forgot to ask about her allergies again.

[ask-de-writer]

GONE TO SEA : World of Sea : Science Fiction : Part 3

GONE TO SEA

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

WORK IN PROGRESS (Word count unknown at this time)

copyright 2018

Writing started 2005

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Chapter 02. Colony

All thousand of the new colonists of Sea stood in the largest recreational plaza to wish the crew of the ESA 14 farewell.  Captain Alain wound up his speech by saying, “We have done our best to ensure that this colony has as good a start as it can have.  You know that we would have been willing to take you all back with us if it were possible.  The laws governing the physics of the Crossover drive will not let us.  

“We will see that an expedition is sent to see how you are doing as quickly as the ESA can do so.  You will be on your own until then. Sometime between forty two to fifty years from now they will arrive. Until then, may you be blessed by whatever Deity you choose to pray to.

“I hope that the relief expedition finds you well and prospering.  May that vessel need only take back whatever unique and wonderful trade goods and ideas you have found to contribute to the community of mankind among the stars.”

To somewhat subdued cheers, the crew of the ESA 14 filed aboard their Slowpoke shuttle to return to the orbiting starship.  Lifting with the silence of any well functioning Crossover device, the shuttle dwindled into the sky and was gone.

Giles Willon turned to Marcus Angerson and observed, “Got to say, this planet is a bit of a disappointment.”  He flexed his elbows out from his body and finished with a grin, “Expected more elbow room. Know what I mean?”

Marcus snapped back, “Are you mocking me?  You know that I am a soils engineer!  The services of my specialty have been vital to the very survival of all twenty three other ESA colonies.  Why did the ESA even bother sending me here?  There is no land to bring to the needs of mankind.  No soils to engineer at all!  This is a travesty!”

Giles raised hand placatingly.  “There is no need for such anger, Marcus. We all know why we are here.  None of us is suited to a world like this.  The probe that found this planet was programmed incorrectly but nobody knew it until we got here.  

“Its program assumed that any planet with an atmosphere like this one meant that it had significant land masses and that some form of photosynthetic plant life had to exist.  That is all.  We all knew that no matter what we found here, it was a one way trip for us.  It was a gamble.  We sort of lost.”

Small, black haired and eyed Pele Barant interjected, “Maybe we did win but just haven't realized it yet.  The gods can be really sneaky that way.”

With a sneer, Marcus turned his back on her, muttering, “False gods!”

Giles looked down a bit to Pele's usually cheerful Polynesian face and said, “Don't mind him.  He is just disappointed with his situation, that is all.

“By the way, I enjoyed working on the truss work of this station with you. You did a great design job.  We are lucky to have someone with your civil and mechanical engineering skills and marine architecture experience with us.”

Pele flashed Giles a ready smile and said, “Thank you.  I appreciate having someone who can look down to my face and up to my work at the same time.”

/////////

As the weeks passed into months, the station began to settle into a routine as people got used to the strange situation that they found themselves in.

/////////

In his quarters, Marcus Angerson closed the door of his study to shut out the sounds of his wife Trisha and their two children Benjamin and Lora while he brooded on the wrongness of his situation.  He pulled the blinds to seal away the glare of the sun and the vile sight of the endless ocean, with not so much as a sandbar above sea level anywhere on the entire planet.  

There is no reason to it!  All of my years of study on how to adapt alien soils to the needs of mankind have been wasted.  Instead of being one of the most vital men for the colony's survival, I am now very nearly the least. What should I do?

His eye fell to the Bible on his working desk.  Sourly, he picked it up and began to read.  Somehow, it did not give the solace that it used to in times of difficulty.  Doggedly, he went all the way back to Genesis and began at the very beginning.

////////

Hugh Barant raced his wife Pele and daughter Mala'klea to their quarters. His long legs could have easily overtaken them but young Mala'klea loved beating him in races, as long as he didn't make it too easy for her.  Mala'klea's small hand hit the door frame only a tiny fraction of a second before Hugh's.  Flashing her father a high-spirited grin, Mala'klea ducked into their apartment.  Pele was already drawing wide the blinds to allow the generous sun of Sea to shine into their rooms and let them see the wonder of a rolling ocean that had no end.

There were some of Sea's many kinds of birds perching on the railing of their balcony.  They were waiting to see if the people inside had something that they would share with the birds . . . or that the birds could steal for that matter.  The birds apparently didn't see much difference.  Besides, Pele or Mala'klea always set out a plate of something for them to squabble over.  Today was no exception. Pele produced a fresh plate with a roasted fish that she had speared the other day while diving on the reef.  A small bird-storm developed around the plate.  The Barants sat on their side of the glass and watched with laughter and hugs.

/////////

Down in the Bio-safety and Nutrition laboratory, Kaim Hawadie told his many assistants, “Now that things are finally together, we need to got on the stick.  While we were helping to build this place we did get some reports out.  Just the construction area, less than one tenth of this reef complex, has yielded us a backlog of over three thousand samples to analyze.  

“To help out, we have devised a report cover page that lists the following items.  1. Toxic, 1a. Useful Y/N, 2. Edible- no nutritional value, 3. Edible- contains ______,  4. Pharmacological value ______, 5. Other useful features _______.

“Our job is to get the reports out as quickly and accurately as possible. Of course, we are watching for the thymine, lysine and missing vitamins in every organism or sample that we test.  If we find them, those reports will get a special red flag cover.

“Other experts will be trying to make sense out of our reports.  Our job, and it is a big one, is just to get them the data.  Now let's get to the analysis.”

/////////

Mister Torres sat back in an easy chair and watched his son Jason playing on the living room carpet.  It was a Periodic Table game.  His lovely and talented wife Mikhala was sitting opposite Jason, taking her turn at the game's cards.

Sadly he wondered, Will this place last long enough for you to grow up, Jason?  Mikhala, will we live to see grandchildren?  I really had no choice in doing this.  What we have here is the best that I could give to you all.  It is simply a hope.  In the end, an empty hope.

Perhaps, Mikhala, my love, your knowledge of Slowpoke drive systems will let us move into space.  I will need to ask you about the possibility of building us another shuttle.  We can't risk such a move with only one shuttle.  Farms in orbit or under domes on Wotan might actually allow us to survive.  Down here those monster Coriolis storms doom long term farming or pretty much anything else.

I wish that I had someone that I could open up to about these things.

Mister Torres went back to studying his tablet computer.  Immersing himself in the multitude of tasks needed to keep the colony running as smoothly as possible provided relief from his fatalistic ruminations.

/////////

Molly Miken called Mister Makle on the video link and invited, “Hey, Bronnie!  Me and my structural maintenance crew are planning a barbecue cook-out and pot luck down on dock A.  Want to come?  Bring Tam and your son Mark along.  We requisitioned one of the work boats for the afternoon to play about.”

A grin on his face, Mister Makle replied, “We will be there.  We will have to stop by the Commissary to get something, though.  Tam just got off work and Mark is on his way back from school.  By the way, please don't spread my first name around, I took a lot of ribbing in school over it.”

Molly promptly shot back, “Don't worry about that, Boss!  Your secret is safe with me!  Unless I need to blackmail you for better working conditions . . . Bronnie.”

///////////

Marcus Angerson laid aside the Koran.  In his shuttered den, away from the detested sight of endless ocean and the glare of the sun that could spawn such an abominable world, he glared at the books as if his problems were their fault.  He thought, Months wasted.  None of these, not the Bible, Koran or any of the other religious texts that I can find sheds any light on the real problem.  

Once again, the small voice that had been prodding and guiding him for the last month or so offered, ((Of course they don't.  Those books were written on Earth and, though they might provide some guidance, they were for the Earth.  You are not on Earth.  I do have a Plan for you, but the time is not yet ripe.))

Why am I so unnecessary?  By all rights I should be the most important single man in the colony!  In spite of my vital education, I remain utterly worthless. A mere teacher of children!

((At least that little pagan Barant got what she has had coming to her. In the end, all must come to Me.  Before that happens, you may need to be brought lower still.))

