#this is pretty much the only art that i’ll ever put so much effort in
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grass-tin · 1 month ago
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Discovery
This is obviously an au
Basically where Dreamer found the regretevator before the events of The Cleave
I’ll probably post more info about this au
But for now, I’m calling this Stars and Scars au
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forwhomthewordsflow · 3 months ago
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Stars In My Eyes
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(a part two to this fic!)
modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader
18+ ONLY MDNI!!!
warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness
author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!
please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!
word count: 7.7k
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Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.
Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before.  There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him.  There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.  
And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.”  She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school.  She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.  
But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore.  All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life.  Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.
You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life.  There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger.  Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.” 
 You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.  
But Eddie…he was very much wow.
After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week.  The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together.  He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom.  Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you. 
“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”
A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.  
You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.  
“I’ll see you later.”
Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom.  There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.  
Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway.  He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand.  The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it.  Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.
But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.  
Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.  
-
There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school.  On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop.  Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.  
There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other.  Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.  
While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly.  You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes.  You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite.  Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again.  You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA.  All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.
Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves.  He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date?  Was it a date?  Did you say the word date when you asked him?  Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-
Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.
“Yo, Munson.  How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state.  “Dude.”
“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students.  He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.
“What’s goin’ on, Ed?  I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.”  Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.  
Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke.  He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.
“If I tell you, it stays between us.”  Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good.  “I’m so dead serious.”
Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger.  “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”
Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.  
“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”
Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.
“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.”  Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.
Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy.  Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships.  Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school.  He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place.  Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party.  Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.  
As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve.  Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.
“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.”  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you.  “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”
“Dude, Ed.  None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”
Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.  
“Okay.  I really like her.  I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever.  We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”
Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.
“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it?  Is it a date?  Should I bring her flowers?  What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”
Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.  
“Woah there, buddy.  No need to get all freaked out about it.”  Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face.  “Let’s just start with the details, okay?  Who asked who?”
“She asked me.  I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”
“Okay, okay man.  Take a deep breath.”  Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.  
“Then let it all out.”  Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer.  “Alright.  So, she asked you?”
Eddie nods.
“That’s good, it means she’s interested!  Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”
Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.
“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”
“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”
Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.
“Hmm…okay.  Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”
Eddie thinks back to that moment.  How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.  
He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling.  Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there.  You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.
Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.
“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed.  She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”
Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.
“So let me see if I’m getting this straight.  She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there?  For a whole two hours there and back?”
Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.
“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”
Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’
Eddie’s had enough of his edging.  “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”
Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder. 
“Ed, it’s a date.”
Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same.  The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest.  Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.
-
On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.  
Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.  What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason?  What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day?  What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?
You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.
So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.
You made a to-do list. 
Pick out an outfit.  Dress! too fancy…jeans?  Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…
Drink wine 
Watch movie
Clean house…again
Drink more wine
Possibly reconsider outfit…
After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet.  You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love.  You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one. 
-
It was finally Saturday.  Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today.  He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago.  Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.  
He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.  
He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots.  On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.
“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man.  Trust.”
Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways.  Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now.  He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.
After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up.  He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.
-
Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.
Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare.  You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.
You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par.  You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down.  You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.
There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one.  When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman.  Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing.  Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.
You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you.  Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm.  Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man. 
It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself. 
You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds. 
-
Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.  
You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood.  There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color.  Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.  
How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?
Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.
“You got this man.  Be cool.”
He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.
It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.
Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees.  You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs.  He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.
“Hey you.”
“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down.  You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn.  You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…
You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  
“These are for you.  I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.”  Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.  
Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason.  You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.
“Thank you so much, Eddie.  These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals.  “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick.  Come on in!”
You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.
Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home.  He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live.  As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.
Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.”  The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.
You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.
Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?
Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space.  Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room.  There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.
Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10. 
He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.  
It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house.  His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here.  You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.  
The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies.  You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.
“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him.  Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.
Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.
“Seriously?  That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”
You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips.  Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers.  You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.  
He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”
This time, you can’t fight the smile.
You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.
-
Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA.  He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down.  The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.
He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone. 
“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist?  I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.”  Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?
“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically.  “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.”  He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road.  You giggle girlishly.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica.  You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.
“Oh, I know this song!”
Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression.  He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type.  Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.  
“What?  A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.
“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.”  You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms.  “But!  I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are!  Girls rule, alright?  Men like…totally suck and stuff.”
You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat.  And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.
When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.  But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.
Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.
The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics.  Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.
Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his.  He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.
You totally are.
-
Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom.  You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.
Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom.  He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.  
You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie.  He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.
He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.
You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.
His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island. 
And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.
You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together.  A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk.  He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.
He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store.  As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead.  You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face.  Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures.  The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle.  But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.
He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.
“Oh!  That’s one that I’ve got in my room!”  You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt.  Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.
“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”
You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember.  Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately. 
 No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.
“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”
You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail.  You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless.  You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease.  The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection.  You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?
Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again.  He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face.  The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.
The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are.  But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence.  This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction. 
While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.  
You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face.  His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.
His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours.  Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks?  Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?
Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it.  You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights.  A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.  
Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better.  He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw.  His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.
His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand.  You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.  
Is he going to kiss you right now?  
In IKEA?
On your first date? 
Is this even a date?  
Do you even want him to kiss you?  Idiot, of course you want him to.
Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you.  Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’
You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.
It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.
He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.  
“Of course,” he groans.
You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly.  You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.
Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek.  He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.
You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.
“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”
Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him.  Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.
-
Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.  
He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you.  He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.  
He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen.  You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain.  Not as long as you’re happy.   He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.  
Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?
If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand.  You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does.  Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall?  Which side of the bed does he sleep on?  You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.
You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!
You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously.  You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.  
-
Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.  
It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.
Is that…Taylor Swift?
You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.
Eddie’s already staring at you mortified.  He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.
“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism.  Girl’s a wizard with words.”
The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer.  A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t  help but to laugh along with you.
You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.
“I can’t believe it.  The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.”  You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.  
“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up.  As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”
You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course.  How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”
“Right! Yes!”  Eddie exclaims.  “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like.  I respect her, hard.”
You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.
“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully.  “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”
“Of course, my lips are sealed.”  You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.
Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.
“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”
He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness. 
“Which era are you in right now?”
Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan.  This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again.  He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.
“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses.  He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.  
“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.
Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.  
You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot.  You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.
As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console.  You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his.  He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.
You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.
-
Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway.  He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.  
You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his.  The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.
“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today.  I had a wonderful time.”
Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.
“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question.  “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”
You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.
“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”
“N-no!  I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”
You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.
“I’d love that.”
Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.  
“Good, that’s really good.”  The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought.  “Um…how’s tomorrow night?  Around 7?”
“Tomorrow night is perfect.”
“Awesome.  Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”
You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.
Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable. 
“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.
He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in.  He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now. 
He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you.  You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards.  Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.  
There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move.  Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot.  It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.  
“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.
You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness.  Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.
“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.
Eddie can’t believe that worked.
He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.
Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time.  The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.  
Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined. 
You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss.  Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss.  It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm.  But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.  
You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life.  This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed.  You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.  
Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him.  The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted.  You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.
You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too.  Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own.  You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more. 
“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.”  He kisses you again.  “Is that okay?”  Another peck.
You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”
“Good.”
Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday.  He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck.  He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.  
You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.
When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.  
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TAGLIST:
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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago
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Johnny likes art. Likes looking at it, likes creating it, likes learning about it. He’d always known he’d end up in something involving it at the end of everything, and that he does.
For a few years now, Johnny has worked as an art restorer. Primarily fixing up paintings, it’s pretty close to ideal work—he gets to study all sorts of new styles, and bring pieces back to life so they can be admired again, as they were always meant to be.
The only downside is that it’s freelance work.
At the very least, gone are the days where Johnny had to make a real effort to establish himself—but just because he gets better jobs now, doesn’t mean he gets better supervisors.
His current employer is a great example of this.
Johnny had been hired by a man named Ghost, real name unknown, to revamp a private collection of his for an absurd amount of money. Johnny would be an idiot not to accept—even when part of the terms included working onsite and with provided tools in order to get everything done.
The house—manor, more like—is beautiful, nearly as stunning as the eclectic collection or artwork Johnny is meant to repair itself. He’s greeted by a man going by the name of John Price, supposedly a dear friend of Ghost’s, here to meet Johnny since his employer wouldn’t be home for another day yet. He’s kind, not strange like Johnny thought anyone involved with this might be, and he introduces Johnny to the few pieces he’d be working with.
It’s… intriguing, to say the least. Because the pieces come from different time periods, but all look as if in the same state of decay. It’s bizarre, Johnny thinks, because all other artwork in the home is pristinely kept.
That isn’t to say he’s not grateful for this opportunity, of course.
John makes good conversation until he ultimately leaves Johnny to his own devices. First day progress is well along, and by the time Johnny is seen out, he’s feeling optimistic about this job.
Then he meets Ghost.
It’s like the atmosphere of the manor has entirely shifted around the man and his broad, imposing figure. Even eyes that share the warmth of coffee pierce through Johnny, and Johnny isn’t sure what to think of the mask that obscures most of the man’s face otherwise. His voice, low and gravelly, rumbles through Johnny as he makes inquiries about the previous day, about Johnny’s process, then dismisses him to continue his restoration.
Even though Johnny doesn’t see him again until the end of his work day, he feels like he’s being watched all the while.
The third and fourth days are the same. The fifth, Ghost surprises Johnny by sitting in the room for part of the day, though he offers no commentary between incoherent grunts and what Johnny hopes to be hums of approval.
The sixth day, Ghost asks, “What do you think happened to the artist?”
Of course, there’s no signature, so even if it was by an artist Johnny knew of, there’d be no indication.
But he considers the question anyway. Considers the painting, it’s clear inspiration in impressionism, it’s pale colours and light, flowy strokes. And yet, it seems contradictory to the style—the scene within is almost… angry, sorrowful. Like grief. Its problem had been a tear in the canvas and fading paint, nothing overly difficult or unsurprising for Johnny.
So he shrugs. He doesn’t look back at Ghost, maybe afraid of that gaze, of gauging any reaction.
“Hard to say,“ Johnny admits. “A painting doesn’t tell a whole story about its inspiration, let alone its artist. And not knowing any of the artist’s other work, or when it began and ended—it’s hard to say.”
Johnny can feel Ghost looming over him. He tries not to shrink in on himself too much, but it’s almost impossibly.
For a long moment, Ghost doesn’t speak. He barely acknowledges Johnny’s response, and Johnny wonders if he’d ever get one.
If he had said the right thing.
“Hm,” Ghost finally decides. Johnny can feel his presence straighten, putting distance between them. He says, “I’ll give you a hint.”
Johnny offers a slight nod, eyes fixed on the painting before him. He still doesn’t dare turn back. “I’m always happy to learn.”
“This artwork, everything I’ve hired you to restore,” Ghost says, “it’s all from the same man.”
Immediately, Johnny frowns. His gaze darts across the piece and the collection of others he’s meant to look at, all of completely varying styles and forms, before whirling around to ask something, anything of Ghost’s statement—but he discovers Ghost to have already left.
Well, Johnny supposes with defeat.
He doesn’t know if he should let himself become curious.
(part 2)
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suzuarou · 10 days ago
Text
never quite free | shouei barou
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⋆˙⟡♡ wc: 3.9k
⋆˙⟡♡ tags: gn reader, childhood friends, so much pining, barou is a softie for his person, barou-centric, reader is drunk, one (1) instance of vomit
⋆˙⟡♡ a/n: i love when mean, loud characters are softies for their person. so i wrote 3.9k words about it with the mean, loud man that has been haunting my every thought. enjoy!
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at the wise age of seven, after just witnessing you punch a boy in the face for insulting your sidewalk chalk art, shouei barou made you a promise: he will always be there for you. he swore that day, crossed his heart and hoped he’d die if he ever failed you (far too serious for a seven year old, but he has always taken his promises very seriously), he will drop everything to help you.
“but why?” you had asked, and grabbed your chalk to resume your drawing.
he crouched down next to you to get a better look at what you had done so far, red eyes tracing over the rainbow you were trying to perfect. “you’re too pretty to be punching anyone.”
and, to seven year old shouei’s credit, he’s consistently kept his promise over the years. even after your parent’s split and you were allowed to be neighbors every other weekend. even after high school finally separated you two and he could only walk you halfway to campus before your routes diverged (he would always carry your bags for you until that point). even during the blue lock program when talking to you was a privilege he had to earn rather than something he did every single day. and now, as a professional athlete with an obnoxiously busy schedule, shouei is always there for you, sponge and wet wipe in hand, ready to clean whatever mess you’ve inevitably made.
which is why, at two o’clock in the morning, after too many drinks at a bar you’ve never been inside of before, it feels like second nature to call him.
alongside with keeping his promises, shouei also keeps a very strict routine. so when his cell phone starts trilling at an ungodly hour, his first instinct is to curse out whoever thinks it’s a bright idea to disrupt his sleep during his off-season. but once the cobwebs of sleep clear from his brain, he realizes there’s only one person who can bypass the do not disturb mode on his phone: you. he’s swiping his thumb across the screen in a heartbeat.
there’s a thump of some sort of bass music in the background of the call, several different conversations muddled together to create a white noise effect, and then your voice breaks through it all, a bit slurred but still carrying a familiar soft quality to it.
