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hrts4wonu · 6 months

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minghaos who takes his time when drawing any portrait of you, making sure to get every detail of your beauty

a/n: oh my god jasmine??? i just started reading your fanfics last night and let me tell you, i was so damn obsessed; i'm not sure if this is a hard thought or anything but i did try to make it smut (with a little bit of fluff and comfort)

wc: 1.7k

today was like any other day. well, not technically. today was your boyfriend's project's due date. he was supposed to draw a portrait of the person that means a lot to him; though he first thought of his very own mother, he remembered the first few words you said when you met him.

(flashback)

those few sweet words that came out of your mouth like it was nothing; "i love your artstyle, maybe you should draw your future girlfriend, yeah?" you chuckle as he turned to look at you. "pardon?" he says, a little confused.

"i'm talking about me, hao." he laughs at your straightforwardness and displays a warm smile at you while he remains seated.

you laugh along comfortably, sitting next to him while staring at the canvas that was filled with colorful strokes of red, orange, yellow, blue and pink. "you assume too much, don't y'think?" he teased as he cups your cheeks, tucking your hair behind your ear. "well, you never know, do you?" both of you chuckle together before he picks up his paintbrush and finishes his artwork.

(end of flashback)

that was long ago, yet, the memory itself never fails to melt his heart. though, he couldn't deny; he has drew you before. a couple of times actually.

the problem was, all of them just seemed bad to him. he doodled and sketched your face everyday in class; thinking that everytime he drew you with a different pen or pencil, his sketches get more terrible each day. (and yet he still managed to get good grades even though he doesn't pay attention in class because he's always drawing you)

and so, he never showed you, until you found his sketchbook in his room on your 5th monthsary. he was pretty embarrassed about it, but your praises on his drawings were enough to boost his ego and confidence.

while he quietly sits down on his chair, staring into his computer, he slowly turns to look at you with a nervous smile on his face.

"darling," he starts off, standing up and approaching you on the bed. you hum in response, dropping your phone and looking back at him. "do you want to become my reference? it's for an art project."

you nod, changing your position on the bed. "what do you need me to wear? a dress, or--"

"need you nude, baby." the temptation from his voice was enough to electrify something inside of you; feeling a bit flustered from what he said. "..if you're comfortable with it, of course. i wouldn't want to make myself look like i'm into creepy things like this, yeah?" he adds. "if you really don't wanna, it's fi--"

"mm." you shook your head no. "it's fine," though it seemed aberrant to minghao (because of how much of a gentleman he is), the longing ache in you was basically killing you.

a few minutes later, you slowly got out of the bathroom with a robe on. you were nervous of him judging you, the way your body was built, your skin tone, or maybe that was just your neediness that's getting to you.

he puts on a smile and gives you a warm hug, "take it off when you're ready, hm?" minghao whispers in your ear, leaving a small kiss.

you nod, "yeah."

minghao slowly lets go and stands behind his canvas; squeezing out all the paint onto his palette. he quickly grabs his paintbrush and starts speaking up once more, "hey," he sat down on the tiny chair. "there's still time to back out if you're really not into thi--"

"minghao? is there something wrong?" you throw your robe to the side, crossing your arms which squished your tits from below a bit.

he shook his head, "no, not at all." he looks away and focuses back on his canvas.

minghao couldn't help but stare at you for a bit longer, he didn't know what to say or do at all. it's not like there is a problem- it's that you're there, with no clothes on, and you're on full display.

but besides that, you're gorgeous.

absolutely admirable and so, so, so, so, so beautiful. to him and only him. maybe even to the whole world.

countless hours pass by and minghao was finally done with his work, "baby?" he stands up and dusts his hands off.

"did you fall aslee- oh." you quietly let out muffled moans as you try fingering yourself on the sofa; if only you could see the greed and devotion in his eyes while he painted your figure, he would've dropped his paintbrushes to the floor and take care of you already.

the sweet smile on his face disappears and instead turns into a wicked yet sinister smirk.

minghao cups your cheeks. "let me help you baby, yeah?" he coos, crouching down to give you a soft kiss on the lips before falling onto his knees.

"p-please.." you beg, withdrawing your hand from your pussy but before you could wipe it on the couch, minghao grabs it and slides it in his mouth, licking your small digits that were unlike his long, veiny hands. "hao.." you whine at the sight.

"what is it, pretty girl?" he places his hands on both of your thighs, spreading them apart. "need me?"

you nod. "i've been longing, hao."

he starts kissing your inner thighs; wet lips enough to get you even wetter than you were 10 seconds ago. though your legs were now resting on his shoulder, he still had a firm grasp on them. his nails dug onto your skin, leaving temporary crescent-shaped nail marks onto them.

"so have i, darling." he replies, leaning in towards your pussy, his nose bumping with your clit.

you whine when you feel the pleasure; it's overwhelming, yes, but it feels so good that you can't even utter a single word. not even a single one, the only thing you can let out is a moan.

he licks your pussy's lips and starts eating you out, the sweet taste not leaving his tongue. "f..fuck, hao,"

"mind your language or i'm gonna leave you aching on this sofa, y/n." he threatens and you slightly look away in embarrassment when you saw his bloodthirsty eyes darken in lust. "you wouldn't want that, would you?" he leans back, away from you as the wind's cold breeze comes in contact with your skin.

you shook your head no gently, replying to his question. "well, it's not like you could ever leave me hanging like that, hao." you tease.

he scoffs; "there's always a first time for everything, sweetheart. you should know that." he stood up and quickly switches your position in missionary, pinning you down on the sofa and pressing your legs against your chest and his.

"but, hey." you look at him in confusion as he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. it was long and veiny, t'was so outstanding and beautiful. something so out of this world. "contrary to what mingyu said before," he breathes, fixing his position on top of you as he leans close enough to your ear. "most of the greatest works of art don't know how great they are not because they're unreal, instead, it's because they don't see the talent in the artist's eyes that were enough to make the painting as appealing as it already is." his hot breath against your ear makes you tremble, "you're just like an artwork, you know?" he teases.

"really?" he nods. "you think so?" your cute puppy eyes, begging and pleading for his angry, red tip was enough to send him to the edge but as punishment, he will make you wait longer.

after a few more minutes of teasing, he finally gives in and thrusts inside of you.

you moan loudly, holding onto his body, yet it seemed so unfair because you were basically naked and he still had his shirt on. "mm.." he looks at you, stopping his thrusting as he felt a little confused.

"what is it, hm?" you slowly tug at his shirt and he finally gets it. "ah, i see." he smirks and takes his shirt off.

he goes back to thrusting inside of you and you let out another moan, "m-mmh!"; he grunts as he thrusts even harder, not stopping for even a breath.

you squirm, putting your hand over your mouth to keep your mouth shut yet you can't help yourself but moan even louder. he notices this and he stops for a moment, leaving you hanging which made you ache for more (though it's not like he could pull out because your pussy was basically sucking him back in), grabbing your hand pinning them over your head as he fucks into you.

"h..hao!" you moan loudly as you felt him hitting that 'sweet spot' inside of you. "hao.." you breathe, starting to pant as your legs start trembling. "i-.. i'm so close.." you whine continuously as his hand lets go of your wrists, traveling down to your nipples.

he rubs them gently, leaning in and licking them clean. minghao does the same for the other breast making you moan and yearn for more;

"i..i'm gonna cum, please.." you beg.

"please what, baby?" he smirks, pulling his lips away from your lips and staring into your doe eyes. "tell me," he starts. "tell me what you need, i'll give you everything. every single thing just for you, my lovely, pretty girl."

you look at him with desire and thirst. "need to cum, please.."

everything was testing him; no, no, no.. that's not the right word, is it? let's try that again-- everything was arousing him. it felt like you were tormenting eachother using their own bodies. everything was so tempting to him, he couldn't help but give in; "cum for me, princess," he says with a smirk on his face. "do it, make me proud, okay?"

it wasn't that long until you reach your climax and you came on his cock. he helps you ride your orgasm until he reaches his, planting his seed inside of you.

the both of you catch your breathes together before he pulls out of you and places a warm, loving kiss on your temple; "come on, let's clean you up, hm?" despite being exhausted, you shot him a smile and he stood up, carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. "mhm.." you manage to say, still trying to catch your breath from what had just happened.

"hao, i love you." you say, with a smile on your face as you return his kiss back, instead, this time it was on his lips. "i love you too, baby."

a/n 2: sorry this took so long,, i had work and i was slightly busy.. but anyways, i'm FINALLY done! it didn't turn out how i expected it to be yet i still think it's a little better than what i usually write. besides that, i'm really, really glad to make a minghao fanfic so please ask / request for more <3

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ticklishthoughts1 · 10 months

Text

The Painter

SO=Your Significant Other(The ler/dom in this Scenario)

YN=You(The reader)

NN=YN’s Special Nickname(Given by SO)

You had been hanging out with SO and a group of your mutual friends for about the last hour and a half, give or take. Throughout, you had decided to be a little brat, under the safety of being with the group, something you knew wouldn’t last long, but still. It was fun, messing with them, knowing that at least for now, they couldn’t retaliate. Suddenly, one of the friends asks if you guys had time later. SO shakes his head no, and with a pointed look, says softly “ YN and I, we’re going to be painting Later.” You hold back a small flustered noise, that, apart from a Satisfied smile from your SO, and a couple inquiring looks, no one notices. The friend who asks accepts the excuse with a “Ahh, some other time then! You guys have fun ^^”. SO Smirks, muttering to themselves “trust me, we will~”. Shit. The moment is no further mentioned after that, though your friends notice that you’re a lot more giggly now, a claim which you vehemently deny. Soon enough though, it’s time to go home, and you head back with SO in their car. They Let you have Aux, and you jam to the music, singing all of the songs (sometimes horribly, sometimes well) While they smile to themselves at your silliness. Soon enough though, you’re home, and you head inside together. They head in after you, and the second the door closes, so too does their entire demeanor. The calm, small smile changes into an Evil one, and they silently beckon to the bedroom. With a giggle of anticipation, you nod, briskly walking to it with a bit of a skip in your step. They follow, a hand on the small of your back, not to guide you, but simply because they feel the need to keep a hand on you most times, as if reassurance that you’re there. They lead you over to the bed, and gently lay you on it, Kissing your forehead, before saying in a low, smooth voice "Stay right here, NN. I'll be back~". God, that nickname always gets to you!~ You stay sitting there, giggling to yourself until SO comes back , with the necessary tools for you two to be “Painting”. Jars of Edible paint, and homemade edible ink, in all kinds of colors. A cup filled with paintbrushes, pens (already filled with the Edible ink), and feather quills. Electric toothbrushes, washrags, scrub brushes, all of which had been bought earlier for this specific purpose. They Grin, and Let out in a low, playful voice “Come here, my muse~”. A blush lighting up your face, you Oblige, coming over to sit in their lap. They play with your hair, humming to themselves, as they carefully pick out a brush and a paint. They giggle at the blush on your face, drawling out "I haven't even started yet cutie!~ No time like the present though~". You feel a finger traced across your jawline, tilting it up, then, you suddenly have the urge to giggle, as you feel a soft, small brush across your neck. It’s unexpected, and you jerk away, trying to swing out of it’s range. SO makes a noise of mock frustration, playfully saying “Damn! I messed up, it seems. Guess I have to restart~” You squeak out a “NOhohoho!~” Before they grab your chin powerfully, holding your jaw in place as the buzz of an electric toothbrush goes over your small pleads and Sorry’s. You feel the evil tool being gently pressed against your neck, and you do your best to scrunch it, bursting into giggles. Luckily, it only takes a little bit for the paint to be cleaned off, and for SO to start over, whispering firmly “NN, Hold Still.” You nod a bit as they restart. This time, expecting it, you’re able to hold still, giggling helplessly as you’re painted. You do a decent job keeping still as they paint over you, until they start tracing something directly up your ribcage. Your jerk backward into them, feeling the line move to the side as you do, and Immedeately laughing out “WAHAHAIT PLEHEASE!”. SO Chuckles, and purrs “Tsk Tsk Tsk~ I gave you one Job, YN. Couldn’t even stay still?” (Cont, another 2 Parter)

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gaoau · 5 months

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I don't mind losing when you're winning

Raison d'Être warnings — none. word count — 2.5k

prev. — next.

Walking home under the rain with Chifuyu was far too reminiscent of the night they first met. By itself, it wasn't necessarily a negative memory, but with the lack of Ai's presence between her arms, she didn't want to think about everything she could have done differently. It was incredibly comforting anyway, having the most gorgeous soul on Earth right by her side, keeping her dry from the rain, making sure she got home safe. He'd even bothered to stop by a grocery store and buy her some food—he knew her eating habits were only becoming worse and wanted to do something about it. She was hopelessly in love with the sides of Chifuyu she'd seen so far, and she only wanted to see more of him so she could fall in love with all of him.

As soon as they reached her apartment building, [Name] became hyperaware of the body heat Chifuyu was so naturally radiating. She knew he was warm, both figuratively and literally, but now that she had to head into her apartment all on her own, she was starting to miss his warmth before it even disappeared. She wanted to spend time with him a little longer. Was that so wrong? Was it so wrong to crave his company?

Chifuyu halted right at the entrance, opting to bid his goodbye here rather than invade her privacy. Wearing the brightest of smiles, the kindest of simpers, he raised the grocery bag in his hand and offered it to her. She blinked down at it, slightly disoriented. "Have some dinner, yeah?" he let a gentle chuckle slip.

With hesitating fingers, she peered into the bag. "Yakisoba?"

"Peyoung flavored yakisoba," he corrected, boasting a proud grin that showed off all his teeth and transmitted his joy to her. Then his hand travelled towards his nape as he averted his eyes. "I didn't know if you'd like it, but it's a comfort food, so it was the first thing I could think of."