A knock at his study door interrupted Marcus' brooding.  Trisha, his wife, put her head in and announced, “Honey, dinner is waiting.  Would you please join us today?  We know how hard you are working, what with all of those school papers to grade.  Ben and Lora have missed you these last few weeks.”

With ill grace, Marcus came out to the apartment's dining area.  The window was open to the lowering sun, setting in a glory of low clouds, gilding them with gold, red and purple.  A light breeze came in off the ocean outside.

Seeing the light and the sight of the endless sea that he had been studiously shutting out irritated him.  Marcus strode angrily to the window and slid it shut with a bang.  He pulled the blinds, plunging the cheerful room into the gloom that better suited his mood.

Marcus stamped back to the table and sat.  He was reaching for his coffee when he heard Trisha's voice begin, “Sweet Lord, we thank you for the company at this table and this fine fish that you have provided us . . .”

Rudely he interrupted, “What are you doing?  The blessing is my duty!”

Benjamin, hands still folded, said mildly, “We didn't mean to upset you, father.  You haven't been here to say it for the last several weeks. We have been taking turns.  It was Mom's turn today.  Would you please say the grace for us?”

As he started to fold his hands, Marcus' eyes fell on the fish that lay on the plate at the center of the table.  It lay on a bed of green and wrinkly sea lettuce.  There was a hole through it, just back of the gills.  His brows drew down in a rage.  He demanded, “You were just asking me to sign for household money!  How could you afford such a fish as this?  You lied to me about being out of money!”

As Trisha looked up in shock at the accusation, Benjamin spoke up.  “The fish didn't cost us anything, Dad.  The Barants went diving on the reef a few days ago.  Pele sent Mala'klea around with it as a gift.”

Marcus' lip curled in disdain as he demanded, “And what would you have made for our dinner if you had not begged from that, that . . . heathen?”

Lora gave her father a confused look and said, “Nothing.  The kitchen is empty.  The Commissary turned down Mom's card when we went to shop today.  They said that there was no money left in it.  That is why she has been trying to get you to sign the transfer.”

Ignoring his daughter, Marcus grabbed the plate from the table and hurled both it and the fish on it against the wall.  He yelled in outrage, “We will not bend the knee to those vile pagans!

“That false idol worshiping fiend is behind all of my, eh, our misfortune!  At every turn, she is put up on a pedestal and I am cast lower!”

Trisha, eyes wide in fear, was looking at her husband as if she had never before seen him.  Tentatively she extended her tablet and stylus, saying, “Please dear, just sign the transfer and I will buy you whatever you want for din . . .”  Her head rocked back as Marcus slapped her in the face.  Her tablet fell to the table and skittered to a stop against Lora's dinner plate.

His own face twisted into a feral snarl, Marcus withdrew his stinging hand. Blood mingled with the tears that trickled down Trisha's cheek. He raged, “I sign you money every week!  You should have plenty!  Use it!”

Cringing in fear after his father's outburst, Benjamin found the courage to say, “You haven't signed us any money for about a month.  You keep saying that you will do it presently but you haven't done it.”

Scrabbling to recover her tablet, Trisha extended it in another desperate attempt to get the money that they all needed.  “Please, Marcus. Benjamin is right.  It has been three weeks since we had a weekly transfer for the household funds.  We are behind on our bills.  We have the money in the bank to pay for everything.  All that you need to do is sign the transfer.”

Anger causing him to draw a separate breath for each word, Marcus growled, “I. Am. Going. Out. . . When. I. Return. There. Will. be. Food. Fit. For. A. Godly. Man!”

Confused, the slap that she received bringing her greater pain than the brutal physical impact, Trisha asked, “Marcus?  What is wrong with you?  I am doing my best to . . .”  This time, the now furious Marcus hit her face so hard that her chair went over.  The tablet went flying, bouncing from the wall and landing on the floor.  The back of Trisha's head hit the wall and then thumped to the floor as she fell. Benjamin and Lora ran for their room and locked the door.

Marcus drove his heel deliberately into the tough glass of the tablet face, shattering it as he strode to the apartment door.  Over his shoulder he snapped, “You have joined the many seeking to bring me, to bring God Himself down and lift up the pagan above all!  It must not be! You must uphold me, uphold God, with proper food or suffer the consequence!”  The door slammed behind his retreating form.

/////////

TO BE CONTINUED

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[unproduciblesmackdown]

hey man your comic stuff?? fucking amazing do you have any tips for a novice child artist such as myself

hmm!!! thats a good question if i have any advice at all…i dont really draw things in comic form that often because of how slow i am…its a whole project for me lol

also natch im just an amateur at all of this vs people who like…pay attention to how to do things really well and/or draw comics on a regular schedule &/or get paid for it and all. so seeing this i was immediately trying to think of like, advice ive seen from random professionals on twitter & stuff & i’ve tried to moreso shake it down to the stuff I’M actually doing when i draw a comic. which is a bit tricky because of my small sample size & the fact that i dont have any kind of consistent process or technique unifying all the comic-type stuff i draw

like sometimes its just a few floating sequential drawings and other times is definitely more like, really thinking of it in terms of how i’m going to structure it in Comic Form & use the format to adjust my presentation of whatever idea i have

like i know ppl whose Job (officially or just by their own standards) to do a bunch of comics pages will do a script of scenes to decide what goes on what page and sort dialogue / action into panels & describe how things will look etc…and then do like maybe really rough layout pre-sketches, then the first rough sketch for a page, an optional more cleaned up sketch layer on top of that, and then the final lineart

i sorrrt of do a version of that, in that i am generally sitting on a Comic Idea for a while before i even start getting into the business of thinking through how it’ll actually work. i have to make sure that im “committed” enough to the idea to wanna make more than one drawing for it, and that i think i have at least a vague notion of how i could put it into a comic. sometimes i DO end up just putting the notion into a single drawing or condensing it into like, 2-3 lil floating drawings or w/e. coz a lot of the times the idea starts out really vague, often with one “moment” that serves as the whole inspiration & that i then try to build a scene/sequence around….a lot of the details beyond that can be really vague in my mind, like the setting or dialogue or who’s involved or what happens or the pacing or extra events or etc…basically Everything is real amorphous for a while

so yea step 1 is me having this one idea and trying to decide if building a scene around it would be a better way to present it vs just having one drawing, & if i think i can actually effectively carry it out….which is in reality even less fancy than it sounds…i just sit on an idea for a while & never get around to actually focusing on it / putting down any of the thoughts abt it that im formulating. but the upshot of me putting it off for forever is that i do end up with a kind of mental script / layout for a comic before i start it…..but even the extensiveness / format of these unwritten scripts varies a lot for me

like, a few times when i have made something that’s maybe longer than just one page &/or something ive been mulling over for an extra long amt of time (which tends to be stuff that is starting out w/ heavier than usual ideas) i’ll like, actually write down what happens page by page, even plan out specific panels, maybe even put down a few rough sketches of certain parts. i’ll have the Main Moment which is the idea that started the whole thing in the first place, but what tends to happen is i’ll come up w other moments that i think could lead up to / frame / follow the main moment, and i pretty much just decide how they all fit into one cohesive piece. so what my “rough drafts” look like for these more extensively planned ones—still really not that exhaustive, i only put things to paper when im basically done enough w my ideas to be just about ready to start actually making them—can vary in their actual formats (e.g. simple chronological bullet points of events, a few drawings, a rough sketch of how the whole thing might look), the core of it is basically just me finding a way to nail down how i’m going to arrange the Moments i have and how i’m going to lead one into the other…….like for things with enough pages / panels, i’ll tend to focus on which Moment will end each page &/or each line of panels, then have an idea of which other Moments i’ll need to put on which of those pages, and kinda figure out how to pace things

again that all sounds like maybe i have a real process…..I Do Not

im kinda lucky in that i think i have a decent sense for composition without having to struggle over it too much. so a lot of times i can leave a lot of that up to be felt out as im actually doing the rough lineart for the first time. i also often don’t nail down panel arrangement that carefully & also make it up as i go along a bit, which is probably not something anyone should emulate. someone was saying something about how some certain page layout of like, 3-something-something panel rows looks best, i dont know. i’m guessing, as with all things, nobody can say “always do this / never do that,” but i think staggering odd/even numbers of panels in each row is always a good guess. just makes it easier for them to read more distinctly at least, surely