“shou-kun,” you breathe into the line, and shouei is up and putting pants on.
“where are you?” his voice isn’t unkind, but the gruffness of sleep is still thick and causes him to sound more irritated than he actually is.
you give him the name of the bar you’ve found yourself in, and shouei is punching in the address on his phone’s gps as he’s sliding a shirt over his torso.
“stay on the phone with me?” you ask, and he can hear the pout on your lips.
he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “yeah, sure, but go somewhere quieter. loud as shit and i’m still waking up.”
you sound a bit more sober as you reply, “‘m sorry, shou-kun. i can ask someone—”
“don’t be. i’m getting my shoes on. keep talking to me.”
it takes every ounce of self control to obey the traffic laws on his drive to the bar. logically, he knows you’re okay. you’re babbling on about the intricacies of a sourdough starter (“is it even worth all of that effort?” “i’ll make you a loaf and then you can tell me if it is.”), and sipping on some water (bottled of course, and he made you watch the bartender hand it to you). you seem to be your usual, bubbly self, even if you’re refusing to tell him why you’re out so late to begin with. but still… his overprotective streak has been going strong for nearly two decades, and he won’t feel satisfied until you’re in the passenger seat of his car, buckled in and safe.
the bar is as sleazy as it sounded over the phone—drunk people hanging around outside smoking, the thump of the base-heavy music rattling outside, flashes of lights streaming through the frosted windows. definitely not your typical scene. but then again, this entire night isn’t very typical for you. you have never been one to drink excessively, let alone at bar you’ve never been to before, so to have to navigate through an intoxicated crowd to find you is something shouei doesn’t have much experience in. a few faces flicker with blurry recognition, and shouei ducks out of their line of sight before a conversation he really doesn’t feel like having begins.
shouei’s irritation level does significantly decrease when he finally spots you sitting at a table all by yourself, water bottle halfway emptied, your brow furrowed in a way that lets him know your thoughts are heavy. the outfit you’re wearing suggests you had intentions of someone seeing you in it, rather than sulking at a bar surrounded by strangers too drunk to recognize their own reflection. acidic jealously churns shouei’s stomach, ugly green and caustic and deadly to nearby organs. he tries his best to ignore it. now isn’t the time for his ego. his top priority is getting you out of this sorry excuse of a bar and to safety.
the way your eyes light up upon seeing him make his guts churn even more for an entirely different reason.
“shou-kun.” you breathe out his name like a sigh of relief, like even just saying it brings you comfort. this time, his heart flutters, and it irritates him even more.
your name rolls off his tongue gruffly, and he’s reaching over to pull you near him. “what are you doing here?” he asks over the loud music as he acts as a shield through the crowd of intoxicated partygoers. “do you know what time it is?”
your hand reflexively wraps around his, and it’s almost like you’re kids again—shouei acting as your personal bodyguard as you allow him to pull you along through anything. he’s always been so good at protecting you. two decades later, and his promise is still in tact. shouei might be the most stable thing in your life, and that thought alone has tears springing up to your eyes. you continue on, gaze glued to your intertwined hands and how shouei holds yours as if it’s something precious to him, as if it’s worth the patience he’s always showing you.
the night air is crisp and fresh compared to the damp, alcohol-soaked air of the club, and it helps sober you up enough to realize you’re more than likely going to vomit tonight. wonderful.
shouei gets you buckled into the passenger seat of his car, ruby gaze scanning your body to make sure you’re fastened up to par with his impossible standards, fingers fiddling with the seatbelt.
you put your hand over his, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, the heaviness of them nearly knock the wind out of you. “shou-kun, i’m all buckled in. can we go home now?” your voice is barely above a whisper, and that only makes his brow furrow. he shuts the passenger door and makes his way over to the driver’s side nonetheless, and begins the drive back to his apartment.
home for him is different from home for you. home for him is a humble two-bedroom apartment located downtown, one room dedicated to workout equipment to keep him in shape during his off season without the hassle of a public gym, the other room is master bedroom that no one but him have really laid eyes on. and for you, home is shouei, and not the four-bedroom house you found on craig’s list filled with strangers.
which is why he knows to drive to his apartment with no questions asked. like hell he’s going to trust your housemates to take care of you.
“what were you doing there?” he asks after the silence between you two stretches on for too long.
you’re resting your forehead against the cool window glass to help ease the throbbing behind your eyes. “date blew me off, so i went to the nearest bar.”
he knew it. taut skin stretches over his knuckles as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “yeah, well, they’re a fucking idiot for ditching you. and you’re an idiot for getting so drunk without anyone there with you.”
“‘m sorry.”
“you’re gonna be more sorry tomorrow when you wake up with a killer hangover.”
the rest of the car ride is quiet, save for the music you decide to flip on to drown out your self-loathing thoughts. shouei isn’t much of a music person, but he is thankful for gorillaz for keeping his mind too busy to think about what sort of person you were dressed up for. it must still be on your playlist. you’re the only person who really gets in his car, after all, save for his sisters whenever they need a ride from him. but even they don’t get radio privileges. that’s saved solely for you.
while 2d goes on singing about rhinestone eyes, you watch the way the street lights flicker over shouei’s face. his hair is down, a rare sight but a welcomed one, and the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual, indicating he really did fly out of bed to come swooping you away like some knight in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. his jaw ticks, and you wish you could kiss it.
“you okay?” he asks you, pulls you out of your drunken-trance.
you hum a response, and press your forehead against the glass once again, eyes closed but the image of kissing shouei’s jaw still plays behind them.
the car comes to a gentle stop before you can doze off, and shouei is climbing out of the driver seat to open your door and help you out. he’s careful to tap on the glass to rouse you, and when you slowly blink your eyes open to look up at him, his lungs seizes in his chest and his feet are glued to the cement. though you’re very obviously drunk, unbridled trust and love is written openly all over your face in a way that makes the world feels a little wobbly. your eyes are still on him as you unbuckle yourself, and shouei thinks his heart might just explode in between his ribs, the ribbons of it hanging off of the latter on bones and fluttering down to his intestines. he moves out of your way to allow you to open the car door, but he’s quick to grab your elbow to stabilize you as you sway a bit.
“i’ve got you,” he murmurs, and your smile is nothing short of a sun. he fears he may go blind if he isn’t careful. he isn’t sure if he cares, since he’s always wanted your smile to be the last thing he sees anyway.
when walking proves to be a difficult task for you, shouei scoops you up bridal style, and it’s unfair how natural it all feels to him. taking care of you, muttering words of encouragement, feeling you tucked under his chin and curled into his chest, all while you’re dressed to meet someone else. someone that was probably easier to digest than shouei, less egotistical, home often enough to establish a day-to-day routine with you. someone that you don’t have to warn your other friends about preemptively.
shouei has never worried about what other people think of him, can’t find it in himself to feel insecure. a king doesn’t bother himself with a peasant’s thoughts. he does, however, worry about where he fits in your life now that he’s a pro athlete and you’re still trying to find your footing. no one can ever replace him, he knows this. there will always be a spot for shouei in your life. how big that spot is, is what sometimes keeps him up at night, especially now that’s he’s recently come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. has been for the last two decades.
light snores leave your mouth as shouei places you down on his bed, trash can set up for when you inevitably vomit, and he’s just beginning to take off your shoes when you begin to stir again.
“go back to sleep,” he gently commands. “you’re going to feel awful in the morning.”
you pout at him. “room’s spinning.”
“i know. that’s why there’s a garbage can next to you.”
“oh thank god—”
and before he can get your other shoe off, you’re leaning over the side of the bed and emptying the contents of your stomach into the bin. shouei moves to rub your back soothingly, nose scrunched as you retch. once your head pops back up, shouei rearranges the pillows and blankets so you’re tucked in snugly, careful to not move you around too much and risk upsetting your stomach again. he stops when he feels your hand resting on his cheek.
“you’re a good man, shou-kun,” you state with a dopey smile on your face. “always taking care of me. even when i probably don’t deserve it.”
“don’t start that self-pity bullshit now,” he replies gruffly, but his eyes a soft pools of ruby. he’s always been soft for you. always will be. “i made you a promise, didn’t i?”
“yeah, when we were seven.”
“and that hasn’t changed. i’m still here.”
your thumb moves from the apple of his cheek to his bottom lip, languidly tracing it, tugging it down to see the teeth that he takes such good care of despite how much his career threatens to knock them out, rows of ivory encased by pretty pink gums. and shouei allows you to, ruby gaze boring into you, trying to gauge where the boundary line is and how solid it is. he would never, ever take advantage of anyone in this state, especially not you, but he does wonder if alcohol has made you uncover some dormant feelings. if you’re thinking about kissing him the very same way he’s been thinking about kissing you ever since your second year of middle school when he watched you punch a boy for calling him a jerk. only shouei would find such an act of violence romantic. everything between you two started with a punch, after all.
“‘s not fair,” you pout, thumb resting on the corner of his mouth.
“what isn’t?”
you purse your lips, as if trying to find the right words. “you’re so pretty. when did you get so pretty?”
he rolls his eyes. “i look the same as i always have. just taller.”
“mm, no.” your other hand comes up to brush his hair back, and his lungs swell until they’re pressing against his ribs. “you’re pretty, shou-kun. and kind. and sweet. and stubborn. and ambitious. and hardworking. so why?”
“why what?”
“why aren’t you with anyone?” when your eyes fall back down to his, shouei feels his chest crack, his heart flayed open and put on display, a pathetic art piece dedicated to you. the world tilts on its axis, and shouei barou has never felt more exposed than he does now under your drunken gaze and steady hands.
he finds his voice long enough to reply, “i don’t care about dating. too much drama and no one knows what they want.”
“do you know what you want?”
you. the answer is on the tip of his tongue, burning a hole through the muscle and burying itself in his enamel, where it will get swallowed down along with the lump in his throat. this isn’t the time to go around confessing, not when you’re drunk and still wearing clothes you put on for someone else. gently, he takes your hands off of him and lowers your body down against the mattress again, and he thinks he feels his heart crumble a little.
“i want you to get some sleep. it’s late as hell, and you have a hangover to prep for.”
and before you can protest, he makes a break for the kitchen to get a glass of water and some tylenol for you. it’s easier to breathe out here where he doesn’t have to choke on long overdue confessions and your perfume. where you aren’t looking at him as if you know just how stupidly in love he is with you. god, he really is pathetic for you. his skin is still warm from where your hands were and all he can think about is how much he wishes you were sober so he wouldn’t feel so guilty for wanting to kiss you.
“the glass is overflowing.”
he nearly jumps out of his own skin at your voice, and whips around to see you standing barefoot in his kitchen, one of his shirts draped over your frame, a pair of his boxers low on your hips. it’s unfair how much better you look in his clothes than your own. hell, you look better than he does in his own clothes. un-fucking-fair.
“what the hell are you doing out of bed?” he barks as he turns the sink off, flustered and unsure of himself. a deadly combination for a man of his caliber. “and when did you change?”
“you were taking forever,” you whine, and tug at the hem of his shirt to pull it further down your thighs. “got bored waiting for you.”
with the water and tylenol in hand, he ushers you back to his room and gets you tucked back in. “you should be asleep. c’mon, it’s late. take these when you wake up and puke in the bin if you need to. i’ll take care of it in the morning.”
but before he can leave his room to sleep on the couch, you’re fisting the back of his shirt and rooting him in place. he waits, as he always does. as he always will. for you.
“sleep with me?” you ask, and chuckle when you feel his breath hitch. “not like that, pervert. like we used to. when we were kids.”
“i’m not a pervert,” he grumbles as he turns around to face you. you’re looking up at him, earnest and hopeful, and he feels his resolve crumble. “let me change into pajamas first.” the smile you flash at him is enough to reaffirm his belief that everything ounce of his yearning and pining is worth it if you just keep smiling at him like that.
once he emerges from the bathroom in his pajamas, you open your arms up to him, bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes him want to bite it. he crawls in bed next to you instead, teeth tucked firmly behind his lips, and you wrap yourself around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
cuddling with you now is different than when you were kids. for one, he wasn’t pathetically in love with you back then. and two, there’s an undertone to it, a slow lulling of temptation, an unspoken promise that things could always be like this if maybe you returned his feelings. the payoff might be worth the risk. but could he really put the friendship he’s cherished for two decades on the line for his own selfish desires of having you as a partner? it’s the same haunting thought-loop he’s been in for the better part of nine years, and though he isn’t one to dwell or drown in self-pity, you’re the one thing he doesn’t want to risk. and so he lays in bed next to you, your body curled around his, wondering if spending the rest of his life pining for you is a privilege or a curse.
“why didn’t you kiss me?”
your question breaks the silence between you two into a million tiny slivers, each one stabbing at his heart and lungs, lacerating them to bloody ribbons. he doesn’t dare turn to face you, doesn’t want to see what sort of expression is on your face. he’s never been a coward before, but he’s also never been in love before, and they don’t seem to be mutually exclusive things.
finally, he finds his voice buried somewhere under the gore of sliced up potential. “you’re drunk.” it’s barely above a whisper. it’s all he’ll allow himself for now.
