#i am really enjoying leaving brushstrokes in my art!!

[writing-the-stars]

Girls Night Pt. 2

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Mikaelsons x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: A week after the bar incident, Klaus has been giving you the silent treatment. You’re on a mission to find out why.

Warnings: Childish Behavior From a Grown Man, A Touch of Angst, Implied Smut

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: The awaited part two of Girls Night is here. I hope everyone enjoys it!!! Thank you all so much for reading!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

Part 1

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you sit in the library with Elijah, waiting for him to acknowledge you. He moves his gaze from the book he is reading– a hint of a smirk on his lips– and looks at you expectantly, “Yes, Y/N?”

It has been a week since the bar incident and Klaus has opted to ignore you. You have no idea why he is so angry with you, and you can’t ask him because he is giving you the silent treatment, so you select the sibling that knows him best to explain why you have gotten on his bad side. 

“Why is Klaus mad at me?” you ask the elder Mikaelson– lips jutted out in a pout, hoping to garner some sympathy. However, your secret weapon against Klaus does not work as well on Elijah, and he returns his gaze to his novel, saying “That is something you have to ask Niklaus.” 

A frown tugs at your lips as that was not the response you were hoping to receive. “Well, I would if he wasn’t so busy ignoring me,” you say with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. “I apologize for my brother’s behavior, but I am afraid I can not give you the answer you are searching for,” Elijah says with finality– eyes still glued to the book in his hand. He knows exactly why Klaus has been disregarding your presence, in fact, everyone who lives in the compound knows why he is behaving this way– everyone but you. They will never tell you though in fear of being on the wrong side of those silver daggers. 

“Fine,” you huff out, rising from your seat and leaving for the dining room where you hear Kol and Rebekah arguing. “Why is Klaus ignoring me?” you ask the two siblings as soon as you enter the room, creating an instant silence. They glance at random spots in the ornately decorated dining room, avoiding your gaze, as they refrain from answering your question. “Oh for the love of God, can someone please answer my question?” you exasperate– your arms thrown in the air to further convey your frustration. 

“It’s really quite obvious, darling,” Kol starts, tired of the ridiculousness of this situation; however, before he can continue, Rebekah silences him. 

"Rebekah!" you cry out, throwing a glare her way. She simply shrugs with a satisfied grin, saying "Consider it revenge." 

With Freya still out for the day, you realize you only have two options left: continue playing this childish game with the Original Hybrid or confront him. “Fuck it,” you mutter under your breath before you call for the hybrid, storming towards his art room. 

It’s your turn to be angry. If Klaus is going to dismiss your existence for a week, the least he can do is tell you why. You find him– back turned– painting harsh strokes onto his canvas. You would normally take the time to admire him as he worked, loving to watch the artist in action, but you were too furious to care about Klaus’s newest masterpiece. 

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” you inform the Mikaelson, marching up to his side. His gaze remains focused on the canvas before him– the subtle shift in his brushstroke being the only indication he heard you. You stare up at Klaus expectantly, waiting for a response, but he continues as if you are not in the room. An incredulous scoff leaves your lips at his behavior, you would think you’re engaging with a six-year-old child and not a man who is over a thousand years old. If this is how he wants to conduct himself, then you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands. Muttering a spell, you wave your arms, halting Klaus’s movements and turning him to face you. 

"Y/N, release me," he says, uttering his first words to you this week. "Not until you tell me why you've been ignoring me," you reply stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest.

He glares down at you and you glare right back— unrelenting. When two minutes of silence pass, you groan out in frustration, "God, you are so stubborn."

"If you don't answer me right now, I will force it out of you," you threaten him, you both knowing your threat is not empty. A few more moments of silence pass, and you begin to think he won't answer when a sigh leaves his lips, giving in because the only person more stubborn than Klaus Mikaelson is you.

 "Fine, love, if you must know. I was jealous," he says so quietly that if you weren't a vampire, you wouldn't have heard him.

Laughter erupts from you at the absurdity of his claim and this entire situation. Niklaus Mikaelson, the over a thousand-year-old Original Hybrid, ignored you for a week because he was jealous of some drunk man at a bar who meant absolutely nothing to you. The whole thing was hysterically childish. Not to mention, you were only dancing with the poor soul because you were attempting to get over said hybrid. 

"Do not laugh at me."

"You're right. I'm sorry," you say, nodding your head as you catch your breath.  Once you've calmed yourself, you enlighten the Mikaelson with your thoughts on the situation, "It's just, I can't believe you, Klaus Mikaelson, were jealous. Especially of some random drunkard at a bar."

"Yes, well, contrary to popular belief, I do have feelings," he informs you– a hint of a pout on his lips. You smile, shaking your head, still amused by the circumstances. 

"Now that I've answered your question, love, will you let me go?"

"Right. Sorry," you apologize and undo your spell, allowing him to move freely again. "Just out of curiosity, why were you jealous?" you ask– head tilted as you watch him freeze, dread filling the hybrid. He had hoped you wouldn't ask that question and just leave things be, but of course, as the naturally curious person you are, you did and now he is going to have to reveal his decades-long secret to you. "Is that Hope?" he asks, looking in the direction of the little girl’s bedroom.

You give him a pointed look, crossing your arms over your chest. “Nice try, but Hayley took Hope to the bayou for the weekend,” you tell the hybrid, catching him in his lie. “That’s right, she did. I wonder how they’re doing,” he muses, attempting to maneuver himself out of the conversation. You raise an eyebrow at him, deadpanning his name, making the hybrid sigh. He has run out of excuses and distractions and has no other choice but to face his fear head-on. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Klaus turns to you, grabbing your hands and looking deep into your eyes. Your heart races at the connection– your mind reeling with the intimacy of it all. 

“Y/N, I love you. I have for quite some time now.”

You stare incredulously at the hybrid, unable to speak or move, the shock overwhelming you. “Y/N?” Klaus calls, perturbed by your silence. “What?” you breathe out, your voice nothing but a whisper. You are unsure if you heard the Original Hybrid correctly, or if you misinterpreted his words. 

“I love you,” Klaus tells you again, his voice wavering in uncertainty. Regret for ever unveiling his affections for you quickly begin eating at him– wrongfully interpreting your shock as the rejection he had feared all these years. 

A smile breaks out across your lips as you process the words that were just spoken. Klaus Mikaelson, the man you have fallen in love with and pined after for over twenty years, has just confessed his love for you. You are so overwhelmed by the joy of knowing your decades-long unrequited love has been requited that you hurl yourself at the Mikaelson– arms curling around his neck– and slam your lips against his. You pour every bit of passion that has been brewing inside of you for the past two decades into the kiss, letting him know just how strongly you love him. When you finally break away from one another, you voice a confirmation of the love you just declared in your kiss. 

“Finally!” the two of you hear from the other side of the art room’s door. Klaus speeds over, opening the door to reveal all of the Mikaelson siblings who have been anxiously awaiting this moment for as long as you and Klaus have. “You guys knew!” you exclaim incredulously– surprised they have been keeping this secret from you. “I’m afraid it was quite obvious, my dear,” Elijah responds, the rest of the siblings nodding in agreement. 

“And none of you thought to tell me,” you exasperate, frustrated that they let you suffer for so long. “And be daggered for the next century! I love you Y/N, but not that much,” Kol defends his actions and you nod in understanding. From what you’ve heard about being in those coffins, it is not an experience you would want to face either. 

"Alright, let's give the new couple some space," Freya says, pushing the rest of the Mikaelson clan down the hall. "I do hope you wait till we're out of the house, first," Kol says cheekily– your face beginning to redden. "Alright, that's enough of that," Klaus announces, closing the door on his family.  

He looks at you– a radiant smile on his lips, having never been happier, with the exception of Hope’s birth, than in this moment. “So, you love me?” you ask the hybrid– a smile on your lips as you’re still reveling in the joy that your love for Klaus is reciprocated. 

“Yes, love. Let me show you how much.”

With those words, Klaus carries you to his bedroom and shows you just how good two decades of sexual tension and romantic frustration feels.

Taglist: @catmikaelson20  @s-r-amikaelson​ @pleasingiswhatweaimfor​ @woodworthti666​

#klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson x female reader #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson x you #tvd klaus #klaus x fem!reader #klaus x y/n #klaus mikaleson imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals #the mikaelsons #the mikaelsons x reader #the originals imagine #the originals one shot #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries one shot #tvdu #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #the originals fanfiction #the originals fandom #the mikaelson family #fandom #fandom writing #fanfic

[doorplays]

Door Reviews: Soul of Sovereignty Prelude (2023)

There was a time when I was very much into webcomics. Don’t get me wrong, I still am into them in theory, but I have not had energy to read as voraciously as I did before. I haven’t had time to get into new ones either. I am still fond of them, however, and keep up with a couple webcomics.

It is during my webcomics phase that I discovered the works of ggdg. I found myself reading Cucumber Quest and enjoyed it a lot! When the comic went on indefinite hiatus, I kind of lost track of what they were up to, though I have faint memories of reading Lady of the Shard.

Years later, a friend of mine told me about this game. When they linked it, I realized that wait, this is from ggdg! And the memories came flooding back. It made me so excited to play this game. Well, now I have! I’m excited to talk about it :)

What’s it about?

“Soul of Sovereignty is a tale of deadly kindness and selfish virtue in a world of magic and ruin,” says the game’s itch.io page. It is a visual novel about two souls whose fates become intertwined. They go on a journey that will be of more importance than they would expect.

It should be noted that this game is just a prelude to the whole story. Not all of the questions you will find yourself asking will end up being answered here. Also! I’ll just call it SoulSov from this point on because that’s shorter lmao

STYLE (Gameplay, Graphics, Music)

SoulSov is a visual novel. It shows background art with characters in the foreground, displaying text to tell the story itself. As far as gameplay goes, it is pretty simple… but I think ggdg does some subtle things here. The layout, the way the movement of the text flows with the art, there’s a few things that help with the conveyance of the story itself. I don’t really know how common it is in the genre, as I haven’t played enough visual novels, but I appreciate these small things.

The art is beautiful. Downright ethereal at some points even! I loved seeing the old yet homey inn and the snowy woods. I loved seeing these wonderfully designed characters. They look so solid, yet soft at times.

The music, I find, is pretty good and apt. It’s nice and gentle in some places, and intense when it needs to be. The sound design is also good, shifts in the snow can be heard, creaking floorboards, the howling of the wind.

The UI is good. I like how there’s a History tab so that I can easily backtrack when I feel like I missed some words. I also like how there’s a Cast section so I can easily see descriptions of the characters. I like that the Glossary section is an external way to provide more lore to the world.

Overall, I definitely like the style of this game. Beautiful art, wonderful prose, it all combines well and lets me experience a story in a nice way.

SUBSTANCE (Story, Characters, Impact)

I loved the story. I loved how the world unfolded before me, from a cold, sleepy hamlet to a sprawling empire of a city. I loved seeing all the characters, their quirks, how they interacted with each other. Most of all, I loved how the worldbuilding revealed itself. The importance of flowers, the history of certain sites, the pantheon of the world… ggdg discusses just enough to paint a picture but leaves out enough to make me want to know more.

The story takes its time. It wants you to feel the weight of each sentence, to understand each brushstroke of a painting. ggdg makes sure that each click of the mouse moves the story in an efficient and economical way, which makes for a tight story that still expresses itself well.

I have not played much graphic novels, but what I find interesting is how you can “turn the page” so to speak. When I say turn the page, I talk of how certain forms of media dictate the flow of stories. With books, you turn the page. With comics, you go from panel to panel and turn the page. With film, you frame the story with your camera and dictate the very story itself with what you choose to record with it. With games? It’s different with each genre. But for this game, each click of the mouse (or press of the spacebar) turns the page. At some points, turning the page here means it reveals each sentence when you’re ready, showing accompanying art and changes in character sprites. At other points, it reveals each block of text, revealing changes in background and introducing new areas. While describing it this way feels a bit granular, it didn’t feel too slow when I moved through the story. And I think this approach makes the important moments hit better.

Overall, the story fucks. I enjoyed it a lot!

VERDICT

I haven’t played enough graphic novels to judge this as a graphic novel, but as a game I enjoyed SoulSov immensely. The art is great. The story is great. I’m excited to experience more installments of this game and find out more about this world! I am glad to have this game be the first game I finished in 2024. I wholeheartedly recommend it to everyone!

Door Rates Soul of Sovereignty Prelude: 5/5!

#door reviews #soul of sovereignty #soul of sovereignty prelude #soulsov

[daredevilexchange]

Want to be featured here? Head to this page and fill in the form!

See what this is about here, or if you’re using the app here.

What’s your fannish ID? He6o or He6oart on most platforms, but I also sometimes go by "Carrot", or my actual name, 'Skye'. My screen name is said 'Nebo', and is Russian for sky, because languages are cool 👀 I picked it years ago and it was short and snappy enough so I kept it, even if it does invite confusion at times.

What types of fanworks do you create? Fanart of the digital and sometimes traditional variety! I have also written original works in the past and am working on an original comic, but haven't written for fandoms before.

What are your favourite types of fanworks, when you’re not creating? I am a voracious consumer of fanfic, lurking and enjoying from various fandoms and being terrible because I am always too nervous to comment T_T But to all the fanfic writers out there, I adore you! Thank you so much <3 I think you have collectively increased my reading speed by a ridiculous level XD Very helpful when going through dry academic papers.

What do you like in particular about this fandom? I'm practically brand new to this fandom as a creator, but I really enjoy fics with DD interacting with the defenders or the punisher. Or just anyone we haven't seen yet - avengers-with-daredevil fics are so cool! (Hopefully we'll see more with the recent MCU news! 👀) I'm generally not a shipper in any of my fandom interests but I will still read and enjoy good content regardless of my personal preferences for creating <3

Of course, I am here for Matt 😂 He's basically one of my all time favourite characters now, and he carved that spot out after I saw only a single episode…which I think is the fastest I've ever latched on to a character in my life.

Do you like participating in fan events? Absolutely! I'm a more active participant in the Final Fantasy fandom (particularly for FFXV) and have been a part of big bang (as an artist), along with contributing art and merch for several fanzines, modding several and running one of my own, all of which was a LOT of fun. Would be totally down for something like that in daredevil fandom too when I have a few more artworks behind me and am a bit more known!

I am also a regular con attendee, though not in the last couple of years, but hopefully again soon! I need to dust off my cosplay skills.

What about your creating process? I have basically been fused to a pair of headphones since I was 7 years old and do everything to a playlist. If I don't have music blasting away it's too easy to get distracted, so it's the best way for me to zone out and focus in on my work (favourites include mostly soundtracks, QOTSA, NIN, Coldplay, Garbage and Ladytron). Otherwise it's pretty straightforward…I tend to get an idea that wont leave, and just glue myself to my iPad until it's done, day and night. Usually culminating in me going to bed at 4am.

In terms of my creative history, I was an artistic kid but I stopped creating for a various number of reasons during college (I'm in the UK, so that's age 16-18) right up until I finished my undergraduate masters in 2016…and it wasn't until I started my PhD that I realised I needed a good stress outlet and picked it back up again…so given the time I lost, I've been trying to be productive with my time and hone my painting skills. My favourite sort of work is the old religious renaissance works so I really want to reach that level of artistry with understanding lighting and accomplishing realism, but keeping textures and brushstrokes. I'm working mostly digitally as it's definitely a cheaper way to learn, but if I can paint something amazing on canvas one day I'll be thrilled. I have a lot of influences, so sometimes I'll see a work by someone and get inspired to try a totally different colouring style, but my best works tend to come back to my strongest influence.

Do you interact a lot with other fans? In this fandom, I'm basically brand new, but I do a lot of interacting with FFXV fans. We're a small community that's only decreased in size as interest waned after the game's release, so it's pretty easy to sort of know everybody? I am always down for making new friends but tend to need a bit of a push as I often feel like I'm intruding on the cool kid's table when I branch into a new fandom XD My approach is to basically just make content and exist on the fringes waiting to get roped in. I'm a lot more active at talking to people on twitter though so feel free to poke me on there!

Is there any particular piece you'd like to showcase for this post? Probably the second of my Daredevil/Matt Murdock pin trio.

I designed this one and two others (Black outfit(s) and horned S2 outfit) as a set to make into acrylic pins, but I think I'm particularly proud of this one because it took me so long and went through so many revisions…I felt like I was more critical of this artwork than of anything I've done in the last year, including multiple zine pieces 😂

After I finished the first one with the S2 outfit (which was a fun experiment with textures) I was kind of impatient and raced into wanting to paint Matt with no costume, so I forwent any kind of face study and just started sketching and painting using the same palette from the first one, and wow did I have to redo it so much. This trio of DD pieces was both me learning how to draw/paint Charlie Cox, but also a test to see if I could consistently apply the same palette to multiple works of art despite my photo references being all over the place in terms of both colour and lighting. I think it was a success overall, and I learnt a lot from these pieces, including how much I really enjoy painting Charlie Cox 😂

Do you have other fandoms you'd like to talk about? Ah, I float around different circles but Final Fantasy is probably my home base of sorts. Mostly I am really into video games, so my interests lie there a lot (FF, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Detroit Become Human etc). Tolkien's works are another big area of interest for me, but often my interests tend to lie in one-off areas because I am difficult to impress.

I tend to enjoy a wide range of things, and when I fall really hard for a character or series I am compelled to create. I think few characters inspire me enough to form the kind of attachment I have with daredevil now - the last one to do that was Ignis from FFXV, and just a quick skim through my past works will show that I absolutely put that passion into art (and buying merch - I think my bedroom can probably be described as 50% Ignis shrine at this point). What can I say, I love virtuous acrobatic characters with hidden depths, especially when there's a dichotomy to their personality 👀

Is there anything else you want to tell us about yourself? A bit about me, I suppose: I am from the UK and in my early 30s, a recent graduate with a PhD in Observational Astronomy, a threat to all coffee supplies everywhere and a huge fan of philosophy, architecture and politics/law. As a kid I was known for: breaking up fights on the playground, being "the artist" kid and wanting to know literally everything about anything (give me any subject and I will just fall into a pile of books). My academic history is a mess of contradictions because I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself at 16 and I was your stereotypical straight A student with options in everything XD

If there is a Starbucks within a mile of my location, I have probably been there (and bought a mug,). I one day hope to live in a big city because places like London, Tokyo and NYC are architecturally fascinating and 24 hour coffee shops are not a thing in my smaller city XD. I tend to keep a lot of my thoughts private and mostly I live on discord. And I am really into fashion and am as attached to my sunglasses as I am my headphones (though some of that is due to light sensitivity XD). My preferred pronouns are also They/Them, but I am pretty chill about it so no worries if you forget 🙌

I do post a lot of FF art, naturally, because my other love is Ignis. But I can see my hyperfixation on Matt is definitely going to lead to a bunch of art on that side - and I have a few sketch plans in mind for October prompts (probably doing those face studies I neglected too 🤔) So give me a follow if that doesn't bother you!

Also, I talk a lot! Definitely something to note (but you probably guessed that by now!)

Where can your fanworks be found? Twitter, tumblr and IG are where I post things (cross-posting mostly, though I am not particularly good at remembering instagram exists outside of being a place for me to appreciate other people's work 😂). I have a couple of storefronts but they're currently going through revisions, and I also forget to use tags too often 😓

Twitter - https://twitter.com/He6o Instagram - https://instagram.com/he6oart Tumblr - https://he6o.tumblr.com Patreon - https://patreon.com/he6o

Or everything all in one place! https://he6o.carrd.com/

Thank you, @he6o !

banner by @context-is-for-kingpins !

#marvel #daredevil #content creator spotlight

[creativeprojectmatthewlowth]

BA3 : Evaluation

BA3: EVALUATION Creative Project Matthew Lowth 

As a part of the Creative Project, I wanted to explore Watercolour paintings. I wanted to see the progression of historical art and how watercolour has stuck and evolved to become modern art, as well as how watercolour was recognised before any other media did back in 1400–1500 and to show how in present times less and less artists use this media. I wanted to research more into watercolours and the techniques the artists used. I have worked with watercolours many of times, and I wanted to explore it even further and mix other medias with watercolours to see the difference it can make to a painting. I wanted to think of current ideas for the Creative Project and to see what other medias work well with watercolours. 

Firstly, I wanted to start with the basics and become familiar again with watercolours, as well as looking at different artists like Georgia O'Keeffe and Cecily Brown. I wanted to look at the distinctive styles of paintings as well as the methods used. I took a liking towards Brown’s visible brushstrokes due to them helping her tell a story within the paintings. I liked how O'Keefe's artworks were tranquil due to the softness of the colours, but also how they had a mystery element to it due to the folds of the flowers and the subtle dark colours creating focal points to her paintings which made me wonder what the darkness represents. 

Next, I gained experience from going to art galleries such as the RSW Annual Show exhibition for watercolours, I learnt about new artists and the different methods they used with watercolours. Seeing many forms of mixed media gave me plenty of innovative ideas for the route I wanted to take. Hayley Tompkins’s triptych painting at the Fruit market caught my eye due to the number of unusual colours and how they were all layered, showing different emotions. This gave me an idea to create a painting using watercolours, whilst also writing down my key memories and using those memories within my painting, as well as associating specific colours with specific emotions. 

Thirdly, I decided to work with watercolours whilst combining other medias, for example I used pen and wash for most of my paintings as that helped me to add more depth and really bring the viewer into my painting. I went out of my comfort zone with trying to paint in a contemporary style and I really enjoyed creating using this method, I would like to continue to develop this even further. If I had more time with this module, I would like to use unusual materials such as clothing with the watercolours to give the artworks more meaning and difference. 

Overall, I am pleased with the outcome of this module and how my artworks have developed. My knowledge and understanding of watercolours have expanded and I have thoroughly enjoyed trying out new methods such as leaving my comfort zone to create meaningful pieces. I would like to take watercolour even further in my next steps.    

Words- 508 

[emyluwinter]

Flowers and paints

The sacred apple trees are already in full bloom, covering everything with the petals of their flowers. Showering everything like fresh snow or a white blanket of fabric made of flowers. A warm wind played with the new leaves on the branches, filling the area with a pleasant noise. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of apple blossoms, cherry blossoms, and apricots.

On a day off from school, Yuu went to the open air to capture the local scenery in his paintings. They already had a whole workshop in Onboro, only a little bit left to finish it up to the best option. Fortunately, the Yuu found a whole chest with various art supplies and were able to repair them to a suitable condition.

Grimm slept on his pallet in the shade under a large apple tree, occasionally chatting in his sleep. The warmth made him feel more and more like taking a nap in the sun. And Yuu, meanwhile, armed with brushes and a palette of paints, drew enjoying the moments.

It was a quiet, peaceful hour, filled with sunshine, light, and warmth.

Yuu got so carried away that they didn't even notice the viewer right away.

- Why are you drawing so blurry? - Vil asked suddenly, he was nearby because he was looking for a certain plant for his potion.

Yuu jumped up in fright and stared at the prefect in surprise.

- Vil-san! I'm sorry I didn't notice you coming..Eh?So this is just a sketch and the style is like this. This is impressionism.

- I know what art is, Prefect. - Vil said, looking at the painting intently. He couldn't help but go over and correct this piece.For some reason, he really wanted to do it.

Surprisingly for himself, Vil stared at each brushstroke in the painting, discovering more and more. It was as if every puzzle fell into place. He didn't understand why this study of water lilies interested him so much. Maybe it was the deep dark tones that the Prefect picked up?

- Vil-san..is something wrong?You're looking so hard.

Vil suddenly found himself thinking that he was so suddenly attracted to just one unfinished painting. Made not by a professional, but only by an amateur. Why was he so focused on this job at all?

- There's something wrong with this picture, and I need time to figure out what it is.

- Maybe because it is not perfect and just a sketch?It has no clear lines and seems to be in a haze. - Yuu replied calmly, as if talking about something ordinary.

- Exactly. That's why it needs to be fixed. Since it took my time. Make the outline here and here clearer, add it here.

Yuu suddenly interrupts him and looks at Vil with gentleness. - No. I won't fix anything.

- Would you be happy with this job?You are studying with me in the same college you need to meet this institution. What?Why are you looking at me with that expression on your face?

Vil was perplexed because usually the students looked guilty when he criticized or demanded to fix something in his uniform. But Yuu were completely relaxed and looked at him curiously.

- Yes, I am satisfied that I make mistakes and that I can do something imperfect and not perfect. I noticed that everyone here is so passionate about achievements and aspirations that they completely forget to be themselves.

Vil glared at the Prefect, silently demanding an explanation.

- Do you think that's wrong?

- To a certain extent, yes, on the one hand, you achieve a lot in the shortest possible time, the best in your studies, sports, achievements and goals. But on the other hand, everyone forgets that we are all the same teenagers who can relax a little and see the moment in all its colors.

Yuu takes some paint on the brush and makes a few more strokes. Vil immediately takes a step to the side to see that the picture has become better.

- do not look at the whole picture in separate strokes and chase the correct hand movements. And look at the whole thing. Let the picture be indistinct as in Impressionism, let it be without clear sharp lines.

- allow yourself to be an imperfect, nonideal, simple person who enjoys the rest. in the pursuit of perfection, you miss the enjoyment of the moment.

Yuu carefully removes a petal from a strand of Vil hair.

- you call us potatoes...they have very charming flowers, don't they? Maybe you want us to turn from unsightly potatoes into small flowers. Who knows. But give yourself a rest senpai. Otherwise, in this race, you will lose yourself and will not find it.

Vil fun snorts - Prefect..and you're smarter than you look.

Yuu is confused - rather, I keep the moment when you need to say the right words. Not everyone wants to hear, but everyone can only listen. Do you want to try to do a couple of strokes?

Vil looks at the painting with his head tilted gracefully.there's a lot to tweak here. the picture seems as blurry and incomplete as a sketch.

Yuu is picking up some paint from the palette with a brush. - and this makes it no less beautiful in its imperfection, what do you say?You continue to race, but what good is it if you don't enjoy it and it becomes a noose around your neck?You do so much, I worry sometimes for each of you. This is how you delight the others.Seriously, you're doing a hell of a lot. Your pride and character do not allow you to really relax. This is wrong in my opinion. You deserve a vacation like no other. Not a spa, not a massage, but something simple and easy. Like a brush stroke.

A small smile touched Vil lips. He was deeply moved by the words of this small, smart prefect, they really were something out of character for the NRC. Yuu was worried about the Beautiful Queen herself, unheard of!And they were not intrusive, they came to him in small steps and touched his heart as they wished, without realizing it.

- Prefect, you're going to make me have to touch up my lipstick.

- What?Why? - Yuu blinked in surprise, not understanding what he was talking about

Vil leans down and lightly touches Yuu's cheek with his lips. The apple-petaled Yuu looked like a charming artist in a battered hat with a large brim for protection from the sun, with old accessories somehow repaired.