sometimes i DO think about certain panels when i wanna frame a certain “shot” in a very specific way. but im just kind of doing whatever. i know vague rules like that wide shots / negative space slows down the pace, vs tightly cropped / small panels / packed w a lot of visual info tends to read as a faster pace, more chaotic. i dont quite go too wild about that sort of thing tho, because for me as a reader, a lot of times really tight shots that are like cutting between 5000 different angles rly fast all in a row, sometimes it is absolutely unreadable to me, as in i do not understand the visual info at all. it feels like the equivalent of how action movie editing keeps hanging on to the “incoherency = intensity” vs just me tuning out until the scene is over & missing details b/c i just am not getting anything out of it

thats not much of a factor for me coz i dont really ever do things with extended sequences of movement / action or whatever. i’ll keep things in one place. i’ll like to do smaller, “quicker” panels moreso to like, show simultaneousish details / to extend one moment…..occasionally i do Big Panels for a moment of higher intensity / impact too. btw putting a High Intensity moment in a super tiny panel is always really funny for the contrast of it all. i dont think ive ever done it, but it is

ummm…….also planning where your speech bubbles will go is good. i dont do that enough, but i should. most of the reason i dont have a more proper, organized process to anything i draw is that i just dont have the focus / patience to slow down for More Planning vs just going ahead and drawing it. jokes on me, since some quick vague planning can make it a lot easier on yourself vs just diving in and struggling w something for ages

uhhh also since im not that fantastic or mindful of panel layout? sometimes i’ll make a point of just having uniform rectangle panels of the same size/shape, so i only have to really worry about the layout within the frame. this is mostly good obv for things with not that much shift in pacing throughout it or action or whatever…you lose the advantage of how panel sizes can affect the tone of a shot or something & probably cant get that detailed in ur drawings but that is often Fine By Me

when i do use the uniform rectangle structure though, i kinda have to focus more on each individual panel, vs like, knowing ok, these three moments are going on this page, i have a vague idea of what’ll connect them, just make up the individual panels as you go along. this does mean that i have to kinda think more about what justifies each panel….how its different from the ones before & after it or how i might want it to be similar to “hold” a shot for a beat or w/e or draw focus to a small movement, what’s actually going into each panel, if i can/should condense two panels into one, etc. its still a lot of playing it by ear, i dont have solid rules of how i think i should do it each time

even when i do have a like whole plan for something im drawing i’ll often make more changes as im actually making it. sometimes its deciding something would be more effective, sometimes it’s just “hey this would work too & be easier,” and thats definitely fine. nobody knows the change you made, and Easier isn’t necessarily Worse anyways. convenience is good where you can get it

ive also definitely had specific comic artists formatting/framing styles in mind when i specifically wanted to use that while drawing my own stuff. like the way i’ll draw maybe a kind of horror vibe (more diagonal lines / “fractured” panels than i’d normally use, quick tiny shots of different smaller details, that kinda stuff) is gonna be different from when its a calm & quiet tone. where i dont really get too creative with the panels really & keep them pretty steady

and then that one time i did a largely nonsequential sort of panel collage b/c the marge simpson anime gave me great inspiration for how to combine & present a bunch of vague notions i had floating around all into one page. it was a good accomplishment & thats unsurprising because the inspiration i was using was That Good. thank god we can all benefit from each others good ideas and knowledge & work & all that. it does help to jump on a feeling of “wow what a cool comic i wish i could make something like that.” just go ahead and make something like that…

ummm this is all on the technical side-ish still but i dont really know what to say abt the kind of stuff that makes me wanna draw a comic in the first place vs just putting the idea into a regular single drawing…usually it Is kind of a more nuanced moment that i think would be better presented within some amount of context and buildup and all that. i basically exclusively draw emotions….and sometimes theyre better shown with some amount of action/dialogue, or at least a few different shots or something. i dont know if this area is helpful information or anything anyone would benefit from knowing about, or even if i have anything to say about it…is it all self evident maybe? idk! i do think i communicate emotions best through comics…not that each one is “here is my mood!” or talking about me at all, but i was for example trying to communicate about an abstract emotion, i think i can draw about it better than talk or write about it or anything. i DO sometimes draw more directly from my own specific feelings/experiences for things, but mostly when i think it can be relevant…i cant really do anything all that directly autobiographical, even casual diary comics or whatever. thats what my text posts are for… but i have been interested in how to convert these huge emotional issues that i’ve been v familiar with into a few pages or panels and how to present its impact in the simplest, straightforward ways i can manage…sometimes i think its worked for sure…..i feel like i gave a more Relatable sense to a certain experience by putting it in comic form than any of the times ive discussed it as a personal thing at length via text. like i said i communicate best via comics probably, despite not drawing them all that much coz im too damn slow lmao

speaking of, i’ve kind of been like “what a waste” abt the fact that i dont have like, a proper approach or regular strategy to thinking up comics before i draw them, but i think theres something actually okay to be taken from that lol……just that i know if i got too caught up in trying to plan it all out perfectly before getting into actually drawing it, i’d be making it into a bigger project and slowing myself down even more & i’d risk dropping it partway through or just never getting started at all. so if i have a less than perfect end result, at least i have an end result, and ive finally got that one idea out of my head in some way. and i feel like some of my comics do work out decently enough….a good handful of times ive been surprised w how well some ppl receive them

so i think it is good to just go ahead and dive in. i did that once w an idea i’d been sitting on for like half a year, and i think it turned out good enough. i just knew i could easily spend months and months more turning over all the details, which might make it Better, but would also mean that yknow, i’d never actually get around to making it b/c of feeling like it had to be ideal. so i simplified it a bit, used a uniform panel layout, did little drawings, and just got it drawn out in an afternoon or two. and now at least it exists lol. and ive sort of come back to the same idea in a way…if i feel like it turns out i wanna elaborate on something more, i can just make another pic/comic built on the same theme, who’s gonna care or stop me

i also try to focus on what lines are/aren’t necessary to avoid things being confusing or just pointlessly cluttery….this isnt a big issue b/c i dont often bother w bgs. dont emulate that either lol…….but im not doing any Serious art so its no big deal to me if im not “good” or not progressing as spectacularly as i might. i dont need my drawing abilities to be that amazing here. but bgs still serve a purpose beyond being a “skill” or whatever so im trying to include them more, aka occasionally, at all. still hardly ever. but sometimes you at least need like one halfassed establishing shot yknow. anyways

mmm this has all been kinda vague and i’m trying to think if there’s anything more specific i could/should talk about!! i dont know. i dont have a good perspective on what its like to look at my art while not being me lol & what ppl might think or what stands out to them or whatever. rip

sorry this is so long, i dont really have ppl wanting to know abt my Processes or drawing thoughts or whatever so i’m kinda jumping at the chance to talk about this sort of stuff after having been actually prompted to. but i dont know if i’ve said anything at all!! i dont know if any of it has been helpful

“tldr; i dont really know what im doing, but go ahead and jump into actually making them as opposed to feeling like youre ready / you know the best way to make a page, because nobodys ever ready or can say This Is The Best Possible Version so just go ahead and use whatever process feels like it makes your life easier, while still actually making the damn comic” is my whole thing, i guess

i dunno, if there was some specific thing you wanted to know abt that i didnt talk about / talk about well here, feel free to ask me to specify because i totally will, which is both an invitation and a warning obviously

sorry this is so long everybody…….writing an essay & by the end of it not being sure if ive given any info at all is part of my whole Thing

[welcome2theneighborhood]

100°

Chapter IV

‘Dear Amanda,

I’d lost the love of my life once, and I don’t know if I can do it again.’

AO3

The big day. My baby girl was graduating from college. Every parent’s dream.

