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hutchhitched · 3 years

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Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

“How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

“Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

“Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

“See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

“How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

“Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

****

Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

“Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Lock up? I think I do.”

He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

“We could, uh, try that.”

It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

“I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

“The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

“Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

“It’s green.”

“Mine’s orange.”

“Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

“Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

“Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

“If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

“Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

“Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

“And what if I spill it?”

“Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

****

They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

“This drink is wrong.”

The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

“Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

“Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

“Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

“Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 76 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #don't talk to me #bring on the new beginnings #ready for the next round

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

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Same anon thank you for answering my question! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for MTMTE Rung, Megatron, Rodimus, Minimus, and Swerve with an Artisic human reader that just sees the good and creative artist side of everything? From books to pictures to even their own bot? Like they can just look at their bot and go out on a whole rant on how beautiful their optics are from the color to their expression. if that’s too many characters you can take any one, I don’t mind! Thank you and have a good day ❤️

You're welcome! I'm always open for clarification, so feel free to ask questions about whatever you'd like if you're unsure on anything. I took a little liberty with this one, but I've got all the requested bots because darn it all these beautiful mechs deserve recognition!

Rung

·He discovers your artistic inclination thanks to years of experience reading personalities and emotions at a glance, but he wasn't prepared for the depth of your conviction in seeing the world through a creative lens, which he learned upon speaking to you about your process as an artist. This surprise grows as he sees you sketching around the ship, your exuberance for the inherent beauty in everything coming through in every conversation you share.

·When he praises some of your sketches on a quiet day in his office and is compelled to ask how you developed your style, he's fascinated by your explanation, and his spark is warmed by how beautifully you describe the world around you and credit it for inspiring you. He's visibly shocked when your list of current subjects and muses includes him specifically, and you can't help but chuckle at the usually calm bot looking so absolutely flustered. There's no way for him to hide any of that feeling when he requests a bit of clarification; there's hundreds of bots on board, what about him could possibly stand out?

·You're happy to elaborate on your process to a bot who so regularly underestimates his worth and lay out why he in particular piques your interest. The warmth and goodness of his being is such a rare and beautiful thing, you explain, but also so rarely appreciated that it drives you to try and capture that essence in a manner one can see. How could you not? Such compassion and empathy and forgiveness should be remembered! You've also seen that he's capable of accepting any genuine apology, and to have that level of mercy after so much war is beautiful, enough that you have to try and show it.

·To say he's touched is an understatement of unfathomable proportions. Removing his lenses to clear optics blurred with tears, he doesn't even know how to begin processing your praise of his character when you add that his physical self hardly fails to encourage you either. His glasses nearly slip from his hands when he hears you say that. You continue quite easily; the kindness in his optics and the sweetness of his smile, combined with his genuinely handsome profile, simply inspire you to start sketching.

·He's touched, but you have to understand, he is NOT accustomed to this level of praise. Between the near tears and the blushing he has to politely excuse himself to recover from this absolute tsunami of emotions, but being flustered and melted at once is enough to have him smiling through a little blush all day long. While he tries to take a little bit of your mindset into his everyday life going forward, he gets a bit dazed every time he sees a sketch of yours that includes his face, as that level of artistic devotion being dedicated to him is more than he'll ever be able to process. Not that he minds...

Megatron

·Being more familiar with the written word, he enjoys the arts but has little experience with those who create them, and time has not been on his side in regards to learning more. Thus, you're one of the first artistically inclined individuals he's been able to discuss the topic with, which he was motivated to do after catching a glimpse of your work. He could swear some of your sketches bear a resemblance to him, but he says nothing on the matter and is certain his optics are tricking him.

·Your talk of technique quickly surprises him by shifting to inspiration, which to you is the primary driving force of your work, as it influences how you go about conveying the subject matter. Eager to share what you mean, you explain that anything can have beauty worthy of capturing if you just take the time to look at it right. Even the most mundane or seemingly unappealing things can be remarkable if you know their story, and you want to convey that energy as wordlessly as possible.

·A little overwhelmed but quite impressed by your manner of reasoning, he rather jokingly asks if even beings like himself could ever inspire you, or perhaps another artist with your mindset. He's caught off gaurd like never before when you, quite enthusiastically, reply that he most certainly can and does! To keep his composure he recalls portraits of his likeness being commissioned to inspire his soldiers, but never believing these fell under the category of art so much as they did propaganda. They often depicted him quite... violently as well.

·Having never seen these pieces, you reply that your own experience is tied more to how you see him now, and you flip through your sketchbook to demonstrate. As close to your level as can be, he's speechless while you explain what you wanted to capture about him in each sketch, whether it's a quick study or a detailed project; and that's how safe he makes you feel. Hearing himself referred to as a protector cuts straight through his powerful armor.

·You depict him looking almost... gentle? Hearing you describe the his immense size as a source of comfort and his strength as a tool of keeping peace processes about as clearly to him as a foreign language, but he nods along and keeps the conversation going until his duties call him away. Though he says nothing of it, he volunteers himself for more of the physically demanding work around the ship. His body's purpose had always been decided for him, but you've reminded him he has the only true say in its use, and that everything really is a matter of perspective. Perhaps he'll take up sketching once this is all over.

Rodimus

·He's certainly always had an appreciation for visual appeal, even if his idea of beauty doesn't often overlap with what most would consider artistically valuable. This and his natural alertness makes him quick to notice you often sketch about the ship, frequently when he's present, but at first he leaves you alone to work in peace. Having a hobby on this crew is beyond valuable, and he doesn't want to distract you from a passion... That is, until he decides on one especially slow day to just ask you what you like to doodle about.

·You can tell he wants to be a little nosy, if only because he's naturally a curious bot about these things, but you're more than happy to share regardless. There's a lot due to the ample downtime on the quest, and he has to squint so he can properly scan the many sketches on the human sized paper. He happily recognizes friends, locales about the ship, even earth things he knows about... but he's not ready when he finds a picture of himself.

·While he remains outwardly playful, teasing you with how he'd pose if you only asked, he's internally flattered that you took the time to draw him. More specifically, he's touched by the way you drew him. The sketches and portraits portray him as a calm but amicable leader, standing tall and serving as a guide to those around him, a true "father to his men" kind of bot... it's everything he wants to be, but is quite certain he's not. He's barely able to keep up his smooth persona when he asks about your process.

·You explain that you find inspiration in everything, but he's been your chosen subject lately for a lot of reasons. It's no secret he's handsome, but you see something more when you look at him, and you did everything you could to show it here; there's a real leader in him. Maybe some bots don't see it under all the bluster and sarcasm, but you see how much he cares for every bot on his crew. He wants to be the best for all of them, and even if he struggles at times, that effort is beautiful to you.

·It takes everything in him to bite back some very embarrassing tears, and the crack in his voice doesn't help him hide the emotion, though he covers that up with unconvincing coughs and claims something got in his optic. From then on he seems to stand a little taller and find his assigned duties a little easier to bear, but you absolutely notice how he poses in what he believes to be heroic fashion whenever your sketchbook comes out. Inspired by his enthusiasm, you invite him to model more officially, and the crew is just happy to see him so enthusiastic.

Minimus

·Being as observant as he is, your consistent appraisal of your surroundings is not something he'd ever miss, but your frequent sketching in the most random places does leave him absolutely mystified. Every time he sees you there's artistic supplies on your person, but he can't find anything that appears to be worthy of putting to paper, so what could you be drawing? He respects your privacy too much, and feels too silly about his curiosity, to interpret and ask you for an explanation.

·Thus it's with some small eagerness that he finds one of your sketchbooks after it's been misplaced, and he sees the perfect opportunity to slip in a question. For the sake of handling something so tiny, he approaches without his armor, offering the lost item back with barely concealed pride at your delight to have it returned. In the moment of truth he nearly falters, but does indeed manage to ask what you draw around the ship. He leaves out the fact that he's observed you whenever you draw in his presence.

·The question has an answer only he seems to think isn't obvious; him! You spend time together frequently, and while everything is fair game for sketching, he's a very regular subject for you. Whether he's wearing the Magnus armor or not, you explain that the commanding aura he radiates is something you can't help but find beautiful. That word choice baffles him enough that he has to interrupt; beautiful? Commanding? Even without his armor?? You're delighted to assure him that you absolutely mean that.

·Hearing you describe the details of your reasoning, like the quiet dignity of his stance or the calm intelligence of his red optics, touches his spark in ways he wasn't expecting. He's calm and speaks softly as he keeps the conversation going, asking questions about your various works and listening attentively when you answer, processing your view of the universe as being packed with beauty in all the places people don't think to look.

·Any bot that sees him during the remainder of the day absolutely notices the change to his entire demeanor; namely that he's smiling a soft and barely perceptible smile. It's not long after he requests a few sketches from you to keep in his office, whether they're of him or not, and he has them framed in places of honor. He doesn't tell you, but you figure it out, that one particular drawing of him you gift for his sake is kept securely stored in a compartment by his spark.

Swerve

·Many bots may see him being a tad bit on the shallow side when it comes to the arts, but our beloved barkeep has his own unique appreciation for creativity and all the ways it can be visually expressed, and you recognize it not long after meeting him. As his bar is a frequent hangout for everyone, you find it to be a fantastic place to sit and sketch, as the variety of bots makes it quite easy to have your choice of subjects even if you have to sit on a table. Obviously Swerve notices and asks you what you're drawing when traffic slows one evening.

·You're happy to show him your work and he's always eager to hear what everyone is up to, so he starts asking questions about your art in general. How long have you been an artist? What's it like suddenly having a whole ship of aliens to sketch? Why draw here all the time? At that query you light up brilliantly, and he's delighted by your enthusiasm as you describe all the incredible sights the bar has to offer.

·You list some of your favorite things to draw, like the many friend groups on the ship that gather here, the brilliant colors of the glowing vats of enjex, and him smiling and rushing with orders through it all. That last one gets a flash of surprise from behind his visor, which is quickly overtaken by exuberant delight; you've been drawing him?! He babbles out a surge of confusing statements that you're eventually able to interpret as a request to see, just one he's too bashful to say directly.

·Happily obliging, you're touched by how he smiles at every little sketch, and feel compelled to explain that he's a big part of why you love drawing here. You try to see beauty in everything, even what often gets overlooked, and there's so very much of that here. The bar is one of those places that everyone knows is special, but you know he's the reason they love it like they do, and that his enthusiasm and hard work hold it all together. You find that inspiring, and actually quite beautiful. It doesn't hurt that his brilliant smile is always a treat to sketch.

·Trying to play it cool and totally failing, he doesn't quite hide that he's near to tears when he asks if you'd like to hang some of your work up in the bar, or maybe have a little corner for yourself to draw from. He just doesn't want you getting squished while you sketch, is all! And having a better vantage point is ideal for someone so small! When you accept, he gives you your own human sized accommodations not too far from the heart of the bar, and every so often when you sketch he'll glance up at you absolutely beaming.

#transformers #more than meets the eye #mtmte #idw #lost light #maccadam #tf #rung #megatron #minimus ambus #rodimus #swerve #self insert #human reader #requests #anon #my writing #transformers headcanon #my asks

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Blue Book- (6)

Warnings: suggestiveness, future smut

Word Count: 2.4k

Chan knows what happiness is. He's felt it before in mild amounts- like the time when he was 7 and his dad bought him that toy truck he'd been wanting, or when he ate his favorite food.

As the years went by though, he found it harder and harder to feel even an ounce of that elusive emotion. It wasn't like he was a particularly sad person, either. He was just...existing.

Which is why he found you so intriguing. He watched as you rambled away between sips of your boba, accentuating your words with wild gestures. It was cute, how passionate you were about art and how happy you got when you talked about it. Chan loved making his music too-it was a welcome distraction from his hectic life. He never found himself feeling this level of enthusiasm, though.

"And yeah. That's why I think Bernini is objectively better than Michelangelo."

He smiled, nodding, though he hadn’t really paid attention to what you had been rambling about. God, he couldn't help but be fascinated by you.

This was bad. He couldn't lie to himself anymore- he was definitely starting to feel things for you that went beyond mere intrigue. It was easy to pretend he didn't like you when you weren't around...But when you were right in front of him, Chan found himself hating the way he wanted to spend more and more time with you.

Suddenly, the door to the cafe opened. You looked up when you heard the tinkling bells, a frown growing on your face as you watched Minho walk in with Miyoung right behind him.

You sat up immediately, glancing at your watch and shooting a quick, apologetic smile to Chan. “Uh, I just remembered I have somewhere to be, so-”

Too late. Minho smirked as he walked over to your table.

“Chan, thought you’d be here. Can we talk?”

Chan’s eyebrows knitted as he slowly looked away from you. “Okay, I guess.” He stood up, following Minho as the two boys walked out. You looked up at Miyoung, who offered you a shy, genuine smile before sitting in Chan’s spot.

“Hey, Y/n. How are you?”

“Hey. I’m good. You?” You said slowly, slightly cautious. Miyoung was one of those girls who hadn’t been particularly mean, but it wasn’t like she’d gone out of her way to befriend you either.

“I’m alright...” She smiled again, trailing off a little awkwardly.

Her smile seemed genuine enough, but would she have smiled at you the same if you weren’t with Chan? Probably not, You noted with slight bitterness, sighing under your breath.

“Do you want some?” You spoke up, gesturing to the untouched cheesecake in front of you, tilting your head.

She shook her head, the same smile fixed on her face. “Nah, I’m on a diet. Thanks, though.” She opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say something else, closing it and fiddling with her fork.

Awkward silence.

“I...” Miyoung looked at the fork in front of her, avoiding eye contact. “Are you happy?”

“Hap...py?” You questioned, a little confused.

“With Chan. Are you happy?”

“Oh..well yeah, I guess.” You frowned. “Um...we’re not actually dating yet, you know that, right?”

“You’re not?” Her eyes widened a little. “Oh...the way he acts around you, I thought...” She shook her head, sitting up straighter. “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll make it official soon.”

“Hmm.” You stared at the girl, her expression a little sad as she looked up, staring out the window. You tilted your head, following her gaze to Minho and Chan, who seemed to be having a conversation.

You looked back at her. “Why’d you ask that question? Are you not happy with Minho?”

“Wha- no, I am! I just... ” She paused. “Forget it. Hey...you want to come with me to the mall later?”

You raised an eyebrow. A week ago you had no friends, and now some of the most popular people at school were lining up to spend time with you. Huh.

“Sure.”

***

“Why do you want to talk? What’s up?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Nothing much, really.”

Chan frowned. “Why’d you take me out here, then? I’ve got to get back to Y/n-”

Minho narrowed his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Chill, dude. She’s with Miyoung. She’s not going to die if you leave her alone for a few seconds. Why do you care, anyway?”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho pressed his lips together, observing the uneasy expression on Chan’s face.

“...Whatever. Just know prom’s in a few weeks, and Miyoung’s whipped for me.” He smirked. “You better get that book fast~” He turned around, walking back towards the cafe door.

Chan watched him leave, fists clenching as he watched Minho go up to the table, greeting Miyoung and steadily ignoring you. He watched the slightly hurt expression on your face uncomfortably. He felt so much anger, all of it directed at Minho...and some of it at himself.

***

Miyoung quickly put a smile on her face as Minho entered, standing up as he slunk a hand around her waist.

“Hey, baby.” He smiled down at her. “Let’s go, my parents aren’t home~”

“Oh...actually, Minho, I kind of made plans with Y/n.” The boy frowned at that, glancing at you. He opened his mouth to protest, interrupted by her.

“Um, we were planning to go to the mall, but you can come too! And so can Chan.” She said, smiling sweetly up at him and running a finger up his chest. “Please? I’ll make it up to you later...” She winked.

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth, looking up as Chan entered, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“But we’re going in my car.”

***

Miyoung was a sweetheart, really. She just wasn’t the kind of girl you’d usually befriend- but someone was better than no one, right?

She ran her eyes over the jewelry on the shelves, humming under her breath. “Hm, I’m not sure which necklace would match my belt...what color is your prom dress?”

“Oh...I haven’t exactly bought one yet.”

She looked at you, her eyes widening in shock. “What? Prom is two weeks away!”

“Yeah, I know. I might just wear one of my mom’s old dresses.” You shrugged, looking at the brooch Miyoung was holding. “Ooh, that one’s nice.”

Miyoung shook her head incredulously, putting the brooch down and grabbing your wrist. “Come on. I’ll help you find a dress, just follow me.”

You groaned but let her pull you along, deciding to entertain her for the time being. After all, she was your only female friend in years, and you didn't want to lose this yet.

***

People passing by the two boys sitting at the table and sharing their fries would probably think they were friends. Two dudes, hanging out and enjoying a fun guy's night. If only they knew.

Minho slipped another fry into his mouth as he tilted his head. "So you're sure you're going to get the book within the next few days?"

"Um, yeah. I know she trusts me. We've gotten really close."

"Yeah...I can tell." Minho raised an eyebrow, swirling his next victim in the small tub of ketchup.

Chan frowned as he took in Minho's expression. "What's up with that tone?"

"Don't you think you're getting a little too close to Y/n? You could easily steal that book if you wanted to, you spend every day with her now and I'm sure she's left her bag unguarded around you." He smirked. "Part of me wonders if you actually want her around. If you're dragging this out on purpose."

Chan turned red, the implications of what Minho was saying making him swear internally. "Wh- what are you talking about? I only hang out with her cause you made that bet. Or I wouldn't have looked twice at her." He said firmly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

Minho shrugged, devouring yet another fry as Chan's mind started racing, the familiar feeling of confusion rising up again.

***

"We shouldn't keep Chan and Minho waiting." You groaned, Miyoung choosing to ignore your pleas as she tossed yet another dress at you.

"Shh, they'll be fine. They're at the food court, and you know boys and their relationship with food of any kind. I assure you, they're not missing us. Now come on, I just know you'll look good in green." She smiled.

You sighed, tiredly clutching the dress as you went back into the changing room for the nth time. For the last half hour, you'd repeatedly tried on dresses to the point where you were ready to collapse from exhaustion. However, the excitement Miyoung was radiating made you want to please her...and it was kind of nice, the way she oohed and aahed each time you changed into a different dress. Was this what it's like to have a friend?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror once you managed to get the dress on, your eyes widening. Wow.

The silk was dark green, hugging your waist perfectly. The cut of the dress flattered your body like it was made for you. It was the perfect dress. You fell in love with it the more you turned around, assessing your reflection from every angle.

Slowly, biting your lip, you checked the price tag hanging off it. You sighed. Just as you thought.

You knew your mom would never be able to afford a dress this expensive. A sudden rush of guilt ran through you as you dropped the tag, running a hand through your hair as you moved to take the dress off.

For a minute, your hand paused on the zipper, your eyes travelling back to your reflection. For a moment, you let yourself imagine attending prom wearing this beautiful dress.

An image of you and Chan, slow dancing under the dimmed gym lights settled itself in your brain. You let a small, dreamy smile take over your face as you removed the dress. Even if you'd be wearing your mom's old floral dress, at least the Chan part of your fantasy would remain true.

***

You hadn't had this much fun in ages. So this was what it was like to hang out with friends. You wished you'd met Chan and Miyoung earlier.

The only problem? Minho. Your worst nightmare, in the form of a handsome high school boy with a devilish smirk and a weird, unprovoked hatred towards you. The fact that you were now left alone with him was probably the only downside to an otherwise wonderful day.