[Name] felt like she could cry right then and there. "I remember you mentioning that." Of course she remembered him mentioning it. He had wanted to cheer her up, the same way he was doing right now. With all of his efforts and a meal that was extremely important to him—Chifuyu was just so good. She had to keep her vocal cords from tangling themselves up, lips pursing to stop herself from saying anything unfiltered. "Well, then, um… Would you… like to come in for a bit?" Her voice almost broke. "I could—I could really use a friend."

She didn't know his smile could get any brighter. "I'd love to!" he cheered. A person had never looked so beautiful to her. Beyond his entrancing blue eyes, his brown hair was crowned with droplets of rain reflecting like diamonds, his cheeks were turning red from the cold, and that gorgeous beam on his face that never disappeared.

He was just so lovely.

She had underestimated how much she'd been neglecting the tidiness of her own apartment. Windows wide open and clothes she'd forgotten she owned strewn around the living room. The worst part, however, was the dark cups of paint water on the dinner table, alongside the countless art supplies scattered around. Acrylic tubes, some open, some carefully closed; three open palettes of watercolors; fountain pens and paintbrushes, some of which had tumbled to the floor. There were no dirty dishes piling up in the kitchen fortunately—although that clearly meant she hadn't been eating. Chifuyu didn't seem to mind as he gave her a hand to clean up.

He pretended not to see the gigantic canvas by the wall. He was dying to take a closer look and ask about it.

They sat at the table, chopsticks in their hands and two glasses of water. [Name] hadn't set up two glasses in years. But there she was, sharing dinner with Chifuyu for a second time, though this time it was much more intimate and personal. It was for more than Chifuyu's attempt at getting her out of her own head and her stupid artist's block; it was for herself to assess the feelings she still didn't completely understand, those Kazutora had helped her out with, those she was afraid would be love yet at the same time wanted to be love. She wanted to love Chifuyu.

He studied her while she slurped her noodles up, reveling in the savoriness of the meal. She didn't know what comfort meant to Chifuyu, but this was a habit she could easily pick up for herself. "How is it, [Name]-san?" he asked with sparkling enthusiasm. It wasn't like she hadn't tried this particular flavor of yakisoba before, but he was so excited.

"It's really good. Thanks for sharing this with me, Chifuyu-san." A smile quirked her lips up. He was glad to see her smiling again. Then, under her breath, she sighed, "I really needed this."

"Anytime, [Name]-san. It's no problem."

"Is it?" The words leapt from her tongue before she could catch them. Chifuyu blinked at her, freezing on the spot. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She stared down at her container of yakisoba. "But you're always so willing to give a hand. I wonder if it's really no problem. Who… Who helps the helper?"

Admittedly, Chifuyu never thought [Name] could do more than just look into his soul with those piercing eyes of hers. She'd drawn the surface plenty of times, but she had pondered over his own brain without him realizing. He took a sip from his water. "My dad used to say that if someone is in trouble, anyone, I should help them." [Name] refused to look up at him. He held his stare trained on her. "You were in trouble when you came to me, [Name]-san; in many more troubles than I could've guessed." He allowed his body to act on autopilot when he reached his hand out and placed it over her wrist. "So I'll help you. Ai or art or anything, really. I'll help you." He didn't want to say it aloud, mostly because [Name] didn't need to hear his own woes, but he surely talked big for someone that was chasing somebody else's dreams.

[Name] didn't know what was going on inside Chifuyu's head as he so warmly and so gently spoke to her, telling her he was going to stay with her as long as she needed him. She didn't know he was kicking himself for the words he was offering her, but she wished she could. She wished she could read into all of him to understand the corners of his mind he was now giving her access to. Beautiful and endearing, he lived by a philosophy she couldn't quite grasp, she couldn't finish to comprehend. She desperately wanted to. The more she could know about him, the more he allowed her to see, the more she could reassure herself it was okay to fall in love with Chifuyu.

Tears welled up in her eyes and her chest tightened. She felt her heart beating, she felt her heart full, she felt it being put to use just so she could look at Chifuyu and appreciate him. "Thanks," she managed to croak out with a trembling voice. She really wanted to avoid crying all over her dinner. It was so comforting, though, almost overwhelming. So many funny feelings and colors she'd never even known. "Thank you. Thank you, Chifuyu-san. Thank you so much." She hid her face behind her hands, ignoring the chopsticks between her fingers pressing against her cheek. One moment and she would recompose herself.

"You'll manage, [Name]-san." He retrieved his hand to return to his noodles, a gentle simper settling on his lips. "Ai'll be fine, yeah?"

That made her stop. Her tears seemed to retreat into her eyes. "Oh…" she let the realization tumble from her lips. "Oh, no, I'm not worried about Ai—I am, just not that much. I wish it were that simple." She peeked through her fingers to gawk at Chifuyu across from her like a fish out of water. She dragged her palms across her face and then set her forearms on the table. Sighing, she shoved more food into her mouth, "I'm sorry, this is a mess…"

Chifuyu scrambled to backpedal. His hands swung around in a panic. "Hey, no, it's okay if it's about you. I'm here anyway."

"And that's what I'm sorry about. I don't know what I'm doing with you." She saw him cocking a brow. The smile crawling onto her lips was automatic. He was so lovely. She sniffled to stop herself from crying. "You've helped me through so much and I really, really hope you don't mind staying with me—"

He intercepted her thoughts before she could spiral, "I will. I'm doing this of my own volition." A reminder; a soft reminder that it was okay. It gave her a second to breathe.

"I understand that. It's what you make me feel that I don't understand." Neither of them were expecting those words to come out in her voice. Chifuyu burned for a moment as flashes of every shoujo manga scene he'd ever read played like a slideshow through his mind. [Name] cleared her throat. "Kazutora-kun pointed it out to me, actually. Am I too dependent on you?"

Oh, okay, that made more sense. Yeah, no, what was he thinking? He laughed to ease his nerves—just a little chuckle to pretend it was for her. "If you're not used to asking for help, that's not your fault." He could hardly believe he was going to dig into his most precious memories. But [Name] needed it, so he figured it was okay. "You know," he started, contemplating his next words, "I didn't respect anyone back in middle-school, so I was always on my own. I didn't need help from anyone, I was better than 'em. But then I was getting my ass handed to me and this crazy strong dude showed up and helped me out. He made me get used to asking for help. He was the one I first shared some peyoung yakisoba with."

[Name] glanced down at the yakisoba she'd been slowly eating from; at Chifuyu's comfort food, the one that was special to him and now he was sharing with her just to make her feel better. She had guessed there was far more weight to this dinner, but there was even more than she had originally thought. She stared at it when she spoke, "Is it okay for one single person to change you like that?"

"I didn't even realize he'd changed me and I was already looking up to him. I dunno, I didn't think too much about it. I was young and impressionable."

She looked up to stare into his eyes, intense blue muted down to a soft cerulean as a filter of nostalgia glazed over them. "So I'm just impressionable?"

Chifuyu couldn't help his laughter from spilling. "Did I impress you?"

A furious warmth consumed her and set her cheeks aflame. Her lips pursed in thought. "A lot," she muttered. Her attention averted towards the tall canvas she had abandoned for the past few days. Of course he'd impressed her. "Even right now, with all you're saying, you're so impressive." She smiled. She could do nothing more than smile.

Surprised, Chifuyu blinked blankly. He had certainly not expected that. "There's nothing wrong with that. You know, I think there are people far more impressive than me. I should introduce you to Takemicchi; you'll see what I mean."

"That's hard to believe," she chuckled. He joined her. "Really, it's hard to believe. You're so…" Her mind drifted away to find the correct adjective to describe Chifuyu and how he reflected in her mind. Fantastic, wonderful, fascinating, genuine, lovely. Lovely was a good one. He was so lovely. "…kind." Sure, she could keep it at that for now. "Even if they're more than you are, I don't think I'd see it. I think Matsuno Chifuyu is the best I got and no one can top that."

Chifuyu's brows jumped in surprise. [Name] was full of surprises. He should've known; she'd seemed so hesitant and meek, but then he caught a glimpse of her striking ink drawings and he knew she was bolder than he had imagined. A nervous giggle tumbled from his mouth as he sipped from his glass of water. "So—" His breath got stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat, suddenly dizzy from this warmth consuming him. "Then you're okay with relying on me?"

Truthfully, relying on Chifuyu scared her the same way working with white did. Unknown, jarring, over-the-top, confusing, might as well have given her a headache. It seemed wrong, but somehow felt right. It was too much all at once, and yet she knew she needed it to complement the black of her comfort zone. So she sucked in a deep breath.

"Black was my favorite color growing up," [Name] started in a mumble. Chifuyu leaned in to listen to her thoughts, fearing his own breathing would drown the sound of her voice. "Before I even started doing art, I always liked it. I know… I know it's usually associated with, you know, negative stuff, but I always thought about the night sky or that cute cat down the street. My brothers made fun of me for it, though—they made fun of me in general. The cat was shot dead by some psycho. I found it in my room in the morning. My brothers were laughing their asses off when I screamed."

"What the fuck…?"

"I know. Then when I did start doing art, my father was very explicit when he said he didn't support it and it was a waste. Typical I'm looking out for you, give it up. Anyway, I bought my first sketchbook with my own money. And I watched my mother tear it up into the sink like it was scrap paper. My art teacher said I wouldn't get anywhere, especially if I only used black. Even my friends only ever asked me to draw them, but with color, [Name]-chan."

Chifuyu realized what india ink meant to her now. "You pushed through, though." His arm motioned to the vast display of canvases and shelved sketchbooks while he cheered, "Look at all the art you've made!"

"I did push through. All by myself. See where I'm going with this?"

He nodded. "It's hard to start relying on others now." He understood.

"Very."

"But you're pushing through." His charming grin was contagious. "Now you got me, and you're relying on me. You wouldn't be eating this yakisoba with me otherwise, would ya?"

Her shoulders bounced with notes of laughter. Chifuyu could think all she couldn't. "See? You break it down into simple things."

"And I'll keep doing it if you need me to."

#Raison d'Être #Tokyo Revengers #Matsuno Chifuyu #Matsuno Chifuyu x Reader #Chifuyu x Reader #Tokyo Revengers x Reader #tokrev #tokrev x reader

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just-horrible-things · 2 years

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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 4, Ariadne is established with the Resistance

Scars, pt2 [ First | Prev | Next ]

So many marks. She almost stops when she's done scrawling ink across her upper body. She already looks crazy enough.

It doesn't feel right to stop halfway.

Taryn didn't stop.

She wants to see the awful truth of it.

She peels her pants off and sits there on the floor in her underwear.

Just one line round her thigh on the right. She remembers too clearly the break in the middle of the femur, one of the worst, one of the first Alex fixed.

One line doesn't feel like enough for the way her leg jutted sickeningly to the side. She widens it with the marker until the broad, jagged band feels more proportionate to the agony.

Then her shin, and her ankle, and her foot, discarding boots and socks. The foot is difficult. She remembers it as an undifferentiated mass of swelling and pain, not as individual breaks.

There are tears in her eyes, and they spill down her cheeks as she squints angrily at her own foot.

Behind her the door clicks open. Ariadne bolts for cover before she even realises she is moving.

"... Ari?" Alex is afraid for her. She can almost hear him reaching for his gun. "Here," she croaks from behind the desk, "I'm okay." "Ari, why are your clothes…"

She hears his feet on the carpet.

"Don't–!" she protests. "Don't, don't look at me." His tone gentles. "Okay," he says. "Ari, are you hurt?" "No. I promise I'm not." Her cheeks are hot. "I'm okay, I promise, nothing happened, it's – just me, being stupid, on my own." "You're not stupid."

Ari looks down at the crazy paving of her skin, the marker clutched in her hand.

"What happened? Can I come round there and hug you? I can close my eyes if you really want…" Ari buries her face in her knees. "No," she mumbles, "s'fine. You… can look."

There’s a beat of silence.

"Oh," Alex says. "Oh, Ari." "Told you it was stupid," she tells her knees.

Alex crouches beside her, and she can't bring herself to look at him but she leans towards him for a hug. He puts his arms around her and holds tight. A little sob slips out before she can catch it.

"Sometimes I feel like it never happened," she confesses. "Like I… made it up." "It was real," Alex answers, quiet but certain. "I don't… I don't even think I have them all right, I don't remember…" "I'm here," he promises.

Ari nods against his body. Another sob shakes her shoulders, then another. Alex's hand finds the back of her head, holding her close.

She takes a deep breath and holds it, trying to get herself back under control.

Alex’s careful fingers find the marker clutched in her hand. He tugs gently, and with effort Ari uncurls her grip to let him take it from her.

"May I?"

She looks, and sees him holding the marker by her foot, tip close to her skin.

She nods, just hesitantly, against his shoulder.

The sensations are more acute, with the pen in Alex's hand. The gentle pressure sends goosebumps across her skin. The ink is wet for a second behind the pen.

She can barely breathe as she watches the black lines form their ugly web across her foot. She looks up, and watches Alex's face instead.

He's concentrating, and something in his careful, solemn focus makes Ari cry again.

"Should I stop?" Ari shakes her head, biting her lip. "No."

So he doesn't.

His hand cups the back of her ankle to lift her foot. Ari leans against his chest as Alex draws the marker ever so gently across her sole. He uses it like a paintbrush, like he'll damage it – or Ari – if he presses too hard.

One foot, then the other. She is and isn't surprised that he remembers all the breaks. A line across Ari's hip that she missed. A continuation of the line up the back of her ribs where she couldn't quite reach.

He ends with her hands in his, turning them over with just as much care as when they were shattered and he was healing them.

Then he wraps his arms round Ari and hugs her tight again, because she is sobbing.

"I'm sorry," she sniffles. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." "I… thought I was over it, I want to be over it." "Ari, love, none of us are 'over it'." The faintest hint of reproach with the sympathy. "Yeah," she agrees, and swallows the but. But what happened to you wasn't your fault."You don't have to ever be 'over it'. Tare hurt you really, really badly." She did. But…

Ari doesn't want to argue. And… she does know better, she does. She wants Alex to hold her, and it's okay to want that, and he is holding her, and she's okay.