I was probably up way too early, though. I’d bought something nice to wear for the ceremony, but by the time I was all done showering and ironing and getting dressed, I realized no one else was even awake yet, nor did they have to be. Six in the morning. Craig might’ve gotten up for a quick jog, but I’d told him to put that bit of the routine aside for our little vacation. So I was the only person awake, fully dressed, alone, and waiting for a proper time to get everyone else up.

I couldn’t even watch TV.

At eight I got tired of just sitting around and decided this was a fine time to start the day. I clapped my hands together loudly, moving between the beds. “Alright, rise and shine, everyone, we’ve got a big day ahead of us!”

The girls clearly didn’t appreciate me as an alarm clock, so they didn’t let me help them get ready. Which was a shame, because then Craig had to do it while also having to get ready himself, while I sat around ready and pretty useless. I tried to jump in and help River brushing her teeth, but she was pretty cranky and put off by it, so I backed out of the bathroom.

We got there early to get the best seat possible. The first several rows were reserved for the graduating students, but everything else was fair game. The auditorium was huge, but there were many students in the ceremony today. Amanda was only allowed enough tickets for four people, which we didn’t know until that morning, but the woman at the door suggested that we could all fit if one of us didn’t mind River sitting on our knees. So we took our seats, front and center, River wandering up and down the aisle but told to come and sit on Craig’s lap once more people started filing in.

It all went by in a blur. I was so excited I could hardly think straight. I was only barely aware of what was going on in the seats next to me.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” one of the twins groaned, but I didn’t catch which one. By force of habit, and very much in Father Mode, I almost responded with a Classic Dad Joke (even though Briar/Hazel wasn’t talking to me) but Craig cut off that thought.

“Hey, bro, I’m gonna go see if there’s a little cafe or something nearby.”

I realized then that we hadn’t had the chance to eat before we left, and was surprised that the matter of food hadn’t come up sooner. Kudos to the girls for being on the ball today. “Yeah, yeah, go on, I’ll save your seat.”

“Do you want anything?”

“Just get me whatever, I’m too excited to really be hungry.”

He nodded and stood (with some difficulty) and headed out to find our breakfast. I looked over at the girls. Briar was looking through the graduation program, and I saw her circle Amanda’s name in it with a pink highlighter. Hazel had her feet up on the seat in front of her, earbuds in and texting. River moved a seat over to sit next to me, but pretended to hide. I smiled and played along. “Oh no, where’d River go?” I wondered aloud.

Hazel looked over in concern before catching on. “Oh, I think we lost her!”

River was grinning widely behind the hands over her face. “Your dad’s gonna be really upset to see she’s missing!”

“I’m not missing, Dean!” she laughed, finally uncovering herself and dropping the ruse. “I’m right here!”

“Oh, there you are!” I hugged her and squeezed her tight. “We thought you were gone forever!”

She giggled and tried to push me off. “You guys are silly!”

“We’re very silly.” Hazel ruffled her sister’s hair and returned to her phone. River leaned over the armrest and asked if she could do word jumbles with me. I always carried my pocket version with me, even to my daughter’s graduation, so I whipped it out and we started working on one of the easier puzzles. I got schooled by a kindergartener.

Craig came back just before the ceremony was due to start. The auditorium was now packed with proud parents like myself, and I felt part of the collective but also a drive to brag about my daughter’s accomplishments. The little old grandmother next to me held her own quite well until my partner returned and a truce was called. “Hey, what’d you find?”

“There was a little bakery around the corner, so I picked up some muffins.” He handed them out to his daughters one by one, each receiving their favorite flavors. I’d barely unwrapped my pumpkin muffin before realizing Craig didn’t seem to get anything for himself, but before I could say anything, the graduation march started playing and all other thoughts fled my mind but “MY BABY IS GRADUATING.”

I’d seemed to have forgotten just how boring graduation ceremonies could be, though. The room was overcrowded and hot and was too noisy to properly hear anything, and I couldn’t see Amanda from this angle, and all I could do was wait for that ten glorious seconds when Amanda would be up on that stage, shaking hands with the dean and other school officials I didn’t know or care to know about, but it just seemed to be taking so long to get to that moment. In the meantime I just ate half my muffin, and shoved the other half into Craig’s hand.

I could hear River whining from her seat, and what I wouldn’t give in that moment to be a five-year-old who could get away with something like that. “Dad, when’s it over?”

“Just try to be patient, sweetpea. This is a big day for Amanda. She worked really hard to be here today, and we’re here to celebrate her achievement.” But because kids weren’t so easy to keep seated very long with nothing to do, Craig always had a Plan B on him, a composition notebook and box of crayons. He gave them to her with the promise that she would draw quietly, so she didn’t disturb the people around us. She nodded and got to work, not making a peep for the rest of the wait.

And then it happened.

And as soon as it did, it was over.

I’d just barely managed to get a picture while she was up on there, but it was blurry and overexposed and I cursed under my breath, loudly enough for Craig to hear me but not River sitting next to him. He’d gotten a picture, but his hands weren’t shaking, so he managed to get a much better version. I kissed him hard on the cheek and smiled to myself as I sunk into the chair to suffer through the rest of the event.

It took forever to find Amanda in the sea of graduates right after the ceremony. She wanted to introduce us to her friends, some of whom I recognized their names. I was honestly just grateful there weren’t additional Emmas in her life.

We’d made reservations for an early dinner, and really had to get going, but Amanda kept making excuses to not have to leave yet. I could recognize the pain of separation from the people she’d spent these long years with, and considered that maybe we still had time to cancel. I only barely mentioned it to Craig before he was calling it in, phone balanced between his ear and his shoulder as he held River up out of the crowd.

So we weren’t going out to a nice dinner that night. We went back to one of the friends’ apartments and ordered from various restaurants. While we waited we all made bets on who what order the delivery people would arrive in. The twins made out with twenty dollars each that night, while Amanda had to pay each person’s tips. I slipped her a twenty, and jokingly told her to consider it her graduation present.

Afterwards we played charades and a couple of games from the theater kids that I swear they were making up on that spot. When River and Atticus got bored of Legos and Barbie dolls, they put on a show for us that went on about an hour longer than we could’ve ever expected. I was surprised at how all the non-parents in the room kept enthusiastically engaged the whole time.

I’d say it was a pretty nice dinner after all.

As the night started coming to a close, I decided it was probably time to reveal Amanda’s actual graduation present. I’d gotten both her and Morgan monogrammed bracelets with teal beads and a golden band, reminiscent of their school colors. Morgan didn’t seem to expect the gist, and as I was being mauled in a hug by my daughter, she just smiled breathlessly and gave a quiet “thank you.”

“But wait, there’s more!” I added, putting on my best Billy Mays impression -and by my best, I meant probably the worst anyone in the room could imagine. I pulled out a carefully wrapped gift, covered in glittery green paper and wrapped up with a twirly blue bow. “Okay, this one’s technically from all of us.”

Though an only child, Amanda was far from spoiled. An only child myself, I knew to avoid something like that, no matter how easy it would be just to give in to her every wish and desire. I would bleed myself dry for this girl, but she never took advantage of that. Amanda didn’t know, nor expect, that she was getting anything but the first rather simple gift. So I knew that when she opened the second one to find a new and supposedly high-quality art tablet inside, I had to get a picture of her reaction.

This time my picture really captured the excitement of the moment.

[legendofzeldaalinktothepast]

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 14 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter 

Pearl rested her elbows against the windowsill as she gazed out at the bright blue sky. The view from this new house was lovely; that was one thing Whitney hadn't lied about. They had a fair amount of land -- Pearl had a feeling her mother was planning to start a garden -- and there was a thick patch of woods just within walking distance; the tree branches were bare and coated with ice, but Pearl knew they'd be even more beautiful in the spring. Despite all of the beauty laying just before her, Pearl's heart still ached. She couldn't bring herself to smile at the sunny blue sky, or the squirrel scurrying through the patches of snow in the yard, or the opportunity to explore those woods... She knew why she was here, and all the nature in the world could never compensate for what she'd left behind. 