Miyoung had dashed into a shop, saying she'd be out in a second, and soon after Chan had dipped saying he had to go withdraw some money at the ATM. By pure, rotten luck, you somehow winded up sitting next to Minho on the mall bench as the two of you waited for your partners to come back.

You stared ahead of you, determined not to look at the boy sitting next to you. He'd always ignored you, treated you like you were the dirt on his shoe. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you hated him as much as he hated you.

After a few minutes, Minho smirked, glancing over at you. "Why do you look so worried? Afraid your boyfriend's gone to cheat on you?" He asked, his tone dripping with fake sweetness.

You turned to look at him, glaring. God, this dude was so annoying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Minho's eyebrow raised slightly, as he hadn't really expected you to reply. His expression faltered for a moment before his usual sneer took over his face once more.

"There isn't anything wrong with me, darling." He said, looking up and eyeing a lady in a crop top. You followed his gaze and let out a snort.

"What an asshole."

"Excuse me?"

You turned to him, anger taking over your entire being again.

"Miyoung's a sweet girl. She deserves a lot better than a lying dickhead who can't even keep his eyes to himself." You scoffed. "You should stop using her like this."

Minho's mouth opened slightly, the slight shock giving way to amusement as he grinned.

"I'm using her?" He pouted. "Hm. I guess that is wrong...I should probably take lessons from your boyfriend, yeah? Since he's so perfect."

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes, slight discomfort settling in you as the man shifted closer to you on the bench.

"Just saying." He shrugged. "Channie isn't who you think he is." Leaning in, you shuddered as you felt his lips graze your ear. "I'd watch my back if I were you, sweetheart~"

He quickly drew back as he noticed Miyoung emerge from the shop, expression neutral as he stood up to go over to his girlfriend.

What was he talking about?

***

"Hey, you okay? You seem...out of it." Chan said gently, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Oh? What- no, I'm fine." You nodded, carefully staring at your lap. Chan turned to look at you, frowning.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh." You said slowly, staring out the window as Chan drove you home. There was silence in the car, and Chan hated it. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. He wanted to do something about it, but you looked so closed off and guarded ever since he got back from the ATM.

"You can...you can always talk to me, you know." He said gently, as he stopped the car in front of your house.

"I know." You mumbled, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. Thank you for today, it was fun. See you tomorrow?"

"I wake up at 5 am every day for you, now." He whined, glad your smile was back on your face. "You know, going to school that early should be a crime."

You giggled as you got out of his car, closing the door and going over to his side.

"Well then, arrest me, officer~"

Chan blushed slightly, gripping the wheel. "Bye, Y/n." He laughed, as you blew a kiss and turned to enter your house.

Chan let out a sigh under his breath. He realized slowly that for the entirety of the day, he hadn't felt all that much jealousy. He'd been too focused on you to even notice Minho's desperate attempts to induce envy in him. And after Minho's sly accusation, Chan didn't know what to believe. Could it be...

This was bad. This was really bad.

#chan angst #chan fluff #chan smut #minho angst #lee know angst #chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut #bang chan angst #chris smut #chris fluff #chris angst #chris series

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moonwaif · 3 years

Text

So I've been thinking about some CQL crossover ships for Xie Wang, and one of them is XieWang/Lan Xichen. Long post with headcanons under the cut.

Also, like. I guess all of these take place within a xianxia/cultivation universe? More high fantasy than the universe of SHL. And none of this is based on novel universe for either fandom--both are strictly SHL and CQL universes.

Xie Wang/Lan Xichen (aka Zewu-jun can have a murder boyfriend, as a treat.)

The Dynamic.

First off . . . there’s no age gap. Both of them are adults. I’m not sure how old either of them are exactly in their respective canons, but. I just want to make that clear.

Both have been deceived/manipulated by people they care about. Interpret it how you want to interpret it, but they gravely misunderstood one of the most important people in their lives and paid the price for it.

The, "No matter what you've done, I can't kill you" one is dating the "But I can!" one.

Also, like? Pipa and xiao jam sessions? Matching outfits? Sign me tf up.

The early stages.

I’m not sure how they would meet. Perhaps Xie Wang is on an undercover mission in Gusu. Meanwhile, Lan Xichen has finally left seclusion so that his brother can go on a honeymoon with the Yiling Laozu.

When Lan Xichen and Xie Wang meet, I think it would be nice for there to be instant attraction. This can be on a physical level, but also on an intellectual level. They both have silver tongues, are intuitive, and are excellent communicators. I think these two kings would recognize that in one another just after one interaction.

However, they don’t trust each other. Xie Wang is probably operating under some kind of alias. Lan Xichen is more guarded now. I’m sure he still wants to believe the best of people, but life has scarred him. He feels like Xie Wang may be hiding something. Xie Wang, meanwhile, thinks Lan Xichen is just “too good to be true.” Someone with such a peerless reputation must be corrupt on the inside. I mean, just look at the Venerated Triad and how they ended up. Could the only surviving sworn brother really be THAT good?

But as time goes on, they see more sides of each other. It gets harder and harder to believe the worst about the other person. Xie Wang probably falls first, and falls hard. He likes Lan Xichen’s balanced outlook on life, his willingness to overlook rumor and reputation and make his own judgments on a person’s character. In an unguarded moment, Lan Xichen might imply that this has been one of his flaws or weaknesses in the past. Xie Wang just smiles at him and says it’s a strength. (Lan Xichen’s heart flutters, but so what? He doesn’t feel like he can trust his heart yet.)

Anyway, back to Xie Wang. He is impressed by Lan Xichen’s acceptance of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian--particularly considering Wei Wuxian’s less than pristine background. I think there is a lot of good material here for some intimate conversations in which Xie Wang asks Lan Xichen about his opinion of Wei Wuxian, but he’s not actually talking abou Wei Wuxian--he’s really asking about himself.

The ordeal of being Known.

Nevertheless, Xie Wang doesn’t completely trust Lan Xichen yet, and he’s terrified of what will happen when Lan Xichen finds out who he is, but . . . Xie Wang still cares about him. He enjoys Lan Xichen’s company. He craves Lan Xichen’s praise and attention, and resents anyone who tries to steal it away. He wants their time together to last as long as possible. And inevitably, he wants to do whatever he can to help Lan Xichen succeed in his goals. Which, to Xie Wang’s surprise, have less to do with personal gain and more to do with making a positive impact on the cultivation world. As more time passes, it gets harder and harder for Xie Wang to play it cool and hold his cards to his chest.

Lan Xichen is touched by Xie Wang’s earnesty, enthusiasm and loyalty. It softens his heart. He finds himself growing fond of Xie Wang’s company, looking forward to his visits, indulging in conversations about music and art and calligraphy and politics. At the same time, he witnesses instances of violence and cruelty from Xie Wang that disturb him. It reminds him of Jin Guanyao--the red flags that in the past Lan Xichen either rationalized or ignored. It puts Lan Xichen in this awkward position of growing closer to Xie Wang, opening up to him, only to pull back suddenly. Rinse, wash, repeat.

Xie Wang, of course, doesn’t really know what’s going on in Lan Xichen’s head. Fortunately, he’s perceptive. As he does more digging into Lan Xichen’s past, he probably puts two and two together and realizes that Lan Xichen is trying to protect his own heart. However, he’ll also wonder if Lan Xichen knows more than he’s letting on--if he is perhaps aware of Xie Wang’s true identity, and that’s why he won’t open up to him. Or perhaps it’s just Xie Wang’s personal flaws. He’s always been too impulsive, too selfish, too distracting. Someone of Lan Xichen’s calibre may find these characteristics distasteful.

I actually think Lan Xichen may put the pieces together and begin to suspect Xie Wang’s true identity. If Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are around, they would probably do the same and accelerate this realization. However, I am not sure that Lan Xichen would act immediately on it. He may instead try to give Xie Wang opportunities to come forward with the truth on his own.

Xie Wang will dodge all of these opportunities like “lol nope.”

Cat’s out of the bag.

Anyway, after lots of like. Cute moments, and moments of camaraderie, and moments of yearning and angst, things finally come to a head. Perhaps Lan Xichen finds himself caught up in a scheme that involves the Scorpion and a rival group. Xie Wang ends up having to take Lan Xichen captive in order to protect him. In this moment, Lan Xichen is able to see another side of Xie Wang--one that he’s only caught glimpses of before. Xie Wang is cold, domineering, calculating, and cruel. It’s sexy but also terrifying. Lan Xichen hardens his own expression and is quite distant to Xie Wang, which of course just breaks Xie Wang’s heart. But Xie Wang can’t show it just yet, not while they are still surrounded by onlookers. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal any weaknesses to those who are constantly at the ready to take advantage of any vulnerable bits.

As soon as Xie Wang can find a moment to be alone with Lan Xichen (truly alone, with no spies or eavesdroppers), he would sit down and speak honestly with him. He tells Lan Xichen that he harbors no ill intentions towards him or the Lan sect (or perhaps he does, at least with concern to the latter--it’s up to how complicated you imagine this kind of AU). And against his better judgment, the more Lan Xichen hears . . . the more he finds himself believing Xie Wang. In fact, he’s relieved that they can finally reach this point of honesty with each other.

Lan Xichen is terrified he’s making a mistake, but . . . he wants to believe Xie Wang. He wants to believe him so, so badly. After some difficult conversations and lots of promises exchanged between them, Lan Xichen relents.

Xie Wang is just absolutely delighted to the point of tears. All of his softness and sweetness comes back.

From this point on, I think we can see a power couple at work. Both of them are intuitive, intelligent and nuanced. They can work together to solve whatever scheme is happening. Collaborating brings them closer, honestly.

Xie Wang is reluctant to let Lan Xichen go, but does so. (He’s mostly worried about Lan Xichen’s safety.)

(If you want to make things really painful, you could have Lan Xichen temporarily reject Xie Wang. This would probably be motivated by Lan Xichen’s past experiences, when he continued to support and defend Jin Guangyao despite all evidence to the contrary. Terrified of making the same mistake--of letting people he cares about become hurt because of a temporary lack of judgment--might actually lead him to betray Xie Wang and reveal his true identity to the Lan clan. This would lead to a temporary and very angsty “break up” arc. The irony could be that Lan Xichen actually regrets NOT trusting Xie Wang or supporting him down the road. I would like to see something like this culminate in Xie Wang being injured/narrowly escaping a dangerous confrontation with an enemy, and Lan Xichen rescuing him, holding him close, and whispering, “I’m sorry.” GOD Xie Wang would just fall apart. The hurt/comfort potential. My word.)

Hurt/comfort potential.

At some point, Xie Wang might be injured or suffer some kind of loss. Perhaps he went after someone who was a threat to Lan Xichen in some way, and got himself in a pickle. He makes it out, but is the worse for wear. Lan Xichen, who is normally so polite and intentional with his words, finds himself losing his temper. How could Xie Wang make such a rash decision? Isn’t he supposed to be the Scorpion King for a reason?

These words push Xie Wang over the edge. He snaps back that yes, he knows he’s reckless--that he’s too impulsive--too demanding--that he’s always letting his emotions get the best of him, again and again. But he was scared for Lan Xichen. What was he supposed to do, just sit back and bear it?

Lan Xichen’s anger dissipates. He consoles Xie Wang, tells him that he’s not any of those things. Xie Wang is shocked speechless. He’s even more shocked when Lan Xichen admits he was wrong for speaking harshly and asks for Xie Wang’s forgiveness. “It was only that seeing you in this state unnerved me. I would not want any harm to come to you on my account. I’m sorry.”

Xie Wang melts.

Xie Wang drinks vinegar.

Being together means that Xie Wang and Lan Xichen are more intimate. They are moving physically closer, becoming more familiar with one another’s spaces. Xie Wang is very greedy for this closeness, and probably starts to become a little possessive about the things in Lan Xichen’s room. Keeping things tidy, adding decorations, sorting through things, etc.

Anyway, one day he comes across Jin Guangya’s hat by accident.

“Gege :+) who’s hat is this? :+)”

He begins to engage in a recurring fantasy where he slices the hat to pieces.

It’s just that, well. Xie Wang is intensely jealous of Jin Guangyao’s hat. He is intensely jealous of Jin Guangyao’s memory. Just hearing his name is enough to make Xie Wang lose it a little on the inside, like, “Not this b**** again.” But on the outside he is very calm.

Most of the time.

Look. It’s already hard enough knowing that someone like Xie Wang, the leader of a shady group of assassins, will probably never be accepted as a suitable partner for Lan Xichen. And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’s been used before by Zhao Jing, the person who was supposed to be his yifu, the person who kept Xie Wang in the dark and only brought him into the light when it was useful. So Xie Wang can’t help but feel nervous that Lan Xichen will just want to keep him in the dark, too. Like logically, he knows Lan Xichen wouldn’t do that. Lan Xichen is a better person than that, he wouldn’t take advantage of anyone in that way, especially not Xie Wang! Lan Xichen cares about Xie Wang! But Xie Wang also knows he’s miscalculated in the past. He can’t help the nugget of uncertainty that weasels its way in.

You can play this up as angsty if you want, or you can play it for comedy. Maybe Lan Xichen receives a gift from a potential suitor. Xie Wang sees it and asks who it’s from. On his best day, he smiles calmly and says something like, “How elegant and thoughtful. I know just the place to put this.” (That place is the trash.) On his worst day, he wines and says, “How tacky! Gege, why do you continue to even meet with that old cow?”

Lan Xichen is exceptionally understanding and patient, although he does need to set some firm boundaries from time to time.

Jin Guangyao causes drama from beyond the grave.

Eventually Xie Wang is going to have a very off-day. And on this off-day, he talks about a topic that he should definitely have avoided, which is Jin Guangyao.

Basically, Xie Wang is not going to understand why Lan Xichen feels guilty for what happened to Jin Guangyao. Or rather, he does not believe that Lan Xichen SHOULD feel guilty. And he tells Lan Xichen this, very insistently. Lan Xichen, who has been coping through the good ole Lan technique of Repress And Don’t Express, becomes frustrated. His frustration builds when Xie Wang basically says that no matter what Jin Guangyao may have suffered, he shouldn’t have betrayed Lan Xichen--that Jin Guangyao even deserves what happened to him (and perhaps Xie Wang believes this last part, or perhaps he’s just being petty--it’s up to you). Lan Xichen almost loses his temper--almost. But then he just. Shuts down, completely. Like very coldly and calmly says something to the effect of, “I expected you of all people to understand me. I see I was mistaken. Excuse me.” And just. Leaves.

Xie Wang is a MESS. Honestly he would have preferred being yelled at. This calm reaction is disconcerting and makes him worry that he’s lost Lan Xichen for good. He’s also shocked at himself for being so purposefully wilful and obstinate. He was trying to be good!!

Making up.

Instead of pulling away, Xie Wang waits an appropriate amount of time for things to settle (lmao like 12 hours), then shows right back up acting like nothing ever happened. He’s very talkative and sweet, chatting peacefully about unrelated topics. He probably flits about the room, straightening this and that, then perches beside Lan Xichen. His heart sinks when he sees Lan Xichen’s expression.

Xie Wangs cautiously begins speaking. “About yesterday . . . I shouldn’t have contradicted you. I was being difficult and impetuous. Gege, please forgive me.”

And like, what is Lan Xichen supposed to do with that? Say “no”? Lmao.

Fortunately, Lan Xichen has taken some time to self-reflect. He’s a bit dismayed that he continues to act out of character with Xie Wang. Normally, he is so good at maintaining his composure. With Xie Wang, however, he continues to get caught up in his own feelings until he fumbles.

Anyway, Lan Xichen actually takes this opportunity to reflect and open up to Xie Wang about his friendship with Jin Guangyao. He tells him about what happened between him and his sworn brothers, where he believes he made mistakes, how he wishes things would have worked out differently. He also says that he sees it as a weakness of his own that even now, he isn’t able to completely blame Jin Guangyao. It’s not like this is Xie Wang’s first time hearing about any of this, but it IS his first time hearing the information directly from Lan Xichen.

Xie Wang takes his hand and says that kind of loyalty and kindness is what makes Lan Xichen dear to him, and is its own type of wisdom. Lan Xichen doesn’t completely agree with this assessment, but he doesn’t argue against it, either. He merely asks Xie Wang if there is anything else he’d like to know.

Xie Wang is a bit hesitant. Without meeting Lan Xichen’s gaze, he observes that Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen were very close. He wants to know what place Jin Guangyao still occupies in Lan Xichen’s heart.

To be continued . . .

(Lol I ran out of steam for a minute)

#xie wang #lan xichen #the untamed #word of honor #shl #woh #cql #shan he ling #chen qing ling #xie'er #implied past xiyao #sort of?

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 3 years

Text

Seducing Suga - Part 1

⮱ Summary: You were happy to find out that Yoongi likes your rap skills, and your original plan involved him, but then the unexpected happened.

Read 🌼 PART 2 🌼 ⇗

⮱ Words: 3.2k

⮱ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⮱ Genre: Smut, Angst

⮱ Warnings: Sexual Themes, Takes place in a no-corona world, Reader is an interviewer, it goes downhill after the first half

Happy Belated Yoongi day!

________________________

“So can you rap something for us real quick?” With Namjoon’s question taking you by surprise, you look at your producer to make sure it is okay to proceed. You get a thumbs up, smiling at the boys as they watch with eager eyes. You kept your eyes trained on Namjoon, though, as you started the infamous Cypher 4 verse from Yoongi.

“Back back to the basic Microphone check Call me baepsae hogeun ssenkae geurae rap gamee nan daeinbae doege haeihaejyeotdeon Rap mandeureul gaengsaenghaneun ge nae cheot beonjjaeui gyehoek hashtag Sucka betta run geurigo inseuta sok gang gang geugeon gyae insaengigo nae insaengeun mwo maeilmaeil Payday, paycheck sonmok wien rolex,” You decide to stop right there, waiting for the boys to something as they stare at you slack-jawed with their eyes wide open.

“That was…” Namjoon starts clapping, spurring the boys around him.

“Amazing!” Jimin exclaims as you bow, licking your lips as Yoongi blushes and evades your gaze. You’ve never seen him so wound up live before, the only Yoongi you know of is the one that keeps his face expressionless and blank during English interviews.

“I’m glad, thanks.” Your makeup crew rushes towards you afterwards, making sure your face is powdered up before sending you off with the members for pictures. It makes the studio look good, so you were naturally sent to stand in with the living legends.

“Hey, I enjoyed what you did there with Cypher.” He wanted to politely ask you back to his hotel room, but he wanted to do so without being suspicious. You were more than ready to die for Min Yoongi if it meant you would be able to get your name on a billboard somewhere in the world. Sucking his dick would be nothing compared to what you could do once you got into a position of high power.

“Thanks. You know, there’s this really fancy restaurant down the street, how about after this we head there together?” He tucks his hands into his pockets, biting his teeth as he checks his phone that just went off with a text.

“I’d love to, but we’re on a really tight schedule today. How about tomorrow, or the day after? We have a free day so maybe we can plan something then?” You agree and exchange phone numbers before parting ways. You couldn’t believe you were going out on a date with Suga from BTS in exactly two days!

You went a little crazy during your shopping spree and bought a couple of items for your date. You were expecting it to end well so you also bought some lingerie. Yet, you also felt like you were rushing things. You weren’t a sleazy person so you wanted to make him feel comfortable. Thinking about things now, you’ve never actually hooked up with someone on the first date.

Yoongi is no exception, no matter how famous he might be. You made your way to your reserved table, smirking as you see him out of the corner of your eye. He greets you as you lean forward, sipping some water out of a straw in the glass.

