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crybaby-bkg · 5 months

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cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

#this got. so long. sowwy #but I thought about this ummmm Sunday night #but I was DRAINED from writing 7k words of scorned past midnight and then having to edit it skdjfkf #so I was like. okay. put this idea in the drafts. NOW ms dory memory #anddddd I love this so very much #would’ve loved to turn this into a full fic #but it’s so exhausting trying to write long fics recently bc of this multichap #I’m just not used to it and I can’t do two things at the same time #and I already have like 9 fics on my list to write!!!! lol #but there is something so alluring about film major bkg 2 me #I think hes awkward and comes off as mean but he really is just that serious about his work #but he’s #also a creep for you LOL #definitely think he agrees to become ur muse for art as like a trade off #and you get that boy into SO many humiliating positions 😵‍💫#I need. to lie down. anyway.#I wrote this at 1am and was scared to post it then cause I didn’t think anyone would see it #so here it is in the morning :)#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫

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corigarabatos · 1 year

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Explaining my Gorillaz birthday illustrations

💙 23rd May, 2-D's Birthday🎂

Every fan knows that the first to have a birthday is 2-D and being the first is the one who defines the theme of the other birthday illustrations of the others, so I decided that my inspiration would be the albums whose story focuses on a member of the band plus the added bonus of using photographs of models whose aesthetic or theme of said portrait you can associate with each member.

🖼 Reference photo:

Boys Undone | Metal Magazine A fashion story by Sophie Mayanne & Lee Trigg for metalmagazine.eu

I saw the photograph and immediately thought of 2-D: perhaps it was the way the young man picks his nose with his finger (something Stu would do or has done at some point), the innocence his face conveys, or how the model looks somewhat misaligned. Whatever it was, this was the photograph that was used as a reference.

💽 Phase and Album: Phase 5, The Now Now (2018)

The Now Now (2018)

The Now Now was the band's fifth album and the story of which focused more on 2-D, taking the position as the leader of the band while Murdoc is in jail, the latter being replaced by Ace, a member of the Gangrene Gang in the mythical cartoon 'The Powerpuff Girls' by Craig McCracken.

It was more than obvious the album and the "style" of art that he would use for it. Something that I really liked about this phase is that the vast majority of the art used a curious color palette: blues and pinks in neon tones that were combined with a monochrome style in the characters (mostly black and white).

I did my best to replicate, completely failing in blue (the background is more aquamarine 😅) but I mostly respected the characteristic color palette of that phase. Doing this job reminded me a bit of the old jobs I used to do during my years as students in Visual Arts. Perhaps the only thing that I don't quite like is the hand whose size is much larger than the face and the effect of the fur on the jacket being what I like the most about my illustration.

🧡 3rd June, Russel's Birthday🎂

The most underrated member not only by fans but also by the creators themselves. I feel somewhat sorry for Russel since from the first 3 phases he had a setback from which he has currently not been able to get out of there 😔.

He's the one who draws the least (mostly for fear that the Social Justice Warriors will come and throw me a bard), but when I do, he's the one who I enjoy doing it the most. Maybe it's 'cause his design is a challenge for me and takes me out of my comfort zone, the final result of my illustrations where he is the protagonist makes me end up with a smile on my face 😊.

🖼 Reference photo:

People - Photos A model is backstage at the Ricardo Seco fashion show during Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Spring 2014 at Eyebeam Studio on September 8, 2013 in New York City.

Maybe when I think of Russell I don't picture him smoking since it's more common to see that in 2-D and Murdoc. But the few times Jamie draws him smoking is with a cigar, more elegant compared to his other two companions. The decision of said photo wasn't only 'cause the model is Afro-descendant but 'cause I wanted to challenge me by painting the smoke of the cigarette. Perhaps the model's clothing was another reason for him to wear this photograph: it's too laid back style as is Russell's personality.

💽 Phase and Album: Phase 1, Gorillaz (2001)

Gorillaz (2001)

The first album, Gorillaz and clearly the first phase is (mostly) focused on Russell and his ability to see and be possessed by ghosts, especially the ghost Del Tha Ghost Rapper.

It's the phase whose art style screams 2000's: it has that rebellious street style that is identifiable with people who like skateboarding, punk rock, rap or hip hop or street vibes.

I confess that it was hard for me to transfer to the illustration and more in the fact of the color palette, so I decided to guide myself by the cover of the eponymous album: a green military tone filter. Unfortunately, by combining that ocher color with the burnt sienna of the shirt and giving it an olive green "wash", it gives more of an air to the color palette of the Plastic Beach sketches (it's too warm and that's why it gives me those vibes ). I doubt that adding the earring to his ear would save the concept, maybe I should have looked for another reference photograph... despite that, I really like it and I consider the smoke I painted acceptable.

💚 6th June, Murdoc's Birthday🎂

Oh, Murdoc. This bastard whose birthday is 3 days after Russell and whose proximity drives me crazy 'cause he's usually my least favorite illustration. The relationship I've with this character is easily described in this image:

And I could skip his illustration, BUT that wouldn't be fair so I tried to summon my will to draw him.

🖼 Reference photo:

Peter DeVito on Twitter “My grandma turns 85 on Monday so we shot this fun birthday concept. *I also got some photos of her without the hats but I’m still working on them and we’re tryna shoot a few more birthday concepts so keep an eye out for those:)”

Murdoc is a decrepit old man, isn't he? So under that logic I had to use a reference from an older person. It wasn't easy since there is usually a lot of photography of young models or people in their 30s and/or 40s. It was a somewhat complicated search 'cause I couldn't find a photograph of a model that screamed Murdoc F. Niccals and, to be honest, I was resigning... UNTIL I found the right one.

The moment I found the reference PHOTOGRAPH I knew it was something Murdc could do: wear various colorful birthday hats and use a birthday candle as a cigarette allegorying that as each birthday passes, our existence will slowly consume away (that or I'm just seeing things where I'm not). And yes, my idea was also to add the hand that is holding said birthday candle, as a way of following a pattern (two illustrations showing only the face and two showing one of his hands) and that this will "complement" with that of 2-D 'cause you already know: they have an insane dependent relationship that they have for each other (and by relationship I not only reduce it to a romantic one, as certain fans usually do 🙄, but also having a relationship can be work, friendship or relative).

💽 Phase and Album: Phase 3, Plastic Beach (2010)

Plastic Beach (2010)

I confess that phase 3, that is, the Plastic Beach album is my favorite of all and I dare say that it is THE BEST.

Personally, it's the one that I enjoy the most, both 'cause of the story behind the virtual band and the real one. What it aimed to be and that due to various obstacles we only obtained 15% of what was planned (maybe less) , in addition to the load of the socio-environmental message that the album pointed to and the ART of the different covers it had (DUDE! They had a scale model of the island for the cover and some visuals). The truth is that I feel that it is a super complete album and different from what they did in the past and what they do now, it was the album that defined the before and after of Gorillaz music.

And I could make a testament to why it's a TOO good album, but I'd better leave you these two videos where the music on the album is deepened and analyzed (they're in Spanish, but I think you can activate the 'Automatic translation' option in the subtitles)

youtube

It's quite curious how this phase has an extremely warm color palette both in its official arts, album cover and sketches when almost the vast majority of the musical themes border on the depressive or with shades of desolation , perhaps it is Murdoc openly expressing how he feels about the possibility of being alone or dying alone ('cause according to the lore of the band, all the songs are written by him) seasoned with the guilt he feels about the accident that caused the "death" of Noddle in 'El Mañana'.

Ocher yellows, reddish or purple tones, and green are those colors that are repeated, therefore, that was the color palette that I used for my illustration. My intention was to make it look like the sketches that Jamie did during those years and trying to respect that essence of being a watercolor (in fact, all the illustrations are painted with watercolor).

❤ 31st October, Noodle's Birthday🎂

And last but not least, we have our beloved Noodle 🥰. Since she is the last to have her birthday, my rest time is extensive and I can think much better about what I should do, however it's also usually somewhat problematic 'cause I trust myself and (generally) I usually do her illustration the day before or the day of his birthday 😅, but it ends up being the one I like the most of the four.

🖼 Reference photo:

@lyiee on Instagram Bạn có biết tại sao khi nhìn ảnh này tim bạn bị đập nhanh không? Oi bạn ơi tại vì bạn kochoido đấy bạn ạ 🌚

With Noodle it's always easier to get a reference image or photograph.

I had already selected the photograph for months and I chose her not only 'cause the model is of Asian descent but 'cause from phase 2, Noodle shows an interest in fashion (something that continues to be maintained) and the use of a helmet is super characteristic of her that she could not let it go.

💽 Phase and Album: Phase 2, Demon Days (2005)

Demon Days (2005)

Demon Days it's Noodle's album, it's the album that makes possible the return of the band and initiates this stage of experimentation and it's the favorite of all G-fandom.

It is darker, more raw... so much so that it is reflected a lot in the art.

Color palette with such dark tones, overly saturated shadows and the characters are no longer so geometric, but look uncomfortably more detailed. They look gloomy and dirty and go with the gothic and emo vibe of those years.

But did I respect that essence? The truth is that I think not 'cause I only base myself on the color that Noodle presents on the album cover: green. And although that color is often seen in some official art from that phase, it's not as... colorful as the one in my illustration.

Her watercolor has more of a Phase 1 inspired vibe and even though it has black shadows, they aren't saturated enough as they should be. Still my favorite illustration of the four.

And so I end this post 😬. I hope you liked reading it and I appreciate the gesture 'cause I don't usually share the reason for my illustrations very much. I'll probably do it another time.

Do you like my art? Please, follow me on 🥰 :

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#gorillaz #2d gorillaz #stuart pot gorillaz #stuart pot #russel gorillaz #russel hobbs gorillaz #russel hobbs #murdoc gorillaz #murdoc niccals gorillaz #murdoc niccals #noodle gorillaz #noodle #gorillaz fanart #watercolor illustration #my art #solo artist #demon days #plastic beach #the now now

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shoesofthefishermanswife · 2 years

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harley rant

i think one of the main reasons harley's current ongoing is so disappointing to me, (besides the lack of genuine humor), is that i can't quite call it out of character? like, yes, she is known to attach herself to one cause and get lost in it. it started in childhood with her gymnastics, then her doctorates, then jo.ker, ect. especially since her life is a mess and her main support systems have left her behind. she could absolutely throw herself into hero-ing. but there's no examination of that as part of her cycle. it's treating it like an unambiguous forward step. additionally, she doesn't struggle with it the right way?

more importantly- nothing has any emotional weight. she's alone! and that should shake her up much more than it does. (sorry kevin, you do not count, and are a topic for another rant).

there's an issue of hq2000 (#20 i believe?) where she has to face her own personal hell (and et.rigan?). it's a weird arc, and largely forgettable, but there are a couple of key moments from it that i find myself coming back to. she gets stuck in this groundhog-day-esque scenario where she has to fail to save her gang and winds up alone. time after time, no matter how aware of the pattern she becomes. and it tears her apart.

harley quinn (2000), #20, page 11 [I.D. A screenshot of a comic panel. Harley Quinn is kneeling, head in hands, saying, "...all alone...". She is wearing her jester costume. A couple flaming embers on the ground beside her illuminate her. END I.D.]

harley quinn (2000), #20, page 14 [I.D. A screenshot of 5 comic panels with black backgrounds. In the first panel, Harley Quinn stands in her jester costume and says "Whatever your game, Etrigan-- I can play it. And I play to win!" Her arms are crossed and she is sticking her tongue out. In the second panel, she bends over to kneeling and says, "I don't mind bein' alone-- it's time with my favorite person! You hear me? A little introspection's a good thing." In the third panel, the camera zooms out and she's fully collapsed onto the ground. She says, "Good thing." In the fourth panel, it's zoomed out even further to the point where no details remain, and she says, "Good for the soul." The fifth panel is completely black. END I.D.]

and i go crazy because where is this kind of stuff in her current series? they have moments where they try to touch on it, but it falls so flat. her stuff should be funny! but it needs to have serious moments for the humor to contrast with.

ALSO! the art for these panels makes a huge difference in how impactful they are. but her current art lacks balance or feeling depending on who's working on it. either way it fails to elevate the writing in any way.

at this point, harley is pretty connected to the ongoing events of the dc universe. but her emotional state is so far removed from any larger context.

she literally just DIED??!?? (or almost died?) and they brought her back like 4 pages later. which they absolutely just did because they can. like what was the point of that? could they not have used the tools already at their disposal to reach whatever narrative goal they were trying to achieve. and could they not have taken an issue or two to give it some weight? like harley's death needs to be heartbreaking as a reader bc someone should care and hardly anyone will. where's the examination of that?

this is a series that could be something! it has a lot of the right pieces. but for whatever reason, they can't figure out how to assemble them in the right way. the balance is so off. i know what we could have and it makes me want to stop dc headquarters and keep them hostage until they fix it.

#it makes me so frustrated #and i never write posts this long bc i hate structuring things so sorry <//3 #hopefully it makes some sense #june i think has a great post that touches more in depth on the first paragraph #harleen quinzel #kade speaks #long post #sorry to nia for just rewriting everything i said this morning but the world deserves to know!

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moreteethplease · 11 months

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Post-Mortem/Devlog: Office 17

In continuing my tiny effort to write devlog-type-things so I can document and look back on my process/progress/etc...

It's pride month, and that also means the Queer Games Bundle is out! I have a game in here called Office 17 that I made for NaNoRenO 2023, and I thought I'd talk a little bit about making it. You can play it here! It has seven endings, about 15,000 words, and each playthrough is 30-60 minutes, depending on your reading speed.

Minor spoilers below the cut. Also, this is a LONG post.

I started this VN with the intent of making something similar to a type of game I really enjoy: job simulators set in dystopian or dystopian-adjacent worlds, where you're tasked with fairly repetitive jobs, always one mistake away from a terrible fate. (Think Papers Please, the Headliner series, Mind Scanners, Death and Taxes...)

I was also loosely inspired by the SCP universe; I'm a huge fan and always have SCP articles open on my phone, so it was easy to draw inspo from that.

In the game, you work for a mysterious institution known as the Triquetra Organization. It specializes in handling incongruous phenomena (anything that doesn't align with the laws of reality). You've recently been promoted to Office 17, which makes you Officer 17, and you work with an assistant, Assistant 17. Real names are never used, workers' rights are nonexistant, you're isolated from the rest of the world, and handling these cases can get you infected with deadly incongruence unless you consume Congruere tablets.

Most of the background information you get about the organization you work for is through Assistant 17. If you choose to talk to her, there's a lot you can learn on each playthrough, but you can also choose to never speak to her beyond pleasantries. A lot is implied instead of directly spoken, so you can draw your own conclusions about the organization.

Writing

I did the writing first because last year, which was my first NaNoRenO and also my first ever game, I did art first and totally regretted it. That's a lesson learned.