She hugs him tight round his ribs, and buries her face in his shirt.

"I love you," she says. "I love you so much." "I love you too," Alex answers. "Ari, did… something happen?" "No," Ari mumbles. "Nothing happened." "Okay," Alex says, and rubs her back.

"... Do you think I'm crazy?" "I was… a bit surprised." There's a smile in his voice. Ari snort-laughs into his shirt. "You think I'm crazy." "I don't think you're crazy. You're just… covered in marker. You can be sane and covered in marker." "I just… wanted to see it, I guess." Ari sighs. "It's probably stupid, I just… I dunno." "You don't have to explain yourself to me." Ari tips her face up to check his, and Alex presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you," she repeats in surrender.

Sheltered there in his arms, Ari lets her eyes follow the black lines across her skin as Alex plays with her hair. So many lines. So much pain and fear, reduced to simple marks. Mapped out.

It feels… better?

Alex rests his chin on the top of her head, and Ari hums wordless appreciation.

"It was… really, really bad," she says softly. "Yeah," Alex agrees. "Yeah, it was." A deep breath in judders like a sob. She holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out slowly. "You're… sure it's okay that I'm, mh, –" "I'm sure it's okay," he tells her firmly.

It's everything she needs to hear.

She cries for a little while, there on the floor with him. Alex holds her until the tears stop.

"You're getting cold," he says, stroking a hand over her goosebumped, black-striped arm. "Yeah," Ari hums. "Do you… wanna put your clothes back on?" "Mh, yeah." Alex laughs a little, and gives her one last squeeze before letting go.

As she starts pulling her pants on, Ari hesitates. "Wait," she says, "I… wanna take pictures." Alex gives her a confused look, but he says "Okay."

And when Ari is having difficulty lining her phone up with her limbs, he takes it out of her hand.

They take photos of her arms and legs and both sides of her hands. Ari stands up and Alex takes full length pictures of her front and back.

"What are you going to do with them?" he asks. "I don't know," Ari confesses. "Delete them, probably. Maybe… look at them, a bit." He doesn’t look like he gets it, but he nods anyway. "D'you… want to wash that off now? You don't have to, I just thought…" "Yeah," Ari agrees. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Alex comes with her by unspoken agreement. Ari runs the water hot, and sighs with contentment as it washes over cold skin. Alex squirts shower gel into his palm, and takes one of Ariadne's hands ever so gently.

He's still handling her like she's breakable – and maybe she is.

His thumbs spread the soap across her skin, then he begins carefully to rub at the first of the rings round her index finger. The ink clings stubbornly, but gentle, persistent attention lifts it slowly to leave the skin clean. Unscarred.

More tears mingle with the shower water on Ari's cheeks as Alex moves on to the next mark.

When a little sob slips out, he looks up from her hand with concern. "Ari, what's wrong?" "Don't stop," she says, voice thick with tears. "Okay," he says, "I won't." "Thank you, Alex." "It's okay,” he assures her. “We're okay." Ari doesn’t feel okay. But she nods.

Line by line, Alex washes the marks, the not-scars from her skin. It takes a long time. There are so many. Line by line, the memories of pain vanish under his hands.

Ari sits down in the shower tray with her back to the wall, and Alex washes her feet then plants kisses on the ends of her toes to make her laugh.

When he tries to wash her thighs, she has to kiss him, pulling him still half-dressed under the water with her. He makes a playful sound of surprise, and kisses back.

When he washes the marks from her ribs, it makes her giggle and he kisses her again.

Tears forgotten, Ari is more than happy to help Alex out of the rest of his clothes, and they end up a tangle of limbs and kisses and soap and warm water, absorbed in each other like there’s nothing else in the world.

"I'm okay," Ari promises, almost giddy with the knowledge that it's true. "I'm okay, we're okay." "I'm better than okay," Alex grins. "Okay," she agrees breathlessly. "Better than okay. I love you."

[Next]

#my writing #verse: resistance #unlikely salvation #ariadne milonas #anders reyan #comf!#fluff!#a little comf as a treat

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luvluvnitrodynamite · 3 years

Text

random dates with jujutsu kaisen characters

ft. itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, zenin maki, inumaki toge, nanami kento, and gojou satoru

g/n!reader (except maybe for maki but that's more personal pref)

itadori yuuji - "hey!-", you were essentially muted as itadori plops a strawberry in your mouth. you bite down, wrinkling your nose up at him in fake upset. he just smiles and laugh, as you drop the pout and laugh with him. you two were on a picnic, drinking lemonade and watching the hours melt away into the sunny sky. currently, you two were demolishing a carton of strawberries, the green tops abandoned on a plate next to you. you swallowed, relishing the sweetness lingering on your tongue.

taking one last berry, itadori reclined and sprawled on the blanket while putting his hands behind his head. you laid down on the blanket next to him, placing your head on his chest. he glanced down at you and took one of your hands in his, his thumb starting to trace gentle circles on your palm. with your free hand, you pointed up to the clouds in the sky. "that one looks like a bus," you suggested. "mmm, i think it looks like a log," he responds. "that one looks like a cat." "i think it looks like a log." "ok, that one looks like a tree." "mmmmmmm i think it looks like a log," he says again. "yuuji, you think all of them look like logs," you say. you can feel his laugh bubbling in his chest as he says, "because all of them do look like logs." he points up at the sky at different clouds, "that one does....and that one does....i think these are actually all logs in disguise." you playfully swat his hand and turn your head up at him, saying, "you need to use your imagination a bit. if you're only looking for logs, all you're going to find is logs."

instead of responding, itadori shifts forward and captures your mouth in soft kiss. you respond, pushing your lips against his in a sweet dance. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss. his hand has slipped out of yours and now is on the small of your back, pushing you closer into him. he smiles into the kiss, pausing. "what?" you ask, temporarily affixing your head above his. "nothing," he responds, "i just hope we can stay like this for a little while longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fushiguro megumi - he's is nursing a cup of black tea in a porcelain cup and saucer, while he chews on a black ballpoint pen. fushiguro is in a cafe across the street, but you can see him through the window. as you walk in, the bell above the door jingles and he glances up at you. he smiles and clears a pile of papers, making room for you at the table. you sit down across from him, noticing that he's already ordered a cup of tea and a croissant for you.

"hey 'gumi. what'cha up to?" you ask, lifting the cup to your lips. "working on this latest batch, but it's tough. did you bring your stuff?" he asks. you pull out a small notebook, untying the ribbon that holds the pages shut. "of course i did, i want your feedback on my latest poems," you respond. "this is the most recent one i wrote." in the garden of my mind/you sink my heart into my soul/blooming into something unknown/glassy eyes speaking of that garden untold is what you hand to him. he furrows his brow as he reads over the lines, once, twice, three....ohmygod how many times is he going to read it? is it bad??? you catch your lip between your teeth as you wait for his critiques, anxiously tapping your fingers against the table. finally, he looks up to you. "i like the use of garden as a metaphor, but i think you could expand on it more. it's a short poem so i know you don't have much room, but i'm really fixed on this idea of a garden. what grows there? who takes care of it?" he questions. his brows is still furrowed and you can practically see the wheels turning behind his poofy hair.

you smile over at him saying, "well, megumi i think you already know the answer to your questions." he blushes and looks out the window. the wheels are turning in his head again, but for a different reason. you know fushiguro isn't exactly the greatest with his feelings, so you give him a minute. he still gets flustered when you even allude to loving him, it's so removed from his own view of himself that he needs to take a minute to process. in the meantime, you rip off a fluffy piece of croissant and feel the buttery layers melt on your tongue. you look out the window, quietly drifting off to another world. "did you want to read my poem?" he asks, snapping you back to reality. you nod, picking up the piece of paper he passes you. your eyes focus on the first line: i love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

kugisaki nobara - you love nobara, you honestly do, but sometimes you forget about that when she gets in a yelling match with the man at the ice cream truck. you're pulling your hat over your head, hoping to spontaneously melt into a puddle while the two of them go back and forth. "i don't know what you want me to say! i'm sorry i gave the wrong flavor to them, but i can't change it," the vendor says exasperatedly. nobara wrinkles up her nose in disgust at the vendor, retorting, "this business is absolutely shameful. i come all the way here for ice cream, and you can't even properly fulfill my order. what if i reported you to the better business bureau? hmmm? would you be a bit more cooperative then?"

yeah, it's been going on like this for a few minutes. you think you're going to evaporate into thin air when you realize the arguing has stopped and nobara is on her way back. and...omg...she's holding a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone!! you immediately perk up. "you got it!" you exclaim, quickly taking the cone from her. you take a bite (do you bite ice cream???? lick??? v unsure), and faux-swoon at how good it is. forgetting your previous embarrassment, you swiftly press a kiss to nobara's lips as a thank-you. "thank you nobara, this was so sweet of you!" her face deeply reddens, every ounce of toughness from the earlier altercation dissipated. she tosses her hair, trying to play it off. "oh, you know, it wasn't difficult. you just had to ask nicely." you smile at her, suddenly wanting to pay her back for the embarrassment she dealt you before.

before she can react, you quickly leave a flurry of kisses all over her face. you zing from her cheeks to her nose to her lips to her forehead and back around so fast it makes her dizzy. if you thought she was red before, she's somehow gone an even deeper shade of brick. now she's the one pulling her hat down over her head. "y/n!! cut it out, we're in public!" she hisses at you, but there's no real venom behind it. "sorry, i couldn't help it. you just looked too pretty to resist," you say, and start walking toward the city. even through the brim of her hat, nobara can see you walking away. before catching up, she's rooted in place wondering how on earth she got so lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

zenin maki - "y/n, i look stupid. can i take this off?" you smile at her, only your head sticking out from your door. "nope!!," you gleefully respond. maki stands outside your room with an annoyed look and crossed arms, wearing the maid outfit you dropped off at her house this morning. you quickly close the door and speedily drag your socks up your thighs and tuck the matching headband into your hair. admiring yourself in the mirror one last time, you opened the door and shyly step out in your own maid outfit. "how do i look?," you say, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

maki.pdf has crashed. her eyes flick up and down your body, a slight blush forming on her pearlescent cheeks. you note her silence and flounce over to her. tucking your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels, you lean forward. "maaaaaaaaki," you languish in her name, dragging out the syllables. "cat got your tongue?" she snaps back to the real world, a coy smile on her lips. she moves swiftly, and before you know it she's pressed up against you with a hand on your lower back and the other hand tilting your chin up at her. "of course not, darling, but i wouldn't mind getting yours," she says, gently stroking her thumb over your lips. you momentarily flush, a pretty pink haze spreading over your face. you wiggle out of her hold and kiss the tip of her nose, before dashing down the hallway.

confused, maki watches as you return with...a broom. "c'mon! maids clean, don't they?" you say as you hand her the broom. maki bemusedly watches as you pull out a rag and a can of pledge. "y/n. you called me here, with a maid outfit, so we could clean your house?" she ask. "yep!". oh my. maki watches as you spray chemicals over the table, then polish it clean with the rag. fuck it, she starts sweeping your hallway. "am i even going to get anything out of this?", whining, she stops sweeping. you pause and smile. "of course maki. after all, i have to pay you for your services." maki smirks at you, resting her hands and head on top of the broom. "oh? and what would that be?" she says, raising her eyebrows. "anything you want." maki's smirk deepens, and she goes back to sweeping. "and if i want you?" you too go back to your cleaning. "well, in that case, i suppose you have to do a really good job of cleaning."

your house has never looked cleaner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

inumaki toge - you dip your paintbrush into the water, swirling it around and making sure it was clean before dipping it into bubblegum-colored paint. inumaki sits on the other side of you, though part of him is obscured by his easel. you would have asked him to move a few hours ago, but luckily you were almost done painting him. the sun was starting to set, so the colors of the setting were changing a bit but you were sure inumaki wouldn't care too much if you took some artistic liberties. you added the pink streaks in the clouds, trying to fluff them up as much as possible and make them look sweet. you frowned as you went a bit too far, having to clean your paintbrush and then touch up the painting with white.

finally, a few more mistakes and fixes later, you think you're satisfied with your work. it was a portrait of inumaki, sitting on his artist's stool with the blue sky and green hill in the background. a few hours ago it would have been an almost perfect rendering of the scene, save for the fact that you decided to paint him without his trademark collar over his face. you happened to love the seal on his face and tongue, but his covering of it made him more insecure about it as time went on. as he got used to seeing his face without it, he wondered if it would just be better if he didn't have a seal on his face at all. now he barely pulls down his collar, only ever to shout out cursed speech commands. "toge can we see each others' paintings now?" you ask. "okaka!" he responds. you sigh and say, "okay, let me know when you're done." you continue to add a few more cursory details until you hear "takana!" from the other easel. you poke your head around, asking, "do you want me to go first?" inumaki nods, and gets up.

you hold your breath as he walks over to survey your work. you feel him stop behind you and just...stare. no tsunamayo, no sujiko, not even an okaka. "what do you think?" you ask. he says nothing, and just points to his painted mouth. you look at him and feel a little bit crushed; he doesn't look angry or anything, but rather a little deflated. "are you upset i painted the curse seal?" you ask him. he responds with a slightly desolate "okaka" and your chest clutches a little bit. you wanted to show him how pretty he was with the seal, but you supposed you would have to go a bit further. "toge can you come a little closer?" he complies and moves right next to you. you quickly jump off the stool and clasp his face in your hands. slowly, you pull down his collar, revealing the seal. you hold his gaze for a moment longer, and then gently press kisses along the surface of the curse. you make sure to touch every angle, feeling the heat of his skin rise each new time your lips touch the curse. you pull your head back and say, "i think the curse seal is pretty. the way it curves along your cheek is just gorgeous, it's such a rich shade of black, and it looks the best when i see you smile. but most of all, you make it look pretty. i like the curse seal because it's a part of you." inumaki softly smiles when he hears this, and just wraps you up into a hug. you two stay like that for a minute or two, interrupted only by "can i see your painting of me now?" "shake."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nanami kento - you two are at home in the kitchen. normally you both take turns cooking and cleaning, but tonight you decided to make dinner together. nanami is cutting up vegetables for your curry, while you focus on cooking the chicken in the sauce. soft music plays while a delicious aroma fills the room. nanami finishes cutting up the vegetables, neatly zooshing them into the pan with the knife. you add coconut milk and spices, stirring as the sizzling gets loud, and then gently recedes into a soft bubbling. you watch the pan carefully as nanami shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your front. his face rests on your shoulder as you both watch the pan bubble away.

he gently bites your ear, asking, "how was your day?". your hand comes up to rest on his cheek, sighing contently. "fine. i was a bit busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. how was yours?". nanami sighs, the air lusciously dancing around your ear. "mmmmmm...annoying. or, more aptly, gojou was." you laugh, imaging all the ways the he could have been a nuisance. "is that so?," you say. "yes, but i don't want to dwell on it. work is work, and i'd rather focus on my time outside of it," nanami says. "like focusing on you," he breathes into your ear. he gently spins you around so that you're facing him, and pulls you closer to his body. he wraps his arms around your back, and you wrap your arms around his neck. you two begin to softly dance to the music, not even moving from the spot you're currently in. it's not perfect dancing by any standards; in fact, you think you're off-beat. still, with nanami humming in your ear and such a comforting aura surrounding you, you don't really think it matters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

gojou satoru - for once, you two aren't running around and acting crazy. instead, you've just woken up to rain pattering on the window and cloudy skies overhead. gojou is still asleep in bed, blindfold slipped over his face with his closed eyes revealed to the world. you smile, enjoying the sight. it's not often you two get time to just be together, with gojou being gone all the time, his students needing his attention, and your own life and responsibilities. you slip out of the room and into the kitchen, cutting up fruit and making coffee. you bring it back into the room, the smell waking up your drowsy boyfriend. crystalline eyes look up at you, filled with love and adoration. you sit on the bed as he sits up, passing him a plate and a mug.