“Remember, I’m buying.” You’re willing to invest in him, to see what it is that the world is so obsessed about when it comes to Suga.

“I’ll keep that in mind. How’s the steak here?” You blink quickly, noticing that Yoongi’s english has improved drastically.

“Um, great.” He puts down the menu and you do the same, confused as to why he’s suddenly fluent. He seems to notice your look of bewilderment before speaking again,

“I am fluent in English, you know? Lived in New York for a short time as a kid.” You didn’t know that about him.

“Wow, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff I keep from ARMY. For example, I am a busy man, so I forget to eat and sleep often. I know it looks like I sleep a lot on bangtan bombs but it’s not true. I’ve gone days without sleeping properly before, you know?” That was another thing you didn’t know about Yoongi. Again, you’re not one of those sketchy reporters that would find whatever dirt they can on someone and reveal it. You know that the boys have their right to privacy, and you just want to do what you can to secure it. Especially if you’re gonna start this fling with Yoongi, or whatever.

“It’s insane that they expect you to even share that. I mean, it’s personal, right?” He chuckles at your enthusiasm about keeping his privacy in check and he appreciates it.

“It is personal. My job is supposed to be sharing my life, hobbies, side-hobbies, and friends with ARMY. My best friends are BTS, obviously, but otherwise if I bought anyone from outside I’d have to ask them to give permission to use their face on camera.”

“That is so interesting. Thanks for telling me about it, Yoongi.”

“I want us to trust each other. You’ve got this spark in your eye that’s different from anything I’ve seen. The rap game is about that passion.” You felt an unbelievable connection to him, not because he took the words out of your mouth, but just because he could relate to you.

“Yoongi, would you like to do this again sometime?” You ask at the end of your meal, dabbing a tissue over your mouth.

“I’d love to.” You were falling, despite having a goal in mind already. You didn’t want to exploit him anymore.

Your second date commenced the next day, while Yoongi was out with BTS you got permission from the manager and staff to be around the boys, and they were excited to meet you officially as the person Yoongi was “dating.” Even though it was only the second date, the boys treated you like family. They even made fun of Yoongi before shutting the whole thing down for a Bangtan bomb. You quietly stood beside Yoongi, as you made your way into the famous art museum.

You and Yoongi break off from the group, branching out in a way that makes things less suspicious. He pulls you close to him, as a camera clicks away at the boys and the last thing he wanted was to be discovered. You look up at him, with those twinkling eyes that he adores, and he’s lost in your lips. You shared your first kiss on the second date, going at your own pace.

When it was time for Yoongi to leave, you exchanged phone numbers and said goodbye. He never invited you to his room in the end because he saw more in you, than just a one night stand. The sudden connection, how you get along so well, it correlates with how much you mean to him. His life suddenly had a new meaning; he wanted to pursue you as well.

As if by magic, you get a job offer in Korea, a studio close to Bighit HQ. You were so excited that you video chatted with Yoongi. When he picked up, you could see that he was in the Rkive, and Namjoon was sitting next to him, staring at a computer screen.

“Hey guys! Guess what? I’m coming to Seoul! I got a job offer and I took it and now I’ll be moving there!” Yoongi springs up on his feet as soon as you tell him, excitedly knocking Namjoon out of his chair making you cover your eyes as the impact looks like it hurts.

“Really?! Wow that’s great!”

“I know, right? Let everyone know that I’m coming and I’m gonna be closer to you.”

“Yep. I’ll let them know. When are you coming here?” You fumble with the phone in your hand as you pull up the schedule on your tablet.

“Two weeks.” You and Yoongi hung up the call after chatting for a bit in private. You were quite happy with how your relationship was going, you haven’t even taken him to bed and you were the least bit bothered about that. Your emotional connection with Yoongi was more important than anything that comes after this point.

That’s why when he asked you if you wanted to go on a date on his company rooftop, you agreed. It was your third date with Yoongi, and you were more than excited to be in the same room as him. You were still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, happy to be around the man you adore the most. With his gummy smile and chocolate brown eyes, you fell in love with ease.

“It’s cold today.” He takes a swig from the bottle of Coke, making you wonder why he looked particularly down today.

“I suppose it is.” You were wearing a long-sleeved top and a pair of blue jeans. You didn’t dress for the cold weather, in hopes of earning a hoodie for your collection.

“I have to tell you something,” He turns to you with wide eyes, again looking at you sorrowfully as he tells you what was weighing on his mind. “It’s about Jin.”

After your date with Yoongi, Jin was rushed to the hospital. You caught up with the other members and two managers, who were making calls and pacing around the hall. The BTS members stayed seated in their chairs, waiting for news from a doctor. Hoseok looked worried, Jimin was in tears, Jungkook looked almost angry, Taehyung remained expressionless, and Namjoon was concentrating on his phone.

Yoongi was the most stoic out of everyone, even beating Taehyung for the best “blank” face. You didn’t know what to do, Yoongi just told you about Jin’s condition and now you were suddenly in the hospital, waiting for a proper report from the doctor about this thing.

“You know he’s gonna be okay, right? Jin always bounces back.” From Namjoons’ tone, you could tell this was a regular occurrence. The only problem is, it looks like this is the first time he’s been in a serious condition like this.

“For how long, Joon?” Yoongi snaps, making everyone in the hall turn around in surprise. “I mean, the doctors always say that he can go home and with a little rest he’ll be fine. He had about a month off counting all of the breaks the company granted him, and after he got back to work it just worsened. What should we say about that, huh?” He lowers his voice as he speaks to everyone, not just Namjoon.

“You’re right, Yoongz. We have to stop saying he’ll be okay. There are always gonna be trips to the hospital, especially now since we’re working harder than ever to make sure our next tour is better than anything our fans have ever seen.” Jimin wipes his tears on his sleeve, smiling at Yoongi as you clench your fist in your lap. You felt so helpless and it hurt even worse that you couldn’t do anything to make it better.

Jin’s condition is incurable, a disease that destroys him from the inside. He wasn’t dying yet, but it is a disease, so there is always a possibility of death. His immune system is weak so he gets sick easily. Even though he has the voice of an angel, he often loses his voice due to sore throats or other physical handicaps that prevent him from displaying his full potential.

He is only a few months older than him, but Yoongi looks up to him as if he was a grandfather or father figure, even. There’s no way to explain their closeness apart from the fact that he goes fishing with him because Jin likes to fish. Yoongi wants to spend as much time with him as possible not because he’s afraid of losing him, but more that he wants to remember the good times.

The members of BTS didn’t think it was possible that they would lose one of their own but they had to address it, especially since there was a photo leak of the boys sitting in the waiting room.

Jin only takes “long” to learn choreography because of his weak feet. He can dance well but he can’t move as nimbly as Jimin or Hoseok. Right off the bat, when it comes to learning new choreography he has to slowly break down the steps or else he’d get anxious and pass out. He wasn’t a weakling because of the disease, it was because of his mind.

The kind of criticism Jin got from the media online was harsh. It was enough to push anyone over the edge. That’s why when you saw him go into the practice room alone while you were on your way over to Yoongi’s studio, you took a moment to follow him and talk to him face to face.

“Jin?”

You make your way over to the practice room only to find him passed out on the floor. You call various employees, managers, and even get ahold of 112 at some point. Jin’s condition worsened, he was hooked to an IV tube because of his lack of appetite.

He’s looking more sickly these days, although it’s been only four days of him being hospitalized with an IV tube attached to his arm. Yoongi has been drowning himself in work, producing songs left and right, creating mashups, remixes, and working on songs for the other members. You barely got to see him with it being close to christmas season and your company preparing a big launch involving a new group of artists to be released to the world. You were part of the planning team for this project, so you had your hands full with work for a while.

You and Yoongi never took an official break, per say, you just didn’t make time for each other for a short period of time.

When you saw him again, it was at an awards ceremony. BTS was coming off the stage and you got a better look at him from the side stand, as he was very close to your section. The crowd for this stage was much smaller than any you’ve seen for BTS. There were about 10 people in your section, so it wasn’t hard for Yoongi to spot you and flash his best smile at you without searching.

He performed with swagger in his movements, his body mesmerizing you as he teased you again with a playful smile and a jolt in his hips. He looked like he was trying to hide something, but at the same time it was so obvious that he was trying to get through to you.

When he came over to your section particularly, and gave a finger heart to the audience, you knew you were screwed. After the performance, you made sure to give him a stern talking to. You were allowed to visit backstage just to check on the MC and make sure he had the right information about your group, but no one minded that you came back regardless just to visit Yoongi.

He had snuck away, meeting you in a dark and creepy hallway. You both look sketchy as hell, with him in a colorful suit and you wearing a pencil skirt with a baby blue top. Your hair was undone, messy with the way Yoongi had tangled his fingers in your luscious locks, kissing you passionately before you break the kiss to give him a piece of your mind.

“You’re in a lot of trouble, young man.” You grit your teeth as he growls in a low voice, a baritone moan escaping his quivering lips as you bring your knee up to his bulge.

“Maybe you should rethink who is the one that needs saving.” He squints after you grope his hard length through his pants, making his cock turn red from the rush of blood as you pull out his shaft from the seat of his pants (after pulling down the zipper of course)

“This is a very dangerous game you’re playing at, darling.” As soon as you flick your pencil skirt up and slide your panties all the way down to your knees before removing them completely, Yoongi is hooked. He doesn’t mind having sex fully clothed, as long as you don’t soil his outfit. He still has to meet other people after this, the least he could do is look presentable.

“When will I see you again?” You ask as he languidly strokes his cock, making sure to test your moist clit first with his fingers before sinking his cock into you.

“I don’t know, maybe 3 days? I have a lot of prep work to do and with the little free time I have I need to rest up. It’s not a good idea for you to hang around or I might not get much sleep.” He winks at you before you feel the hardened cock twitch inside of you, feeling the discomfort from his size turning into something more pleasurable.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” He grunts with the first few thrusts before processing what you just said.

“Ah, so you forgot already? Looks like I’m going to have to punish you.” He flips you over so that his lips are on your neck, and your body is cradled against him as you arch your back at the sudden feeling of emptiness from him pulling out so unexpectedly.

“Put it in again, please.” You beg him as he clicks his tongue before placing a hand on your back, and whispering,

“Bend over.”

You didn’t hesitate to listen that time, only gasping as he spanks your exposed clit and moves up to your ass. And then, he fingers you for the first time today.

You take in the feeling, soaking it up for your memories. There’s not a moment that passes when you don’t fantasize about your dreamy boyfriend. He’s always busy nowadays, and the same could be said for you. You’re pretty sure Yoongi doesn’t think about you as much as you think about him, as he seems very passive about the sex now especially.

You feel like he is doing a task rather than pleasuring you for the sake of satisfying you both. Even with the way his digits glide across your vulva and delicately penetrate your pinkish hole, you feel that he is just doing it so that you remember what he feels like. As silly as your speculations are, you’d like to think that the reason Yoongi was being so passive with you was because he is cheating on you.

As you get absorbed in your own thoughts, Yoongi takes notice of how you aren’t responding to his touches, abruptly stopping his finger-fucking as you snap out of your daze.

“Huh?” You blink down at him as he stays at chest-level with you, his palm resting on your thigh.

“You’re zoning out. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, flashing him your best smile before grabbing his cock and stroking him gently between your fingers.

“Just thinking about us. Sorry, it’s hard to focus on just sex when there’s a hundred other things in my mind. I’m glad we’re still making time for each other.” Yoongi gives you a small smile, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers, individually.

“Yeah, but for how long?” The dreaded question you’d been meaning to ask comes out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“Are we gonna be okay?” You meant your relationship, but you had a slight feeling that he knew as well.

“I don’t know.”

🌼 PART 2 🌼 ⇗

#yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi day #suga #bts #bts ff #yoongi ff #hyunglinenetwork #min yoongi

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: language)

Words: ~3K

Summary: Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

Set mid SUF.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to write Lars’ POV before this, but it was really fun! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Besides the quiet lull of the TV and the electric hum of the attic’s rickety old heater, all is silent in the Barriga household. The nighttime streets outside are vacant. Not a soul roams through his section of town, not even the newer Gem arrivals, who thankfully have been informed of humanity’s biologically mandated curfew by now. Sheesh, it’s about time.

After all, silence is peace. And in this day and age, in a world where the barriers between human and intergalactic politics are becoming increasingly blurred by the hour, peace is a gift.

Which is why having free time to play whatever old video games he wants in complete and total solitude at one AM is probably the single thing keeping him sane at this moment.

Lars’ fingers expertly flick at the joysticks of the controller as if by innate memory. It genuinely feels like forever since he’s been able to lose himself for hours in a solo campaign like this, and quite honestly, if given a choice he prefers it to any other leisurely activity. Chatting with his online friends or with that Gem gang of his is fun, sure, and working the counter at his bake shop can often be emotionally satisfying, but pushed too long and any kind of social interaction feels draining. He shifts on his bed, paying little to no attention to the slight chill against his bare chest. He’s pretty sure it’s like, near freezing outside and yet somehow it’s no more an annoyance to him than having to pause to reload an ammo clip in this game. It’s weird. Really weird. But then, at this point everything about his dumb life is.

It’s the Steven effect, he thinks with a soft scoff. Weird practically orbits him and his moms, and inevitably, every person he comes in contact with is brought into the fold. He’s a good kid, though. Don’t get him wrong. Steven always tries his best to be thoughtful when dealing with people he doesn’t understand— even when initially those people just act like dicks in return— and he for one is grateful for that, for the gift of a... a second chance. He knows full well he didn’t deserve it, (he still doesn’t), but he’s grateful.

The kid’s still on his mind when his phone lights up on the nightstand beside him, like the now familiar glow of Gems synchronizing to fuse.

(And goddamnit, does a part of him still balk almost two years later that it’s so normal to be casually relating everyday things to outer space Gem stuff anyways. What is he, with his pink hair and alien friends, the main character of an anime?)

Eyes skirt away from the grainy television set he’s been playing his favorite Immortal Combat on, and glance at the new notification.

Steven, the name at the top of the text reads. Well, lo and behold. The true shounen protagonist himself. Somebody’s ears must have been burning. Though, hmm. Come to think of it, that’s actually unusual. They pass bullshit memes back and forth sometimes, yes, but he never sends him anything this late at night.

Lars frowns, failing to obscure that annoying, instinctual worry that seizes him like the long lost sensation of hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, and scoots forward on his bed to grab his phone. What’s he want at this hour, anyways?

Steven: hey, sorry i know its late but can i come over ?

His frown deepens as he glances down at himself, clad in only a pair of boxers. He doesn’t mind having an unexpected visitor— after all, it’s not like he requires sleep anymore— but he’s not exactly dressed for company, here.

yeah but gimme a mo, he types back. kinda need to put on a shirt

Steven: k

Yawning out of sheer habit, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabs the first decent smelling tee he can find off the floor. It’s got an overlapping triangular emblem on it, a symbol from one of the game series he used to be obsessed with as a kid. He quickly shrugs it and a stray pair of sweatpants on, then returns to his phone.

decent now, he updates him.

The response is almost immediate.

Steven: be there soon

With a heavy inhale, he leans back against the headboard and begins to mentally prepare himself for the passage of One Whole Teenage Boy through the portal in his hair. For the most part he’s grown used to the changes caused by Steven’s literal magic resurrection, but not this. Who the hell knows how his pet lion puts up with it all the time. Quite frankly, how that creature has remained so docile and patient after years of interloping within Steven’s chaotic world of Gems eludes him, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t a side effect of all the death-defying space voodoo.

Also, he’s like, 97% sure that “docile” and “patient” aren’t words anyone would pick to describe him at any stage of his life, ever.

And yet, yawning in his boredom, Lars waits.

And he waits.

And when eventually he breaks his stubborn streak and dares to check the time on his phone to see how many minutes have elapsed, how many minutes of his thrice-damned maybe infinite lifespan he’s wasted sitting up against the far wall of his room waiting for that kid to tumble right out of the literal inter-dimensional door hidden amidst the curls atop his head, he’s mildly surprised that his first emotional response to this delay is... dare he admits... disappointment.

It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. For whatever unknown reason, it seems as if Steven may not be coming over after all. Huh. He wonders what changed his mind. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lars decides to check his texts. It’s possible the guy wrote something else and he just didn’t see it. But when he pulls up his latest conversation, all that comes up are the last messages they sent to each other. Be there soon, he said.

He hovers hesitant fingers over the keyboard, caught in the midst of trying to decide whether or not it’s too invasive and prying to send some sort of casual check-in, when he picks up on a very timid knock on the front door downstairs. And given the lateness of the hour, there’s really only one person it could be. He blinks for a moment, his mind still doing somersaults in order to process the mere concept of Steven not gleefully taking the opportunity to explode out of his hair for once in his life, and then drags himself up to his feet. Walks out of his attic room and down the stairs, being careful not to disturb his slumbering parents. Unlatches the locks on the door.

Truth be told he has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him at one fucking AM to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

He struggles not to stumble backwards at the initial force of the teen’s silent yet yearning embrace, eventually regaining his stability and... slowly, delicately... hugging him back. Honestly, he’s never been much of a hugger himself, but eh. He’ll give the guy this one. After a brief moment Lars gives him a few awkward pats, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Steven? You good to let go, now?” he asks quietly, still keeping his voice in a whisper for his parents’ benefit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, yeah,” his younger friend stammers, immediately pulling himself away. His eyes are drawn to the floor as he wrings his hands together. Timid. “Sorry, I just— I just needed somewhere I could clear my head tonight. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” he throws back, gesturing for him to follow up the stairs. “‘S not like I ever sleep a wink now anyways. So I might as well have company.”

The two of them tiptoe towards the attic, a familiar setting for both. Steven’s been in here quite a few times before, so— already knowing the lay of the land— he plops himself down in the beanbag chair Lars keeps at the foot of his bed. They don’t talk about much of anything at first, merely passing back and forth brief updates about their lives. Small talk, nothing more. As expected though, Steven’s update is infinitely more interesting than his. Apparently he went on some mission to an alien planet with that Lapis friend of his the other day and had to deal with the attitude of some stubborn terraformers who didn’t want to stop working on their shitty old Homeworld assignment. (Meanwhile, the only update he has to offer is how he’s teaching Blue Lace Agate the art of bad baking puns while at work. Gotta leave behind some sort of legacy before he leaves with his fellow Off-Colors, of course.)

When the small talk finally dries up, (which seems... uncharacteristic, given the typical enthusiasm of his current visitor), Lars offers him a second controller.

“We can play the go-kart one, if you want,” he says, knowing full well that his friend isn’t a huge fan of all his war-themed combat games. Still, he figures the guy could probably stand to blow off a little steam. He looks super stressed, with his brow all creased and his stare unnervingly glassy.

The sixteen-year-old nods, adjusting his hands around the grips of the controller as Lars switches out the disk.

They race a few rounds in relative quiet, wholly insulated by the reassuring stillness of the night all around them, before Steven decides to open up again.

“Where do you think the line is?” he asks when they finish their current course.

His whole face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”

“Between like, doing bad things, and outright being bad?” he continues, seemingly unaware of the comedic pulse of Lars’ initial response.

Lars blinks.

Considers these words deeply and thoroughly for a moment, as any good friend should.

And then...

“Where the heck did you pull that question from?”

Steven merely shrugs, his shoulders drooping a bit lower than they had been when he first entered his house a while back. “I dunno, just musing, ‘s all.”