It was a real flower breaking through the bad weather and the hard ground.

- You may not have any magic, but I think you can touch other people's hearts like no one else.

Yuu stared at Vil in a daze, almost dropping the palette and brush.

- s ... senpai ... w...what...why..

- So be it, I'll take a little time and follow your advice. Maybe I'll even pose a little, what do you say? My services are expensive.

- I-I'd be honored, but you...are you sure?I'm not a professional..

- Don't contradict yourself, even if it's not perfect the first time, you can fix it later. Under my supervision, of course.

- Touche monsieur. - Yuu laughed softly, smiling sheepishly, realizing that even here, Vil had won a small victory over him.

Eventually, Vil was mesmerized when Yuu finished the painting. They were amazing water lilies in the pond. With deep water colors, with soft tones and shades of light colors.

- Is this a reproduction?

- This is the work of Claude Monet. I like his paintings. You would like to see his garden, you would definitely like it!

Vil looked at the prefect, puzzled - he had never heard of such an artist.

Yuu lowered his eyes in embarrassment. - Ah....Well, yes....I'm not from here...how would you know?......excuse me.

Vil noticed the incredible longing and sadness on Yuu face, Vil could only guess how hard it was for this child in this world.

- Did he have many more of these paintings?

- he drew a lot.

- How much can you draw? - Vil asked suddenly.

- I think I can remember a few.. - Yuu replied uncertainly

- I want them all.

- EXCUSE ME?!

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst mc #twst yuu #disney twst #twst vil #vil twisted wonderland #vil twst #vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil x mc

[tipsydipsydo]

Der Geliebte

Pairing: Jungkook x artist! Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 6.4k 

Rating: 16+

AU: non idol! Jungkook x artist! Reader AU!

Genre: strangers to lovers AU; friends to lovers AU! (idiots to lovers AU!); love at the first sight! AU; soulmate to lovers! AU (kinda?); unbelievable amount of fluff; a little angst (fluffy angst!!,); tiny amount of smut (one paragraph xD)

Warnings: tiny bit of smut/some sexual tension between both of them; Jungkook is a poor shy thing and is fucking nervous around the reader all the time; teeth rotting fluff; both are so in love with each other that they’re getting stupid to not realize it; both are insecure that they’re not meant for another... just fluff, fluff, fluff and painfully obvious pining over each other! 

A/N: Hallelujah, I finally did it! After I made Sibi @borathae​ wait over three months for her Christmas + Birthday Fanfic I finished it two weeks to late for my sweetest Darlings Birthday! I am so incredibly sorry that I made you wait for such a long time and really, Sweetie, you have all the rights to be still mad at my stupid ass! Nevertheless... I love you so goddamn much and I hope the fic made at least a little bit up for it... Love you!!!! 💕 💕 

Summary: You and Jungkook met right at the first day you opened your own atelier in Seoul after you had to leave your old home behind you. You love paint canvas with landscape motives, other people just roll with their eyes when they hear that you choose such usual, almost boring things to paint. Not so Jungkook, he seems to be different than most of visitors. It’s almost like he can read your feelings through your paintings...

Status: Edited (I am sorry for any still existing errors in here!) 

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

* Jungkook’s POV * 

"In what are you getting yourself into, Jungkook?"

 I quietly ask myself as I get rid of my clothes behind the paravent and throw the dressing gown over his body which you laid out for me. My hands are sweaty, they tremble slightly and my heart beats wildly, as if it wants to jump right out of my chest. Excitement spreads throughout my body, leaving a faint feeling in my stomach and a certain blush rises in my cheeks. I still can't believe what I've gotten myself into . But... you looked at me so pleadingly with your dear and downright innocent eyes that I would have done anything for you with that look of yours. I want to make you happy, see that happy and contented smile on your lips, which always makes a whole horde of wild butterflies break out in my belly. 'Normally I was the shyness and silence in person and with you... with her, I feel for the first timesomething like peace and security. Especially when I consider how shy I usually am around women.', I ask myself and I don't really know the answer to that. But what can I do against my feelings? I don't really know, on the one hand they scare me, on the other hand they feel so exciting and new that I don't want to eliminate them at all.

I don't even know exactly when the whole thing started. In which moment my feelings for you grew, when I felt more than just fascination and admiration for you and your artwork. Six months ago, a small studio had opened in my district, your own studio. On the day of the opening I simply went to it of pure curiosity, I had always had such a weakness for art and photography.

I can still remember exactly how I stood in front of one of your works and was literally speechless and overwhelmed by this picture and all his small details. This painting represents a classic image of the countryside, which was often to be found everywhere. But this work was different. So full of small details and ornaments. It was so much more... As a viewer you can see a beautiful clearing, which is surrounded by trees and protected from too many curious eyes. The ground of this clearing is overgrown with dense and lush green grass, which from the incoming sunlight almost invites you to let yourself fall into the grass. It reminds me instantly of my carefree childhood, when I rolled in it without overthinking my actions too much and those times when I playfully wrestled with my best friends around until our clothes had grass stains all everywhere. I could almost smell the scent of wild, untamed nature. The longer I look at the picture, the greater the longing became. Maybe I could visit this beautiful place one day, together with my partner, my significant other. Playing around with each other, chasing your beloved one until you fall into the grass breathless laughing and cuddling. Maybe we could have a picnic there and feed each other with homemade sweets? 

I didn’t know that such a "simple" landscape painting could touch and awaken so much more in me, in my soul. Suddenly, such a wanderlust came over me that I gasped for air and a heavy lump formed in my throat. My whole body was tingling and my heart was literally screaming to get away from this dreadfully grey and monotonous daily routine of my boring single life, for at least some weeks. I want to go to this place, where I could draw the warm and fresh, natural air could deep into my lungs and pamper myself with homemade delicacies. Just to let the soul dangle and don’t stuck with my closely clocked work life. Maybe sleep until 10 o'clock in the morning and then maybe have a nice nap later. Enjoy the warm nights and hear the crickets chirping. This longing was... irrepressible. This particular wanderlust for nature, just to be out of the city, this longing for exactly this abandoned and untouched forest clearing literally overwhelmed me. What was it for an artist who could trigger such feelings and emotions in me?

I had been so absorbed in the artwork that I had not even noticed that a person step next to me. "Do you like the work?", asked a soft melodic voice, which spoke perfect Korean, but was pervaded by a light accent, which I could not quite assign. I flinched a little, but this bright, happy laugh gave me a tingling goosebumps all over my body. What a beautiful laugh... I turned to the person who was the owner of this beautiful voice. I was startled when I realized that the artist and owner of this studio was standing in front of me personally. I recognized her again, as I had seen a small photo of her in the newspaper article that drew my attention to this beautiful studio in the first place. Already in this picture she had radiated something so strong, colorful, cheerful and lively, which caused an excited flutter in my stomach. 

I admit, I already laid an eye on her just by her appearance. Unfortunately I always had a hard time getting to know people ever since, let alone to talk to women. And now having you, Y/N, personally standing right in front of me, made me feel fluffy and excited in my stomach. Nothing is left of this otherwise so sassy and self-confident  man that I used to be. Only a nervous and stodgy twenty-three-year-old idiot, who did not know what to say or wanted to say, now stands in front of this stunningly pretty and intelligent woman.

Her eyes sparkles like jewels, full of joy, struck me with interest and a playful smile lays on her lips. "Did you not understand my question?", she asked kindly, but nobly reserved. Immediately a rosy puff settled on my cheeks and I stuttered nervously: "Y-Yes, excuse me! I... I was just somewhere else with my thoughts and was completely surprised that they were addressing me personally.... Your works are truly unique! They still show such ‘usual’ motifs and yet they are so special because of these finely elaborated details and this passion with which this work of art was painted. They really are... Unique artworks that you do not forget so quickly. Even for untrained eyes as my owns, I can see that a talented artist has worked on it. I am very impressed by your work, especially this work here!" You could hear the honest admiration from my voice and my heart leapt as she reacted bashful to all of my compliments.

"Thank you, really, thank you so much! I really appreciate to hear such nice words like yours, even if it is rare. I am often criticized for my ‘lack of creativity’, caused by my chosen motives. I just love the rough, almost untouched landscapes of my hometown, I try to depict the ‘normal’ as something beautiful, unique. I would like to ‘really see’ what we already take for granted again. As a wonderful creation, a work of art. Nature is a wonderful example of this, or the architecture of buildings as well. Architects are also artists, although unfortunately they are not seen as such. I just want to offer the obvious things a more meaningful space again.... People like you have become rare. I have observed how you have recognized the true meaning, this beauty and aesthetics in such a ‘usual-looking’ motif. And this pleases me so much that you can read 'between the brushstrokes'. Oh... Excuse me, I always talk way too much when someone shows an interest in art or music, my personal passions. Besides that, I have not introduced myself to you yet, I am Y/N! I was obviously so pleased to see your understanding, empathetic look at this work, if you understand what I mean... Anyway... I can guess that you knew my name already, don't you? What about you? May I know your name?", asked you, beautiful artist, with her really stunning smile.

I swallowed nervously, never before had a young lady mixed my emotions so much in me. Even the picture of her in the newspaper article, which I had read out of boredom in one of my lectures, got me so emotionallyconfused. I didn't want to say it in front of my teasing friends, but I had been really excited when I set off this Friday night. And now the creator of these works of art stood before me and seemed to want to have a longer conversation with me. My heart beats to my throat and I got sweaty hands from this nervousness in my poor body. Honestly, as soon as I wasn't surrounded by my clique of friends, I automatically turned into a nervous, slightly abashed blushing and stuttering guy who behave like an inexperienced teenager. 

In private life, without my best mates by the side, I am not so confident and daredevil. After all, I always had someone who could cover my back when things get tough, while I am on my own without anyone I know. You could usually only believe and trust, not control. That's probably why I struggled with interpersonal relationships. I always overthink too much and have some struggles with my self-confidence.

And now this attractive young woman looked at me with such interest and joy, just me. I was actually the reason for her interest. A joyful and blissful tingling seized every pore, every fiber of my body. Yes, in fact it was just me! Not my best buddy Seokjin, whom I have known since childhood and always sought the attention of everyone. It was no exaggeration to say that he was perhaps a little narcissistic, but only to cover up his own insecurities. Never would I have thought that someone would manage to get this personification of self-love under control. I admired his wife for standing up to Seokjin and keeping him and his dad Jokes at bay. Believe it or not, she of all people had the pants on in the house and knew how to deal with my best friend.

My gaze glided over the figure of the person in front of me and once again I took a sharp breath. I was so nervous to face her personally, a person I already deeply admired and had quite a respect for. I simply did not want to do anything wrong, even if this charm of hers was almost tangible and paralyzed my entire brain with its function. I can already picture how my mind waved wildly goodbye to myself and went to the summer holiday in the Caribbean.

This carefree smile and these beautiful eyes harmonized wonderfully with your complexion. Your features were awake and alive, seemingly always a slight smile surrounded the corners of your mouth, which provoked almost paradoxical reactions in my body. Your smile awake countless butterflies to flutter around in my stomach, which made me quite nervous and at the same time you radiated such a sense of security and calm, as if there was no reason not to get a word out of shyness. My gaze, which I hope examined you unobtrusively enough, wandered to your hands. You had long fingers, I could really imagine how they elegantly held the handle of the paint brushes and worked on these small details extensively in such a calm behavior. Which satisfied and concentrated calmness you possibly radiated while doing that...

A small, noble clearing of your throat again tore me out of my fantasies and speculations. God, what was I today but inattentive! How rude I must have seemed to you...

"Oh, sorry... I... I have not been able to keep my thoughts together all day..." I lied to seem at least a little more credible. Nervously, I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it up a little before I have a circulatory collapse. Before I went here, I thought for a long time about what I should wear for this occasion. Jeans and T-shirt were out of the question, too casual and almost an insult for your atelier. A complete suit, however, seemed too overdressed to me and so I decided for a black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt.Understanding, Y/N nodded and gave me a cheering smile, which made my body tingle again. This woman drove me half crazy alone with his friendly gestures. How could it be that this polite lady got me confused right away?!

And somehow, it gave me a frenzy to leave my secure, anonymous side as a visitor to her exhibition and irrevocably reveal my true identity to you.

"My name is Jeon Jungkook."I answered in a slightly trembling voice, hardly daring to look into her eyes and rubbing my neck unobtrusively.

* Jungkook’s POV *

If only I had guessed what would change in me, how you changed me. That so much more would develop from a pure interest and a simple formal business contact... that you want to make me one of your artworks.

I take another deep breath before I dare to step out from behind the dark red paravent. It is pleasantly warm in this room, I should not freeze, if I am already so freely clothed. My gaze wanders through the small room with the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, which floods the entire room with light. The walls of the room have been painted in a dark orange and red colors and dark wooden planks lay out on the floor. It looks so comfortable due to the warm, dark tones. The orange-yellow evening sun dipped everything into something so cozy... sensual. Somehow into even a little erotic?

Y/N wants to work a lot with the light of the evening sun in this painting, which could be a little complicated if it is not suitable or if it is cloud-covered. But if you have put something into your head, especially in relation to your art, then you do everything you can do to go through it! Also the changing forces of nature cannot stop you from trying to realize your idea. Sometimes, you’re  someone who is quickly frustrated and dissatisfied with yourself as well, especially when something doesn't work as  you wants it to. Nevertheless when it comes to your passion, drawing and painting, you don’t let your idea go away, if you want something, you’ll find a way to make it happen. These are qualities that I know all too well of myself and thus my fascination about you only grows even more. The more time we spent together and I get to know more and more sides of you, the more attracted I became to you.

Your art means a lot to you and you’re quite tough in this respect, can not be overcome by the reproaches and the crushing criticism. That’s exactly what I admire so much about you, having the courage to stand up for personal passion. When I get criticized, all too often I think about really giving up on it, so that I don't have to endure all this criticism anymore. And then I look at you. How focused you are in this moment and carefully prepare for your next project. How you adjusts you easel to the right height, let your self-stretched canvas snap into place, spreads brushes of all sizes and shapes on the small side table next to you and prepares youracrylic colours. I swallow again, as I watched this happen. I am about to become one of your next artworks.

A little uncertainly I walk towards Y/N, the thin dressing gown tightly drawn around my body... never before have I felt so naked and vulnerable. This here is something else. I feel something about it... I feel something for you. For this pretty lady, who sprays her cheerfulness around her and could conjure a smile on the lips of even the most grumpy person. This joy almost kills you, completely engrossed this person and gives you the feeling of floating. You will get the feeling of being welcome at Y/N. To be accepted, with all the flaws and weaknesses that one has. She just smiles at you so gently and lovingly and just says, it's okay. It's okay to be the way you are. Imperfect.

"It is precisely this imperfect, this contradictory and also unpredictable thing that makes us human. That makes us an individual and also interesting. If we were really all as we are expected to be, it would be boring and monotonous. The surprise is only a real gift. Each of us is a very individual gift to a very specific addressee, who is the only one who can truly appreciate this gift. Only then did the recipient find the right person as his gift... Well, if the recipient knows about his gift...", Y/N once said with such a certain look at me, when we went out to dinner together in a restaurant in the evening to clarify some details. I wanted to help her find good contacts in Seoul and help her sell her works.

I can still remember it exactly... it was a quite... extraordinary evening. I was of course once again incredibly nervous and excited. At that time, I did not want to fully realize how much I already like you. Secretly, I had observed my opposite. Your positive and friendly disposition had turned my head all around... and in addition, this beautiful body and her elegant fingers, which already haunt me in the most erotic way unintentionally in my dreams. 

I could not prevent my dream pictures from shooting through my head, which is why my cheeks turned dark red in embarrassment. These fucking fantasies in my head! My eyes stare at the cutlery as if it were incredibly interesting because I didn't dare look up. There were scenes in my mind that made my ears turn red and I would’ve loved to hide behind the menu card. Your body, which made her look like a Greek goddess.

Naked, body covered in sweat, your body shook in lust, you sit up with a wonderful moan... You are on top of me, I could admire your beautiful, almost divine body as you sat on top of me... and rode me. This breathtakingly beautiful distorted face of yours, as if all this pleasure you feel is carved in marble... lids closed, your lips, swollen from all the kissing, are slightly opened which let    your lustful whimpering escape. This grace and elegance, as you rose from me and  then lowered yourself again... as your hands glide erratically over my stomach, searching for support... you suddenly threw your head back and clenched even more tightly around my length. The addicting sounds you’ve made... it’s like the most beautiful melody in my ears... squelching noises and even more of yourjuices gushing out of your sweet, so sweet pussy when you came...

An all-too-familiar laugh tore me out of my extremely indecent thoughts, which quite relieved me at first. Until I raised my head and not too far away I recognized no one but my best friend Kim Seokjin, who made very questionable hand signals in my direction. Oh my God, no! I knew that he had recently changed his job and got accepted for a position as a chef in a new restaurant... but not in this Restaurant! He will never let me life after he found out I was on a “Date” with a woman...

Even though Seokjin was on the other side of the restaurant, I could almost feel his smirk on my own skin. Fuck it, just pretend as if you do not know each other and hit him really hard tomorrow morning in the gym where we meet up for our work out. I quickly turned all my attention back to the person sitting opposite me and tried to ignore Seokjin as best I could.

It was only at the end of the evening, when I had said goodbye to Y/N, that I realized that this meeting had much more of a date than a "business dinner". How familiar we had talked with each other... how much I had thought about licking Y/N the drop from the chocolate sauce of her lava cake from her lips... how it would be... to kiss and touch you...

A noticeable blush has settled on my cheeks as I attended our first meeting together... or even Date in this Restaurant thought back. Four months had passed since then and I suffered from longing for you. You would never see me like I saw you. The reason you wanted to draw me was simply that she needed someone as a model. In addition to landscapes and cities, you want to devote herself gradually to more other motifs. And since I have been the first inquired. Your pleading eyes made me say yes. But I know that for me you have  no more than the feelings for a casual friendship. It hurts to see how you flirt  around so casually with all those other people. I would never be the gift for you as you are for me. If only the recipient would notice that there is a given heart laying in your hands...

"Ah, Jungkook! I’m glad that you're ready!", your cheerful and melodic voice cuts through the silence of the room and you’re walking towards me with excited shining eyes. "Come~," you say and lead me to the chaiselongue, which is placed in front of the large window. The soft, orange light of the evening sun falls on the wine-red fabric of the restored chaiselounge in baroque style. The upholstery has frames covered in gold and also the lion feet on which this historic furniture stands are gilded. Everything was decorated with so many Details, it looks so incredibly elegant and luxurious. On the left side there are some cushions in the same color and an elegant design is carved on the backrest, literally inviting to get used.

"Surely you know the movie 'Titanic', right? Do you remember the scene where Jack used charcoal pencils to draw an nude coal picture of Rose as she laid on the sofa? I would like to draw you in a similar position. I hope it's okay for you if I look at you more closely without a dressing gown... i want to get an overview of your body proportions.", you say, looking me straight in the eye. I notice that you’re very concerned about my privacy and does not want to overstep any of my personal boundaries without my consent. I nod slightly at first until I get a clear yes over my lips. She looks at me silently for a few seconds before reassuring me once again that we can always stop at any time if I feel uncomfortable. Especially your patience and mindfulness of my boundaries shows me how important it is for you as well and how I actually relax noticeably. Y/N smiles cheerfully at me and I slowly loosen the belt of the dressing gown and let the last garment slide to the ground. I feel her in-depth look at me... he is not uncomfortable... only... exciting... in a few different ways.

I swallow again and lie down on the chaiselongue as instructed. You correct my arm and leg position, also rearrange all of the cushions correctly. To my own relief, you put a red cloth over my crotch area. Not that I am ashamed of anything, I am more than comfortable with you already... I just have some worries that I will get a visible problem if I constantly feel your look on my bare skin.

 "It should be able to guess something, but not be allowed to see everything right away...", she whispered with a smile, before her fingertips unintentionally glide tenderly through my happy trail. One of your last smiles are... not really to interpret. Then you return to your easel.

* The Reader’s POV *

Carefully you sit down on your old painting stool, already quite worn out on the edges and stained with the most different types and tones of colors. It had originally been dark brown. You smile dreamily when you think back that you’re used to dangle your legs around when you were a little kid because it was way too big for you back then. For eighteen years now you have exactly this stool and this easel. They had been a gift from your grandfather for your fifth birthday. He had awakened the passion of painting and drawing in you and passed his talent on to you. A certain melancholy seized you when I thought back to how you used to paint your first real picture on canvas with your new easel in the old music room in your grandfather's country house. 

It had been the old, dusty grand piano, which must have been more than a hundred years old at that time. How the country house survived all these wars unscathed, you ask yourself to this day. Perhaps there had already been something magical about it at that time, which should remain untouched. Perhaps the small estate should remain an inconspicuous symbol of hope, the hope that at some point the sun and peace will return when the unbearable suffering and sorrow of this cruel time is over. When the wars were over and all those seeking protection who had fled to this country house were able to return to their own homes again. This house, this estate you can explain your childhood with a single word. Home.

You lift your thought-lost look from your empty, folded hands and look to Jungkook. He takes your breath away every time you see him. He is so special, such a wonderful and yet you firmly believe that he has not been chosen for you, such an ordinary woman as you are. He would belong to someone else with whom he would be happy, although he is the only one who was able to understand and read your works, the language in them. It... it had been such a beautiful moment when, six months ago, he stood in your newly opened studio, so absorbed by the painting of the forest of your childhood. All the other visitors had only looked at it briefly and smiled wearily at the fact that it was again only a landscape painting, but did not grasp what the story behind this work was. Why the artist chosed this very motif, to see, to feel what the creator wanted to communicate through the work. 

But Jungkook had been different. He had given the work, your personal heart, a chance to unravel the true meaning behind it. He did it slowly, bit by bit with his eyes... grasped with his whole mind and heart and finally let himself be influenced as a whole. You could tell from his body reactions that he felt exactly what you had felt when you painted it last summer. Longing. Infinite Longing. Mixed together with melancholy, a little homesickness and sorrow to a unique emotional color. The day you painted it was the last time you saw the house in your official possession. Your grandfather had left it to you. But unfortunately you lacked money, you had to pay some debts and with the best will you could not earn the money in other ways. So you had to sell it with a heavy heart. Your beloved birth and childhood home and the associated lands, you had to sell your true home away. The picture is the only thing left of it. And Jungkook was the only person who understood what you wanted to express with the painting. Longing. My Homesickness.

When all these sensations came upon him, he involuntarily clenched his hands tightly, his chest lifted and lowered quickly, his Adam's apple hopped repeatedly. His eyes were glassy. He experienced your longing as directly as you did. He... is so special. So infinitely amiable. He... he is the only person who’s able to read your true feelings in your works. He is able to read between your brush strokes.

So today you will try him... to paint a confession of love with this act. Maybe he could read... what you feel for him. Even if you know that you will probably never see him again. Because you would not be the recipient of his love and affection. He's just too... too... gifted for a simple artist like you. He would never be your gifted person.

Your gaze glides tenderly and caressingly over his body. Trying to absorb every little detail of his body, his charisma and his character into you and let it flow into the painting. Every birthmark you want to put on the canvas and hold on. You want to show Jungkook how beautiful he is. How godlike he lies before you on this majestic chaiselongue, how masculine and muscular he is, as if he wanted to embody an Adonis. You want to paint every muscle, even the smallest visible muscle, on the canvas in a realistic manner, you want to capture the strength and security that he conveys to you over and over again and make it visible to him. And yet... his gaze often corresponds to that of an intimidated, insecure fawn, which does not dare to want to get up on his legs on his own. The fear of falling again is too big. Through this painting you want to show Jungkook what he really is, what he represents for you and what you feel for him. He is... so contradictory. He is strong, godlike, powerful... and at the same time, so infinitely uncertain, vulnerable... almost pure.

Silence enters your little studio, only the regular breathing of the other and the muffled noise of the busy world outside the door could be heard. Here... here, it feels like time is standing still for a moment for the two of you. Your shared eternity had begun.

To your happiness that it is summer right now and it stays bright for a long time. Today you take more time than usual to mix colors. You want to mix a shade that perfectly matches his skin tone. You want to get the exact color of his black hair down onto the canvas, and the perfect brown for his beautiful eyes. The evening sun and the leaves of the huge treetops in front of the large window conjure up the most beautiful patterns on his immaculate body. A game of light and shadow. It seems to you that Jungkook's body, every single pore of his body has a tiny diamond, so that he begins to sparkle in the sunlight like an infinitely precious jewel. The evening sun warms him, lays a thin layer of sweat over his body. Every detail you try to bring to the canvas, every feeling, every movement of my heart, everything you feel for him, you want to bring to this canvas. You want to make him a masterpiece. Because for you, he is the most beautiful specimen, the only true crown of the human creation.

Some black strands have come loose from his manbun and have fallen on his forehead. It looks stunning, to see him like that. I had never seen him with a messy or even completely open hair... but even now these strands loosened from the braid make his facial features look so much softer and more relaxed. In it, the adult and strong man united with a young, vulnerable, shy boy. The result is... infinitely beautiful. He possesses both sides, so he makes the seemingly inexhaustible divine human being.

His eyes, drawing his eyes with that expression in them, cost you a lot of nerves. Too often you misunderstood this infinite longing that you find in his dark, brown eyes. Again and again you have to restrain yourself, not just to get up, to go over to him... and to kiss him.

This longing look you misinterpret is as longing as you own... according to your closeness, your touch, your affection... according to your love. Because you love him. You love everything about him, his sheepish laugh, the way of rubbing his neck shyly, the way he speaks and explains his point of views about things, how he smells... just everything... every blemish he blames on himself, you think it’s like an artwork on him. He is so perfectly imperfect that you just fell in love with him.

The sun has already set and only the last pink and purple streaks could be seen in the sky, with which the past day says goodbye to the world. One last time you can hear the velvety stroke of the brush over the canvas before you finally put the brush aside. It is finished. You have given everything that is in your power, used all of your artistic abilities and knowledge to the utmost and you have incorporated everything that you feel and think about into this artwork. And what you see put a smile on your lips, but also makes your pulse rise. What will Jungkook say when he looks at it? He will see it... can he read what you feel for him in it?

With a trembling voice, you call Jungkook and look at him one last time. The last time the sight of this male beauty was granted to you. One last time.

After Jungkook has wrapped himself in the dressing gown again, he slowly comes towards you and your easel. Your heart is throbbing as if it really wants to fearfully flight and jump out of your chest. Your body gets hot and cold at the same time and suddenly your hands get sweaty, the dried color on your skin mixes with the sweat to a uncomfortable mess in your palms, which somehow makes you even more nervous. Then he stands next to you. Looking at the canvas for the first time himself. The last brushstroke is still drying.