* 

Taking a deep breath, Pearl laid back against her pillow. The composition notebook lay on the other side of her bed, but there mere sight of it only made her even more nauseous. She kicked it in a fit of frustration, and it slid down into the gap between her bed and the wall.

Knock knock. Pearl instinctively bolted upright as the door creaked open. To her relief, it was only Peony.

"Aren't you ever going to come out?" Peony whined. "I know you're sad, but I've been so bored lately... Besides, it's not good to stay cooped up in here all day."

Pearl huffed. "What is there to do?" she grumbled. "I don't even know anybody in this stupid town, and probably never will."

"Well, you have me..." Peony said, looking rather disappointed.

Pearl forced a smile. "I know, I know... Look, we can... go for a walk or something, if you really are that bored."

"Yes, I'd love to!" Peony immediately brightened up.

The two girls made their way downstairs, slipping into their winter coats and boots before heading towards the back door. "Be back in a while, mom!" Peony called. "We're just going for a walk."

"Alright, be safe, girls!" Whitney called back. The mere sound of her voice made Pearl cringe, and she hurried out the door without another word. Rolling her eyes, Peony followed close behind.

"I don't know how you can even look her in the eye anymore..." Pearl said, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked through the muddy grass, the ground squeaking beneath her boots.

"Because she's our mom." Peony stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides... While I do wish we could have stayed back in Beach City, you can't deny that there were a lot of... negative influences back there."

Pearl shot her a glare, which made Peony tense. "Look, all I'm saying is... Mom's doing what she thinks is best for us." Peony continued, turning her gaze up towards the sky. "I don't fully understand all of it... but that doesn't mean she's wrong."

"If you don't even understand it, then how do you know she's right?" Pearl huffed.

Peony lifted the bottom of her ankle-length skirt as she stepped over a pile of snow, not wanting to get it wet. "Well... I don't really know, I guess." Peony shrugged. "But... I do know that God has a plan for both of us. If we weren't meant to be where we are right now, we wouldn't be here. He would've stopped us from coming here somehow."

Pearl blinked away tears. "What if..." she began, her voice cracking. "What if mom is doing the wrong thing? What if she's outright disobeying God? What if she's just selfish and controlling and it has nothing to do with whatever God wants? Have you considered that, Peony?"

"I..." Peony clenched her fists. "I... I don't know, Pearl. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up."

"I just want to go home." Pearl choked, cupping her hands over her face. "I just want my friends back... I'm never going to see them again, Peony! I can't do this..." She finally broke down. Peony stood beside her in silence, struggling to think of something, anything she could say that would comfort her sister... But it seemed like everything she'd said these past few minutes only made things worse.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence (aside from Pearl's sobbing), Peony approached Pearl and gave her a gentle hug. "I know... I'm sorry.” 

* 

Pearl stretched her arms as she sat upright, drawing in a deep breath. Once she'd rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she glanced down towards Amethyst and smiled warmly. A tiny bit of hair had grown on her chin overnight; Pearl gave it a cautious stroke, not wanting to wake Amethyst, but still loving the feeling of her scruffy chin. 'So cute...' Once she'd finally pulled her gaze away from Amethyst, Pearl rose from the bed and tiptoed over to the basket of folded laundry, deciding to put together her outfit for the day.

Amethyst rolled over onto her side. "Hey." she greeted, smiling at Pearl with a sleepy expression in her eyes.

"Good morning." Pearl responded as she slipped out of her pajamas. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, was already starting to wake up." Amethyst said, smiling as she admired the view. Over the past few weeks, Pearl had grown more comfortable undressing in front of Amethyst, and while she knew she wasn't ready for any kind of intimacy beyond kissing and bed sharing, she still couldn't keep her eyes off of Pearl's beautiful figure.

"That's good." Pearl slipped into one of her knee-length skirts, smoothing it out with her hands.

"Hey... not to be nosy, but just wondering; do you own any pants?" Amethyst asked. "I've just noticed you only ever wear skirts. I've always been curious about that."

"Oh... I guess not." Pearl smiled awkwardly. "I was raised a conservative Pentecostal. Almost none of the women at our church wore pants, just long skirts and dresses. It's a way of being modest and feminine, I guess. It's something I never really thought too much about."

"Hmm, I get ya." Amethyst said as she sat upright. "Well... Are you still, uh, a conservative Pentecostal?"

Pearl shook her head. "Definitely not. I mean... I still believe in God, but... not the way I was raised to, at least." Pearl buttoned up her blouse and tucked it into her skirt, looking herself over in the mirror. "I guess I just... never really thought much of it. I kind of forgot what it's like to wear pants, in all honesty, so I've never had any desire to change my wardrobe. That's not strange, is it?"

"No, not really." Amethyst said. "I was just curious. But ya know... If you ever decide you wanna change things up, I'll be glad to help you. I've got plenty of experience with that."

Pearl smiled. "Oh, you do?"

"Yeah. And I've done it more times than I can count." Amethyst reached for her brush on the nightstand and began to smooth out the knots in her hair. "Like, when I first realized I was a girl, I thought I had to be super feminine for anyone to take me seriously. I wore skirts and dresses and pink stuff and all that shit, I even shaved my legs and wore a face full of makeup... And then I realized, hey, this sucks. I don't have to do all that shit to be a girl."

"I see..." Pearl said, reaching for the brush once Amethyst was finished and smoothing out her own hair.

"Yeah." Amethyst said. "So at one point, I realized that like... I don't have to be girly to be a girl. Sure, I like a little eyeliner and lipgloss now and then, I even paint my nails sometimes -- but I also like being hairy and wearing flannels and tank tops. And I became a lot more comfortable with being a girl once I realized that." Amethyst shrugged. "I dunno, you don't have to, but... You ever consider trying out a new style? Doesn't even have to be a manly one, could just be a different kind of feminine. Just to help you move past the way you were raised."

"Maybe..." Pearl shrugged, blushing as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "At the very least, I should get a haircut. It's getting a bit too long for my liking. And perhaps I could try out some new clothes at the mall... Maybe go wild and give pants a try, ha!"

"Oooh, I see where this is going!" Amethyst jumped to her feet. "Let's go out to the mall with the girls today! I need to re-dye my hair, anyway." she said, gesturing to the black roots on her scalp.

"Aw, well..." Pearl blushed. "I guess that could be fun... I haven't seen Garnet and Peridot in quite a while, have I?"

"You sure haven't!" Amethyst grinned. "I'll text Dot and Garnet! They'll be sooo excited to see you again!"

"You're sure they won't be annoyed with me?" Pearl said. "I still feel terrible for not showing up to our last mall date..."

"Nah, they'll totally understand! They know you had stuff going on, and they could tell you were shy, anyway." Amethyst said with a wink, fishing her phone out from underneath the blankets and sending out a text to Peridot and Garnet. "Besides, you're the mom friend of the group. Peridot needs you around if she finds another centipede in her shower."

Pearl burst into laughter. "I guess that's true, isn't it? I'm still so proud of that."

"Aaah, this is gonna be so fun!" Amethyst bounced with excitement. "How do you think you'll get your hair cut? You wanna go risky and get a buzzcut? Maybe even dye it a wild color like mine?"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far..." Pearl brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I think I'm fairly content with my natural strawberry blonde. I honestly just want a trim so it doesn't look like an awkward bob anymore."

"Aww, but you'd look soooo cute with some pink highlights..." Amethyst pouted. "I won't push, though. No matter what you get done, it's gonna be a great time, and you'll look hot!"

Pearl beamed. "Yeah! It'll be lots of fun." she said, grabbing her deodorant and toothbrush from her backpack. Even though she'd been living there for a few months, now, she still couldn't break the habit of keeping all of her belongings in her bag. "Well, guess I should finish getting myself cleaned up... Be right back!" she said, heading off to the bathroom. 

* 

The mall was filled with the sounds of chattering, music, and children running around and laughing in the play area. Pearl walked a few steps behind the other three girls -- at least until Amethyst reached back and nudged her forward. "Keep up, princess!" she teased. "Want me to hold your hand so you don't fall behind?"