“so? i saw that look in your eyes, shouei barou.” he feels you shift behind him, feels your breath fan across the shell of his ear as you tuck your chin next to his shoulder. “you wanted to kiss me.”
it’s a hefty accusation, one heavy with the painful truth that he’s been wanting to kiss you for far longer than just tonight. he turns his head so he can look at you out of the corner of his eye, and is shocked to see you pouting as if you’re disappointed. disappointed that he didn’t kiss you. disappointed he took the chivalrous route rather than the selfish one. two decades later, and you still surprise him.
“so what if i did?” he asks, turning his face back so his gaze is to his plain wall and not the pout on your face. there’s no use in denying it. you’re going to find out one way or another. “i’m not kissing you while you’re drunk. ‘s not right. you deserve better than that.”
“will you kiss me when i’m sober tomorrow?” the hope in your voice is thick, causes him to feel giddy in a way that’s borderline irritating.
“if you want me to, then sure.”
you hum and bury your face in between his shoulder blades, and he melts a little in your arms. “i’ll want you to.”
“how are you so confident?” he huffs and adjusts his body so it’s easier for you to wrap yourself around him. you respond by throwing a leg over his waist, and everything is alright in the world for a moment. “you’re drunk out of your mind.”
you scoot closer to him. “because i’ve been wanting you to kiss me for a long time.”
the confession has his heart seizing in his chest. and though a part of him is screaming at him to not take your intoxicated words seriously, a caged sort of optimism roots itself in his bones, blooms between his joints. he turns his body so your head is tucked under this chest, leg still wrapped around his waist, and his nose is buried in your hair, the smell of your shampoo infiltrating his lungs until it’s all he can think about. he’s okay with this, he thinks. he wants this, in a very selfish way. it might be worth the risk.
“we’ll see how you feel when you’re hungover as all hell,” is what he says instead.
“i think it’ll make me want you to kiss me more,” you giggle against his chest. “my knight in shining armor. always making everything better.”
his fingers find your hair as they often do when you’re snuggled into each other like this, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your knight in shining armor. it’s cheesy in a way that’s almost endearing, most certainly because it’s you and almost everything about you is endearing to him. it’s a role he’s proudly filled for the last two decades, and will continue to fill as long as you need him to.
“goodnight, shou-kun,” you murmur. “thank you for taking care of me tonight.”
he hums his reply and pulls you a little closer to him.
because he’ll always keep his promise. always.
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askuemki · 6 months ago
Text
So I have no idea if I’ll keep this post up, but…
A little rant abt re8?? (And cod.. kinda) maybe venting (just a mess :,)
Disclaimer, take my opinions with a grain of salt I just wanna ramble lmao
Also spoilers, maybe (update, definitely)
So I’ve been having fun dipping my toes into Donna Beneviento (god her last name is hard to spell) content. After watching the gameplays and to at least have a basic understanding for the game, I find myself really drawn to her, maybe more than Alcina tbh
By no means i’m a diehard fan or anything, recently it’s been hard to find a new fandom to get attached towards. As much as I adore cod, there isnt really much to get attached too… like sure, task 141 is a fun group and the there is some GREAT art about the ships- but I only got attached because of Valeria, I won’t deny it at all. I’m a diehard lesbian, but there isn’t really much cannon content of her?? It’s really damn disappointing sometimes, man… same with Laswell. I appreciate all of the fanartists out there though, I adore all of the content here, fanfics or fan art. With Farah, she’s a diffrent story.. personally I never really got attached to her, but as a character she’s pretty neat. Her story sort of brings to light the horrors happening today which is a bit of a benefit…?? But ever since I found out things about both Valeria’s and Farah’s actors I’ve been a little off about things here and there. I don’t think I’ll stop posting Valeria content at all, it just might be a little less offen to indulge in different things.
Some personal things have been happening to make me feel really disconnected from like.. fucking everything for some reason?? Like I’m drifting away from fandoms, I’m drifting away from people and I’m like alone again.. I’m lost in a damn dumpster fire. AI art doesn’t help with this at all.. like why do I draw?? I’ve been drawing since I was in kindergarten like I never really thought of the specifics of perusing art, more or so just that I want to. Like hey, I wanna make a game or movie series, and something in me doesn’t realize I need to put in the effort to learn shit with just ends up in me doing nothing but self pitting on something I can change and ugh.. wish I can slap myself to get out of it.
So I think I’ve been kind of finding myself relating to Donna. Not in her extreme way, more or so just her aspect of being isolated, and just being known primarily for one thing. Like.. our side of art? Damn. Shit. I think I’m worth nothing.. and with Donna we don’t really know much about her besides her being a cursed Dollmaker, and the bare bones of her past. And we both barely fucking speak man… both hide our faces too !! maybe I kin this woman or something I don’t know
But as I was looking through her tumblr tag, I saw a rant about how headcannons and stuff has been stripping away the interesting stuff about the re8 villains… and with the things I’ve seen so far?? I can kinda agree, honestly.
Don’t get me wrong, if it’s not too.. insane? (I know those boundaries are hard to define at times, but maybe REALLY immoral shit for our “normal” world) and people aren’t forcing these headcannons into other people? I don’t mind headcannons. You do you, boo!
But the fan content I’ve seen, people reduce Donna and Alcina (I’m surprised it was pronounced as AlCHIna and not AlSIna, but side tangent over) from the potential they really have. Yeah it’s definitely nice to see Donna more, especially in those intimate moments.. but sometimes I feel like people just depict her as some shy, easily gullible, girl, and not really the mentally deprived woman she is. Like I’d love to see ideas of the different dolls Donna could create, or unique imagery of her mental state outside of having porcelain skin. What about the kinds of plants she takes care of? Or the dolls she makes? I’d love to see more of it, whether she has favorites, or if it’s a situation where she has doll replicas of her deceased family. Man, I really wanna see Donna do more creepy shit, basically.
With Alcina however? She’s kind of reduced to that (I’m going to cringe at these words so terribly, god help me) “hot vampire mommy”.. I’ll take fault for not looking into her content as much, I’m sure there’s great content out there !! (I’m not sure if anyone would do this but.. feel free to send me any fic recommendations or art) With what I want to see for her? I’ve heard from the rant post as a man-hating woman she had primarily female statues in her castle, it would be fun to see what else she has cause of this worldview, as well as more whitty remarks from her; I really enjoy her throwback with Heisenberg. Just in general.. her being a comical villain.
Okay so, the reason why I made this post in the first place before all of this shit threw up from my brain. Belladonna. At first, this ship really interested me, I like the character dynamics, the art was neat. But then something came up in my mind.. (as well as another rant post on the ship..) isn’t the Dimitrescu bloodline related with Donna? Both are failed experiments from Mother Miranda, and technically adopted by her. Though from what I know, Donna is the only one officially adopted. So would that be family..? I’ve seen a few places where Alcina called Donna her sister, and it makes me feel really off.
And I’ve seen in a few fanarts, Donna technically older than the Dimitrescu sisters posed next to them like another sibling??
I would like to endorse the ship, but just the morality of everything is off centered for me. I rather not support weird incest…
So please if people could maybe clarify for me whether it would technically be okay for support this ship.. I’d appreciate it. If it isn’t okay, I have plans on making a fan character anyways, or I can take current characters and make a resident evil au or something, and ship them when Donna. (I have a character that honestly looks like a mix of Alcina and Bela, but by no means she’s relates to the franchise, lmao)
By no means I’m experienced in resident evil lore or the fandom, this is just coming from a newer fan of the series, and what I’ve seen so far.
If you read all of this.. thank you?? I apologize if I sound ridiculous here, this is like the only place I can rant abt things without being brushed off for other shit
Good night now!!! I need to stop pushing my sleep boundaries ugh
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acaaai-t · 2 years ago
Text
resurface, my love
00. eyes on you
[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]
cw: mentions of bombs, terrorists attacks, dead bodies, a tiny sprinkle of both fluff and angst, kissing scene, mild cursing
Tumblr media
Where did it all start?
When did all this happen?
Why you?
Scaramouche is pretty.
Yet his prettiness doesn’t match up with his aggravating personality. It was no wonder why he was always seen alone by himself.
In a way, you pitied him. Maybe that’s what drove your 8 year old self to approach the lone boy.
Grasping your boxed lunch in your tiny hands, you hopped onto the available seat next to the purple hair boy and set your bento down. He gave you a weird look, but said nothing.
You clasped your hands together and muttered a quick thank you before opening your lunch, revealing a row of egg and ham sandwiches neatly tucked against each other.
You picked up a sandwich and offered it to him. “Want one?”
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I don’t like ham,” he said.
“Where’s your lunch? Won’t you be hungry?”
“I don’t bring lunch, and no, I won’t get hungry,” he grumbled, annoyed by your questions.
You rolled your eyes and stuffed a bite of the sandwich into your mouth. “Whatever,” you muttered.
The next day, you brought in two separate lunches, each wrapped up in a different color cloth— one in royal purple, one in a sage green. When lunchtime finally came around, you immediately set out to find Scaramouche.
It took a bit of searching, but eventually you found the grumpy little boy hiding up on a tree secluded from others.
“Hey!” you shouted, waving to the small figure sitting on the tree.
No reply.
“Hey I brought you lunch!” you tried again, yet it was as if he was purposefully ignoring your presence.
“Oh whatever, I’ll just leave it here,” you said, setting down the purple bento by the base of the tree. “Just make sure to return the lunchbox to me by the end of the day.”
And with that, you ran off, nearly tripping over the sticks that litter the grass.
Scaramouche kept his eyes trained on your figure as you run off, all until you disappear under the blinding sunlight. It was only then did he slowly climbed down from the tree to retrieve the lunch you left him.
He hesitated. Nobody had ever treated him this nicely before, there must be a catch to this. There’s always a catch. His grip on the lunchbox tightened.
It would be a pity to let the food go to waste, but what if it’s all a trap? he stood there, his thoughts running wild. His self-consciousness— and his stomach, called for him to accept the food, yet another part of him screamed for him to throw it away.
In the end he gave in and took a seat under the shade of the tree, the cloth already unwrapped and folded neatly to the side. A slip of paper sat upon the bento— a note from you.
“HI. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I did put some of my favorites in there. Enjoy your lunch :D”
He set the note aside and opened his lunch. His heart skipped a beat and his face flushed a light shade of pink.
You had made him a bento lunch art. Never in his life did he ever received something like this. It was so childish and so embarrassing.
It was a bunch of miniature rice pandas scattered about with egg rolls acting as flowers. Diced strawberries drizzled with dark chocolate sit in a small plastic container in the corner. There were tiny sausages sculpted in the shape of a octopus right next to the pandas. Sliced cucumbers laid aptly to the side, paired with two cherry tomatoes cut in half.
He nearly teared up. Despite how the art looked like it was made not by your parents but by yourself, he realized that nobody had ever put so much effort into him before.
He almost didn’t want to ruin it.
When classes had finally end, you skipped back to your seat with your friends still chattering as they followed. There sitting on your desk was your other bento box, neatly wrapped in the royal purple cloth. Laying on top of the bento was a folded piece of paper. You picked up the note.
A small thanks was hastily scribbled on with terrible handwriting. You smiled.
From then on it became a routine.
Everyday you would come in to school with an extra lunchbox to give to him, and everyday after school he would return the empty lunchbox back to you. Sometimes you’ll find a snack with a note, sometimes it’ll be a keychain.
Scaramouche never approached you directly to give his thanks, but you felt that an empty lunchbox and his small gifts was already more than enough.
This habit continued all the way through elementary and into your last year of high school. By then your collection of keychains had significantly grew. From a cat keychain to a air conditioner keychain— whatever it may be, there’s a chance that Scaramouche had gifted it to you already.
“Yoi look at what he gave me this time,” you giggled, dangling a badly drawn George Washington keychain in your hands.
Yoimiya stared at the keyring, dumbfounded. “That… how did he even find that? No, where did he even find that?”
You laughed. “He has his ways.”
Fire. Screams.
The sound of the late bell echoed through halls. You found yourself running around different classrooms, searching for Scaramouche.
“Where did Scara go?” you muttered angrily.
“Oh Scaramouche? He left early today,” your seatmate, Lumine, said.
“Already? He hasn’t given me my lunchbox yet…”
Where did your title as a hero come from?
“Hurry this way!” your voice hushed, urgency laced within.
Another explosion rocked the entire building, and you stumbled, just barely catching yourself. Your felt the grip on your hand slackened. Fear took a hold of your heart when your hand closed around nothing but the ashy air.
Immediately you turned back, adrenaline coursing through you as you search amongst the rubble and corpses. A faint glint of a jewelry caught your eyes. Nearly tripping over yourself, you scrambled over, taking a hold of the little girls hand once again before running for the exit. You didn’t dare look back, for you knew what awaits you. The walls collapsing one after another as the roaring flames blazes through.
A fiery death.
Shredded newspaper littered your room. Remnants of articles lay in the corner of your room in a pile of ash. Angry slashes marked the walls. Clothes a-strewn, curtain torn apart— the window shattered and boarded up. Noises of a news report filled the silence of your room, its voices blurring into static.
It mimicked your feelings.
A torrent of unquelled fury, one that screamed, raged.
A terrorist attack.