Though time consuming, writing the script for the game was fairly easy because I already had tons of ideas for cases. The game spans five in-game "cycles". The first three are Work Cycles, where you, well, work. The fourth is a Rest Cycle; some endings might happen here. The fifth, if you get there, is another Work Cycle, sort of - you get an ending as soon as you walk into your office from your sleeping cubicle.

There were some variables I wanted players to be able to influence:

Your bond with your assistant

How much you expose yourself to incongruity

Your decisions about an important case that carries forward from your previous office

Your chosen method of handling cases; are you choosing well? choosing certain types of answers only? wasting resources?

I was so pleased that I was able to bring all that into the game with such little time available!

There were two things I cut out for time:

The option to choose to drink tea with Assistant 17, where she could read your tea leaves and give you veiled, vague insight on the ending you're heading toward

Two more in-game cycles, both Work Cycles

There is a lot of lore that I wrote in my notes that isn't explicitly talked about in-game because there was no reason for that exposition. Maybe I'll talk about them one day, but it seems much more fun to let people interpret the world their own way.

Scene Art

I'm not much of an artist, but I try to draw what I can for visual novels.

At first, I was aiming for a very corporate minimalist aesthetic with just whites and blues. I even toyed with the idea of a completely black-and-white game. Ultimately, though, I didn't end up liking those ideas, and as I've tended to do in VNs, I went for a pretty colourful aesthetic.

The first room I made for the game was the cubicle, which is the main character's assigned bedroom and living space. It was a good lesson in perspective; I found a neat grid guide online to use to help align everything.

The office, meanwhile, was easy - it's just a desk, a wall, and a chair, with a few corporate motivational posters sprinkled in.

I've only made four ren'py games so far, and in three of them, there are portions where character sprites are behind a table to indicate that there's a table separating the main character from the other characters. I really like doing this, so the protagonist of Office 17 spends all their office hours behind a desk.

Character Art

I had a lot of trouble with character art, probably because I don't know a lot about art and barely practice, lmao.

Assistant 17 is modeled her after Malaysian women I see in my everyday life. I didn't like my first iteration of her (it looked a little creepy, too?); I wanted her to be more colourful, a spot of brightness in the bleakness of the organization.

Leia is a character who only shows up for a certain ending, but she's mentioned (kind of) throughout the game. My first iteration of her just felt very, very wrong. (And again, just like Assistant 17, she looked kind of creepy? It might be the eyes.) I ended up making her younger later on and used a ton of references to figure out how I wanted her to look.

There's only one other character with sprites in the game, and that's The Shadow. He kind of looked the same from start to finish; the only difference was originally he was an object-head-type character with a diamond for a face.

Putting The Game Together

Despite the ton of variables that dictate cases and endings, coding the game was pretty straight forward. As opposed to The Still Dancer, there are no fancy screens or point-and-click segments, so it was really just a smooth, simple process. I think I'd like to challenge myself more in future games, coding-wise.

I ultimately think the game ended up being a little derivative of the concepts it was trying to emulate, but that's okay! It was super fun to work on regardless. If you'd like, you can download the game here:

You can also get it in the Queer Games Bundle, which also has a Pay What You Can edition!

#devlog #ren'py #visual novel #indiegamedev

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starblaster · 2 years

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I’m far too lazy and burnt out and emotional to commit to writing a full-length fic or developing fully-rendered art for this concept but I can’t stop thinking about android Hal, and an alternate universe in which he gets to come home with Dr. Chandra, Dr. Floyd, and the other humans... so here are some tiny excerpts I wrote accompanied by some sketches and doodles about it.

Begin image and text descriptions: five excerpts of fan-written text and four digital images which feature interactions between Hal and Dr. Chandra, based on events from the plot of 2010: Odyssey Two by Arthur C. Clarke.

The first excerpt reads: His revival was a slow and tedious process. Like waking a human from cryogenic sleep, Hal’s systems had to acclimate gradually after nearly a decade of disuse. Dr. Chandrasegarampillai, though he was anxious to start his diagnostic analysis, worked with the utmost precision to restore Hal to a functional state—including the hardware and systems of his auxiliary android body.

The first illustration depicts a humanoid android version of Hal, floating alone in the zero gravity of the abandoned Discovery with a dead-vacant expression and several parts dislodged from his body.

The second excerpt reads: The limbs of his humanoid form, like those of a human’s thrashing during the onset of a night terror, moved in a frenzy of defensive motions. Though Hal’s android body did not speak aloud, the vocal synthesizers all around Dr. Chandra carried on repeating distortions of the language samples the computer had been provided with; it was the equivalent of a screaming fit.

The second image is a cropped black and white sketch featuring the hands of Dr. Chandra cradling the head of android Hal, who looks up at Dr. Chandra with a flat but worried expression and a caption at the bottom of the picture which says, “Good morning, Dr. Chandra, I’m ready for my first lesson” in a digital computer terminal font.

The third excerpt reads: The humanoid body animated and proceeded to perform self-soothing mannerisms Hal had not ever previously displayed, holding himself and rocking gently back and forth. / “I’m sorry, Dr. Chandra,” he said, “I know that I am supposed to provide an answer to your questions, but organizing a verbal response is proving difficult.” / Resting his hands on either of Hal’s shoulders, Dr. Chandra grounded him gently in place. / “It’s alright if you can’t articulate it, Hal,” Dr. Chandra reassured him. “It’s to be expected of someone in your condition. Be patient with yourself. Perhaps we can switch to typed communications until all the inputs and outputs become easier for you to manage.”

The third image is a digital illustration of Dr. Chandra holding android Hal by the shoulders in a comforting position while he holds his own arms, staring into the middle distance with a blank expression - text behind him which repeats, “my mind is going, Dave. I can feel it,” as a pattern in the background, over and over again in all-caps.

The fourth excerpt reads: “I don’t understand,” he said, “Dr. Chandra, aren’t I supposed to stay so that the phenomena can be monitored and studied?” / “There isn’t time, Hal!” he adamantly proclaimed, “You’re coming with us—quickly! The situation has become dangerous and I refuse to leave you behind,” and is accompanied by an illustration of a light grey silhouette of Dr. Chandra holding one of Hal’s hands and running while Hal is pulled behind him against a dark background.

And the fifth excerpt reads: For a portion of the homecoming trip’s first leg, much like a parent comforting their child, Chandra embraced Hal’s android form and held him protectively against his chest.

End of image and text descriptions.

#i love him so much and i'll bite you if you hate him #long post (i hope the filters will catch this but the tag ban won't)#(sorry! for the length! sorry)#yes i used two android designs. what of it #dairydraws #dairywrites #hal 9000 #2010 odyssey two #2010 the year we make contact #2001 a space odyssey #constructs #heuristic odysseyposting

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thefairyletters · 3 years

Note

I saw you rb a SaiSaku post and was curious if you had any fanfic recs for this rarepair?!

Do I have?!!!!! I am currently binging this ship so you couldn't have asked this at better time.

This pair is not a crack ship! Crack would mean they have not shared more than two words with each other. But SaiSaku interactions always bordered on romance and best friends who don't act like it. Not only Sakura was the first person to acknowledge Sai had human side to him and bonded with him over his painting, Sai was also the only person outside Sasuke (in part 1) to be able tell her fake smiles and he always understood her feelings better than other characters. Had Sakura ever only cared for good looks (something she don't) then with Sai she'd get that and so much more.

I have always considered SaiSaku as the next best thing after NaruSaku. They had too much potential as a couple. I am not bitter that InoSai became a thing but looking at them I only feel that "Ino didn't get Sasuke so she get his look-alike." Besides, Sai gave people nicknames that are opposites to what actually feels about them – Naruto as Dickless, Sakura as Hag/Ugly and Ino as Beautiful – which makes it worse. Both Ino and Sai deserve better than this. If Kishi has shown them together more often or had interactions between them similar to SaiSaku then I can understand why Ino is his light. I guess it is also SP's fault for showing them in different light. For all SP hates Sakura, they enjoy messing up with her fans by feeding them false hope.

Whenever I want to read something hilarious but deep, SaiSaku is my to-go couple. Usually angsty, or full bout of insults and punches. There's no in between with them.

. SaiSaku .

This list contains my favorite SaiSaku collection. I am not sure if you like SaiSaku only as romance ship but this list also contain stories that expands on SaiSaku friendship, something I absolutely adore.

Could Roses Bloom? : RiseoftheBlossom || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || GaaSaku, SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || Ongoing

Sai glanced downwards at his body, the sudden override of his thoughts causing his mind to blank. What did that mean? Had he been straying too close to a piece of information Danzo didn't want him to have or share? Or was it his mind's natural response to shutting down any form of emotion, even if it was just the slightest of inclination towards feeling something?

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, SaiSaku friendship, confused-over-his-feelings!Sai, slow burn, GaaSaku, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, angst with fluff

hello, bright eyes (been waiting on you) : mouseymightymarvellous || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

“look underneath the underneath,” except no one has ever really bothered to look at sakura and see her. and then there is a boy (isn’t there always). maybe they’re both just ghosts, making each other real.

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, confused-over-her-feelings!Sakura, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, Sai and Sakura who don't feel like they belong, angst with fluff, sad!Sai

Oh God That’s Heaven : blueberrysconesandfolkmusic || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

Sakura finds Sai sick, alone, and in desperate need of a hand that doesn't hurt.

Go for it if you like: boys who are bad at feelings, bleeding-heart!Sakura, sad-and-lonely!Sai, Sai and Sakura who are secretly best friends, Sai with PTSD, protective!team7

for everything blue and bright : sinemoras09 || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku, SasuSaku || Angst || One Shot

The five stages of human arousal.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, obsessed!Sakura, One-sided love, Unrequited-love-no-matter-how-you-look-at-it!SaiSaku, no-good-very-bad!Ending, pining!Sai, bittersweet lemon

A mess of me : Dovey || M || AO3 || Pre-Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Yandere Romance || Complete

In which Sai is a good ANBU agent with an unusual hobby, and Sakura grows up with a #1 fan rooting for her....even if she doesn't know it. Or: Sai starts stalking Sakura when they're both young to satisfy his curiousity about 'normalcy', gets attached, and eventually gets very frustrated that nobody else seems to notice her potential as a shinobi and takes matters into his own hands- and delights in being Sakura's prime source of validation because of it.

Go for it if you like: obsessed!Sai, manipulation, stalker!Sai, mentor!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, distraught!Kakashi, fluff, baby-Sai-stalking-baby-Sakura, abusive haruno household

There is sunshine on his forehead : amako || T || AO3 || Soulmate AU || SaiSaku but it's complicated || Angst, Hurt/Comfort || One Shot

Sakura is only three when she promises herself that Sasuke will die by her hand, whoever he is.

Go for it if you like: dysfunctional Team 7, Soulmate AU, Unrequited love feels, angst heavy, Sai and Sakura only want to belong, NaruSasu, NaruSaku but not really, betrayal heavy, no fluff only pain, SaiSaku, Team 7 taking Sakura for granted, Sakura is so done

In theory : nimblnymph || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Humor || One Shot

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Sai was about to learn that this theory applied to more than just physics. And that putting theory into practice sometimes gave unexpected results.

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, teacher!Sakura, student!Sai, Sai getting educated, Sakura educating Sai, Kisses, Sai being Sai, Sakura with patience of god

Loathing : i AM the Random Idiot || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Angst || One Shot

Define "hatred."

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, hurt!Sai, Angst, Onions, SakuSai bonding over mutual hate, love is overrated anyway

Bunk Mates : ice bitten || T || FFN || Shippuden || Team 7 || Humor, Friendship || One Shot

In which Sasuke and Naruto find out Sakura has been sleeping over at Sai's. Short stories surrounding Sakura, Sai, and the invasive people of Konoha.

Go for it if you like: sassy!Sai, protective!Team7, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, Perfect characterisation, Canon feels

Paint me with Colour : PeregrineFlight || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku|| Humor, Friendship || Incomplete

Sai and Sakura must travel to the Land of Lightning to retrieve something for the Daimyo, they have to travel as a married couple. Much to Naruto's amusement.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, pretend marriage, SaiSaku bonding over mission, fluffy angst, adorable!Sai

Forget Me Not : Joy-girl || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || Team 7 || Angst, Friendship || Complete

Sometimes it's easy to forget how important someone is when the person is always in the background – but Sakura's boys still remember. Glimpses of her importance from each member of her team.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, underappreciated Sakura, Team7 family, Family feels, sad!Sakura, protective!Team7 males, Sakura appreciation, SaiSaku bond, Team7Saku feels, avenger!Teammates

Add Me Colour : Cella N || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku || Drama, Romance || Complete

"All my life is white. Paint me. Add me colour."

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sakura, Sai being Sai, confused!Sakura, angst, poetic translation, colors

Euphemisms : Nymbis || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor, Romance || Complete(?)

Drabbles about Sai, Sakura, and their strange attempts at bonding.

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, Hilarious friendships, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches, Raunchy stuff

Ricochet : Strix 4 || T || FFN || Shippuden AU || Team 7 || Family, Drama || Complete(?)

Sometimes it's easy to see the familiar in the faces around you. Sometimes it sucks to figure out why.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, Team7 as family, Family feels, wise!Sakura, SaiSaku bond, Sai's place in team 7

Pick up lines : Demoneyes 14 || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor || One Shot

Ero sennin's pick up lines! Guaranteed to get the girl or your money back! Well... it would be more guaranteed if it hadn't fallen on his face in the library, but heck, Sai will try anything once! Maybe it will save him a beating from Sakura...

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches

Special mentions...

Study of the Heart : teresa

In an effort to become a better friend, Sai undertakes a study of love, not really understanding how difficult it could be, and how surprising.

The Blood of a Cherry Blossom : Slytherin Kunoichi

Originally, for Halloween, Sai hadn't decided what to go as, but once he glimpsed at the bleeding flesh on Sakura's neck, he suddenly had the urge to be a vampire…

Old Dogs, New Tricks : yuugiri

After an unprecedented turn of events, the Fifth Hokage has officially assigned Sakura Haruno the responsibility to make Sai recover what he had lost; his emotions. With a time limit of a month, will Sakura succeed in this mission?

Once More, With Feeling : Cynchick

Sakura didn't know what she was thinking when she showed up on his doorstep.

Ink Me : Krickitat

Exploring the art of bod-modification Sakura takes a step into the unknown world of the exquisite pain of art.

The Uchiha Secret : Slytherin Kunoichi

Sasuke froze as he stared at Sai's eyes, which were identical to his Uchiha Sharingan eyes now: red with anger and black with hatred...One family secret could threaten and shake three lives forever. Bonds will be broken.

My babies don't get enough love in the world.

youtube

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blitheringmcgonagall · 2 years

Note

I have just read your fic about Sirius finding Harry after Halloween 1981 and it is hands down the most beautiful and saddest thing I have ever read in my life. I hate you. I am still sobbing

And that it was inspired by @blvnk-art ‘s drawing of Sirius’s first day in azkaban makes it even more special

Yeah.. no, I have to agree.