"hey, i just had the craziest dream," he says, mouth full of raspberries. "oh? would you like to tell me about it?," you respond, sipping your coffee. gojou smirks at you. "well, normally i would say to never tell a bad dream before breakfast because that's the surest way to make it come true, but i don't believe in that, and anyways i could kick the dream curse's ass if it came to it. so, itadori is a woman, and sukuna keeps taking over to play with boobs, right?". he rambles on, and you think he's actually making some of this up on the fly, but it's entertaining and you don't want to interrupt him. he tells you the whole story, and by the end you've both finished your breakfast. you're still laughing at the part where inumaki is left at the alter by nobara chasing after maki, when he picks up your plate and mug and places it on the little table beside the bed.

"satoru, what are you-," you're interrupted as he swiftly pulls you into his lap, your back flush against his chest. confused, he hands you the book on the side table while he picks up a stack of reports. he opens them and starts reading, while you look at him in confusion. he apprehensively pauses and looks at you. "we don't get to have a lot of quiet time like this," he hesitantly explains, "so i thought we could just do something with each other, even if it's just reading. i have to read these reports and you wanted to finish that book anyway, so i thought we could start like this." he smiles down at you, and it's like he shoots warmth straight into your chest and fans it out to the tips of your fingers, toes, and eyelashes. you ghost his cheek with a kiss and burrow into his chest. "of course, 'toru. this is absolutely perfect." you feel his chest skip a beat through your skin, and try to hid your smile. you open your book while he resumes his reports, and bask in the comfort of shared love.

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kezibun · 2 years

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There was a little note and a small box the size of an altoid tin with a paintbrush with a thick hollow handle and a cap on Rus' homeroom desk when he returned from his most recent class period. On the outer fold of the note was a doodle of a rose. Inside it read:

"Hi Rus!

Not sure if you remember me all that well, but I wanted to say thanks again for helping me on my first day in the school. Transferring in mid-year is bad enough, but getting lost repeatedly on your first day is even worse and your map sketch you made of the school was a life saver for me.

I saw you outside sketching one day through the window during my English class and thought you'd like this. It's a mini watercolor set! I don't know if you water color but I thought it was pretty cool and travel friendly. You can even fill up the brush with water so no extra cups or anything needed. ^-^

I'd hoped to ask you in person but it seems none of our classes line up and I can never seem to catch you after school, so here's my number if you'd ever like to hang out sometime.

Sincerely,

Rose"

After the scrawled phone number there a couple parts underneath written in pencil vs the pen above that looked like it'd been added in a hurry as though someone had been caught by the bell (which she had) and was rushed to add in the limited space left on the paper.

"P.S. I just noticed other gifts and notes on others desks as I was dropping this off and realized what day it was. So um... Happy Valentine's day Rus."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rus wasn't one for valentine's day, being obligated to be lovey for the day didn't sit right with him. A couple of cards had gathered on his desk when he got there a little later then he should have, he pushes most of them into his desk draw to never be seen again, but a little paint set, that caught his eye.

He actually read your note and a little smile grew on his face. He'd remembered you, of course, you were so lost he just had to help, and tbh he was pretty proud of that sketch. The fact Valentine's was an afterthought, no it hadn't even crossed your mind and it was complete coincidence you gave him this today? It was nice, it meant this gift was actually spontaneous and thoughtful.

Later that day you spotted Rus in his usual doodle spot during your English class, and you could swear he was using the paint set.

If you weren't feeling bubbly enough by now, you noticed something in your locker later. A little piece of folded... sketchbook paper?

You turn it over, the front had a beautiful rose on it, amazingly painted in hues of yellow, red and pink. A signature scribbled in the corner that you recognise from how he out of habit added it to the map.

On the inside sort of messy writing.

Hi Rose,

Of course I remember you, I'm glad I could help. Thx a bunch for the paints, it's really thoughtful. I've played with watercolour a little before but my set is definitely not suitable for travel XD so thx, it's really gr8 and amazing quality. I'll text you l8r or something but here's my No. so you know who's texting, cuz I mean I'd probably freak out if I didn't know so yeah. And like feel free to message if you need help with anything.

-Rus

P.s I hope the paint dryed enough... 😬

His number is scribbled next and a little skull with a paintbrush is doodled in the corner. 💀🖌️

#rus #rus x rose #valentines notes

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retvenkos · 3 years

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nhaban (rising phoenix) | k.y.b.

Grishaverse - A Kuwei Yul-Bo story, angst.

tw: lots of burning imagery, mentions of death, choking imagery, spoilers for Six of Crows

word count: 1.2k

A/N: We don’t get a direct translation of the phrase “my son” in Shu, but “yul” is “son” and “kebben’ya” is “my kin/my only” so i made some inferences and I am 90% sure “yul’ya” is how you would write “my son.” I’m doing my best, here. Also, in this house we love and support Kuwei Yul-Bo, so I expect you to bow down before him.

Summary: Kuwei was always a phoenix - burning from the inside out, choking on all that ash.

When Kuwei had been a child - not yet anything - a boy with a life in the making and a haunting not yet rooted deeply, the world was vast and painted in beautiful, burnt hues. He spent those days running in the gardens of his home, his father chasing him through the flowers, his grin too wide and his sides aching with too much joy. His father would catch him and raise him high in the air, where the sun caught his being and warmed him to the bone. Kuwei would squeal with delight, and when he stood down on the earth again, he would cast a look toward his mother, resting in the shade. She would smile, and Kuwei wouldn't notice anything else.

At night, his mother would tuck him in, her dark hair rippling down her shoulders, her hands warm and strong. "My little phoenix," she'd say. "You shine brighter than the sun."

And Kuwei would feel a fever in his chest, then, something hotter than warmth, but not quite bitter.

Kuwei's father was a scientist, and his mother was an artist. In their home, equations mixed with pictures - drawings on the margins of lengthy operations, numbers jotted on the corner of sketches - and there was never enough surface for pencil and pen. Once, when Kuwei was sleeping, he awoke from his slumber and saw his mother standing in his room, her hair pushed back behind her ears, her paintbrush precise as she filled Kuwei's wall with depictions of little phoenixes, their feathers on fire, their beaks open in a triumphant cry.

Kuwei watched her without speaking, and in the morning's stillness, he noticed the way her brow sweat with effort and how her hands shook with tired uncertainty. When he was a boy, not yet anything but balancing on the precipice of something, Kuwei saw how his mother stood and how all her life seemed to fail her slowly, all of her strength ebbing away from her chest. Kuwei gasped with some naive realization, and he couldn't remember what happened next.

The color blue was for mourning, and too soon, his family was draped in the shade.

✧ *:･ﾟ

Kuwei was always a phoenix - burning from the inside out, choking on all that ash. When he was a boy, barely old enough to recognize the flame sparking in his chest, his father used to take his hands and cup them - like he was trying to catch all that Kuwei was before his son fell apart.

"Yul'ya," he would say. My son. "This fire will not burn you forever. This power will not take you away from me."

But in its own way, it had.

Bo Yul-Bayur scoured his science for an answer. He believed, despite the fear that clawed at his sides, that there was a remedy for his son's cursed gift. Bo stayed inside - lost somewhere in the whitewashed walls of his laboratory, hidden somewhere within the blanched casing of his skull.

Kuwei watched his father from a distance - peering into doorways and stretching for glances over tall counters.

Kuwei watched him and memorized the fear that glinted in his golden eyes. When he was old enough to understand the equations that filled the walls of Bo's laboratory, Kuwei joined in his father's work. Together, they searched for a saving grace. Together, they searched so Kuwei wouldn't smolder.

And during the day, Kuwei was a scholar; but at night, in the solace of his room, Kuwei burned.

If it wasn't a spark at the tips of his fingers, it was a funeral pyre in his stomach. Kuwei was burning before he learned to fan the flames; he was smoldering without respite. Even when he had been too young to fathom that his fire had the power to consume, Kuwei could feel the burning in his chest. He only indulged it at night, and in the silence, Kuwei burned from within.

In the morning, he was ash, and if his father ached when he looked at him, perhaps it was because of the soot.

✧ *:･ﾟ

Kuwei was always a phoenix, but he was more than just a mythos for the devout, more than whispers of the occult, and more than just drawings a woman had once painted on the walls of his room, fading but beautiful - dripping with devotion and despair.

Kuwei was a phoenix because he burned, and in his flames, he created something infinite. In the light of his fire, Kuwei could see the flash of his father's eyes and the amber of his burnt, perpetually summered world. And occasionally, when the tongues of the blaze jumped high enough, he could see smoke curling into the figure of his mother - a woman singing him to sleep, all of her hopes and dreams caught in her throat, choking her sweetly and harmonizing just for him.

Kuwei was always a phoenix because he burned, and sometimes, his fire wasn't strong enough to light the way. Sometimes, he was just spitting - popping sparks of what he had once been, yearning to devour whatever stood in his path, but not having the necessary firepower laced in his heaving chest.

When his father created parem, Kuwei wanted to ignite the laboratory and all of the research it held. He wanted to watch it burn down to the ground and turn his golden world into nothing but ruin and cinders. The heat within him was already leaping in his chest, but his father warned him that something would rise from the ashes, and perhaps it would not be something they could control. Kuwei had seen fear in his father's eyes, then, so he let his fire stew within him, his chest aching with greed, vowing that one day, he'd burn every laboratory and factory until they were nothing but ash. Someday, he'd let his work on parem explode from within.

Then the Fjerdans attacked, and Kuwei was not burning, but his father was. His father was a phoenix, with fire in his heart and his golden eyes dancing with ire. Kuwei watched his father as he always had, his golden eyes sharp, his reeling mind apt, his bleeding heart still raw, building with the pressure of a scream. His father was burning - he always had - and together, they were becoming ashes.

The Fjerdan's caught them, their foreign language harsh on Kuwei's ears, their eyes filled with bloodlust, and their wolves snapping at their feet. Kuwei's father was bloody and bleeding and dying, but he took Kuwei's hands in his own and cupped them - like he was trying to catch all that Kuwei was as his son fell apart.

"Yul'ya," he had struggled to say, his life failing him slowly, all of his strength ebbing away from his chest. My son. "Your fire is mine; it burns you no longer."

And Kuwei knew what it meant, and no matter how he cried and no matter how the flames ravaged his insides, he was not a phoenix - he was just a boy with death in the making and a haunting that was rooted too deep. This fire would not serve him, so he would keep it in a cage - like his father once had. And if it burned, he would not feel it. He couldn't let it - not when he belonged to drüskelle, now.

Kuwei's tears were hot, and in his heart he was spitting, and in Shu, he whispered powerlessly. "This power will not take you away from me."

But in its own way, it had.

taglist: @fives-cup-of-coffee, @musicallisto, @catsbooksandmusic, @thefifthweasley, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf, @amirahiddleston // message me if you want to be added!

#grishaverse #six of crows #soc #kuwei yul bo #kuwei yul-bo #fanfiction #kuwei yul bo fanfiction #kuwei yul-bo fanfiction #fic #i saw that kuwei doodles in his notebooks and i said: that's so cute! now let's make it sAD. dead mom style.#if i wasn't so well adjusted i think we'd all have to be a little worried

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boymeetsweevil · 3 years

Text

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles.

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room.

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t.

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend.

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer.

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.”

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more.

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then.

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away.

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?”

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says.

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

#btscreatorscorner #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtan scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fluff #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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kaitycole · 3 years

Text

“Lipschitz!”

Summary: Sugawara is just trying to find himself, how does that work out for him?

Pairing: Sugawara x Reader

Word Count: 2068

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of murder, cheating, alcohol, drowning

A/N: This is the official last chapter, I’m still mulling over the possibility of an epilogue. Thank you so much to all of you who supported this series from the beginning. I hope I did it justice!

“Do you want to tell me a little bit about Sugawara?” She stretches her neck to the left and then right, tapping her pen on the legal pad.

“Sure.” You smile at the journalist, but it never really touches your eyes.

* * “Just a minute longer, I swear.”