Once again there is silence, which makes you incredibly nervous and with every second that passes, you want to follow your instinct to escape. Jungkook's pupils are dilated and blown out, whether with bewilderment or horror, you can not recognize. One of his hands shoots up his mouth, he trembles all over his body. Suddenly you hear a suppressed, throaty sobbing. Surprised and a little appalled, you look at Jungkook, who has shut his eyes tightly and presses the palm of his hand even harder on his mouth, as if he wants to muffle every sound. Tears escape the corners of his eyes. This is a reaction... which you would not have expected...

Gently, mindful of any kind of resistance, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't sob, he doesn't whimper. He just cries. Tenderly, consolingly you hold him, without wanting to distress him. He literally presses his face into the crook of your neck. Salty tears drench your blouse, but it doesn't bother you. The reason why he had such an emotional outburst, you just don't understand. But still... it's okay. It is valid.

As he slowly calms down and his breathes becomes regularly again, he carefully lifts his head out of the crook of your neck and wipes the last tears out of his eyes dry in slight embarrassment. He slowly releases himself from your embrace until you finally stand silently in front of each other.

"What title you’ll give this artwork?", he asks softly, in a rough, throaty voice. You swallow . "It shall be called 'Der Geliebte'. ...it is german and translated it means... ‘The beloved’ ", you say barely audibly and lower your head. After this confession, you can no longer look him in the eyes.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath in and you're actually just waiting for a devastating response from him that would be like a death threat. But nothing of this happened. Instead, your chin is suddenly raised by his fingertips and you look into Jungkook's beautiful eyes. He bites his lower lip a little uncertainly,his own gaze falls on your pretty shaped lips. 

"Do you... do you allow me to kiss you?", he asks quietly... barely audible for you even though you’re standing so close to each other. He doesn't dare to look you into the eyes after such a question, he is too afraid that you deny his request. But you can hardly believe your luck, a high pitched ‘yes!’ flew over your lips and before you can control yourself, you press your own lips right onto his. They are incredibly soft and kiss you back in such a delightfully and endearing insecure and shy manner as no other could ever have done it.

Your heart beats full of joy and bliss and in your belly, the butterflies fly somersaults of all different kinds that your whole body began to tingle. Your mind cannot get a grasp of all this yet, but this... you don't need any more of it at this moment anyway.

The kiss is tender, shy and somewhat uncertain from both sides. Jungkook is very insecure and shy, but before he can escape like a frightened deer again, you put your arms around his neck and let your hands rest in the nape of his scalp. Again and again you detach yourselves from each other only for the fraction of a second to get a breath of air into your lungs in order to find each other lips again... until you stopped for a few seconds.

"I like you... I like you really, really much, Jungkook... I even dare to say that I fell on love with you.", you mutter softly against his lips. His shy, happy smile was too much for you, so you immediately kiss him again. Perhaps because of the sheer joy and maybe of the certainty that he feels the same for you, the next kiss turns into something more passionate than before...

#bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts pov #bts fluff #kpop fanfics #kpop bts #jeon jungkook #bts friends to lovers #bts smut #bts x artist! reader #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook x y/n #shy jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts angst #bts scenarios #kpop smut #jungkook fluff #freinds to lovers au #soulmate au bts #fluff attack #by tipsydipsydo

[taetaespeaches]

“Wait, what did you just ask me?”

taehyung x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.2K

a/n: Hi lovelies!!! Remember, we are not going to talk about how self-indulgent this is, ok? Ok. Tae and Peaches y’all... they’re my babies, what can I say? I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :)) 

As you studied the brushstrokes you had placed upon the canvas, Taehyung was lying on the floor in front of you, wearing a smile, his eyes on you. Sitting cross-legged a couple feet away from him, you looked overtop the painting, sneaking a glance at the man. Your lips curved up as you caught him staring, your gaze quickly returning to the work in progress.

“How is it looking?” He asked you, his voice low, coated in affection as he expressed his fond curiosity.

Cocking your head to the side, you scrunched your nose in disapproval. “You’re prettier in real life,” you smiled, Taehyung ducking his head as his grin widened. Licking his lips, appearing shy, he looked back to you. Sitting back, resting on your hands as your arms supported you, you watched Taehyung carefully. “I’m not sure I’ll ever properly capture your beauty, Dearest.”

“Let me see,” he told you gently, propping himself up on his elbow, resting his cheek on his palm. Giving him a skeptical look, he chuckled lowly. “What’s that look?”

Without answering him, you turned the easel around so he could see the painting. As he stared at your work, you watched him closely, noticing how the smile slowly morphed into a considerate inspection, his face relaxing as his gentle eyes scanned the strokes and colors. When his adoring gaze returned to you, you grinned, Taehyung simply staring at you for a moment, his orbs somehow intense and gentle all at once.

“It’s the most beautiful one yet,” he finally spoke, you sighing as he smiled knowingly.

“You say that every time,” you whined, “that’s why I was hesitant to show you.”

“What’s wrong with saying that? It’s the truth,” he defended through his amused smile.

“You’re just in love with me and everything I do,” you complained mockingly, Taehyung moving his arm out from under his head so he could drop his head to the floor in laughter.

“Of course I am,” he confirmed dramatically before rolling onto his back and turning his head toward you to catch you smiling fondly at him. “But you really do get better with every painting,” he continued. “Every new piece you do is my new favorite.”

Leaning forward, you placed your slightly paint covered hand on the floor of his art studio and slid it toward him, Taehyung quickly bringing his hand forward to clasp overtop yours. “Thank you,” you whispered shyly.

“Remember when you wouldn’t even attempt to paint because you didn’t think you could do it?” He asked you with a smile that matched yours as he intertwined your fingers. Nodding at him, he shook his head at the thought. “So silly. Now look at you,” he nodded to your freshly painted portrait of the man you loved. “You’re incredible.”

“Well, you inspire me,” you pointed out, the man shaking his head as if he was negating your comment, his fingers toying with yours. “No, you do,” you nodded, your tone seeping with sincerity. “In so many ways.”

The both of you stared at each other for a moment before the man sat up on his knees and crawled toward you, your smile growing bigger and bigger the closer he got. Appearing in front of your face, he easily swooped in and stole a kiss, your painted hands grabbing the sides of his face to hold him there as you deepened the action.

“I’m in love with you and everything you do too,” you suddenly mumbled against his mouth, making the man chuckle. “For the record.”

“I know,” he nodded, pressing his soft lips to yours once more, giving you a sweet peck. “Do you want to go for a drive, Peaches?” He asked, you letting out a single breathy laugh.

“Are you driving?” You asked teasingly, Taehyung giggling as he kissed your cheek a few times quickly before nodding, his fluffy hair brushing against your face. “Sure,” you added simply.

Taehyung drove you out of the city to one of his secret spots, the drive relatively quiet as you both simply enjoyed the presence of one another, you turning on old playlists as you relived the memories the songs evoked. There was little traffic at 11 pm on a Thursday night, only a few headlights shining into the car and illuminating your boyfriend’s face every now and then.

During the drive, you admired the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel to the beat of the music as he lowly sang the songs. Resting your hand on his shoulder, you occasionally toyed with the strands of hair that hung against his neck, tickling his skin and making the man squirm and giggle boyishly.

When he pulled off the road and parked the car, he turned to face you, meeting your smirk. “Wanna get out?” He asked, you nodding as you undid your seatbelt. The man was always prepared for a spontaneous outing, spreading the blanket that he kept in his backseat out across the hood of the car. Within a few moments, you were cuddled up against each other on the hood as you stared up at the sky, appreciating the night time air.

“Do you have your phone?” He asked suddenly, you looking up from his chest to see his features, his eyes on you. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the device, handing it over to him. A few seconds passed by before music started filling the atmosphere, your recognition of the song making you sit up to shoot your boyfriend a look of surprise.

“Is this the playlist?” You asked him, the man smiling fondly. The song was Make Out in My Car, giving away that he had turned on the first playlist he had ever made you since you started seeing each other romantically. The playlist he made you to confess his love for you in the diner you were well acquainted with. “You’re so soft tonight,” you giggled, Taehyung wrapping his arm around you to pull you back down against his frame.

Burying your face in his neck, you kissed his skin softly, the man swallowing as if he was nervous, his adam’s apple bobbing against your lips. However, your own growing nerves made it difficult for you to pay as much attention to his apparent edginess as you normally would.

Because for a few weeks, you had been thinking a lot about your relationship with Taehyung, and your future with the man. There was no doubt between the both of you, and really anyone who came into contact with you both, that you two were devoted to each other. Spending your lives together had been the hope and intention for as long as you’d known the man. Though the terms of the relationship had changed throughout the years, your commitment to each other as friends, and eventually as lovers, was always there.  

And although you never gave marriage much consideration, never really concerning yourself with the tradition and idea behind it, Tae had always wanted marriage for as long as you’d known him. And you wanted to commit yourself to your love for him, the love that existed between the two of you, in the sincerest way you could think of. You didn’t start the night with the intention of asking him the question, but it felt right in the moment. It was time.

Mustering up your courage as Bruno Major’s Easily played into the atmosphere, you kissed his neck one more time before letting out a slow exhale. “Hey, Tae?” You called for his attention quietly, the man tucking his chin into his neck to look down at you. Humming in response to you, you pulled away from him just slightly so you could look at him properly. “I want to preface this by assuring you that I’m not asking you this just for you, but because I’ve been thinking a lot and, I realized I want this too. With you,” you slightly rambled, the man chuckling nervously as he stared at you in confusion.

“What are you on about, Peaches?” He asked, his eyes searching your face, bouncing from feature to feature, as if he studied you enough, he would figure it out for himself.

“Ok, I can see your nervous, and you shouldn’t be,” you smiled, a small chuckle slipping from your lips.

“But you look nervous,” he giggled, his hand finding your waist as he gave you a comforting squeeze. “That makes me nervous.”

“I don’t know how to do this, I’ve been thinking about it for like a month now and I just realized I have no idea what to say,” you mostly spoke to yourself as Taehyung watching you curiously, appearing intrigued and enamored by your vocal thought process.

“Just say it then,” he told you, trying to calm you.

“Just say it?” You repeated, the man nodding. “I feel like it needs some flare though, like-”

“Peaches,” he said slightly sternly as his anxiousness grew, though he wore a small smile. “Just say it, baby.”

“Will you marry me?” You blurted out, his face completely unaffected as you stared at him with wide frightened eyes. “I mean-”

“Wait, what did you just ask me?” He suddenly realized, his eyes popping wide open as he sat up a bit.

“Uh,” you held back a laugh as you watched his features display the way his mind slowly comprehended the words that just entered his ears. “Will you marry me?” You asked again, this time more collected. “I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone, and I still don’t totally understand marriage and like what the point of it is but I know I want to be married to you,” you explained to him, your gaze set on his as he stared at you, nearly unblinking.

“You do?” He questioned, shocked by your sudden confession though his boxy smile finally beamed at you as a shy giggle slipped from his lips.

“I do,” you assured him fondly. “Because it’s you. It just feels right.”

Without another word, your boyfriend was sliding off the hood of the car, leaving you behind as he swung the driver side car door open.

“Tae?” You called out to him, your mind full of confusion, but also amusement. “Tae! What the hell are you doing?” You watched through the windshield as he lunged across the console and flung the glove box open. “You know, if you want to say no, you can just say no,” you joked. “You don’t have to make a break for it while I’m still on the hood of the car,” you giggled teasingly, though your nerves were definitely rising by the second, not because you actually thought he’d say no but rather simply the element of the unknown.  

Tossing the manual onto the seat, he grabbed something and within another moment, he was back outside, holding his hands out in front of him towards you. Your gaze bounced around his face for a moment before your orbs traveled to the item he held between his fingers.

“What the fuck is that?” You asked in shock, your eyes set on the open ring box displaying the most stunning ring you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, Tae.”

“I’ve had this for a few months,” he admitted, your eyes immediately flickering to his face in surprise. “I didn’t want you to marry me just because I want it,” he explained with a small smile. “I wanted you to want it too and so, I just never asked,” he shrugged as you covered your mouth with your hands. “I know we’re spending our lives together with or without this ring or a document.”

“Kim Taehyung,” you muttered into your hands with a small laugh.

“I never expected you to propose to me though,” he chuckled fondly.

“Well I did,” you pointed out, the man nodding as he dropped his head to the side in laughter.

“You did,” he agreed just as you began sliding across the hood toward him. When you reached him, you swung your legs off the edge, opening them so Taehyung could slot himself between them. Leaned toward you, he pushed his forehead against yours as he sighed in content, his breath fanning across your lips.

“You never answered my proposal,” you teased him, Taehyung scoffing in your face as his free hand settled on your cheek. Pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, you scrunched it in response.

“Was the ring not a good enough answer?” He questioned jokingly, you humming in thought.

“Maybe you want your own ring,” you pondered with a smirk, Taehyung’s boxy grin growing as he shook his fringe in your face slightly to tickle you.

“Yes, I will marry you,” he assured you, making you giggle just as he kissed your lips softly. “That is, if you’ll marry me,” he added, mumbling against your mouth.

“I will marry you,” you told him easily, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as you deepened the kiss, the playlist still humming in the background.

As you both got caught up in each other, as you always did, the ring box ended up closed and discarded on the hood of the car, the token of his love and your commitment not making it to your finger until a bit later that night. After all, you weren’t in it for a ring, or a label, or a document. It was him. It always had been Taehyung. And it would be him forever.

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung fic #taehyung drabble #taehyung scenario #bts #bts taehyung #bts v #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fic #bts drabble #bts scenario #bts reactions #v fluff #kpop fanfic #engagement fics

[physicalturian]

[G] Gentle summer - Rengoku Kyojuro x GN!Reader - Part 4

[Contains spoilers from the movie, and the manga] [No pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18]

Words : 9 671

Archive of our own

Warnings : none

--- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -

“I didn’t know you were that good at drawing,” It was Uzui, he was trying hard to keep his voice down, but the man was loud by nature, just like Rengoku. He did not receive an answer from the person he was talking to. “Maybe add-“ The sound of a hand being slapped echoed, “There was no need for such violence,” He said, almost whining. But he had too much of an ego to whine, he simply complained. More was said but I was not awake enough to understand it fully, nor to comprehend what was going on. I even thought for a moment, they’re going to leave, but that was too much to ask from the Sound Pillar and whoever was with him.

At first, when there was no more sound, I tried to fall back asleep by getting more comfortable on my pillow. As I slowly fell back into slumber, I was startled awake once more by a delicate voice, “Don’t do that! You will mess it up,” my surprise did not stop there when a hand squeezed my hip gently, followed by a warm breath on my face, “Keep your eyes closed, I really want to have a nice picture of you,” If I hadn’t been told to keep my eyes closed, they would have widened the second he spoke. I needed to reply, but while his lips were very close to my head and hidden, I believe I was on his shoulder.

Making it seem like I was moving in my sleep, I angled my head slightly towards his, my mouth against the fabric of his outfit. “You are holding me,” I mumbled, not knowing what I wanted to convey. It felt nice, it also felt daring for a man who had no shame in delaying a simple kiss. Did I want him to let go? No. Did I feel embarrassed? Perhaps lightly, yes, after all we had company. But what I really wanted was for him to tell me why he was holding me, or maybe even hold me tighter. I was fully aware that those thoughts were not the most appropriate when we were not even together and even less so with spectators in the room.

“And you are very comfortable,” He whispered back, a smile in his voice but I couldn’t see his face. I felt his nose nuzzle my hair, his lips closer to my ear now, “And I can’t really let go, your legs are tangled with mine,” I gripped the fabric tighter, to hold myself back from getting up and moving right away. It was not appropriate to be this close, I should be getting off of him and leaving, but I did not want to. No matter how inappropriate it was, I could not feel more serene in his embrace. “Oh it looks good! We should wake them up,” “No, no, they look so adorable like that! Let them sleep a little bit longer. Sanemi’s gone, so there won’t be any ruckus.” The gentle voice replied to Uzui.

“Well, I’m off too. See you ‘round, young girl,” For a moment, I thought they would be leaving. Those words indicated so, but instead, there was a pause, followed by the soft voice asking Uzui to stop, which he did not. A moment after, his voice was very close to us, “Wake-“ the Sound Pillar’s words were cut short, I sat up quickly, with wide eyes and noticed Kyojuro’s hand around the grey-haired man’s throat as he sat up with a chuckle, his eyes were not displaying such emotions, “Don’t. You were loud enough the first time, Tengen, for us to hear you,” His hand never leaving the man’s throat, he glanced behind him and said, “Welcome back Mitsuri! Thank you for the drawing, would you mind leaving it here?” She nodded quickly, her cheeks flaring up as she hurried off with a smile.

When the Fire Pillar’s attention returned to Uzui, his gaze was once more light-hearted as he let go and smiled, “You’re a bastard, I like you-“ Uzui croaked, his own hand on his throat as he tried to make it less painful, “But you two should fuck already, it’s painful to see-“ Still with a laugh, Rengoku got up and stood right in front of the annoying pillar, his gaze never leaving his as their chests pressed against one another, “A great advice I will not heed!” He said confidently. The energy dripping from his tone so early in the morning threw me off, but I couldn’t help but observe the interaction. He then slapped a hand on the Pillar’s shoulder and chuckled, “After all, you are not the Pillar of Love, I would rather ask Mitsuri,”

As he guided him to the door, the Sound Pillar complained, “You know I have three wives? I know shit man, I know how to please-“ In a more serious note, Rengoku brought Uzui’s head to his level by pushing the back of his head forward, “I will not ruin this by rushing it, understood?” I couldn’t quite catch what he whispered to the Sound Pillar, but I saw him let go once more as he laughed, “So, thank you for the offer, but I will do as I please. Now, leave and be careful on your mission, friend,” He patted his back to encourage him, then pushed him outside before sliding the door closed.

There were a few complaints when Rengoku wouldn’t open the door again, we waited for the grey-haired man to stop before talking once again. “That was rather brutal,” I remarked, talking about his actions towards the married man. Kyojuro laughed softly as he picked the drawing from the floor and walked up to me, sitting back on his futon, “Well, he startled you,” He shrugged, adding, “Maybe I was also startled and reacted instinctively,” he then put the drawing on my lap then looked up at me with a grin, I quirked a brow tiredly, asking him what he wanted.

“Do you think she got your drool on the paper? That would be very detailed,” He asked with a smug smile, I quickly brought my hand to my mouth and wiped what I believed would be wet but it was completely dry, “I do not drool-“ “But for a second you believed me, that was so cute,” He cooed, making my cheeks heat up as I averted my eyes from his bright ones and looked back at the drawing Mitsuri had done. She had quite the skills, and her brushstroke was so detailed it brought her art to life. There were no colors, but she put more pressure with her coal in certain areas, giving it different tones. It was beautiful. “I am keeping it,” I stated as I delicately placed it on the floor next to me.

The moment it was down, Rengoku threw himself on my lap to grab it and brought it back in front of us, “We should ask Mitsuri to make another one! I want to keep it too,” He threw me a glance, his gentle gaze turning into a smug expression for a second before he leaned in, his cheek against mine, “Unless we keep it here and make this our room, I think it would be better than making her draw another one, don’t you think?” Letting my hand slide to his, I took the paper from his hand and put it to the side as I slowly turned around to look at him. With our face this close, I could only hope he would not move and let me kiss him. But that was wishful thinking.

Before I could fully face him, his hand was on my mouth. I think he must have figured out what I was about to do when I did not say anything for what was probably too long for him. He now had a bright grin on his lips as he looked at me with a certain pride while slowly making me face him. Is he flattered by what I tried to achieve? I wondered, still looking at his beautiful smile. Then he leaned in, our nose touching. I tried to pry his hand away from my mouth, but he was not moving, instead he pressed a kiss on the back of his hand where my lips would have been and laughed softly, “I love your determination, a very bold move…” He then rested his forehead against mine.

“You’re not making this easy at all… You don’t listen much either, but it’s alright. I will be the patient one,” He chuckled softly before kissing my cheek and standing up, his hand leaving warmth on my face not only from the heat of his skin but also from the embarrassment I felt at his gentle rejection. It was not entirely a rejection, but more of a delay, once more. “You will forgive me for acting recklessly, I find it hard to focus on anything when all I think about is your lips on mine, Kyojuro,” For a moment, he almost stepped forward but only his upper half moved; his feet kept him grounded as he threaded his fingers through his hair and laughed softly.

The redness on his cheek brought a certain delight to my person as he looked to the side, laughing nervously again. It gradually turned into a louder one as he tried to cover his mouth but could not keep quiet. Had I said something that funny that he had to burst out laughing? Thinking it was slightly annoying to be laughed at, I stood up and put away my futon, trying hard to ignore the laughing man. When I was about to leave, he grabbed my hand and with a red face asked me to forgive him, “I am so sorry- It is the nerves! I am so relieved I am not the only one whose mind is plagued by the thought of being alone together,” he slowly calmed down, his hands cradling my face but keeping a certain distance.

“I can see we are dancing around one another, but hearing you say that brings me such relief, I have no explanation, but it feels very nice,” The Pillar said with confidence, the bright smile back on his face. If it feels nice simply thinking about it, you should kiss me, is what I thought. Instead, I pulled his hands away from my face. “Good, enjoy that feeling while it lasts because this was my last attempt at making you cave before the festival, Kyojuro. From now on, I will be like a mountain: I will be unmoving and will not bow, understood?” I huffed, a short smile drawn on my lips to show that, while I was being serious, I was also being partially playful.

The man’s eyes widened at first before softening as he nodded, “Very well! I admire that, a strong will is very important, yes,” He paused and placed a hand on my head, letting his slide to the back of it before tilting it slightly, “But how strong is the mind when the body is desperate?” His tone was low and cunning at the same time, I felt shivers run down my spine. I could almost hear my resolve shatter for a moment, but I quickly got a hold of myself when Rengoku let go of me, his fingers trailing down my jaw before dropping at his side. “Oh well! We shall see, don’t you agree?” He asked once more with that stupid, beautiful, smile on his face.

Composing myself, I dusted off nothing from my attire and held my head high, “Yes, we shall. I am sure we both have things to do, I will see you then,” With a curt nod, I left the room at a very self-aware pace; I wanted to scurry off but doing so would clearly show how into my head that man had gotten. I had some dignity to keep, a simple head-tilt and an almost kiss would not be the end of me. Shaking my head, I took a controlled breath and cooled down, calming my beating heart in the process. It should not be hard to spend an entire day without thinking of the Fire Pillar, to not feel the excitement for what was to come tomorrow nor to remind myself of how good it felt to be held by him.

Now that’s having the opposite effect of what I’d expected, I thought as I entered the kitchen. I was glad to be greeted by the girls upon arrival, they managed to change my mind by giving me a few things to do around. As I was doing them, Sumi called out my name, effectively bringing my attention back to her, “Genya came back and is being treated, I also believe the Sound Pillar and the Wind Pillar both left a few moments ago,” The black-haired girl hummed, thinking of what other information she had, “The Love Pillar came in earlier today, but she will have to leave a bit later in the afternoon,” She then gave me a curt nod as a way to tell me she was done.

Thinking for a moment, I asked her to wait before rushing off, “Would you mind warning Kyo- The Fire Pillar that the Love Pillar will be leaving soon, I am sure he would love to catch up with her while she is here,” I paused, hesitating a moment. The little girl was looking at me with insistence, trying to have me spit out what I was holding back. Her lips twisted into a smirk, catching me off guard to see such an expression on her lips, “Why don’t you go tell him yourself? Aren’t you two lovers? Did you two have a fight? Aoi won’t kill you for slipping away a few minutes to tell him, I can make sure of that!” She flexed her biceps to show she was serious, making me chuckle as I lowered her arms.

“No fight, nothing happened. Today is a day I am focused, and he is very distracting,” I explained with a short laugh. The youngling did not miss a beat as she brought her hands to her cheeks, grinning from ear to ear, “Because you love him? The way you look at him-“ “What is it about the way I look at him? I always look at everyone, it is called being observant,” I huffed, making the entire kitchen laugh. Looking up, I saw the two other young girls had paused their activity and were looking at Sumi and I. It was Kiyo who spoke up, “Love has created heroes, but even more idiots,” She quirked a brow in emphasis.

I gasped a laugh. They were in a great mood today, at least in a mood to tease me which I hoped they would do to the fool I had taken a liking to. It would not have been fair if I was the only one to undergo their playfulness. “Well, if I had known you were both in such a good mood, I would not have opened my mouth,” I laughed again. Kiyo stood in front of the doorway, stopping me from leaving. It surprised me how much nerve those little girls had today, but I was willing to go with the flow for a bit longer until it was too much. “We will deliver the message,” She said with a serious expression, her head dipping forward as she placed a hand on her chest comedically. Slowly she raised it and grinned mischievously, “If you promise to let us help you get prepared on your wedding day!”

Stammering, I gently pushed past the girl, making them all laugh at how my face had heated up, “No such thing will happen anytime soon-“ “What thing?” I heard his voice right next to me as he made his way up to me, standing by my side as his hand naturally slid to mine, holding it tight. Speaking louder than the girls, I said, “Nothing, they are feeling rather impish today,” I threw them a glance that told them to keep quiet, but their smile did not leave their face.

Naho strolled up to Rengoku and looked up at him innocently, “Will you two get married?” she asked, her eyes jumping from him to me. The man did not falter one bit as he tightened his hold on my hand and brought me closer to him, “We have yet to talk about it!” Pressing a kiss on the back of my hand, he then let go and crouched by her side and continued, just as confidently, “When we’re decided, I will be sure to tell you girls-“ He threw me a glance, his eyes piercing mine with an expression I couldn’t decipher as they trailed down to my body before looking back at me. He quickly looked back at the young girl, “You could help us on the big day if we ever-“

I could not listen to this anymore. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I told him about Mitsuri then hurried away. Why am I upset? What even are the odds of us getting married? Why am I even considering it? To do so, we’d need to come out victorious in the fight against Muzan, we’d have to both survive… So, why think about future projects? That was too hopeful, I did not want to hope too much. I was fine with giving him- us, a chance, but thinking of a future where everything was fine seemed too idealistic. And yet, I could not bear the thought of seeing his expression decompose if I told him it would not happen, because we were not sure. And it’s that uncertainty that made my stomach churn.

An uncertainty that stopped me everywhere I thought I could go. The very same uncertainty that almost made me step away from this pure happiness this man brought me. Only hope could balance uncertainty, but hope did not work well with reality, with facts. It entered one’s mind when one felt like the odds were against them, when one was ready to gamble on their life. I did not want that, I wanted to know our efficiency, how well everyone was trained, I wanted plans, hope would not lead us anywhere without the necessary fighting power.