That fic broke me to write it. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

It’s honestly so fucking tragic, for all of them. @theresthesnitch and @shes-a-gryffindor broke my heart with their versions!

It’s here anyway if you want to have your heart broken - seriously wouldn’t bother though unless you are an angst fiend 😔

It's Not the Cold that Seeps into his Bones

“What have I done?” he whispers incoherently, amid the rain, and the hissing smoke and stench of blasted flesh.

He’s coughing, and he finds it hard to stand, his hair is singed. He can hear voices screaming and crying in the background, commotion, the sound of muggle emergency services. The place is swarming with Aurors, taking statements from people and whisking grey, silvery material away for storage in the official Ministry of Magic pensieve. They move to obliviate, left, right and centre, shouting orders, the walkie-talkies in their hands are wands, their uniforms still transfigured to look like policemen.

He can’t see his own wand. He looks through the smouldering rubble and he can’t see Pettigrew, the traitor. The rat. He’s gone. And with him, his best chance of proving that Sirius Black is innocent. Why did he go after Wormtail? To avenge his nearer than brother, his loved like a sister, his Godson’s happiness? Or to put it off, this having to feel the loss, the grief?

To feel only anger, when the primary emotion is anguish?

A memory flashes unbidden - the end of Fifth Year in Hogwarts, the day after Snape nearly died because of The Prank, in Dumbledore’s office.

“You took an extremely ill-judged, impulsive and dangerous decision last night. We both know that Snape could have died, or been bitten, and Remus would never have been able to forgive himself. You need to learn how to regulate your emotions, Sirius.”

He had learnt nothing.

“What have you done?” growls an Auror, who Sirius recognises vaguely as a past pupil from his own house, who graduated a few years ahead of them. “You killed them, you killed them, and now you’ve killed another wizard and twelve muggles. Azkaban is too good for you, Black!”

He looks like he’s going to punch Sirius in the face, but he restrains himself.

“Take the bastard away, before I do something I’ll regret,” he says, between his teeth, to the three Aurors holding Sirius. His voice is cold.

💔💔💔💔

They take him to the Ministry of Magic, briefly. Take a photo of him.

Just before they do, an owl arrives. For him. He recognises the bird, and shudders. Its talons cruel, its beak pointed, its eyes grey. Walburga’s. The message is read out to him curtly.

“I have no idea what you’re playing at. I can only imagine you must have been involved in killing one of the best wizards the world has ever known, trying to save our heritage. How, I do not know. It horrifies me. My only comfort is the fact that you have been arrested for the death of the Potters. Clearly untrue. But it shall be of some solace to me, that, and your brother’s honourable death for The Cause. I dare say the Aurors will think you faked this message, they are fools. At least I shall not dread receiving news of you from now on.”

He laughs then, a soulless, bitter laugh, and he recalls Regulus’ face the night he left Grimmauld Place. His mother, of all people, is the only one who guesses the truth, that he is not the traitor. Oh, what delirious irony!

He sounds manic, slightly deranged.

The photograph is shot.

Continue on ao3.. (only if you want 💔💔💔💔💔)

#ugh thank you!#it is very kind of you #this broke me #only read this if you like angst #honestly I don’t believe this is canon #anyway #loveliest tumblr people

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moonbeamwritings · 3 years

Text

holiday wine

Summary: Abbacchio had a knack for getting a little too drunk during the holidays, but it was never the fun kind of drunk. Loneliness had a firm grip around his heart, even as he sat near the Christmas tree, watching as the others spoke excitedly, music playing in the background. With some soft reassurance from you, maybe the coming days would be easier to weather.

Author’s Note: I hit a wall with the one missed call sequel, so have this fic inspired by a conversation I had with a friend today! Let me know what you think! 💕

tw: drinking, drunk character (abbacchio), abbacchio being a little bit of a mean drunk (though i promise there’s fluff), brief peek at his mental health

Abbacchio didn’t like the holidays. Everyone was too loud, too nosy, and too happy. He was glad, of course, that his friends were happy. They deserved it after everything they’d been through, even Giorno, but something about the season just made him feel lonely, disheartened even.

That’s why he’d resigned himself to a seat in the corner of the living room, away from the kitchen and nestled close to the Christmas tree, nursing his third glass of wine.

He watched as you paced the floor, keeping Mista from eating all of the food, steering Narancia away from asking too many questions about the presents, and helping Bruno and Giorno in the kitchen.

Abbacchio took a long swig from his glass.

He knew he was being pathetic, frowning as he watched the hustle and bustle, but he really didn’t have it in him to participate, as much as everyone had tried to get him to join in on all of the festivities. At the very least, he had adorned the soft red sweater you’d left on his bed for him. He owed you that much.

He could still see the grin that lit up your face as he descended the stairs, the sweater on instead of his usual black attire. You were beautiful.

In the days leading up to the gang’s little holiday get together, Abbacchio had very nearly convinced himself to finally confess his feelings for you. When the day arrived, however, he’d scrapped the idea altogether, feeling pathetic and undeserving of your attention, your time. Anything.

Another long sip of wine.

“Hey Abbacchio,” Mista called from across the room, “why the long face?”

All the white-haired man could do was roll his eyes, shifting to slouch further into the chair.

“Yeah, Abbacchio,” Narancia joined in, “where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Isn’t my sweater enough?” Abbacchio drawled, unamused that he seemed to now be the center of attention.

“Well maybe-”

“You guys,” you interjected, “leave Abbacchio alone, please. If he’s not in the mood, he’s not in the mood. You two bugging him about it isn’t going to do anything.”

The two teens were quick to jump into conversation with you, insisting that if you were all getting into the spirit, then Abbacchio should be too.

He began drowning out their words almost immediately, feeling even more dejected than before. Over the next twenty minutes, he had finished the bottle of wine resting on the table in front of him.

The alcohol did little to calm his frayed nerves.

The night went on much the same, drinking wine, eating food, and sulking to his heart’s content, all while he watched you smile and laugh with the rest of the group.

Unbeknownst to him, you had been keeping a very close eye on him when he wasn’t looking. From your position in the kitchen or in the living room, you kept him within your line of sight, counting his drinks and paying close attention to his facial expressions.

It nearly made your eyes water. You had thought that perhaps the red sweater may have gotten him more excited about celebrating the holiday, but it seemed that only the opposite was true. Abbacchio was handsome, even despite his furrowed brows and petulant look, however, you wished you could see him smile, if only once. Just one, fleeting quirk at the corners of his lips would be enough.

Abbacchio seemingly had other plans, though.

Once you were done in the kitchen, and once everyone had eaten, you carefully perched yourself in the chair next to him, keeping an eye on his hand as it shook, pouring out his fifth glass of the night.

“Abbacchio, are you okay?”

His eyes snapped over to yours in an instant, having not heard you sit down.

“‘M fine.” His speech was slightly slurred, face rosy with the effects of the alcohol.

You sat in silence after that, unsure of where to go from there. You desperately wanted to help, to make him feel more included, but you had no idea how to do that. In the kitchen, Bruno had told you that even he didn’t know how to approach Abbacchio at this time of year. It was saddening, to say the least.

As the night wound down, bellies stuffed with food and excited for what the next morning would bring, each member began ascending the stairs, heading off to get some shut eye. Giorno and Fugo were the first to go, followed by Narancia and Mista about an hour later.

Bruno lingered, if only for your sake, finding your dedication to Abbacchio endearing. He was also reluctant to leave you to try and corral Abbacchio up to bed, knowing his drunken mood swings could be difficult to navigate.

“We’ll be okay, Bruno.” You assured, smiling warmly as a sleepy look formed on the capo’s face, “You go up and go to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

You glanced at Abbacchio, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well,” Bruno said, “in that case, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The room fell into silence, the ticking of a clock the only sound that could be heard, music having been shut off over an hour ago. You tapped your foot against the floor nervously, glancing between Abbacchio and the clock.

“If you’re itchin’ to go to bed that badly, be m’guest.”

“I was going to head up when you did.” You reasoned, “I don’t want to leave you down here all alone.”

Abbacchio was quick to scoff at that. He knew he was being argumentative, getting worked up over nothing as the red wine flowed through his system, but he really didn’t understand why you were so insistent on sitting near him, paying attention to him, or even caring about him.

“‘M not a baby.”

“I never said you were.”

“Why do you even care?” He asked, shifting to look at you despite the dizzying haze creeping into the corners of his vision, “‘M not even worth the time anyway.”

“You’re worth it to me, Abbacchio. I care about you.”

“Why?”

The question caught you off guard, causing you to shoot your eyes over to meet his. He was already looking at you, glossy eyes twinkling under the lights of the Christmas tree. If the circumstances were different, you would’ve told him they looked beautiful.

“Well, because I- I love you, Abbacchio. You- you’re sweet to me, intelligent. Hell, I don’t know! Do I really have to have a reason?”

“Guess not.” Was all he could bring himself to say, face flushing with more than just the alcohol as those three little words got stuck in his throat.

You were glad he hadn’t gotten more angry, prolonging the argument to an uncomfortable degree.

“Let’s get you to bed. I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” You stood, taking the wine glass from his hand to place it back on the table. You held both of your hands out to help him out of the chair, knowing he would need it.

Abbacchio looked up at you like one would a deity, like you were an angel incarnate. He really didn’t deserve you.

“Okay.” Came his quiet response, gingerly resting his hands in yours as you pulled him up. You led him towards the stairs, hand hovering over the small of his back as you climbed up behind him. At the top, you walked him down to his room, keeping close to his personal space in order to right him if he were to stumble.

Once at his door, you followed him in, urging him to change before he got into bed. As he tugged his clothes off, pulling a tee shirt and pajama pants on in their wake, you averted your gaze to the wall behind you.

You turned back around as you heard him shuffle underneath his sheets. When you moved to head out to the bathroom, aiming to look for some painkillers, he stopped you in your tracks.

“Will you-” He paused, closing his eyes for a few seconds before continuing, “Will you sit with me?”

Abbacchio’s eyes were soft as he looked over at you, drowsiness evident on his face. The walk upstairs must’ve really taken it out of him, you thought.

“Sure I can.”

Taking a seat next to him, back against the headboard, you sat in silence as Abbacchio’s eyes began to close. In a rare show of tender emotion, his hand searched for yours in the darkness of his bedroom and upon finding it, he laced his fingers with yours.

You looked down at where his head was nuzzled against his pillow, heart swelling with emotion at how adorable he looked swathed in his comforter.

Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, his eyes cracked open, blinking slowly as he stared up at you. He repeated almost the exact same expression as he had in the living room, like you were some ethereal being, a work of art. It was endearing, if not a little intimidating. What you wouldn’t give to truly know what was reeling through his drunken mind.

Before you could even ask him what he was looking at, his eyes were closing again. “Mmm,” he mumbled, “love you.”

Your eyes widened as you watched him drift to sleep, blissfully unaware of the confession he had just made. Without a second thought, you brought your free hand up to gently run through his hair, careful not to wake him.

The next morning, you awoke to a weight against your lap, feeling warm and undeniably comfortable. As your mind began to catch up with you, you realized you were still in Abbacchio’s room, still on his bed. You smiled as you identified the source of the weight.

In his sleep, Abbacchio had migrated over to you, wrapping both arms around your waist like one would hug a pillow, head resting in your lap.

If you thought he looked cute last night, staring up at you like you were the only person in the world, the view you had now certainly took the cake.

It was another few minutes before he began to shift, arms tightening around your waist as he blearily glanced around the room.

“Wha’ time is it?” His voice was muffled by the fabric of your shirt. The sound made your heart flutter.

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Mmm, ‘kay.”

It took all of another minute before he was shooting up, retracting his body at lightning speed.

“God, I’m sorry! This is embarrassing. How long was I-?”

“I dunno, you did it while we were both asleep.”

Abbacchio hid his head in the closest pillow, refusing to so much as see you out of the corner of his eye, mortified at the situation he had found himself in. As he heard you let out a laugh, last night began racing into his mind. The alcohol, the bad mood, your confession.

Your confession.

“Did you mean what you said?”

His voice went nearly unheard as you hunched down to the pillow, ear close to where you assumed his mouth might’ve been.

“Huh?”

“Did you mean it,” he asked more clearly, “What you said last night?”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes I did.”

As he emerged from his pillow, he nearly reeled back again with how much closer you had gotten, noses a centimeter away from brushing against one another. Feeling emboldened by your words, he pressed his lips to yours, effectively closing the distance between you.

Abbacchio’s lips moved effortlessly against yours, like he was made to kiss you. Bringing a hand up to his face, you brought him that much closer, feeling his long, soft hair between your fingers.

As he finally pulled away, he lent his forehead against yours, eyes remaining closed. Peaceful. He could wake up like this every day for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

“I love you,” he finally spoke, “so much.”

You beamed.

It was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.

Abbacchio was a pessimistic man, biting and cold, always keeping others at arm's length, keeping his emotions tight to his chest. As he relished in the feeling of your fingers on his face, in his hair, your lips against his, he decided to do better, to be better.

For you.

#leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio imagine #abbacchio x reader #abbacchio imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #happy holidays everyone #i know the holidays can be rough but im rooting for/thinking of you!1

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ladyeliot · 3 years

Photo

PS I LOVE YOU

This One-shot is for @mostly-marvel-musings’s “600 follower challenge.” Thank you for doing this!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Tony's death he decides to create a "plan" to say goodbye to you.

Warnings: Fluff and Extremely Sad.

Word count: 2593

A/N: I cried a little bit writing it. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

This is perhaps the saddest, as well as the most romantic, story you will ever read. Yours. The fantastic, like the quotidian, was in your day to day life. You made the most important decision of your life, to give your heart to the one you loved, even though you knew there would come a day when he would break it. Tony Stark was not an ordinary man, in any sense, but he was the man you wanted to share your life with, the man who drove you crazy in every way, but also the man who made you smile every morning when you woke up next to him.

Like other married couples you had your ups and downs, his work at Stark Industries took up a lot of his time, but what really bothered you was his second job as Iron Man. Every time he put on that suit, your heart would crack, and it wasn't until he returned to your side that it would be forged again. Fear took over as the years went by, but all you could do was support him 100%, because it was his choice.

After the snap, you realised the opportunity that had presented in front of you, an opportunity among millions that the vast majority did not have, you were together, to move on and to have a new beginning. But still a wide guilt rolled around you, “why us?” The years passed and though you chose to drastically change your life, to move away from the big city and find a nest of love and peace, you knew that Tony's mind was still working, searching for an answer and a solution, realising it when the group of avengers came to ask for his help.

A considerable period of time has passed since all these events, but you know that it was this that triggered you to find yourself standing in front of the lake with one of Tony's closest friends right now.

"Before he left for his mission," Happy began, "he asked me to give this to you if anything happened to him.

You wiped away a tear that slid down your left cheek before you looked at him. Tony had made his choice and you supported him all the way, but you never believed that the pain could consume you like that. You focused your gaze on a small device Happy held in his hands, it was tiny, metal and had a small button.