You sighed, your boyfriend had said that same line five minutes ago. You were restless, legs stiff from not moving and all you could think of was how good it would feel when you could finally stretch. When you could finally put on something warm, the sheer fabric he had delicately draped over you wasn’t cutting it anymore, your bare skin felt the chill from the cool air that blew in through the opened window.

“You said that for the last five minutes, Kōshi.”

The silver-haired man just laughed behind the canvas, paintbrush held in the air as he narrowed his eyes looking at his work, then up at you then back to the painting. You leaned up just enough to see that he was biting the end of the brush which you knew meant that he was conflicted. All artists are their own worst critics, but sometimes you felt Suga was worse than Van Gogh, Monet and even Pollock at times. Not that you really had any frame of reference, but still.

Watching him painstakingly criticize his own work, endlessly making changes that he only deemed made the pieces worse was really hard for you, watching the person you love drive themselves into a dark hole of perfectionism took a toll on the both of you. But you loved him and at the end of the day, that made it all better, right?

After what felt like forever, you finally saw his signature smile, the one that was bigger than life and he sat down his paint palette then swirled the brush in his murky colored water cup. You watched his shoulders relax before he nodded and you knew that he was finally done.

“Lemme see! Lemme see!” You squealed as he walked closer to you, sitting next to you on the sofa you had been lounged out on.

He kissed you, the paint on his hands and fingers transferred to your skin as he grabbed your face. You scrunched up your nose as the cool wet sensation before kissing him back.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He peppered your face with kisses as you both laughed. His hands trailed down your arms and across your upper chest, his lips were pressed up against yours again.

“You’re going to get paint all over me!” You giggled, his lips trailed across your jaw and down your neck.

“That’s okay.” His eyes met yours, “you’ll become my greatest master piece.”

* * “They say that artists can be very passionate people.”

A laugh escapes you and Alex looks at you confused, “that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“It couldn’t have been easy on your relationship. Artists tend to struggle for a while before gaining notoriety.”

“He worked as an elementary school teacher during the day. It wasn’t the money that caused issues, it was watching him tear himself apart that was the hardest.”

“What do you mean by that?” “No one was harder on him about his art than he was. He could produce something that was immaculate, but he’d say his students’ finger paintings were better.” You take a deep breath, “it was hard watching him beat himself over things I couldn’t help fix.”

“What changed? How did you go from wanting what’s best for him to…being in here?”

“A lot. A lot changed.”

* * It started when he decided to go out one night with his coworkers for drinks one Friday night. You didn’t mind it, you really didn’t because you trusted Suga and you enjoyed seeing him relax for the first time in a while. What did bother you was the fact that it seemed the occasional Friday night turned into the whole weekend to where he spent more days of the week out than at home.

Your knees were pulled up to your chest while you sat on the couch, a commercial playing on the TV while you scroll through your phone. When that stopped being a solace for you, you tossed it across the couch, deciding to stroll through his art studio. The smell that hit you when you opened the door was a mix of acrylic paint and peppermint, it was undeniably Suga. You saw one of his easels covered with a sheet which intrigued you, it wasn’t often that you didn’t see his work.

But once the sheet came off, you wished you never had. Your stomach dropped. It was like all of the memories you had spent making since high school, since college, shattered and all the jagged edges pierced into your heart as it sank. You could tell by the pose it was the one he had painted of you a couple months ago, the one that he told you wasn’t ready. Now you understood what he meant by ‘not ready’, it was your pose, but it wasn’t your body, wasn’t your face. You weren’t sure who it was but you knew it wasn’t you, the curves and lines, they didn’t belong to you. Tears welled in your eyes as you chewed on your bottom lip, realizing that while you laid completely exposed to him, his mind was clearly on whoever was in this painting.

Three long hours had passed before he stumbled into your shared apartment, crashing into everything he possibly could, waking you from your sleep. While his head hurt from the alcohol, yours hurt from crying. You got up, walking in just soon enough to watch your boyfriend fall onto the couch face first.

“Suga?” You leaned against the door frame.

He hummed something in response into the cushion.

“Kōshi? Babe?” You walked through the room, crouching down next to his head before placing a hand on his back.

He mustered up just enough strength to turn to face you, “I didn’t mean to wake up, sweetness.”

His innocent words, gentle tone, the use of the nickname reserved for only him, didn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks, doesn’t untwist the knot that tightening in your stomach, doesn’t remove the fact that you can’t help the one person that you want to.

After that night, you watched him change. He spent more time in his art studio, face covered with paint smudges, a sight you thought was absolutely adorable. He seemed happier, constantly dragging you into the studio to show off various artworks he’d finished. Everything was perfect, until he came home smelling like cheap perfume and stale beer.

* * “So he was cheating?”

You smile politely which catches Alex off guard, placing your elbow on the counter in front of you, as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you look at her. “He said he was trying to find himself.”

“Trying to find himself?” A look of pure bewilderment crossed Alex’s face.

“That’s the exact expression I wore when I asked him the same thing.”

* * “What the hell does that mean? Finding yourself?” You put air quotes around the last two words. There was a sense of anger running up your spine, you were tightly clenching your fists.

“I just think that I need to let loose. To learn how to breathe.” He flicked the paint brush against the blank canvas, not bothering to even look at you.

They say that smells can trigger memories, something with the olfactory system being located in the same part of the brain that effects emotions and creativity. Something about the fact that certain smells can affect the region of the brain that’s responsible for storing our emotional memories. That’s why you assumed whenever you smelled acrylic paint you thought of Kōshi, of the one person you thought would never let you down.

But now the smell just made you nauseous, made your heart hurt because whoever this silver-haired man in front of you, it wasn’t the love of your life. Wasn’t the boyfriend you’d been with for years. No, because that man would never hurt you like this, would never refuse to look at you when he all but broke your heart.

“I didn’t realize I was suffocating you, thought I was just being supportive!”

You yelled and then he yelled then you yelled some more and before you knew it the paintbrush hit the floor with so much force it bounced a bit. He shook his head storming passed you, his shoulder hit yours but he didn’t stop. The walls vibrated when he slammed it shut, leaving you leaning against the door frame, lip quivering.

** You stormed through his studio, grabbing all the gallons of paint you could carry, making a few more trips than the anger in you wanted. You started to fill the bathtub, the various colors muddling together, the thick liquid clung to the lining of the tub.

A smirk covered your lips as you thought back to how frustrated Suga would get when colors mixed like this, turning a disgusting brown that no artist would make on purpose. You remembered him saying the color reminded him of dirty paint water, somehow this all felt ironic.

Your foot catches on the rug into rug and you tripped, the empty red paint can fell from your hand; thin splatters clung to the white wall next to you.

* * Alex takes a deep breath, sitting her pen down before looking up at you. Hearing these crimes had progressively gotten worse as the interviews went by though she came into them thinking it’d get easier.

“Why didn’t you just use water?”

You lean forwards, chin still on the palm of your hand, teeth showing as you smile. “I thought paint gave the scene a more artistic flair.”

* * You felt Sugawara’s resistance slowly fade as he stopped trying to push his hands up, stopped trying to lift his head out of the tub of paint. His feet stopped kicking against the floor, his body slowly became lifeless under your hold. You stood up, leaving his hunched over the side of the tub, his beautiful silver hair now covered in the brown paint mixture.

They say when someone drowns, their entire body fights to survive. There’s panic, the sheer realization of what’s happening and the frightening moment you know you don’t have an idea of what to do. The moment when you subconsciously know you’re about to lose consciousness, your lungs going against the logic of not breathing in the water to try to salvage your existence. Body going into overdrive trying to save you, trying to get much needed air into your lungs. Some who have survived drowning say they had flashbacks, snippets of their life that flash through their mind as consciousness faded.

You wondered if Suga felt that panic, if his body had registered what was happening, or if the alcohol had clouded some of that. You wondered if he had fought as hard as he could’ve or if his inebriated state had lowered his abilities. You wondered if he saw flashbacks and what were they of. Did he see the two of you? The long years you had spent by his side, supporting every decision that he had made, giving up the few things you wanted for his dreams. Or did he see those women? The drunken nights spent at the bar, the woman he was thinking of when he was painting you, the owner of the cheap perfume he would come home smelling like.

* * “Most people just break up with their lover when they discover they’re cheating.” Alex looks at you pointedly.

“We did, some could say we ended our relationship due to artistic differences.”

Alex looks at you puzzled, “I’m not sure I follow.”

You stand up, stepping as close to the glass as the counter will allow before slamming yours on the glass while pressing your face against it. Alex jumps back in her seat, her chair scooting against the tiles loudly, her heart thumping against her chest. She watches the guard rush over, grabbing you away from the divider and pulling you out of the room.

“He saw himself alive and I saw him dead.”

Series Masterlist here

General Masterlist here

#haikyuu!!#sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #tw major character death #tw murder #tw drowning #tw alcohol

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salemroleplayhq · 3 years

Photo

❝The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.❞

MEET…

Jillian Swann

Age: 30

Birthday: August 20th, 1991

Gender/Pronouns: Cis female, She/Her

Hometown: Salem, MA

Length of time in Salem: All of her life, except for the 3 years in which she was away for college and seven months in a mental health facility

Occupation: Freelance Artist & Muralist / Bartender at Rockafellas

Faceclaim: Laura Harrier

THEIR STORY

tw: mentions of major depressive disorder, anxiety, postpartum depression, suicide attempts, fire

An only child, since infancy Jill most closely resembled her mother, though the resemblance didn’t stop there. Her mother was also Jill’s namesake — Jillian — but to avoid confusion the nickname ‘Jill’ or ‘Jilly’ were the names deployed most often to give her a better sense of individuality. She was raised with little austerity. Her mother was a high end jeweler and her father was a therapist. She had a double bed adorned with silky materials of the highest thread count, took long hot showers in the mornings and lavish baths in the evening. Pressure was put on maintaining an orderly appearance. Manners instilled, always. With strict guidelines to be followed within and outside the home — she was a child, thereby she must listen to those above her. Their daughter was to be seen and not heard, not to speak unless spoken to. Whether or not Jill’s quiet disposition is a result of her parents’ ingrained teachings, or if it was in her nature to begin with cannot be determined for certain. To avoid any unnecessary conflict, Jill was cautious never to do anything reckless that would put even a single strand of her hair out of place.

Her family may have been affluent, but even though technology installments were in abundance around the house — from cable TV to being given a personal iPhone at nine years old — she always showed an inclination toward more tangible forms of entertainment. More often than not her spare time would be occupied with long-winded outings to the library, teaching herself embroidery or knitting projects or skipping rope tricks. As an only child, her imagination became her closest companion. Inventiveness kept her boredom at bay, but it also made it impossible for her mind to ever be a peaceful and silent place. She took a liking to fiction and poetry books and art the most. She was thrilled by the way the right set of words could miraculously make sense of the big feelings she felt but didn’t dare speak about. She thrived off of what was obvious; the practical and evidential. Situations with a clear cut beginning and end that couldn’t be mistaken for something else. With art, she was able to embody everything that she had felt inside — what words couldn’t appropriately convey. ‘I don’t belong here. Nobody wants me. I don’t feel normal.’ Accordingly, nothing frustrated her more than having no idea where to begin when dealt with something that wasn’t so readily apparent or visible ( more often than not this equated to one category only: her feelings ). Winging things wasn’t her style — planning and perfect organization was. With poetry and art — with the attractive rhythmics of prose, and the curved painted brushes — she could suddenly adapt to any moment, turning anything that felt too overwhelming into something small and manageable ( destroyable, even — much of her first personally works ending up shredded or burned in the fireplace ). It was a comfort to find that even if an explanation didn’t exist, she could simply make one up herself by inking it down on a fresh piece of paper. This was a hobby she kept private, though she was passionately devoted to it. Each night filling a page or two, whether in a notebook or a sketchbook, until every few months she had a full book and had to start a new one.

Growing up Jill was very level-headed and had a natural talent for leadership. She was never boastful or power-hungry, but taking charge of chaotic situations came like second nature to her. She wasn’t shy of being in the spotlight, not because she ever wanted the attention but because she sought to benefit the bigger picture always. If there was a recognizable error she’d often be the first to analyze it without a bias to intervene with her perception, making her able to step in to adjust it until perfect form was achieved. She was considered mature for her age by most of her superiors — teachers and parents alike — never giving way to thoughtless impulses and seemingly unable to be offended. A teenager who possessed a gift concerning genuine empathy and kindness. Jill and her ego seemed to exist on opposite sides of the spectrum. Critique and praise rolled off her back one in the same. She was a quick learner, always eager to have new content to peruse. She loved questions, for there was always an answer. It was safe territory. As curious as she was in pursuits of knowledge, as a whole she was very reserved and well balanced and not at all spontaneous. She became a safe haven for many of her lost high school peers, but nobody had ever seen the deep inner turmoil she had wrestled with all of her life; that emptiness, that sadness, those thoughts that told her she wasn’t good enough. Despite being plagued by anxious voices, she tried to push on, at times self harming when it felt like it was too much.

When it mattered most, art saved her — especially after the fire. She was a creative through and through, but it was the self portraits of a woman losing her mind that allowed her to look at herself in a completely different light. Though she tried not to think of it much ( she couldn’t remember what exactly had happened even when she consciously tried ), Jill was unsure if she was relieved to have made it out of the fire. To her own life, she was apathetic. Yet, when she finally met Lachlan she had put up a good front — “thank you,” said with a warm smile that failed to reach her eyes; she had recognized him from their school, “for saving me.” As a result, she fell more into her creativity and further away from the her peers. Jill’s artistic talents were obvious to anyone on the outside looking in, expressed in her handiwork in her talent for choosing attractive fashions and creating hair styles at the girl’s sleepovers. Indeed, Jill had a great talent for styling clothing, sewing and braiding her friends’ hair as well as any professional hair stylist. But it was a duty rather than something she felt in her heart. The need to look pristine, whispering urgent nothings at the back of her head. Writing and painting was what she truly longed to do, but making a profession out of something anyone who could hold a pen or paintbrush could do seemed impossible.