The edges of his mouth curl downwards as he lets this corker of a conversation starter wash over him, not so much intended as a frown at Steven, but a frown at... whatever force of this universe would lead his friend to start musing about such depressing philosophical quandaries in the first place. Acting numb and brooding at the rest of the world is supposed to be his job, not this kid’s! And sure, yes, yes, yes, he knows he can’t exactly call him a kid anymore— at least not to his face— and that he’s been a teenager for a good three years now. It’s just that... well. For all his complaints about it earlier in life, Lars kinda grew to respect and feel uplifted by his cheery, upbeat, never-give-up-hope outlook. Dare he says, he kinda misses it.

(And for Steven’s sake, he kinda hoped he’d never discover the burnout and cynicism waiting on the other side. Alas, he fears that ship has probably sailed.)

“Sorry,” the sixteen-year-old mumbles upon noting his extended silence, his cheeks flushed with shame. “Probably not something anyone wants to think about at two in the morning. Just- forget I said anything, okay? Let’s play one more round, and then I can lea—“

Eyes widening, he holds up a hand to intercept that train of thought. “No, that’s— you asked an interesting question. Deep, but interesting. It’s fine, I don’t mind. I...”

He inhales deep, collecting his wits and whatever years of wisdom he may or may not have accumulated ever since dying and coming back to life.

“I suppose in my mind, people aren’t truly bad unless they intend to cause harm, y’know?” he begins, meeting Steven’s eyes. “You can still hurt others without meaning it, and like... that’s still not great, and you should still try and make up for it however you can, but... life’s complicated. People are complicated. It’s all a huge mess of emotions and ethics and beliefs all the time.”

He pauses, a twinge of melancholy rising within his chest as he catches a glimpse of a photograph hung on one of the wooden support beams at the far wall. It’s a selfie of him and Sadie he printed out a few years back when they were still low-key dating, one that— for the life of him— he can’t bear to take down. She’s kissing his cheek. He’s caught in the middle of laughter, playfully trying to nudge her away. They look... so young.

So naive.

(So human.)

“And sometimes it can be so, so easy to convince yourself that you’re always in the right,” he continues, quieter, “that people feeling hurt because of something you did is just their problem. In that case, it’s not that you wanted to harm anyone, it’s just... that you were blind to it, I guess.”

(And he was blind for a long, long time.)

“Like I said, it’s messy.”

Lars sighs, willfully averting his glance from the photographic reminder of all the ways he ignorantly fucked up with Sadie as a friend and partner, and with everyone in his life, making the same stupid mistakes over and over with nearly no improvement until he literally died to his old self.

“So, yeah. There. I guess that’s my opinion,” he mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his graphic tee. “Everyone makes bad choices sometimes, but you’re not actually a bad person unless you literally want to harm others. I don’t think people are bad once and bad forever, though,” he adds, pulling his hand away from his shirt.

Inhaling deep, he splays his palm wide, admiring those same old loops and whorls at the tips of his fingers, identical in every detail to his old, living, human self... but now pink. It's haunting, sometimes.

“People can change, y’know? If they make the effort to.”

When he finally glances back at Steven, he seems thoroughly spaced out by all his impassioned rambling, his gaze walleyed and void of any identifiable emotion. He scowls, unsure whether or not he should feel offended, and gives an exaggerated shrug to defuse the sickeningly earnest atmosphere out of this room.

“But hey, I’m biased,” he mutters, letting that instinctual, age-old self-depreciation coat his tone once more. “For all I know, everything I said could be absolute bunk, and I’m still just an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Lars,” Steven finally speaks up, his expression still perplexingly unreadable.

“I—“ His eyes blow wider, the sheer frankness of this comment catching him entirely off guard, overturning all of his once-impenetrable defenses. “...Thank you. I’m trying not to be.”

The conversation doesn’t advance any further from there, both parties content to fade back into the understated comfort of silent companionship. They play a few more rounds of their racing game, Lars beating Steven handily each time. (Truth be told, he’s not confident he’s bringing his A-game, though.) Then, sometime around three AM, his friend drags himself out of the beanbag chair and announces that he should probably head home and get some rest. Apparently he’s got a lot of planning to do for Little Homeschool's graduation ceremony that’s happening in a few days, or whatever. Which, is fair. Not everyone is blessed enough to be a sleepless zombie like him.

“Y’know, it’s been nice, getting to hang out, just us,” Steven says— quiet, but genuine— as Lars leads him back down the stairs. “We should do this more often.”

Purposefully, given the unusual emotional atmosphere of this whole visit, he decides not to mention the fact that he's planning to leave Earth again when his all Gem friends finally graduate. Later, he thinks, when everyone's in a better place.

“Well, if you’re ever bored, you know where to reach me,” he replies as they reach the bottom step, fondly rolling his eyes. “The good ol’ inter-hair-mensional express. Just, y’know— text me. And not during work hours.”

The teen gives his thanks once again, and then exits out the front, making sure to be extra gentle shutting the door on his way out for his parents’ sake. Huh. Seems that even when he’s (seemingly) in a funk, he’s capable of being uber courteous like that. Goodness, how does he do it?

Lars stands motionless at the entryway for a few moments after he’s gone, staring blankly at the now empty space the sixteen-year-old just occupied. His brow furrows, his fingers curling in perplexion at his side. He doesn’t have enough insight into Steven’s inner life to claim anything for sure, but he can’t help but feel like something with that boy was... off, tonight. Like, beyond your standard teenage moodiness. His demeanor, his bizarre and specific question, his relative silence... it all seems to be pointing towards something, lurking in the background. Still, there’s little he can do for a person who’s not volunteering information. And it ain’t his job to drag it out of him, either. He always hated when his parents tried to do that when he was younger, and it almost ruined their relationship entirely. That’s the last sorta scenario he’d want to force upon Steven. He’ll open up when he’s ready, in the end.

And until then... well.

He just hopes that the kid knows that— beyond the bizarre magic portal in that pink lion’s mane— he’s always got a brother on the other side who’s willing to at least listen. To be but a small source of support.

If he wants him to be.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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sunseteyes · 4 years

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I just found your blog and I'm loving it! I'd be very happy to request Tanjiro x Reader with a usually sort of ditzy, kind-hearted Reader, but when they get into a battle, she becomes an elegant, serious fighter! How would he react to seeing her fight? Oneshot or headcanons, whatever seems easier for you! Thanks so much, and have an amazing day!

TANJIRO WITH A DITZY READER

wow thank you! i like your blog too! it’s so organized unlike mine >< anyway, i decided to make this a short oneshot instead so i hope you’ll like it! (also, this made me remind of sheele from akame ga kill ah she was my best girl ><)

Tanjiro gets concerned about you whenever you’d head off into a solo mission or whenever he sees you getting treated at the butterfly estate for slipping somewhere and so on. He’d never been with you in a mission so he couldn’t judge how well you are as a demon slayer, however considering your rank, he ought to not underestimate you.

So when he gets paired up with you on a mission, he’d be excited to see you in action and he doesn’t even know what to expect.

“(Y/n)-san! You’re assigned to this mission too?” his smile would be warm and welcoming, much like how you would for him too everytime you two pass by each other or when he get to chat with you.

You’d mirror his smile and enthusiasm, beaming like a sunshine. “Tanjiro-kun! Yes, I am. I’m glad to join you today.” You were about to meet him halfway when your own sheathed katana fell to the ground, which you seemed to be holding for quite awhile.

“Oh!” you’d pick up your katana and find Tanjiro already in front of you, a troubled look crossing his face before it vanished quicly.

“Have you found any information yet, (y/n)-san?”

You’d blink up at him, lookng confused for a moment, “What informa-Oh! Are you talking about the demon? Uhm, yeah I’ve talked to a few villagers and they confirmed that children have indeed been being taken each night.”

Tanjiro nods in understanding, “I’ve also passed by a little boy earlier and he said that his friends and him had been hearing some sort of music every night. Then most of his friends have vanished just last night. I think that can be a clue to how we could find the demon.” He’d be explaining but when he’d see your smiling and bright face at something behind him, he’d think that you’re not taking it seriously.

“(Y/n)-san? Are you listening to me?”

“Hm?” your gentle gaze would go back to his and your sweet smile would ease any kind of possible irritation or confusion in him. “Of course I am, Tanjiro-kun.”

He’d feel troubled but he’d choose to trust you instead. He can’t possibly reprimand you not after all the kindness you’d shown him ever since you two met. And besides, if danger would come, he’d be there to provide you support and protection. He’d hope that the demon would not be one of the twelve demon moons or difficult to capture, so as you two could finish this mission without serious injury or any casualty. He’d hate to see you getting hurt.

So when nighttime came, the perfect time to investigate and finally put an end to things, Tanjiro would do his best to keep an eye on you. Whereas you would look relaxed and was much more focused on asking Tanjiro if you could help him carry the box instead so he could move easily for the incoming fight.

“No, it’s alright, (y/n)-san. I always carry around Nezuko so I’m quite used-“

Your katana was already sheathed and had sliced the presence that was behind him, not even moving an inch from where you were.

And when you did move, you’d bolt to the scent he had caught—the same rotting kind of smell demons have. His eyes were still wide open as he follows your movement with his gaze, your haori and hair dancing across the wind as you chased after the mysterious form lurking beneath the shadows, almost catching him off guarded if you had not reacted the way you did.

Then he catches the look on your eyes; gentle but with an emotion that he had never seen from your irises before. Focus? Drive? It was surprising enough that it made his feet stuck on the ground for a few seconds before he followed suite to your chase.

He’d realize how fast your reactions were, probably much faster than his. Despite your usual confusing cheery and airheaded attitude, which were enough to cause him to worry of your well being.

All of his misconceptions about you will vanish then, moreso when he’d watch you fight against the demon, your movements almost as graceful as a dancer would—much like his father, he’d think. He’d even regard how differently you’d use Breath of Water than he or even Giyuu would. It would be as if you were one with the water, an elegant gentle wave that were willing to eradicate the impurities of the demon you’re faced against. He’d be awestruck, to the point his mind would only pulled away when he heard your voice call him.

“Tanjiro-kun,” you were suddenly in front of him; kind smile but a serious and relaxed stance, unable to look at him for your eyes would be stuck with the demon’s form, cautious and careful. “-please take care of the children. I think they are somewhere around here. Don’t worry, there’s only one demon that’s doing all of this.” he’d take note of how your voice was also unusual to your usual high-pitch, this one is much calm and cool, almost like your demeanor had changed into the opposite of your usual self. He’s not complaining either way.

Nezuko wouldn’t even need to wake up and help Tanjiro because he’d be assured that you’d take care of the demon yourself, and that trust would be an enough presence for Nezuko to sense and be assured herself.

He’d then oblige with your request and quite sooner than he expected, you had defeated the demon and he had already freed the children that were being hidden by the demon’s blood demon arts.

“Wow, (y/n)-san! I did not know you were so strong and focused! Your way of fighting with the Breath of Water was so beautiful!” he’d praise you and be true with his words. You deserve it anyway. You had not pnly surprised him but he was also amazed that he’d trust you more than he did before. It would make him be reminded to never judge someone just because of their few qualities, especially if they’re a demon slayer that’s ranked higher than him.

When he sees that you’d be back with your usual attitude; slightly blushing from his words, a cheery and unguarded stance written all over your body, he wouldn’t even complain or feel concerned. What he knows, is that he’d like to see your future battles and possibly provide better support than he did that night.

this took longer than i imagined but i hope it did not disappoint! tanjiro is someone who tends to learn a lot of things every other battle he faces so i kind of applied it here haha anyway, please feel free to send requests~ also, this will be my last post for today i’ve posted a lot lmao

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny #kny headcanons #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro oneshots #tanjiro scenarios #tanjiro kamado #kny x reader #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer oneshots #nnr kny

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pixelatte · 3 years

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"Paint Peeling"

Summary: Zhou Zishu drinking and dining with his found family in the Si Ji Pavilion.

A/N: Haven't written in a while! Excuse the sloppiness (and the shit summary) because this is the product of 3 a.m. brain rot. Also, idk how to format text in the mobile app.

The scent of sandalwood permeates the air as the curtains sway with the whispers of the late afternoon breeze. Zhou Zishu is reclining on a chair, immersed in meditation, when the door opens.

The sight that greets him is a familiar one; he knows that silhouette haloed by soft sunlight too well. Even if his vision has become a blur of colors, he can tell that its Wen Kexing. Nobody can swagger around with that much confidence but him.

Zhou Zishu squints a little, hoping to catch the details of Wen Kexing's refined features: the subtle lift of his lips as he smiles, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes as his pupils shine in happiness. But it is futile effort. Zhou Zishu cannot see, not to the extent that he wants to at least. He does not sigh but the urge to do so is there.

There is an abundance of affection in the other man's greeting. "A-Xu," Wen Kexing says, and immediately Zhou Zishu is glad that he can hear the voice that he loves so much.

Zhou Zishu shakes his head and huffs, crossing his arms. "What is it this time?"

There is a clink of ceramic. Another jar of wine.

"Let's drink," Wen Kexing suggests.

Wen Kexing's preferences are as exquisite as the man himself. Zhou Zishu does not confess that he cannot taste the alcohol anymore. That its quality is wasted on him, but Wen Kexing's enthusiasm compels him to swallow his disappointment.

Zhou Zishu glances at the window towards the smudges of orange and deep red. "Isn't it too early?" He cocks an eyebrow, curious.

"Coming from you?" Wen Kexing asks and then adds, "Never. It's never too early for you."

Zhou Zishu shrugs, his outer robe parting and falling off his left shoulder, but does not disagree. It is true, after all. He finds comfort in his routines, and sharing a drink with Wen Kexing is one of them. Besides, Wen Kexing has occupied the vacant seat adjacent to his. It is too late to refuse.

They are elbow-to-elbow and the heat radiating from Wen Kexing is soothing. He is blindsided by the desire to close the miniscule distance between them, but he does not. Instead, he settles for observing Wen Kexing as he pours for both of them.

As always, Wen Kexing serves him first.

Zhou Zishu raises his cup in a toast and Wen Kexing returns the gesture. The alcohol is gone in one gulp. There is a stinging sensation in Zhou Zishu's throat, but nothing registers on his tongue.

Wen Kexing comments, "it's good."

Usually, Zhou Zishu has an input on Wen Kexing's offering, but tonight, he stays silent.

Because of his reticent nature, Wen Kexing does not catch onto his facade. Then again, Wen Kexing is no fool. A martial artist of Wen Kexing's calibre must have noticed his symptoms. Aside from bleeding from his orifices, his recent dizzy spells have become so obvious that even Zhang Chengling - that ignorant, little idiot - has been throwing him worried glances.

If that is the case, then Wen Kexing may be as good of a pretender as Zhou Zishu is.

Wen Kexing takes his pause as a cue to continue. Between his sips, he rattles on and on about literature, dredging up obscure poetic references about star-crossed lovers. Of course, Zhou Zishu lets Wen Kexing drag him into the discussion, although he is less interested in the language of romance that Wen Kexing is fond of.

Neither of them is a lightweight, so Wen Kexing talks while Zhou Zishu listens, patiently and attentively. There are snatches of information that Wen Kexing discloses once in a while, and it is up to Zhou Zishu to collect them - random pieces of the puzzle that is Wen Kexing. Zhou Zishu does not have the complete picture yet, but he is willing to wait for Wen Kexing to open up his shuttered heart.

It is a dangerous gamble, Zhou Zishu thinks, but he has two years left to be with Wen Kexing, who claims himself to be other half of his soul. A pity because soulmates are rare in this world, and for them to meet under these circumstances is pure torture. However, it is also a blessing.

Zhou Zishu has spent his days slaughtering innocents in the name of an ambitious master, witnessing his sect crumble under the fruitless struggle for power, and drowning in the crushing weight of his guilt.

There is no atonement for him even in death, so he has decided to embed the nails onto his body as penance. He will not bow to the gods for absolution; he is not worthy. The effects of the punishment are his burdens to bear.

And yet, hope has blossomed in the form of Wen Kexing, Zhang Chengling, and that mysterious immortal, Ye Baiyi. Perhaps there is a chance for him to turn over a new leaf. He understands that there is no miracle cure all for his ailment, but they rely on him so much that their desperation is bleeding into him.

He wonders, how much is he willing to compromise and surrender so he can keep this family of his? Certainly, they are an unconventional trio, but they slot together seamlessly - as if their roads have been predestined to converge. The trials that they have endured must have been the price to pay for the slice of heaven that they have here in the Si Ji Pavilion. It comforts him that the ghost of his home has become their sanctuary.

Zhou Zishu does not realize that he has zoned out. The moment he emerges from his reverie, Wen Kexing is staring at him, in that straightforward manner of his. It is not without heat because Wen Kexing is passionate to the core, but there is a thread of dread there, barely breaking through the veneer of flirtatiousness.

Thankfully, there are footsteps on the patio to distract both of them.

"Shifu, shishu," Zhang Chengling salutes, "It's time for dinner." He does not enter without their permission, lingering outside and carrying a tray of food.

The brat's balance has improved, Zhou Zishu notes with satisfaction.

In between his martial arts training, Zhang Chengling has also learned how to cook under Wen Kexing's efficient tutelage. Zhou Zishu is a menace in the kitchen, piling chilis into the dishes that he whips up(1), much to Wen Kexing's and Zhang Chengling's mutual mortification. He has been banned from offending their delicate palettes and wasting ingredients ever since.

"Come in, come in," Wen Kexing orders, his sleeves fluttering as he ushers their disciple in.

'Their disciple,' Zhou Zishu repeats to himself, and he has to stop himself from inhaling too sharply. It is a sentiment that surprises him, even months after he has officially inducted Zhang Chengling as his first disciple. It is too surreal.

Zhang Chengling is setting their bowls and chopsticks, and arranging their meal on the table. In the beginning, he has floundered around with his errands, earning a reprimand from Wen Kexing here and there. Being a young master from a prestigious sect, learning these practical skills has not be a necessity for him. He is a reflection of Zhou Zishu's younger self, pampered and sheltered, the opposite of Wen Kexing's ruined childhood.

The bitterness of the opportunities lost between him and Wen Kexing is too potent, and his mask cracks for a second.

"A-Xu, what's wrong?" Wen Kexing inquires, and immediately Zhou Zishu hates how transparent he has become.

"Shifu?" Zhang Chengling echoes the concern in Wen Kexing's voice.

Zhou Zishu is frowning at them, but the sentiment behind it is one of tenderness. "I'll be fine," is what he settles for.

These days, he has been alternating between his physical and emotional pains, only to be soothed by their presence. He does not tell them that the nails are dulling his senses, but he does not hide the signs of his internal injuries anymore. He allows them to fuss over him until their nervous energy is spent. Strangely, it is a cathartic and therapeutic exercise for all of them.

Both Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling accept his admission, albeit with great reluctance. Neither of them pressure him for answers, and he is grateful for their consideration. None of them will betray the semblance of trust that they have established, regardless of the secrets that remain hidden.

When Zhang Chengling passes Zhou Zishu his portion, he is assailed by the scent of spices. Ah, what a filial child Zhang Chengling has become.

Meanwhile, Wen Kexing is tutting in distaste. He demands, "Why is the master being spoiled by the disciple?"

The thought of Wen Kexing's irritation over seasonings - seasonings, ha! - almost startles a laugh out of Zhou Zishu, but the wet rattle of blood in his chest prevents him from doing so. Instead, he grabs onto Wen Kexing's arm and squeezes it to pacify him. Wen Kexing wilts instantaneously, melting into the touch.