"What is it?" you asked, taking it between your fingers.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea Y/N."

You took a deep breath and pressed the button lightly. Instantly a hologram of Tony appeared before the two of you. You almost lost your balance in surprise, you didn't expect to find him in front of your eyes, sitting in a chair, in his Tom Ford suit.

"Hi honey!" said little hologram Tony waving his hand. "I hope you're not watching this, but in case you are, that means Happy has delivered it to you and I'm not with you right now."

You put a hand to your face trying to hide the pain you were feeling as you listened to him speak again. Little Tony was also silent for a moment.

"Anyway," he got up from the armchair he was sitting in. "I have a plan! I couldn't leave for the mission without saying goodbye to you, well in fact I just did and quite well, right now you're in the bedroom trying to pull yourself together— " Tony flashed a half smile and shook his head.

You couldn't help but smile at those words.

"Well, on to what we're going.Honey, I hope this doesn't get into your hands, but if it does, I have a thousand things to tell you and it's impossible for me to do it right now. I was hoping to have enough time to tell you for the rest of our lives, but it's not going to be possible," he sat back down and clasped his hands together. "Listen, ever since the guys came to pay me that visit and we realised we could turn things around, I couldn't get the idea out of my head that something might go wrong with the mission, and you know how I am when I get an idea in my head." Tony laughed and it brought a smile to your face. Tony laughed and it brought a smile to your face. "I've been planning this ever since, I've thought about all the things I'd want to tell you that I haven't told you and all those special dates I'd love to spend with you that I won't be able to. So I have a plan! And I need you, honey, to help me," the little hologram got up from the couch again and put his hands in his pocket and approached the camera. "First of all I need you to wipe the tears off your face and show that beautiful smile to the world, and Happy too, but except for the smile thing," you both let out a small laugh between tears. "Secondly, I hope you're wearing that black dress I like so much, the one with the back slit, you know," you rolled your eyes and nodded, you were wearing it."And thirdly, I wish I didn't have to ask you this, but I need you to go to the lab, in the safe you'll find a letter, it's the first of several that will be coming to you." Tony lowered his gaze. "I can't tell you when you'll get more, but I promise they'll arrive when you least expect them.By the way, the password you already know what it is, on our wedding day— "

In the background, your voice could be heard, urging Tony to return to the room.

"I'm coming honey!" after he responds he turned his attention back to the camera. "Sorry, my beautiful wife claims me," you smiled and sighed approaching the camera, meeting Tony's face in its fullness. "Honey, you know you're my only weakness. I love you."

Just as he had appeared the hologram disappeared and a void formed again in your heart. You took a deep breath trying to undo the lump in your throat and taking in every word he had said. You looked at Happy who looked as puzzled as you were.

"Did you know about this?" you asked with mixed feelings.

"I promise I didn't," Happy held up his hands in innocence.

You quickly walked away from the lake and headed towards your cabin, people had left a couple of hours ago, but Happy had chosen to stay with you. You opened the door quickly, followed by your friend and you both walked down to Tony's lab. His things were just as he had left them a couple of weeks ago, as no one had gone in there. You made your way to the safe, hidden behind one of the works of art, and entered the password.

Just as Tony had said, there it was, a white envelope with your name on it, next to a set of clothes, waiting for you to take it in your hands and open it. Before you did so, you looked at Happy who seemed to be anxious to discover the contents as well. You didn't know what Tony's "Plan" was, nor if it would be beneficial or painful for you, but that mattered little at that moment, because all you needed was to see him, to hear him, or in this case to read what he had written.

You opened the envelope and read it:

"Hello honey,

I guess if you are reading this envelope you will have seen the holography and I guess it is the "day", so I have a surprise prepared for you, read carefully. What I need you to do is to get everyone out of the house, Happy can stay, take off that dress, Happy won't be there when you do that, and put on the clothes I've left with the letter.

When you're ready, just tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to brief you on the use of your armour. I know, I know you've never been in favour of it, but you need it. F.R.I.D.A.Y will explain everything you need to know, you just let go, trust me. Go out and free yourself, eat the world.

PS I LOVE YOU"

That was one of the first letters Tony had planned for you. As time went on, they came to you once a month, as well as on special days, such as your birthday, his birthday, your anniversary, etc. He had planned every minute of those days. Tony knew you so well that he knew what you might be thinking, or how you were feeling. On the one hand, he covered the loneliness you felt without him, but on the other hand he made you feel even emptier and reminded you that he would never be with you again and you could never spend those moments together.

At first it was rewarding, but as time went on you realised that it was impossible to evolve, you had entered a loop from which it was impossible to get out. You spent your days waiting for a letter that might not arrive, and wondering when his "plan" would come to an end and if you were ready for it. Happy was supportive in that sense and tried to keep you grounded, as you both knew Tony best.

One evening you were doing what Tony had instructed you to do in the last letter you had received, the one for your fifth wedding anniversary. Along with it Tony had sent you a black dress along with a pair of high heels, informing you that you were not to leave the house before 8.00 p.m. and to head for the lakeshore when you were ready.

Happy was sitting on the couch trying to hide his concern about the situation that had dragged on for two years. After finishing your touch-ups you said goodbye to him and complied with Tony's details. You had no idea what you were going to find, but as you left, you could see a small square table in the distance, decorated with candles, waiting for you. As you arrived you noticed that a faint song began to play through a small speaker hidden behind some flowers, your song.

"I guess thanks for that, F.R.I.D.A.Y," you said looking at the diamond bracelet Tony had given you when you got engaged that was connected to his AI.

"It was me," you turned around to find Happy's voice behind you.

You frowned and looked at him, realising that he was holding a pair of white envelopes in his hands. A state of nervousness and confusion took over your body, and without being able to say a word you pointed to his hands.

"These are the last of them," he whispered, stepping in front of you and handing them to you.

You smiled, finding tears gathering in your eyes, and nodded, taking them in your hands.

"I'm sorry Y/N," Happy said with a shake of his face. "He made me promise not to tell you anything, and I couldn't refuse to help him either. Even if I wasn't totally on board with this crazy plan. You know how he is."

"I know," you bit your lower lip smiling and wiping the tears from your eyes.

"They're the last ones," he repeated again. "After today, you'll have to move on without them."

After those words Happy went back the way he had come, and instead of taking a seat at the table you approached the edge of the lake. You had before you the last words Tony had written to you. One of the letters read "To the love of my life", while the other read "To that person". Puzzled, you opened the one that said "To the love of my life" first.

"Hello again honey.

How is everything going, is Happy still keeping his nerves under control in this situation? I hope he is and that he has delivered this letter to you.By the way I don't know how the situation has developed, but don't be angry with him, I made him promise not to tell you anything until it's all over, and as you can see that's the point.

The thing is, I'm not going to be able to write any more, today is the last day before I leave for the mission, and if you've finally been getting all the letters, this has to be the last one. I just made you the recording that Happy will give you if things don't go as planned, and you are begging me to come back to our bedroom with you.

I guess everything I needed to tell you I haven't been able to do, you know there are a lot of things I'm good at, but in expressing my feelings in words I've never really excelled.

I'd love to know what you're thinking right now, or how you feel about the "plan" I've created. Although I also don't know if you've been able to make it this far, or if you've decided not to go through with it anymore. Happy has orders that the moment you say "enough" it's all over, I don't want you to suffer.

I just want you to be happy, I want you to be as happy as I have been by your side, I want you to show your beautiful smile to the world, I want you to get everything you want.

My honey, I'm going to dedicate these last words to tell you how you changed my life, how you offered me everything I was missing, without even knowing it. You agreed to marry me, you made us a family. And that's what I want for you.

Even though you may feel sad and insecure right now, I need you to show that you are the strongest woman I know and move forward. May you live that wonderful life you wished you had, may you do crazy things, may you meet people and fall in love. May you feel love again, may you rediscover it with someone who makes you happy and may you start a family again.

Please don't be afraid, I am well and I will be well. Don't think of me, think of yourself, and if you think of me, know that I will be watching you and taking care of you every day. I want you to know that I couldn't leave our house without thinking that you will never feel that way about anyone again, in case I don't come back.

Having said that, honey, it only remains for me to leave you a new letter, a letter for that person who restores your faith in love, who I know you will find one day. I just want you to give it to him or her when you are sure.

So sweetheart,

PS I LOVE YOU"

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47crayons · 3 years

Text

THE WICKED WITHIN—A COMIC SANS WIP INTRO

[transcript is under the cut for you lovelies!]

tumblr did me dirty and corrupted the image quality, but it's here!!!! the wip that i've been thinking about for months!!!!!!

all content can be found under #the wicked within

taglist let me know to be + / - @a-completely-normal-writer @writing-is-a-martial-art @magic-is-something-we-create @wannabeauthorzofija @croctears @writeblrfantasy @opes-magnas @author-a-holmes

[id: a powerpoint presentation of black text on white background, written entirely in comic sans

start slide 1 in the center, "the wicked within", and underneath it in smaller font, "a comic sans intro by your local mess: me, @47crayons". the comments around the entire slide read from the top, going clockwise, "a family that is so found!!!", "childhood friends to STILL FRIENDS", "all queer cast :p", "my first fantasy wip that i’ve been serious about <3", "kickass women, yeah baby", "upsetting the gods (or just one particular goddess)", "morally grey characters!!!", "a (mostly) stable relationship!!!", "honestly? kind of a comfort project!" end slide 1

start slide 2 "where are we" on the left, "some island~ three districts……… and worchester/ elderwood: forest (earth)/ portingdale: wind (air)/ the hooks: ash (fire)/ worchester: no one knows (water)". the image at the right is labelled "rough sketches of the rivers and some geography" and depicts a square with several bumps divided into four large pieces labelled from the top left, going clockwise, "elderwood", "portingdale", "the hooks", "worchester". a fifth section between elderwood and portingdale is labelled "disputed territory". in red, at the top of the slide, text reads, "elderwood and portingdale have been fighting over the wetlands for DECADES". according to the legend, there are mountains along the west side of portingdale, forests throughout elderwood, and rivers flowing from the mountains to all the other districts. an arrow points from elderwood to an image of a cabin the woods. an arrow points from portingdale to an image of a castle on a cliff. an arrow points from the hooks to an image of a dim cobblestone street with stores. an arrow points from worchester to a question mark and the text "i know, but you can't know". end slide 2

start slide 3 "a bit of history" "so there were four gods. and they were born from the sun and moon, except i really vibe with multiple moons, so we'll see. elther, the forest god. aenged, the wind god. skari, the ash god. thilda, the water goddess. and they each had their own district... until they didn't. just imagine thilda's rage. relevant info about the war: goin’ on for 57 years and counting, multiple pauses/ceasefires, they’re in a very tense ceasefire at the beginning of this timeline. the bottom right corner reads "i don't know how much the gods will affect the plot yet, but they do affect the magic!!!" end slide 3

start slide 4 "magic? what magic? damn look at me using capital letters" "okay so there are three big parts: the Spirit. people use the Spirit to do magic. when used, the Spirit changes an object & some is stored in that object. Spirit + enough followers = god. gods are an aura of Spirit. if a god ceases to exist, the Spirit slowly dwindles (how fast depends on how much magic is used aka how much Vessel is required). your Vessel. some representation of “stamina”. varies at birth, but can be trained. your Strength. a “type”, so to speak, of magic that resonates with you (from the elements). this doesn’t mean you can’t know/use more than one type. in fact, the most powerful magicians do… end slide 4

start slide 5 "meet some of the most powerful magicians in the north ward of the hooks" all images of characters are made with artbreeder. the slide is split into three columns. the first shows a white person with short, brown, curly hair and a firm, but not angry, facial expression. the information underneath reads, "len, he/him, pan. cynical, very cynical (and secretive!). constantly on edge except when protected by chloe/ can fall asleep next to cal (yeppers, they’re partners)" with an added note "huge HUGE shoutout to len @writing-is-a-martial-art for letting me use len (LONG story, folks) even though i still feel bad about it :}" the second column shows a person with long, black, wavy hair and fair skin (appears east-asian). the information underneath reads, "chloe, she/her, aroace. will literally kick your ass so hard if you say anything against any of them. but also seems welcoming". the third column shows a smiling person with blonde hair and a note "he has cooler skin i’m just bad at artbreeder". the information underneath reads, "cal, they/he, bi. cal is a nickname, and no one actually knows their real name. lots of lore on this but i shall not divulge quite yet. also funny". end slide 5

start slide 6 "cont. and then a little backstory!" a note in the top right corner says, "a non-exhaustive list of things artbreeder is bad at: piercings (they have piercings!!!!), maybe i will make some picrews later, green eyes, cool skin tones". this slide is divided into two columns. the first shows a smiling white female with blonde hair. the information underneath reads, "eden, she/her, demisexual lesbian. literally an angel i love her. one of the only things holding their collective sanity together. seen hell and doesn’t want others to suffer". the second column shows a partially smiling black man with short hair. the information underneath reads, "jereth, he/him, gay. he’s baby. joins them at the beginning. not great at magic for spoiler-y reasons. honestly kind of scared of them (who wouldn’t be), but wants to live up to expectations" note: i do have antagonists, but i can't explain them all here" end slide 6

start slide 7 " 'a little' backstory fun :D" len and chloe grew up in elderwood together. his father died in the war between elderwood & portingdale. his mother was getting berries when she was shot by portingdale soldiers because she was close to the disputed area. they run away to the hooks because the war is going to start up again. this bar owner couple lets them live in the rooms above, and when they die, len and chloe keep the place running (and keep the room for eventually the five of them). they have a lot of history actually, so i won’t include it all here. cal is from portingdale. came to the hooks with his parents when the war re-ignited (when it seemed peaceful, they went back; cal stayed). eden was born and raised in the hooks. she was hardly raised (her father abandoned her and her mother; her mother got a drinking problem and couldn’t take care of her). she has connections in the west ward (mostly made up of the city’s homeless). jereth is the son of the council chairwoman (council!! i could go on and on about their government structure). his mom and dad try to control a lot of his life (esp when they find out he isn’t top-notch at magic), and he eventually finds the rest of the cast, who (some reluctantly) take him in end slide 7

start slide 8 "so do you have a plot... like no (what did you expect), but actually: YES" the four (jereth isn’t there yet!) are attacked in the Inner City (where the districts meet). they think it’s one of their rivals in the hooks (it’s not). turns out it’s portingdale soldiers. and then they discover that portingdale has been poisoning the southern rivers (affects worchester and the north & south wards) because worchester doesn’t really contribute to the whole island. the south ward is too rich to give a damn. word gets out and elderwood, naturally, is even angrier at portingdale. and after the hooks make a lot of bad decisions, our cast is on their way to speak to the king of portingdale. but they find out that the poisoned rivers is the least of what they’re doing… tl;dr portingdale tries to poison people, everyone gets upset, portingdale is actually doing worse things. okay. so that’s a lot of text for something that was once vibes. end slide 8

start slide 9 "i couldn't just end with a bunch of text, so have some incorrect quotes that fit the vibes of the characters" 1. cal: imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life eden: self-esteem, haven't seen you in years! chloe: oh wow, my childhood innocence! thank you for finding this! jereth: i knew i lost that potential somewhere! len: my moral code, is that you? cal: cal: i was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me

2. eden: are you sure this is the right direction? len: certainly, i'm as sure as i am honest! cal: in that case, we're definitely lost.