"Ah, um, sure!" Pearl blushed; she noticed Peridot and Garnet grinning at the sight of this, but neither of them said anything, to Pearl's relief.

"Have you decided what you'll be doing with your hair?" Garnet asked.

"Not entirely sure... But I certainly want it shorter than this." Pearl said, blowing away a strand of hair that had started to fall onto her face. "It's in that awkward stage where it's constantly in the way, but too short to put in a ponytail."

"I was thinking of getting some pink and blue highlights." Garnet said, turning to Peridot and ruffling her hair. "And this little butch is probably going to sit and read a magazine, aren't you?"

"You bet your ass I am!" Peridot said. "I cut and dye my own hair."

"I don't blame you." Pearl reassured. "I've had so many horrible experiences with getting my hair done, too; I was lucky my mother let me cut it as short as she did, but she always told the stylist to make sure I didn't look like a boy or a lesbian."

"I'll tell the stylist to make you look extra lesbian if you want." Amethyst teased.

Pearl giggled. "No need for that. I just want a trim, that's all."

"Yeah, I know. Just saying, though, you'd look really cute if you got something super short." Amethyst said. "Not that you're not already cute as fuck."

"Maybe I will..." Pearl said, blushing a little bit. "Y-you're pretty cute yourself, too."

"You're cuter." Amethyst whispered, pressing a kiss to Pearl's knuckles. Before their playful flirting could continue any longer, they'd reached the hair salon. As they walked in and seated themselves in the waiting room, Pearl couldn't help but notice the heavy scent of hairspray and shampoo in the air. Reaching for one of the magazines in the basket, she flipped through the pages in search of some ideas. Amethyst's suggestion, however, didn't seem to be leaving her head anytime soon... 'Perhaps I could get the short and risky haircut my mother would definitely disapprove of.' she thought with a growing smile.

"Hmm, what do you think?" Amethyst asked, gesturing to a picture in the magazine she was holding. "I was thinking of just getting my purple re-done, but I think some silver streaks would look pretty cool, too!"

"Ohh, you're right!" Pearl beamed. "That would look lovely on you! I say you should go for it."

"I think I will." Amethyst grinned, setting the magazine aside but leaving it open on that particular page. "How about you? Any styles catch your eye?"

"None in particular, but..." Pearl flipped through the magazine and hummed with thought. "I think I might end up going with your idea after all. I want to go super short! Maybe an undercut of some kind."

"Hell yeah, that's the spirit!" Amethyst gave Pearl a playful nudge. "But only if you want to, alright? I might've been a little pushy about it..."

"Not at all. In fact, I think it's just the push I needed!" Pearl beamed, pressing a gentle kiss to Amethyst's forehead.

"Alright, good to hear." Amethyst returned the kiss. She reached for Pearl's hand and gently tangled their fingers together, letting out a sigh of content as she rested her head against her shoulder. 

* 

Once they left the salon, Pearl couldn't keep her fingers out of her hair; not only was it soft from being shampooed, but the feeling of the freshly buzzed hair on the side of her head felt so lovely on her fingers. In the end, she'd decided on a short undercut; trimmed just enough to keep her hair out of her face, but long enough so that she could still run her fingers through it.

As they passed the various stores throughout the mall, Pearl caught the occasional glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass windows. 'I look... boyish.' she thought, her heart racing. 'Especially when I'm holding hands with Amethyst...' But for some strange reason, that thought almost excited her.

As they entered one of the clothing stores, Amethyst immediately began bouncing with excitement. "Ohh, you'd look really cute in that!" Amethyst said, gesturing to one of the mannequins. It was wearing dark green overalls with a minty green striped blouse underneath.

"You think so?" Pearl blushed.

"Totally!" Amethyst said. "You wanna try it on?"

"Ah, sure! I don't see why not." Pearl said, searching through the clothing rack to make sure the outfit was in her size. Once she found it, she turned her gaze back to Amethyst. "But since I'm trying this on, I want to pick out an outfit for you as well!"

"Oh yeah?" Amethyst grinned.

"Yep!" Pearl said. "Ah, let's see..." She glanced around the store for some kind of inspiration; Garnet was looking through the array of hair clips and sunglasses, while Peridot stood nearby on her phone, probably playing that one Pokemon game she was always talking about. She then glanced towards the lingerie section, but immediately averted her eyes. 'No, no, not that!' she thought, blushing at the mere idea of telling Amethyst to try on lingerie for her -- and in public at that!

"You good?" Amethyst asked, noticing the blush on Pearl's face.

"Yes! Um..." Not wanting Amethyst to know about the thought she'd just had, Pearl turned and pointed at the first outfit she saw; it was a short, black sundress with a pink flower pattern. "That'd look lovely on you! Oh, wait..." Pearl blushed. "Sorry, I forgot you didn't like dresses."

"Hey, I'm not opposed to them." Amethyst said. "Just don't like wearing them all the time. But nothing wrong with putting on a dress for a little fashion show." she added with a wink.

"We're having a fashion show now?" Peridot raised an eyebrow.

"Ooh, that sounds fun! I want to pick out your outfit!" Garnet exclaimed, clasping her hands together with excitement.

"So that means I'll be picking out yours... I hope you're ready to look like a clown." Peridot snorted.

"Aw, hush, I'm sure you could put together something nice!" Garnet patted Peridot on the back.

"You two nerds go pick out each others outfits while me and Pearl try ours on." Amethyst said with a grin, grabbing Pearl's hand and leading her towards the women's dressing room. Beaming with excitement, Pearl closed the door behind herself and locked it. 'Never thought this bunch would be the type to have a fashion show at the mall...' Pearl thought as she undressed.

As she reached for the pair of overalls, she caught a glimpse of her body in the mirror. 'I'm so scrawny...' she thought, staring at her flat chest and the way her ribs protruded from her torso. While it certainly wasn't news to her, she still couldn't help feeling a little bit self conscious every now and then; a combination of a fast metabolism, a picky appetite, and genetics all contributed to her being so thin. But she remembered the way Amethyst held her whenever she slept in her bed, kissing her and telling her how lovely she looked, and she couldn't help but smile again.

Pearl slipped into the overalls; the way they hugged her legs felt... strange, somewhat foreign, but not necessarily in a bad way. She then buttoned up the pretty green blouse and tucked it in, fastening the suspenders over her shoulders. She slipped back into her shoes and looked at herself in the mirror once more, a slight blush on her cheeks. 'Goodness... I look more boyish than ever.' she thought. Pearl found herself staring at her reflection for a few moments, unable to hide the happy feeling bubbling up inside of her. The word Garnet had used to describe Peridot earlier that day -- butch -- ran through her mind, and a smile spread across her face. But she shook off the silly feeling, remembering it was just a little game of dressup, and that she'd have to change back into her more feminine clothes soon. Still, the joy in her chest lingered as she unlocked the dressing room door and stepped out into the store.

Garnet and Peridot were sitting in the chairs just outside the dressing room, and they applauded as Pearl walked out.

"Woohoo, you look cute as hell!" Peridot cheered.

"Very nice." Garnet added with a warm smile. "It suits you so well."

"Aww, thanks." Pearl blushed, shoving her hands into the big front pocket. "I sort of wish I had the money for it... Amethyst only had enough to pay for my haircut, unfortunately."

"I could buy it for you, if you'd like." Garnet said.

"Ah, I could never make you do that! I don't know when or if I'll be able to pay you back..." Pearl smiled sadly. "It's very kind of you to offer, though."

"Your birthday is in June, isn't it?" Garnet asked, tilting her head. "Consider it an early birthday gift."

"Ah... well, thank you." Pearl blushed. She honestly didn't remember telling Garnet her birthday -- maybe Amethyst had mentioned it at some point? "Only if you're sure it's alright."

"I am! You look lovely in it, you deserve to wear it more than once." Garnet reassured. "Amethyst, are you almost done?" she added, glancing over towards the other dressing room.

"Yeah, just a sec!" Amethyst called. "Just, uh -- Pearl, could you come in and help me with this zipper in the back?"

"Oh, sure thing!" Pearl said. She headed into the dressing room and locked the door behind herself once she was in. "Let me see."