“Cheer up, I don’t want to beat your ass if you’re all sad and shit,” I had not realized my feet had brought me to the dojo until I heard his voice. I was sure I’d find Genya there but was still startled upon hearing it. “Oi, did you lose your damn tongue when I was away or something? You never were the talkative type but- shit-“ When I interrupted him by throwing him on the ground he grunted in pain and pulled me down with him, this was a familiar greeting. Gyomei had taught us to stay on our toes, and if I was able to get the best of Genya, it meant he had let his guard down.

He proceeded to insult me as we fought, wrestled would be a better term seeing our bodies on the ground. I was in a worse position than him considering my attire, but I still managed to keep control for a while. The scarred man did not talk much, except to swear and grunt in pain, I only mimicked the latter. It felt good to let out some steam in a rawer way. While talking with Gyomei had greatly helped me with the decision I had to take, I still did not like the situation I was in. I felt like I had no control over anything, like I had to rely on what some would call fate which seemed foolish, and yet, the longer I thought about it, the more inclined I was to do so. Fate, hope, the future, all those things were out of my control, and I hated it.

Fighting like this with Genya alleviated the pressure I felt in my chest, it felt exquisite to only be focused on the present. The only things I had to think of was hitting, dodging and keeping the upper hand, it did not seem too hard until the man started fully using his force instead of practicing. I was good, I was aware of my skills and of who taught me, being trained by a Pillar was a great honor. But it’s that same man that taught Genya everything, the only difference between him and I was that he had anger to spare. I did not.

As we wrestled on the tatami, I could feel it burn my skin from some of the movements I made. Almost the entire fight I managed to keep him off of me, somehow, until he flipped me around violently once again and brought a wooden sword to my throat, grinning like a maniac. His eyes were flooded with adrenaline, his hands were gripping the wooden item enough that his hand turned white. He was holding back from pressing it further in but did not move from sitting on my stomach. I could see he was struggling to keep himself in check, as if he needed the bloodshed, as if I had been a real enemy and he was trying hard not to take me down.

This was perhaps one of the reasons why people in the mansion feared the Shinazugawa brothers, their thrill of fighting, the way their eyes lit up with excitement when engaging in combat. Their constant frown and sheer strength must have played a role in the fear people felt, too; some would also say their aura was aggressive, but they had never seen them fight. And that was a sight to be frightened of, nothing like their powerful stroll inside the mansion.

“You lose,” He spat, sweat beads rolling down his forehead as blood colored his nostrils. I suppose I did manage to get a few hits on him, perhaps that’s what brought the anger in. Pressing the blunt blade against my throat, he gritted through his teeth, “Say it, you fucking lost,” I could see in his eyes he was too into it when the pressure only increased, I tried to push him off, but he did not budge. I could hardly speak if he pressed a blade to my throat, and slowly I could feel my heart racing in my ears from the lack of air my brain was getting. When I tried to utter the words he wanted to hear, only a wheeze escaped.

When I tapped his side with force, he said I should give up because I had lost. I tried hard to keep my calm, things like this often happened when I would train with him, and they often would be under control. Except Gyomei had to intervene during those… losses of perspective. And this time, he was not around. Whatever I would do, the scarred man would not move, his eyes were lost somewhere and I did not know what he was seeing but it was not his friend in front of him, it was not me. As my vision started to blur, I suddenly felt the weight on my windpipe leave, then heavy steps echoed.

“I don’t think that’s how training works, young Genya!” Rengoku’s voice rang close by, as gentle hands helped me sit up, it was Mitsuri. She checked my throat for a moment, while Kyojuro was holding Genya’s arms behind his back. The Fire Pillar called my name in half-panic, half-confidence, it was an odd mix, but I managed to let out a sore chuckle. “How do you-'' Knowing he was asking me how we’d usually handle such situations, I stood up and grabbed the glass of water that was set near the door, ignoring Mitsuri’s words as she told me to stay put. “Like this,” I then splashed the water on Genya’s face, effectively bringing him back to us.

He stopped struggling against Rengoku’s hold so I signaled the latter to let go, knowing he had calmed down. Before I could even say a word, Genya rushed off to stand outside on the veranda, not feeling comfortable around so many people after such an event.

While I was still standing, my eyes locked on the back of the younger slayer and as I pondered what I should tell him to reassure him; my vision got blocked by the familiar kimono in front of me. “Songbird, are you alright?” his hands gently trailed from my hand to my neck where he winced, as if feeling the pain with me, upon seeing the damage. I thought my heart had calmed down after their arrival, but once Kyojuro was next to me, no matter what I tried there was no way to calm my heartbeat. “Can you talk?” He asked, I nodded in response. Laughing, he then gestured with his head for me to go on, “I can’t be sure you’re alright until I hear your pretty voice!” He stated with a smile on his lips.

With my hands in front of me, I asked him to lower his tone. I was fine with compliments, but the others did not have to hear them. “I can talk, Kyojuro. I am fine, it simply got a bit out of hand,” His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin on my neck, his eyes riveted on it too, lost in thought. I was about to reassure him once more when he looked around quickly, then leaned in and pressed a kiss on my neck before pulling back and smiling kindly. My first reaction was to gasp, my second was to pull him closer and to kiss him. The second did not happen. I was too shocked, positively so, to do anything. He seemed to have been enjoying my baffled reaction when he tilted his head forward once again, asking with that smug smile of his, “Shall I do it again?”

I stared into his golden orbs for a moment, trying to find the proper words to express myself. Yes, do it again, please. Let’s not wait until tomorrow, kiss me. Those were the first thoughts that crossed my mind, followed by, I am willing to pull you to the side and make you understand how much I want you. I want to turn this cheerful smile into one of pleasure, but that was too much too soon. Still looking at him, I thought it was a lot of almost indecent actions for a man that held himself back from kissing me simply for not having given me flowers. But I played along, I had said so this very morning that I was going to be unmoving, and a mountain I would be. “You are more mischievous than I thought you were, but I will not fall for it,” I whispered, “No matter how beautiful you are at this very moment,”

He stared at me in awe, which left me puzzled. I am sure my words did not bring such an impact on him, if anything it made a playful spark of his falter before burning even brighter. Not knowing what to do, I changed topic, “You should have let Mitsuri intervene, if Genya had fought back harder he could have hurt you and you have not entirely recovered yet,” I explained, crouching to grab the wooden sword from the ground to tidy up the mess we had made. When I rose from the ground, Kyojuro asked me to look at him and took my hand in his.

Humming inquisitively, I asked him wordlessly what was going on. His face reddened at first, his gaze askance before settling on mine, “You rushed off earlier,” he trailed off. It was unlike him to act in such a way, but I felt my heartbeat rapidly increasing. This was not the time to have that talk, I was about to tell him so when he said a bit louder, more confidently, “Do you not wish to get married? Ever?” I quickly covered his mouth, his eyes widening in surprise. It made two of us, two people caught off guard.

“Do not put words in my mouth. I have never said that” I sighed as I slowly uncovered his mouth before continuing, “Now is not the time to have this conversation. Would it be alright to talk about it this evening? Without people around…” Seeing how worry was painted all over his face, I wanted to relieve that worry by kissing it away, but I held back. Instead, I glanced around; Mitsuri was outside and Genya had his back turned, it seemed like the perfect occasion to do what he did to me. Using my kimono sleeve, I held it with my other hand and brought it to his mouth, covering it then pressed my lips against his. In comparison to his hand, which covered all sensations, I could feel how his lips moved behind the fabric, and it brought butterflies to my stomach.

When I pulled away, cheeks aflame and body a few degrees higher, he hummed in agreement. Worry had left his beautiful face and pride was now on his features, “Tonight, then. I will take care of your bruises too-“ He paused and looked at me with a knowing look, at least a knowledge he was convinced of having when he spoke his words, “I am starting to think you want me to take care of you,” I had to laugh in response, shaking my head slightly, “Were you not the one bedridden a few days ago? I am perfectly fine, if anything I will have to take a look at you,” He laughed too, running his hand through my hair gently as he stepped away and took a good look at me.

Quirking a brow at him, I waited for him to speak. His tone did not match his words when he said enthusiastically, “Disheveled and sweaty suits you! I can’t wait to see more of it,” Then as he was about to leave, he turned around, glad to see my flustered expression when he added, “That was cheating, what you did with the sleeve…” He beamed, his cheeks turning a few shades darker, “I liked it,” Rolling my eyes I told him to go, only to have him burst out laughing, his head thrown back as he left.

Waving both the Pillars goodbye, I closed the door behind them and called Genya’s name. I’ll admit it was a bit stern, which might have been the reason why he only grunted in response. Repeating his name without the strictness, he said my name in the same tone as mine. “Are you pouting?” I asked in surprise. That got him going since he stood up at a scaring speed to stand in front of me, “I don’t fucking pout, the Pillars ruined the fun” Chuckling, I pushed him away, “I do not believe we have the same definition of fun. Mine does not entail almost passing out, yours?” Clicking his tongue against his lips, he turned around and went to grab the wooden sword, his frown never leaving his face. I grabbed one too, in case he started something out of the blue, and waited.

“What’s with the orange one? When did that happen?” He nodded my way to get me to talk. “I will take the apology first, rooster. Only then will I be willing to gossip,” I huffed a laugh as I removed my haori to have at least a little more movement. At the same time, the man tried to punch me. Before he could touch me, I slowed his action by wrapping my haori around his wrist and forcefully turning him around to hold his arm behind his back. “Or perhaps you should talk to me first? Maybe try Gyomei? You seem a lot more angry than usual, Genya,” I stated as I let go of his arms and kicked his back to push him far away from me.

He almost stumbled but used the wooden sword to balance himself as he straightened his back, “Talking never helps, just uncap the fucking lid and let the pressure out or something,” He grumbled, his eyes were darker than usual and for a moment I could almost see how pained his mind was from how his look was clouded by confusion and anger. I found solace in knowing he was not too far gone since I could read his expression but also because we were still fighting bare-handed or with a sword. Those weapons were not his best play, if he really wanted to fight me he would have taken his shotguns. It meant everything was under control. For now.

“I disagree. I find it quite helpful to talk. Surely, Gyomei could enlighten you somehow. If you need a hug-“ he huffed sardonically before I could finish talking and ran towards me, “I don’t need that,” While it pained me to say so, I sometimes preferred dealing with Sanemi than Genya. The older brother knew when to close his mouth and sit down, he knew there were things that needed to be done. Genya did not care much. He rarely got wounded, which meant he rarely needed care, but it also meant he was always up for intense training. Gyomei had ingrained in our head that training hard mentally and physically gave great results; Clearly the rooster-like man aimed for the latter considering his little care for interactions.

Dodging his hit, we then started sparring without any more words. Although I would mostly describe it as putting up with his tantrum more than anything else. Since this was the only language he understood, I thought I’d take the opportunity to still have a conversation with him, even though he seemed determined to take me down. I was surprised by how much energy he put into this without even getting sweaty, or tired. “If we are going to do this-“ I dodged a hit and continued, a bit out of breath, “I will make the best of it,” I swore under my breath when he almost hit the back of my head with how fast he was but managed to avoid it.

“Since when are you two together-“ He insulted me when my knuckle grazed his cheek as he took a step back, I held back a laugh and replied, “We are not yet together. It is called courting,” I stated as we exchanged blows a few more times. His face did not brighten, he was still as sour as when I entered the dojo, except his eyes seemed a bit clearer. He was listening, he was not just being a feral man. “I am surprised you are surprised, I was starting to think everyone in this building knew about my… infatuation for him,” I scoffed. It quickly turned into a cough from how out of breath I was getting and how much damage my windpipe had taken.

“I knew,” He said off-handedly, his hands gripping the wooden sword by his waist as he pulled it out. I reacted just as fast and drew mine, the clutter of the wood colliding making my ears hurt with how much strength had been put in the attack. “Why now?” He asked. I quirked a brow in response. Was he asking for the full story of how Rengoku had said he would court me? “Why now? It’s stupid. There is a war coming, and you’re trying to find love?” For some reason, it ticked me off. I respected Genya, we had great memories together but now was not the time for him to open his mouth. He was trying to rile me up, that is what he did to get someone to fight with more anger. He wanted that. He needed more aggressivity in this sparring.

I took a deep breath and smiled, “I see what you are trying to do. Since it is immature, I will ignore what you said and humor you a little longer, does that sound fair?” I grunted all throughout my sentence from each blow Genya aimed my way. It was getting more brutal; his strikes were more precise which meant he was focusing. I knew he was getting into it when he rolled up his sleeves and inhaled deeply. “I’m not doing anything, I’m just saying it’s useless, you should spend more time training, clearly you’re lacking,” He commented.

He was getting under my skin; I do not know why it got to me more today than any other day. Perhaps it was because he did not care one bit about how I felt about the situation, nor had he asked either. I could ignore his bashing of my skills; I was still holding up against him after all… But his blatant disdain for my feelings hurt. I did not want to feel hurt, so I turned it into frustration, which was not the best play. His eyes met mine, then he smirked before continuing between hits, “Courtship is a distraction,” he stated.

“Could you remind me where I asked?” I said with as much sarcasm as possible. “What’s the point of all this if you’re not even sure you’ll both make it?” He worded it as a question, but his tone did not invite me to answer. He was almost brainstorming his opinions. So, I kept my mouth shut and kept sparring, “The man can barely fight, what difference will it make on the battlefield-“ “He is almost fully healed. He is a Pillar, he is strong, and anyone can be useful once we are out there. It’s not about strength, it’s about strat-“ His eyes fueled with rage when he gripped my sword to stop me from moving and pulled me close. “Of course, it’s about strength! The weak die out there, don’t you get it?”

I tried to pull back my sword, but he held on tight, “You know what makes you weak? Caring. Don’t do that shit to yourself, it’s lame,” When he let go, I reacted out of the blue by kicking him in the stomach before aiming for that same spot with the tip of the sword, “It is all about perspective-“ “Don’t get all wise on me! If you’re out there and he gets killed, what do you do? Uh?” His words hit me harder than I thought they would. What would I do? Cry? Cry and keep going. Why would I cry? We barely did anything together. Regrets? Yes… Regrets of not having done anything, regrets for missing out on all the things we could have done if we had both survived.

I do not want to live with regrets. Is that what frightens me? To miss out? To want to do things with him and not do them? I won’t have any regrets if we both live. That sentence let the door open for hope to enter the game and I did not like it one bit. So, I have to do the best of what I can while I can. Looking back at Genya, I furrowed my brows and calmly said, “I would keep my head high and keep going,” It annoyed him. “Bullshit!” It must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back since he stopped weighing his words, for the little he did before. “He will die out there!”

A knot formed in my throat, I felt sick. I did not want to listen to him anymore. I did not want to hear his words. As I spoke them, I wondered if my words felt confident or if I was fooling myself, “Not if we defeat Muzan,” I uttered, my face boiling in embarrassment and anger. “We are expendable, don’t you get it?” “Well, I will not die out there. And I will not let him die either,” I was speaking a lot faster. Even behind a mask of faux-composure I was aware of how out of my comfort zone I was. “You think you have any say in this?” I had not realized we had stopped fighting, I started feeling smaller and smaller the longer I was listening to Genya. What was the point of all this? He was right, we will die out there, so why spend all this time with a semblance of happiness? I was fooling myself.

And yet. This small fire inside my chest, this spark, would not die out. I did not want to give it a name, I knew its name, but I did not like it. It motivated me to speak once again, “I do, because if there is one thing I can control it is my actions. And I will do my best to keep him safe, I will keep an eye on him. If he gets hit, I will act faster than I ever did, I will help him,” “Why go out of your way for him? It’s just puppy love, a crush, whatever you want to call it, it’s not worth your time-“

I surprised myself perhaps more than I surprised Genya when I raised my tone, “It is! It is worth my time, understood?” Rengoku Kyojurou was worth my time. I wanted to give him all of it, if he allowed it I would simply sit by the veranda with him all day. Being by his side was comforting and I would be content with just that. With that feeling of warmth, of peace. I could not care less what state this war would have left us in, I just wanted him. “Why?! Why would you do all of that, for him?” He barked, a vein popping on his forehead. “Why are you so determined to put in so much effort just for him?!”

“Because I love him!” I finally let out in frustration, perhaps even in a scream. Short, but concise. I love him, I repeated in my head. I love him? I love him. I looked down at my hands then met Genya’s eyes, they had softened slightly, “I love him, I…” I trailed off, feeling my face burning from the heated argument. When I brought my hands to my cheeks, I almost thought I had a fever but knew better. We both stood silent a moment, to give us both time to calm down and take in what had been said.

“Do not tell anyone that,” I finally whispered, earning a short chuckle from the man. “Don’t think I need to, you announced it to the whole fucking estate,” He was right, I had not been the most discrete in blurting out my feelings like this. I still hoped no one had heard it, I am sure everyone was busy and had other things to do than eavesdropping on our conversation. It took me a moment to fully realize what I had just admitted. Saying it out loud did not help my predicament, what was I supposed to do with this new found clarity? Nothing had changed. I still feared losing him, or… leaving him behind.

“Still with the long face? Cheer up, it’s annoying to see you like this,” Genya said as he shoved my shoulder while walking past me. I stopped him suddenly by grabbing his shoulder and digging my nails deep in his skin. “Did you do this on purpose?” I asked, talking about him riling me up for no reason. “Who cares?” “I do. I need to know if I have to beat your ass to a pulp or if I need to thank you,” He laughed loudly, his hand gripping mine in a painful manner to remove it from his shoulder. “Then I didn’t do it on purpose- at least you’ll fight seriously this time instead of being a sappy piece of shit,” I had to take a sharp intake of breath to hold myself back from grasping a handful of his hair to pull him back.

“Sure. Let’s do another round, even with a crushed windpipe I can take your sorry ass down,” I scoffed cockily. He managed to rile me up earlier and I was in the mood to do the same to him, we had to start things on equal footing. A regretful decision when he pulled my arm over his shoulder and threw me to the ground, “I’ll make you my fucking rug,” Wincing, I welcomed his threat with open arms and started fighting back.

It lasted a long while, clearly the man needed to let out some steam. After what felt like ages, I felt it in my muscles that I had gone over my limit and could not go on. It required a full argument to convince Genya to ask Gyomei to train but once he was convinced I was able to leave the dojo sorer than the previous day had left me.

While I tried to focus on the pain I was feeling physically, I could not escape the redundant thoughts that kept going around in my head. The only way to forget about them for a while was to keep myself busy until the evening came. And that’s what I did. Aoi needed help around the mansion and was willing to accept my help; usually she wouldn’t, saying that I had better things to do, but seeing the state I was in, battered and exhausted, she rolled her eyes and pointed at the sheets.

It was only after a few hours that she came up to me, her small hands on my shoulders to force me to look at her, “You look like a ghost- A murdering one at that with the blood on your kimono, you should get changed,” Taken aback, I looked down at my attire. I had to squint my eyes to see the droplets adorning the fabric, “Ah yes… You are right, I should indeed,” She stood in front of me longer than necessary, that’s when I knew she had something else to add. Prompting her to do so, she huffed her chest and with a determined frowned said, “If you love him tell him,”

Panicked, I glanced at the closed door and felt relieved as I looked back at her. With a nervous laugh, I replied unsure, “I don’t think- Ah, where did you hear that?” Do not say it, please, do not tell me you’ve- “I heard you, I was walking by, and I am fairly certain you meant Rengoku. So, tell him,” Her tone told me she knew it was a fact, it was a statement. Shaking my head, I told her it was not that simple then bid her farewell. Upon crossing the threshold, her voice resonated behind me, “If you don’t do it, you’ll regret it!” She was probably right. But being right did not provide me with the courage to do anything about how I felt. It was too much too soon.

Focus, think of something else. Your thoughts are your own and you do not need to have them plagued with constant dilemmas. I scolded myself. It did not do much to change my thoughts, but I could have at least said I tried.

As I made my way to my room to get changed, I heard my name being called and turned around with an inquisitive look. “It’s the evening! Can we talk now?” Kyojuro said softly as he stopped in front of me, out of breath. Giving him a glance, ogling even, I noticed how sweaty he was. His hair, while often disheveled, was even more so than usual. “Did you train?” I asked at the same time he did, albeit more worryingly so, “Did you fight?” We both laughed shortly, then I nodded, pointing at the few stains of blood on my attire, “Technically, it’s training but Genya is rougher than most. There was some blood shed but all is good, do not fret,” I explained, letting the Pillar lift my sleeves to take a look as he turned my face to eye me from closer.

I closed my eyes to avoid meeting his, I knew too well what would happen from the proximity and warmth of his touch. Yet, I was enjoying how his hands would brush my skin with his rough movement. It was only rough due to his frenzy, he wanted to make sure I was alright.

Once he was done, he still held my jaw. His breath tickled my face when he spoke again, “Can we talk?” I smiled, at how he ignored my question and as I was about to reply, he pleaded, “Please look at me, I do not know what I did-“ Oh, I messed up, was my first thought before opening my eyes in panic and cradling his face in my hands, “Nothing- You did nothing!” His expression softened, but worry was still written all over his face, “I was smiling because you ignored- never mind, you did nothing wrong. I just need to get changed, then we can talk, I promise, I am not avoiding you if the thought ever crossed your mind,” Smiling at me, the Pillar leaned against my touch and placed his hand over mine, taking it away from his face to hold it.

“It may have, I will be waiting for you in our chambers-“ “Our?” I asked with a smirk as his face turned a multitude shades of red, it followed up to his ears. He quickly let go of my hand and took a step back, his chest rising quickly when he turned his face to compose himself. Once he had, he said, “I will be waiting! Have fun!” “I am simply changing my attire, I hardly think fun would be the word I would use,” I teased. My chest filled with delight when he looked at me again, a frown adorning his blushing features. I held his gaze, smiling tenderly until he mirrored my smile. “You are playful tonight, I will endure it because you look very cute with that mischievous smile of yours,”

I threw my head back, laughing a moment before returning to my senses, “Nothing mischievous here, I am merely enjoying your- how do you say it? Bashful expression, was it?” Before he could reply, I gave him a curt nod and left to get changed. It did not take long to do so, nor did I want to stay away from him too long in case he thought I was running away from the problem. Was it even a problem? Nothing had occurred yet… I had simply hurried off at the mention of marriage.

It was no surprise to see the Pillar sitting in the middle of the room when I slithered inside upon having gotten changed. What did catch me off guard was how tense he seemed to be, sitting right there, hands on his knees, expectant. Before I could even open my mouth, he spoke, “I trained with Mitsuri earlier, but I’m good, I promise-“ This was the confident man I knew, he stated those words like he was trying to motivate recruits, “Now can you tell me why you ran off earlier? I really, really want to…” He stopped himself from saying anything else. If I were not biased by my earlier realization, I would have thought he wanted to continue his sentence by ‘marry you’.

Humming, I joined his side and sat in front of him, “There are not many ways to say this,” He seemed alarmed by how I started, I immediately continued, “I am afraid of thinking of what could be, because… we are not sure we will both make it. I do not wish to-“ My throat tightened, I did not think it would have been that hard to open up about it to him. And yet, I averted my gaze to fiddle with my fingers a moment before looking back at him, a short smile on my lips. “I truly like you, or else I would not be courting you- nor would I be excited for tomorrow to come but-“

“There is no but! That is all I need to hear, I am reassured-“ I needed to cut him off, while he seemed over the moon, I was not at ease at all, “I am not. I am not reassured at all, there is so much I wish to do with you, so much,” I had to pause to calm my speech, hearing how inarticulate it was becoming, “But I am afraid we will not have time- that is why I do not want to think of marriage. Because deep down, I am dreading the moment when I will fall during battle. The moment you- the moment I will realize that thinking of what could have been, hurt. Because with you, I see opportunities, I see-“ it was getting harder to speak, there was a heavy weight in my throat. No matter how hard I tried, it was not leaving.

Blinking the tears away, I chuckled nervously while trying to wipe the tears with my sleeve, “It is unsure what will become of all of us once we are fighting Muzan, and I hate that uncertainty. It blocks me, it holds me back, and I don’t know what to do. I have a hard time being as optimistic as you are, Kyojuro… But I can promise you, I will fight hard enough to stay alive if I am ever taken down-“ Taking my hands in his, he brought them to his chest. And tilted his head to kiss them gently, his eyes ever so wide. “Don’t say this, please, it might bring bad luck,”

He then continued, cooing me closer as he wrapped my arms around his waist. I tried to stop him but let him pull me closer, it was a strange position, but it still elated a laugh from my person, “You won’t fall during battle, you are a very skilled fighter, we both are. Master Ubuyashiki has a plan, we must trust him,” He explained gently, his hand sliding to my back as he reassuringly rubbed it. “Plans go awry,” I stated. He chuckled, “Then we’ll make other plans! I’m sure we can come up with something great on the spot,” I let out a huffed laugh, he was right, but would it be enough?

“It’s not just us two out there, we will all be fighting Muzan together,” “How do we know if we are strong enough?” He hummed a moment, resting his chin on the back of my head while thinking. Then he exclaimed, “We will have to be, how else am I supposed to watch over you if I die? How else can I see your pretty face if I’m not here with you?” I hit his arm with a certain force upon hearing his words, “Do not say that… you will jinx it, please,” He apologized quickly, a silence settling between us. I was still not convinced about anything, I was good with living day by day, but I knew he found comfort in thinking of what will be once we won. It was not even hope, it was confidence. Or perhaps foolishness?

With his arms wrapped around mine, Rengoku spoke softly, “There is no need for you to think of the future, as long as you are willing to live through each day until you reach it. Because once we are there, in that future that some longed for, some dreamt of, or some feared of hoping for- once we are there, everything will be alright, everything will be better,” Oh, was that what I wanted to hear? Is this why I am crying? Why does it feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulder? It shouldn’t be that easy, I thought. I was sobbing, it felt nice. It took a lot of restraint to not crush Kyojuro in my hold, I was still aware he was wounded.

He must have felt my hesitancy as he tightened his hold around me and with only a whisper in my ear saying, “Hold on,” he tilted us to the side to lay us down on the futon. I thought we were done talking about this, when Rengoku smiled against my scalp, “I will be with you in that future, I promise,” Laughing through the tears, I buried my face in his chest as I mumbled, “No more speeches or beautiful words, I will run out of tears,” He apologized quickly, laughing oh so beautifully as he held me there.

We stayed like this until dinner was ready. It felt perfect. I would have fallen asleep here and there if not for the many times he said, “Don’t fall asleep”

I had an excuse, fighting and crying were both exhausting, not that I would use those excuses. Instead I stayed awake, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

We had to leave the futon to eat, which we did. It was followed by a walk outside like the first night I had spent with him, except this time we held hands right from the start. We did not say anything about it, simply enjoying one another’s company.