Once Jill honed her ability, she began to submit her work into local competitions. Being able to be a freelance artist as a job seemed far fetched, but it was all she enjoyed spending her free time on — using real people as her subjects, sketching what she really saw, and uploading her work in the hopes that it would sell. The inspiration fueling each canvas was endless.

Taking two years to herself after graduating high school — allowing herself to build up various art equipment, a growing portfolio, and history of recurring clients that helped spread her name around — at 21, for the sake of improved credibility, it was with bated breath and hardened determination that she finally felt she was prepared enough to dare to apply to local universities offering a BFA degree in art. When Jill received an acceptance letter from FIT, it felt like an affirmation the direction she was headed wasn’t purposeless. Though usually careful about keeping her emotions withheld, she couldn’t help be feel thrilled at having seemed to have found her true calling.

Until three years into her studies. The stresses of college had overwhelmed her, and she found herself swallowing a bottle of pills in her sorrow. When she awoke, she had been back in Salem, her mother by her side — and Jill had turned her head, letting the silent tears flow down her cheeks out of shame. Moving back with her family had been hectic. Her deep depression and suicidal thoughts lingering but she had promised her parents that she would never hurt herself again. Instead, she spent her days in various forms of isolation, to locking herself in her childhood bedroom for days, to sitting on the balcony quietly nursing a cup of tea. It was the first time that she had purposely avoided writing or drawing.

As all things, with time was supposed to come healing. Over the years, Jill kept up a regular notebook habit despite how pointless it seemed — it was a freeing outlet that calmed her anxious thoughts. Within those pages she catalogued original writings as well as jotting down lyrics, sayings, quotes, and eavesdropped phrases she heard whilst out and about. Clearcut beginnings and ends were her favorite thing. Anytime the she was confused or disturbed by the people around her, she’d retreat to process it silently on a page. Unless she was at work around those her age, she was surrounded by adults. Neither were particularly easy to make sense of, so many a notebook went filled. Though she still managed to maintain her “Jill of all Trades” persona for her relatability and kindness, people had still spoken about her as the deeply troubled young woman as a result.

Her depression left her deeply afraid, and she became somewhat of a recluse most times because she couldn’t bear the whispers. Then she met Gabriel, an older man who had stopped in Salem for business, and it had changed everything. The casual fling began and ended without much fuss. It was a stress relief, nothing different than the glass of wine or smoke she ingested when particularly stressed. Jill preferred living alone, in all aspects. Romance was never appealing, neither was having to belong to someone, or adhere to any sense of domestic behaviors. Long term relationships were foreign territory for her simply because of her deep depression, and it was always a relief to find someone on a similar wavelength. A couple months after their fling drew to a close, Jill found it wasn't as easy to shrug off as past exchanges when she discovered she was pregnant. Something within her knew she wouldn’t abandon the life growing inside, even if it threw off every perfectly crafted plan she had.

Nine months later Jill was the mother of fraternal twins, Gabe always by her side. For a while it seemed like they could make it work out — a possible bond and a growing love for each other. Then the postpartum symptoms had hit, and just like that, their blossoming relationship was thrown right into the garbage after Jill had attempted to take her life once more in the midst of a breakdown. Having been sent to a mental facility some ways out of town immediately after, Jill has just come back to her hometown after seven months — desperate to heal.

PERSONALITY

+ empathetic, personable, creative

- stubborn, perfectionist, naive

Jillian is played by CLEM.

#jillian swann #f #all #oc rp #town rp #city rp #lsrpg

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xiaomoxu · 3 years

Text

Xu Mo - Painting Gallery Date (Translation) Part 3 and 4

SPOILER ALERT!!

This date from CN server which hasn't been released on EN server yet. Might contains some spoiler.

Brace yourself for angst moment from Lucien (as usual)☹

I'm doing this translation for personal reason, so I'm sorry if there's some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) feel free to read it~ ^^

I used Lucien CN name on it, Xu Mo.

Read previous part here

PART 3

Xu Mo and I went to an oil painting experience hall called "Film Oil Painting Gallery".

The aroma of coffee and milk tea is floating in the air, and the hydrogen and hydrogen echoes in the mellow jazz music. The drawing boards are placed in an orderly manner, and people are immersed in their own small universe.

There are dream catchers and many small creative ornaments on the wall. But what attracts me most is the works painted by people who came here before.

The fluorescent beach under the stars, the idling ballet dancers in the night, and the whales rolling up in the deep sea. Some paintings also have a text written on them.

I scanned these paintings curiously, Xu Mo silently followed behind me, looking at me with a smile.

Suddenly, I stopped in front of a painting.

The paintings show Paris at different times. Sunny, rainy, day, and night. From cafes to the banks of the Seine, famous and unknown streetscapes are covered with painted paper.

In the lower left corner of the painting, there is a small poem written.

MC: "I want to live with you, sharing endless dusk and endless bells in a small town."

MC: What a beautiful poem, I always feel where I have read it..

Xu Mo: It is a poem by Russian poetess Tsvetayeva.

Xu Mo walked to my side and turned his eyes on the painting to me, with a trace of inquiry in his drooping eyes.

Xu Mo: You like it a lot?

MC: I....

Store Manager: Hello, are you here to paint?

The voice of a middle-aged man interrupted my conversation with Xu Mo.

Xu Mo nodded to the store manager.

Xu Mo: Yes. This painting is very special, we want to know the background of its creation.

Store Manager: Of course! When I first saw this painting, I was just as curious as you guys. Then I asked its author and he generously shared with me the story behind it.

Store Manager: He said that he once met a girl in Paris, and the two chatted from day to night. This painting records the place they passed.

MC: It seems like the plot in the movie...

Store Manager: Yes. Unfortunately, the ending is not as perfect as in the movie.

Store Manager: The girls already have a marriage contract, and they agreed that if they decide to start the relationship, they will meet in front of Notre Dame in Paris at dusk the next day.

MC: But they didn't meet in the end, did they?*

(* this is the edited translation)

Store Manager: Oh, what a pity

Just as I was feeling sad about this story, Xu Mo, who had been silent, raised his hand and rubbed my hair lightly.

Xu Mo: Don't be sad.

Xu Mo: Painting is a tool for memory, but it also has the power of forgetting.

Xu Mo: At the moment he painted, perhaps, he was ready to say goodbye.

Store Manager: Yes, miss, don't have to be so sad, you should be happy to draw with your boyfriend today!

Store Manager: We have special boxes for couples here, let me take you there!

MC: I....

Xu Mo: Alright, then I will trouble you.

Before I could finish my words, Xu Mo interrupted me.

Following the manager, we came to a closed box. He poured two cups of tea for us, said that he could come to him anytime if there was a problem, and then closed the door and left.

MC: This person is really not sloppy.

Xu Mo: Okay, let's sit down first.

Sitting on the sofa and looking at the neatly arranged painting tools, I couldn't help asking my questions.

MC: Why are you taking me here?

Xu Mo: Remember our agreement?

My mind started to rewind quickly, but I couldn't remember what Xu Mo's agreement was.

Xu Mo: Forgot about it so quickly? But I keep it in my heart.

這麼快就忘了? 我可是一直好好的放在心上。

Xu Mo pointed to the paintbrush.

It suddenly dawned on me that I remembered the previous agreement.

There's 2 options for this:

A. Does it mean to teach me the convention of drawing?

B. Is it a promise to draw together?

Option A

MC: Does it mean to teach me the convention of drawing?

Xu Mo smiled and nodded.

Xu Mo: I have seen all your paintings.

Xu Mo: It seems that you don't need me as a teacher, you also have enough talent to understand it yourself.

The thought that all the "ghost-like" paintings in the sketchbook fell into his eyes, I couldn't help but put my face in a shy manner.

Xu Mo took my hand away and wrapped it in his warm palm.

Option B

MC: Is it a promise to draw together?

Xu Mo: Yes.

MC: I thought that when we draw on the sketchbook, we have already fulfilled the agreement

Xu Mo: I will do what I have agreed with you.

He looked at me with a smile, his eyes soft and firm, which made ripples in my heart.

Xu Mo: What does that puzzle look like? We can draw another one

It turned out that this is why he brought me to the oil painting studio?

He has not forgotten the agreement between us, and he has always remembered that I lost the puzzle.

MC: It is a puzzle of a forest, well, it may be more difficult to draw...

I suddenly remembered that Xu Mo once said that he can only copy, not create.

MC: Or forget it, we can draw something...

Xu Mo: I have a way, but I don't know if you will like it.

I immediately nodded like a chick.

MC: Well, I will love it!

Xu Mo rubbed my hair indifferently, then picked up a pencil and drew on the paper intently and earnestly. The nib rubbed against the surface of the paper and made a rustle.

I couldn't help looking at his soft and clear side face. In the narrow space, I could only hear our amplified breathing. After a while, the outline of the painting became clear.

MC: Horse? No, it has a sharp horn on its forehead...

MC: It's a Unicorn!

A mirror-like lake, thorny roads, and unicorns in the forest. Behind it, among the dense trees, a dark shadow could be vaguely glimpsed.

Xu Mo: According to legend, the unicorn lives in the forest. It is a noble and beautiful creature. Few people have seen it.

MC: So it appears in the picture, representing the depths in the forest...

Xu Mo smiled and acquiesced to what I said.

MC: I heard that the horns of unicorns have unique healing powers.

Xu Mo: Yes. So despite the fear of its power, there are countless hunters who dream of falling into their trap one day.

I picked up the pen and added a bright moon to the upper left corner.

The bright moonlight leaked from the branches, casting a dim and soft amount of light, illuminating the road in front of the unicorn.

MC: It won't feel lonely now!

With the moon as its company, even if it is faced with greedy hunters and unknown road ahead, it will not be so scared.

Xu Mo turned his head and stared at me. There seemed to be a sea of clouds rolling in his eyes. In an instant, the clouds dispersed, revealing a light.

Xu Mo: Hm, not lonely anymore.

I blushed a little by his burning eyes, so I hurriedly shifted my sights.

MC: Leー let's color it!

Xu Mo on the side laughed lightly.

Xu Mo: Then I'll trouble Miss MC.

MC: Huh? Don't you paint?

I have been painting just now, but someone does not look at the painting, but instead looks elsewhere.

MC: I....

Xu Mo: Now it's my turn.

MC: You...

Xu Mo squinted his eyes slightly, with a smile on the corners of his lips.

MC: Alright..

I confessed my fate and compromised, after all, I was "losing''

For the rest of the time, I am seriously coloring the painting. It's just that whenever I bring up a color and want Xu Mo to give some advice, he will nod and say that's it.

Am I a painting genius?

I quietly dropped the color of my own on the paper, putting aside all worries, as if all the rhythm would slow down with the pen tip.

MC: It's done!!!

Xu Mo: Be carefulー

I was happy for only two seconds. I knocked the paint to the ground because of the excessive movement. There are yellow spots splashing on the finished painting.

MC: Why is it like this...

The bright yellow is particularly conspicuous. I felt regretful for a while, and it was already at the last moment, but because of my clumsiness, I gave up all my work.

I can't help but think of today's experience. It always seems to be a little bit short of it, and it seems that it is almost complete.

Xu Mo: MC, raise your head.

A warm chest pressed against me behind me, and a familiar breath brushed my ears.

I don't know when he have stood behind me.

He leaned down and wrapped my hand holding the brush with a warm, dry palm. The other hand went around my arm and stayed at the waist.

The breath of green grass surrounds me after the rain. Such an intimate action made my body stiff, heat climbed up to my cheeks, and my hands shook unconsciously.

Xu Mo: Don't move.

He took my hand with the brush, and dipped in yellow paint flying on the paper.

The yellow dots that were an eyesore just now have turned into warm fireflies surrounding the unicorn under our pen.

Xu Mo: No matter what the outside world is, hope it will be guided by fireflies.

PART 4

The store manager was amazed after seeing our painting, and hoped to keep it, like the paintings we saw on the wall before, for more people to appreciate.

Xu Mo left the decision to me. After a fierce inner struggle, I decided to keep the painting.

MC: We will come again next time for a better picture!

Xu Mo: Alright.

Xu Mo's tone and smile were very soft. Affected by him, the corners of my mouth curled up unconsciously.

Just as we were about to leave, we saw the clerk taking care of the oil painting.

MC: Speaking of which, the light here is so dark, it is also to better preserve the oil paintings.

Xu Mo: Well, long-term exposure to direct sunlight will cause oil painting to fade.

Xu Mo's voice suddenly lowered, and his tone became colder.

Xu Mo: Beautiful things are very fragile, so be protect carefully.

Looking at the picture of a street scene in Paris, I couldn't help but ask.

MC: You said, how long has Notre Dame de Paris existed?

Xu Mo did not answer immediately, but just looked at me and waited for me to continue.

MC: For such a long time, it has been silently guarding Paris and watching all the living beings.

MC: Remember the story told by the hero in the movie we watched together?

MC: The German soldier holding the detonator admired the beauty of Notre Dame de Paris, which prevented him from pressing the button...

MC: Beautiful things are not just objects to be protected, they also have the power to influence others.

I raised my head and looked directly at Xu Mo's eyes. The atmosphere that was light and pleasant just now suddenly became tense.

I can't even tell myself why I should be so serious on this question. I just vaguely feel that his answer is very important to us.

MC: Just like these paintings in the oil painting gallery, although they are not made by masters, they have a unique charm because of the touching stories behind them.

MC: Although Paris is beautiful, people who love each other are what makes it more beautiful.

Xu Mo stared at me quietly, without speaking, but the temperature in his pupils gradually became infected.

After a while, he raised his hand and pinned my scattered hair behind his ears. Then said in a soft toneー

Xu Mo: What's beautiful is, that reflects the world...your eyes

Leaving the oil painting studio, we returned to the noisy street. The dazzling sunlight made me squint, but in just a few hours, it felt like a world away.

Xu Mo couldn't help but pick up my hanging hand. He didn't use any force, but he couldn't resist it.