That was what the media called it. It was still unsure who was behind this attack despite the many claims as to who had done it. Proofs in form of photographs or surveillance videos of said suspect were all either too blurry to fully depict or it was just really badly edited.
During the attack, you had stayed behind while the bombs shook the building and the fire raged. And you ran, covered in ash and debris, carrying a unconscious girl in all the while leading a group of survivors— all the way until the promise of a safe haven was in sight.
Perhaps that rescue was what gave you the title as a hero, although for you— you didn’t deserve all that fame and glory.
In fact you hated it.
It was the media’s fault.
They had painted you as a hero, yet they had washed Scaramouche as the one that was behind the attacks. It was because of them that the public now flamed him as a villain.
They had painted an innocent bystander in red all because they needed a scapegoat, someone to shift the blame to because the police couldn’t do their damn job properly.
Had you known this would’ve been the outcome, you would’ve never cared for the lives still ghosting the halls.
Had you known, you would’ve just let them burn.
“Eye witnesses claimed that it was this… boy, who had done such atrocious acts. Any word on it, Ma—”
Click.
“It was terrifying… the look in his eyes. It.. was murderous, like he wanted everyone to burn. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve have been able to escape…” her voice broke off into a sob. You switched the channel again.
“WANTED ALIVE—”
You threw the remote control at the television in a fit of rage, the screen immediately going blank. You didn’t care. It only adds on to your canvas of unfolding bitterness.
Your phone rang again. A string of calls and messages you chose to ignore. It’d been days since you’ve stepped out from your house, let alone answer any of the calls and messages.
A loud abrupt knock to your door jolt you out from your trance. You draped a light blanket over yourself and went to answer the door.
There standing in all his former and glory, was none other than Scaramouche himself.
Your breath hitched and the blanket slipped.
“Hey idiot,” he smiled, something he claimed to reserve only for you. “Mind letting me in?”
You pushed the piles of dirty dishes from the counter into the sink, not caring whether it breaks or not. The once quiet house was filled with the noises of dishes clanking against each other and Scaramouche— who was rummaging through the pile of buildup items.
“Quite the mess you’ve got,” he muses, holding up a piece of a broken mug.
“Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick,” you said, filling up a tea kettle with water.
“Hiding,” he simply replied.
“You didn’t attack the school, so why would you take the blame for it?” you slammed the kettle down onto the stovetop.
Scaramouche shrugged and plopped down on your couch.
“Now everyone is after you,” you continued, turning to face him. “And they even expect me to find you and bring you to the police.”
“They can’t find me, they won’t be able to,” Scaramouche said. “I’d say I’ve been hiding pretty well for these past few days.”
“And you didn’t even tell me? I was worried sick—” your voice broke off, hot tears welling up in the corner of your eyes.
Scaramouche could only sigh as he got off the couch. He came up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his body leaning against yours. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his chin on your head.
A tear slipped.
“Don’t cry,” he mumbled.
You broke, pushing your full weight against Scaramouche as sobs racked through your body. He brought a hand up to your head, gently tussling through your hair— the only source of comfort he could bring for now.
Why me?
Why him?
“I hate you,” you said, your fists weakly hitting his chest. “I hate you so much…”
He swiped a tear away. It was futile. The storm had already begun. “Hey…”
You sniffed, wiping the tears off your face.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
You looked up, his purple eyes meeting yours. His thumb brushed against your lips, his face impossibly close to you. You could see every angle of his face, all the flawless imperfections he tries to hide. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks.
“May I?”
All it took was a small nod from you for him to capture your lips in a kiss. A slow passionate kiss. Time slowed down. You felt the blood rush up to your head, your heart pounding against your chest.
His lips was soft, you noted, and slightly tasted like chocolate— could it be from the chapstick you gifted him before? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was only you and him and that was enough. You closed your eyes and deepened the kiss, lacing your arms around his neck.
It was electrifying— your back arching against the counter and him pressed on top of you.
It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.
He was the first to break the kiss. You already missed the taste of his lips against yours.
“It’ll be okay, I’ll be back. I promise,” he murmured.
In the kitchen, just two to-be graduates, confessing their unspoken feelings not through words, but with their action. Feelings that amassed over the years, finally spilled.
“You promise?”
It was on that faithful night that your relationship with him blossomed into something more intimate.
“I promise.��
It was also on that faithful night that he left.
He’d disappeared, no words— he left nothing.
Not a single trace.
You had foreseen this coming, yet you didn’t realize how much it hurts to have him gone. More often than not, you found yourself unconsciously making an extra bento box for him. More often than not, will you take out everything he had ever given you and stare at it for the hours to come.
The painful pang in your heart was a constant reminder that he’s gone.
He’s gone.
Perhaps his disappearance was what encouraged you to major in criminology and criminal justice after you graduated. It was your fuel of both determination and delusions.
Years passed by in a flash, and before you could even process everything that had happened, you found yourself with a position as a detective in Tenryo Detective Firm.
Yet even after all those years, you haven’t seen or heard from Scaramouche. The last time the two of you had ever interacted was when nearly four years ago, when he had promised you that he’ll be back. And even despite the fact that you’ve been waiting for his presence for year on end, your feelings for him never wavered. You still firmly held onto the promise he had made you, after all Scaramouche is a man that never goes back on his words.
Even if you had to keep waiting. But that’s okay— you’re patient.
“Hey hero, got anything?” Heizou asked, poking his head into your office.
You groaned— both at the stupid nickname and the frustration building up. “Heizou stop with that ugly name, and no, haven’t gotten anything yet. I swear, I’m going to bash my head into the wall.”
“Ahah, I don’t think Sara would like that our hero tries to kill herself. Besides, I’ve got good news. You just got a small tip about the case you’re working on.”
You immediately sat upright in your chair. “What?! When? How come I was just informed of this?”
“The tip just came in, come on, Sara’s telling you to check it out it,” Heizou said, disappearing as he turned away.
You got up from your chair and flung your jacket over your shoulder. “Hold on wait for me! Heizou!”
Hero.
That nickname always brought up unpleasant memories.
Hero.
Solving cases, catching criminals, helping people. It’s what you’ve been doing ever since you graduated, long before the Tenryo Detective Firm took you in.
Could you even be considered a hero?
Gaining a position in this type of job was what allowed you to figure who the real arsonist was behind that attack. But even after the truth had come to light, it was by far, still too late. The damage had already been done, the paint cannot be washed away.
A light breeze from your office window blew at your orderly pile of documents, a couple pages fluttering to the side just as the door closed behind you with a loud slam, your voice screaming for Heizou quickly fading away.
It was silent in your office.
Two sparrows flew to perch on your windowsill, their loud chirps indefinitely breaking the silence. They weren’t staying for long before they flew off— perhaps something had spooked them.
A figure emerged out from the shadows. They scanned their surroundings around for any onlookers, and when they’d made sure that was nobody, they slowly approached your window. With quick and precise movements, they unlatched the window screen lock and slipped in unnoticed.
“I’m in, what now?”
“Get all the documents regarding him.”
“On it.”
They moved with ease, gliding around as they searched through shelves, drawers, anywhere for the required documents. A locked drawer in the corner of your office caught their eyes, and it wasn’t long before the lock was popped off— revealing the stack of documents you’d classified as “IMPORTANT.”
A quick sift through the papers confirmed his needs. “Think I may have found it.”
“Good, did you gather information regarding her too?”
“Hold on, let me check… yeah I think I’ve got that too.”
“Okay, now get out of there. She’s coming back.”
“One moment…”
They carefully stored the documents into their bag and began fiddling with the lock before latching it back onto the drawer. To avoid arousing any suspicion, they had also arranged the room to the way it was exactly how it was before. Books were pushed back into the shelves, the documents on your desk were neatly stacked, thick folders filled with random case documents were inserted back into their original drawers.
Your voice traveling down alerted them. Giving the office one last look, they opened the window and hastily jumped out.
A tiny pin with their insignia fell onto the floor with a quiet clink.
The window dropped shut just as you pushed open the door with Heizou trailing right behind you.
“What kind of tip was that?” you exclaimed. “That was a utter waste of time.”
Heizou shook his head and sighed. “Twisted sense of humor, hate them.”
You plopped down on your chair and spun around. “Riddle this, riddle that. Now I have to stay up to decipher that stupid code. If it’s some dumb message like, ‘I like ice-cream,’ I’m gonna strangle someone.”
“I’ll just leave it on your desk,” Heizou hummed. “I have another case I need to catch. Heard they’ve got a new lead.”
“Finally a new lead for you,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s been weeks.”
“I better come back with a closed case.”
“Come back?” you echoed. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yeah, they found the new lead in the city of Watasumi, so they’re asking me to travel there to further investigate it,” he replied. “I’m going to pack my bags, see you next week!”
“Have fun! Don’t die.”
“I’ll try not to,” Heizou grinned. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
You reached for the small slip of paper Heizou had left on the corner of your desk. Scribbled on it was a string of random code. By no means was this discovery unfamiliar to you. Throughout your career, you’ve dealt with far too many undeciphered codes. And you’ve managed to break through it each time.
This looks easy.
You turned on your monitor and set to work immediately.
When the sun had dipped far below the horizon, when the glow of the moonlight shone into your office— you were still clacking away on your computer, muttering nonsense to yourself as you racked your brain trying to break the code.
The clocked ticked on.
“If delta means this… then hexa should be this… oh shit that’s what it means? Wouldn’t that also change the way hexa is translated? Oh my god… do I really need that again?… fuck I do.”
Groaning loudly, you pushed your chair over to where your locked cabinet is. Your keys clinked against each other as you pushed a small silver key into the lock hole— where all your important files were supposed to be stored.
All the files regarding the disappearance of Scaramouche— and all the documents you’ve written about the various code you’ve solved.
Gone.
Where the fuck did it go?
You stood up, panic prickling at you.
“I didn’t misplaced it right?” you muttered to yourself.
So you searched. Every shelf, every corner, every nook and cranny. You took out folders packed full of other documents and sorted through each one individually, yet even after all the endeavor put into it, you just couldn’t find it.
Dawn was quickly approaching.
You sat back down on your chair— sinking into the plush and took in slow deep breaths in an effort to calm your erratic heartbeat.
Maybe a co-worker took it. But they couldn’t had the keys to it…
You blanked out, lost in your thoughts. A sudden minor detail caught your eyes. You frowned.
When did I close the window?
You got up from your chair, only then a sudden flash of red on your monitor screen recaptured your attention. You sat back down and turned to face the screen, but it seemingly returned back to normal… no, something was wrong.
Your contents had changed, for a canvas of white had replaced the endless amount of tabs you’d opened beforehand. Slowly, words began to format, each letter slowly appearing.
The first rays of the morning sun peeked through your window, consuming the shadows of your office. It was quiet, the only source of sound being your quickened breathing.
Your stomach dropped. You stared at the screen, the cold grasp of fear slowly worming its way into your heart.
It’s over, the eyes watches— it knows.
The clock stopped ticking. The slip of paper on your desk, long forgotten.
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series m.list || next
synopsis— [✩]
— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.
notes— [✩]
— this chapter was meant to be a quick run through from the beginning of you and Scara’s relationship to the “end.” hopefully this hero x villain dynamic makes sense lol 🙏 (the ending kinda sucked ngl)
taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]
@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy
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lilis-doodle-dome · 1 year ago
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I have so many questions about every dynamic you can think of for this au im so interested in hearing more about the tenma siblings (toya included) and nene + emu's relationship with tsukasa
im also interested to hear how the dynamic between ena and mafuyu, emu and mafuyu, + rui and mizuki changes.
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There is not enough space in these charts for any real information aughh, sorry for the weird text sizing. Also I didn’t put that much effort into editing Kasa/Mafu in these images haha
But relationship charts between the group! Sorry it doesn’t answer every question, but hopefully it’s enough? Feel free to ask more if anything needs clarification!
Here’s a transcript:
Tsukasa- Emu: Always tries to make me smile, but should she really waste her energy on me?…Sometimes she reminds me of Saki when she was younger
Tsukasa-Nene: Stronger than she seems. The least chaotic of the others, when we’re together she doesn’t expect anything. It’s…nice, although it might not be good.
Tsukasa-Rui: Always has something new to try, but I think it’s more for his own curiosity than for my self discovery. He knows a lot, could be more helpful if he ever shared it.
Emu-Tsukasa: Someone important to me that I’ll help find the smile of, no matter what! You’re no oohm doom villain Tsukasa-kun!
Emu-Nene: The most wonderhoy singer! Thank you for helping me see what it means to be a leader, I promise to never lose sight of my troupe again.
Emu-Rui: He always has the best, most fun ideas! I really appreciate his support, we always do best with his directing!
Nene-Tsukasa: He can seem pretty intimidating, but he’s actually rather clueless. I hope he can figure himself out, just not at the expense of others.
Nene-Emu: You’ve grown into a person deserving of the title of leader and I’m grateful you brought us together. I know you’re determined about your goal, but don’t forget we’re here too.
Nene-Rui: I’ll get stronger, I won’t turn a blind eye to you ever again.
Rui-Tsukasa: He tests anything I ask of him without complaint, I wish I could say that was a good thing. Let’s keep using each other until we’ve found what we’re really looking for, okay?