It was an eventful night, yes… But my mind was made up now, I was going to fight with all I had to make him smile the moment we realized we are in the future we have been talking about. It was going to be hard, but it was also going to be worth it to have him happy.

Tomorrow was going to be even more worth it after all the waiting we had done. I fell asleep with butterflies in my stomach thinking of the day to come; fireworks and the person I have been longing for were the perfect mix. Nothing could ruin it. I was going to make sure of that.

[Part 5]

#gentle summer #ao3 #physicalturian #writing #writen #kny #rengoku x reader #kny kyojuro #kny shinobu #demon slayer rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba #ao3 writer #ao3 physicalturian

[monster-bait]

Monster Match: Ermir the Javelin Sand Boa Naga; M Naga x FTM Human, NSFW

Monster Match for @aime-801 I am a trans-male (ftm), looking for NSFW male match. I am fairly quiet and withdrawn, my hobbies are writing and drawing, and my passion in life is programming. I like to stay inside most of the time, but my favourite life experience was feeling the wind as I wrote the next chapter of a love story on top of a Welsh mountain I climbed. My ideal partner is someone who I can talk honestly to, who respects my quirks and interests that I'm self-conscious about.

.

.

The mountains were beautiful from a distance.

You found yourself staring at the hills often during the day, their uneven terrain looking lush and green from your seat in a lecture hall, or from your favorite window seat at the little cafe in town, tucked out of the way. You were able to lose yourself in a good stare, unworried about people thinking you were inadvertently staring at them, as had happened on more than one occasion previously, for the landscape was wide and inviting and perfectly worthy of your attention.

You were not enjoying climbing them nearly as much.

The flyer had been posted on the board inside the cafe’s doorway, alongside others advertising rooms for rent, used books, and private tutors. It had stood out amongst the others, catching your attention instantly: a silhouette of the mountains, rendered in long, graceful brushstrokes above a curling logo. 

Stormwind Studios — Private study available

It was less of an ad and more of an announcement, and you liked the quiet confidence of the cornflower blue design. Snapping a picture of the ad with your phone, you left the cafe that afternoon with a sight spring in your step, heading home to the university flat you shared with three other students. 

You’d been in Wales for two semesters at that point, although it may as well have been just a few days, for as social as you’d been. Tashsa was from Brixton, was loud and outgoing and, upon meeting her flatmates, had immediately decided that you and Benji, a quiet Glaswegian who kept to himself nearly as much as you did, were not worth her time. She stayed almost exclusively with her boyfriend, leaving your flat quiet, which suited you just fine. You preferred the quiet, liked staying indoors to work on your art or writing, enjoyed losing yourself in a videogame more than you enjoyed the prospect of a noisy pub. 

Your parents had hoped university life would have brought you out of your shell a bit more, but if anything, it reinforced the reality that you were quite happy with your own company. Coming out to your family and loved ones had been hard, even though you suspected it hadn’t exactly been a shock to some of them. You’d never felt comfortable in your skin growing up, had always felt as though you were living someone else’s life. Since coming out as trans and taking steps to assert your new identity, things had been better, and moving away from home for the first time for university was a chance for a fresh start: a new you, the real you. 

The real you was just as shy and withdrawn as the old you, it turned out, but you were happy.

The notion of private study in an actual art studio was wildly appealing. You loved art, loved to draw and paint, and wanted to improve your skills...but your major was your priority, and ate up the bulk of your class schedule, leaving room for little else. You loved computers, loved learning the language of data and machines, and were happy with your chosen field...but you wished you had more time for your creative pursuits. There was plenty of time on the weekends, when you weren’t joining your classmates on noisy pub crawls or house parties, you thought, and going to a studio might force you out of your shell. 

“This is Ermir.”

You’d been unprepared for the rich, lightly accented voice that answered the phone, deep and dark like a particularly decadent chocolate, and stood dumbfounded and silent until he spoke again.

“Y-yes! Hi, um...hello. I-I’m calling about the ad? For the art studio?”

The reverberation of his chuckle could be felt through the phone, shivering down your back and heating your core. You sagged against the battered formica countertop as he continued, and tried to keep your composure.

“Ah, yes! You saw the flyer, I take it? I am offering private instruction in my studio, on Thursdays or Saturdays. Are you a beginning student?”

The cost he was asking was manageable, well within your budget with the money you saved by not going to the pubs, and you hung up with the promise to be at his studio at noon on Saturday.

“I am looking forward to meeting you,” he rumbled before the call disconnected. Your stomach was a riot of butterflies, your head reeling. It was a silly thing to be proud of, but almost nothing was as anxiety-building as phone conversations, and you were pleased with your accomplishment. You’d be working on your art and you’d be leaving the house to do so, meeting new people. Saturday was just two days away at that point, and you were simultaneously elated and terrified. It’ll be fine. You’ll go to the studio and work on some art. No worries!

Now though...now you were huffing and puffing, following the winding trail up the hillside, wondering what on Earth you’d been thinking. When you’d typed the address into your phone and the pin it yielded had been on the side of the mountain, you thought you must have transposed a number. Instead, the enhanced view showed you the small studio, the familiar logo visible in the satellite image. Set in one of the lower hills, the student drive would bring you to the base of the foothills, and from there you’d have to walk.

At long last, the curving trail showed you the studio front, and you paused to catch your breath and slow your heart rate before approaching the door. A tinkling wind chime announced your arrival. The small space was dimly lit, painted in a cool dove grey, and the walls were covered with canvases. You recognized the long, flowing brushstrokes immediately, but before you could take another step closer, a throat cleared behind you.

“Welcome,” he intoned, his voice even more lush and dark as it had been on the phone, sending a shiver up your spine. 

The naga standing in the backroom doorway dwarfed you in his shadow. Thick, dark hair fell over a high, olive-skinned forehead, brushing a sculpted, square jaw. His cheekbones were high and his nose was long and straight, as though he were carved from the mountain itself. His reptilian lower half was thick and strong-looming, disappearing behind him...he was the most striking individual you’d ever laid eyes on, and you forced yourself to keep breathing when his smile displayed long, curved fangs. “I hope the journey up was not too difficult.”

You took the cold glass of water he held out, gulping it gratefully before shaking your head. “It-it was no problem at all,” you lied. Intense green eyes held yours, and you sipped from the glass again, grateful for the distraction. He wasn’t as old as you were expecting, maybe only five or six years older than yourself, but even standing there silently, he seemed to possess more confidence in his little finger—fingers which were long and graceful-looking, you noticed—than you could ever hope to boast.

“Let’s see what you can do, and then we’ll discuss what your objectives are.”

It was late afternoon by the time you left the studio, your giddiness practically carrying you down the mountain on wings. 

“I don’t think I feel comfortable taking money from you,” Ermir had said seriously over the small pot of tea you had shared in the messy backroom. 

Your stomach had folded in on itself in disappointment, even though you’d been expecting it. The time you’d spent in his company that afternoon had been more enjoyable than any occasion you could remember. He was impressed with your skill, seemed interested when you’d haltingly confessed to enjoying writing as well as drawing, and shockingly easy to talk to.

He’d rumbled that you would be better off in one of the university classes as he flipped through the work stored on your phone, while you took advantage of his momentary distraction to surreptitiously look him over. He was broad-shouldered and well built, his narrow waist tapering to his reptilian coils began. His scales were a mottled brown, bittersweet cacao giving way to light milk chocolate, and you had the idiotic supposition of what they would feel like beneath your palm, hypnotized by the way he subtly swayed in place. You’re too awkward, someone like him would never be interested in you...

“You’re hardly a beginner, you’d do well to take a few painting classes...but this was fun. Would you like to still come by to work in the studio? It's been nice having someone other than myself to talk to,” he admitted with a deep laugh.

The several hours spent in the small studio had been completely without stress or judgement, and despite how nervous you’d been to come here, you weren’t quite sure what you would do with yourself if you couldn’t come back to this cool room and his deep voice and sharp-edged smile.

“I-I’d really love that. That would be great.”

.

.

“Does this look too blue?”

You turned from your laptop to where he painted in the grey afternoon light. Ermir squinted at the canvas before him, swaying on his coils.

“Not at all, I think it’s perfect.”

He scoffed before turning his attention back to his work, continuing to mumble to himself and you shook your head, still smiling, and turned back to your screen. He liked to tease you over your preference for using a digital art program, and you teased him for painting the same thing, over and over again, but he never tired of capturing the mountains, and you never tired of watching him.

It had been three weeks since you’d journeyed to his studio, three of the best weeks of your life. Working in the art studio had turned into helping him digitize his business and giving the studio a social media presence, something for which he had little patience for or skill with, and you found yourself making the trip up the hills a few times a week, on your short class days. He was  confident and composed, a complete opposite to your anxious shyness and tendency to babble nervously, and your dreams had become an endless loop of his strong arms and sleek coils and hot mouth. You were completely smitten, and you had no idea what to do about it. Pine forever, probably.

Ermir didn’t seem to mind that you were quiet, that you were more comfortable behind a computer screen than with people, for he was quiet as well. He asked after your classes and assignments, listened quietly as you talked about your family and your transition journey. You’d never shared your story with anyone else, had never felt comfortable enough to disclose your thoughts and fears, how you’d grown up feeling as though you were someone else and the dysphoria that still occasionally stressed you, but you did with him. In turn, he’d shared his story of emigration from a small town on the Balkan coast when he was around your own age, how strange Welsh customs were to him and the prejudices he still encountered, both as a foreigner and as a naga. 

“What do you think of this?” you asked, sucking in what you hoped was an invisible breath as he turned. The logo you’d made incorporated his trademark painting of the mountain, along with rolling, windswept script. You said a silent thanks to yourself for having the foresight to take the breath, for when his giant hands landed on your shoulders, your lungs lost the power to inflate.  Ermir was quiet but commanding, and the soft dominance he exuded never failed to thrill you.

He smelled like the mountains—crisp and clean, meadow grass and warmth, and you desperately wanted to turn your head up as he leaned down and press your nose to the side of his neck, to better breathe him in.

“That’s perfect, mišiću. Exactly what I wanted.”

Your heart joined your lungs in their cessation of movement when his hands squeezed gently, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive points at the base of your neck in slow circles. The pet name was not new. You had no idea what it meant, but it lit a fire, lower in your belly every time he addressed you in such a way. His voice continued to drone on, praising you in his rolling rumble for setting up and linking a collection of social media accounts, but the rush of blood in your ears nearly drowned him out. The rhythmic pressure of his thumbs against you, slow and steady, was all you could focus on. When they caught on a pressure point that occasionally caused you pain, you gasped, arching upwards into his hands for more contact, and his hum of approval nearly turned you to jelly.

When the phone rang, shrill and insistent, he released you, and your lungs screamed for the breath you’d evidently been holding.

Your mind could not account for how you were able to stay upright for the rest of the hour, for the next thing you knew, you were gathering up your things before you missed the last bus of the afternoon. Shrugging into your jumper, you took your backpack from him with shaking hands. 

“Zip up, mišiću,” he murmured, looking you over with his wide green eyes. “It’s too windy for you out there, you’ll blow right away.” You loved the wind, loved the feel of it in your hair and against your face, loved how free you felt, free to be exactly who you wanted to be...but he was right. You could hear the way it whistled against his door and knew it would be cold, zipping the jumper up to your chin. He hummed in approval again, smoothing the fabric at your shoulders with a feather-light touch. “That’s my good boy.”

His words nearly turned you inside out. He couldn’t possibly know that you fantasized about a dominant partner, fantasized about him almost nightly; that his sparkling eyes and sharp smile were all you’d thought about for weeks, that you twisted in your bed, what those scales would feel like pressed against you.

“Go, before it gets too dark. Be careful, mišiću. I’ll see you this week.”

.

.

The storm blew in quickly. 

Living in Wales wasn’t that different than living at home, not as far as the weather was concerned. The clouds had gathered ominously as the bus pulled away, and you gulped, hurrying up the path. The rain began to splatter the ground midway through your hike, the first rumble of thunder rocking the hillside once the studio was in sight. Ermir was there, his long tail moving in a serpentine as he paced in front of the door, exclaiming when he saw you, looking like a drowned rat. 

“Mišiću, I was so worried!”

 You found yourself swept into the studio space, your dripping coat removed along with the sodden jumper beneath. Before you could object, a towel was slung around you, and Ermir’s huge hands were pressing to you, drying you off. You’d never been so exposed before him, in just your thin t-shirt, always wearing some sort of jumper or a hooded sweatshirt as you always did. You’d had your top surgery more than a year ago, but the self-consciousness you’d carried for years had not left you. You could feel the great span of his hand, pressing to your ribcage, your sternum, to your collarbone, and as they pressed to you, you grew increasingly certain you were about to pass out.

Before it could happen, you were revived by the towel moving to your head, vigorously rubbing your hair dry. You cried out in protest and he harrumphed in response, continuing for another moment. When at last the towel was lowered, your heart tripped again to find him very, very close.

“What were you thinking, lovely boy?”

Your shrug was weak and heat moved up your neck, frozen beneath his emerald gaze. His eyes were always intense, seemed to glow with laughter or harden in seriousness when he worked, and just then they seemed lit by an internal fire, heat that seared into you, seeping into your skin. “I-I already said I was coming by today. I didn’t want to go home...I didn't think the storm would blow in that quickly.”

“You had me worried sick, mišiću.”

You were able to feel the heat of his mouth, so tantalizingly close, close enough to feel the whisper of his breath upon your lips. You wondered what path you would have needed to take in life to have been brave enough to close the miniscule distance and kiss him, and where you’d gone wrong—

—but it hadn’t mattered, because he was brave and confident enough for the both of you, and closed the distance without hesitation. On the second pass of his mouth, he captured your lower lip between his fuller ones, sucking it lightly until your mouth opened, intrigued by the sensation of his flickering forked tongue. Molten heat enveloped you then, and you realized his arm had come around you, crushing you to his front.

The storm picked up its intensity outside, as lightning lit the sky. 

“I-I don’t think the busses will be running in this weather,” you whispered, wondering if he was able to hear the pounding of your heart over the din of the storm. 

“I suppose you’ll have to spend the night, dragi moj,” he rumbled against your lips. When he trailed a hand up your back, you arched, and he took advantage of your upward momentum to catch your lip with his teeth. “But first we should get you out of those wet clothes.”

.

.

A grey mist enveloped the hills the next morning as you shifted blearily from your resting spot. Ermir did not have a bed, not in the traditional sense, but his coils were warm and supple and shifted with you, and kept you well supported throughout the night.

You’d never woken up with another person before, you realized, had never spent the night in someone’s arms. The weight of all that had transpired combined with the early morning left your head feeling heavy, and you dropped it against his shoulder once more, closing your eyes with a contentment you scarcely remembered feeling before.

The studio opened to a small backroom, which you’d been in numerous times, but the loft above had been new to your eyes. You were surprised at the ease in which Ermir moved up the narrow staircase, his long tail moving in a concertina pattern, chocolate scales shifting rapidly, until he’d cleared the top landing. The air had been warmer there, at the top of the small building, although goosebumps had still raised on your skin when he’d pulled the damp t-shirt over your head. 

Your arms had been struck with rigor—thankfully—preventing you from raising your hands to conceal the scars on your chest. They would fade with time, according to the surgeon, but it hadn’t been long enough at that point. The ugly red of your post-surgery months had faded considerably, but you were still self-conscious for anyone to see them.

Ermir, you realized, was the first person who had.

The sharp tips of his fangs grazed the side of his neck before he gripped your waist and lifted you easily to sit on the edge of a low table. When his lips trailed down your neck, pausing to suck at your jumping pulse before continuing their downward path, you’d begun to tremble. Across your chest, and over your scars, his mouth moved across you slowly, mapping your skin. When they landed at the waist of your jeans, you shuddered.

“W-wait...I haven’t...I’ve only had the top done, and—”

Your protestations had been cut off by his lips, and his flickering tongue tickled at your ear. “Each of us are our own work of art, mišiću.” Letting go of your fears, you nodded, letting him make short work of undressing you fully.

Hormone replacement therapy had changed things, regardless of the surgery. Increased sized and a different sort of sensitivity, a sensitivity that had flared to life beneath his stroking tongue and sucking lips, relentless against your skin until you were a writhing, gasping mess beneath him, left limp as the room spun.

When he raised himself at last, shucking his own shirt, you got your first good look at his long body. You wanted to map his skin with your lips, as he’d done to yours; wanted to learn every peak and valley of his taught flesh, but that would have to wait. The two cocks that had unsheathed from a slit in his scales curved up to his flat belly, staring and thick, ivory up the shaft and capped with overlapping golden frills at the tip. He paused just long enough to allow you to grip them in turn, giving them each a pumping stroke as he groaned.

Your legs were stretched wide as he settled over you, guiding one of the thick lengths to your opening. When he slid into you slowly, your mouth opened in a silent scream. Thicker than you could have possibly imagined, he withdrew, surging forward again, over and over until the sound of your cries rivaled the sound of the storm, raging outside the studio’s walls as you came around him. His arms had been strong as he lifted you from the table, once he’d cleaned you of the shimmering release he’d sprayed across your belly, cradling you to his chest as he settled onto a large, plush sheepskin rug in the corner of the room, arranging his body to support you, and you’d fallen asleep almost immediately, lulled by the the sound of the rain and his deep rumble, murmuring into your hair.

When you woke again, the room was brighter. The mist had stopped, you realized as you carefully climbed from him, walking unsteadily down the staircase to the small bathroom. The sky was grey, but the rain had stopped, and the wind lifted your hair as you breathed into it, free to be yourself. You wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love.

“Are you slipping away already, mišiću?”

Ermir’s voice was heavy with sleep, and he squinted from the doorway as you laughed. It was a confident sound, one you scarcely recognized. A new you, the real you.

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time.” 

“Good,” he grumbled, turning back into the studio. “I’m going back to bed, it’s natural to be up this early.”

You laughed again, turning to follow him back into the cozy studio. Going back to bed, back to his arms and his lips and warmth sounded perfect to you. The mountains and the wind would still be there later...and so would you.

#Exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #Naga #naga boyfriend #monster match #monsterbait writes #monster x reader #monster x human

[rokutouxei]

together through the fog

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | 1770 | T

Born frailer than your average pureblood vampire, she's doomed to need fresh human blood—not just rouge—to survive. Drinking from them will cost more than just blood: and she doesn't want to make them pay that price, especially not the one she loves the most. What decisions are you free to make when you don't really have a choice—and how is Theo going to convince her that staying a little longer isn't so bad if he's with her?

chapter 1 of 3

One of the most important rules of being in the art dealership industry is to make good connections. No amount of great art at hand will amount to much if the dealer does not have the appropriate connections to get these art into the proper hands. Of course, wealthy patrons are always much appreciated, for the invasion of the new art into the eyes of the more conservative aristocracy is one way to usher in the new dawn, but there are other types of connections that have to be made—and that is, to those who are not only interested in the art, but are also willing to lend a hand in the sharing of this art to the rest of the world.

Theo has a lot of clients. In the handful of years he has spent in the industry, he has collected his fair share of interested patrons and sponsors for the artists. Favoritism is of no use in this world. But if one were to ask—it would be easy for him to say that his best, perhaps his favorite, client, was a Comtesse that lived at the outskirts of town.

Rich, born of old money, in a large mansion where she lives alone, besides perhaps her singular, nosy butler. They’ve known each other for a few years now, after having met when they were much younger, and they have become, to some degree, friendly with each other, not only with regards to his work. Make no mistake—she is not his friend for superficial reasons like appearance or wealth. It’s that she has a great eye for art—and a big heart for it as well.

“Theo! it’s been a while since you’ve come around.”

Her greeting comes instantly as the door to her study opens, Theo being ushered in by her butler, Sebastian. She’s sipping from a teacup in front of a fireplace, bundled up under blankets—even when it isn’t too cold outdoors yet.

“You know how the industry is,” he comments, as he settles on the seat across her, setting down the framed painting gently on the soft red carpet of her study. Once Theo’s own cup of coffee is poured, the butler leaves the room, the door closing with a silent click. Theo does not miss the expression on the butler’s face before he disappears. He turns back to his friend, gauging. “When I saw this piece I had an inkling that it would be to your taste.”

She chuckles, a little embarrassedly, putting down the teacup on its saucer. “Now, now. You make it seem like the kind of art I like is on the predictable side.”

“I wouldn’t say predictable, but you do have a taste.”

She nods. “Oh? I had not even noticed. Maybe you watch me a little too keenly, Theo.”

“Just for work,” he quips back with a friendly smile, as he uncovers the painting he has brought with him.

-

Theo was right—the painting is to her taste. It was a painting of a morning through the frame of a window, overlooking a snowy mountain. The gentle texture of the brushstrokes from the view outside made the snow falling seem so real, delicate and soft, and the thicker, rougher ones along the inside of the room made it feel closer, a little warmer. By a yet-unknown artist, of course, and she contemplates hanging it along the main hallway of the mansion, making sure it will catch the eye of anyone who will pass by, hoping it would spark something.

And then the dizziness returns.

There was no doubt Theo noticed her spacing out during their little conversation, but there is only so much she can do in hiding how unwell she’s been feeling. She had instantly sighed in relief when Theo was guided out of the room—as now she can clutch her head freely and whine a little in the throbbing inside of her skull.

But it’s okay. At least she has the paintings.

The one thing she can do.

It doesn’t matter if she isn’t going to last long, not anymore. But at least, if she can do something for the things she loves… maybe it will be worth it in the long run.

-

Theo has always had his wits around him, particularly in terms of being observant. While he’s not infallible, the little things generally do not escape him, and he makes sure he stows them away in the back of his head for safekeeping.

Theo was 25 when she first wrote to him about it

She wrote: How would you feel about it if I were a vampire?

This really didn’t surprise Theo as awfully as it ought to have. There was one particularly intriguing rumor that spread around town about her family. Whether or not the people knew, had a clue, or if it were just the result of their imagination, is beyond him, but there have always been rumors about her family being a family of vampires. Of course, it is easy to shrug off: the human imagination is an interesting thing, and with the rise of rational science throughout the past few centuries, vampiric lore has simply fallen out of favor. Besides, this kind of rumor is unsurprising when the area’s oldest and longest living aristocrat families live such a secretive, mysterious life outside of the rare social events they decide to engage in.

Theo had the same thought process, of course. He had written back rather amusedly, saying that even if she were a vampire, it would not change the fact that she was a good friend of his. No fang or lost blood will get in the way of my fondness towards you, he had written.

Fondness—fondness is too simple a word for what he feels towards her.

But what matters is that she had written back, in her small, delicate handwriting: Well, then it is my pleasure to tell you that I am.

That was just three years back, but it feels like a million years ago. He had not given it much thought then. He had not given it much thought as of late.

Until now.

Until today, really, sitting across her in her study watching her space out as the tiny sharp tips of fangs protruded out from where her lips can no longer hide them.

If she was not lying to him, then that’s alright.

But there was no denying that look of desperation hiding in her eyes, as she tries to focus on something else in the room other than him.

He turns before the mansion’s main door gets shut behind him, turning to the butler with seriousness in his eyes.

“Sebastian, I have a question I have to ask you.”

-

She had met Theo when he was much younger—he was 18 at the time. And she… Well, greater vampires age a little differently than humans do, but she must have looked about 16. Her parents had brought her to an exhibition that day. it was part of her training—much was needed for an eternally-living vampire to be able to fit into human society without standing out too much.

Her interest in art was another thing altogether, though.

While her parents had gone away to talk with their acquaintances and other friends in the gallery, she had decided to walk around to enjoy the paintings that were on display. She grew up surrounded in art—part of the privileges of being born into the aristocracy—and these weren’t new to her, but some of the paintings… felt different. They were painted in different ways, looked at things in different lights. They piqued her interest. She wanted to get to know them more and-

She met Theo.

Theo was one of the youngest art dealers present during the show, which had been overseen by the company he was working with. She is still not entirely sure what had drawn Theo to her at that time—perhaps it was their seeming-similarity in age—but that day, they had made good friends, talking about art and paintings and the life of an artist. She wasn’t an artist herself, but the discussions had made such an impact on her that afterwards—they had exchanged addresses, and promised to write to each other.

That now feels like a lifetime ago.

How long ago was that, even? Surely at least a decade past. Time is a fickle thing for creatures like her. A decade is no more than a human’s millisecond. In a few more centuries, she will have forgotten everything about this little life, maybe even this mansion in the outskirts of Paris. The oldest of her family have been alive longer than humans would expect.

But not her.

It seems… unnatural, but she was born sickly, frailer than your average vampire. On occasion, she catches what is perhaps the vampire equivalent of a flu—weakness, fatigue, body pains, fever, and dizziness. Of course, this is curable with a good drink of blood, as is most things for vampires like her, but there is a catch—drinking it fresh from the source is always the better option. She would need bottles and bottles of rouge to recover from one “flu”, but fresh blood—

Fresh blood is different.

Drawn straight out of the vein, still warm from flesh…

That would cure her in minutes.

Too bad she has gotten a little too fond of humans.

Ah, how can one not, when you spend most of your life watching them struggle to live when death knocks at their door so soon after their birth? Humans have a strength she cannot comprehend. One she wishes she had. So she’s sworn to never drink out of a human ever again; even if it is at the cost of her health. She can acquire all the rouge she needs to recover. She cannot replace a random human’s short meaningful life at the cost of eternity for her own convenience—and she does not have the heart to drain one into death, if to spare them from the curse of living throughout perpetuity.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, they say.

She clutches her chest as the coughs overtake her, so strongly she is thrown to her knees onto the ground. Her butler rushes to her aid, but does not make it before she collapses onto the floor with a thud.

She doesn’t want to drink from humans anymore. And especially—not from the one she loves the most. But maybe this time she doesn’t really have a choice.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikevam theo #ikevam #fic #together through the fog

[marshmallow-phd]

Colored Blue

Genre: Royalty!AU, somewhat enemies to lovers

Pairing: Sehun x Fem!reader

A/N: I’m not sure if there’s much to the enemies to lovers part.... also, i don’t normal put the word count, but so everyone’s aware, this is about 6k... enjoy! (hopefully!)

**

The carriage ride was far from smooth. Each small pebble or rock or crack in the ground jolted the wheels which in turn shook the coach. Each bump churned your stomach that was already jostled with nerves. 

“Why do we have to do this?” you asked, your eyes closed to try and calm the nauseated feeling. 

Your governess, Edna, tsked from the bench across from you. 

Although you were too old now to need a governess, Edna continued to stay on as a companion, someone to keep you company on trips like this where your parents were unable (or simply chose not to) to attend. That was quite alright with you since you much preferred her presence to anyone else’s. She was like an eccentric aunt to you, somehow both responsible and adventurous. Sort of. 