Zhou Zishu is not a tactile person, but he is aware of Wen Kexing's craving for constant contact. If it is the hand holding, the hair combing, the hugging that comforts Wen Kexing and chases the phantoms of his past away, then Zhou Zishu will indulge him.

Likewise, Zhang Chengling is so attuned to the fluctuations in their moods that he either leaves them to their own devices or wiggles himself into the embrace. The teen has become as shameless and ridiculous as Wen Kexing.

They fill the empty spaces of the Si Ji Pavilion with their activities, eclipsing the shadows of Zhou Zishu's discipline brothers and sisters. The nails are a curse - a permanent reminder of their sacrifice - but if Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling can rouse him from his nightmares, then that is enough.

In his life that is as fragile as glass, Zhou Zishu is content.

(1) Inspired by Zhang Zhehan's cooking. I saw a clip where he put so much chili and pepper that he ended up choking and coughing on the fumes. ZZH, the spicy child!

#word of honor #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #zhang chengling #fanfic

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

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Dead Poets Society: Facets of Film

After the script is written, the story worked out, and the characters cast, the only thing left to do in order to make it to theaters is to actually make the film.

Which, as you’ve probably guessed, isn’t as simple as it sounds.

There’s a lot of effort that goes into the process of making a film, taking a story from the written page and turning it into a visual experience: props, costumes, sets, editing, special effects, music, camerawork, and, most importantly, the performances from actors that solidifies characters and makes them seem real to an audience. Film is a collaborative art form, a project consisting of several different elements that are intended to blend together in order to tell a story in a visual, meaningful way.

It’s hard work, and it certainly explains why it’s called ‘movie magic’. It is these elements that have the potential to take a film from good to great, from a cult classic to a historical blockbuster. These elements are the shark from Jaws, the cinematography of Blade Runner, the sets of The Wizard of Oz.

See, although the most important elements of any given story, whether visual or not, are the characters and story, the fact is, the production of a film isn’t detached from the story it’s telling.

Movies are filled with all of these elements for a reason: to tell the story, to accentuate and reveal the plot and characters to the audience in the most efficient way possible. Although it’s very true that some films do it better than others, the best films use these ‘facets of film’ wisely, conveying information to the viewers in ways that make sense, and keeping up the illusion of reality within the film’s context, making a film more understandable and enjoyable.

The balance can be tricky to achieve. Underachieving films can end up with shoddy effects, or less-than-stellar performances, or sloppy camerawork, and other films, with the wrong focus, can end up turning their films into more extravaganza than story. In the end, ‘balance’ is the key word, using these elements to accentuate the film and improve it, without overshadowing the things that are the most important.

All of that brings us to today’s question: Does Dead Poets Society use these tips well, or not?

Let’s take a look, starting with something that can seem kind of simple: cinematography. (Possible spoilers below!)

A camera is a powerful tool, and nowhere is that more obvious than in movies. The purpose of such an instrument is to do far more than simply film what’s going on.

The way that an individual director or cinematographer uses a camera, what it’s pointed at and how, can end up giving the audience quite a lot of information without them having to think about it. Certain shots emphasize danger, or fear, or joy, and convey quite a lot of emotion. In post-production, editing of shots are what tells the story, and are used to direct the audience’s attention to specific things, ensuring they are focused on the action while setting up the atmosphere, leaving a vivid visual impression on the viewer.

And in the case of Dead Poets Society, it’s all about atmosphere.

Cinematographer John Seale is well-known for films like Rain Man and Witness, and would go onto doing films such as Mad Max: Fury Road and The English Patient, and his work on Dead Poets Society is evidence of a man who knows his way around a camera. Seale’s work as a cinematographer is subdued, designed to enhance the story, rather than overshadow it. Many shots are of the outdoors of Welton, showing the seasons of change and giving some beautifully artistic shots for the audience to enjoy as well as demonstrating the passage of time. But although Seale shoots the outside very well, he shoots the story even better.

Some scenes stick out in people’s memory: the iconic close-up on Todd’s shoe as it hits the desk as he stands up on it at the end, or the shot looking down at Mr. Keating, literally showing another perspective, or the interesting shot that follows Neil and Todd chasing each other around their dorm room in a tight spin, and, a personal favorite, the scene of Mr. Keating in the empty classroom after Neil’s suicide, and they all do this for a reason: they are shot with extreme care for the human experience. The halls of Welton are shot with cold wide shots, emphasizing their stately nature, and how much bigger it is than the people that live there. The focused opening shots on the banners instantly instill the impression of the values of the school. The tight shots of the Dead Poets within the cave informing about the boys’ close relationship. The empty camerawork framing Neil’s suicide deliberately builds up dread in the audience as we see his actions.

All of these are excellent examples of Seale’s eye for storytelling with a camera, but none are quite so well-done as the scene where the boys tell Todd about Neil’s suicide.

The scene opens with a close-up on Charlie’s face, not Todd, even though Todd is the one being told. Afterwards, the scene immediately cuts to the boys outside in the snow, where Todd runs ahead before collapsing. The camera closes in on the boys comforting him, before Todd gets up and runs off into a wide shot of whiteness, the oncoming snow.

It’s a cold shot, one that emphasizes the grimness of the emotion, and the stillness allows us to absorb Todd’s internal turmoil. And it gets the point across.

Throughout the film, the camerawork is used to frame great visuals, even though it seems like there aren’t too many ‘distinctive’ images from the film.

The boys all dress in a school uniform: there’s not much in costuming or the way people look to differentiate them, but that’s partially the point. The conformity of Welton bleeds into everyone, and there’s no ‘differentiations’, no individuality, that’s external. It’s up to the boys internally to change.

The visuals can only get you so far, though. Also helpful for a film’s attempt at communication is music.

Dead Poets Society actually doesn’t have a whole lot of music. It’s overall a quiet film, mostly reliant on performances and camerawork to get the emotion across to the audience, but that doesn’t mean there’s no score at all.

Composer Maurice Jarre (Best known for composing for Lawrence of Arabia, Ghost, Witness, and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome)’s score is best utilized when it isn’t the main focus of the scene: the eerie sound of the boys sneaking into the cave for the first time, seeming almost magical or mystical as they disappear into the forest. During montage scenes of activities at Welton, a touch of the rock-and-roll sound of the 1950s can be heard. However, the score truly shines the best when its at its saddest: Neil’s suicide.

During Neil’s decision to kill himself, the music is quiet, not heavy, but definitely not light-hearted, either. It’s a devastating sound, somber, and keeps the audience knowing that something bad is about to happen.

All of these are great examples, but there’s no better example of emotional scoring than the ending.

As we’ve discussed before, the end of Dead Poets Society is very uncertain. There’s no real ‘happy’ ending, but it’s not exactly sad either, and part of that is in thanks to the way it’s scored.

When Todd leads members of his class to stand on his desk, the bagpipes start in, a victorious sound that harkens back to the beginning of the film. It’s an intensely emotional piece that doesn’t distract from the momentous amount of emotion on the screen, and it proves that, all along, whether you’re listening to the music or not, it’s always there, falling and rising to help the audience know how to feel, when they aren’t sure for themselves.

Individually, the music and the cinematography are amazing in and of themselves, but together, they blend exceptionally well in two ways: visually capturing the sets, and emotionally capturing the performances.

We’ll start with the sets.

Welton is an appropriately foreboding place, full of huge hallways. It looks old, old and rigid, because it is. It’s a stifling place, full of tradition, literally and figuratively. From the banners to the photos of famous alumni, Welton is a school concerned with how things have always been. Every building in this film feels old and grand (with the exception of Chris’s high school), from Welton to the theater, and as a result, the lively antics of Mr. Keating and his class feel all the more transgressively energetic.

Contrastingly, the outdoor scenes are open, spacious and beautiful. Even the cramped shots of the cave are more free than the more roomy halls of Welton, because of the change of atmosphere. These scenes, notably the ones where Mr. Keating teaches his class outside, are full of life and movement, a noticeable difference from the darker indoors.

But the energy present in these sets is nothing without the energy from the actors. Let’s talk about the most important part: the performances.

No matter how fantastic your sets, music, and cinematography is, they are meaningless trimming if the actors can’t pull off their characters. When it comes right down to it, it’s on the shoulders of the actors to sell their characters’ personalities and emotions. In the realm of film, a character is typically unremovable from the performance by a singular actor. Dead Poets Society pulls this off with remarkable tact.

Most obvious is Robin Williams as John Keating.

Despite the fact that Williams was best known for his comedic talents, he is suitably sober and genuine as an English professor: bubbling over with passion and a desire to help these boys learn about the power of words. He is exciting, drawing the audience in as much as the boys, putting out considerable charm as well as incredible enthusiasm and personal care for his students. He cares considerably about these boys, and tries to take care of them, giving out advice and attempting to lead them onto the right path. Occasionally, the typical Williams comedy shines through, but not in a way that feels unnatural for the character, and at the end, when he breaks down over Neil’s death, it is believable and genuinely causes pain to an audience who sympathizes with a teacher who feels responsible for losing a student. At the end, it is his expression of hope that the film begins to close on, an emotional beat that Williams’ performance brings home to end the film in a satisfactory manner.

Ethan Hawke as Todd Anderson is subtly subdued, demonstrating not a lack of emotion, but a quiet depth to it that comes across very well. We believe his transformation into a stronger person who is willing to take a stand, and his connection and grief over losing his best friend, and his nervousness overcome, revealing a poet inside.

Robert Sean Leonard as Neil Perry is also believable, performing a jarring switch between the confident leader and the obedient, dutiful son, portraying Neil’s restlessness and discontent with his situation very well. He is charming and charismatic, but in the end, a tragic figure, with his decision to end his own life played with genuinely chilling calm and resolve. We as an audience believe his passion for acting, and we understand why the other boys follow him, and we feel his absence from the rest of the film once he dies.

The other boys are acted very well also: Josh Charles as Knox Overstreet is appropriately dramatic and dedicated. Gale Hansen as Charlie Dalton is mischievous, outspoken and confident. Allelon Ruggiero as Steven Meeks and James Waterston as Gerald Pitts work well as a team, filling out the rest of the boys, and Dylan Kussman as Richard Cameron is appropriately reluctant, making his treachery to the rest of the boys very natural and believable.

Even the other adults are done very well. Kurtwood Smith as Mr. Perry is unyielding, misunderstanding, but not completely heartless, genuinely broken by his son’s death, but unwilling to accept responsibility for it. Norman Lloyd as Mr. Nolan is the film’s true antagonist, as hard and strict as the school rules that he enforces, but again, he thinks he is acting in the students’ best interests.

Each performance in Dead Poets Society contains enough nuance that no character is truly black or white. Every character in this film fills out their part, whether big or small, each putting forth genuine, passionate performances. It’s a heartfelt film, demonstrated in every aspect from cinematography to the presentation of each character, perfectly portrayed by every ‘storytelling device’ used in the film, not too much nor too little, but perfectly balanced. Every element comes together to tell an emotional and compelling narrative, assisted by the work done by the production team. As a result, the film feels like it is trying to be real, if not necessarily a realistic film. Dead Poets Society is grounded in emotion and people that we can believe in, that we want to believe in, and remains moving and consistent, ending with satisfaction, if not outright happiness, and leaving the audience to think about the story they’ve just been told.

Thank you guys so much for reading! Join us next time where we’re going to be discussing the behind-the-scenes story of Dead Poets Society in ‘Facets of Filmmaking’. I hope to see you there!

#80s #1989 #Dead Poets Society #Dead Poets Society 1989 #Film #Movies #Comedy #Drama #PG #Robin Williams #Ethan #Robert Sean Leonard #Josh Charles #Gale Hansen #Dylan Kussman #Kurtwood Smith #Peter Weir

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yoekko-novels · 3 years

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[To Touch The Skies] True Kings - #003

Three months had passed since Hubrid began his education and the walls nearly shattered from frustration. Druchess decides that it’s finally time to take him outside of the cove they stayed in and revealed to Hubrid the harsh reality of this world.

Hubrid had been taught logical things, the way things should be; Such as Math, Language Arts, History, and even small amounts of magic. Hubrid picked up on these subjects quickly but he had issues with Social Studies.

“Why did Magic-Users enslave us Strong-Holders?” Hubrid asked with conciseness. His speech had improved greatly in the past weeks and he had more control over the large vocabulary given to him.

“Where is my family,” Hubrid would ask repeatedly as Druchess would avoid his eyes, unable to tell him.

The young Hubrid did not only learn tangible subjects, he began to learn emotions such as happiness, sadness, and anger. These kinds of things were never allowed to happen on their farm. If they smiled they’d be whipped. If they cried they’d work overnight. If they got angry, they’d live with the cattle for days.

Autonomous drones are what they were, unable to experience even the most simple pleasures of life. Hubrid had a connection with his family despite being unable to show it. It wasn’t his biological family but, it was the family he’d known his entire life.

When he was unable to get his own food, they’d sneak small bits of the already tiny, stale, and moldy bread that they’d gotten as leftovers from Arupio. They were tight-knit despite being unable to touch or talk to each other; They knew that they’d always have each others back.

“Druchess, please tell me what happened to them!” Hubrid cries out, drawing tears for the first time.

With a sigh, Druchess decides to give him a choice.

“Hubrid, if you want the truth I am not the man that’ll be able to give it to you,” Druchess says as he picks up his beard and walks out to the open ends of the cove he dwelled in.

“However, you’ll be able to see it for yourself if you please. You will not like what you see if you go. I recommend you stay here and master not only my curriculum but your emotions as well,” Druchess says to the weeping Hubrid as he picks his staff up as Hubrid leers at him.

“Come if you want to, I needed some more meat anyways, you could learn a lesson from this, Hubrid.” He gestures to Hubrid to come as the two of them make their way out of the cave and hit a dead end.

Druchess rummages through his robe and a book that reads “Cook-Book,” falls to the ground as he picks it back up and sticks it back in hurriedly as Hubrid stared in wait.

He digs through it again and pulls out a book that reads “Hidden exits and Entrances,”

“This is the spot,” Druchess drops his beard to the ground that’d gradually shrunk over time and used his staff to pierce the wall. It fell as if it were fragile glass and opened up the world. Fresh air, sunlight, and purple grass took over the landscape.

“Stay close to me and don’t stray off….” Druchess says as he looks behind him only to see Hubrid already gone.

Hubrid had run as soon as he saw sunlight. He stared at the sky in awe and amazement as he realized it was completely clear, no clouds, no floating castles, and no animals. It was the first time Hubrid had experienced freedom. As he continued to venture out he saw something in the distance.

Little huts sat on the horizons, Hubrid had been told about Strong-Holders that had been able to escape from the farm and live freely. Hubrid dashed towards it as quickly as he could and as he neared it the buildings began to look more shabby. His running slowed as he began walking slowly to explore the terrain. The huts looked brand new as if they were just built. Hubrid began to notice that the area was completely still. Not even wind could be heard as he continued walking. The only sounds were the footsteps of Hubrid as he carried on exploring.

He peeks inside of one of the houses and begins to scour the room.

Druchess sighs and drops his beard to the ground once again in order to grab a book out of his robe that reads “Tracker,” The book glows as he opens it to its first page and the first line of the book reads, “To find who you desire, Give away a piece of yourself.” Druchess lets out a long sigh as he grabs a pair of scissors from his robe and cuts off a small piece of his hair and feeds it into the book.

“Go north,” The book read to Druchess as he began running in the direction the compass inside of his book pointed.

Hubrid looked slowly into the house as he tripped on the unequal ground barely catching himself in time. He finds his balance and looks down at the ground to see what made him nearly fall and he finds a book. The cover of the book reads “True Kings,” Hubrid picks it up and begins to read.

“History has been wiped away if you have found this book. I’ll tell you the truth of this wretched existence before I too am gone-.” The book reads, Hubrid is distracted in the middle of his reading by a distant voice.

“Hubrid! Hubrid! Are you there!” Druchess shouts as he sees the broken-down buildings.

“Go- To find who you desire, Give away a piece of yourself.” The book reads.

“Screw that! Druchess shouts as he sticks it away into his robe as he continues moving toward the abandoned housing.

Hubrid ignores his calls and continues to read the book.

“Magic-Users are not the rulers of this world, they are not even strong, their strength comes from only one thing, Sacrifice.”

“Hubrid! I know you’re in one of these buildings!” Druchess says as he looks for him desperately.

“I’m here!” Hubrid shouts as Druchess begins to walk into the village.

“What took you so long to respond?” Hubrid shouts as he nears the house Hubrid is in.

“Sorry! I found a book!” Hubrid shouts back as Druchess is already behind him.

“Oh, sorry,” Hubrid says as Druchess had his ears covered.

“What book is that?” Druchess questions as he looks at the book in nonplus.

“The cover says True Kings,” Hubrid tells Druchess as he grows even more confused.

“There’s nothing on the cover… hand me that book Hubrid,” Druchess says as he reaches his hand out.

Hubrid hands him the book and Druchess begins to flip page after page scouring the book for information.

“It’s empty,” Druchess says in confusion as he drops the book to the ground.

Hubrid quickly picks it back up as he looks at Druchess with even more confusion then he had at the beginning of his education.

“The first page talked about how magic users gained their powers and-.” Hubrid says but is cut off by Druchess’s laughter.

“Young souls have such a vivid imagination, I’ll keep the book for you and you can write a journal in it if you want,” Druchess says with a smile as he slips the book into his robe only for it to fall out.

“Hm?” Druchess says as he looks at the book on the ground.

He tries to stick the book inside again only for it to get spat out with voracity as it hits the wall of the hut and tips over the building.

The book begins steaming as it sits on the ground undamaged as the hut collapses and the two of them run out.

Druchess looks at Hubrid with seriousness ridden on his face.

“What did you say the cover of the book was again?” He says as he stares at the book in nonplus.

“True Kings,” Hubrid says in confusion as he rubs his head.

Druchess rummages through his robe once again and pulls out a book named “Book Of Books,” Inside of the book was the title of every book that's ever touched the shelves of The Library of Eruna. Page after page was flipped through as the serious expression on Druchess’s face slowly transformed into frustration as his beard visibly shrunk with each page he flipped.

“Hubrid, try touching the book with the magic I taught you,” Druchess says while he slowly caresses his beard and puts the book away.

Hubrid’s right hand begins to glow with yellow light as he touches the book. It opens with intense speed and flips to its backside. On the back of the book is an engravement that only Hubrid can see.

“Flip the final page when war is what you’re ready to wage, -Omaegius,” the engraving reads as Hubrid picks it up.

“Did the book do anything?” Druchess asks with enthusiasm.

“It flipped to its backside, that's all,” Hubrid says as he picks up the book and brings it to Druchess.

“Well, you can keep it since the book looks to be immune to magic,” Druchess says with disappointment as he begins to leave the village.

“Alright Hubrid, prepare yourself for what's to come,” Druchess says as he continues walking from the same direction he’d entered from.

#Dark #Novel #Author #Writer #Writing #Fantasy #Adventure #Comedy

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scriptaed · 5 years

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ink nemesis. 05

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 7.8k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

Help.

The ones who need it the most, speak it the least; not you, though, certainly not. You’re an exception, a loophole in the system they call humanity and its fragile emotions. Stone cold, apathetic, incapable of sorrow—somehow, under the cruel hands of reality, you’ve conjured a facade, a true master of a weighted heart and a bottled mind.

No one knows you. No one understands you. No one wants your company unless you’re needed.