Rui-Nene: I’m glad she’s standing up for herself more, but I hope she knows there’s nothing she needs to make up for. It’s just nice to perform with her again.
Rui-Emu: A truly admirable person, she’s dedicated herself wholeheartedly to other’s smiles. Your smile is something precious as well though, don’t forget that.
Mafuyu-Kanade: A musical genius to match my lyrical! Her soft mannerisms belie her unmatched stubbornness, she’ll ever so gently, tell me I’m doing too much, all while she neglects herself! How confounding!
Mafuyu-Ena: She reminds me of those small dogs that get a poor reputation for being aggressive, despite it being people ignoring their fear signals that cause those reactions. That being said, it’s rather entertaining how differently she responds to Kanade versus Mizuki.
Mafuyu-Mizuki: They’ve introduced me to many new styles I’ve never experienced before. It’s amazing how they can make the most intimidating outings seem approachable. I enjoy any and all time spent with them!
Kanade-Mafuyu: She can’t see how she’s hurting herself for the sake of others. I need to help her, someone who can actually save others- shouldn’t have to suffer for it.
Kanade-Ena: Her art is still filled with hurt, but I’m glad she’s found some peace in our group. If only I could do more for her…
Kanade-Mizuki: They always have the frankest opinions of everyone else and seem to speak their mind freely, yet rarely say anything about themself. Their perspective is always appreciated though.
Ena-Mafuyu: Aren’t the big headed types supposed to not actually be good at everything? How is that fair at all, and she’s even got the nerve to be a nice person! I’ll show her-
Ena-Kanade: She’s wonderful. The soft, patient voice-of-reason needed to reign in the group, listening to her music is like a miracle cure for bad days.
Ena-Mizuki: They’re an insistent pest, that won’t leave me in peace. I guess I don’t hate the company though and they are good at putting together outfits for photos.
Mizuki-Mafuyu: A willing dress-up doll, she’s pretty enough to be one too! Kinda reminds me of an old friend with how many questions she asks about everything, guess geniuses have that in common.
Mizuki-Kanade: Always makes sure everyone feels comfortable and safe. It’s really nice to have a space I won’t be judged…
Mizuki-Ena: She’s way too funny not to tease, but she’s just as capable as the rest of the group. It’s kinda scary how easy she is to talk to, wouldn’t want to say anything I regret.
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solitaireships · 13 days ago
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Gingerbread Home
Here's the first of the Christmas fics I've been working on! We're leading into them with some Arts and Sciences stuff, partially inspired by something I saw on twitter about Ar/cane characters making gingerbread houses. I didn't really agree with what they said for Jayce, but I did like the concept of the thread enough so here we are!
Rating: Teen
Genre: Fluff
Words: 1039 words
Divider by strangergraphics
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“Corinna, dear, could you pass me the gumdrops?” Mel asks, finishing applying a bit of icing to the top of the gingerbread house they’ve been working on.
Corinna picks up the bowl, passing it up to Mel as she does her own work at icing around the windows. “There you go.”
“Thank you.” As Mel starts picking gumdrops out of the bowl, lining them up in a neat row at the top of the gingerbread house’s roof, she looks down at where Corinna’s working. “Hmm, I like the accents around the windows.”
“I figured they’d help it look a little more sophisticated.”
“You figured correctly.”
“Either way, though, I’m pretty sure we’re making the best gingerbread house to ever exist,” Corinna says. 
It is an impressive one, after all. They’ve been working on it practically all day now, with Jayce getting them started by putting together the actual house. Corinna’s used to him going all out with gingerbread houses— going back to when they were kids, she can remember him trying to build gingerbread skyscrapers. While not as ambitious as a building as tall as he is, this year he managed to put together a large, two story gingerbread house that could practically double as a dollhouse. And while Jayce is excellent at applying his engineering prowess to putting together the house itself, he’s left the gingerbread house decorating to Corinna and Mel. 
If Corinna’s honest, Mel’s doing the majority of the work. She’s an incredible painter, and it seems her artistic abilities extend to cookie art. It’s fun getting to help her, even if they’re not just doing it just for the sake of it. Mel’s hosting a Christmas party this weekend, and as much as Corinna dreads an evening stuck with Piltover’s rich and powerful, it’ll at least be nice having something she and her partners made at the center of the event. 
“Ugh, dammit,” Jayce mumbles under his breath. 
“Everything okay?” Corinna asks. 
“Fine. Just not nearly as good at art as you two,” he replies, frowning down at the gingerbread people in front of him. 
Corinna comes around behind where he sits at the other end of the table, taking a look at his work. He's been busy with decorating gingerbread people while Corinna and Mel have been working on the house, saying he needed something to keep him occupied while they worked. There are five gingerbread people in front of him, only two of which are actually decorated. The first has thick, dark lines of icing that are presumably supposed to be locs, with a white dress trimmed in gold. The second is the one he was working on, with hair that starts brown before turning a dark shade of pink. He was in the middle of drawing what looks to be a pair of glasses, though the right rim ended up being a little too big around her frosted eyes. 
“Aww, Jay, are you making gingerbread versions of us?” Corinna asks, grinning at him. 
Jayce sighs, putting down the icing so he can tilt his head back and run a hand through his hair. Mel comes around the table to look now too, a smile lighting up her face as she sees Jayce’s efforts. 
“I’m trying to,” he says. “I don’t get how you’re able to be so precise with these damn things.”
“Mel’s the one who’s actually precise. I’m just good with ideas and broader stuff,” Corinna says. 
“And I think that gingerbread me and gingerbread Corinna are absolutely adorable,” Mel notes. She places one hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “They look lovely.”
“Thanks. And sorry about messing up the glasses,” he says. 
“It’s no big deal. If anything, it adds to the charm,” Corinna says. 
“I’ll make sure everything lines up better for the rest of it,” Jayce promises. “Ugh, I still need to work on ones for me, Cait, and Viktor.”
“I’m sure if nothing else, gingerbread Jayce will be just as sweet as you are,” Mel says. 
“Ha,” Jayce says drily. “Just make sure you leave a couple of the mini candy canes for me. I need them for Viktor and my canes.”
Corinna leans down, giving Jayce a quick kiss on the top of his head. “You’re so cute. And I’m sure that the rest of your little gingerbread people are gonna be perfect.”
“Thanks,” he says. 
“But we’ll leave you to your art so we can finish up their house,” Mel says. She brushes her hand along Jayce’s shoulder as she passes by him, heading back to the other end of the table. “We will be taking pictures of your finished work with it, though.”
“Only as long as those pictures don’t end up on social media,” Jayce argues. 
“I don’t see any reason why everyone shouldn’t be able to appreciate your work.”
“They’ll be appreciating it already with any pictures of the house, they don’t need to also see my terrible cookie art skills.”
“Be nicer to yourself,” Corinna chides. “But I’ll make sure that she doesn’t put it on any official socials, at least.”
“I knew I could count on you, Cori,” Jayce says with an appreciative sigh. 
“Mhm. I will be relentlessly complimenting you for all of them once you finish up, though,” she says.
He grins in response. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to you praising me some.”
Corinna laughs. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But you’re gonna need to finish them up first so I can do that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies teasingly. 
Corinna gives him one last quick grin before she returns with Mel to finish up the gingerbread house. There’s a joy in the act of creation, that’s what got her into writing in the first place, but there’s something even more special about being able to create something with the ones she loves. 
Maybe that’s a part of getting into the Christmas spirit for her. It’s not just about the gifts, the lights, or anything else. It’s getting to do something she loves with the people she loves, with this house and the cookies Jayce is working on practically being a product of their love. And this is far better than any gift that she could find under the Christmas tree. 
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varcbrandartsnmore · 7 days ago
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Varc Does Gunpla: HG Sinanju
Hey Heleniacs,
As y’all may have been noticing, I’ve been posting more toy and Gunpla content lately, and I want to make it more of a “thing,” so I’ll be doing a series called “Varc Does Gunpla”/“Varc’s Toybox,” in which I discuss/review toys/Gunpla. This edition will focus on the HGUC Sinanju, originally released in 2010 by Bandai Spirits.
The HGUC Sinanju is a kit I’ve been wanting for years, ever since watching the TV anime version of Gundam Unicorn, officially titles as Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn Re:0096. The Sinanju, piloted by Full Frontal, who may or may not be Char Aznable (or some descendant - he basically says he takes on the role of Char for his people/supporters, though Char proper appears to have died 3 years prior, but I digress), quickly became one of my all-time favorite mobile suits in all of Gundam. I saw the kit at a hobby shop one time, but decided against buying it for the sake of my wallet. I regretted my decision for years, but I think recently was the perfect time to get it, as I am at a point in which I am more comfortable detailing my kits over using stickers for accent details, such as the gold accents on the Sinanju. I like to think that I am pretty handy with a pen these days, between having a lot of practice with plamo and doing linework for my drawings.
Once I had the time to build the kit this weekend, it was a blast the whole time. All of the pieces fit just right, it felt rock solid in terms of structural integrity, and it was satisfying to run my gold Faber-Castell across the accent lines. A fellow artist on Twitter/mutual member of a mecha art Discord recommended that I get a gold paint pen, and it was an awesome investment. I got a white brush pen the same day, and both have been incredibly useful in giving my kits a more premium look in my opinion. These pens were fantastic for the Moderoid Shin Getter 1 I also built recently, though the effect may have been subtle.
It was a bit annoying to try to push parts into their sockets when I had just painted the gold accents, only for the paint to smear because I held the kit in just the wrong spots. As a result, I had to get creative about what to hold onto when snapping hands to wrist, torso to waist, and shield to forearm, for example. I suppose I could have waited for parts to dry, but I am extremely impatient, and just like to get things done. Nonetheless, I think the accents turned out pretty well. Honestly, my complaint probably comes down more to user error and flaw than anything else.
With this kit being 14 years old, one would expect a plethora of problems to either whinge about or fix with their almighty “modeling skills.” However, I have no real complaint with fitment, pose ability, accessory selection, color separation or solidity. One could complain about the sheer number of color-correcting stickers, which probably are a pain to get to contour and stick down to the pieces with gold accents. Out of the box, it may be a nightmare for some. That being said, I think I’ll put my “toxic veteran” hat on for a beat and say to put the “extra effort” in to carefully take care of the accents yourself. The results are pretty worth it, and it feels more personal that way, at least for me. I guarantee that if Bandai release this kit today, they would make all of the accents separate parts with either gold cast plastic or painted gold plastic. They’d probably even use the dreaded gold-plated plastic and make it a Gundam Base or P-Bandai exclusive or whatever. I’m sure a few people would call for that, and shout from the rooftops, “HGUC SINANJU 2.0 WHEN?!” To that, I say, “How about never? This kit is already great.” I feel like doing more color separation might take some of the soul out, as much soul as a megacorporate behemoth like Bandai could even put into it. That’s just me, I suppose. It’s been 9 years since I’ve started the hobby, and am proud of the skills I’ve built over those years, if slowly. For that reason, I’ve chosen to include WIP and finished product photos in this post. Anyways, see y’all on the flipside. Stay tuned for more, art, toy, plamo, and even music - I’ve got several projects lined up leading up to the end of the month. Until next time, peace, love, mermaids, and big robots! ✌️❤️🧜‍♀️🤖
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heartkaji · 3 months ago
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hi mars i love your writing so much 🥺🥺 i’m thinking of starting a blog because of you so do you have any writing tips?
HI BABYYY i’m so glad i could inspire you to start writing i’m so happy to hear that💞💞 here’s a few for you ml 💘
read what you want to write. obviously you have to choose HOW you want to write first. in my case i wanted my writing to be similar to poetry since i love poems. there are diff types of poetry but prose poetry is my favorite so i decided on making my works based on that. once you’ve decided how you wanna write, read as many works as you can that basically embody that.
make it your own : if you’re using another author’s work as inspiration you might end up developing a writing style that’s pretty much identical to theirs. it’s harder to notice in writing so i’ll use art as an example: have you ever seen someone’s art and thought it was by a particular artist, only to find out it was someone else who drew it ? if your work looks like something the author you’re getting inspo from could’ve written, you’re doing it wrong 🙏 if you’re using pinterest or tumblr as inspo sources chances are your inspiration is a small or unpublished writer so you really don’t want your work sounding similar to theirs. making your work a little more unique by mixing inspo from different sources is a great help.
to add more on the last point, try making your own signature phrases !! for example, ppl have told me they know a work is mine once they see phrases like ‘blood drenched cheeks’ (as opposed to blushing or flushed cheeks) ‘blood crept up his throat’ (to show nervousness) etc etc. you can see these exact phrases in almost EVERY fic i’ve ever written. idk about them being entirely unique but if people are associating certain phrases with you, you are definitely on the right path to making a writing style that’s uniquely yours 💯 another thing i do is i use slashes in place of dashes, commas, semicolons etc and ‘&’ instead of ‘and’. it’s used in poetry sometimes but pretty uncommon in fic writing. my use of these symbols in writing has also been pointed out on here so i know i’m doing it right 🙏
decide how you want your works to SOUND. what vibe do you want your writing to give ? i like to write with the intention of making my fics sound ‘melancholically romantic’. i’d say my bakugo fic, kinich drabble and old kaji oneshot are works of mine that do well to capture this vibe. i like my works to have a somewhat ‘gloomy’ air as opposed to bright and happy, and i make the romance on a more steamy side, not innocent and cute at all. decide what tone or vibe you want your work to give off and use language and setting accordingly !!