Edna would never approve of sneaking out late at night or being alone with someone who was not your betrothed (which you were lucky enough not to have one of those – yet). However, she wasn’t against your archery lessons or horseback riding that went a little faster than a leisurely trot. She was practically a walking contradiction and you weren’t entirely sure of what she would and would not approve of. It was always a guessing game; one that you liked playing to keep yourself entertained. 

“Are you really wanting me to go over it again with you or are you simply wanting to cure your own boredom?” Edna asked, not even glancing up from her needlework. How she could do that without pricking her finger every bump was astounding. 

“Oh, I know why,” you huffed. “At least, on the surface. But it sounds like a pathetic excuse, if you ask me.”

“I don’t believe anyone did,” Edna smirk. Head still bent over her needlework, she looked at you through her eyelashes. Both of you started to laugh. 

Your laugh, however, soon faded to a light chuckle before dying out completely. It wasn’t fair. That was practically the slogan of your life. “Unfair”. Each aspect of your life - from how you dressed to how you ate to who’s company you kept - was dictated by both decorum and your parents. Being a lady of noble birth may have sounded like a glamorous life in the fairytales Edna had read to you as a child, but it didn’t take you long to find that it was nothing but a cage made of manners and tradition. While the bars had always remained steadfast, a new lock was about to be put on the door. One that was much stronger - and possibly unbreakable. 

Running away always sounded like a wonderful, spur-of-the-moment idea. Unfortunately, your mind would instantly remind you that you had no clue as to how to survive outside the castle walls. You didn’t know how to cook or hunt or work with your hands beyond the theory of it. You wouldn’t last more than maybe two days on your own and that fear kept you put.

The carriage slowed to a stop. After a short succession of knocks, one of your knights poked his head in through the small door. 

“Mi’lady, I wanted to let you know that we’re just outside the city walls. Once through, it should only be a few minutes more to the castle itself.”

“Thank you, Sir Markl.”

With a last nod, he closed the door before shouting to continue on. 

You were already here. Sure, you’d really been traveling for two days, but it still felt so sudden. How would your presence be received? 

Since your grandfather was a young duke, your two families had feuded. Sometimes it was simply high tension, while there were times where it was fought on the battlefield. The last skirmish was nearly two decades ago, forced to a fragile truce by the king. And now the old man was hoping to strengthen that truce by marrying you off to the son of the rival duke. Oh, of course. It was merely a suggestion. As if it could be ignored. 

How were you supposed to be happy with someone who surely hated you? 

You were certain that this boy grew up with the same kind of dirt spewed out about you from his parents that you heard from yours about them. Except, it wasn’t just your parents that didn’t have the most flattering view of this future duke. 

Other barons and knights didn’t seem to have the highest view of him either. Standoffish, uninterested, rude, and loose-lipped were a few of the adjectives you’d heard used to describe him. 

Wonderful. 

All too soon, the coach came to another stop and you could hear Sir Markl loudly announce your arrival. After a few seconds, you heard the gate being raised and the carriage lurched forward to go the forty feet or so to the real front door of the castle. You knew it was too late to run, but the image of you bolting out of the carriage and into the woods to get away seemed very satisfying in your head. 

When the door swung open, Edna motioned for you to exit first. In a very unladylike way, you blew air out through your lips before morphing your face into a neutral expression. In a fashion much more expected of your station, you stepped out into the sunshine. With the help of Sir Markl, you managed not to trip your way down to the ground.

Staring up at the large wooden double doors, you took a deep breath. You felt like you were at the mouth of the dragon’s cave, the sacrifice left to die for the good of the village.

“Come, mi’lady,” Edna urged with a wave of her hand. You nodded once, picking up your skirt and making your way up the steps as the doors were opened for you. 

The steward was waiting for you inside the front hall. He bowed and introduced himself, although your brain didn’t quite catch his name. Your mind was a little occupied at the moment. 

He led you through the halls of the grand castle where drapes and paintings that depicted scenes of hunts and parties covered up the less welcoming-looking gray stone. Your eyes wandered among the art but never lingered too long. There would be plenty of time to memorize their threads and brushstrokes in the future. 

The steward finally came to a stop outside another pair of double doors that could only lead into the Great Hall. The place where the Duke would conduct his meetings with citizens and dignitaries and where the festive parties would be held. You didn’t want to go in there, but what choice did you have?

With both hands, the steward pushed open the doors and announced your arrival. 

Sitting in a large wooden chair painted in a flashy gold sat the Duke, his wife - beautiful and smiling, nothing at all like the wicked witch you’d pictured as a child - sat to his left. 

“Welcome!” the Duke greeted. “It’s wonderful to see that you’ve arrived safely.” While there was certainly a small strain in his voice, the words out of the Duke’s mouth seemed genuine. 

You curtsied as custom. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord.”

“I’m sorry that our son is not here as well,” the Duchess said with apologetic eyes. “He is in the middle of training at the moment and we didn’t want to make you wait for him to clean up. You must be exhausted from your journey. Sohee will show you to your room. Please, take your time settling in. We will reconvene at dinner.”

Relief flowed over you as the young maid walked up from her spot off to the side, curtsied in front of you, and turned to leave the room. Finally, you’d be allowed to rest and you didn’t have to meet your possible future husband quite yet. In fact, the more you were able to put it off, the happier you would be. 

In a very un-ladylike manner, you flopped down on the bed as soon as the maid Sohee was gone and the door was closed. Staring up at the ceiling, you blew air out from between your lips. Should you start counting down the days until you were allowed to go back home now?

“Oh, it isn’t even that bad,” Edna scolded you. “The Duke and Duchess were friendly enough.”

“For now,” you mumbled. It was true that their greeting was warm and they seemed genuine in wanting you here. But the childhood fears and scene of imagination that you’d grown up with weren’t easily tossed away.

Edna sat down next to you on the bed and coaxed you into a sitting position. “I know you’re tired of hearing it all, but this is truly for the good of your people and your own future.”

“I don’t exactly remember consenting to any of this.”

Shaking her head, Edna fixed a strand of your hair that had fallen onto your face. “That’s the sacrifice to be made in order to live a comfortable life.”

“Comfortable is not the word I would use,” you argued. How could a life dictated by marriages and land and being in the King’s favor be comfortable? You’d much rather be free, allowed to fall in love with whoever you desired and to go places when you wished – and avoid the ones you wanted. 

“You have much more than most,” Enda reminded you. 

You bit back your tongue out at her back as she stood up, knowing any further argument was useless. Like you weren’t reminded of that on a daily basis. Did their struggles suddenly make your own invalid?

The muffled sound of clashing metal interrupted your thoughts. Curious, you went over to the slim window that let in the sunlight into your new room. Just outside on the ground below you were a group of four or five men all attacking one central character. Even from here you could tell that he was tired, but he didn’t give up. He kept swinging his sword, blocking blows and delivering attacks of his own. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop one of the other men from getting the better of him. He caught the lone fighter around the ankle, pulling his leg until he fell backwards. You flinched at how much that must have hurt. 

As if he’d sensed you watching, the man looked up at you. You only allowed for a brief moment of eye contact before you quickly turned around, your heart pounding in your chest from being caught. 

“What has you all excited?” Edna teased as she started to unpack your trunk. 

“I am not excited.”

She chuckled at you, straightening up and placing a hand against your cheek. “The warmth of your face says otherwise.” Peeking over your shoulder she chuckled again. “It looks like his grace is still busy practicing his swordsmanship.”

Your eyes widened as you flipped back over to look out the window again. “That’s the Duke’s son?”

He was… scrawnier than you imagined. More lean than the barrel chested nobles you’d met in the past. Granted, they were built that way in order to wear heavy armor day in and day out.

Over the sight, you went back to your bed, hoping to get some true rest in before you were forced to meet him face to face. He may have been physically different than what you’d thought, you were sure you would be more correct on his personality. After all, rumors had to have some basis of truth, right?

**

A few hours later you were summoned for dinner. Edna was allowed to come with you and she took the seat to your right at the long banquet table. 

To be honest, you were a little surprised to see only the Duke and Duchess sitting at the table ready to eat and converse. You were starting to get the feeling that you weren’t the only one dreading this meeting. If he was going to avoid you as much as he could then you wouldn’t complain. Perhaps if the two of you never met, you would be allowed to go home with no commitments and no hostility. After all, it wouldn’t be your fault there was no marriage. 

However, those hopes were dashed when the doors across the dining hall opened and the man from the earlier scrimmage strolled in. He barely nodded to his parents before settling into the chair across from you. It was as if you were completely invisible and you couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. Sure, the avoidance and tardiness you could accept and deal with, but being blatantly ignored was… well, it was hurting your feelings for lack of a better description. 

“Thank you for joining us, Sehun,” the Duchess said in a voice that was simultaneously sweet and scolding. 

“Training ran late,” he said in a low tone. He made eye contact with no one, keeping his concentration on the food in front of him and filling his plate. 

“At least you cleaned up,” the Duchess murmured. 

“I’m sorry for my son’s rudeness,” the Duke said to you. “He should take a moment to introduce himself since he did not greet you earlier.”

Sehun paused, looking at his father questionably. When the Duke did not relent on the stern glare he was sending his son, Sehun sighed and fell back into his chair before finally standing up and bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady (y/n).”

You were surprised to the point of almost forgetting to nod back in acknowledgement. The fact that he knew your name…. Surely he’d just heard it from his parents enough that it sunk in beyond his control. But he kept staring at you with those dark brown eyes that were almost black. They were nearly unreadable, blank and impenetrable. You argued with yourself whether or not there were actually thoughts behind them and he was simply that good at masking it or if his mind was as truly empty as he was making it seem. If you were to be stuck with him the rest of your life, you really hoped it wasn’t the latter. 

Dinner went about in a more uninteresting manner. The Duchess would occasionally ask you about your upbringing, what you liked to do in your spare time. Once in a while, the Duke would comment as well or insert a question of his own in regards to your father’s dealings. Sehun, however, had gone to his previous mindset of pretending no one else was there. Part of you wished that he would open up, saying something, anything. 

“If you’ll excuse me, your Grace,” you said quietly. “I’m still a bit tired from my journey. Would you please allow me to return to my room?”

“Of course,” the Duke nodded. “We’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

You gave them each a curtsied (although the energy felt wasted upon Sehun) and headed off to your room with Edna in tow. 

“You didn’t have to come with me,” you told her back in your room. 

“If I hadn’t I might have given that Sehun boy a tongue lashing for how he acted,” she grumbled. 

You smiled at her. “Yes, it was quite rude, wasn’t it? But what can you do? I’m not going to force him into conversation. Not today, at least.”

“Not today?” Edna raised an eyebrow at you. 

You tried to keep your face innocent, but it was useless. “You know me too well. The odds of me getting out of this marriage are slim. Might as well see if the rumors of his manners are true.”

Edna narrowed her eyes at you cheekily. “You think he’s handsome, don’t you?”

That got a scoff out of you. “I do not. He’s thin and his chin is pointy and you know I prefer lighter eyes.”

But your argument fell flat. “That’s a strong chin he has. And he isn’t sickly. From the way he was swinging that sword… he isn’t weak either.”

“That hardly means anything.” You were coming up empty on any meaningful fight back. 

“Keep telling yourself that. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was muscle underneath that tunic,” she said as she helped you out of your dress. “But I think getting to know him is a wonderful idea. You might like what you find.”

Rolling your eyes, you crawled in between the sheets and shoved your face into the pillow. It was a useless effort, but you wanted to stop yourself from thinking of Sehun before drifting off to sleep. 

**

The next day after breakfast, you thought you were to get to know your future family. However, the Duke had duties out in the fields and the Duchess was meeting with the wives of the lower nobles. Sehun… you weren’t sure where he was exactly, only that he disappeared soon after finishing his meal. 

So, you gave Edna the morning off and took to exploring the castle grounds on your own.

The garden was beautiful. Hedges twice your height nearly blocked out the sky. They were trimmed to perfect rectangles, little buds blooming spontaneously among the leaves. Flowers – both domestic and exotic – grew everywhere along the paths that twisted and turned within the walls of the garden. 

A smile grew on your face as you came across a bush of white roses. Taking the small knife out from your boot (Edna insisted on carrying protection at all times), you cute off three fully bloomed roses and headed back inside. After convincing one of the maids to fetch you vases and dyed cloth, you went to the library. In a corner near the window, you took the roses and put them in the vases freshly filled with water. Cutting the dark blue fabric, you placed the pieces in the water near the bottom of the vase. 

“Are you trying to poison the flower?”

The sudden visitor made you jump in surprise, nearly knocking the vase on the table over. You turned to simply explain what you were doing, but your lips formed a pout when you realized it was Sehun. 

“No,” you snapped. “I’m dyeing the petals.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Because I like strange colored flowers. Blue and purple roses aren’t exactly found in nature.”

“Isn’t it a bit wasteful?” he asked. You thought for a moment that he would sit down and join you at the table, but he remained standing, hands folded behind his back.

“Wasteful?” you echoed. 

“Blue and purple fabrics are the most expensive and yet you’re putting them in water. To dye flowers.”

“So beauty should only be allowed upon a person’s body?” Standing up, you took one of the vases and pushed it towards Sehun’s chest who barely caught the poor flower in time for it to not crash down to the floor. “Watch that over the next few days. You might be surprised at what grows before your eyes.” You turned and picked up the remaining flowers and scraps of cloth. 

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor for our own relationship?” he asked out of nowhere. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “I wasn’t aware that we had one.” And with that, you left the study, a triumphant smirk on your lips. 

**

Your last quip to Sehun must have put a chink in his cold armor. For the rest of the day, you didn’t see him, even at meal times. A worried look refused to leave the Duchess’ face all throughout the evening. Her eyes flickered to the chair that Sehun had occupied the day before.

The Duke was the first to excuse himself from the table, leaving you and Edna alone with the Duchess. 

“Lady (y/n)?”

You reluctantly raised your gaze from the plate in front of you to your gracious host. “Yes?”

“I would like to speak with you alone.” It was not a request that gave room for refusal. Even if you were able to say no, was there really any reason to?

“I’ll see you in your room,” Edna said as she stood up from her seat. Before exiting through the door, she gave you a last glance over her shoulder. 

The Duchess stood up and took over Edna’s seat, picking up your hand in hers. “I understand that this must be a confusing time for you.”

Confusing? No, not really. You knew what was expected of this “visit”. Trying? Frustrating? Irritating? Those descriptors would be much more accurate. But you didn’t correct her out loud. 

“We didn’t fully prepare Sehun for this possibility,” the Duchess confessed to you. “He was only aware of you coming here a few days ago. When it was explained what the hopeful outcome would be… well, he’s always been a free spirit. A bit of cliche way to describe one’s child, but it’s true. He’s always followed his own way. So, being told what would be expected of him - especially when marriage has never been an idea he was fond of - its taken its toll on him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked bravely when she’d taken a moment to pause. 

“Because I want you to put more effort on your end to get to know him,” the Duchess said with a smile. “He won’t come to you, not if left alone. The King wants this union, but Sehun doesn’t care about that. I see a light in you that might attract him, if given the time.”

You couldn’t quite find it in you to return the smile. “So, you want to force myself upon him?”

“Not in any sort of obvious way, but, essentially… yes. For the sake of both of our territories.”

With that, she patted your head and left the dining hall. 

You didn’t really want to get to know the man. You were quite alright with the idea of him not liking the idea of marriage. Perhaps your previous hope of this not coming to fruition could still come together. 

But what you didn’t know was that Sehun was not as uninterested as you’d previously suspected or as the Duchess had spoken about.

From a shadowed corner of the hall, Sehun watched you get up from the table and leave the room. Something along the lines of curiosity was brewing inside. He’d never cared for the ladies that hung around the castle in the past. 

Before the King had passed down this “wish”, daughters of lesser nobles and rich merchants in town tried their hardest to capture his attention. They always failed. Perhaps it was because you were something new that he was more intrigued than he should have been. Someone he hadn’t seen grow up through the many balls and dinners his parents had hosted through the years. 

Or maybe it was because you didn’t seem on board for this marriage either. Earlier in the library, you didn’t bat your eyes at him or use flirty lines. You seemed more annoyed than anything that he'd interrupted you and questioned what you were doing. The flower you’d given him was still starking white, causing him to think that you might have been making up what you were doing. 

Sighing to himself, Sehun waltzed up to the table and made himself a plate of food while trying to stay out of the way of the servants who were cleaning up. 

“Feel free to take whatever leftovers you want,” he said softly to the younger ones. They were only children, twelve years old or so. Smiles shined on their faces as they bowed their heads to him. 

“Thank you, my lord!” they cheered. He returned the gesture with a small grin of his own, ruffling the youngest boy’s hair before heading to his room for the night. 

**

You were cringing inside as you slowly made your way to the practice field outside near the stables. One of the kitchen boys had told you that Sehun was out here with his bow perfecting his aim. The information seemed to be correct as you grew closer to the archery lanes. It didn’t stop you from questioning why you were bothering with this. 

All by himself, Sehun drew back arrow after arrow, hitting the center circle nearly every time. 

“You’re rather good at that,” you complimented just in time to surprise him and throw off his aim. You couldn’t help but giggle at his exasperated state when the arrow hit the outermost ring. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Lady (y/n)?” he asked, obviously frustrated. The tightness of his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips told you that he might prefer if you went away, but you’d told the Duchess that you would try. Somewhat. Besides, Edna was right. While he wasn’t anything like the knights and barons you were used to, he was a bit handsome. Or… maybe more than a bit….

You shrugged. “I was simply bored and thought I would join you and get some practice of my own in.”

“Do you know how to use one of these?” Sehun challenged.

You scoffed at the insult. “I am more than adequate at archery.”

“Really?” He raised that stupid eyebrow at you again. Then he held his bow out for you. “Let’s see then.”

Confident in your abilities, you snatched the bow out of his grasp and plucked an arrow out of the quiver sitting on the ground. Adjusting your stance, you held up the bow and docked the arrow. It took a bit more strength that you were used to in order to pull back on the string, but you managed to hold it long enough to set up your sight. However, when you let go, you were a little disappointed in the landing of the arrow, hitting the round straw target in one of the middle rings. 

“Not… terrible,” Sehun said. You could hear the amusement in his voice. “Better than most ladies, I’m sure.” Well, at least that was sort of a compliment. “Let me show you how to improve.” He stepped towards you, which in turn made you step back. 

“What are you doing?” you snapped. 

He sighed. “I’m trying to show you how to do it better. Or do you not want to ever hit the bullseye?”

He was challenging you again. Let him get close or run away. Well, you certainly weren’t going to take the second choice. 

This time you stayed put when he stepped closer. You even allowed him to turn you back towards the target with his hands on your hips. His back was nearly against your shoulder blades. You were a little too aware of him, his breath on your neck and his fingers on top of yours as he helped you lift the bow and pull back on the arrow. 

“Lower your elbow,” he whispered in your ear. It was much lower and huskier than it ever needed to be, letting you know that he was very aware of what he was doing. The only question: was he doing this to see how much he could play with you? A small part of you truly hoped that he wasn’t. “Don’t pull too tight or your arm will start shaking. The tension in the string is enough to send it flying without too much work on your end. And don’t aim for the dot. Instead, aim just above it. The farther you are away, the higher you need to aim as the arrow will drop as it flies.”

You were barely acknowledging what he was saying. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than him. This probably wasn’t what the Duchess had in mind when she asked you to get to know her son. 

“Are you listening?” Sehun asked, apparently noticing the way your mind was wondering.��

“Huh? Yes, of course.” No, of course not. 

“Okay. Good. Then let go when you’re ready.”

You tried to recall what he’d said previously, aiming above the bullseye. Letting go, you watched the arrow fly, hitting just to the left of the large red dot. 

“Better,” Sehun nodded behind you. He didn’t seem to be aware that he was still so close. 

Looking back at him, you studied his face. The conflicting way his eyes and nose seemed so soft, but his chin and mouth sharpened out his features, putting him halfway between boy and man. Almost subconsciously, he placed a hand on your shoulder, causing your heart to jump into a frenzy. You hardly knew this person. Why were you acting this way? 

“How’s my flower?” you asked in order to distract yourself. 

“Hm?” He looked to you, still not moving to create space. “Your flower? Oh, right. It’s still white.”

“Well, of course it is,” you laughed. “It takes time for it to turn colors. Perhaps this is meant to teach you patience.”

“Or you’re simply playing with me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t play games.”

“Good,” was his reply. It seemed forever went by as the two of you just stared at each other, unsure of where to go from there but neither willing to walk away. 

“Lady (y/n)!”

You jumped back at the sound of your name, not as relieved as you should have been by the interruption. 

Edna hurried up to you, a twitch giving away her position on what she’d stumbled upon. “It’s time to get ready for dinner,” she told you. 

Nodding a little too eagerly, you curtsied a goodbye to Sehun, handing him back his bow and quickly following Edna back to the castle. 

“Don’t,” you told her once the two of you were far enough away. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edna chuckled. 

“Yes, you do,” you growled through clenched teeth. “So, don’t even think about it.”

Her response was a smirk.

**

Something happened after that day in the field. Over the next two weeks, you and Sehun spent more and more time together. 

It was never on purpose. Neither of you sought out the other, but when you did run into him, you ended up spending several hours talking. The more you learned about him, the more your anxiety on the possible marriage faded away. While he occasionally had some childish tendencies, you saw his kindness towards the servants, particularly the younger ones. He was only slightly spoiled, but not to the point where it turned you away from him. In fact, there were times you found it enduring. An odd response, you were aware, but you couldn’t help it.

The two of you were walking through the gardens when the steward arrived. 

“What is it?” Sehun asked. 

“The Duke is requesting your presence,” the steward replied. 

Sehun nodded and then turned to you to bow. “I’ll find you again later.”

“Actually, he is wanting to see you both.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. Was this it? Were you expected to agree to a wedding this soon? As much as you’ve enjoyed getting to know Sehun, your feelings for him growing every day, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that step. 

The two of you followed the steward back inside and through the hallways until you arrived in the Great Hall. Sitting in their regal seats were the Duke and Duchess. Edna stood off to the side, a pale envelope in her hand. 

“What’s going on?” Sehun inquired. 

“A letter has arrived from Lady (y/n)’s parents,” the Duke answered. On queue, Edna stepped forward and handed you the envelope. A knowing smile played at her lips, but she kept quiet. 

With shaking hands, you opened the letter and began to read. But where you had been expecting an urge to get married, you received terrible news instead. It must have been written all over your face. 

Sehun came closer to you, his hand on your elbow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The Baron of Haeju has attacked our city,” you said quietly in a trembling voice. “My father’s knights are holding him back, but they’re asking for help.” You looked up at the Duke pleadingly. “They might not be able to win this on their own.”

“The Baron of Haeju?” the Duke echoed. He glanced over his wife before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Lady (y/n), but I can’t send my men to assist your father.”

You gaped at him. “Wasn’t the point of me coming here to unite our lands? To heal the wounds between our families? My parents are asking for help, but you’re turning your back on them already?”

“My duty is to put my own people first,” the Duke argued. 

“Father, certainly we can spare a few men,” Sehun urged.

The Duke shook his head. “No. Our relationship with the Baron has been strained far worse recently despite the amount of trade we do with his merchants. I can’t risk cutting those ties and starving our people.”

“So, you would go against the King?” you challenged. 

“I’m sure he would understand.”

“Then there’s no reason for me to stay any longer.” Turning on your feet, you stormed out of the hall with Edna. 

“(y/n)! Wait!” Sehun blocked your path to your room, desperation on his face. He grasped your shoulders in an effort to hold you down. “Please, don’t go!”

“There’s no point in my staying here,” you told him. “My people need me and your father isn’t willing to help. I came here because of an alliance, but your father isn’t holding up his end of the bargain.” Your heart was breaking. You wanted to stay with him. You were falling for him. But your own sense of duty and pride was too overwhelming to ignore. Kissing his cheek, you settled into your decision. “I’ve enjoyed every second with you and I won’t forget you. Ever. Please be happy.” Before you could let the slightest seed of doubt start to grow, you ran past him. 

Not even half an hour later, you were in a carriage and headed home. Your father needed the few knights that had accompanied you here. Behind you, what was once a promising future was fading in the distance. 

**

“How could you let her go?!” Sehun yelled as his parents stared at him indifferently. 

“Decisions like this occur all the time,” his father sighed. “When you are the protector of this land, you will understand.”

“I thought you didn’t care for this marriage?” his mother asked. 

The question made Sehun step back. “Well, I- I mean-” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Father’s made his decision.” He ran out of the Great Hall before his parents could question him further. 

In his room, he sat on the floor, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. His morning had started out so well. He’d enjoyed talking to you in the garden, the one place that seemed to make you truly happy here. Even though you were listening to him, you would stop and feel the petals of the plants between your fingers, holding the flowers gently in your palm. 

And now you were gone. 

On the mantle above the fireplace, the rose you’d given him stared at him. The edges had turned blue, just as you predicted.

Standing up, he went over to the mantle and took hold of the flower. Already, it was starting to die, to wither away. Soon, he would have to toss it. But he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want to let you go. 

His mind was made up. Surely, you hadn’t gone too far yet. 

Bursting out of his room, he ran to find his most trusted men. They would follow him to help save your people, he was sure of it. In the stables, he was busy saddling his horse as Jongin, Tao, and Luhan did the same around him. Others waited to join them outside. 

“You’re going after her, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look to his mother as he nodded. “I have to. I can’t let her walk into a fight. Not when I can protect her.”

“Good. You love her, I can tell. I couldn’t ask for a better outcome.”

Peeking over his shoulder, he frowned. “Did you know that would happen?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I hoped you would open your heart to her. It tends to make these arrangements easier.”

Shaking his head, he kissed his mother’s cheek and then mounted his horse. “Let’s go!”

The group took off, galloping full speed down the road that would lead him back to you. With a lighter load, they had the advantage in catching up to you, but it would still take too long for Sehun’s liking. 

It seemed like hours had gone by and he could feel his horse growing tired. 

“Maybe we should rest,” Jongin yelled over the heavy beating of hooves against the dirt road.

As much as Sehun wanted to argue, he knew they couldn’t keep going like this. But he was granted one last miracle. Just as he was beginning to pull back on his reigns, a carriage came into view, prompting him to go faster. He recognized the coachman and the knights surrounding the carriage. It really was you. 

He pulled up alongside the carriage before overtaking it, forcing it to a stop or be responsible for a terrible collision.

“What’s going on?” Your companion, Edna, stuck her head out the window, eyes widening when she caught sight of Sehun. “Lady (y/n)!”

“What is it?” You, too, looked out the window and gasped. Pushing the door open, you jumped out while at the same time Sehun dismounted, running to you. He took you in his arms, holding you tight against his chest. “What are you doing here?” you demanded when you pushed back.