Xu Mo: This time, don't refuse me anymore.

Feeling the temperature from the palm of my hand, my heartbeat speeded up unconsciously, and the redness quickly stained my cheeks.

Whether it’s shy or sweaty palms, even though it’s always a little short of perfection, as long as I hold this person’s hand, I have the courage to face everything.

Just like a jigsaw puzzle, we will fill in those vacancies little by little.

MC: Xu Moー

I took out a glass bottle with a puzzle in it.

MC: Sorry I lied.

MC: In fact, after talking with you on the phone, I found the puzzle. But because I wanted to meet you, I didn't tell you...

After hearing what I said, a hint of surprise flashed on Xu Mo's face, but it was quickly replaced by a clear smile.

Xu Mo: It seems that I was too careless and trusted a little liar.

MC: This is a gift from Lisianthus! Of course, you can also regard it as my apologetic

Xu Mo took the glass bottle in my hand, with a smile in his mouth and eyes. (CG Karma also included)

He raised the vial to his eyes. The glass bottle in the sun showed a colorful light, and a yellow gleam was reflected in his eyes.

Xu Mo's pupils widened in an instant.

MC: It's Firefly.

MC: When I saw this puzzle in the store before, I thought it was very similar to the jungle we had visited before, so I bought it...

Xu Mo's eyes were overflowing with tenderness, and the smile on his lips was warmer than the spring sun.

Xu Mo: Very beautiful.

Maybe the light at that time was very soft, maybe the breeze raised his broken hair and rippled in my heart for a month.

I uttered the words that were hidden in my heart

MC: The oil painting may fade, but memory will not.

MC: I would like to put together a jigsaw puzzle, turning our memories into color.

I looked at Xu Mo and said firmly.

MC: No matter how far you go, Firefly will guide you.

Suddenly, everything was silent, and we all reflected each other in our eyes.

Then, I remembered something.

MC: Ah! I forgot to write on our painting just now

Xu Mo raised his eyebrows, and then chuckled out as if not holding back.

He came closer and scratched my nose with his fingers.

Xu Mo: You.

Xu Mo: Do you have anything to write?

MC: No, it’s just that it’s more like ceremony. After all, it’s a work we finished together

MC: Moreover, I am also very curious about what you will write on the painting.

Under the dazzling sunlight, Xu Mo smiled softly.

It was a smile he had never shown before. A bit childish, but unstoppable determination

He held the glass bottle in his hand tightly.

Secretly rejoicing that earlier today, looking at the sunlight outside the window, thinking of the girl who couldn't let go, he finally made the decision to go to the appointment as scheduled.

Is it more painful for those who wait, or is it more painful for those who make people wait?

Fortunately, it did not live up to this rare good weather.

Xu Mo grabbed the document bag in his hand. Let her see these next time.

Xu Mo: I can tell you now.

He looked deeply at the girl before him.

It is like turning her appearance together with this intoxicating spring scene into a beautiful fixation of time and space, a moving stop, imprinting in my heart forever.

Xu Mo: "I want from all the times, from all the nights."

Xu Mo: "Retake you from all the golden banners, from all the swordsー"

Xu Mo: "You have to hold your breath."

-END-

#mlqc spoilers #mlqc translation #mr love spoilers #mr love translation #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #mr love lucien #mr love xu mo #mr love date #mldd date #mldd lucien #mldd translation

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leah-jeffries · 4 years

Photo

I recently did a "make your own squishy" program at the library and it was a huge hit. At first all the kids were just like o.o but then they let their creativity and inspiration flow and came up with some awesome squishy designs (my favorite was a nintendo switch). This program is actually pretty simple and cheap! Materials: Acrylic Paints Paintbrushes Water Cups Paint Palettes Pens Memory Foam (I used Morning Glory 22 x 22 x 2 from Walmart and it was around $8) Scissors Length of time: 1 hour

Steps: I did my program for 16 participants (grades 3-6), so I cut up my big block of foam into 5x5x2 squares. This was perfect and left me a little bit to make some samples out of.

Everyone got their foam pieces and could make whatever they want (or multiples). It was good to have different size examples because it really got them thinking about what they could build. Some of the kids went for the easy triangle-shaped things (pizza, watermelon slices), others made cupcakes, pokeballs, etc.

The pens were to help draw what they wanted to create and figure out the best way to cut into their foam. Since it was so thick and they were using child scissors, they had to get the hang of cutting small bits (even adult scissors didn't cut through the thick piece of foam in one easy cut). Some of them also just cut a bit and ripped, but that was a little risky.

Once they had their pieces cut, we smoothed them out as best as possible by trimming. Then we figured out what colors we wanted to paint! I like the acrylic paint because it took to the foam well. You can't use markers because they just bleed and get all over everything. The acrylic paint dried pretty quickly too, depending on how much was used. They also had a lot of extra foam pieces which they were happy to take home to make more creations. TAKEAWAYS: When I do this program again, I'm definitely going to do less kids at one time. It was just a little chaotic because everyone was on different steps and needed different help, but if you have helpers it would probably be okay or if it was geared more towards just teens.

#library programs #library #libraries #library program #diy #diy projects #programs #kristen #make your own squishy #crafts #library crafts

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animeniacss · 4 years

Text

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyng x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.6k words

Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches

“Hyung?”

“And he just asks her out, practically in front of the whole class! That was so inappropriate, don’t you think, Jungkook?”

“Uh-huh…” The poor boy had been sitting on Taehyung’s couch for about an hour. He arrived as soon as Taehyung got off of work that day, excited for his first meeting with his new mentor. He wasn’t sure what he was going to expect, but he did not expect it to be this. Jungkook held a manila folder in his grasp, lips pursed together as he watched the black-haired teacher storm back and forth before him.

“I knew it. God, maybe I should call his boss about how inappropriate he was, maybe that’ll teach them.”

“Didn’t she say not to get involved in her business? You think that will solve it?”

“How will she know it was me who called? I won’t give them my name.” Taehyung seemed a little too proud of his logic, putting his hands on his hips. Jungkook blinked, staring up at his Hyung, confusion etched all over his features. “…What?”

“Hyung…you’re the only one who seems bothered about this. Why would Mr. Kim call his boss on himself, and why wouldn’t she do it if she’s upset that it happened? Why would she have even said yes if she didn’t want to go? Her friend, Hoseok-Hyung doesn’t seem to be this passionate about it.” Taehyung crossed his arms, brows furrowed together in annoyance.

“Yes, he is. I saw it in his eyes, he’s just too nice to say anything.”

“Uh…uh-huh.” Jungkook leaned back on the couch. “Wasn’t she mean to you just a few weeks ago? Why do you suddenly care?”

“Well yeah, but…well, we’re not fighting anymore. At least I don’t think…” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, and Jungkook felt his shoulders slump when Taehyung continued his frantic pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “Besides, whether she hated me or not, Namjoon is creepy. I’m just trying to protect her.”

“…Mr. Kim is my boss.” Jungkook hummed. Taehyung groaned.

“So, you’re biased.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Jungkook said. “Mr. Kim is really nice and probably too awkward for his good. He has a good son and is a good father. He has a good job and is well respected. I think you should just let her go on the dates and figure it out for herself.” Jungkook watched Taehyung cross his arms and hum. “…Unless you-.”

“What? Unless I what, Jungkook?” Taehyung asked, eyes darting in the younger boy’s direction. When he saw the boy jump just slightly, he blinked. “…Sorry.” A playful smirk formed across the younger boy’s face, and that made Taehyung feel a world of uneasy. Why was he smirking?

“Nothing. Now-.” Taehyung saw Jungkook push a manila envelope in his direction. “Will you finally look at my work?” Taehyung sighed, nodding as he took the folder from him. Taehyung plopped on the couch beside him, and Jungkook shimmed over just slightly to offer him some room.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, you’re right. I appreciate you letting me vent about your boss for an hour.” He hummed, and Jungkook only chuckled a bit. “Let’s see what we got here…” When Taehyung flipped open the manila envelope, he was expecting some decent, yet still pretty amateur works. He was expecting colors to be mixed adequately, maybe some smudging or poor color choices. Something he could work on. Just ….

…something…

When Taehyung opened the folder and looked at the first picture inside, it felt as if Taehyung had been transported to a beautiful serene lake in the middle of spring, somewhere secluded, like the countryside or a foreign land. The colors were muted, but still noticeable. The peaks of the mountains in the distance were beautifully pointy, not a drop of paint was out of place. The lake was so crystal clear, Taehyung had to double-take that he didn’t see his reflection. This painting was…stunning.

Taehyung lifted his head, expression still of shock and confusion, as he stared at the kid before him. Jungkook blinked, seemingly nervous – why the fuck was he nervous – about what Taehyung had to say. Taehyung sighed, flipping to the second picture in his portfolio. This one looked as if it has been drawn with only colored pens, but it was once again a vision. A shadowy man stared back at him, only a few features heavily decorated with color to bring out his eyes, nose contour, or the scar the dragged red pen eerily down his left eye. Taehyung had to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

“What do you think?” he heard Jungkook asked. Taehyung looked in his direction.

“What do I think? I think you’re fucking with me.” Taehyung handed Jungkook back the folder. Almost immediately, he took it, the younger-looking confused, more so than he had all evening. “You think I’m a joke or something?”

“What? N-no, of course not!” He gasped.

“Your art is leagues better than mine and you want me to mentor you? I don’t buy it.” Jungkook flipped open the folder once again, and Taehyung heard a frantic whimper emit from the boy’s mouth. Finally, he held up the mountain painting again.

“Like I said at the art festival, Hyung. I just paint it. You paint.”

“I still have no fucking idea what that means.” Taehyung huffed.

“Everything I’ve ever seen you do, from your big canvases to your tiny sketches, you do with passion. I don’t…I don’t have that. I just paint, I just put things together. It looks nice, I guess, but if someone looked at this, what would they think? ‘It’s pretty?’, ‘He’s talented?’ I got into your artwork because it tells a story, that’s what inspired me to do my paintings. But when I did….” Taehyung watched Jungkook plopped the picture down onto the folder again. “I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel pride or passion, and that’ll convey in my work. You say so yourself all over social media that your emotions tell a story.”

“…I do, don’t I?” Taehyung leaned back in his seat and groaned. “So, you…want me to teach you how to be passionate?”

“Mhm.” Jungkook nodded, as eager as ever. Taehyung had to admit, Jungkook was too hard to resist with that little doe-eyed stare. He couldn’t believe this was happening, he had no idea how to teach someone how to find their passion, he just had no idea!

“Okay, I guess I don’t have much else to lose.” He huffed. He could see Jungkook beam a little smile in excitement. “I have no idea when I’m going to be free, though. Maybe weekends?”

“Sure. I usually know far in advance when Mr. Kim needs me to babysit Kai, so I can work around that.” Taehyung nodded. “I look forward to working with you.” He said happily. Taehyung couldn’t help but smile a bit at his little friend.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jungkook watched Taehyung get off the couch and make his way towards the kitchen. “Let me grab us something to drink.” He hummed, before disappearing behind the entranceway. Jungkook scanned the room, the sound of distant water running on the sink the only real noise he could hear. Jungkook stood up, walking towards the walls that were decorated with all of Taehyung’s finished canvases. They added so much clutter to the room, yet so much color and personality. Jungkook couldn’t help but admire each one that his eyes fell upon.

“He is something, isn’t he?” Jungkook mumbled to himself. As his eyes continued to scan, they landed on his desk, as dirty as ever. Multiple paintbrushes poked out from a white mug, which held down a stack of scattered papers. “Wow…” Jungkook walked over, sticking his hands in his pockets as he leaned in to get a closer look. When he did, he noticed a smaller piece of paper resting on the top of his most current stack of progress. When he got a closer look, he noticed a familiar face doodled on one of the pictures. He noticed two space buns, wrapped in uncolored ribbon. He noticed a smile spreading ear to ear and eyes dotted with excitement and wonder.

He noticed you, and quite frankly, he didn’t expect to.

“Aw…” He pursed his lips. Just as he lifted his hand to pick up the paper, he heard a voice.

“Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?” When Jungkook looked up, he saw Taehyung walking in his direction, two cups of water in his hands. Jungkook could see he wasn’t pleased with how he caught Jungkook.

“Sorry, I just got distracted looking around,” Jungkook muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Taehyung sighed, simply passing Jungkook the cup, which he took quickly. “…I saw your drawing of-.”

“Why are you snooping?” Taehyung asked again.

Jungkook avoided the question with a smile. “It looks nice. Just like her too. Is it a present for her?”

“What? No way.” An annoyed Taehyung lifted the cup of water to his mouth, sipping the contents down eagerly. Jungkook pursed his lips. “It’s just something I made.”

“I think she would like it.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She would probably think I was weird.”

“Why would she?” Jungkook paused after his initial question. Then, a grin formed on his face, one Taehyung was starting to realize he wasn’t too big of a fan of the more he saw it.

“You’re making that face again.” Taehyung hissed, eyes narrowing.

“I knew it. You like her, don’t you?” He asked. Taehyung, at that moment, wanted to die. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away from the rest of the world. He never wanted to come back out into the world. Just as Jungkook said that another deep voice hit the back of his mind like a vicious drum.

Do you have a crush on her or something?

“Like her? Jungkook, come on? I know I didn’t know you a few months ago, but she wasn’t the nicest to me for the longest time.”

“And you return the favor of constant verbal abuse through drawing a stunning picture that identifies all of her best features?” Jungkook snorted. “You don’t hold a grudge long, do you?”

As Jungkook finally took a sip of his drink, Taehyung felt his eyebrow twitch. “You damn brat.”

“I’m just saying. If you like her, it’s very obvious.”

“I don’t like her. Not in the way you think, anyway. Stop minding other people’s business, and that’s the last time I’m going to tell you.” Jungkook’s devilish smile diminished into a pout, and he nodded.

“Right…sorry, Hyung.” He said. Taehyung sighed, trying to hide his blush behind the glass cup he pressed between his lips. It didn’t work.