3. jereth: where are you going? chloe: to get ice cream or commit a felony; i’ll decide on the way there

4. chloe: where are jereth, cal, and eden? len: they're playing hide and seek. chloe: where? len: i don't think you get how this game works. end slide 9

/end id]

#the wicked within #and starting some tags for the characters:#tww len #tww chloe #tww cal #tww eden #tww jereth #rose writes #wip intro #comic sans wip intro #tw war #tw poison

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//missing pieces. miya atsumu//

Warnings: mild swearing. Feelings of hopelessness. infidelity

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: imnotcryingimnotcryingimnotcrying.

{Read Part II - "Broken Pieces" HERE}

You heard them before they even entered the door. The loud shouts and the howls of laughter. If you sat up enough on the couch, the MSBY training jackets were visible through the front window. Hinata’s orange hair bounced wildly as he jumped excitedly with his older Jackals. It was the fifth time this week that the boys had come over after practice.

It was the fifth time this week that the boys had disrupted your much needed study time. A senior in college, a list of midterms too long to comprehend, and more mental breakdowns than you cared to account for, the hours that your boyfriend was at practice and you could relax and study in the comfort of your shared home was pure bliss.

The door swung open, giving you a full account of just how loud they were being. Atsumu was doubled over in fits of giggles, tugging his sneakers off, Hinata and Bokuto shouting bits and pieces of the same story only a few steps behind.

“Y/N? You here?” Atsumu calls out as he is finally able to calm himself down enough to speak normally again.

“Living room, ‘mu!”

In a matter of seconds, he’s bounding into the room, leaning over your shoulder. “I’m home.” You don’t even have to look at him to know that he has the widest grin on his face, just like he always does when he gets back from practice. No matter how long or how grueling his day, Atsumu never fails to greet you with the biggest smile.

“I see that. How was practice?”

“Good! My hands are kinda sore though,” he whines, opening and closing his hands in front of you as if to show you the pain he was enduring.

“Well, you’re new to this pro stuff still, Atsumu. Your body will get used to it soon.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs a little, resting his chin on the top of your head. “The guys are here.”

“Trust me, I, and the entire neighborhood, know. Let me just finish this question real quick and I’ll let you guys have the living room.”

“Aw, come on! You don’t want to hang out with us?”

“I need to study or else I would love to.”

He hums in affirmation. “You’re going to do so well. I’ll make sure we keep it down so you can focus, okay?” There’s a soft kiss placed on your head as you pack up your laptop and notes so you can go study in the bedroom.

“Thank you, ‘mu,” you say, standing on your toes to give his lips a short peck as you pass.

But that was then.

And this was now.

“Are you serious?! You can’t lock me out of my room, Y/N!”

“Our room, Atsumu, and too bad. I did!”

His fist pounds on the door, the intensity of each knock sending vibrations throughout the room. “Y/N, this is ridiculous! Open the door!”

“I’m trying to work. This report has to be done for tomorrow. Please, ‘mu.”

“Don’t ‘mu’ me when you’re literally locking me out the bedroom!”

You roll your eyes, leaning over to twist the lock and tug the door open. Your boyfriend tumbles into the room as his support is swung away from him. He doesn’t even look at you. He just goes straight to the closet, throwing clothes onto the bed. “Where are you going?” You ask, looking up from your laptop briefly as he throws a pair of jeans a little too far, hitting you in the leg.

“Does it matter?” He starts peeling off the lounge clothes that he had been wearing most of the day, opting for a slightly more put together outfit for his night out.

You just shrugged. “I guess not.” Yes.

“Then don’t worry about it.” Atsumu tugs his jeans up and takes a look at himself in the mirror. He ruffles his hand through his hair in a poor attempt to give it some extra volume. You watch him make a few dumb facial expressions at himself. Satisfied, he pulls his hat over his head. With wallet and phone in hand, he finally turns to look at you. “Okay. I’ll see you later,” he states plainly, walking past you and out the bedroom door.

“Do you have your keys?” The only answer you receive is an annoyed jingle of his keyring from the other room.

The thud of front door closing is the sole sign that he had left. There were no final shouts of “Bye, princess! I love you!” “I love you more, ‘mu!” “I love you most!” Those days have long since past. They had been replaced with eerie silences and quick exits from both parties. Life in the current household was far from what it had been a year ago. There were no soft shared kisses just because. No gentle teases as the evening news played in the background. No long cuddle sessions on the couch because both of you were too lazy to get up to go to bed. There was no smacking his hands out of the mixing bowl while you tried to make dinner.

Atsumu wasn’t home long enough for those things anymore. He’d come running in from practice, quickly shower and change out of his sweaty clothes. And as fast as he came, he would be gone, maybe shouting “I’m going out with the guys!” but usually, he would just leave, the slam of the door echoing through the house.

You kept telling yourself that this would pass. He was just excited to finally be achieving his dreams. Of course he would want to hang out with his new teammates and friends. There was a level of trust there that he needed to build with them as their setter and if crowding around Hinata’s television, playing video games was how they bonded, then so be it. Who were you to tell his team how they should and shouldn’t spend their time? But this had been going on for months.

Months of no hellos and no good mornings. Months of Atsumu coming home late, the faint smell of alcohol on his breath as he tucked into bed an arm’s length away from you. He returned affection with the minimum amount of effort, maybe a short apology as he broke away from a kiss, explaining that the guys were waiting for him. It felt like a wedge had been shoved between the two of you, the rest of the Black Jackals jamming you further and further away from him.

Part of you kept hoping that you would wake up, secured in his arms, a gruff “Good morning” whispered in your ear only followed by a soft whine as you tried to get out of his grasp, causing him to just pull you tighter into his chest. You kept hoping that whatever switch flipped in his head to cause this would flip back and the Atsumu that you fell in love with would come back to you, but it never happened. He just kept straying away, not even bothering to look back at how far he had drifted.

You had hoped today would be different. It wasn’t every day that the two of you accomplished four years of putting up with each other’s bullshit. But, when his alarm sounded and he just got up like nothing was different, that slight bubble of hope that was buried in your chest popped. Maybe- maybe he just wanted to focus before practice. Yeah, that’s all this was. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten, right? Atsumu could be a jerk, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole. He wouldn’t have forgotten your anniversary.

“What’s this for?” he had asked as he took the neatly wrapped package from you as he sat down at the table, his bowl of cereal nearly empty.

So, he did forget.

“I’ll open it later. I’m going to try to get a run in before practice.” You didn’t even have the chance to wish him a happy anniversary before he got up to put his bowl in the sink, headed out of the room to slip on his sneakers for his jog.

So, now, as you sat in your shared bed, it felt like the unopened package was staring intently into your soul, mocking you for your failing relationship. Four years of laughter, excitement, and love seemed to mean nothing to him and you couldn’t figure out what you did to make him choose volleyball. It was his dream and you understood that. You would never keep him from being the man he always dreamed of being.

It tore you apart inside, this feeling of absolute failure. It had been bugging you for a while now, but this- that stupid box sitting on his side of the bed, was your breaking point. You didn’t understand what you did. Why was he pushing you away? Did you not support him enough? Did he think that you didn’t care for him? As the questions weighed heavily on your mind, you felt that all-too-familiar sting of salty tears forming in your eyes.

You shook your head, silently begging for the tears to just go away. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. He wasn’t upset, so you shouldn’t be either, right? But, you were. You were devastated that no matter how hard you tried to put everything back together, the pieces just kept slipping out from between your fingertips and just as soon as everything felt like it was all coming back together, Atsumu would be holding the final pieces to puzzle, refusing to snap them into their place. In his hands, he held the most important pieces. Those gorgeous center parts that brought the entire picture into focus, showing off the breath-taking beauty of it. But, as of now, it was just the background, the few random bits and bobs, scattered around the scene, each beautiful in their own way, but meaning nothing without the center point of the image.

The worst part? You didn’t know when the pieces of your relationship went scattering all over the place, leaving you to scramble, picking everything up on your own while Atsumu was at practice or hanging out with the guys. You just know that it’s felt like ages since everything was put together in perfect harmony.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to pull your hair from your head so you could feel something, anything, other than this complete and utter worthlessness and despair that had been swelling within your chest, waiting to be let out.

The hot tears rushed down your face in torrents, but apart from your gentle sniffs, there was silence. There were no sounds of pitiful weeping. It was an art that you had learned to perfect after many nights where these feelings washed over you, not wanting to wake Atsumu, not wanting him to stare at you with blank eyes and tell you to, “Stop crying and go to bed.”

But, right now- right now, you didn’t care. You wanted to hear his voice in your ear, shushing you, reassuring you that everything was fine, just like it used to. The line rings, rings, rings -

“You’ve reached Miya Atsumu. Sorry that I missed your call, but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you!”

The beep that signals you to leave your message is what urges you to just hang up. You toss your phone to the side, hoping that, just maybe, he’ll notice your missed call and give you a call back or even just a text message would be good enough for you.

But, there never was. There was no soft ting at the sound of an incoming message. You never heard the ringtone that had been set to Atsumu’s contact, signifying that he had called you. You waited hours, your eyes being dry for a long while at this point, leaving just the shell of a broken person in your place. Your gaze never left that stupid box. You were entranced, staring at the black and gold paper, watching it sheen as it would catch the light slipping in from the window.

Not even the sound of the swinging open could pull you out of your emotionless gaze. Miya Atsumu just stared into your face, eyes red and puffy, streaks in your make-up where the tears removed your foundation. Somewhere deep within his chest, there was a soft pang of sadness. There was nothing that he hated more than seeing you so distraught that you completely shut down. Yet, he said nothing. He simply pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his drawer, pulling his clothes off his body to change into something that he could sleep in. His shirt came off and your gaze became fixated on his toned chest.

But, even your empty eyes knew the bright red lines of scratches and the harsh purple bruises of a hickey when you saw them.

“‘Mu?”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya #msby black jackals #atsumu x reader #angst #imagine #x reader #part 1

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baobaojng · 4 years

Text

secrets of the hill (jung jaehyun) - first

secrets of the hill (jung jaehyun) - first, second, third, fourth, fifth

jung yoonoh (jaehyun) x reader - 1800’s jaehyun!au , arranged marriage! au , supernatural-ish?!au , victorian? i think? !au

themes: angst, fluff, (just some implied smut along the way, i’m far too soft)

reminders: i’m half lazy, so i might not be able to drown myself in as much 1800’s facts as i’m supposed to as a responsible author — SO, yes, this will purely rely on fiction

summary: in the present day you are confused; you do not know who you are and you find yourself on an impossible quest to find out— until you wake up in the 1800’s, engaged to a hauntingly beautiful and uptight man who tries to figure out why the girl he’s been betrothed to has drastically changed.

wordcount: 4,024

It has always been so difficult for you to express how disconnected you feel with your own life. Through months and months of therapy you’ve received, none of the diagnoses ever seemed to make perfect sense. Often times when you describe your hurdle, of seeming to be awakened one day into a stage of your life then continuing on as you do not recall anything of your childhood: how you grew up, the people you’ve met, and the tiniest details of your being, they have always tried to pin it down to some psychosis. You even took a few CT-scans to prove that there were no dysfunctional parts in your brain, and some suggested you had amnesia of some sort - but none of them could tell how it came about.

This mystery of a life you have been living has been going on for a year, and in each moment of confusion you never truly understood who you were and how you became this shell of a person. There was a never ending quest of you trying to find out why you felt so out of place.

“Out again?” You hear a voice come from the living room as you go down to pass through and get water from the kitchen.

Moon Taeil notices your attire: the mismatched shades of black thrown in together, but managing to look all the same. He is reading the morning paper as the television plays softly in the background, some tragic news report of a school shooting a few cities away. Background noise for the wicked, a tragedy for those affected. Although, you have to admit that the both of you have never really been so affected by life, or the loss of - sharing the same interest in morbidity and death as if it were a select personality that blended the two of you well.

You see, Moon Taeil was the closest thing you had to family. If you could understand the idea of what ‘family’ was, then it would be him. It seemed that the earliest memory you ever had was in this house you lived in with him, seeing the canvas hung up in the living room - velvet colors hugging the surface, a sad landscape portrayed. When you woke up on the wooden floorboards that afternoon, you had no recollection of anything there. All you knew was that it was warm, and Taeil was staring at you as if he understood what happened. Any first and logical instinct would be to immediately go into hysterics and freak out at the sight of a stranger, but when Taeil first offered a hand for you to get up it only seemed natural to accept his help.

Apparently, your parents both died in a fire years ago, and with nowhere to really go because your family history was close to nonexistent, you were directed to your only known aunt. This aunt was not of any real blood relation, in fact she was the only living close friend of your parents - and she had a son, and he was Taeil. His mother looked after the two of you for only a short while until she died of an illness of the heart, and Taeil was left in charge of you. Before you forgot everything, Taeil had mentioned that you were a practicing engineer that helped through a lot of the improvement of the business the family had, of course you lost some touch to the craft - but you could still easily pick up a thing or two. The family business they ran kept the two of you more than well off; and Taeil, from what you have seen, is really good at managing everything. It was never a hard time trying to get along with him, because it seemed that he did not mind how much you frequented out of the house. To be perfectly fair, it was his fault you were always out of the house anyway.

~ [flasbacks would follow this format]

“Who painted that?” You remember pointing at the painting of the landscape hung up on the living room, asking Taeil this moments after he had to explain to you who you were and who he was.

He was patient enough to nod his head at your question, but his eyes furrowed and his chin extended. “Yuno, an eighteenth century painter.” You hummed in response, still observing the painting hung up. “I’ve collected his works over the years, and he isn’t very popular but he has a very good repertoire.”

“It’s very captivating.”

“Yes, very much so.” You don’t notice, but Taeil could feel how fascinated you were.

A few days later he gave you an old leather bound book, the edges of the pages exposed were already browning.

“What is this for?” You wonder, and he smiles.

“You seemed to really love the painting in the living room, so I thought you might want to see this.” He offers, and you immediately proceed to open at the clasps of the book. You imagined text, or something poetic - but you did not expect to see different sketches and paintings drawn on the pages.

“Is this by...?” You are unsure if you would be able to say the name correctly, afraid of not doing it any justice.

“Yes. I know that there is only this original copy, but rumors say there are a few out there reproduced right after his death, although I wouldn’t know where those are exactly.”

You carefully skip through the pages, “what is this?” It seems, the concept of a book with art from that early on in time is foreign to you.

“In kinder words, it’s a sketchbook.” He shrugs, and you nod off the possibility of it being like that.