“I’m not letting you leave like this,” he declared. Then, he bent his head, connecting his lips to yours.When he pulled back, the corners of your mouth were pulling up. It made his heart warm to see you like that. “First, my men and I are going to help defend your home. And then, I’m going to marry you as promised.”

Tears pooled in your eyes that sparkled at him. “Why?”

“Because I’ve fallen for you like a petal falls from a flower.” From his tunic, he pulled out the now somewhat squished blue rose. 

“It turned blue,” you smiled. 

“Just like you said.” He swooped in for another kiss, happy to have you in his arms. He wasn’t sure if his plan to join your father’s men would work, but that was a risk he was willing to take to be with you. Only a month ago, you were the daughter of his father’s enemy. Now, you were his blue rose; unique, different, and forever close to his heart.

#exo #exo royalty au #exo royalty!au #sehun x reader #oh sehun #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo enemies to lovers au #sehun x fem!reader #fluff #angst #kpop

[mingisanshine]

KHJ: Chasing Rainbows Preview

Paring: Painter!Hongjoong x Reader

Warnings: Eventual smut! Lots of crying, angst, a lot of confliction with feelings, these two have a lot of sober and not sober deep talks, alcohol is consumed by people of age. Overall wholesome. ♥︎

(Also Hongjoong is not color blind. I just want to make that clear. It’s okay to be color blind and if you are maybe you can relate. I didn’t want to accidentally offend anyone and that’s why I’m putting this here. It’s supposed to me a mental block.)

Summary: Kim Hongjoong. The artist you inspire to be. The artist that inspired you to be something more than what you were. Everything about his work fascinates you, but when you meet him you see that’s he’s much different then what you expect him to be like. What happens when he tell you that can no longer see color? How do you keep from failing him with the burden he’s laid upon you?

»»————-　♡　————-««

You stare in awe at the canvas in front of you.

Everything about it seemed to be captivating.

The way the brushstrokes laid nicely on the canvas.

Or how the colors perfectly blended together, as if in harmony.

Then there were the tiny details. The shading, the way each grass strand was different to complete a puzzle.

It was perfect, but everything Kim Hongjoong made was always perfect.

“You’ve been staring at the same picture for the past twenty minutes.” You jump at the sound of Seonghwa’s voice. Rolling your eyes as he interrupted your thoughts whilst scaring you in the process. “Seriously I don’t think you’ve breathed since you saw it.” You sigh, turning to your towards your brother.

“You wouldn’t get it Hwa.” You grab his hand and tug him a little closer to the artwork. “Every single brushstroke laid on this canvas tells a different piece of a much bigger story.” You let go of his hand and smile gently before turning back to face him. “ The only art you consider art is your dumb acting.” Seonghwa dramatically opened his mouth in feigned shock.

“My acting is anything, but dumb. This is just colors on paper.” You gasp in pure disgust at how crude your brother could be to such fine work. Playfully hitting Seonghwa in his chest you roll your eyes. “What? Only art nerds look at a picture and search for a deeper meaning.”

“Well since I’m an Art History Major it’s my job to analyze art from everywhere. So I guess I am a certified art nerd.” Seonghwa scoffs playfully, as he grabbed a flute of champagne from behind him.

“What even is your deal with this guy?”

“I’ve been his biggest fan of his since forever. Back when I had tumblr I use to literally reblog all of his post.” You blush slightly vividly remembering all those times your day was made when you saw that he had posted something new.

“Wait is his name...Kim Hongjoong?” You perk up immediately upon hearing his name.

“Yes! How’d you know?!” You almost squeal.

“One I’m not blind. I can see his name on the plaque next to the photo.” Seonghwa looks down at you, with a mischievous smile on his face and you curse your brother for being blessed with the gift of height. “He also is here.” Seonghwa said casually downing the rest of his flute.

“You’re kidding?!” People look around you in annoyance at your volume, but you’re too excited to care.

“I actually got the invite from him. Well technically the company he’s under, but he is hosting this event.” You smile, but it immediately fades when you look down at your outfit. Your black turtleneck, tucked into black pants and simple boots, were nothing compared to people dressed in Gucci and Dior.

“I bet you’re glad I let you borrow my Chanel belt huh?”

“He’s going to think I’m a waiter.” Seonghwa chuckles at your statement trying to suppress as much laughter as he could. “I’m going to make myself look like a fool in front of one of my biggest inspirers ever.”

“And who might that be?” A new voice asked. You almost laugh, totally not acknowledging the presence of a new person.

“Seonghwa were you not paying attention? This man has been my idol since I was seventeen. He’s like one of my biggest cr-” An obnoxious laugh cuts you off and you turn to meet your brother only to see a new face.

Well not new, but definitely not someone you ever met.

“I’m glad I’ve such a big inspiration to you.” Your mouth flies open for a solid second before snapping back and spitting out gibberish.

“Holy sh- You’re Kim Hongjoong!” He laughs at your, very obnoxious, scream. He scratched the back of his neck slightly before shrugging.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh my god! I’m such a big fan! I’ve- wait. How much of that conversation did you hear?”

“I’ve been eavesdropping since Seonghwa here said my work was just paint on a canvas. Started listening when you said you were an Art History Major.”

You wanted to crawl up in a ball and die at that very moment.

“Y/N is an art nerd.” Seonghwa laughed, setting the flute glass down.

“Then I guess I am too. I went to school for Art History as well. I actually really enjoyed it.” You laughed partially at Seonghwa being lowkey roasted and partially out of embarrassment.

“Great two art nerds. You guys can talk about how blue and yellow make green while I go get some more champagne.” Seonghwa walked away, leaving you alone with the most terrifying person ever.

“I really am a big fan of your work.” You mumble, turning back to the painting, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

“Why?” He asked more to himself then to to you.

You’re silent for a moment. Shocked at such an obvious question.

“Why?” You repeat sarcastically. “Because the story you tell with your work speaks to me. The tiny details you put into your paintings instill me with hope. Your work shows me something I could never see before. Every single stroke of your brush creates something wonderful. Your art is simply...amazing.” You could feel the emotion and passion building within you.

Then he laughed. He shattered the beautiful illusion you had just created.

“You really see that when you look at paintings?” He asked almost in a beggingly.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it.” You turned back to him finally building the courage to look at him. Almost astonished to see his face twisted in disappointment.

“That’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever said about my paintings.” He turned looking at you, eyes slightly watered.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry. If you start crying I’ll start crying.” Hongjoong shook his head, laughing.

“How much does art mean to you?” He asked eyes closed. You quirk your eyebrow up in slight confusion.

“It’s everything to me. I couldn’t imagine my life without it.” Hongjoong opened his eyes and grabbed your hands. If you weren’t blushing before, then you most definitely were now.

“Do you think you can come to my studio?” You stare between him and his hands. Not sure whether to be scared or to be flattered.

“Why?”

“I think you can help me with my next project. I have a certain block.” You remove your hands and step back a little. Suspecting where this was leading.

“Look you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not that kind of gi-” Hongjoong cut you off before you could finish your statement.

“You didn’t think I was asking you to sleep with me where you?” You blush and look down at your boots, only for Hongjoong to grab your hand again. “I’m not that kind of guy. I would never ask you to do something like that. I just wanted some fresh eyes, from someone who can see things from a different perspective and has knowledge on art. Please don’t feel pressured to say yes.” You hesitate for a moment. Looking back at his eyes only to be met with pure sincerity. Almost making you combust right there.

“Are you sure?” He nodded looking down at you. “I mean why would why I pass up this offer?” He smiled and pulled you through a crowd of people causing you to yelp in shock. You make eye contact with Seonghwa and see him jaw dropped, mouthing an apology.

“Thank you so much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Holy shit.” You breathed out as Hongjoong opened the door to his studio. It looked almost unreal. Mason jar lights hung from the ceiling, big wide windows brought in the gentle rays of the sun, casting a small shadow. The back wall was filled with sketches and paintings. Blank and covered canvases filled almost every corner of the room. Other crafts hung from the walls and a couple plants littered the studio. Faded and some new paint splotches cover the easel sitting in the middle of the room. You felt as if you were walking onto a scene for a movie. “Hongjoong this is beautiful.” He shut the door and laughed lightly. “I don’t know how someone can have a block when being in such a lovely setting.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard for me to grasp on to as well.” He took his jacket off and hung it on the rack before walking over to the covered easel. “Y/N I want your complete and honest answer. Don’t hold any punches. You have to promise me you won’t.”

“I promise.” He lifted the cover of the easel and you gasp.

“Is it that bad?” He bit his bottom lip, nervously.

“Hongjoong. It’s beautiful.” You hand runs over the canvas gently.

“What do you see?” He asked eyes closed. “Give me every detail.”

“I see a child. Running after a sun set. The tinted glow of the sun setting a shadow on her and the tiny farm house in the back. She’s running like she can reach the horizon before it’s gone. Like she’s running for hope.” He lets out a shaky breath, before breathing in again.

“What colors do you see?”

“Pink, yellow, burnt orange, red, crimson and gold. Typical colors you see during a sunset. Why’d you ask such a silly question?” He dropped the canvas cover and turned towards you with the most pitiful look in his eye.

“I can’t see it.” You freeze and question what he means.

“What do you mean you can’t see it?” He walked away from the canvas and sat down on the couch in the corner, resting his head in the palms of his hands.

“I haven’t been able to see color for almost three years.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

A/N: This isn’t edited yet. So they’re most definitely going to be mistakes, but I just wanted to put this out there. I wrote majority of this in a day and I’m actually loving it so far. Tell me what you think!!

Love you!!♥︎♡♥︎♡

#Chasing Rainbows #Chasing Rainbows Preview #ateez fanfiction #ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong smut #hongjoong angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #Ateez Fame Series

[cross-poison]

CLARITAS. (PART 9)

CLARITAS. Din Djarin/OC. (PART 9)

WORDS: 4.3k  || WARNINGS: None, just soft.

A/N: Thank you all for supporting this fic so far! The feedback has made me smile and tear up many times this week and I can't thank you all enough for your kind words. 

Once Elliotte’s eyes were covered by a wrap of thick fabric, the Mandalorian held two fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Uh… three…? I don’t know,” came her response as her fingers sifted through the carefully aligned piles of flowers, all sorted by color, “You’re going to have to let me know what color I’m holding… and yes, it does matter.” 

Elliotte felt the faint shift in the air as the man settled in the grass across from her. “I will, I will,” he replied, “And you can’t see anything, right…?”

“Even if I could, I have my eyes shut… but please, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to--”

“You’ve been nothing but trustworthy since I met you. I can offer you this much as thanks.”

Ell became silent at that, sitting back on her knees and fiddling with the hem of her dress. After a moment came a soft pop and hiss as his helmet disengaged, and a faint thump as he set it aside in the grass. She could hear him draw in a faint breath, and in that moment it was difficult to determine who felt more nervous.

In an attempt to break the uncomfortable pause, Ell lowered her head in the direction of the flower piles and began feeling around for them. “What color is your hair…? Do you have hair? Are you allowed to answer that…?”

When the Mandalorian spoke next, it was without obstruction--the first time she’d heard it so. “...It’s brown.”

“Then let’s start with… red.” Beneath her blindfold, Ell’s brows furrowed with concentration as she tried to remember the layout of her flower piles. “These are…?”

“Yellow.”

“And these…?”

“Blue. To the left -- there.”

Elliotte’s hand finally settled over the proper color. She took a few in her palms and shifted forward on her knees, reaching out to him carefully. Her knuckles lightly brushed his cheek and the Mandalorian recoiled abruptly. “Sorry--! I’m sorry--” she began, but he settled himself and drew closer again.

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he answered slowly, willing himself to concentrate, “Here,” he bumped her wrist with his gloved hand, guiding her touch upward until her fingers brushed the softness of his hair. Mando was stiff beneath her touch as Elliotte carefully measured out strands of his hair, trying to gauge how long it was and how best to arrange a pattern within it. She’d cut longer stems on her flowers in case his hair was too short to wrap the way she did her own, but she’d quickly come to find his hair was curlier and a bit longer than she’d originally anticipated. 

Before placing each flower in his hair, she wrapped the bottom of the stem around her index finger and snapped it off, shortening it enough for her to disguise behind a curl of his hair. All the while, his eyes were on her blindfold, the anxiety that she could see through it never fully dissipating. Try as he might, though, his resolve began to crumble. Mando was able to watch the way she set her jaw in concentration as she looped a stem around her finger, and the way she chewed the inside of her lip as she fastened the flower securely in his hair.

Hearing her speak about artresmour before, he could not comprehend how the use of flowers could hold such a significant impact. How could putting flowers in one’s hair deepen a bond between people? 

As he watched his companion work through the process with him, he could understand now. 

The giver offered a piece of themselves within each flower; They hand-picked every flower, every stem, and each stem was finely woven between itself and other stems, invisible behind a curtain of hair. The giver was the artist, and the recipient, the canvas. The finished product was a work of art, but only the canvas knew the detail of every brushstroke and the genius behind it on a most personal level. It was a secret shared between the two of them. A silent dance of two souls in an empty meadow of flowers, and no one but the harpist and the Mandalorian around to know the significance.

How long had it been since someone touched his hair…?

Elliotte wove blossoms of red and yellow, alternating every so often and using nothing but her hands and muscle memory to guide her through the pattern. About halfway through her process, she felt the Mandalorian begin to relax. She felt the way his bunched shoulders loosened and how his breathing had mellowed out, and she knew if she could see him now without helmet or other obstruction, his eyes would be closed. He was no longer anxious.

She thought fondly back upon the countless nights her mother had tucked her into bed in a similar way, after Ell had been crying her eyes out over whatever trivial matter troubled her young mind. Her mother, always a patient woman, would sit at her bedside and sing nursery rhymes while speckles of white and blue flowers took shape around Elliotte’s head like a crown of petals. 

It seemed so long ago, and life hardly ever offered moments of security and sanctuary like she had known when she was little. Even still, the act of artresmour was one of the best ways to ease a mind into a sense of belonging. Everyone yearned for it in some way -- even metal-clad men from a distant planet. 

All good things must come to an end.

Elliotte fastened the last flower into his hair and felt briefly around his head to make sure everything was staying neatly in place. Once she was satisfied, she reluctantly retracted her hands from his hair. 

The loss of comfort was immediate for both of them. Just as quickly as it had started, the honey-sweet solace brought about by the simplest of human contact was severed, and the weight of real life came crashing back to the forefront of their minds.

“...Hungry?” Ell asked to break the tension, once again managing to draw the Mandalorian’s attention. She patted around in the grass until her hand brushed the roughness of the basket from the marketplace. She pulled the wooden basket onto her lap and opened it, fishing around until her hand closed around one of the palm-sized useme nuts. As she held it to him, he accepted it and the opportunity to eat a meal in the presence of another person without worry. 

Elliotte retrieved one of her own and again set the basket aside, shifting in the grass until she was facing the lake ahead. She crushed the thin shell in her hand and peeled off the shards, exposing the large seed within and pulling it out of the rest of the casing. Mando copied her actions and bit into the seed. It was rather plain in flavor, as most freshly harvested nuts were, but there was a hint of enjoyable sweetness to it.

A comfortable silence filled the air between them as they enjoyed the cool breeze wafting across the hilltop, sending ripples across the surface of the lake. Elliotte was still blindfolded, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. Truth be told, as much as the Mandalorian wanted to remove the slip of fabric and be met with her blue eyes once more, he didn’t want to mess up the artresmour by putting his helmet back on over it.

“I’m sure it probably looks ridiculous,” Ell said, snapping him from his thoughts, “We’re taught to do it pretty much from the day we’re born, and yet… I’ve never had to do it with my eyes closed. It’s kind of a fun challenge.”

“It looks wonderful,” he replied, and he meant it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his reflection in the lake, and he especially couldn’t look away from the spots of red and yellow tucked into his dark hair. He looked like autumn. He looked like fallen leaves and a fireplace--like telling ghost stories and silhouettes bundled in warm furs, tucked away from the chilling bite of an evening frost. 

It’s like a picture.

Mando hadn’t realized he’d said the words out loud until he heard Elliotte shifting beside him. He turned his head to watch her discard the empty useme shell and reach up to her own hairline. For the briefest moment, he thought she was reaching for the blindfold and nearly sprang for his helmet, but her fingers instead wrapped around a curl of her hair that had become untucked and began playing with it between her fingertips idly. “In a way, it is,” she murmured, one shoulder lifting in a sort of half-shrug, “Me, I’ve always seen it as a sort of living poetry--just instead of weaving words, you’re weaving flowers. I’ve never been too good at putting words to paper, so artresmour makes for a satisfactory outlet.”

“And playing your instrument doesn’t?”

Elliotte gave a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “The nobles make for a rotten audience. They don’t really listen to it anyway.”

“Then why do you play for them?” he inquired. 

“It’s less of an outlet and more of a necessity. The nobility are… difficult to work with, to say the least. They lack respect and common decency, but they pay better than anyone else. You said you used to be a bounty hunter, right? Surely you’ve had to deal with a number of unsavory people in order to get paid.”

“I have,” he admitted, unable to count on both hands the number of names that immediately came to his mind, “But… in a way, I’m able to remove myself from it. They have no idea who I am beyond a suit of armor and an empty nickname.”

“Is that why you can’t take your helmet off? To maintain some sort of anonymity?”

“Partially. The main reason is due to my religion. No living person has seen my face since… well--in a long time,” he explained, trailing a gloved finger over the t-shaped visor of his helmet beside him. “I blindfolded you not because I don’t find you trustworthy, but because if you did see… I would have to kill you. Or else never put the helmet on again.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of apology or explanation, if that’s what you’re getting at. I would never ask anyone to make that kind of sacrifice just because I was feeling selfish! There’s no amount of curiosity worth overstepping a boundary like that,” Elliotte answered simply, crunching away at another useme nut. 

“You’d be surprised at the number of people who believe they’re entitled otherwise.”

Ell angled her head toward him, brow furrowing in bewilderment. “You don’t say? Here I thought I’d seen the worst of people. A sprained wrist isn’t looking so bad right now,” she mumbled, lifting her wrapped arm to emphasize. 

Mando’s gaze watched the movement of her forearm. “How does it feel…?”

“It’s not quite as sore today. Hopefully is isn’t as bad as I originally thought. Then again, I’m really in no hurry to go back to the palace…”

“Ideally, you won’t have to,” he said, finally reaching for his helmet and slipping it back on over his artresmour’d head. It clicked into place, and the next time he spoke his voice was once again muffled by the vocoder. “I’m going to pay you the same rate for your guidance that you were being paid for your instrument.”

As soon as the blindfold was removed from her eyes, Elliotte shot him an incredulous look. “Yeah, right, I wouldn’t ask that of you. That’s ridiculous.”

Before she could further protest, Mando was already passing her a handful of credits. “Please. It’s the least I can do. You need it more than I do.”

Ell hesitated for a moment, looking as though she made to reach for them, but instead her hands gently folded his gloved fingers back over the currency. She shook her head slowly, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Your offer is generous--truly, it is, and I’m exceptionally grateful, but… the truth is, the money isn’t specifically for me. I’ve got some… people I’m trying to look after. People who are in much more of a dire situation that myself. I have enough in my savings to keep me fed and a roof over my head for a while…”

“Then give it to them--I don’t mind.”

“Mando, you are one of them,” she said, and for the first time he noticed the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes. Elliotte paused for a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes to concentrate on how best to continue. “People have been stranded on this planet for months. Acquiring Listronian fuel these days is no easy or cheap task, as I’m sure you’re growing aware. If you burn through your savings, you’re sure to be put in a situation just like them, and with your kid--”

“Ellie,” he said, and judging by the way she jolted, perhaps it came out a bit sterner than he intended. “It’s going to be alright. You’ve already got enough to deal with; The last thing you need is to start worrying about me.”

Elliotte gave a weak laugh, lightly wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I can’t help it--you’re very easy to worry about.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Am I? Well… you’d be the first to think so,” he stood and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “You seem to have rotten luck of your own. First the wrist, then an attempted robbery… can’t seem to catch a break this week.”

“Well, it’s not been all bad. I got some nice company out of it, didn’t I?” said Elliotte, retrieving the basket from beside her and turning to begin the walk back down the hillside.

Another soft laugh escaped through the modulator. “I’m not usually what people would consider ‘good company’.”

“I suppose the armor would be a bit off putting to some.”

“That and my typical encounters with people aren’t exactly the ‘friendly’ kind. When you have a lot of enemies, it’s best to hold your tongue in their presence. It’s safer for you if they don’t know much about you.”

Ell didn’t respond, and they were overtaken by silence as they descended the hillside, enjoying the coolness of the air as Cietovus 8 sank behind the hillside and left them in growing darkness. Before long, they’d reached the bottom of the hill. 

Back on flat ground, Elliotte turned to give him a smile. “Thanks for humoring me all day. I know the market isn’t super fun, but it is essential to life on Listronus. Hopefully Listrona Hill was a bit more enjoyable.”

“It was… and thank you for showing me. You make one hell of a tour guide.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes as the countryside faded into darkness behind them and the lights of the city drew nearer. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop before we call it a night…?” 

“I don’t mind.”

On Elliotte’s route, they crossed through the center of the city, passed the palace and her house further down the street, and continued along a quiet path to the western outskirts. Mando recognized the area quickly as the place he’d rescued Elliotte from the would-be mugger the night before… what was she doing in this part of town so frequently?

His question was answered soon after when Elliotte turned up the pathway to a worn-down house surrounded by overgrown shrubbery and hidden from the view of the street. Mando followed her to the door as she knocked rhythmically on the chipping wooden. Before too long, a woman with hair like fire opened the door. Her brown eyes were soft and full of kindness, and her presumably long hair was tied in place by dozens of tiny yellow flowers. She couldn’t have been much older than Elliotte, herself, but her expression immediately lit up when she saw her. The woman pulled her into a bruising hug and made some comment about how she’d told Ell not to be out at this time of night. The Mandalorian shifted his weight from foot to foot, and only then did she seem to take notice of him.

The redheaded woman recoiled in surprise, “Ell, I truly thought you’d brought me a statue, but… this must be the Mandalorian you’ve told me so much about.”

Ell only had time to give an embarrassed “Rhy--” before the other woman stepped aside and held the door open. 

“Come in, come in. My goodness, you are tall.”

Mando gave a sheepish ‘thanks’ and stepped into the small building behind Elliotte. The interior wasn’t much more impressive than the outside; It was small and cramped, and the smell of wood rot was rather prevalent in the air. To his left, he was surprised to find a crowd of people huddled around the small fireplace. When they took notice of Elliotte, many smiled or waved in greeting. Hardly any of them were Listronian; Mando recognized a number of species from planets far off. All at once, things began to click into place.

The fuel crisis. 

Elliotte mentioned that she knew a number of other people stranded like he and the child were, and said that a large portion of her income went to providing for those in a worse situation than herself. All this time, she’d been aiding them.

“This is Rhythimi,” Ell said, once the door was shut firmly behind them, “My best friend. Rhy, this is Mando.”

“Mando. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rhythimi answered kindly, extending her hand.

“Wish I could say the same,” he replied, shaking her hand whilst stealing a glance in Ell’s direction.

Rhythimi chuckled. “No, don’t be silly. If I’ve remained anonymous, that means Elliotte’s done her job. That being said, if you’re here that must mean you’ve found yourself in a similar situation to all these folks… low on fuel?”

“That’s right.”

“In that case, I’ll be sure to add you to the wait list,” said Rhythimi.

“Wait list?” Mando inquired.

“Of course. For fuel.”

“You’re able to get it?”

“Sure, but it’ll be a few weeks… or even a few months. We aren’t exactly following legal protocols here. But… We’ll do what we can to get you home.”

The Mandalorian inclined his head.

“Sorry to drop in on you with a guest unexpectedly, Rhy,” Ell chimed in, “…we’ll be out of your hair shortly, but we did bring you these. Hopefully they’ll come in handy,” Ell said, setting the basket of useme nuts on the table.

Rhythimi smiled gratefully. “Of course they will. Every little bit helps. And don’t you dare apologize… seeing you is one of the few things I look forward to every day.”

Ell smiled, and the two exchanged a quick hug before she bid her friend and the refugees goodnight and made for the door. The cool air returned as she and the Mandalorian crossed the porch and descended the few stairs to the grass. “I apologize for not telling you about her sooner,” she said in a hushed whisper, trying to keep her voice down in case anyone was attempting to listen in, “I know you need fuel--I’ve known that since we met, but I hope you understand… I had to make sure you were trustworthy first.”

“I do understand,” he replied, turning his helmet in her direction. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Helping us.”

Elliotte turned to look at him, beaming with a smile that reached her eyes. “No worries… I’m glad to be doing something for a good cause.” The two reached the main street before she spoke again. “Thank you for your time today. I know it was… a lot of seemingly pointless information, but it feels nice to have someone to tell it all to.”

“Of course. I look forward to the lessons to come. In the meantime, I’ll walk you home,” he replied, and Ell looked like she wanted to protest, but he held up a gloved hand to quiet her. “No, you won’t be ‘troubling me’, stop it. You got mugged on this exact street corner last night. I’m not taking any chances.”

As much as she wanted to, Elliotte couldn’t argue with that. “Fine. But you have to take a cup of tea back to your ship with you.”

“Deal.”

By the time they began their trip down the street in the direction they’d come, the streetlights had begun to illuminate the ground around them. The Mandalorian felt much more at ease with the increased lighting the closer they got to the city, and much more relieved knowing she had agreed to let him walk her home at this time of night. Although his faith in her continued to grow, his faith in the city deteriorated. There were much more underlying issues here than he’d originally anticipated. 

Between a haughty nobility, a fuel crisis, a growing homeless population, poverty-stricken individuals, and a greedy king atop it all, Mando couldn’t help but wonder how gentle souls such as Elliotte and Rhythimi had managed to survive on this planet. They both were a light in a tunnel of darkness… a clarity. A brightness.

A brightness the Mandalorian had scarcely witnessed in his many years as a bounty hunter. Without Elliotte, he hardly believed he would have given this planet more than a passing thought. He would know nothing about their culture or the people, and not too long ago he wouldn’t have cared. However, more than anything he now wanted to learn more.

Mando reached this conclusion the same moment they reached her doorstep. “Thank you again for everything,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at him. She reached for the handle and tried to turn it, but the door didn’t budge. She cursed and patted the sides of her dress, and even her sleeves.

There was a long pause before her forehead thumped against the wood of the door. “The key. I locked the key inside.”

The Mandalorian went to respond, but he watched her gaze shift from the door to the overhanging balcony a few feet up. 

“Hold on,” she mumbled, crossing the small porch and taking a large jump. Her hands found purchase on the bottom of the balcony and she hoisted herself up with skillful ease.

“This hasn’t been your first time locking yourself out, has it,” Mando observed, watching with his arms folded until he was sure she was up safely. Then, he copied her motions and swung himself over the rail.