"Thanks, P. Zippers are always a pain in the ass." Amethyst said, turning her back towards Pearl and moving her long hair over her shoulder. Pearl reached for the zipper and gave it a gentle tug, sliding it up with ease. "There we go!" Pearl clasped her hands together.

"Thanks." Amethyst said, grinning as she turned around to face Pearl. "And since you came in to my rescue, you get to be the first one to see me in this dress." she said, flipping her hair dramatically. "How's it look?"

"It's lovely..." Pearl said, admiring the way the dress framed her chubby figure.

"You think so, huh?" Amethyst whispered, standing up on her tippy toes. "Because I think you look just as good... Maybe even better. Look at you, stepping outta your comfort zone and letting yourself be a tomboy..." Amethyst licked her lips, slowly casting her gaze down towards Pearl's mouth.

Pearl stared into her eyes, taking a moment to process just what Amethyst was silently begging for. Once it clicked, Pearl immediately complied; she pressed a soft kiss to her plump lips, letting out a quiet groan as Amethyst gripped onto her shoulders and pinned her against the wall.

Her cheeks burning, Pearl ran her fingers through Amethyst's hair; normally it was soft, yet filled with a handful of tangles, but after their visit to the salon it was smoother than silk. Pearl found her hands slowly inching downwards, but stopped at Amethyst's hips once she remembered they were in a public dressing room. As their lips parted, Pearl panted softly and wiped a bit of saliva away from her mouth.

"Goodness gracious..." she breathed.

"Heh... I swear that wasn't the original plan." Amethyst whispered. "Really just wanted help with my zipper, but... You looked so dang hot, had to get a taste..."

"Mhm, sure it wasn't." Pearl winked. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her blouse and re-adjusted her suspenders.

"Well... Guess we should head out. We got a fashion show to attend." Amethyst winked back, stepping out into the store again before Pearl could even say anything else. After looking herself over in the mirror to make sure her face wasn't too red (it was), she soon followed.

"No dirty jokes, we just took a while because my zipper just got stuck, I swear." Amethyst said to Garnet and Peridot.

"We weren't going to make any." Peridot rolled her eyes.

"I was." Garnet snorted. "But anyway, the colors of the dress really compliment your hair."

"Yeah. Why don't you wear dresses more often?" Peridot said, resting her chin in her hands.

"I dunno. Just like pants more, I guess... But maybe I'll end up buying this one, it's pretty comfy. Nice and breezy for when it gets hot outside, too. What do you think, Pearl?" Amethyst turned to Pearl.

"Well, if you think you'll wear it, I say you should buy it!" Pearl said.

"Maybe I will." Amethyst said, strutting over towards Peridot and Garnet. "Now get your butts up and try on your outfits! Me and Pierogi wanna see a fashion show, too!"

"Alright, let's get this over with!" Peridot announced as she rose to her feet. "I hope my selection for you was decent..."

"I'm sure it is." Garnet said, making her way towards the dressing room.

As the two girls changed into their outfits, Pearl leaned back in the chair and relaxed, slowly reaching for Amethyst's hand and tangling their fingers together. Amethyst squeezed Pearl's hand tight, giving her knuckles a kiss and gazing into her eyes with a soft expression. "Hey..." she said, smiling softly.

"Hi there." Pearl whispered, pressing a kiss to Amethyst's knuckles as well. "While I am enjoying our little fashion show... I do wish we could have stayed in that dressing room just a moment longer."

"Aw, you liked that lil makeout session we had in there, didn't you?" Amethyst teased, booping Pearl's nose with her free hand. She tensed for a moment, glancing around the area to make sure nobody was standing nearby before leaning in and kissing Pearl on the lips once more. "There's plenty more where that came from."

The locks on the dressing rooms clicked, and Pearl immediately pulled her gaze away from Amethyst's face -- but she kept her grip tight on Amethyst's hand.

Peridot and Garnet both stepped out in their respective outfits; Peridot was dressed in a slightly-too-big button up shirt with some dress pants, and Garnet was in a white tank top with a pink sweater on top, and a black-and-white striped maxi skirt. The latter twirled around to show off her skirt, a huge grin on her face before she turned to Peridot. "Tuck your shirt in, it'll look nicer that way!"

Peridot blushed, tucking the baggy shirt into her jeans. "Hmf, if you insist." she mumbled. "Can I put my shorts back on now?"

"Aww, but you look so handsome in that!" Pearl cooed, clasping her hands together.

Peridot buried her face into her hands and grumbled incoherently. Pearl wasn't quite sure what to make of that response, but once she saw the slight smile from between Peridot's fingers, she relaxed and smiled as well.

"Maybe we should head out soon. As cute as she looks, we all know fashion shows aren't really Dot's thing." Amethyst said.

"That's true." Garnet gave Peridot a playful nudge. "Do you want go to the pet store and play with the dogs?"

"Hell yeah!" Peridot cheered, zooming right back into the dressing room to change back into her clothes before anyone could say anything else.

'Guess the fashion show is over... That went by quick.' Pearl thought. She made her way back towards the dressing rooms and retrieved her blouse and skirt, changing back into them. As much as she'd loved wearing the overalls, she still felt a strange sense of relief when she changed back into her more feminine, "ladylike" clothing. 

* 

As Pearl began settling in for bed that night, she changed into her nightgown and brushed her hair like she always did; she noticed the way her brush went through her short hair with ease. With a sigh of content, she laid down on the bed and adjusted herself beneath the blankets as she got comfortable.

"You're really liking that new haircut, aren't you?" Amethyst remarked, running her fingers across Pearl's scalp as she snuggled up to her.

"Mhm... It's so fun to play with." Pearl mumbled sleepily. She buried her face into the top of Amethyst's head and took in the lingering scent of her shampoo. Pearl let out another happy sigh as she played with her hair and twirled it around her fingers. "Thank you for taking me out to get it done... I guess I needed it more than I realized."

"Aw, well, I love spoiling you." Amethyst smiled warmly, kissing Pearl on the cheek. "By the way, uh... I guess there's something I wanted to talk about."

"Hm?" Pearl asked. Normally that kind of preface would send her anxiety up to the sky, but the tone in Amethyst's voice reassured her that it wasn't going to be anything bad.

"I was wondering... I know you said you weren't too sure about what we are right now..." Amethyst began. "But... I dunno. I think, if you're comfortable with it... We kinda already are girlfriends at this point, you know? I know you said you're more comfortable calling us friends that kiss each other, and if you wanna stick with that, we can, but... I think, in a way, that's kind of what girlfriends are." Feeling a little bit shy, Amethyst averted her gaze. "I dunno... What do you think?"

Pearl took a moment to ponder Amethyst's suggestion, running her fingers through Amethyst's silky hair. "Perhaps you're right... The world girlfriend has always felt so... heavy to me. Like I'm committing to something huge, and permanent, and that we'll either get married or... or have a painful breakup." Pearl shuddered. "But... perhaps it doesn't have to be like that. I think... the way you described girlfriend is so much more comfortable to me, so... I think, maybe... I am your girlfriend, Amethyst. No matter what we call it, I want to stay like this with you."

"I wanna stay like this, too." Amethyst whispered. She cupped Pearl's cheeks and brought their lips together in a long, soft kiss.

[getanattitude]

Buzzwords, De-buzzed: 10 Other Ways to Say fireinsidemusic.com

“THE more you dig right into a bit of Ives, the more enjoyment you have from it,” the pianist Jeremy Denk mentioned not too long ago, sitting at a piano inside of a rehearsal Area on the Juilliard University. “It’s like solving a puzzle.”

Then he enthusiastically deconstructed Ives’s “Concord” Sonata, untangling and detailing the themes and motifs embedded within the complex textures of the interesting rating.

Mr. Denk is going to release a disc, “Jeremy Denk Plays Ives” (Think Denk Media), that includes two piano sonatas, an esoteric choice of repertory for the debut solo album. But then, there's nothing generic concerning this adventurous musician. His vivacious intellect is manifest both equally in his playing and on his blog site, Assume Denk, an outlet for astute musical observations and witty musings, whether a lament about inedible meatballs or simply a spoof job interview with Sarah Palin.