PROOFREAD. this is really basic advice but i NEED to spell it out because gosh, the amount of fics i see that say ‘not proofread’ on the daily ?? anytime i see that in the authors note i scroll immediately. if you couldn’t put effort into making your fic readable, why would i give it a read ? please anon, use grammarly if you have to. i personally don’t use it because i write things ‘grammatically incorrectly’ for the sake of sounding poetic sometimes so having grammarly trying to correct what is perfectly fine in my eyes can get annoying. that said i reread my fics like ten times before i post, and i reread it at different times as well, not just reading it over and over again in one sitting. having stuff like spelling errors in my fics is just so embarassing to me, i prefer to avoid that at all costs 🙏
lastly, WRITE WHAT YOU LIKE. tumblr sucks when it comes to giving feedback. it makes me miss wattpad where everyone spammed comments but hey what can you do ? don’t let lack of engagement discourage you from writing the way YOU want to. i’ve written fics in really thick prose and some of those don’t get as many reactions, but does it make me consider changing my writing style ? NO. everything i post on here is first for myself before anyone else. it should be the same way for you too nonnie. the moment you become focused on writing what will get you the most likes and reblogs rather than what you actually want to, you become a content creator, not a writer. write as you like and own it ‼️
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fantastical-euphoria · 5 months ago
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i found my older brother sam outside one night, having a smoke out back.
just seeing him with his ratty hair down, swaying slightly in the breeze, the light of the match, the gentle puff of smoke, even the smell, brought me such strange comfort.
“what have you been doing?” he asked me as i sat next to him on the step.
“listening to sad music,” i shrugged. “couldn’t handle it anymore so, i came out here.”
sam instantly shook his head. “kris, you can’t do that.”
i laughed slightly, “why not?”
“because,” he turned to me, a serious look in his eyes and even moreso in the inflection in his tone, “that makes you want to cry. and i told you never to cry in front of me.”
“i know,” i nodded. “why did you say that?”
“because… it makes me worry. a lot. and it drives me to fall back into old habits when i get upset like that…” he sighed. “i had a dream last night where i got admitted back to rehab. a third time. only this time…” he swallowed hard. “i didn’t make it.”
“sammy, no…”
he nodded. “i hated dreaming about it. i actually woke up from it, and i started pacing around the room. i was so panicked. you know my biggest fear is, is killing myself, for some… some stupid reason. like drugs. alcohol. narcotics. i can’t… i can’t slip back. i’m too afraid to. yet i know i’m perfectly capable. and that’s what’s scary to me…” he hung his head down, shaking slightly, kind of wrapping his arms around himself in a way. like he was trying to protect himself, but it just didn’t have the same impact.
“sammy,” i rubbed his back, in an effort to console, “there’s lots of things that i like about you. like…” i thought for a minute. “i think you have a pretty smile. please don’t ever mess it up.” i pointed to the cigarette. “those can do that.”
he looked back over at me, chuckling slightly. “y’know i’ll never kick this old habit. dirty old thing.” he took one puff of it and snuffed it out, tossing it aside before putting an arm around me. “y’know what i’d rather be, above anything else, before anything else. i want to be present. i want to be in your life. around you. spending all the time i have with you. having fun with you. enjoying the world with you, and life itself.”
“i know,” i leaned into his side embrace. “i worry about you tons. but i know that you’re doing okay. and i know you’re trying hard to live a normal life, as a non-addict. you’re trying to find distractions.” i pointed to the moon. “like that.” i turned to him. “isn’t it pretty?”
he smiled wide and nodded, the light from it casting a shiny reflection over his eyes. “i wish i could take a good picture of it, and not have it be this fuzzy white speck in this sea of darkness.”
“it sucks,” i agreed. “well, i’m just trying to think of other things we can do.” i smiled. “i like going to art museums. i wanna make you appreciate real art. not just what you think is art.”
“what i think is art?” he echoed with a lighthearted cadence. “c’mon, the original streetfighter is nothing short of a masterpiece. 21 jump street? beverly hills cop? those are *cinema.* seriously.” he empathized his points with dramatic hand gestures.
i rolled my eyes as i laughed at his obliviousness. “maybe you watch them a bit too much.”
he shrugged. “maybe i do. i’m stuck in the rut known as the 80’s, what can i say.”
“does henry like watching those movies?” i asked.
“sometimes. when he’s here,” sam pointed to the ground. “but he’s just too busy with work and such to be concerned with leisure right now.” he pulled open his phone and tapped open the text thread he had with him. “see, i wish i had it like he did. it’s so easy to take your mind off of what’s troubling you when you actually have something to serve that purpose.” he shook his head. “and right now, i don’t, so… it’s harder for me to…”
suddenly a flash of lightning caught our sight stemming from our right. it was heat lightning, too far away to really affect us.
“white lightning,” sam mused, nodding over that direction. “wouldn’t that be such a cool stage name?”
“it really would,” i nodded in agreement.
sometimes, if it was warm enough, we slept outside, laying in the grass, pretending the backyard was a giant mattress, as ticklish to our skin as it was. sam would always take off his hoodie and lend it to me so i could use it as a pillow.
“what about your pillow?” i asked him. “wont laying on the cold hard ground hurt your neck?”
“nah,” he shook his head, “i’m too beat to feel uncomfortable in any form.”
i’d still worry, though, cause that’s just the type of person i was.
i hated to think how a brain like his that was constantly overthinking was able to stabilize for the evening and settle for the night, pretending there was nothing but an empty space up there.
i wasn’t good at pretending. i always had the tendency to show my true colors. which sometimes came out in the rawest form, sometimes too powerful for me to realize. and i didn’t intend to hurt anyone, honest. especially sam, cause i knew he was a gentle soul. he loved our dogs. he loved my parents. he loved me. he didn’t want anything bad to ever happen to me, he wanted to protect me from any elements the world could throw at me. he just wanted me to be happy. not to take after him. he knew he was the worst influence on his younger siblings. with henry, it didn’t matter as much, he was only a year younger than him, old enough and smart enough to know better.
with me, well, his dirty habits were well in effect when i was a baby. i was easily convincible. i would want to look up to him, to be exactly like him.
that’s why he always distanced himself from me, in the beginning. he always wanted me to hang out with henry. the better influence. because that was really the only way he could look after me. and i bet that pained him so much.
i could remember mom saying to me, sam began to have conversations with me when i was still a fetus in her womb. he loved me before he even knew what i looked like. before he knew what my gender was.
he wasn’t the emotional type. naturally, ever time he felt something, he had this urge to conceal it. all the drug use had made him numb to most feeling, anyway.
but when i was born, he couldn’t stop looking at me with the saddest, glossed over eyes. he wanted to talk to me. to hold me. but he smelled too much of cigarettes, mom said. he had to stay back.
henry got to hold me after mom and dad did. sam couldn’t even look that way. and i had a feeling that henry wanted sam to hold me too, he kept looking over his way sadly.
i warmed up to henry first (even though holding babies was definitely not his strong suit). mom had told me once that back when my cousins were born, henry always had the shaky grip holding them, sam’s was steady and solid as a rock.
that’s where he got his protective nature from, i guess.
he was more protective of me than mom and dad ever were. henry acted more like a fun, bad-influency (the good kind) cousin to me. sam took his role as the oldest (and especially older sibling to me) perhaps a bit too seriously.
but i wouldn’t change a thing about it.
@elliotts-personal-property
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fitrahgolden · 1 year ago
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Lilies and Soap: 4 - Nothing at All
“Did you know you carry Heaven with you?
I can feel it calling, from below
Won't you let me find it?”
“Nothing at All” by Lilies and Soap.
Lyrics by A. E. Bridgerton.
Both Kate and Anthony had written and recorded songs about sex before. It had never been a big deal. They were more or less mature about it. Perhaps they would tease each other when they first read the lyrics the other had written, but certainly by the time they were recording the song, they had gotten all the giggles out, and it was just about giving the performance the song deserved, and appreciating the art that they were lucky enough to be able to bring to fruition, just like with any other song. 
So, Anthony had no idea what was wrong with him while he was in the studio with Kate, recording "Perpetual Commotion," one of the songs for their next album, which they had decided to call "Old Light."
Kate was the sole writing credit on this one and, as happened from time to time, Anthony found himself more than a little curious about who the song was about. On the surface, yes, the song was about sex. If that was all there was to it, it would be pretty uninteresting. But, as was always the case with Kate's songwriting, there was more going on than meets the eye, more of a story being told. Not just body, but heart and soul as well.
Anthony had known Kate for almost six years, most of her adult life. And, sure, it was possible to form intimate bonds in one's adolescence, but "Perpetual Commotion" was profound. It was mature. It was intense. It only made sense that the lover it was about was from her time at uni at the earliest, Anthony thought as he found himself more and more fixated on figuring out the answer to this question.
Yes, he could just ask Kate, but that felt too invasive. That's what he told himself, anyway. However, a nettling voice in the back of his head was telling him that the reason he didn't want to simply ask her was that, in reality, he didn't want to know. What if it was someone he was acquainted with? What if it was someone she was currently seeing? They worked so much, spent so much time together, that knowing the details of each others' personal lives just kind of happened organically. But of course Kate wasn't obligated to tell him anything. Maybe there was someone in her life. Maybe she was keeping it from him on purpose. Maybe that’s why she was so upset a few weeks ago.
And so Anthony found himself going into the day's studio session obsessively jumping with Herculean effort from conclusion to conclusion. It was a terrible headspace to be in if he wanted to perform at his best, to be in the moment.
At this particular moment, Kate was singing the verse that had been haunting Anthony the most.
"With you, I will die a thousand little deaths
Hoping to survive, rationing our breaths
Don’t know how to think, don’t know how to talk
Full of you, feeling you, don’t know how to walk
You’ve left me no choice but to learn how to float
Crimson memories of you own me, tracks on my throat
You are the best thing I've ever worn
I've never felt more beautiful
I’ll never be more beautiful"
The words made him think less about who the song was about, and more about putting himself in that person's shoes. He couldn't help it. She sang with so much emotion, there were real tears in her eyes. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold. And he felt himself being transported into that room with her, wherever it was. He imagined what it would be like, sharing in that transcendent experience, completely giving oneself over to someone else and feeling like it’s the only reason to exist.
Forgetting himself completely, all Anthony saw was a bright, ethereal vision of Kate. He’d never thought about her like this before. Or, at least, something about it felt new.
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“Tony?”
“Hm?” Anthony didn't realise how out of it he was until he looked around at Kate next to him, and then, on the other side of the glass, Alice, who was their engineer, Tom, and Benedict, who was shaking his head in the corner. 
“You missed the cue.” Kate raised her eyebrows at him. "You alright?"
“Oh, sorry. Fuck, sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, guys.”
Anthony was able to keep it together for the rest of the session–more or less.
“This is my first choice.” Anthony said confidently.
“I don’t know. The first album was just me on the back.”
“Well, it happened to be the best picture. You agreed.”
Kate shrugged. “I did, yeah. I don’t know. I think this one is my favourite.” She pointed at the computer screen to a close up shot of Anthony’s hands. “You have nice hands.”
“You think I have nice hands?” Anthony looked over at her and Kate was hoping she wasn’t blushing hard enough for him to see.
“Yes, OK? Don’t let it go to your head, though I’m afraid I’m already too late.”
“Yep, you are. Anyway, about the photo: absolutely not.”
“Absolutely not?” Kate laughed at the finality of his answer.
“Yeah, veto.”
“And exactly how many vetos do I get?”
“You don’t need any because we’re going with this one. It’s just the best one, Lamb.”
Anthony looked at Kate with more intensity than this photo selection session warranted.
“Fine. It’s the tentative choice.”
“Excellent.”
“Tentative, Tony.”
“Sure.” Anthony poked Kate in the side and she smacked his back in retaliation.
Benedict gave a quick knock before walking into Anthony’s flat.
“Hey, guys. How’s the album art coming along?”
Kate and Anthony spoke at the same time.
“Ready for the graphic designer!”
“We still need some time.”
Benedict looked between the two of them with a mocking grin.
“O…kay. Well, either way, we need to get going to make it to lunch with Siena and her people on time.”
Anthony shot out of his chair. “Oh, yeah. Cool, let’s go.”
He seemed quite keen, and Kate tried her best to keep her expression neutral. She had attempted to prepare for this. And now, in the face of it, she immediately knew there was no amount of preparation that could make this any easier.
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“Oh, my gosh! It’s been ages!” Siena gave Anthony, Kate, and Benedict all hugs before everyone sat down.
Anthony saw Siena, who looked even better than she did when they were all at the RCM, and thought that maybe he actually cared to know whether or not what Benedict and Colin said about her having a crush on him was true. Maybe he’ll investigate later.
“I know I saw you two at Highest Point a couple years back, but we had basically no time to talk. How is everyone doing?”