“First time while I had company,” she answered, pulling the balcony doors open. She stepped inside the revealed room without a second thought, but the Mandalorian hesitated. The room was surprisingly spacious, with a closed closet at one side, Elliotte’s harp propped against the wood of the door, and a large bathroom at the other. In the middle of the room was a small couch and coffee table, and to his left was a small bed encircled by a thin white curtain. It became clear rather quickly that he was looking into her bedroom, and he immediately felt as though he was intruding.

Elliotte seemed to notice his hesitation and lifted her hands to ask him to wait. “You don’t have to come in! You can stay there--I’m just gonna run downstairs to get your tea.”

Mando gave a single curt nod and graciously turned to busy his attention elsewhere… “elsewhere” happened to be looking out over the railing of the balcony. Without his helmet, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish the features of the buildings barely visible in the darkness, but he was able to recognize the shape of the palace down the street, and the neighboring homes on this stretch of road. The marketplace was empty, and the stalls were covered individually by large sheets to attempt to protect the wood from rain. 

Before long, Elliotte made her way back upstairs, cupping her hands around a mug of steaming tea. “Here you are,” she said, carefully passing the mug to him, “Freshest Listronian tea you’ll get this time of night.”

He thanked her and took the mug from her. “Same time tomorrow?”

“We’ll start whatever time you want. I kept you out longer than I intended today, so… sleep in and spend some time with your kid.”

The Mandalorian smiled behind his helmet and realized a bit too late that she was unable to see it. “I’ll meet you here.”

The conversation should have ended there, and yet neither one of them made a move to leave. Instead, Elliotte averted her gaze, looking out over the city.

 “Earlier today, you called me ‘Ellie’... I don’t know that you meant to, but you did. No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“No, don’t apologize,” she said quickly. She scratched her arm sheepishly, vision still focused on the flickering lights in the buildings across the street. “That was my mother’s nickname for me. It was my favorite.”

Mando didn’t miss the hurt in her eyes when she mentioned her mother, but even more so, he didn’t miss the fond smile that crept over her lips. He turned his helmet slightly to the side, still watching her through the visor. “...Thank you for today, Ellie... I learned a lot.”

The corner of her lip turned upward. “I did too.”

“You learned a lot about your planet today? Here I thought you knew everything,” he said, hoping his humor wasn’t lost through the vocoder.

“Not about Listronus,” Ell replied earnestly, “About you.” For a moment, her blue eyes were drawn away from the visor and moved to his shoulder, where a red flower petal had fallen out from beneath his helmet. She lifted her hand to brush it off and watched it flutter to the balcony’s floor. 

“Oh…” he responded lamely.

And then Ell did something that surprised them both. 

She kissed him.

A soft brush of her lips against the smooth beskar of his helmet’s cheek. She pulled back just as quickly as she’d initiated it, face flushed the color of a rose, before she cleared her throat, offered a soft “goodnight” and padded briskly into her room, shutting the balcony doors behind her. Whether she or the Mandalorian was left more flustered was debatable, as she’d immediately fled the area and he remained standing on her balcony for several long moments after she’d closed the door, a gloved hand pressed lightly against the spot on his helmet she’d touched.

After a few moments, he collected himself enough to turn his gaze from the doors she’d disappeared behind and back toward the view overlooking the city. Reluctantly, he eased himself back over the balcony’s railing and dropped to the street once again, ready to begin his walk home. 

“Goodnight,” he murmured to her front door.

#claritas #my writing #oc #original character #mando #the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #pedro fic #pedro pascal fic #din djarin x oc #din djarin/oc #mando/oc #mando x oc #the mandalorian fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars #baby yoda #tv #movies #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #pedro fandom #pedro pascal fandom

[mamcollection]

Artist Gina Beavers Satirizes Our Insatiable Appetite for Personal Beauty in Her New Show at Marianne Boesky

Makeup as Muse: Gina Beavers

November 28, 2020

Despite my art history background and general love of art, I am less than eloquent when writing about it.  Nevertheless I will continue soldiering forward with the Museum's Makeup as Muse series, the latest installment of which focuses on the work of Gina Beavers in honor of her recent show at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Beavers' practice encompasses a variety of themes, but it's her paintings of makeup tutorials that I'll be exploring.  Since I'm both tired and lazy this will be more of a summary of her work rather than offering any fresh insight and I'll be quoting the artist extensively along with some writers who have covered her art, so most of this will not be my own words.

Born in Athens and raised in Europe, Beavers is fascinated by the excess and consumerism of both American culture and social media. "I don't know how to talk about this existence without talking about consumption, and so I think that's the element in consuming other people's images. That's where that's embedded. We have to start with consumption if we're going to talk about who we are. That's the bedrock—especially as an American," she says.  The purchase of a smart phone in 2010 is when Beavers' work began focusing on social media.  "[Pre-smart phone] I would see things in the world and paint them! Post-smartphone my attention and observation seemed to go into my phone, into looking at and participating in social media apps, and all of the things that would arise there...Historically, painters have drawn inspiration from their world, for me it's just that a lot of my world is virtual [now]."

But why makeup, and specifically, makeup tutorials?  There seem to be two main themes running through the artist's focus on these online instructions, the first being the relationship between painting and makeup.  Beavers explains:  "When I started with these paintings I was really thinking that this painting is looking at you while it is painting itself. It’s drawing and painting: it has pencils, it has brushes, and it’s trying to make itself appealing to the viewer. It’s about that parallel between a painting and what you expect from it as well as desire and attraction. It’s also interesting because the terms that makeup artists use on social media are painting terms. The way they talk about brushes or pigments sounds like painters talking shop."  Makeup application as traditional painting is a theme that goes back centuries, but Beavers's work represents a fresh take on it.  As Ellen Blumenstein wrote in an essay for Wall Street International: "Elements such as brushes, lipsticks or fingers, which are intended to reassure the viewers of the videos of the imitability of the make-up procedures, here allude to the active role of the painting – which does not just stare or make eyes at the viewer, but rather seems to paint itself with the accessories depicted – literally building a bridge extending out from the image...Beavers divests [the image] of its natural quality and uses painting as an analytical tool. The viewer is no longer looking at photographic tableaus composed of freeze-frames taken from make-up tutorials, but rather paintings about make-up tutorials, which present the aesthetic and formal parameters of this particular class of images, which exist exclusively on the net."  The conflation of makeup and painting can also be perceived as a rumination on authorship and original sources.  Beavers is remaking tutorials, but the tutorials themselves originated with individual bloggers and YouTubers.  And given the viral, democratic nature of the Internet, it's nearly impossible to tell who did a particular tutorial first and whether tutorials covering the same material - say, lip art depicting Van Gogh's "Starry Night"  - are direct copies of one artist's work or merely the phenomenon of many people having the same idea and sharing it online.  Sometimes the online audience cannot distinguish between authentic content and advertising; Beavers's "Burger Eye" (2015), for example, is actually not recreated from a tutorial at all but an Instagram ad for Burger King (and the makeup artist who was hired to create it remains, as far as I know, uncredited).

Another theme is fashioning one's self through makeup, and how that self is projected online in multiple ways.  Beavers explains: "I am interested in the ways existing online is performative, and the tremendous lengths people go to in constructing their online selves. Meme-makers, face-painters, people who make their hair into sculptures, are really a frontier of a new creative world...It’s interesting, as make-up has gotten bigger and bigger, I’ve realized what an important role it plays in helping people construct a self, particularly in trans and drag communities. I don’t normally wear a lot of make-up myself, but I like the idea of the process of applying make-up standing in for the process of self-determination, the idea of ‘making yourself’."

As for the artist's process, it's a laborious one. Beavers regularly combs Instagram, YouTube and other online sources and saves thousands of images on her phone. She then narrows down to a few based on both composition and the story they're trying to tell. "I'm arrested by images that have interesting formal qualities, color, composition but also a compelling narrative. I really like when an image is saying something that leaves me unsure of how it will translate to painting, like whether the meaning will change in the context of the history of painting," she says.  "I always felt drawn to photos that had an interesting composition, whether for its color or depth or organization. But in order for me to want to paint it, it also had to have interesting content, like the image was communicating some reality beyond its composition that I related to in my life or that I thought spoke in some interesting way about culture."  The act of painting for Beavers is physically demanding as well: she needs to start several series at the same time and go back and forth between paintings to allow the layers to dry.  They have to lay flat to dry so she often ends up painting on the floor, and her recent switch to an even heavier acrylic caused a bout of carpal tunnel syndrome.

But it's precisely the thick quality of the paint that return some of the tactile nature of makeup application.  This is not accidental; Beavers intentionally uses this technique as way to remind us of makeup's various textures and to ensure her paintings resemble paintings rather than a photorealistic recreation of the digital screen. "The depth of certain elements in the background of images has taught me a lot about seeing. I think I have learned that I enjoy setting up problems to solve, that it isn't enough for me to simply render a photo realistically, that I have to build up the acrylic deeply in order to interfere with the rendering of something too realistically," she explains.  Sharon Mizota, writing for the LA Times, says it best:  "Skin, lashes and lips are textured with rough, caked-on brushstrokes that mimic and exaggerate wrinkles and gloppy mascara. This treatment gives the subjects back some of the clunky physicality that the camera and the digital screen strip away. Beavers’ paintings, in some measure, undo the gloss of the photographic image."

Beavers also uses foam to further build up certain sections so that they bulge out towards the viewer, representing the desire to connect to others online.  "Much of what people do online is to try to create connection, to reach out and meet people or talk to people. That is what the surfaces of my painting do in a really literal way, they are reaching off the linen into the viewer’s space," she says.  This sculptural quality also points to the reality of the online world - it's not quite "real life" but it's not imaginary either, occupying a space in between.  Beavers expands on her painting style representing the online space: "It’s interesting because flatness often comes up with screens, and I think historically the screen might have been read like that, reflecting a more passive relationship. That has changed with the advent of engagement and social media. What’s behind our screen is a whole living, breathing world, one that gives as much as it takes. I mean it is certainly as 'real' as anything else. I see the dimension as a way to reflect that world and the ways that world is reaching out to make a connection. Another aspect is that once these works are finished, they end up circulating back in the same online world and now have this heightened dimensionality – they cast their own shadow. They’re not a real person, or burger, or whatever, but they’re not a photo of it either, they’re something in between."

Let's dig a little more into what all this means in terms of makeup, the beauty industry and social media.  Beavers' work can be viewed as a simultaneous critique and celebration of all three.  Sharon Mizota again: "[The tutorial paintings] also pointedly mimic the act of putting on makeup, reminding us that it is something like sedimentation, built up layer by layer. There is no effortless glamour here, only sticky accretion.  That quality itself feels like an indictment — of the beauty industry, of restrictive gender roles. But an element of playfulness and admiration lives in Beavers’ work.  They speak of makeup as a site of creativity and self-transformation, and Instagram and other social media sites as democratizing forces in the spread of culture. To be sure, social media may be the spur for increasingly outré acts, which are often a form of bragging, but why shouldn’t a hamburger eye be as popular as a smoky eye? In translating these photographs into something more physical, Beavers asks us to consider these questions and exposes the duality of the makeup industry: The same business that strives to make us insecure also enables us to reinvent ourselves, not just in the image of the beautiful as it’s already defined, but in images of our own devising."

This ambiguity is particularly apparent in Beavers's 2015 exhibition, entitled Ambitchous, which incorporated beauty Instagrammers and YouTubers' makeup renditions of Disney villains alongside "good" characters.  Blumenstein explains: "So it isn’t protagonists with positive connotations which are favoured by the artist, but unmistakably ambivalent characters who could undoubtedly lay claim to the neologism ambitchous, which is the name given to the exhibition. Like the original image material, this portmanteau of ‘ambitious’ and ‘bitchy’ is taken from social media and its creative vernacular, and is used, depending on the context, either in a derogatory fashion – for example for women who will do absolutely anything to get what they want – or positively re-interpreted as an expression of female self-affirmation.  Beavers also applies this playful and strategic complication of seemingly unambiguous contexts of meaning to the statements contained in her paintings. It remains utterly impossible to determine whether they are critically exaggerating the conformist and consumerist beauty ideals of neo-capitalism, or ascribing emancipatory potential to the conscious and confident use of make-up."

More recently, Beavers has been using her own face as a canvas and making her own photos of them her source material, furthering her exploration of the self. "Staring at yourself or your lips for hours is pretty jarring. But I like it, because it creates this whole other level of self,” she says.

This shift also points to another dichotomy in Beavers's work: in recreating famous works of art on her face, she is both critiquing art history's traditional canon and appreciating it, referring to them as a sort of fan art.  "I think a lot of the works that I have made that reference art history—like whether it's Van Gogh or whoever it is—have a duality where I really respect the artist and I'm influenced by them, and at the same time I'm making it my own and poking a little fun. And so, a lot of these pieces originated with the idea of fan art. You'll find all sorts of Starry Night images online that people have painted or sculpted or painted on their body. It comes out of that. And I just started to reach a point where I was searching things like 'Franz Kline body art,' and I wasn’t finding that, so I had to make my own. Then it started to get a little bit geekier. I have a piece in the show where I am painting a Lee Bontecou on my cheek, that's a kind of art world geeky thing—you have to really love art to get it."

Ultimately, Beavers perceives the intersection of makeup and social media as a force for good.  While the specter of misinformation is always lurking, YouTube tutorials and the like allow anyone with internet access to learn how to do a smoky eye or a flawlessly lined lip.  "I think for a lot of people social media is kind of like the weather. We don't have a lot of control of it, it just is. It gives and it takes away. There's no doubt that it has connected people in ways that are great and productive, allowing people to find communities and organize activism, it can also be a huge distraction...I approach looking at images there pretty distantly, more as a neutral documentarian, and I come down on the side of seeing social media as an incredibly useful, democratic tool in a lot of ways," she concludes.

On the other side of social media, Beavers is interested on how content creators help disseminate the idea of makeup as representing something larger and more meaningful than traditional notions of beauty. "I was super fascinated with makeup and all of the kinds of costume makeup and things you can find online that go away from a traditional beauty makeup and go towards something really wild and cool...I also had certain paintings in [a 2016] show that were much more about costume makeup, that were going away from beauty. That’s the thing that gives me hope. When I go through makeup hashtags on Instagram, there will be ten or twenty beauty eye makeup images and then one that’s painted with horror makeup. There are women out there doing completely weird things, right next to alluring ones." In the pandemic age, as people's relationships with makeup are changing, "weird" makeup is actually becoming less strange. Beavers' emphasis on experimental makeup is more timely than ever.  I also think she's documenting the gradual way makeup is breaking free of the gender binary.  She says: "I mean with makeup, and the whole conversation around femininity and makeup—I think for a long time when I was making makeup images, there were people that just thought, 'Oh, that's not for me,' because it's about makeup, it's feminine. But it’s interesting, the culture is shifting. I just saw the other day that Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez did a whole Instagram live where she was putting on her makeup and talking about how empowering makeup is for trans communities...some people see make-up as restrictive or frivolous, but drag performers show how it can be liberating and life-saving."  Another point to consider in terms of gender is the close-up aspect of Beavers's paintings.  With individual features (eyes, lips, nails) separated from the rest of the face and body and removed from their original context, they're neither masculine nor feminine, thereby reiterating that makeup is for any (or no) gender.

All I can say is, I love these paintings.  Stylistically, they're right up my alley - big, colorful and mimicking makeup's tactile nature so much that I have a similar reaction to them as I do when seeing makeup testers in a store: I just want to dip my hands in them and smear them everywhere! I also enjoy the multiple themes and levels in her work. Beavers isn't commenting just on makeup in the digital age, but also self-representation online, shifting attitudes towards makeup's meaning, the relationship between painting and makeup, and Western art history.

What do you think of Beavers's paintings? 

[luna-redamancy]

Hey! I adore your blog and writing style and wondered if you could do a lindirxreader fic where y/n is quite meek & shy when socialising so retreats to the gardens to paint (art being their gift).Lindir stumbles upon them painting flowers where he sees all of their work ,falls in love & encourages y/n to exhibit their work and teach him their gift. This is based off my experience (I’ve always been hesitant to show my art) & as lindir has a talent with music I thought I’d pair the 2 😂.Thank you!

Hi Lovey! I hope you enjoy it <3

 The environment was peaceful, trees rustling softly with the gentle winds, the birds chipper yet not overly loud to ruin the tranquility. Lindir sat upon a bench under one of the trees, his fingers itching to read the book of poetry he had purchased from a traveling merchant the other evening. 

As he settled in, the tranquility was ruined by the sound of wood smacking together.

“What is that sound?” Lindir questioned aloud, sitting up to investigate. 

Soon the sound ended, only light scuffling noises coming from the source now. Furrowing his brows, Lindir pondered if he should continue searching out the source, or to leave it alone. “It wouldn’t hurt to look…” He whispered to himself as he peeked from behind a tree to see what was causing so many noises in the garden this early in the morning. As his eyes landed upon your form, he tilted his head. You were painting.

Noticing the wooden frame, Lindir made an ‘ah’ noise in understanding, realizing you were setting up your easel to paint easier. 

Going back to his book, he found comfort in the noises of your painting as he began to delve into words of rhythm. 

As the sun reached high noon, Lindir decided to get back to Elrond to check for any new duties he needed to complete before dinner. Stretching, he sighed in satisfaction as his back popped, putting his book away in his robes before continuing out of the gardens. 

Noticing someone emerging from deeper in the gardens, your brushstrokes slowed, fear crawling up your neck. Not fear for an attack, or fear of being caught in the gardens, oh no. It was much worse. Someone seeing your art. 

Making quick movements to put away your art supplies, you failed to notice your easel tipping for your movement threw it off balance. 

Lindir gasped as he saw your painting about to hit the grass, the paint still shiny and wet. Without another thought, he lunged forward to catch the canvas before it was ruined. 

“Oh my!” You gasped out, mortified that one; your painting was almost destroyed, and two; that you could’ve severely ruined someone’s clothes through your own carelessness. 

“Are you alright?” You questioned, noting how the individual didn’t move from underneath your canvas. 

Lindir was in awe, he had never seen such details replicated so perfectly. “You painted this?” He asked instead of responding to your question. 

“Ah. Yes… Yes, I did…” You fumbled with your top strings, always afraid of someone judging your work harshly. 

“It’s magnificent.” Before you could respond, his eyes traveled to the other canvases drying face-up on the grass. “You did all of these?” Lindir couldn’t help the astonished tone in his voice. He was amazed that you did every single one of these. Some were the garden as a whole, some close-ups of flowers. All magnificent in their own way. 

In your shock, you stayed silent as he placed the canvas face-up on the grass as well to try with the others. “My apologies, I’ve just never seen anything so beautiful…” He trailed off, realizing how rude he was being at the moment. 

“I shall leave you to continue,” Lindir bowed his head, embarrassment filling him as he moved to leave the gardens without another word. 

“You really think they’re beautiful?” You asked before he could get too far, your eyes focused on the painting he once held in his hands. 

“Beautiful, magnificent, amazing, wondrous…” Lindir trailed off, giving you a meek smile as you responded with one of your own. 

Receiving no verbal response, he continued. “In fact, I am shocked my Lord Elrond hasn’t requested your work to decorate the halls yet,” 

“Oh no, I could never do such a thing…” 

“Why not? They are beautiful and deserve to be admired, and for your hard work to be acknowledged.”

“You think so?” 

“I do indeed, and I would love to have such a talent as yours.” 

Your smile was no longer meek, but a grin now, for you two had seemingly developed a bond in seconds. “I could teach you some tricks if you’d like?” You looked at the paintbrush still in your hand before shyly meeting his gaze. 

“I would love that, but I musn’t do it for free, I must return the favor somehow?” Lindir questioned, not knowing what you’d accept. Coin, food, poetry, the list could go on for ages. 

“How about you teach me something you do well, a lesson for a lesson?” You tilted your head, wondering what talents he had hidden behind his stiff posture and anxious expressions. 

“Something I do well?...” Lindir trailed off, recalling his talent for song. “I could teach you how to sing or how to write a song?” He wondered out loud as you nodded in response. 

“What is your name?” 

“(Y/n), and yours?”

“Lindir, advisor, and assistant to my Lord Elrond.”

“Well Lindir, we have a deal,” You said walking up to him to shake his hand. 

And like that, a friendship began to forge in the arts, a fire that could be stoked into something more. 

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[the-cabalist]

The Final Issue of Zed and the State of this Blog

I just finished reading the last issue of the Zed comic and I am moderately disappointed as well as frustrated. This post is going to contain Zed spoilers so read at your own risk, there’s a TLDR below the cut because this is long.  You can read the final issue here before you check my summary out.

TLDR: Jhin was not unmasked, Zed is ultimately a hero regardless of what the closing panels of the comics may indicate, Kusho is the ‘true enemy’ hinted to in the teaser text for the comic, and the fate of Jhin is entirely uncertain and left ambiguous.

If you’ve read the final issue of the Zed comic I don’t think you really need the me to review the events for you. Shen and Zed work together to defeat Jhin and free Akali. The fight scenes are pretty appealing, and stick to character very well. Jhin only ultimately loses because Akali is used as a McGuffin. A McGuffin is a plot device used to solely advance the plot and offers nothing else to the scene. In this case, one of Zed’s shurikens cuts Akali free from her binds and she gives Jhin a proper clobbering, then threatens to kill him with Whisper. There’s some good writing in this. What makes Jhin lose isn’t some inherent lack of skill or being outnumbered, it is that he loses to what he doesn’t anticipate or calculate. Jhin always has the upper hand throughout the rest of the comic because he seems to know what Zed and Shen will do at every turn. The sudden abruptness of Akali’s interference is fitting for what would beat him. Akali’s move to kill Jhin without any apparent ‘honor’ is also fitting for her character. She is a rebellious young woman with little to no grasp of honor, it reflects in her character in game and it reflects in her leaving the Kinkou order. After she threatens to kill Jhin and aims at him, Zed is the one to save him by shoving Akali over. He essentially repeats history, doing exactly what Kusho did to save Jhin in the past. He shoves the less experienced, impulsive student away to keep Jhin alive for some outside reason. For Zed, it was seemingly an act of honor to not kill because Shen insisted that Jhin be kept alive to face proper punishment.

After they beat Jhin, he mentions that he didn’t escape Tuula; but that he was freed from Tuula. This seems to imply that Jhin had no intent of escaping prison, which is oddly compelling to me? It’s no doubt that when he was in prison, he wasn’t changed at all. Though somehow he achieved a state of life that he enjoyed, not compelled to commit more performances? The monks do state he was a very bright student who mastered arts left and right. He was kind, quiet, and humble; so this must mean that while Jhin can’t change who he is truly is, he can achieve a life in which he is no longer a threat and has other things to engage himself with? I’m all for that possibility for Jhin. For all his talk, it humanizes him more than I thought Riot ever would, and it hits again on Kusho’s words that ‘No thing is wholly good or evil.’

It’s a shame that after this, the comic ultimately dissolves into nothing and essentially destroys Jhin’s character by putting the final nail in his coffin. After his brief chat with Zed, Shen and Akali are left standing over Jhin as Zed himself goes off to visit Kusho. In this scene we aren’t really told what happens to Jhin, and I have gone through the comic multiple times looking for something, anything with any answers or hints as to what happens to Jhin. Do they send him to prison? Do they exile him from Ionia? Do they torture him? There’s nothing that I can find in the lore pages for Zed, Shen, Akali, or Jhin himself that has been changed to reflect this. Jhin’s fate isn’t known, but being imprisoned destroys his character, maybe even more so than being unmasked.

It is worth mentioning that Jhin’s lore page was updated after the comic was released. The following two paragraphs were added to his biography: Whoever his shadowy patrons might be, they have endowed Jhin with nearly unlimited funds, and seem unconcerned by the growing scale of his “performances”. Recently, he attacked members of Zed’s Yanlei order, and mass murders and assassinations bearing his signature “flair” have occurred not only across Ionia’s many regions, but also in distant Piltover and Zaun.

It seems that all of Runeterra might be but a canvas for the atrocity that is Khada Jhin’s art, and only he knows where the next brushstroke will fall.

This first paragraph is just a simple retelling of what happened in the comics. The second paragraph however seems to contradict the comic somehow? If Akali and Shen stand over Jhin after he is beaten and there is nowhere for him to run, how is all of Runeterra a canvas? Shouldn’t he be imprisoned? Where will they imprison him if that is the case? Is he imprisoned in Piltover or Zaun instead? None of this is answered, and the updated bio page leads me to believe that he isn’t imprisoned. Though, if he isn’t imprisoned, then the conclusion of his conflict with Zed and his allies makes no sense; how could he escape when face down in front of both Shen and Akali?

I’m looking for any information of any kind regarding what happens to Jhin, because the comic is a bullshit cliffhanger ending. If Jhin is imprisoned, he is a dead character. How is he supposed to perform in prison? How is he supposed to break out if he initially had no intent of breaking out at all? If Jhin is beaten, where is the terror, the uneasiness? What is the point in writing a character that is now locked in a cell for what can only be assumed for life?

Now, this ambiguity regarding what happens to Jhin causes a ton of problems for this blog. I like to keep Jhin as close to canon as possible; I have just made him more emotionally compatible with others so he can more easily build relationships of any kind with other muses. If my muse is now locked up in some prison, defeated and no longer scary or interesting, what am I supposed to do? If I were to stick to canon, he can’t actively seek anyone out; ever. The only other character on the entire roster that is in this situation is Urgot, another one of my personal favorites. He was easily stomped by One Punch Vi and is now locked up somewhere in Zaun/Piltover with no lore or nod indicating that he will break out anytime soon.

So, I need to think on what I will do. Canonically, Jhin is no longer a character in the lore. He is done, imprisoned, and there is no organization or person who seeks his services so he will likely stay there forever until he dies. If he’s back in Tuula, he’ll probably live out his life with the monks there. If he’s in Zaun or Piltover, maybe he can mock Urgot for the duration of their stay.

It truly is such a shame that it came to this. Riot’s sheer incompetence at writing fiction has gotten them again, and now they’ve essentially nullified one of the more appealing lore characters. 

I won’t be archiving this blog for now, but if I can’t figure out some sort of workaround for Jhin being removed from the lore I really cannot justify myself as being a pretty canonical blog without just removing all interaction. I honestly can’t think of any other lore change or rework that has had this effect. Leona change? Big, but there’s still a character to work with there. Reworks? There’s still a character you can use. This situation leaves nothing, and it is a sad way to go out when issues 1 - 5 portrayed Jhin very well.

Feel free to tell me what you think, i’m sure other people have things to say about this comic.

#(soul of the virtuoso...ooc) #(tw: pretty negative) #(long) #rip jhin #you were good son #maybe even the best