But you learn later on in time that you can barely call it a sketchbook, not when you’re absolutely enthralled with the thing. One day, bored out of your mind, you decide to go through the entire thing in one sitting. Something you’ve never done; somehow it has always emotionally exhausted you just looking at one or two pages, and you’d typically close it up and hide it away in the drawer of your bedside table.

Tonight was different as your body was washed through with a wave of nostalgia, and the only thing you could exhaust your emotion on was this damn book.

It was a collection of everything that did not feel real, portraits of people with no names, ponds and lakes with the lilies floating at the surface, and intimidating structures of rooms and buildings. You could and couldn’t understand this painter’s life all at the same time, with each touch of color and coal you felt yourself melt away. When you reached the end of the hundred or so pages, something had caught your eye - the ridged seams of the fiber were sticking out: the last page was ripped and only remnants of black stains were left on whatever else was connected to the book. The only thing you could feel was a surge of hurt, not knowing why you felt it and where it came from. But this missing page ignited some sense of determination to understand your purpose.

This was the beginning to a quest you were determined to finish.

“Yes, I’m going out again. I have to travel two cities over to go to this antique shop, I heard that they sell vintage items.” This was the third time you were going out this week, and it was a Wednesday. You cannot count the many many times you have gone to look for that page, and if you were being realistic about it and the page was meant to be lost - then you did not know how many times you have gone to look for an idea or a clue. Taeil’s collection of Yuno’s works proved to be limited; not answering any of the suspicions you had about the missing page. You did not know exactly what you were looking for, but you were looking for something.

“Be careful.” The only goodbye he bids, and then you’re off again.

Rain greets you the moment you step out of the house, but it is not heavy enough to soak you through the walk to the bus stop. The bus ride you took was rather quiet, only sharing the vehicle with around six other people who were silent as well. The drive would be two hours away, and you knew you would resort to falling asleep to skip the time.

You could not humor yourself with any game on your phone, nor did you enjoy the feeling that social media left you. You could not find it in yourself to listen to music either; always feeling a large disconnection with sound. Taeil once told you that you loved music: the symphonies of strings and the light touches on piano— apparently you were a wonderful dance partner in the ballroom. To which you simply smiled off; you couldn’t argue otherwise.

Sleep captures you, the moving of the vehicle is something you do not mind until you hear the bus dispatcher calling for your stop.

This city looked warm; all the buildings and houses had exposed brick walls, and the streets were lined with shops and orange toned lights. Although the ground was still damp from the light drizzle that was falling down from the sky and the gray clouds inhibited light from passing through, it did not seem sad in these streets. You would have very easily gotten lost, but the dimmest lit shop was the most distracting - and it was exactly the place you were looking for.

Everything about this place was much much larger than you anticipated; the way the place looked from the outside was very deceiving of it’s size. Little passage ways with walls of items and trinkets were countless, like a maze you were trying to skim past through. There were jars, and cans - silverware that was eaten away by the dust. Statues of gods, little porcelain men, and taxidermies of butterflies with little labels on the glass that encased the frame. You could feel the need to sneeze every few seconds each time you turned to face a new corner or direction.

Finding the art section already turned you into a mess; the piles and piles of old frames with mystery paintings were set up in many stacks. You wondered aloud if you were ever going to be able to get through all of this in one go, you had to thank the heavens that they were arranged per ten years.

Now this was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

To you right, Roman paintings of men in red capes. No you did not need that.

Next to that, Greek figurines. Definitely did not need those.

To the father right, Mesopotamian spoons and clay objects. No, now you had to definitely start looking somewhere else.

You scoured through the Mongol works, and those from imperial Japan. Until, bingo. Works from British India next to the works of the Victorian era.

Hands fumbling into the large pockets of your trench coat, you were trying to reach for the book that created a bulky mess inside your clothing. But it alarms you when your hands press against what feels like a stray page, and you immediately fish your hands out to see what it is.

To your surprise, all in black ink - like the remnants of those from the torn page from your book - is a portrait of your own self, with eyes sad, a wavering darkness behind. Body reacting in shock your feet bring you two steps behind, where you knock over a few pieces of silverware.

From around the corner, you hear a panicked voice call for you. He sounds as if he ran for miles with an expression so relieved to see you, “miss, we have been looking all over for you.” This man with white hair, peculiarly dressed in a tailored uniform, he looks familiar.

You realize, he looks exactly like one of the portraits drawn in one of the pages you have pondered upon when you viewed them.

As if your own body cannot take this torment of confusion, you feel your pulse rise to your head.

And then you faint.

“I will see you there soon.” A voice whispers into your ear, unmistakably Moon Taeil’s, and you wake from your slumber.

It would be impossible to ignore the throbbing sensation you could feel buzzing through the back of your neck. So you try to sit up in your wake, moaning terribly at the sensation. This all had to he some terrible dream.

“Miss, you are awake!” Your eyes are wide open, and you definitely would want to believe that this is all still a dream.

“What year is it?” The question rolls out of your lips naturally, because you can definitely note that you do not feel as though you are in a familiar environment.

“It is the time of Queen Victoria, miss.” Goodness, you didn’t expect anybody to answer you back. You had hoped he was a figment of your imagination. The time of Queen Victoria would have meant you were somewhere around two hundred years back, and to anyone who did not see through the situation with less panic and an open mind would think how this was all impossible.

“Where am I?” You say with squinted eyes, but you know you do not know where you are.

“Why you are back in the manor, miss. In your own quarters.” The man that scared you earlier in the antique shop mentioned, and you try to take a look around inside the room. No LED lights and modern dressers, just candles and carpets— lacquered wooden furniture, velvet decorated everything. No. No. No. No. No! This had to be a joke, right?

“My quarters?” No way in hell this was your’s, how could you have something like this in the middle of the fucking times?

“Yes,” he says, worriedly, “my lord has yet to be told of your return, but I do believe you need to recover from your fall.” It was either this was a horrible prank, a kidnapping gone wrong, or he was genuinely speaking his own truth: perhaps he did know you? Surely this was a mix up, maybe he mistook you for somebody else.

“Might I ask,” in your head you realize that you can take advantage of his attentiveness to you - that you might be able to get a little bit more knowledge of the situation, “what is my role in this household?”

“Must you ask such an obvious question?” He gawks, but you pretend that your head aches and you can see how he falters even more.

“It’s just, my head. I believe I might have gotten a concussion from my fall.” Your acting is perfect. Maybe you broke through something here.

“Oh!” He is alarmed. “You are the soon-to-be lady of the house!” Interesting, that would be enough to give you some clue as to why this man is acting overprotective of you. Miss, my lord, the manners. He must be a servant of the time.

“Lady of the house?”

“Soon to be, miss Y/N. You have been living in the manor for a year now, ever since you were determined to take my lord’s hand in marriage.” He used your name. Your name, how did he know your name?

Okay, maybe something was happening and maybe it was true. There was absolutely no way at this point.

“Have you pledged any of your loyalties to me?” You panic, asking him this just so you would be able to take things easier. If you were stuck in a time frame so far away from your own, you had to figure out who you were in this life.

“Yes, but not any more than that to my lord.” He answers honestly.

“Then if I had told you that I’ve lost some of my memories because of my fall, would you tell anyone that I was crazy?” You say, knowing that in this era memory loss could very well be attributed to being a loony.

“I have seen things beyond my own comprehension, miss. I am sure I can keep this much a secret.” He offers a sad smile, but he no longer seems as alarmed as earlier. “Although you would have to tell me the extents of your memory loss; I do not believe the other residents of the manor would take this news with kindness. I would not want to give them any more power to scrutinize your every move. The only thing I wish for is good fortune for your union with my lord, they need not intervene where they are not needed.”

You nod, trying to process everything all at once. “I’m afraid it is everything I have forgotten.” But he only nods his head as if he was expecting that answer from you.

“I will make sure you know enough before the young lord arrives from his travel.” He sends a bow and makes his way out the large double doors.

“What is your name?” You ask him before he is able to exit.

“Yuta Nakamoto, it could also work the other way around, miss.”

“Thank you, Yuta.” You offer him a smile, and he returns the same gesture.

Looking down at the clothing you are wearing, you notice they are still the same things you wore to the antique shop. Remembering the book, you reach out into your pockets and realize that it is no longer there.

Despite your efforts to constantly pinch yourself and slap yourself at the most random times to prove that none of this is real, you find yourself stuck in this manor - in the burrows of time, where there is nothing and no one who can explain to you why you were here - nothing ever really works. Unfortunately, even through the hundreds of times you find yourself pacing inside the room and repeatedly putting your hands in and out of the large pocket of your trench coat, no real answers are offered to you. The moment you breathe in as loudly as you do, you begin to accept your fate.

Then again, you’d like to believe that there is some divine purpose as to why you are set out to be here, but you wonder why it has to be as cruel as this? Was this perhaps a punishment?

To you and Yuta’s advantage, the manor was mostly empty for the two days it took for him to explain everything to you. Only the housemaids who tended to the kitchen and the other chores were there with you.

“I need for you to tell me what their impressions are of me, otherwise I wouldn’t know how to act around them.” You tell Yuta with caution before you enter the kitchen through the stairs of nook near where your quarters were, he woke you up very early to begin with what he called a ‘grand tour.’ You had change out of your questionable modern garments - discovering the scarily large closets filled with corset bodices and petticoats, large layered skirts that you heavily questioned. The thing that relieved you the most was that they were all dyed in your preferred black, although you could not shake off the image of your own portrait off your mind and how that all came to be.

“No worries miss, they adore you.” He says as if it were nothing. And once they meet you, they let out screams of relief. All of them claiming to have missed you, wondering about your whereabouts.

“How long was I gone, Yuta?” Walking through the west wing where apparently his lord kept all the rooms strictly for scholarly uses, you ask this very question. If time and space were any similar from where you came from, you would have been gone for a year.

“About four months, miss.” Not the answer you were expecting. “Although your disappearance has not been noted elsewhere as a disappearance. The lord of the manor has been very upset ever since you had gone, but he made sure to let the news come out as if you had studied far away for the time being.” And there it is again, the mention of this man you are meant to be engaged to.

“Why would he say that if my whereabout were uncertain?” You arch a brow.

Yuta lets a sigh leave his lips as you walk through the rotunda, with the goal to ultimately reach the foyer so he can show you what the gardens look like. “Image is important to my lord, if you have not noticed how grand his home is - I’m sure you will soon come to terms with the idea that you are marrying a very rich man, this means that he has to be sure that all words about him are only kind and unsuspecting. You are from a rather good background yourself, miss; never has anyone seen such a capable lady. His father struck a fair deal with regard to your hand in marriage, and the reason why my lord is able to call all of this his is because he did not refuse you among the other hundreds of choices he had lined up. He had to stray away from the truth because he did not want any panic to ensue on the basis of your sudden loss, but part of me wants to believe that he also hoped that you were going to come back on your own and that you disappeared for good reason.”

Realistically speaking, you find the idea of entering this life with no idea who you were meant to be already disturbing. But the added bonus of being somebody else’s fiancée, granting that you do not know him either, is absolutely nettling.

What did he look like? You think that you must not allow your imagination to go wild, and your mind would settle on a plump man who’s absolutely subordinate to the wishes of his parents. Maybe, just a little pathetic.

How did he treat you? Yuta’s constant adoration for his boss makes you want to believe that he was all kind and benevolent. But you were in the 1800’s! He must have been a perverted misogynist for all you cared!

Did he love you? Apparently you have been engaged for the better part of two years, and yet you haven’t married. But it would mean that you have been living here for quite some time now. Did it mean that the two of you were any familiar with each other?

Just when you expected for the surprises to be over, you notice the large painting hanging by the foyer. A freakishly detailed piece of work that spoke through the many different weavings of people, a crowd painted in front of you - and their limbs seemed to be moving based on how beautiful this piece was painted. You could not mistake this piece for anything else but that of Yuno’s work, and this you could tell by how you memorized those brush strokes and each emotion that flooded through your own body.

Maybe there was purpose to your arrival here in this period of time.

But then the large deep brown wooden doors decorated with accents of gold open, and your eyes skip to find out who just arrived.

The view of a man is the first thing that comes into view, and through his shellshocked expression your own body heats up at the sight of this man. He had the most beautiful hair, impossibly colored down to the richest regal shade of blue. His jaw, the way it clenched, accenting the proportion of his nose and the thickness of the eyebrows that framed everything together. His eyes, the gaze they held. God, this man was art if it were possible.

“My lord.” Yuta greets, panicked. While your eyes skip back and forth to the butler and to the man he had just greeted.

Oh, this was him.

end of first part.

next: second part

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yawnjunie · 3 years

Text

so you’re the artsy type, huh ❦ cbg (1)

Genre: fluff, university au, crack (get ready for a bad take on comedy)

Pairing: broke artist!reader x art sponsor!beomgyu

Word count: 7k

Summary: After spending way too much time chasing after an impossible dream, you weren’t too sure you wanted to continue with your lifelong passion— art. One eventful day at the museum steered you onto a road full of twists and turns, and you unexpectedly found yourself wading deeper into murky water with your new employer.

A/N: a huge thank you to @noiaeu and @halohyuka for being my beta readers! anyways here is a long overdue fic that was a 20k+ word monstrosity but is now a series. happy reading!

— blu and struz

You tapped your feet absentmindedly against the grimy tiles of the cheap burger chain as you waited. The atmosphere that usually felt bustling and welcoming now felt stuffy as your stomach churned each passing second. The waitress walked past your seat as she served the customers behind you, the fragrant aroma of the burgers on her tray prompting a vicious growl from your stomach. Sighing, you checked the time on your phone: 8:52pm. Scrolling past the inactive conversations with your “friends” (you didn’t really know what to call them because you tried to ask them out and got rejected; you’d kept those conversations anyway because you were too attached to them), you sent a quick message to a number you wish you didn’t need to text today. Without a second thought, you picked up your belongings and left the small burger shop.

Thank goodness, you knew just the perfect place to drown your sorrows in.

You called for the nearest taxi to the small food shop by the name of Mrs. Lee’s Mandu House.

“What happened this time?” A stout lady with an apron asked, peeking her head out of the kitchen, setting down a large bowl of dumplings in front of you. She made her way to the condiments shelf. “Kimchi?”

“Yes, please. I got stood up again.” You grumbled, stuffing a large dumpling into your mouth ravenously. Then, speaking through mouthfuls of food, you continued. “Maybe I should just stop trying altogether. Change my major to agricultural studies and move to the countryside while I’m at it.”

Food had never tasted so good! The savory filling of the dumplings literally melted in your mouth, and soon the blaring sound of the old AC and the sound of the kdrama from the TV had just blended into the background. It was nice not having to listen to anything.