Rather, you won’t let anyone know you, you won’t let anyone understand you, and you won’t let anyone take advantage of you.

Because how could you dare enable them to belittle you? You’re a self-proclaimed warrior in an army of one, fighting for the dignity of one, dying in the name of one: yourself. To wage a war against the rest of the world with a weapon fractured by faults as to be named honesty is to submit defeat; so you conceal the cracks and force in whatever you can to provide a temporary fix with permanent damage.

You’re strong, you’re intelligent, you’re independent.

Ill spite, malevolent comments, self-absorbed requests, they could never faze you.

You’ve cultivated this art yourself, see? Your chest no longer aches, your mind no longer lingers, and your heart is numb but nonetheless persists to beat blood into your flesh. Emotions are mere words you could once sympathize with in the days of yore now overtaken by the present you.

Frozen cold but begrudgingly living, you’re still a human.

Are you human?

Your end lies after this frosted, forsaken era, a time you had sworn to never allow to be shed the light of day; but you had underestimated the addiction that vulnerability entails, for in the presence of him, you find yourself coveting for more.

One moment, one touch, one kiss at a time, he disassembles the stone wall of your own prison. You could still remember it clearly. The graze of his touch thaws your icy skin, from your fingers to your arm, forming a trail of swirling, mystical circles. The warmth of his delicate, slender fingertips and the comfort of his palm resting on your cheeks elicit a fervent burn to your already rosy cheeks. The gaze of his secure, intent eyes that meet your wavering ones convey a thousand words more than any picture could.

It’s okay to be weak. It’s okay to not understand. It’s okay to rely on me.

It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to admit defeat.

Even if they try to stomp on you, even if the entire world parades in the aftermath of your end, with me, you’ll always be okay.

It is only now, as you lie on the bed side by side to this man whom had only been an infinitely distant star, do you believe that soulmates in the midst of countless constellations could truly coexist.

He is the star whom you had always wished to whisk across your dull skies, after all.

There’s no doubt about it. He’s shy and a tad awkward, but in this very moment, he doesn’t dare take his eyes off his celestial pair and neither do you. The scene still electrifies your very being. Your insides stir at the vivid memories of his hand clutching yours after the two of you exit the daze in the aftermath of your kiss of faith and hastily leading the retreat back into your apartment.

You could still whiff the petrichor along with his faded hint of minty, fresh cologne intermixed with the musky scent of his studio. You could still hear her gasp accompanied by the thud of her grab onto the concrete. You could still catch sight of her familiar silhouette, fading farther into the distance as he whisks you away, the two of you stumbling into the elevator and impatiently jabbing at the button to enclose the doors as well as your privacy, giggles, and breathy, fleeting kisses; even if the following hours of confiding in the silent embrace of another all occurs in a blur, you could still live vicariously through a moment too dreamlike to be true for an extinguished star like you.

On this bed and on this very night, serene on a high of this surreal spur of the moment, you finally believe you could reveal your authentic self.

You hate your work.

The coworkers who only acknowledge you in search for aid after you had outscored them on monthly evaluations, the authorities who only take interest in you when you churn out works that rode the waves of ephemeral trends, the public who forgot you within the blink of an eye because you could not serve their exact orders, and the company that keeps you within the confines of your damn contract despite being promised freedom as a creative writer—all of your insecurities come flooding before your eyes.

As you turn to divert your attention from the ceiling to the now asleep boy, you wonder how you could halt the return of ice that creeps along your melted chambers.

Would Yoongi treat you the same? Would he discard you when his interests prove to be fleeting and you could entertain him no longer? Had you fallen for the genuine him or had he put up a facade like your own?

Is it okay to be happy? Is it okay to be in this unrealistic and unhealthy relationship between yourself, the predator of a paparazzi, and him, the prey of a star? Is it okay to love elsewhere outside of writing? The subconscious squeeze of his hands that wander over to yours subconsciously in the midst of sleep tells you: it’s okay.

Like each other’s liquor, finely aged by the warm embrace of another lonely soul passing by the cold, cruel skies, you’re gracefully lulled into deep slumber, wondering, wondering, wondering...

A chaste kiss held to your forehead as he holds both sides of your head securely, whispers of his trek to work, and tucks a blanket over your cradled body were only enough to stir you gently in slumber; for when you awaken by the sunlight that floods through the curtain you had drawn open along with the windows at dusk, a rarity in this chamber, the plush of his lips are as ethereal as last night.

A hoarse groan follows your lengthy yawn when you discover you had somehow slept through the violent buzzing of your phone. One eye just barely peeled open and the other kept tightly shut in the blinding wrath of your screen, you reenter the interwebs with inadequate precaution so unlikely of you.

The dozens of messages from clout-chasing coworkers whomst names you didn’t even know until the news between you and Yoongi had broke out were one thing. You had been so desensitized to the nagging idea of being used and tossed to the side at the convenience of others that you roll your eyes and scroll past without a second thought.

The messages you receive on your personal writing blog, however, are a different matter.

[Anon 7:01 PM] When is the bots update?

One minute right after you posted your longest work up to date of which you had poured your heart and soul into. Not even a single nod to its existence. Not even a courteous waiting period of five minutes.

One minute.

[Anon 8:20 PM] Put your god damn works under the read more line. It’s so annoying to scroll past

It isn’t your fault the “read more” option malfunctions on various devices.They wouldn’t care to listen, though. You’ve explained a myriad of times but received radio silence in return.

[Anon 8:03 AM] OMG i can’t believe you finally updated bots! i won’t lie, i was upset when i thought it was discontinued. welcome back, writer!

Welcome back? Writer?

You had never left; and even if it had been several months since the last update of said series, it had never been indicated as discontinued. You had been here, writing, and interacting every single day of the past two months. Where, why, how would they assume you had left unless updates were the only factor to the status of your blog?

You have a name. Maybe you’re just looking into things now, surely. Perhaps it’s the grogginess of the morning haze that has left a bad taste on your tongue, but writer? Your name has been plastered all across your blog. It’s the very first line of your header on the top of your page, for Heaven’s sake!

You had to have been overthinking things and conjuring conclusions that had never been implicated between the lines in the first place; but you couldn’t help it, not after your hours upon hours of work had been discarded, ignored, and kicked aside. No one is obligated to read all of your works. No, but all you desire is mere acknowledgement. You want to believe this is a rare mistake, yet why is this just one of the many incessant, perpetual trends of your blog as of late?

Is this your fault?

And why are you feeling so guarded, accused, betrayed, victimized, and so utterly frustrated, when, clearly, someone is supporting you?

The pain gnaws at your constricted chest, so you handle it with the only coping method you know: writing.

[Reply] first off, thank you for supporting bots :”) i’m glad to know of your enthusiasm for this series. however, as much as i know you didn’t mean any harm with this comment, i do have to confess that this comment kind of irked me;; i get it if you’re upset because one of your favorite series hasn’t been updated in a while (2 months, really, which isn’t as long as i’ve seen some other series go without updates), but i’ve already said multiple times that the series is not on hiatus. i’ve already said i was working on it, and if i wasn’t, it was because i was busy with life and academics, which are my utmost priorities, or i was investing time on other fics.

which leads me to say, i didn’t come “back” with the update of bots. no, i’ve always been here and i’ve always been writing. in fact, i posted a 33 THOUSAND words long oneshot for namjoon just 4 weeks before updating bots. and it’s not just bots, it happens for every ongoing fic that somehow overshadows all of my other side works.

again, i know that these aren’t your intentions and i’m definitely reading into some comments, but with all the messages i’ve received, the interactions i’ve faced between my various fics, i feel like i have to voice my thoughts on my own blog.

i’ve held back and bottled up my own emotions on this blog for almost 3 years now, but i’m just going to say this: i am a writer and i am human. i am not a writer of just one fic, of just bygones of the sun, of just the labyrinth, of just paper hearts, etc. i am NOT defined by just one work. i am so utterly grateful for the support any of my fics receive, and i’m not saying that people need to read all of my works (you’re obviously not obliged to and i’m thankful if you read even just one work), but i’m just asking for you guys not to just acknowledge my existence/worth only when your favorite fic is mentioned.

At the end of your spill, when all is said and done, you fail to publicize your heart by the simple click of a mouse like the many times before. It’s revitalizing to finally put the amassed angst in your chest into words, but the guilt of burdening others with concerns that no one deserves to bear plagues you on the daily; so there it stays, hidden and buried in your drafts for the long years to come.

With moments of dread like these, however, there never fails to be dozens upon dozens more that awaits to whisk you away into brighter days within the comforts of your inbox. There were countless readers who would send you unconditional support through thick and thin. You could never understand how kindhearted they were to you, someone they’ve never seen, heard, and sometimes never even spoken to. Were they trying to take advantage of you? Are they trying to coax you into a perpetual cycle of writing absent of rest? Why were you always searching for a fault when so many have displayed nothing but patience, love, and understanding to you?

Just why could you not let anyone in?

It’s an ongoing battle between you and yourself, one proven to be fruitless a myriad of times before. You let out a hefty sigh, persisting to express your gratitude, genuine and cautious to omit one half the truth, when a certain comment sends your heart racing.

[MP3 7:56 AM] The pianist sounds like an enigma. Reminds me of this one girl I’ve been crushing on lately. Can’t wait for the story, genius.

The ear-to-ear grin adorning your lips don’t come to attention until your phone rings and the butterflies in your stomach scatter as you’re snapped out of your short-lived reverie. A relieving yet oddly disappointing name plasters across your screen.

“Yes, Solji?”

“Y/N? Where are you right now? Are you home? Where’s Yoongi? Is he next to you?” you can hear the shaking of her head as she forces an abrupt halt to her blurted questions. “What I mean to ask is are you okay?”

“Whoa, calm down, are you using me as a guinea pig for your future child or something? Ooh, someone must have got it on lately,” you hope your wiggling brows could be captured by the suggestive tone of your voice. “Don’t worry, I’m doing fine—” you sigh “—you’re the only one who actually worries for me at work. Thanks, I’m at home right now. Yoongi should be at work—wait, how did you know he was with me?”

“The paparazzi somehow caught you two last night in front of the apartment and now pictures have leaked and literally everyone’s talking about it at work. You’ve been living under a rock the entire last night, haven’t you? Or did you two…” she gasps.

“No!” you exclaim almost to vehemently. You clear your throat and repeat with a lowered voice, “no, we didn’t do anything last night. We just...”

Your cheeks burn red, despite the truth in your statement.

“Girl, you better give me the entire story in full detail later,” she presses as the excitement manifests in the squeak of her voice, “but for now, you should drop a visit to the company as soon as possible. Even if you’re on a break, boss still wants you to attend our monthly meetings.”

“Ew, you mean those gatherings filled with passive aggressive jabs and snotty, arrogant colleagues?” you groan grotesquely. “I guess I don’t have the luxury to be fired just yet. Fine, whatever pays my rent.”

“Don’t worry,” Solji’s familiar laughs envelop you with warmth, “I’ll be there too. I got your back.”

“Thanks, moooom,” you drawl. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Byeee,” she adds in a quick tease, “oh, and don’t forget: no glove, no love—”

—she hangs up.

Well, at least one person still remembers you, even if it’s to nag you about something that you would never even dare to fathom in the first place. Shaking your head, you laugh to yourself when your phone starts ringing again.

This time, however, the name doesn’t disappoint.

Your thumb accidentally accepts the call way too soon and you find yourself on the line with the very person who had your blood pumping just a second ago.

00:00:01… 00:00:02…

“...hello?”

His voice tangles your throat and you’re forced to clear it before hesitantly raising the phone to your right ear. You can’t sound too eager nor nervous, otherwise that would send the wrong signal—damn it, since when did you pay any attention to Yoongi’s impression of you?

“Yeah, what do you need—” oops, that’s too rude “—I mean... is something up?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he struggles to get his words out, “I, uh, left my… jacket at your place.”

You quickly scan through the mess of your apartment only to find his jacket neatly folded and conveniently placed right before you at the end of the bed.

“Oh, found it. Do you need me to bring it to you—”

“—no,” the abrupt silence after his adamant refusal catches the both of you off-guard, “no, I can just… come over and grab it. Or, uh, you can keep it.”

You could just imagine him shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, gradually catching onto his antics.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just keep this hundred thousand dollar jacket here,” you chime.

“Oh?” you could hear him kicking his feet onto the desk. “You’re keeping my jacket as keepsake?”

“And why would I do that?” you scoff.

“Because you miss me.”

His firm statement comes with ease and oozes with so much irking confidence that you force yourself to hang up before the fluttering in your stomach overtakes your very being… that is, until the phone rings again.

“What?” you groan. “I told you I’m keeping your jacket and not because I miss—”

“—did you check your blog today?”

“Huh?” he takes you by surprise. “Yeah, I did. Why?”

A momentary silence befalls his lips. “Oh, well, did any comment stick out to you?”

“Hm…” you play along. “No, not really. Is there a specific comment you’re referring to? Have you been checking my blog, Min Yoongi? Hm? Thinking about me?”

“Yes, I’m referring to the comment I made under ‘MP3,’ you dumbass.”

“In that case, yes, I did,” you snicker before hanging up, “maybe you should check my response later.”

Your phone rings again.

“Ugh, what now? You’re being so clingy—”

“—are you free tonight for dinner?”

“Dinner?” you repeat, taken aback. “Dinner as in… date dinner or just dinner dinner…?”

“Well, I was just thinking dinner dinner,” he mulls, “but I guess we could call it a date if you so want.”

“Shut up,” you can’t help but laugh, “it’s a date then. I have something to do at work but I’ll let you know where and when to pick me up later.”

“Oh,” he pauses and follows up with concern, “do you need me to come with you?”

“No, it’s not like I’m getting fired or anything,” you snort, “thanks, though… it means a lot. See you soon.”

The phone rings again right after you hang up.

“What?!”

“Nothing, I just missed your voice,” he says nonchalantly and probably shrugged before murmuring darkly, “oh, and, I’m the one who gets to hang up.”

The dial tone fills the silent air.

Oh, how had you ever forgotten the pain of commuting to work, especially when making an unexpected detour under time constraints?

[Xiao Lin 1:29 PM] Hey Y/N! Sorry for hitting you up out of the blue but can we meet up really quick? I have something important to show you.

The acquaintance’s text had you nearly sweating bullets, for she had persistently insisted on meeting this very moment—an hour prior to work; because according to her, whatever she has in her hands could be a pivotal moment in both his and your careers.

What could she possibly have and were you right in suspecting her friendly mien?

Your toes scrunch in the tight fit of your pointed heels, fearing for dear life at the pace you were striking the ground. Incessant gusts of wind from passing cars and buses dishevel your hair but you pay no mind to the distractions, striding down the bustling streets with tunnel vision settled on the coffee shop a few blocks from work.

A series of bell chimes capture the attention of the girl who had sat in deep contemplation with eyes under her jet-black bangs, staring at nothing and mind evidently elsewhere.

“Y/N, you’re here,” she gives you a small, gently pressed smile, beckoning for you to sit in the chair across the table. “How have you been doing lately?”

“Hey, doing just fine,” you prim, quickly shuffling into the seat. “So what is it you wanted to tell me?”

Her eyes widen at your haste, blinking blankly for a few seconds before reaching into her purse perched to the chair beside her. The long, luscious locks of hers fall gracefully into curtains that shield you from glimpsing at whatever she’s pulling out. Your heart is suspended at the brink of a cliff when she suddenly pauses, stares at the cards in her hands, and takes a deep, determined breath in and out.

Alas, she unveils her weapon.

There, spread neatly across the table, is a series of photos capturing the intimate moment you had accidentally intruded on during that fateful night.

“This girl here,” the white paint of her nails highlight the silhouette beside Yoongi on the balcony, “is the CEO’s daughter that I mentioned to you before.”

Xiao Lin’s gaze peers at you from under her bangs, intently observing your every movement.

You gulp. You struggle to breathe. You don’t want to give her anything that could jeopardize your career and most importantly… him.

Why, though? Why are you protecting someone whose photos elicit the painful drop somewhere deep within you? Why are you conveying nothing but jealousy and insecurity from the flashbacks that play right before your eyes? Throughout the fantasy that has been the last few months, somewhere along the way, you had let him slip through a fault in your defenses, even under the once so vigilant watch of yours.

“Okay,” you finally muster the courage to lift your gaze to meet hers, “and why are you showing this to me?”

“Y/N, aren’t you dating Yoongi?”

Well, are you?

“Yeah, but these don’t have any context to them. For all we know, maybe this photo is old and she could just be his ex.”

“I’m afraid not,” she presses her lips into a frown. “This venue is the same day the news about you and Yoongi broke out. They’re wearing the same attire as in their press, as well.”

Your brows furrow at her persistence. “Where did you get these photos anyway?”

“One of my sources happened to snap a shot and showed me just last night… including this picture,” she slides forward a familiar scene you had bore witness to—your hands cupping his cheeks, his back facing the camera as he leans into you, and the woman’s figure watching from afar. “Don’t worry about it, though. I made sure to delete the photos from all her devices, and even if she slips, no one’s going to believe someone without previous credit to back her up.”

“Well—” you’re completely petrified by the attack “—I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.”

“Y/N…” she says hesitantly under her breath, “did you know about this…? I’m required to report everything to my company by contract, especially since this involves relations to our CEO, but I’m telling you this first because I don’t want to hurt one of my only friends.”

Friend? How could she call you her friend after cornering you like this? She must have something up her sleeve. She must.

“I don’t there’s anything I could add,” you deadpan with eyes glaring at her. “People are gonna take those photos and run away with whatever wild stories they can capitalize off of anyways, regardless of my commentary.”

“That’s why I’m asking you… do you not want me to release these photos?”

“You’d do that…?” you frown, cautious in wading the waters. “Why risk your career for me?”

“I’m not so dirty as to throw my friends under the bus without a thought,” she laughs and pretends to zip her lips shut. “Alright, my lips are sealed, then. Oh, also another thing…”

You keep her under your wary watch, still dubious, “yeah?”

“I’ve heard through the grapevine that Bang PD has been in talks with the company an immensely popular tabloid, SS, writes under… which, from what I remember, is your company. I heard there’s a certain writer there whose stories they want to use for BTS’s concepts.”

“Oh,” you cock your head, “and why are you telling me that?”

“I’m just saying,” she leans back into her chair as she watches you gather your things, “be careful no one’s taking advantage of you, especially after those photos.”

“Alright, well,” you scramble to find a safe response in the mess of your state, “thank you for having my back, but it really isn’t something you should be meddling with. I really have to get going now—”

“—wait,” a delicate hand clutches onto yours before you could depart and you whirl around to peer down at her. With orbs reflecting the sun rays in its dark chocolate hues, she speaks. “You know I’m putting my entire career at risk by working behind my company’s back.”

“...yeah,” your eyes narrow at her, “I’m thankful for that.”

“But you know the kind of industry we work in, right? People aren’t afraid to stab others in the back as long as it profits them, so we always have to be vigilant.”

“So…”

“So,” her words never linger on her thoughts, “I’m saying I need assurance from your side that you won’t turn your back on me, either.”

“Lin,” you let out a breath of disbelief, “why in the world would I tell your CEO about this?”

“I don’t know,” she says firmly, “but that’s the thing, we never know until we’re on our knees, regretting every decison we’ve ever made.”

“Lin, please—” you’re at a loss for words “—please don’t hurt Yoongi. Don’t release those photos. Please. I’d do anything.”