After a catch up chat, during which Anthony noticed that, while Kate was definitely being friendly, she wasn’t really adding much to the conversation when she wasn’t being addressed directly. She ordered a drink, which she never did during business meetings, no matter how casual. Lastly, she was fiddling with her necklace like mad. Taking advantage of Siena and Benedict going off on a tangent about some story from school, Anthony put a hand on the back of her chair and whispered, “You OK, Lamb?”
“Yep,” Kate answered with a bright smile. “It’s… It’s nice to reconnect.”
There was something off, but they unfortunately didn’t have time to get into it now.
The conversation finally turned to business. Siena explained to the best of her ability what she was looking for for her next album how she wanted to incorporate L&S’s sound. All parties agreed that the best next step was to have an informal studio session to have a first crack at honing in on the direction they want to go.
Benedict and Siena’s manager looked at their calendars and picked a place and time for the session as the lunch meeting came to its natural end. Kate exhaled a sigh of relief that it was over. Of course, they would be spending plenty of time with Siena in the upcoming months, but for now Kate just wanted to go home and do whatever she could to get her mind off of everything for the time being.
“What have you got on?” Kate asked Anthony as she put on her jacket.
“I, um…” Anthony looked back towards Siena, who returned the eye contact. “I’m gonna hang back,” he said sheepishly.
Kate nodded rapidly and forced a smile. “Right. Of course. The other reason for this meeting.”
Anthony shook his head, but he was smirking. “Eh, I figured, ‘Why not?’”
“Yeah, of course. Why not? Though, I wouldn’t say ‘why not’ to Siena. Just some friendly advice.” If Kate wasn’t ready to bolt before, she certainly was now.
Anthony leaned in and whispered, “Wish me luck.”
“Good–” Kate choked and cleared her throat. “Good luck.”
As Kate punished herself further by watching Anthony walk over to Siena, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Benedict offering her a warm smile.
“Hey, seeing as neither of us drove here, do you fancy finding a pub and getting absolutely hammered?”
Kate genuinely laughed for the first time in two hours. “At 3pm?”
“Sure. I don’t have anywhere to be. Do you?”
Kate shook her head.
“Excellent. Let’s go somewhere and talk about absolutely anything as long as it has nothing to do with…” He looked over at Anthony and Siena talking. “Well, let’s just call it ‘work,’ eh?”
“That sounds perfect. Thanks, Ben.”
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eldritchaccident · 1 year ago
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Timing: Before the gooening Location: The Morgue Feat: @kadavernagh & @eldritchaccident Warnings: descriptions of x-rays tw Summary: Regan meets the most interesting person('s bones) in Wicked's Rest
The x-ray machine that probably cost the Medical Examiner’s Office over $40,000 had, as far as Regan knew, never been used on a live person before. Even as the morgue seemed to have developed a rotating door of patients who could walk themselves in and out (albeit sometimes with a limp), no one had requested or needed this yet. Radiology was limited to the dead. And here was Teddy. Perfectly fine, by all accounts – no fractures or skeletal abnormalities Regan could see in the x-rays – but possessing some of the strangest bones Regan had ever seen in her bone-filled life. She hadn’t studied them clearly yet, but even without holding the films up to the light, she could see strange markings defiling Teddy’s perfectly good bones. She itched with urgency to get a better look.
After Teddy had been a willing patient in an autopsy suite, she was tempted to bring them into her office to discuss what she saw, but the illumination displays were in here. So in here they would stay. “One moment. Here, you may sit.” She gestured to the rolling chair by the histology desk. Regan paced for a moment, buying herself some time to think. She anxiously flipped the corners of the x-ray films against her gloved fingers, careful to only touch the margins. Teddy knew about this. So, Regan suspected, only one of them was going to be surprised. That made things easier. She could clamp down her own reaction without needing to concern herself with someone else’s fragile emotional state. “Okay. You told me… you had an anomaly. That is a generous term to use to describe what I saw.” She waited, fishing for something that might not come. They knew something was strange, but how much did they know? “Let’s take a look together, shall we? I’ll admit I’ve already peeked. But the light helps, substantially.”
A hushed sort of calm kept the 'patient' a lot more… passive than they might have been if the circumstances were different. Less excitable. Probably a good thing considering Doctor No-Nonsense likely wouldn't have appreciated the constant quips and jokes. Nor the whole 'I know something you don't know' schtick. Teddy left that behind, pretty much the moment they had started on the long road of research. Nothing they had found so far did much to change the likely outcome, only to put a damper on their spirits. On their usual ability to find the good in just about any situation. The silver lining they always looked for wasn't missing, exactly. The gravity of the situation just had a way of adding a heavy patina to it. Making the shine seem a lot like effort that they just didn't have the energy for. 
Still, they were curious. 
Teddy obviously knew about the writing, knew the way it sometimes glowed bright enough to cast an eerie blue hue from beneath their skin. But they had never seen it. Not directly. Something that had carried with them almost all their life. It shaped them. Probably went as far as to change the very fabric of their DNA. But that particular mystery required a whole different lab set up. At least they thought it might. Science, while incredibly interesting to the demon, wasn't something they'd put much discipline into. They could make educated guesses at a lot of things, but they were shooting in the dark just as often. 
This intersection of the two arts, magic and science was one they would've spent a heck of a lot more time with if they didn't think they were going to just…die during the ritual. But who knew, maybe there was something in the first connection Teddy ever shared with Levi that would help its sever go smoothly. 
"You've been more than patient with me so far Doc. Let's have a look."
The x-ray didn't disappoint. Crystal clear and incredibly detailed. An ancient language scrawled across the bones, familiar to Teddy but almost certainly unlike anything the good doctor had ever encountered. Some other…anomalies were hidden amongst the spellwork. Things Regan would absolutely notice even if Teddy wouldn't. Evidence of stress on nearly every joint. Bones that looked like they had been shattered and reconstructed hundreds of times. Some things weren't quite where they were supposed to be. A product of them literally re-building themself since they were a teen, and knowing very, very little as to what actually went where. The magic always did a good enough job putting pieces together, even if it was based on the ideas of what a kid thought a human body was supposed to look like. 
Regan set the films against the illuminator and looked at Teddy out of the side of her eye, before turning her attention back to the films. Already, against the white background, the markings were stark, covering almost every inch of bone. Her hands were growing sweaty inside her gloves. What was this? Even to a layperson, someone who had never seen x-ray imaging before, the oddity would be immediately obvious. Regan swallowed thickly and flicked on the light, though it was hardly necessary. The one thing it made obvious was that the markings were almost like a written language, or a series of tiny images; they were not random.
That wasn’t all. The light revealed other abnormalities. The contours of Teddy’s bones were jagged; there were processes where there ought to be fossae, and a couple of their phalanges actually appeared to be flipped, not that they ever would have noticed. It was as if someone pulled them out and stuck them in the wrong way, a puzzle piece forcibly jammed into a spot where it would have fit flush if only it had been rotated. Her first thought: This was one of the strangest skeletons she had ever seen. Second thought: When Teddy died, she would like to have it. 
And then, third, and the only one that was appropriate: What exactly was she looking at?
Two possibilities filled her mind. One seemed all but impossible unless Teddy had some horrific scars on their flesh to show for it. The other, she did not believe – this was more than strange, osteological birthmarks. Regan met Teddy’s gaze with a mix of curiosity and expertly suppressed shock. “You knew we would see this. Do you know what scrimshawing is?”
"Yeah, generally something done very post-mortem, if I recall." A quiet chuckle managed to escape before Teddy offered a… sympathetic-ish smile to the so far wonderfully helpful woman. "I have a feeling you wouldn't exactly believe me if I tried to explain where it's from, but–" A pause, a short consideration. Their eyes trailed back over the writing. Tracing the careful word choices that went into the ritual, despite the impulsive nature of the decision to perform it.
It really was a sight to behold. They couldn't help but view the artistry with a strange mix of wonder and delight. Quite the odd mix amidst the morose dread they'd been carrying the last few weeks. Teddy hadn't actually ever had an x-ray before. Hadn't actually visited any doctors since their… parental exchange. Couldn't remember the last doc they had visited. There really hadn't ever been a need for Leviathan to take them to one. While they were with Levi, they were immortal. The kid never even got sick growing up. Not really. Even with the aches and pains Teddy felt all too often these days, they had always just assumed that was normal. Whatever normal meant to a human slowly turning into a demon or whatever. Something they'd grow to get used to over the course of eternity.
 "–is there any way I could get a copy of that?" They gestured, politely as possible, at the x-ray. Copying the exact phrasing from the first ritual would be a lot easier than just trying to remember as much as they could. Especially given how spotty their memory could be.
“It should be, but there’s no reason why it couldn’t be done on the living. The primary problem is access. And, um, ethics.” Regan shuddered. She was able to tolerate great amounts of pain, but even she would scream if someone sliced her open and carved up her bones, pink and thick with capillaries. Was it possible Teddy had survived such an ordeal? “Any noteworthy scars? A lot of them… there would be many.” It was a foolish line of questioning, and they both knew it, but she needed to grasp for something that was in the proximity of sense. But sense came to Wicked’s Rest to die, and she could not autopsy it right now. “Forget it. It sounds like you know this isn’t scrimshawing…” Regan’s tongue pressed against her teeth. As much as a good medical mystery reinvigorated something inside of her, the ones this town presented were sometimes beyond comprehension, and that was unpleasant.  
Regrettably, Teddy was not dead. So her asfís bháis would provide no help. “You’re right, I probably wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe half the things people in this town tell me. More than half. Closer to three quarters, by my estimation. Vampires, giant shrimp falling from trees, faces being stolen in the mines…” Regan frowned, her eyes glued to the hieroglyph-like scrawling decorating Teddy’s bones. It was beautiful, in its own way. Artistry only the chosen few could ever see. But if someone did this to Teddy, that was… different. “Tell me when this happened and how you knew about it, if you’d like.” Regan offered, her curiosity just slightly edging out the anxiety she was constantly trying to quash.  
Regan blinked. That wasn’t exactly the question she anticipated. Her instinct was to just give them the only existing films, but when they asked for a copy, her mind filled with potential. She could keep a copy for herself. Teddy had given her permission without realizing it. Regan nodded eagerly, her hesitation turning almost to excitement. “Yes, I will print out copies for you. Of course.” Meanwhile, she had a goldmine. She just wasn’t sure what to do with it yet. Regan made a beeline for the x-ray printer and neatly stacked the films between her fingers, before handing them to Teddy. “You might just be one of my strangest patients. Even beside the fact you’re alive. Your bones are… I haven’t seen anything like them.” Once more, she glanced over at her own set of films, the densely packed symbols shining brightly under the harsh light. “Do not be offended when I ask this of you. Please die here, soon, and under suspicious circumstances. I would like to have you back here someday.” 
"Only scars I have are these." Teddy swiveled back and forth in the chair as a bit more energy returned to the surface. They pointed at the blotchy pink shape that took up much of the left side of their forehead, cheek, and neck. A few more smaller splotches dotted their hand and chest. At first glance they could appear to be a port wine birthmark or something similar. But like most things with Teddy, it wasn't that simple. 
There was a moment of silence as Regan looked at the images, and Teddy looked at her. Tried to study, to gauge where her reaction might fall. While she wasn't completely nonplussed about the whole ordeal, she still was fairly reserved. Effects of working in the morgue of the world's weirdest small town? Maybe. There weren't any obvious signs of Dr. Kavanaugh being in-human. But that wasn't always obvious either. Hell, Teddy passed for people most of the time. And that was saying something. Either way, she'd asked.
"Well." They responded. It'd be rude not to at this point. "As far as I know, and as far as my…adopted guardian… knows– I'm the only one of my kind."  Teddy curled their legs up, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce in the chair that absolutely was not built with that in mind. Made their limbs kind of stick out at odd angles. A perfect reflection of the tale they were about to weave. "I may have… misled you about a few things online. Figured you would write me off as crazy if I led with…magic. Cause that's what this was. Is? Yeah I guess it's still ongoing, so is… is probably right." They nodded, satisfied. "Started when I was five, that part is true. But it's a result of a ritual. No scalpels required. I imagine that might've been a bit too messy. Probably not the best toddler care either." 
Teddy had a specific kind of laugh, any time they cracked a joke that verged on self deprecation. It was raspy, airy. Like wind being knocked out of an old broken bagpipe. "The details are–" A family secret. Not the tight lipped kind that came with a deal or a contract, but it wasn't exactly the best idea to go around spilling the demon beans, so to speak. Even if Leviathan was leaving, and Teddy was probably dying, it didn't sound like a good idea. "Hard to parse. But basically this–" they gestured to the prints Regan had handed them, then in a grander motion over to the illuminated ones up on the board. "Is a tether. Anchors me to a big source of power." but it wouldn't be much longer. "Believe it or not, that's the truth." They shrugged. Not really knowing what else to do. 
At least until Regan spoke up again. Teddy burst into a much more genuine bout of mirth. The barks of laughter weren't mean or derogatory. It was just pure delight at the concept she proposed. "Yeah well, you may get that sooner rather than later. If it goes that way I really won't even have any next of kin soooo, if you wanted to you could take and articulate my skeleton after I'm gone." Their smile split their face wider than any had in a few days. 