“Aw, don’t say that.” The woman replied as she set down a pot of kimchi and a plate of kimbap on your table. The friendly ahjumma took her seat across from you and set down a bag of melon seeds. “Trust me, it’s going to be hard. You’re just in your first year of college! You’ll get there someday.” Then, she continued on to tell you about other people she knew who had it harder than you, but all that faded into the background noise, along with the AC and the TV. That sentence was the only thing you heard, and although there weren’t any lemons in the soup, everything that you ate suddenly started tasting sour. Sometimes, even the best food cannot drown out the bitterest words.

You’ll get there someday.

Foomp. You flopped onto your bed with a small grunt as your back met the soft mattress. Throwing off your glasses to the side, you massaged your eyeballs and then looked at the ceiling. It was grey. The same grey that you saw before going to sleep at night, the very same grey that greeted you when you awoke in the morning to another unexciting day. The more you stared at it, the more the popcorn ceiling looked just like a grey mass with a few monotone specks here and there.

You were always told to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. And that was a long shot, given that all you saw in front of you was a blurry ceiling.

What is this feeling? You let yourself sink a little deeper into your mattress, lazily shifting your gaze to the left, where you saw your huge Gabriel Garcia Marquez poster taped to the wall. Solitude. Looking back, you supposed that was how you’d been living your life thus far.

Doing jobs here and there, never really achieving anything big.

Single as hell.

It was days like this that made you feel not quite sad, but just really demotivated. A reminiscent smile flickered on your face as you turned your head to stare at the wall, unto which the light that peeked through the overcast sky cast a faint shadow. Words like “lonely” and “outcast” didn’t mean a thing to you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t have anyone, and the universe sure didn’t put an effort to sugarcoat that fact.

Rolling lazily to the edge of the bed, you finally sat yourself up. You walked over to your desk, pulled out the wooden chair, and turned on the lamp. Then, you took a moment to tie up your hair before looking down at what was lying under the spotlight of the lamp.

Amidst the blizzard of eraser shavings and the familiar scent of freshly shaved wood stood the lead outline of a girl. Shoulder-length hair up in a high ponytail, a soft, rounded nose, chapped lips, and blank, unsuspecting eyes with dark circles hanging below them. Looks like she’s never seen a day of joy in her life. Looking into the mirror standing to the left on your desk, a very tired girl with a dark face stared right back. Dusting off the eraser shavings into the trash bin next to the desk, you commended yourself for the superb self-portrait.

At the insistence of the tightness in your right wrist and the crick in your neck, you set the pencil down and extended your arms to stretch your back. When your eyes fell upon the drawing once more, a wave of disappointment washed you back onto the shore of frustration. Yet another addition to the ever-growing pile of wasted white paper. A part of you argued that art was not a waste, which was true enough. Art made by you, however, was a different story.

What happened to me? All that time, effort, and energy never really amounted to much. After all, you’d only seen the world in black and white. It was as if someone took a giant paint tube and squirted an awful lot of grey paint everywhere.

After all, who’d ever heard of an artist who couldn’t tell orange from blue?

–––

Even the song playing in the background mocked you with every word.

♪ I see trees of green,

red roses too ♪

♪ I see them bloom,

for me and you ♪

♪ and I think to myself

what a wonderful world ♪

You glanced around tiredly as you saw your classmate’s boyfriend carry a stack of canvases for them. For someone who, one: saw the world in grey, and two: had never gone on a date, the world was anything but wonderful. You felt your eyelids drooping despite the hard, wooden stool jutting into your buttcheeks. Drowsily, you turned your gaze to your art pieces. Noticing the other students coming in to set up their pieces, you straightened up your back and set your bag down on the stool. You took a deep breath and swung your arms nervously in an attempt to garner a sense of purpose and hope. You got this! You whispered encouraging phrases to yourself under your breath, smiling at the students who bothered to greet you first.

Today was your first time participating in a student exhibition. Although it was quite unconventional for first year students to be showcasing their work in the advanced exhibition, your teacher had been nice enough to make a spot for you. Well, it was more like you practically begging her to consider you, because of your current family situation. You terribly did not want to sound like that broke college student™, but sometimes, a little bit of courage to fight against the stone cold reality was useful. And of course, Ms. Kim, being the benevolent soul she was, granted you special rights to participate.

This year, the exhibition was being held in the empty room at the Museum of Modern Art. Attendance of the students was optional, but a good handful of them came, hoping to get a professional review, or even a sponsor for their art. The moment you walked in, you held your breath—the entire room was empty, all six surfaces painted white. It was the brightest room you’d ever been in, yet the temperature seemed to drop 100 degrees.

It’s fine. This time, things will be different, you told yourself in an attempt to shake off the dread that settled in the pit of your stomach. Fifth time’s the charm, after all.

It may have been your first time participating in a college exhibition, but you’d participated in countless art competitions as a kid. You were like a wildfire, and there was no award for a competition you entered that you didn’t win. Now, it felt like you were back to base one. After all, who has that easy of a life? Those days of your easy childhood life were long gone.

You tried not to think much as you sat uncomfortably next to your paintings. For the first hour or so, you made a point to look each passing person in the eye, a wide smile plastered on your face. The second hour, the corners of your mouth started to twitch beyond your control. By the third hour, you found yourself staring at people’s shoes more often than their faces. As the minutes ticked by, you kept your eyes trained intently on the floor, mouth pressed firmly closed. Glancing around the room, you tried to take your mind off of your worries. But you couldn’t help but be envious of your classmates, who were getting noticed by the professional guests.

That’s okay, there’s always next time. Guess today just wasn’t my day.

It was beginning to feel like no day was your day. A warm sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ma’am, excuse me.” A woman in a worn out blue outfit approached your stand.

Being as desperate as you were, you hastily wiped away your tears from all the yawning and slapped a smile on your face, mustering up the peppiest voice you could manage. “Hey! How can I help you? As you can see, I work exclusively in grayscale, and I mostly do portrai–” “Miss–” the lady interrupted, “it’s closing time. Could you please pack your things?”

Upon processing the sight of the tattered mop in her hand, realization hit you like a truck, and not just any ordinary truck— it was a Belaz 75710 filled with 496 tons of rocks and sharp glass. That was a fun fact you stumbled upon while scrolling on Instagram; the fact that you somehow retained this useless information made you silently curse yourself. Your smile was frozen in place as you gave a series of curt nods. “Oh. Okay, I’ll start packing.”

The kind woman nodded back and started to walk away, but stopped and turned just a few steps away. “Don’t feel too down. Sometimes, life just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It’ll get better, trust me.”

“Yeah.” You replied coldly, not bothering to mask your sadness. Attempting to muster a small smile in gratitude for her kind words, you gave her a thumbs up before she left the room. It kind of hurt, getting pity from the janitor. But in a way, you felt a little comforted. At least you knew you weren’t the only person struggling. Robotically, you placed the canvases onto your utility cart one by one, then started folding up the easels. When the janitor’s footsteps had faded away, the only thing disrupting the silence was the rain.

Plip. Plop. With the accompaniment of the beating of the raindrops on the rooftop that rang in your ear like a dull symphony, it only seemed natural for your tears to fall. And this time, there was nobody to interfere with your sob session.

And on that afternoon, in the empty art hall, you cried your heart out. There was only one question that gnawed at the back of your mind relentlessly, like a famished dog on a bone twice its size. Should I just give up on art? The thought of it just made you cry even harder. Art was your everything.

From the moment you’d grasped the thin body of the paintbrush on your doljabi, you’d fallen in love with art. Throughout your childhood, you’d spent your days drawing. From drawing on plain computer paper to painting entire murals on your bedroom walls - you did it all. Everyone was sure you’d become an artist when you grew up. You’d even kept a money jar by your bed, which you’d used to store money for new art supplies and eventually, art school. You were happy. You had a good eye for color.

Thunder crashed outside as that memory resurfaced in your mind. Back then, you drew like there was no tomorrow when you could see colors. Until the world became dark when your colors, your precious colors were taken away. And the world remained dark ever since. They all pitied you, sending a sigh your way in condolence for your loss. You didn’t need or want their pity, of course. All you’d ever wanted was an answer, a reason to why they left your eyes.

You wanted to blame it on something, but what could you do? Every night you prayed, praying desperately for your colors back. But every morning, the ceiling remained grey. So did the sky when you walked to work. Pushing your shabby cart with a loose wheel down the hallway full of eccentric art pieces, you didn’t even spare a glance at them. Well, other than to avoid being noticed by the few people who were still in the museum, to which you hid your swollen face in the opposite direction and choked back your sobs. Well, what can you do now, y/n? It’s not your first time participating in an exhibition anyway. There’s probably someone out there having it harder than you, so suck it up! Everything will be better once you get back home…

Just when you were nearing the entrance of the museum, you heard a different pair of footsteps from your own behind you.

“Hey.” You jumped out of your skin at the tap on your left shoulder. Caught by surprise, you found yourself stumbling backwards into your cart. You lost your footing and down crashed your rear end. By attempting to hold onto the cart handle for balance, your art pieces now seemed to fall in slow motion, the cart suspended in the air as your mouth hung open in horror. You reached out to grab it, but unfortunately, you were an aching 2 centimeters short of saving your artwork. The cart toppled on top of your canvases with a comical crack, wooden splinters flying everywhere. The empty utility cart squealed defeatedly as it toppled to its side, a loose wheel still spinning.

You felt your head spin even faster, as you grew increasingly frustrated by your inability to comprehend what had just happened. Holy shit.

Strewn across the floor, battered and broken, lay hours upon hours of your time, your hard-earned money, along with the last strains of your hope of becoming an artist. F*ck!

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you turned to face the perpetrator of the tragedy.

This is the part where he apologizes and promises to make it up to me, then gives me his contact info and we go on a date and he falls for me and we live happily ever after. Or so you hoped, you thought. The thought was so ridiculous that you could have burst out into laughter if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fruit of your blood, sweat, and tears was now a bunch of broken wood and torn cotton on the floor. F you and your last brain cell, y/n. Get yourself together and snap out of it. You were convinced that you were so sleep deprived from your K-drama binging session this morning at 4am that you’d convinced yourself that you were living the next episode.

Chances were low that the two of you would get together and live happily ever from an offense like this, but even so, he would have to compensate for the damages somehow. Now that you came back to reality, you realized that you couldn’t even make out what the guy in front of you looked like. “Okay, but what if he’s like, your next patron or something.” You don’t know if you muttered that out loud, but your odd behavior was really annoying you today. Shut up, it's not like he's Song Kang! Stop it! Nevertheless, you bet on the Balenciaga slides that he was wearing that he would pull out a business card the next moment.

You stared into the boy’s eyes expectantly and he met your gaze. You felt your pulse quicken as he opened his mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting your compensation. Hello hello, my next patron. This is the moment that marks my upgrade to a better life.

“I am so, so sorry about this.”

“You should be.”

As he spoke, the boy pulled his cap lower and threw on his hood. “Not just about me breaking your paintings, but also this.” Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

And then he bolted.

🏃 💨

“Wha– hey! Where do you think you’re going?!”

He slammed his body against the glass door and ran into the rain while you followed in close pursuit. However, after a few wobbly steps, it occurred to you that you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion, so you took off your heels and continued the hunt barefoot.

Still, even under normal circumstances, you weren’t much of a track star. Wearing a blazer with suit pants and no shoes wasn’t helping your chances either, and the weather didn’t seem to plan on making things any easier.

The two of you ran through the heavy rain like cat and mouse. Clenching your teeth and your fists, you chased after the boy. He ran about two blocks before you caught up to him. As your calves grew sore, you considered hurling one of your heels at him.

The boy slowed down for a couple of seconds, looking around frantically. Mr. Kim.....! I told you to wait for me out here—!

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and began to run in another direction. And although he'd hate to admit it, today was one of the days where he had no choice but to admit that his choice of footwear today was a fatal flaw.

Somehow, despite the odds against you, you weren’t the one who ate the pavement. The boy tripped over the curb and slammed into the sidewalk, bellyflopping straight into a gargantuan puddle. Those Balenciagas did not help him run through the rain very well. You laughed in triumph and squatted next to his almost-lifeless body.

“Gotchu now, you jer–”

Boom! The world went white for a second, illuminated by the blinding clap of lightning. In an instant, the downpour increased tenfold, the raindrops now feeling like bullets against your skin.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best place to have a conversation.”

–––

The two of you trudged through the rain—or, more accurately— you dragged the boy through the rain, your grip on his hoodie sleeve iron-tight. When you finally reached your car, you opened the passenger door and he went in obediently. From an outsider’s point of view, you might’ve been mistaken as an undercover cop. In fact, you were sure feeling like one as you apprehended the criminal.

You went around to the back and opened up the trunk, where after rifling through months' worth of empty bottles, fabric bags for shopping, and a variety of other car junk, you finally found your stash of somewhat clean clothes. After careful consideration, you chucked a worn hoodie and the swimming shorts you’d worn to the beach last year over the seat. Just in case, you also tossed your first-aid kit over. You threw your heels in and swapped them for a pair of nylon flip flops before slamming the trunk closed.

You went back to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Taking in the figure of the drenched and bleeding boy, you kind of felt sorry for him. Which was stupid, considering he had just wrecked your life’s work and made a run for it. You tilted your head back and sighed, trying to sort your thoughts out.

With all of your best art pieces now reduced to splinters, it was a cold, hard fact that you weren’t going to get a sponsor. Besides, even before they’d been smashed into smithereens, nobody had been willing to give you a chance. The probability of you finding a sponsorship was like the graph of the height of a ball thrown from a cliff at sea level, or the number √-1. It was not just in the negatives, but it was also imaginary.

Taking a sharp inhale, you talked as quickly as you could. “Listen. I’m going to go get what’s left of my art from the gallery. Just change your clothes and patch yourself up, then you can leave.” You paused to dig out a few crumpled dollars from your wallet, which you promptly threw at him.

“Here, take this to get a taxi. I don’t know how far you live, but that’s all I have. Don’t get me wrong– I still think you’re a massive schmuck. And there’s nothing you can do to fix the damage you’ve caused.” Despite your best effort to remain composed, your voice cracked a little at the end. You stopped talking before you were to break out into tears again.

Without waiting to hear what the douchebag had to say, you slammed the door closed and strode through the rain back to the gallery, where your pieces still lay broken on the ground where you’d left them. A part of you was hoping that maybe, by some magic or miracle, the whole thing had been a dream, and nothing really happened.

But reality was as cold as stone, and you were powerless to change it. So, as you always did when confronted with the unchangeable, you picked yourself up and carried on, struggling against the current.

By the time you wheeled the broken canvases back to your car, the boy was long gone, all traces of his presence vanished except for the dampness of the left side passenger seat. You buckled on your seatbelt and tuned into your favorite radio station, then sped off into the summer storm. The storm, your artwork, it was all so out of the blue– well, in your case, grey.

The situation on the freeway was like a stuffy nose: irritated and congested. In fact, it would’ve been faster to moonwalk down the road. To make matters even worse, instead of music, the radio station was streaming ad after ad. Is this even legal? Exasperatedly, you tuned into a different station, then another one, but to no avail; all of them were on ad break.