“Anything that gives me leverage, Y/N.”

Her stern gaze bores into yours.

What could you possibly tell her? That your relationship with Yoongi is fake? That would only be throwing Yoongi and the entirety of BigHit under the bus. You can only imagine the despair that would come from betraying him like that.

“I don’t have anything, Lin,” your voice cracks on the brink of tears. “I seriously don’t have anything. Please let him go. Just this once. Please—”

“—Y/N,” she murmurs with those pleading eyes, equally desperate as yours, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Yoongi. BigHit. His members. The company. Solji. SS… you could tell her about SS.

“I’ll—” you hesitate with bated breath “—I’ll tell you my real pen name.”

“Your pen name?” her eyes widen at your suggestion, accepting the weight of your proposition by the wavering of your breaths. “Okay.”

With your career, past, heart, tears, and soul, your every being is encompassed by these two words. Should you let her have her way? Hand over the key to control your state of mind? Let the potential infiltration of outsiders to intrude on your one companion in life?

Should you give it all up for him?

“Ink Nemesis,” you mutter, feeling your heart drop. “My pen name is Ink Nemesis.”

The recognition of your alias in the tabloids manifests in her brightened expression and you had never struggled to inhale with such magnitude like you did at this moment.

“Alright, nice to meet you, Ink Nemesis.”

She smiles.

Something smells in this meeting room. It’s a perpetual stench that reeks your surroundings that you would do anything to bolt from your chair.

Bullshit.

“What’s with the long face?” one of the girls asks you with fake concern plastered all over that overly done face of hers. If it weren’t for the incident just an hour prior, maybe your thoughts wouldn’t have been so malicious; but you can’t help but wonder how you had ever put up with her attempts to get on your good side when monthly evaluations were just around the corner.

“Nothing,” you mumble, sitting even more upright when you notice her own pretentious posture.

“Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?” another girl bumps your leather chair with hers. “Mr. Min Yoongi’s, perhaps?”

Oh, there’s the other girl who never really cared for your existence or anyone’s except her so called “squad” for that matter… until someone’s work garners enough momentum to be worthy of her attention, that is.

“Yeah?” you snap and everyone jumps at the raise in your voice. “Well, whose bed did you wake up in this time?” The silence is overbearing enough to have you mentally regretting your temper in guilt. “Haha… just kidding.”

The group of girls force a nervous laugh before rolling back to their respective spots and gathering their files.

“Ooh…” Solji mumbles under her breath beside you. “It’s 2019, Y/N. Slut shaming isn’t acceptable anymore.”

“I know,” you grunt, storming out of the meeting room as Solji follows in your trek. “I messed up, okay? I’m just having a shitty day.”

“Oh?” her playful expression immediately transitions to one of concern. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, unless you, their supervisor, can tell them to shut the hell up and stop acting so fake,” you roll your eyes and punch your timecard. “It’s just that they’ve never cared for me as a person until my works did somewhat well, and the only time that happened is when I hop on the bandwagon and write because I want to be praised and receive attention and not because I want to write. I can’t even be creative because then no one will ever even read my shit.”

“Is that why you’re still writing for SS?” Solji quickly punches her timecard and paces after you as the door slams behind you.

Cars honk at every corner, buses puff at every stop, and lights beam in all orientations of the city as night befalls it. Her questions lingers in your mind, even as you march through the sidewalks and into the neighborhood a few blocks from the company.

Why are you still writing for SS? Sure, the stream of comments are addictive not to say the least; but what you’ve always vied for is the euphoric rush of anticipation, the power that runs through your veins, knowing just how much control you had at the tips of your fingers. You had exclusive information and everyone is all ears. You could release a simple audio and set millions abuzz.

At long last, the world is yours and you’re not theirs.

“No, not exactly,” you finally answer.

“Good then,” Solji huffs when she finally catches up with you at the end of the block, “because you should stop updating SS. I don’t want you involved with it anymore. I’ll have someone else in charge or maybe I’ll even pick it up again, just not you—”

“—what? No,” you vehemently shake your head, “no, why?”

“Because he’s your boyfriend, Y/N. Did you forget that all of a sudden or something? It’s unhealthy to be writing as a paparazzi for your boyfriend. Does he even know about this?”

“Yeah, he knows I’m one…”

“For the SS?” she articulates.

“...no,” your voice is nearly inaudible until you erupt in protest, “but you can’t do that. You can’t just take it away from—”

“—yes, I can,” she raises a brow at your behavior, “it’s my tabloid.”

A sharp intake of breath cuts your words off as you submit to a temporary defeat in silence. A breeze passes by, carrying your locks gently in its waves along with the dampened traffic in the distance.

It seems like the entire world is stripping you of your joys; because even Solji, the one motherly friend you could always rely on, is turning her back on you now.

Your colleague senses the tension in the stagnant air and speaks once again, “what’re you doing here anyway—”

—a black car pulls up and you don’t hesitate to enter when you recognize the familiar silhouette of his through the tinted windows.

“Do you always enter any stranger’s car—”

—Yoongi’s remark is interrupted by the shrieks belonging to a certain someone at the curbside. You had almost forgotten the reason SS was even created in the first place.

“Oh my GOD! I’m-I’m such a big fan, I’ve loved you since you were a trainee a-and, I just can’t believe!!!” Solji manages to shrill as she jumps up and down, completely overjoyed.

“Do you know her…?” Yoongi whispers, slight concern intermixed with bashful gratitude adorns his face as your supervisor continues to jump in circles.

“Yeah, she’s, um,” you stubbornly give in despite your grudge, knowing fully well how much this moment must mean to her, “she’s like a mother to me. She’s a huge fan. Probably your first, actually.”

Solji’s head violently bobs in agreement and Yoongi could only chuckle at her enthusiasm. Removing her hands from her cheeks that are streaked with her tears, she manages to scavenge through her pocket to find a notepad and pen. She wipes away the mascara streaks and fruitlessly attempts to regain composure. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to act like a crazy fan. I mean, I’m not a crazy fan, but could you… if it’s not too much of a bother… sign this…?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s difficult for you to hide the grin twirling at the corner of your lips as he reaches over you to further fuel the elation Solji must have been squealing over. Once the star finishes his business, Solji ducks to meet the two of you on eye-level, continuously expressing her gratitude to her idol for his time when, out of the blue, she redirects her remarks to you.

“Thank you, Y/N. Please understand I’m doing this for your own good,” she presses a bittersweet smile, even if you avoid her gaze by looking straight out the windshield. Chortling, she takes a few steps back onto the curb and waves you two goodbye, “have a nice date!”

The engine purrs to life as the window scrolls up and you’re left comfortably alone with Yoongi—until Xiao Lin’s voice echoes in the back of your mind. You had just given your entire life for this man whom you don’t even completely understand just yet. Lin has a point: who is that woman to him and why hasn’t he told you about her?

Could you really trust the last remaining figure, a man of many secrets, in your life?

“What does she mean ‘doing this for your own good?’’ he quirks an inquisitive brow while keeping his eyes on the road.

“Nothing really,” you mumble, looking out the window at the skyscrapers blurred by the warm golden streetlights.

“Really?” he muses. “She seems like she really cares for you. I’m grateful.”

“Grateful? Who’s this cheesy man and where did you take my Yoongi?”

Yoongi chuckles at your retort before reaching behind your seat to reveal the bouquet of pastel colored flowers. He tips the adornment in your direction, beckoning for your acceptance. “Congratulations on being fired.”

“Ah, yes, there he is,” you roll your eyes briefly, despite the apparent smile that stretches from ear to ear as you take the bouquet into your hands. You could tell he must have ordered for an excessive number of flowers because the ribbon hangs on for its dear life to keep the bouquet unified. Your eyes flutter closed and you relish in the fresh, floral scent.

But he’s lying. He’s keeping something from you.

Alarms sound off to interrupt the ephemeral moment of genuine bliss. It always does this. You always do this. Why can’t you just take things as it is? Why suspect him? You’d be better off living in ignorant bliss. Or is it your innate method of preventing the dreadful anxiety that comes with the painfully endless falls off the highs?

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Do you…” you struggle to speak, tongue-tied. “Do you… know anything about your CEO and how he’s coming up with your concepts?”

“Him? Coming up with our concepts?” his voice raises in surprise. “The boys and I come up with them ourselves. Why?”

“Nothing.”

Your attempt to conceal your utter relief is in vain.

“That’s a whole lot of nothing’s today,” he chuckles, catching a glimpse of you sniffing the bouquet before deciding not to press further. “Do you like the flowers?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty,” you turn to meet his cheerful gaze illuminated by the flood of red from the traffic light. “Why’re you suddenly acting like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Am I not your boyfriend?”

He returns his attention to the street when the red shadows on his skin flicker green.

“You never explicitly said anything about it.”

“Why should I?” he muses as his hands find yours by the gear stick. He then intertwines his fingers with yours. “I feel our connection. You feel our undeniable connection. Do we need any words to define us?”

Words to define us. Words to commit. Words to omit the truth in the wake of a lie.

“We do,” you firmly state and he turns to cock a brow at you. “I need to know who I’m with. I need the complete truth or else I can’t give my all in this relationship.”

“Okay—” the both of you could feel the drop in temperature and the rise in tension “—what do you need to know?”

“Do you know the daughter of the CEO who sponsored your movie premiere?”

“What premiere?”

You raise your voice, “the night we met.”

“Oh,” the firm grip of his hands go limp and something mercilessly hammers against your chest, “no, I don’t know the CEO’s daughter personally.”

Lies. Utter lies. He’s fucking lying.

Why? Just why?

Do you tell him you know more than he thinks you do? Would that be a foolish tactic?

“Are you sure?” you press.

I’m giving you one last chance.

“What’s up with you, Y/N?” Yoongi frowns, brows knitted.

“Nothing!” you nearly yell. Yoongi doesn’t react in the least bit. He retains that damn stupid cold facade of his, even as he lies. “Look me in the face and promise me you’re going to give this your all.”

Because I gave you my all.

“Y/N, what even,” he mutters under his breath, turning to stare at you straight in the eye. “There’s nothing going on between us—”

“—turn the corner,” you demand lowly. “I want to go home.”

“Y/N, is there something I need to know?” he exasperates, groaning when you fail to meet the frustration in his eyes and obliges to your orders. “What the fuck is going on—”

“—what’s going on is that you’re fucking lying to my face!”

Your screams stun him into silence. His lack of a response boils your blood.

“I told you to tell me the truth! I literally shoved the answer to your face and gave you multiple chances to confess!” you struggle to catch your breath, chest heaving up and down. “At least say something damn it!”

The car comes to an abrupt stop. He doesn’t waste a second and shoots a stern gaze your way. His once cool temperament has been replaced by the fire set ablaze in the grinding teeth of his, jaws jutting and eyes darkening. One hand of his still clutches the steering wheel so tightly you could see veins popping under his white collared shirt.

Both participants evidently fear the heated argument soon to erupt.

“I don’t have any feelings for her,” he enunciates. “I only like you. I swear.”

“You still lied to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he takes a deep breath and sighs, eyes never disconnecting from yours. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Do you know—” you pause in a fruitless attempt to save yourself from breaking out into tears; instead, you choke over your sobs and despise the look of concern adorning that fake frown of his “—do you know how much I gave up for you? Do you know how much I left behind to protect you?”

“What do you mean—”

“—I gave up my career, Yoongi!” you bellow. “I belittle myself, I’ve become hooked on the idea of fame, I’ve become the very person I feared. I’ve bargained away my only companion for you and you betrayed me!”

“Y/N, just tell me what happened and I can fix it.”

He sounds genuine, but is he? Can you trust him? Can you trust anyone but yourself?

Can you even trust yourself?

“You can’t,” you fail to inhale silently in an attempt to conceal the shaky breaths of yours.

“And why not?”

“You can’t because,” your hands rummage through your purse for your phone so hastily that you almost cut yourself with your own nails, “because I told the one person I warned myself over and over not to trust but did anyways all because I loved you.”

The both of you are taken aback by your sudden confession; and if it weren’t for the condition that you’re in right now, maybe this would have been a monumental moment you would’ve spent hours and hours reliving and relishing through your memories.

“I loved you,” you repeat, eyes shaking,” and you hurt me.”

He hurt you. Maybe he didn’t mean to. Perhaps this is partially your fault for neglecting to fill him in on your side of the argument. This could be the moment you tell him about that night you caught sight of him with her on the balcony or about how you had just revealed your pen name and signed your career away if Lin were to use it against you for his sake.

But he hurt you.

People have trampled over you and you’ve had enough.

How do you hurt the people who have hurt you?

How did Yoongi hurt you?

You don’t realize the blinding screen of your phone where your blog and its eight tabs are on full display until Yoongi squeezes your left arm. The imprecise, hasty jabs of your fingertips at the screen render your phone unresponsive, only furthering your fueling frustration as you clutch the device to the point of numbing your hands.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he seems to have collected himself in comparison to your wrath.

“I’m deleting my shit,” you grumble through gritted teeth.

“I know you are,” he emphasizes, “but why are you? I know how happy your blog makes you. Why are you doing this? What’re you going to do about all the people who love and support you?”

“Why do you care?” you snap, stopping momentarily to shoot a death glare at him. “It’s not always a source of happiness for me. To tell you the truth, you brought me happiness when this blog couldn’t. You, Yoongi. How am I supposed to trust them if I can’t even trust the one person I thought would have my back?”

He’s silent. He’s holding back.

“How am I supposed to handle all this… all this pain? How do I—” you pause “—how do I get back at the people who hurt me? How do I regain control of my life?”

Silent, again. He’s biting his tongue.

“I take back the one thing I had that they wanted from me. The one thing they can’t have. Then, I’ll finally be in control again—”

“—what kind of fucking control is that?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” the flames in his orbs have ice crawling along your skin, “what kind of fucking control is that? How can you call yourself in control when people have literally forced you into taking down the works that provided you solace? How can you call yourself in control when you’ve allowed people to get into your head and push you to this state of darkness, to the point that you want to hurt? You have this stupid fucking complex about you and I get it. I really get it, but do you ever plan on acknowledging it or do I have to shove it in front of your face for you to understand?”

“What? What is it that a successful boy like you could understand about a girl born with nothing like me? Huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to bring forth reality. Cold, cruel, just like your world.

“You think the whole world is against you and you’re nothing but its poor victim; but have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, others are suffering under your hands as well? That, maybe, there are people who are genuinely kind and those people deserve so much more of your fucking time than those dumbasses who don’t deserve the light of day. Won’t you trust in the people who light up your world like you’ve lightened mine? Won’t you?” he flinches at the waterworks that stain your cheeks. “Are you going to love yourself by accepting yourself or are you going to keep picking at the faults of others and acting blind in front of your own? When will you let down those walls, Y/N?”

An epiphany dawns upon you when you find your gaze fixated on his, locked and challenged; and for a second, it’s almost as if you’re staring at an older self in the mirror.

“You’re right,” you grab your purse and phone, kicking open the door. “There’s nothing left to love, not even myself.”

“That’s a lie,” he shakes his head, “at the very least, you should love yourself.”

“How can I?” you give him one last tilted, pressed grin before slamming the door. “How can I when even I have lost sight of myself?”

You can tell his heart shatters by your confession. His face turns pale, his lips part but fail to utter a single word of assurance, and he simply lets you go. Turning your back on him, you smile to yourself and take long, painful strides toward your front door.

Why does it hurt so much to bring him pain like you so wanted?

You’re on your way to self-discovery. All you need is to be alone again, like you’ve always told yourself to be, like you’ve always known would be best for you.

Your mind works on autopilot, as if distancing yourself from others is merely second nature to you by now. The accursed picture still haunts you even as you shut your eyes.

[99% uploading]

Now, finally, surely, you’ll be a hundred percent free from burden and the hands of……..

...

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thebleuroseproject · 3 years

Text

Ludus

Name: Ludus

Nicknames: Many, but none that really stuck

Pronouns: They/Them, He/Him

Gender: Genderfluid

Sex: AMAB

Sexual Orientation: Marsic, but money is money.

Age: 23 (Lifespan 90-150 years)

Class/Status: Moderate. He gets by and has a little extra from time to time.

Physical Description:

Height: 6’5” | Weight: 10.5 stone

Ludus is wiry purple hellspawn with pupiless green eyes that can leave his face hard to read, as it’s hard to tell where he’s looking specifically. He’s hard to miss in a crowd, being tall, often covered in jewelry and clad in provocative clothing that colour-matches well with his skin. A prominent feature are his horns, small and neatly pointed; they curve around his skull elegantly, ending just a few inches in front of his forehead and sitting just above his browline like a sort of natural crown.They are a deeper purple than his skin, and are often covered in various tidbits of jewelry. His lips are naturally purple, only a little darker than his skin, but Ludus is rarely seen without black lipstick, as anyone with a true sense of style knows that this is peak fashion.

He looms over most people, with his intimidation showing not through his weight or size (because his ribs almost show through his chest) but through his cutting sarcasm and high perception when it comes to people, which some do fear him for. He isn’t afraid to get into people’s personal space when he wants to - which can leave many feeling unnerved, either by the lack of space, the headiness of the scent he wears or by physical attraction to him.

His physicality could still be seen as intimidating in some ways, as it’s clear there is some muscle behind those legs. Where one would expect those legs to end in feet, as they do on MOST humanoids, they instead end in a very solid pair of hooves inset with gold filigree - which look to be very painful if one was to be kicked by them.

There is no beauty without pain, and while Ludus has no tattoos (they don’t always match with their clothes), he has plenty of piercings from his ears to the tip of his pointed tail which he puts in or takes out to match with his current style. His thick black hair is shaved into a mohawk and grown from there, often braided and intertwined with yet MORE jewelry and dip dyed in a bright colour of their choosing. Like every part of Ludus’ body, it is cared for meticulously with an efficient routine. Only the best to look the best, he doesn’t care where it came from. If he needs to kill a puppy for good skin cream, then to the dog house Ludus shall go.

Quirks: Despite his best efforts, Ludus cannot stop chewing his nails. He often does it unconsciously and then becomes angry at ruining his own manicure. As a result, his nails are always short which is just as well really - it’s best they are to avoid any unnecessary injury in his line of work. Hellspawn nails, or rather claws at a certain point, can get VERY sharp. Aside from this, Ludus is a very clean individual - a very important habit as a sex worker.

Ludus ALWAYS buys gold jewelry but keeps (and wears) any he is given regardless of colour. He doesn’t mind silver, but in his opinion it doesn’t pop as much as gold does on purple skin.

He doesn’t have a phobia of anything as far as he knows - but he hasn’t exactly gotten out enough to find or SEE a lot of things to be scared of and is drunk most of the time due to his alcohol dependence. One thing he will flinch at occasionally, is someone raising their hand that he interprets to hit him. It’s a reflex at this point, and he hates it but isn’t sure how he can train it out of himself.

Morality: Neutral - “You do you and I’ll do me - unless I want something from you, or you’re being a shithead to something I personally care about.”

{Art by Kerry}

Personality

Strengths/Weaknesses:

Strengths: Perceptive, Bold, Enthusiastic

Ludus, despite his lack of a formal education, is a very quick learner - although this mostly applies to things of a sexual nature. They will learn very quickly how you like your blowjobs, or what exactly to say to get the job done as it were. His line of work has led him to be flexible and open minded in more ways than one, a fact they are very proud of. It's also given him an excellent fashion sense, although it does lean heavily into sexual wear.