"All I could ask is that you at least make it a fun pose. Maybe save a bone or two for some friends. Something to remember me by." Emilio would hate it, Nora would love it. Good. The idea of sticking around as a glorified Halloween decoration was more than Teddy could ever have asked for. 
"Ooh, what if you put me in a lab coat and sunglasses. I could hold a tray or something, I'll help you out around the morgue. One last temp job." Gallows humor. It'd been creeping into Ted's lexicon more and more since the big talk. Since the idea of dying young, empty, and at the hands of their own father had entered their mind. It was like they couldn't stop the jokes once they started pouring out. That being said, they were completely earnest. Teddy had always liked helping people, and they'd definitely always had a love for the…odder things in life. If their bones could bring people happiness after they were gone? Well that'd be amazing. 
“So those are scars,” Regan said, raising a brow at what she had hastily assumed were birthmarks. What exactly had this person been through? Something that marked their flesh and carved their bones and churned them out both possessing answers and knowing nothing at all. Teddy’s disfigurement was beautiful, in its own captivating way, but she felt for their scramble for answers. It seemed urgent. They did not think they would be around much longer. And while part of Regan grew giddy at the thought of claiming the bones – lit up in front of her with the real things hidden under layers of Teddy’s skin she wished she could peel back – the more rational part of her did not want anyone to die an early death. But what was early, anyway? Who decided that? Who decided when to intervene? Sometimes, being a physician clashed with what Cliodhna had drilled into her skull.
“I’m going to write you off as crazy now, so don’t feel as though you made a mistake not telling me sooner.” Regan flicked her eyes away from the illuminated bones and looked at Teddy. They really were quite boring in comparison. She tried to cling to the thought of what lied underneath. “Whatever occurred when you were young must have been incredibly traumatic, and you have my sympathies.” Even if they were using ‘magic’ as an explanation to cope with reality… whatever that was. “You are not going to die within the next week or so,” she said, not really caring if Teddy questioned her knowledge. She was a doctor; she studied death, and they were making claims about magic. “You have at least that long to settle your affairs. Please think of me when you write your will. Put it in writing. You wish for me to have your bones.”
They probably thought they were being funny. But while some banshees were simply tickled by the idea of using human remains in such a manner (even displaying them), Regan found it terribly distasteful. “You will not find that work here,” Regan said with a scowl, “but you can be assured I’ll take excellent care of them.” She looked toward the door. The most exciting thing about Teddy was their bones. And she wanted some time alone with the imaging. “For now, though… well, you have a few days. So drink some milk and make them big and strong for me.”
There was a lot to digest. And a hell of a lot to do. They collected the films, stood from the swiveling chair and stood. “I appreciate this Doc–” Teddy paused the very slightest of pauses. Realizing the informality wasn’t this particular medical professional’s style. “–tor Kavanaugh. Even if you think I’m crazy.” Not only was it incredibly interesting to see something that had been literally inside them all along, having these images was sure to help them crack the next step of figuring out this damn ritual. If there was something in the wording they could parallel, something that would open up the connection on a more literal level, maybe they could get in there and do some editing. Get Teddy out of the line of fire, get Leviathan all its strength back. That was the goal right? A long shot by far, but this made the target just a wee bit wider. 
“I’ll write it up and send you copies, I’m a stickler for wording so don’t worry. Regan’s your first name right?” Teddy didn’t often look it, or act like it, but they were incredibly observant. Details stuck out to them, often more than the big picture. There wasn’t a name placard or anything, but there was a degree and a license to practice. Both names in clear black ink. They somehow doubted there were two Doctor Kavanaugh’s that worked in the morgue, but hey, that distinction was the exact kind of thing that needed to be explicitly written into something like a will, right? 
Demons loved contracts. Teddy too, though their tenure wasn’t quite as robust as almost every other demon out there. What would that skill be good for, they wondered, if they did survive. However unlikely that was. “Hope you have a nice rest of your day though. And who knows, maybe I’ll see you in two weeks. Three or four tops.” With a wink, Ted headed out. Clutching close the metaphorical pieces of gold she’d given him. 
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liminalh-creations · 7 months ago
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15. downtown.
the evil eye doesn't always work, and there's millions between me and you! so just sing to me about eggplants or anything, except for how tired we are...
sketched some familiar (and unfamiliar) faces of the Black Organisation (in civilian clothes)
click below to find out some more details about them! minor warning for mild spoilers up to chapter 15 :)
point of interest: they're all somehow from former east bloc or once-soviet countries
Chianti, Sniper
chinese (?), under 30 years old
VERY short, has a complex about this
she's got the nickname 'Key' but if you call her that without her consent she will throw you
her tattoos are butterfly-and-eye themed (you might see that she's got two tattoos in the drawing, teehee). also, you cannot tell me that the reason for her canon tattoo ISNT a bullet with butterfly wings reference
says "lol" and "lmfao" in casual conversation
might have gotten corrective laser eye surgery (or something similar) - the tattoo on her eyelid might indicate a slightly more long-lasting problem
“Try me again, asshole!” she shrieks, “I’ll stab your dick, too!”
has a girlfriend(?) who gifts italian designer products
vague sibling relationship with Cognac; they're either bickering or they're besties or they're teaming up to gossip about others
“She’s a gamer.”
Korn, Sniper
has a very hoarse voice, possibly resulting from some chronic problem? possible that he doesnt talk much because of this issue
around 45-50 y.o & mongolian
i gave him a wife because i think he deserves someone normal and sane to return home to. according to Vodka's 'accidental' namedrop, she's called Sarnai (the name means Rose in Mongolian <3). also, he's implied to become a father soon
Chianti called him Eeyore in this chapter and it might be one of the funniest things i've ever written. i actually love their dynamic in canon so much that it's a big part of my inspiration for this fic; they just feel so much like they have a life outside of their mandated Black Organisation Cameo Appearance
he and Vodka practice ARB
i sent my friend that picture and he said "this man looks like he's never put any real effort into how he dresses and, in fact, never will" - and honestly? yep.
Arrack, Assassin (?)
arab, though exact national origin is relatively hard to clock (Jenever only figured it out because she remembered Shiraz indirectly referencing him)
was mentioned in Akai's notes from 29/7/2010 >:3c
has a very polished appearance, sculpted muscles type beat
mean slut, "mad dog", self-described bastard. VERY flashy fighter, but also "doesn't care if he loses so long as you're hurt worse"
has some pretty normal Star Wars opinions tbh
"resident fuckboy" / "fuckboy-in-chief" -- context clues indicate he might be a honeypot assassin (like Akai speculates in his notes)
generally easy-going despite being unsettlingly intense, but has a very short temper when Shiraz is brought up. (his degree of Shiraz-obsession probably outshines Jenever's tbh)
he's a one-off B.O. member who shows up in a spin-off comic or something, but you literally cannot introduce a character like that and expect me not to sink my evil little claws into them
Sambuca, "Audiovisual manipulation, back-up IT expert"
slavic & eastern european (exact national origin not yet divulged); around 50 y.o woman
wore a metalcore t-shirt to PT
Gin's previous main IT crow. was part of Tequila's Tokyo office at the time of Teq's death; planted there mostly to train
perfectly faked all of Jenever's and Red's credentials to get them into the japanese police institutions. also seems to be in charge of editing Crows out of CCTV footage. overall, really important behind-the-scenes security/cleanup job
her arms are covered in disparate stick-and-poke tattoos. motifs are not unified. a lot of the words/letters are in cyrillic (not visible in the art bc of leather jacket, sorry hehe)
seems to have a phobia of guns/firearms
Cognac, Hardware & Demolitions
south-east asian (exact national origin not yet divulged)
around 30ish years old. not THAT short (like idk 169cm?), but has major gremlin energy
HORRIBLE frosted tips hairstyle situation
vegetarian
wideset body, physically quite strong but has a vaguely soft appearance
remembers Rye sparring with their team a few times. seems p keen to gossip about him (and anyone, for that matter)
"I am literally a whole bisexual!"
gave his denim jacket to Red Label back in Afghanistan (Arrack was soooo mad about this, probably bc they have matching jackets or smth)
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ikatako38 · 11 months ago
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Hey all, I have some good news and some bad news.
The bad news
is that TPWCH is going on an emergency (unplanned) hiatus. This means I won’t be making any effort to work on the fic or any related work such as art and side projects, whicle I try to get myself back on my feet. This means we might miss the 2nd Anniversary Special, but I will post it eventually even if it’s late. I’m really excited to share it with you! I don’t know how long this emergency hiatus is going to be, but I think somewhere around a month would be a reasonable estimate. Keep in mind that this is when I’ll start working on things again, so it might be a few more weeks after that before you start seeing content again.
The good news
is that I’m going to be emptying out all my WIPs, notes, and any other content I can easily throw at you guys to help hold you over throughout the break! So anyone following me here should be getting a bunch of exclusive content over the next several weeks.
Also,
since everything’s getting pushed back, I think now would be a good a time as any to start Ship Wars! I’m not going to put an exact start date on it yet, because it will take a bit of work to kickstart, and I don’t know when I’ll get around to that, but once I do get it started it should mostly run itself!
So…
I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but thank you guys so much for sticking around with me through all of this. I’m painfully aware that I’ve only uploaded one and a half official chapters since April, and I know that I’ve lost a lot of readers because of that. So again, thank you so much for staying. It really means the world to me.
I’m sure the question a lot of you probably have on your mind right now is, Is Tako ever actually going to finish TPWCH? And with how things have been going lately, that’s a very valid question. To be 100% honest with how I’m feeling another the fic right now, I kind of wish it could just be done already. Or that it could just somehow write itself. But the reason for that is that I’m so excited to share with you all other parts of the TPWCH universe that are just waiting to be written! I really don’t see myself dropping the TPWCH universe anytime soon, and I really don’t see myself dropping TPWCH itself anytime soon, either. And an important reason for that is simply that… I don’t have any other ideas to write. Even for other fandoms. It’s a bit crazy just how strong of a hold TPWCH has had on me for three years now.
By the way, that’s not normal for me. Back on my FFN and Wattpad days (don’t bother going to look for my accounts, they don’t exist… yet 👀), I was usually working on 3-5 fics at once and was constantly having ideas for new ones, to where it was a struggle to keep up and I to make hard decisions about priority. I don’t know if I’ve gotten less creative with ideas as I’ve gotten older or whether TPWCH is just the first universe to be so interesting to me that I don’t have any need or desire to come up with new things outside of it.
Either way, if I have no desire to work on other things, the only way TPWCH would ever stop is if I stopped writing altogether, and that’s just not going to happen. Writing has been a huge part of my life since I was ten, and maybe even younger. It’s my most important hobby and makes me happy. If I don’t do it for too long, it’ll actually make my mental state worse.
So I really don’t want you guys to think that this is like a vacation for me, or some sort of respite from the… AWFUL chore of writing. ( ゚д゚) Really it’s more like I’m grounded from writing until I can get my grades up. (;_;) The grades in this case, yes being my university grades but also my life in general because it’s been kind of a mess lately. Within the last two weeks, I fell out with two of the closest people I’ve ever been to and pretty much the only irl friends I have at this point (the Discord server will know who these people are). One of them going very badly and increasing my conviction that everyone secretly hates me. (╹◡╹)On top of that my room is slowly becoming uninhabitable, I’m not sleeping, and I’m just constantly stressed and anxious. But I’m gonna be okay. The fallings-out are very fresh and will fade with time, and just two days ago I finally got a consultation for ADHD. I now have initial diagnoses of ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder, which I should be starting treatment for in about a month, so I’m really hoping that will help me somewhat to get back on track. And all the support from everyone between Discord, here and AO3 has always helped, and I’m sure it will continue to help. Many of the people I’ve met online through the fic have ironically been far more supportive and trustworthy than the people I’ve met irl. You’re all so real for that ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
Wow, that got really long! Thank for reading this far!
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bare1ythere · 2 years ago
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idk about actual methods but I also really struggle to learn kanji, you aren’t alone. I can only remember a handful of the most super common ones and even then sometimes I’ll totally blank and have to look it up on jisho. it really sucks
I appreciate it anon. I think I'm just a bit intimidated by the sheer amount of work its gonna take to get any good. I can read and write pretty fluently in hiragana now, though katakana is still a bit of a struggle, but kanji is just so tough. And its annoying that I've put so much effort into learning and still can't really practice reading because of all the kanji.
I recently tried to study kanji like how I used to study characters in mandarin back in elementary school but man. Each unit in Genki has a vocab list of ~60 words, usually all with unique kanji, while my elementary school mandarin textbooks had like 15 words per unit. I don't know where to start or if there's even a point to learning how to write rather than only recognize kanji since when am I going to be handwriting japanese outside of formal exams I may never take?? But then again how the hell am I going to learn to recognize kanji if I don't write it down?
I love learning the vocab and grammar and I love being able to write my own sentences and vaguely understand japanese fan art I find online with text in hiragana and katakana but kanji just makes me so frustrated.
I'm going to keep trying. not today probably. but I'm going to figure it out somehow. Because the feeling of actually being able to read kanji in context is so exciting for me, and ultimately is necessary for becoming fluent.
I need to keep this video pinned somewhere because the video itself and the comment section really calms me down when I think I really need to learn on'yomi and kun'yomi to ever get fluent when lots of people don't do that and do very well.
youtube
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