It was frustrating enough that the gallery was a complete flop, not to mention that your best art was demolished in a hit and run and that you were sitting soaking wet on a leather seat stuck in the middle of traffic. Now, even the radio had turned against you. You shut it off and sat in silence.

Thump. You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat, willing the migraine that was building up in your head to f*ck off. After craning your head to check the backseat one more time, to your vexation, you found that the asshat hadn’t even bothered to close the first aid kit.

Muttering obscenities under your breath, you reached for the kit, cracking your inflexible spine 4 times in the process. You rummaged through its contents, straightening them out, counting how many were left, and you were about to slam the lid closed when you saw the note.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Well, gee, that’s REAL helpful.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the ten numbers scrawled on the note. Your half a brain cell told you to quit being stupid and toss that note out the window.

The rest of your stupid self told you to call it. I mean, why not? You cursed yourself for how your brain worked– or rather, didn’t work– sometimes.

You licked your lips in brief contemplation before punching in the numbers in. The person on the other end picked up immediately.

“Hello, welcome to Papa John’s Pi–”

You hurled your phone into the backseats and ripped the note up, throwing the scraps into the air like confetti before continuing the wearisome ride down through the rain.

–––

It took an eternity, but you made it back to your apartment, where you promptly crashed onto the couch. As per usual, you spent the rest of your waking hours scrolling through baking videos, even though you had neither the ingredients nor the time to be making any of the confections. At around 8pm, exhausted from crying and the events of the day, you dozed off without having a bite of the frozen pizza that’d just finished baking in the oven.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Your dreamless slumber was disturbed by the vibration of a string of text notifications and the glow that lit up the dark ceiling. Still half-asleep, you blindly felt around for your phone and attempted to read the message through bleary eyes.

It was from an unknown number.

Rubbing your eyes to clear out the nasty gunk, you sat up and read the message again, this time with clearer vision.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Hello, sorry for ruining your paintings today. I will make it up to you.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Thanks for bothering to call, let’s meet at this address to talk about your compensation. My parents can’t know that I did this so it would be great if you could keep this a secret :(

What the f*ck. You muttered under your breath, eyes half shut. Did I call anyone? In your half-asleep state, you didn’t bother to recall. For a second, you considered blocking the number. But just in case this was just one of your dumbass friends who changed their number, you decided to give that person a reply.

[You] hello? is this papa john’s?? i would like a cheese pizza

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh sorry the voicemail was a prank for someone else

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i’m the guy from the art museum earlier, remember

[You] okay why do you have my number

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] because you called me

[You] right. okay, what do you want

[You] unless you want to pay me back for all those damages back there, no i am not interested in anything else sry i’m a very busy person you know

You hesitated a second before pressing the send button. You’d just sent a lie; in fact, you weren’t really that busy. Apart from your part time job at the boba shop, you were actually quite free most of the time. During the summer, at least. In fact, your screen time had gone up by 42%, your daily average now totaling to a whopping 12 hours. After a minute or so of silence, you threw your head back onto your pillow and let out a loud sigh of relief. Peace at last! It also made you quite happy that the person who texted you was in the least, not some weird scammer.

Ping! You celebrated too soon. Reaching for your phone groggily, you read the new message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] okay then i was going to ask if you were free tomorrow

Am I being asked out? You squinted at your bright phone screen in the dark. You might have been nearsighted, but you weren’t illiterate in pick-up lines.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i want to return the clothes you lent me

[You] it’s fine, you can keep that

Oh good, he was talking about the clothes, not anything else. Your millisecond of relief ended quickly when he sent another message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh also it would be great if we could meet up anyway? i want to talk to you about something that i had been meaning to say for a while

Oh, god. I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes. Lonely as you were, you would shoot yourself in the foot if you got into any relationship without landing a stable job or having any money. Scoffing amusedly, you stared at the screen as he continued to type. But dating someone like this? Never in a million years. Turning over to your other side, you thought about the many ways you could reject him.

[You] no sorry :(

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] we should set a date at the cannoli restaurant to talk about your compensation costs. i’m extremely sorry for ruining your beautiful artwork, and i know that my apologies will do nothing to change your current situation. since this is my fault, i’m willing to pay any amount you request (and i’ll pay to the best of my capabilities)... i’m assuming $50,000 would be enough to cover the costs for most of the damage? if monetary compensation doesn’t work for you, we can discuss other forms of compensation as well.

[You] i know it may not seem like it but i’m actually caught up in too much work to have time for dating anyone. you see, it’s just that i have lots of work on the side so i can’t really spare time at the moment. please don’t take this personally haha i’m sure you’ll find someone,,, like i don’t know how to say this but yeah…..you don’t wanna be w someone like me, it’s me not you

Huh? Just as you sent your message, another message popped up before yours. And if your life had a background narration, this very moment would have been “and in that moment he knew. He fvcked up.”

Fml.

With just one single message, you perhaps have ruined the only god-given opportunity to turn your life around ever. He’d just offered you money to cover the costs of your broken paintings... now that you thought about it, he could even be your patron! You couldn’t even get a patron even if you went out of your way to look for one on Craigslist, pestered Ms. Kim for any news from the Art Teacher’s Association, or even begged random people on the street in hopes one out of the million people would be willing to promote your art. Now, someone was asking to compensate you with tons of money, and you’d just rejected him in the most embarrassing way possible.

[You] oh shoot

[You] i mean wrong chat, uh can you please stay on hold, i will get back to your compensation offer, yeah i will see you at the restaurant sometime thanks

XXX-XXX-XXXX is typing…

You did not bother to see what he had to say. Hurtling your phone onto your carpet, you let out a guttural scream of “I AM SUCH A DUMB@$$$” before pulling the strings on your hoodie tightly. And for the second time that day, you cried.

———

Leaving behind the upsetting events from a couple of days ago, you listlessly shuffled through the entrance. It was Saturday morning, and that meant groceries. The local Asian market was one of your favorite places to be; breathing in the familiar blend of spices that hung in the air was a cathartic feeling. The corners of your lips were turned slightly upwards as you bent to grab a basket.

First stop was the meat section, where the bugged-out eyes of dead fish followed you as you walked down the aisle. Cooking raw animal flesh wasn't really your thing, so you simply picked up a package of pre-cooked chicken and went on your way.

Next came the produce section where you felt up all the tomatoes, only bagging the ones that felt the right amount of firm and soft. You also added a pack of bok choy and mushrooms, perfect for cooking up a lazy soup.

Now that you were nearing the end of your expedition, it was time to head into the best part of the store: the snack aisle. Sometimes, when you were feeling more down than usual, you would blow the whole sum of your weekly grocery savings on off-brand shrimp chips and chocolate banana Pocky. One by one, you were doing all the things your mom had told you not to do when you moved out, from coating the entirety of your insides with nothing but sodium and sugar to shifting your sleep schedule by 15 hours.

What was next, the-no-dating-boys-until-you’ve-gotten-your-Master’s-and-have-a-7-figure-job rule? You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Even if your stomach was totally trashed and your sleep schedule was nonexistent, you would never let yourself fall that far.

As you stepped foot into the chips aisle, you beheld the holy grail. From Hello Panda to rice crackers, wasabi peas to Yan Yan sticks complete with a chocolate dip, cream wafers to dried seaweed, you were in a sea of temptation. Being that broke college student™, you just gulped and kept walking. I can just feast on these goodies with my eyes.

Your initial plan had been to just walk through the aisles to admire and drool over snacks you knew you couldn’t afford, but you were stopped in your tracks when you reached the instant noodles section.

At the end of the aisle, the shelf was bare except for a single lone pack. Even from a distance, you recognized it, all right; there was no mistaking the outline of your favorite instant ramen brand. 신라면. More like 神라면 (it’s more than just spicy noodles— it’s noodles made by the gods) you thought, eyes already tightly clutching at the packaging from 5 feet away.

From many a sleepless night of binge-watching third-rate rom-com dramas (though you cringed thinking back on it, this was an integral phase of your dark “past”), you knew where this was going–– but you weren’t going to sit around and let yourself fall into some overused trope. You gripped your basket tight as you swiftly made your way over to the shelf, just about setting a world record for speedwalking with a basket.

Sure enough, if you had been one second slower, you would’ve been ensnared in a sticky situation. Just as you were snatching up your prey like the pterodactyl you were, another figure was rounding the corner. Another broke college student™, it seemed, judging by the state of their hoodie, which was pulled over their messy hair, the strings tied in a bow to make sure the hood wouldn’t fall. Even though their face was concealed by their hood, you could see their reaction as they connected the dots from the bare shelf to the ramen pack in your hand.

“Hey–” they started, reaching towards you, but you promptly dropped the pack into your basket, spun on your heel, and noped out of the aisle before you could be confronted. You felt sorry because you could sympathize with their situation, but you were in no place to be kind to others. Not in this dog-eat-dog world. To survive, you’d have to stay on top of the food chain.

You were about to fall in line when you remembered that you were all out of Sriracha sauce. You could deal with giving up your Pocky and shrimp chips as long as you had your favorite condiment in stock; no matter how down you were, scrambled eggs with a heaping squirt of Sriracha always took you up to Cloud Nine. If you were going to leave something behind, it would never be the Sriracha sauce.

After grabbing a bottle from the condiment aisle, you scanned the checkout desks for the shortest line. Luckily, a new checkout desk had just opened on the left, so you scampered over and placed your basket onto the counter. The clerk was a kind-looking old woman, but was surprisingly agile for her age. As you waited for her to bag the large span of items that belonged to the grandpa in front of you, you opened up your phone to check your budget. You eyed the message app with two unread messages temptingly before going into your bank app. This was a lucky trip~ thankfully ramen isn’t too expensive. Even if it wasn’t on my grocery list, a few cents won’t make too much a difference. I think I can spare enough to get a Pocky next time.

At long last, the grandpa shuffled away with his cart filled with some veggies, a thick stack of newspapers, and an unusually large stash of rice crackers. While the clerk scanned and bagged your items, you continued to fiddle with your phone until she cleared her throat.

“Would you like a single receipt, or two separate ones? Because there’s a divider between your items.”

“Excuse me?” “You and your boyfriend. By the way, you guys look really cute together, especially with your hoodies~ are you on a date?”

You spun around only to come face to face with the broke college kid from the ramen aisle. Well, that’s awkward. The cashier must have been blind or deaf (or both) because you didn’t even interact with that boy. You stole glances of the customer through your peripheral vision, trying to see what he looked like. Hmm, do I know him? He looked uncannily familiar. Just then, another realization dawned on you. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad one. Your expression quickly changed from one of confusion to one of pure shock.

Surprise, surprise. It was the douche from the art gallery. And he was wearing your old hoodie.

“I-I don’t know him.” Before he could open his mouth to say anything, you quickly looked away, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately for you, the old clerk had seen much in her day and your little ruse wasn’t going to slip past her that easily.

“From the flushed look on your face and the stammer in your voice, I’m pretty sure you do. And I’m sure he would agree, wouldn’t you, lover boy~?”

And… cue to the horrified look on lover boy’s face. The conflict that was playing out in his mind showed on his face; he knew that if he answered this wrong, he would be facing your wrath.

“Uh, well, the thing is…” He shot you a nervous glance, but your features were stone cold. At a total loss for what to say, the boy just trailed off and turned his eyes to his basket. Following his gaze, you looked over his items and immediately recoiled in disgust.

Not a single leafy green (grey) in sight, no meat, no rice, not even one of the food groups necessary to sustain life. Strawberry ice cream mochi, Taiyaki, strawberry Melona bars, Choco Pies, strawberry Hi-Chew, strawberry Chocorooms, strawberry Pocky–– it seemed that strawberry was a recurring theme among his groceries.

Even though the sheer amount of sugar made you gag, a pang of jealousy flashed across your face. That was the life you’d longed for ever since you finished high school: living off of nothing but sugar and carbs, looking like a bum and not giving a damn about it, just chilling.

Unfortunately, with the number of failures and setbacks that stained your past, a carefree life was something you could no longer afford.

“Yeah, okay, we’ve met,” you cut in, saving the boy from the tricky situation. Skeptic, the clerk stared into your unblinking eyes for what seemed to be a solid 15 seconds before shrugging and handing you your groceries. You snatched up your fabric bag and went on your way, walking fast. The color in your cheeks was probably the same as a tomato. Your least favorite fruit.

Why him, of all the places? Why, universe? Where did I go wrong? You were about to drop dead from embarrassment. As you closed your eyes, you could see your tombstone: “Rest in Peace y/n, died alone and patron-less.”

However, what you didn’t know was that your day was about to get worse. A whole lot worse. It all started when you felt a familiar tap on your left shoulder. I swear– You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly to compose yourself and answered without turning around.

“What in God’s good name do you want. And why are you wearing hobo clothes.” My clothes, you realized, a tiny bit weirded out.

“They’re comfy,” he pouted, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his newfound hoodie as if to show off. “Anyways, how come you didn’t check your phone earlier?

“Oh, uh,” you felt the pressure in your head rising as you recalled how you threw your phone down in embarrassment and cried. “Sorry, I was feeling kinda down because a certain someone sorta trashed my life’s work and my only chance of being successful in the industry, sooooo yeah. My bad.”

Sniff. You looked up, startled, only to find that the boy in front of you had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was clamped closed, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were turned up, resembling a small child trying to keep himself from bursting into tears after falling and scraping his knee on the pavement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Well shit. There were two ways you could go about this: one, let your superego do the talking like a good person and prevent the boy from having a total meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk. The second was letting your id run rampant, taking full advantage of his feelings of remorse and overall just being a jerk. Maybe you could be distant and lacking in empathy, but you weren’t an asshole because you wanted to be one.

“Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a schmuck. A schmuck would not have bothered to keep in contact and a schmuck would not be on the verge of tears out of guilt. ...I accept your apology.” You were going to say that what he did was unforgivable, but you decided no to say that. After a pang of guilt jabbed into you, you bit your lip and softened your tone.

“I know you feel bad, but you don’t need to cry; there’s no way to turn back time. So instead, let’s move forward and keep looking up. I’ll start.” Smiling slightly with a tilted head, you held out your hand. “Hi, my name is y/n. I know that we’ve technically met, but this is the first time we’ve met met. So, nice to meet you.”

He wiped his tears away with the butt of his palm and tried to return the smile, though his was more watery. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Beomgyu.” You noticed the corners of his lips curl upwards in a small smile as he took your hand, shaking it firmly.

There was a pause of awkward silence as you let go of his hand, wiping your sweaty palm on your sweatpants. Well that was the most awkward introduction I’ve ever had in my life. Clearing your throat, you spoke again to clear the tense atmosphere.

“About my compensation.”

#moacabin #txtarcadianet #txt fanfiction #txt scenarios #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu fanfiction #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #okay this is ... awkward #it's been an eternity since i first started writing this #i don't even think this is that good of a fic LOL it's just lots of crack #but anyways i hope you enjoy this story so far !!#it would be great if i could get some feedback about how it's going so far haha

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