When it comes to his work and his skin care routine, they are extremely diligent - and perhaps with the right call to adventure, this could be applied to other areas of their life.

For the most part, Ludus is reliable. If you need something done that fits in with his schedule and that he agrees with, he'll get it done. It can be difficult to negotiate with him, but 95% of the time, they're easygoing. The other 5% is when they’ve lost their temper - or when they’re paid to be the dominant or similar.

This easy going nature really does show in Ludus' enthusiasm and lust for life. They are ALWAYS down to party or throw down, and this energy can be very infectious in others. This doesn't mean that Ludus is loud and bouncing off the walls, but he’s definitely the type to have a small crowd around him at a table. He’ll often go with the flow and the desires of the group - but if uninterested, he will just leave. There’s no chance of them slipping away after all, so Ludus will just state his disinterest and take his leave if it’s something he’s not in the mood for.

Ludus is also bold, he is not scared to do what needs to be done (in his opinion - which can lead to trouble). They have NO shame or concern for their well-being or social grace, he grew up as a despised minority in a brothel after all - but please, don't punch the face.

Despite this mostly fast paced lifestyle, mostly given to him by his work, Ludus CAN be caring and does know when the party needs to stop. If he sees someone in trouble or someone that's clearly overworked and/or tired - he will slip them a mug of water or something to help them along. He often did this for his co-workers at the Lupanar, it has almost become second nature to help those struggling from fatigue or hangover.

Weaknesses: Insecure, Impulsive, Complacent

Ludus is not very forthcoming with his emotions due to his insecurity, and this shows through his flirting outside of work, which could be taken as platonic or sexual. He is bold, but he doesn’t think he’s worthy of actual love, and protects himself by being somewhat of a shy tsundere when it comes to people they like. They will help someone (eg, carry them to bed if they fall asleep somewhere) but will never admit to actually doing so.

This insecurity has led to a tendency to stagnate and just accept abusive relationships and situations as their lot. This has led to slow processing of trauma, and the unhealthy handling of it via the consumption of alcohol like it was water. Despite being a functional alcoholic, he is still a lightweight due to how little he eats, combined with his slim frame. As a result, Ludus is actually drunk most of the time, but you would find it hard to tell due to his experience in being drunk and due to the fact he is absolutely just as bold when he is sober.

He can be kind, but the side that shows most is the one that is judgmental and critical of others which leads to him running his mouth at the wrong time. You would think he would learn after getting hit at the bar/brothel every time he did so, but he doesn’t. He sees it as part of his ‘charm’, some clients like a challenge after all and he sees it as an integral part of his identity - one that he will never let go.

In spite of having a bold and outlandish personality - Ludus is not a leader. He loves parties, but he is not the type to plan them, purely because he is uninterested in the effort that it takes. He brings his ass and the wine, which is all he and anyone else needs (in his opinion). In non party situations, the lack of desire to lead due to effort remains. He’s no babysitter - he would just prefer to point out what’s wrong and let others fix it - rather than having to fix it himself. No one wants to be that sucker in the group project that ends up doing everything after all.

Skills:

Self taught makeup artist

Knows first aid.

Dances wonderfully

Decent pickpocket

Can use a knife as a weapon - their fighting almost looks like dancing.

Can tie all sorts of knots.

Has the ability to give almost anyone a makeover.

Good bartender, excellent mixologist, amazing dancer (modern).

Education: Ludus has never had a formal education, having been working from a very young age. Of course, his coworkers felt an obligation to teach him the basics (reading, speaking, basic numeracy) as well as skills required for the role (dancing, basic sewing, self defence)

His bardic powers were found by accident in his youth - and he doesn’t know too much about them or the extent of their abilities - he finds knives do the job in most situations. Ludus is very materialistic and prefers things he can see; he would need guidance to really start to focus on magic.

His intelligence comes from his love of gossip and people watching. They spend a good portion of time gathering information by loose lips either in public or the bedroom, and Ludus is often amazed at what people tell complete strangers.

Likes/Dislikes: In their spare time, Ludus can often be found at a bar. They love the taste of alcohol, especially STRONG sweet and fruity drinks. You’d NEVER catch them with an ale or similar unless they were paid handsomely to drink one. His casual drink is a GOOD red wine though, as they’re a bit of a wine snob and he always makes sure to stock up on bottles where he can.

(Fantasy note: Ludus would most likely have an unending flask of his favourite red wine.)

Since he isn’t a fan of eating unless he needs to, Ludus’ preferred side dish with his wine is a good old bitchy gossip. He loves hearing other people tell him about their lives and bitch about their problems, it fuels him somehow, makes his problems feel smaller - just for a little while.

When he’s not drinking and/or gossiping, Ludus is probably shopping. They love looking at clothes and perfume. He’s a fan of deep heady scents, such as jasmine and he likes people around him to be entranced in one way or another, as it’s easier to get what you want that way.

Ludus has learned to love certain parts of his work, even in his free time - he does enjoy good recreational sexual acts or even as a work around to get past certain people barring his path from certain things. In Ludus’ opinion, if you have a resource like money, make sure to use it.

There are other aspects of his work that he does not tolerate while off the clock, and one of these is rude clients - he is a gossipy bitch and a bit of a ‘mean girl’, so he does expect rudeness to be directed at him BECAUSE of this, but if there is no reason then Ludus will lose his temper very quickly. Being rude to those providing you a service or to someone you’ve just met is abhorrent, an attitude that has mainly developed not from rudeness towards him, but from the protectiveness he feels towards fellow sex workers. Ludus EXPECTS to be slapped and then to charm the slapper anyway, but the same treatment should not be given to workers just doing their job. He has no fear of any kind of bigotry, and will happily challenge anyone who doesn’t think his sexuality is ‘right’.

He’s also not a fan of anyone who doesn’t think or do anything for themselves, as they remind him of himself in the past before he realised the truth of his situation, and now this quality in others repulses him. This attitude has now resulted in Ludus doing things by himself as much as possible to the point where he rarely asks for help - even when it may be needed.

Childhood/Backstory:

Ludus was born a hellspawn to two highly religious humans, who were immediately appalled by what they had produced, as hellspawn were seen as an extremely bad omen, especially when brought into the world this way. He was immediately sold to the only person that would take him, the local brothel owner known as ‘The Wolf’, who “raised” them and set them to work in the brothel far, far earlier than they should have.

To keep Ludus, the Wolf kept a close eye on what Ludus learned and knew, forbidding them to ever leave the establishment due to hatred of his species and that he, as his guardian, had ‘saved’ them, rather than it being a rather cruel and illegal transaction. Ludus does not remember anything about their parents, and has no interest in ever knowing them after knowing what they did. He assumed the Wolf knew best, and followed his every order and command. Ludus knew no life outside of the Lupanar and didn’t need to - here they were lavished with many gifts from many appreciative ‘sugar’ clients and praised for being pretty. It was true that he was beaten occasionally, isolated outside of clients, and had to do things he didn’t want to do sometimes - but wasn’t that just life? Here, Ludus had everything he needed.

As a result of this lifestyle, Ludus became very materialistic and became obsessed with the things that earned him praise: his body and skill. After all, the prettier they looked, the less they got hit and abused because after all, people wouldn’t want to hurt such a pretty face. He became dedicated to dance practice and his skincare routine, and obsessed with what he ate for fear of getting fat - so he rarely ate at all - but drinking was often just part of the job. When he was being difficult, the Wolf would often get him drunk or drug him, so that the client could be satisfied. Ludus was assured that this was for ‘his own good’.

The Wolf and his coworkers were the only family he had, and while not all the other workers were complacent in their treatment - they had no choice. Bound by magical contract, blackmail or under similar delusions as Ludus, they were a tightly knit group who took it upon themselves to help and teach each other. This group was the closest Ludus ever had to a school, from them he learned to dance, to have sex, to read, to write, to sing and to defend themself when required with knives or information. The Wolf kept a close eye on all this learning, making sure Ludus believed he could never work or be anywhere else. It wasn’t safe, he was too stupid, he was only good here - so Ludus stayed.

It took many years for Ludus to build up the desire as well as the courage to rebel, and it was for the reason that there must be better wine out there. At age fifteen, they started to sneak out and rebel a little, frequenting other bars and offering their services and their discretion rather than the Wolf’s. While there he often got drunk and told his stories, to the horror of most who heard them. A child doing such things, and to sound happy about it, was horrific to witness firsthand.

Ludus was taken aback at these reactions as they told him what was done to him was wrong, abusive, illegal even!

No, that couldn’t be true…

With the seed of doubt sown, Ludus started to worry about his situation, but didn’t know how he could possibly leave a job he flourished in as well as his family. All he could think of was to gather information from clients, a task he had already been assigned to do by the Wolf. Sex workers were one of the ears of the city and their clients often had loose lips, or were persuaded to have them with pleasurable means. Ludus now started to hoard some of this information for himself, learning anything he could that could possibly be useful for an escape. Blackmail, ships, people of interest - anything he could find. He still had to tell the Wolf enough to satisfy him, but now Ludus did not tell him everything. Stealing spell books from clients and discovering that through his dancing, he could manipulate magic, he honed his talents in secret.

It took many years for an opportunity to arise and for Ludus to feel comfortable enough to leave. He started to distance himself from the other workers - passing it off as being too busy or too tired from work, but it was really just to make the ‘goodbye ‘ easier. On the week of the harvest festival, at the age of 22, Ludus disguised himself and “persuaded” the head of a large entertainment (the music and dancing kind) to hide him in their trailers so he could smuggle out of the city with a nary a word to anyone. He needed to leave the Lupanar at all costs.

While travelling to the next town - he met a couple people he liked and has so far stuck with them, although he is now developing the thick skin some of his other ex colleagues had and not getting too attached to anyone. Being on the outside and talking about his past is continuing to teach him the depths of the evil done to him, and he is not coping well. His trauma response so far has been to drink even more and in order to regain control over his body, he has taken to hypersexuality to do his old work on HIS terms alone.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t ask for help and often will push people away with a stubborn “I can do it myself” or “I don’t need help” which has led to a lot of trouble and members of the troupe having to drag him out of it. Ludus is strong though, and he staggers (metaphorically) along as best he can, determined to overcome his past.

Profession: Sex Worker | Dancer | Bard

Relationships:

The Lupanar

Ivellios | ‘The Wolf’ | Male High Elf | Age ??? | Max Lifespan: Around 750 years, presumably.

Ivellios ‘The Wolf’ - A High Elf Wizard that was disgraced from his settlement and family due to his dabblings in the slave trade. He decided to continue this work regardless, branching out into the sex industry. Starting small, he bought others and made them work for little profit until he could purchase a large building in a major city, naming it the Lupanar and really spreading his wings as a pimp that specialised in magical contracts. Ludus was sold to him after he had owned this building for twenty years, having quickly made a name for himself through this brothel. He raised Ludus for his own means with a combination of emotional, mental and physical abuse, forbidding his little toy from leaving the establishment and closely monitoring what Ludus consumed from outside those walls, shaping them into the perfect sex worker. He never thought Ludus would need a contract to stay but underestimated his quarry massively.

Kuqi | Stripper Name: Cookie | Female Goblin | Age 18 | Max Lifespan: Around 60 years

“Come and get your milk and kuqi’s!”

Kuqi ran away from her clan at age 5 (middle aged for an average goblin) before she had to mate with a variety of goblins she really didn’t like. Goblins usually live and die quickly, and there were not many of her clan left so as one of the remaining females, Kuqi was expected to be a brood queen to get the clan back to full strength. Unfortunately for the clan, Kuqi wanted something better, and so she ran away, eventually arriving at the city the Lupanar was based at. Ivellious was amused by her plight and so took her on as a worker at her request - the conditions of her contract being that as long as she continues to work, she gets bed, board and birth control and as a bonus - a longer lifespan than the average goblin.

Ludus was ten when she arrived, and the two have an odd relationship due to the drastically different age rates of their species, and arguably their heights as well. The relationship fluctuated from little sister to maternal figure for Ludus, and back in their youth they got into all sorts of trouble, both having a strong streak of mischief in them. He misses her terribly some days, but knows she wouldn’t leave the Lupanar as she is VERY grateful to Ivellios and LOVES her work.

Mival | Stripper Name: Angel | Male Aasimar | Age: 60 | Max Lifespan: Around 160 years

Born into a superstitious and mostly human community, Mival was revered strongly as a blessing and a saviour for their small village. He was commanded to do all sorts of petty tasks - ones he found hard to refuse with his polite and mild mannered self. As he grew older, the pressure grew on him - and eventually, he cracked. At age 17, he ran away to the city and he found himself with no shelter, no job, no long term means of survival. But he was very pretty, and a brothel was looking for workers. With no long term goals in mind and wishing to hide from his village - Mival made a pact with Ivellious. In exchange for his service, Merval would be hidden from the village and the people there. Of course, he can leave if he wishes, but his old village isn’t far from the city and he’s not hard to miss with his stark white hair that almost glows in the light. Not knowing what else he could do, Mival stayed.

As one of the first workers hired for the Lupanar, he was age 37 by the time a baby Ludus arrived in Ivellios’ arms. Horrified at Ludus’ treatment, but bound by contract to stay, he did the best he could to be a proper father figure to Ludus. Despite being asked to by a variety of clients, he never touched Ludus sexually and even was known to lose his rarely seen temper when pestered about it. He’s a gentle man, living up to his alias and race and there is not a day where Ludus doesn’t feel like he’s disappointed him during his struggle. A little of Ludus’ strength comes from the gentle faith that this man placed upon him.

Haze | Stripper Name: Haze | Agender Changeling | Age: 55 | Max Lifespan: Around 100 years

Haze is a mysterious figure whose past is unknown, but arrived at the Lupanar at age 32, covered in blood and looking for work… or as they put it..’something better to do’. Ivellios doesn’t like hiring anyone without a contract, but made an exception for a Changeling who he knew would make him a LOT of money in this business and that he could always get dirt on them for a contract later. To this day he hasn’t succeeded in getting Haze to sign anything, and it’s driving him to new levels of repressed rage.

Ludus was 16 when Haze arrived, but Haze had a tendency to keep their distance from everyone - despite being extremely charming while they worked. Haze’s ability is where Ludus got the idea to disguise himself to leave and he often finds himself wondering who Haze is and where they came from.

The Moondroplet Entertainment Company

The M.E.C is full of hundreds of entertainers, but Ludus travelled in the same trailer as these two and so often pairs with them as their dancer to make their performances more visually interesting. Each split off troupe has a quota to make each day and with Ludus’ “extra services”, his group surpasses that easily, and the three of them get on well enough although Henk and Ash have known each other for about four years.

Henk | Flute Player | Male Orc | Age: 28 | Max Lifespan: Around 75 years

Henk was previously a nomadic tribal orc, but was ostracized from his tribe due to a gentler nature than the rest of his species. One day, while out scouting for food he saw the line of trailers and caravans and saw an opportunity to leave his tribe for good. It took some time to convince them he came in peace, but eventually after a few days of camping nearby they allowed him to camp with the rest of the troupe even later, join them. He learned to play the flute by shaving his tusks - and now regularly makes a habit of doing so or removing them for better airflow. When people meet him, they are surprised by his gentle nature and his excellent flute playing.

Ashley/Ash | Lyre Player | Female Fire Genasi | Age: 26 | Max Lifespan: Around 120 years

You can’t miss Ash, she’s loud, proud and will bowl you over with her sound. The lyre player of the three, her playing is filled with fast, energetic melodies that Henk struggles to keep up with and Ludus relishes dancing to. Ludus and Ash bounce off each other very well, their banter often inducing a laugh out of their audiences on the streets and she’s even known to stoke a rare smile from Henk sometimes.

Ash rarely talks about her childhood, preferring to focus on the present with a crass and blunt attitude - but she does talk about her supportive, ex adventuring mother who told her to chase her dreams of being a musician. She regularly sends money back home to support her mother in her old age but curiously, does not speak of her father - who is rumoured to be a Fire Efreeti.

Location: ????

Previous: ‘The Lupanar’ - a large and well known brothel, owned by an elf known as ‘The Wolf, who has been in the business for many years.

Religious Beliefs: DND: Would most likely be a fan of a Dionysian type god, such as The Moonweaver. If there are no tangible gods like there are in DND, he would not give a toss. Money and himself are their gods then.

Goals:

1) To start living their life for them.

2) Finding other things to enjoy.

3) Learn to interact and bond with people outside of a sex work setting.

Other | Trivia

CANON VOICE: Toddrick Hall. Singing and Speaking. (was Alaska Thunderfuck)

Character influences: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Angel Dust, Irene Adler

Physical Afflictions: N/A

Mental Illnesses: Body dysmorphia, PTSD

COMPLETE LIST OF PIERCINGS:

Ears, both sides: Earlobe x4, Helix x4, Industrial, Tragus

Nose: Nose piercing, stud on each side. High Nostril, stud on each side, Septum.

Face: Eyebrow Piercing, one on both sides. (he wears the left the most.)

Lips: Snakebites, Medusa

Tongue: NONE - he has so many things in his mouth going in and out it’s dangerous.

Genital: Frenum ladder.

Tail: Eight, four on each side. Often studs, sometimes rings.

Other: Nipple (both), Hip, Collarbone, Naval.

He’s an aspect of me: Ludus is a fragment of me, specifically the part of my sexuality I can’t express because I’m not brave or attractive enough - so I made a character that was. He also got my eating issues from my youth, I didn’t eat sometimes because I didn’t want my father and brother to mock my cooking or what I was eating or because I just simply didn’t have the energy. I personally still have body issues but I’ve largely given up because I don’t want to exercise in a gym or people to look at me. Ludus is essentially made partially of a person I wish I could have been, mixed with my own repression. They’re their own person though, but they’re very close to my heart.

Ludus dances because I find good dance beautiful, it’s one of my favourite youtube rabbit holes I go down. He was made almost exactly a year and two months after a traumatic event, and I’m not sure if he’s a response to that yet. I think he’s mainly a repression response.

He’s attracted to power and people puppet masters but he knows they’re bad for him. Actual kindness is what he wants, to be someone's pet yet valued for who he is as an individual.

Intimidates others for power - Think IRENE ADLER

But they’re still mostly a sub and have to know they want something first, which is rare because he still doesn’t know what he wants.

He developed blackmail as a way to keep himself safe in the bar because no one else was gonna do it for him and it’s not like he could work anywhere else (well, that’s he was trained to believe).

Rarely shouts.

Can sing.

Urban Fantasy Setting Notes: His phone is black but usually has a bright pink bedazzled phone case with a pop socket. He adores it. Plays guitar in private (prefers acoustic - gentle vibes). Probably interested in learning piano. Has an OnlyFans and NSFW twitter under LEWDICROUS.

Fantasy Setting Notes: Dance bard. Fond of using daggers. Rogue /bard?

The Moondroplet Entertainment Company is indeed named as a nod to The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities.

The lipstick comment “but Ludus is rarely seen without black lipstick, as anyone with a true sense of style knows that this is peak fashion” is absolutely a Homestuck, specifically a Kanaya reference, well, as close as I could get.

He was named on 27/07/2019 which is his sort of birthday, and he was tangled in with the “essence” of Lux for the longest time - I thought they were the same person. The original character idea was a half gnome/half tiefling bard with purple skin, and gold teeth. They were an absolute gremlin, but I couldn’t hone in on them because there was just nothing there - and then over a year or so Lux and Ludus developed. Arguably him and Lux are twins (not story wise tho), which is an idea I quite like.

#character profile #original character #ludus

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