Mr. Denk will reveal his more mainstream qualifications when he performs Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. one with Charles Dutoit and also the Philadelphia Orchestra commencing on Thursday on the Kimmel Centre in Philadelphia and on Oct. 12 at Carnegie Hall.

Mr. Denk argues which the Ives sonatas, composed early during the twentieth century, are mistakenly categorized as avant-garde works instead of “epic Intimate sonatas with Lisztian thematic transformations.” On the relaxed listener, the audio that Mr. Denk describes while in the CD booklet as “brilliant, ingenious, tender, edgy, wild, unique, witty, haunting” can unquestionably audio avant-garde. Ives, who built his residing in the coverage enterprise, integrated jazz, riffs on Beethoven and American hymns, marches and people songs into his daringly experimental piano sonatas, full of polytonality, thematic layering and rhythmic complexity.

“It’s so splendidly in-your-face,” Mr. Denk said, demonstrating a very maniacal passage while in the “Concord” Sonata. “It’s also pretty astonishingly unsightly. There is a thing maddening about his sense of humor. Ives is continually thumbing his nose at you in a method.”

But Mr. Denk suggests that Ives’s tenderness, which he illuminates superbly In this particular recording, is underappreciated. “Ives is frequently about things recalled,” he said, “or Recollections or visions fetched from some difficult position.”

He played the harmonically misty passages in the next movement with the “Concord,” where by Ives directs that a bit of wood be pressed over the higher keys to produce a cluster chord. “It doesn’t sense gimmicky at all to me,” Mr. Denk explained. “It’s all blues in The underside. Ives knew the way to use Those people tiny clichéd bits of Americana in a means that all of a sudden will get your intestine. You can’t believe how touching it's.”

Mr. Denk, forty, has been passionate about Ives because his undergraduate days at Oberlin in Ohio, where he carried a double big in piano functionality and chemistry. “My overall double diploma knowledge was to some degree of the continuous freakout of 1 type of A different,” he claimed.

He had been a “really nerdy high school scholar” by using a constrained social existence, he stated. “Ever considering the fact that I had been a kid I planned to head to Oberlin and preferred the liberal arts. Certainly I really get rigorous satisfaction outside of drawing connections between parts and poems and literature and concepts.”

Mr. Denk explained himself to be a “practice maniac,” but his horizons have prolonged considerably beyond the apply area since Oberlin. When nibbling a massive bit of chocolate cream pie at an Upper West Facet diner near the condominium he has rented due to the fact about 1999, Mr. Denk referred to his blog, contacting it “an surprisingly excellent outlet to release tensions of one form or Yet another.” He claimed it had drawn new listeners to his concerts. An avid reader of liberal political weblogs, Mr. Denk desires of creating a classical music Model of Wonkette, he reported, but that might be not easy to do devoid of offending individuals. And he attempts to steer clear of offending persons, he extra, while he did not long ago write-up a rant about plan notes.

Mr. Denk, who phone calls himself “an actual Francophile,” is gentle-spoken but intense, his dialogue peppered with references to numerous “obsessions”: espresso, Ives, Bach, Proust, Baudelaire and Emerson.

He went off on “a Balzac mania” a number of years in the past, he claimed.

“That was a perilous time, and almost everything in everyday life seemed drawn outside of a Balzac novel,” he extra. “I misplaced about three decades of my lifetime to Proust. I’m guaranteed it improved anything, including my playing.

“Sooner or later my supervisor was like, ‘Dude, You should deal with your occupation and receiving your stuff together.’ ” At that point, Mr. Denk claimed, “I had been bringing Proust to conferences.” He extra: “I’m unsure I really experienced a occupation route. I had been just undertaking my Odd issue, which most likely gave the impression of a disastrous nonroute to a lot of the individuals that have been viewing around me. I don't forget some exasperated conferences with my management, Nevertheless they were incredibly affected person and faithful, which I’m insanely grateful for.”

Mr. Denk grew up in Las Cruces, N.M., amongst two brothers, a son of audio-loving nonmusician parents. His father, who's got a doctorate in chemistry, has actually been (at diverse occasions) a Roman Catholic monk plus a director of Laptop or computer science at New Mexico Point out College.

Mr. Denk continues to be hooked on the chili peppers of Las Cruces, he said, seemingly only fifty percent joking: “The red and the green and The full spirituality of chili peppers. It’s nonetheless a large part of my everyday living. When I go house I go to this true dive and obsess in excess of their eco-friendly meat burrito.”

When not on tour, Mr. Denk spends time with his boyfriend, Patrick Posey, a saxophonist as well as director of orchestral things to do and preparing at Juilliard, wherever Mr. Denk been given his doctorate, researching with Herbert Stessin. Mr. Stessin recollects owning been impressed by “the maturity and intensity” of Mr. Denk’s participating in and remembers him as “an extraordinary university student who absorbed things pretty promptly.”

Mr. Denk said he “was in class permanently” until finally “at some time I made a decision to believe in my own instincts.” Now he teaches double-diploma undergraduates for the Bard Higher education Conservatory of Music. The pianist Allegra Chapman, who researched with him, explained he was “worried about quite a bit greater than the notes about the web site, constantly mentioning literary and historic references.”

“Now I attempt to technique songs within a more holistic viewpoint,” she additional. “He is incredibly passionate. He used to bounce around the area and bounce about and wave his arms. It was really enjoyable. He tried to get me to think about the music that has a sense of humor.”

This blend of passion, humor and intellect, so vibrant in both equally Mr. Denk’s enjoying and his creating, is what distinguishes him, according to the violinist Joshua Bell. The 2 have already been normal duo companions because 2004, when they carried out with the Spoleto Competition United states.

“You obtain the mental musicians or people that have on their coronary heart on their own sleeve without having a number of musical imagined,” Mr. Bell reported, “but Jeremy manages to accomplish each, Which’s great. Now we have lots of arguments in rehearsal, and that is the fun component at the same time. The very fact we don’t generally see eye to eye keeps issues clean and would make me problem anything I do.”

Mr. Bell, whose options of repertory are generally additional regular than those of his much more adventurous colleague, mentioned he wasn’t normally an Ives enthusiast: “Having a good deal of contemporary tunes I’m somewhat cautious. Despite Ives, right up until I read Jeremy. He just delivers it alive. He has this sort of a terrific creativity, and nothing at all is done randomly.”

Ives’s piano sonatas, Mr. Denk mentioned, “are in a way like animals that don’t wish to be tamed.”

“Each individual efficiency needs to be so distinct,” he included, a person purpose he was to begin with hesitant to file them. Like Bach, he said, Ives leaves quite a bit to the performer’s creativeness.

A wonderful interpretation of your “Goldberg” Variants at Symphony Area in 2008 discovered Mr. Denk’s profound affinity with Bach. Mr. Denk will complete the do the job and Books one and 2 of Ligeti’s Études at Zankel Corridor on Feb. sixteen.

To keep the “Goldberg” Variations fresh, Mr. Denk is incorporating new fingerings, he stated, “to reactivate the link involving my brain and my fingers After i’m enjoying it.”

“I believe it’s an actual magical put If you have the muscle mass memory,” he extra, “even so the Mind is ahead from the fingers.”

Switching the fingerings is one method to avoid routine, he explained. “I get real pleasure from producing in a very fantastic fingering. It is actually like relearning the piece, and it tends to make you not acquire any Observe as a right.”

The musical philosophy Mr. Denk relates to Bach, Ives and other repertory is probably best summed up in that website submit on system notes: “I’ve never been a major enthusiast of your ‘Picture how revolutionary this piece was when it absolutely was composed’ college of inspiration. For my dollars, it ought to be innovative now. (And it's.) Whatever else the composer might have meant, he or she didn’t want you to definitely Believe, ‘Boy, that have to happen to be interesting back again then.’ The most basic compositional intent, the absolute ur-intent, is that you Enjoy it now, you enable it to be take place now.”