“It’s fine, just forget it.” He huffed. “So, do you plan to stay for dinner? Because I’m ordering pizza.”

“Oh no. My mom wants me home tonight. I’m behind on my homework and she doesn’t want me out of the house until it’s done.”

Taehyung blinked, raising an eyebrow. “So…how did you end up here?” Once again, that devilish grin formed on the younger boy’s face.

“I snuck out.” He said. Taehyung stood up, slapping the boy on the shoulder as he began to laugh. “I know, I know. I don’t do it often, but I wanted to come and see you as soon as I could to make sure you’d take me on.”

“I’m not taking you on anything until you catch up on your studies, you little punk!” Taehyung snapped, nudging Jungkook once again as he grinned. “Get home and catch up on your studies, they’re important, you know.”

“I know, I know. Okay, I’m going.” Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh as he was shoved towards the door by Taehyung. “Bye, Hyung.” He grinned.

“Yeah, get home safe,” Taehyung said, waving the boy off as he headed down the hallway. Taehyung closed the door, locking it before walking towards his kitchen and tossing himself into one of the chairs. Slowly, he lowered his head onto the table and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m turning into my mother…” he mumbled silently to himself, dread washing over him at the thought. As that thought came and went into his mind, yet another was sure to follow right behind it.

Jungkook was probably right, and that thought was beginning to piss him off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are you going to wear?” Hoseok asked, poking his head up from the yellow table in the room that he was currently scrubbing violently with soap and water. You glanced over at him, tugging your hair back so it did not cover your eyes.

“Wear? I have no idea.” You said simply.

“Well, where is he taking you?”

“He said to dinner. He made reservations at a nice place.”

�� “Oooh? Where?” You could hear that Hoseok sounded like he was forcing the conversation just slightly. It annoyed you whenever he would do this.

“He said it’s a surprise.” He had told you over the phone last night, but with Hoseok being this pushy, you had no intention of sharing that information with him. A childish whine emanated from his lips, but he knew you stood your ground, and thus, stopped pestering. “Why do you care anyway? You have your own life, Hobi.”

“I know, I just like being in the know about things, I guess.”

“I know. You always have.” You huffed, earning a giggle from your friend. “If you are so curious, then I’ll tell you Monday morning.”

“What?! Not even Friday night? I have to wait for the entire weekend?” The disbelief in his voice made you have to cover your mouth for a laugh, especially when he whined your name. “Oh come on, now, I don’t have to deal with children in this room for another 20 minutes, so don’t go all actor Hoseok on me.” Hoseok huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, fine, you win.” He said. You watched as he walked towards the cabinet in the far-left corner of the room, storing away the cleaning supplies for later.

“Can you do me a favor? Maybe it’ll speed time up for you.” You hummed. Hoseok turned to you as you collected a stack of hastily put together works, handing it to him. “Can you hang up these crafts? Taehyung made them earlier this week and the kids wanted them up on the bulletin board outside. I thought we could surprise them with it.”

“Sure. But only for a price.” Hoseok said. Your eyebrow cocked in confusion as to what he meant by price. “I get to take you on a date too~.” He grinned.

“A date? Hmmm…how about we do dinner, wine, and movies on Friday night soon? Like old times?” You asked. Hoseok’s lips tugged together in a tight line as he thought about it, before finally nodding.

“Deal.” You passed him the crafts, and Hoseok spun on his heel, heading out the door towards the bulletin board outside of the room. He quickly got to work making room to hang up their glued together rainbows and cotton-ball clouds, which they made in anticipation of the middle of the week thunderstorms. Hoseok began stapling projects up, humming a little tune as he worked.

He was so in his world, that he began thinking about Friday. He did have a plan, he normally did if they were not with you, but that wasn’t the point. You never knew how much your date nights killed him on the inside, how much more alone he felt, knowing you were with another guy, laughing and smiling arm and arm. It killed him just to think about, which is why he busied his schedules those nights as much as he could. Your nights with him were fun, and meant the world to him, but were few and far between due to your heavy workloads. Anytime you spent together outside of the building was usually to plan lessons, create manipulatives and handouts, or plan exciting events. Anytime with you with good for him, though, he had no room to complain when you were by his side.

Hoseok was so in his world, that he didn’t hear the sound of a deep voice approaching until the word “HYUNG?!” right in his ear made him jump six feet in the air. When he looked over his shoulder, Taehyung was standing there, a concerned look on his face. “You okay? You were spacing out.”

“Oh yeah, just in my world.” Hoseok chuckled a bit. “Did you need something?”

“What are you doing Friday night?” Taehyung asked curiously. Hoseok blinked.

Is this kid reading my mind?

“Oh uh, well I have dinner plans with my older sister,” Hoseok said. He saw Taehyung’s shoulders slump. “Sorry, why? Something up?”

“No. I just wanted to make plans with someone.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. Next time, okay?” Hoseok grinned, turning to pat Taehyung on the shoulder. Taehyung nodded. “Good, I’ll clear my schedule.” Hoseok immediately turned back to the bulletin board. “They look cute hung up, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah.” Taehyung scanned the entire bulletin board as it began to get filled up with colorful rainbows and puffy clouds. “It looks really cute. I’m glad she agreed to hang them up over here.” Hoseok nodded in agreement. Then, he watched Taehyung squeeze by him, making his way into your classroom.

You were busy cleaning up the final parts of the room when Taehyung walked in. You smiled, tucking hair behind your ear. “Morning.” You said happily.

“Hey.” Taehyung hummed, smiling a bit. “I uh…just wanted to apologize about getting in your business yesterday. Not sure what’s come over me, heh…” You chuckled.

“It’s whatever. I appreciate the apology though, and I’m sure your intentions are only good.” Taehyung nodded, and you chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Just…mind your business, okay?” You teased, and Taehyung had to chuckle. There was a moment of silence that fell over you two until you clapped your hands against your dress. “Okay! Well, I need to finish setting up, so-.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I’ll go.” Taehyung nodded, waving his hand before leaving you alone in the room. When he stepped out, he waved to Hoseok before heading into his room and closing the door behind him. When he was alone in his room, he let out a soft sigh.

He wasn’t sorry about getting into her business, but he would be damned if he let their relationship sour once again because of his idiocy.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung sat lazily on his couch, his limbs sprawled out as far as they would allow, one draped over the back of the couch while the other rested down the side and onto the floor. His feet were propped up on the other end, swaying back and forth as if they had a mind of their own. Taehyung knew tonight was the night Namjoon had finally succeeded in landed a date with you, and ever since he knew about it, he was dreading the day. The day finally arrived, and all he felt was an immense sense of jealousy and annoyance. He didn’t care about Namjoon, no matter what Jimin said about him or how kind and well-raised his son seemed to be. He was pushy and clingy and it wasn’t cute, at least not to him. But you didn’t seem to want to hear it, brushing off Taehyung’s concerns as nothing but a fit of ridiculous jealousy. That’s what all his friends said it was, but it still hurt! The lonely single held a beer tightly in his hand that rested on the floor, only raising it to bring the opening of the can to his lips and take a sip. Everyone was busy tonight, everyone except for Taehyung. He didn’t even have the inspiration to throw himself into his work, his works in progress remaining in progress, and most likely will for the rest of the night.

I should probably do something to get my mind off of it. He thought to himself. Groaning, Taehyung ripped himself off of the couch, running his hand through his hair as he walked to his desk. He plopped himself down on the chair and scanned the piles of various doodles. His hand landed on top of them gently, spreading them out so that he could get a better view. As he scanned his work, the multiple doodles he had done of you over the past few weeks had felt as if he was staring back. They were nothing amazing, nothing groundbreaking, but every time he saw them, he felt a bit happier. As he rested back in his seat, he heard a faint vibrating noise coming from his coffee table. Spinning around, he saw his phone, glowing and shaking as it desperately called for Taehyung to come to pick it up. He was quick to oblige, leaning forward and grabbing ahold of his phone. As he did, a familiar face showed up on the caller ID. Hoseok-Hyung, squished between two sun emojis, flashed on top of a picture of Hoseok and Taehyung that Jimin had taken at the art show. Hoseok and Taehyung had found some paper mâché masks at one of the vendor spots and had put them on with childlike excitement. Taehyung quickly answered the call.

“Hello?” He hummed.

“Want to go get dinner?” Hoseok’s voice hummed on the other end.

“Dinner? I thought you had plans tonight with your sister.”

“I did. She had to reschedule last minute. She was called into work to fix something with her fashion line.” Hoseok explained. “She already made the reservation for two at a restaurant near me, so she said I could still use it. So, I thought I would invite you. I don’t want to eat alone, hehe.”

“Uhm….” Taehyung looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already close to 9 p.m. It was just now that Taehyung realized he was starving. Alcohol didn’t seem to count as dinner for him, did it? “Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah! I’ll send the address and wait outside for you. See you soon~.”

“Bye, Hyung,” Taehyung said before he heard his friend hang up. Taehyung spun back around to his sea of pictures and pencil stacks just staring at him in the face. He wasn’t sure how long he had done that, but he felt his stomach grumble again, and he finally got up and went into his room to make himself look somewhat presentable.

Hopefully, this would be enough to take his mind off of everything else.

--------------------------

“Taehyung! Over here!” Hoseok shouted, his high-pitched voice piercing through the crowd of people lingering in and around the restaurant’s entrance. Taehyung fixed his jacket just slightly as he approached his friend.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said. “The train was a few minutes behind schedule.” Hoseok shrugged.

“Not a problem. Hope you’re hungry.” With a friendly, yet firm pat on the shoulder, Taehyung was led into the restaurant with his Hyung. The restaurant was stunning, brightly lit by tons of massive chandeliers that covered the entirety of the tall ceilings. Archways led guests into different areas of the establishment, each one even more than the last. As Taehyung looked around, he saw beautiful women adorning stunning dresses and jewels, while the men wore freshly pressed suits and shoes. Taehyung felt as if he was back at Mr. Oh’s art show, just by looking at the people there. This was most likely where people like that got together, and honestly, it was extremely intimidating. He watched as Hoseok followed the hostess, both of them chatting. Taehyung kept his hands in his pockets as he followed silently, his teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip a bit.

“Here you are.” The hostess said, motioning to their elegant booth. Taehyung and Hoseok thanked the man before they slid into the booth. Taehyung continued to look around, and Hoseok smiled.

“You look overwhelmed.” He said.

“I didn’t think we’d be going somewhere this elaborate. How can you afford this on your teacher’s salary?”

“My sister made the reservation, I said. She’s made a pretty big name for herself on Instagram with her fashion line.”

“Oh wow,” Taehyung said. “I never knew that.”

“She doesn’t like me talking about it too much,” Hoseok admitted.

“I feel like you’re trying to ask me out with this.” Taehyung joked, and Hoseok laughed.

“Noooooo.” Hoseok hummed. “I didn’t offer to pay for your half after all.” When he saw Taehyung’s eyes go extremely wide, he began to laugh. “I’m kidding.”

“Thank God. I doubt I could’ve ever afforded anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in my life.” Hoseok chuckled as the waiter approached once again, filling both of their glasses with some sparkling water before offering them menus. He greeted himself, shared off the specials, and then left them alone to make their decisions for a few moments. Taehyung skimmed the page of options with wide eyes, unsure what he should pick. There weren’t many options, but everyone left his mouth-watering from the description below. By the time he finally made a decision and set his menu down, Hoseok had already leaned back in his seat, fiddling with his glass of water.

“Know what you want?” He asked curiously. Taehyung nodded. “Awesome.” He grinned. The waiter approached their table a few moments later, a smile on his face as Hoseok and Taehyung prepared to share their orders. As Hoseok was sharing him, Taehyung looked around, still wanting to take in the breathtaking scenery before him. It felt as if he had stepped into a painting, and he couldn’t stop staring. He wasn’t staring at anything specific, just staring. However, as his eyes scanned the massive archway leading into their section of the restaurant, he caught a familiar sight. Behind the same hostess that had seated them, the six-foot-tall Kim Namjoon was strolling in. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing yet another pressed suit, much like all of the other men in the room, however, he was all black. The undershirt, the tuxedo jacket, even the tie. It was all black. Taehyung had to admit, even if it was only to himself, he looked pretty dashing. Kim Taehyung felt his ears boil a stinging red at the sight of the smug bastard, wanting to peel his eyes away the moment he laid his eyes on him.

However, as soon as he saw the lady on Kim Namjoon’s arm, his eyes refused to pull away even for a mere second to blink.

You were strolling beside Kim Namjoon, wearing a stunning white party dress. It fell to your knees, where it flared out into beautifully laid creases and folds. The top of the dress exposed the lovely necklace adorning your neck, as the dress’s sleeves were off the shoulder, wrapping around your arms. Your hair was out of its usual school bun or ponytail. It was the first time he had to seem your full head of hair, how lovely it flowed down your back, and framed your face. He could see traces of light makeup on your face, which was pretty good since he was looking from a distance. As he took one final look over you, he saw your feet adorning white heels. That final look was enough to catch his entire breath in his throat.

You were an absolute vision, and he would be lying if he knew he wanted so badly to be the man on your arm.

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phantombmoll · 4 years

Text

So let’s talk about Harvey’s Apartment....

(I’m going to add screenshots from this site https://tv.homeofthenutty.com/index.php?cat=118 I was trying to take my own but Netflix won’t let me and I no longer have either my own screenshots or the episodes downloaded)

and what it says about him and his fortunes.

Harvey’s apartment in Season 2 - which we see in Into The Woods and Pinewood is actually pretty nice. It seems to be in a nice apartment building too, not to shabby.

Here’s a general screenshot. I don’t really have the ability/time to do all the zooming in/cropping/pointing out/sharpening and everything anymore (apologies) - still here’s a screenshot for clarity.

From his apartment in season 2 we can ascertain a bunch of stuff about Harvey;

He likes fishing, in fact he seems to love fishing and in the same episode he references fishing, well a fish, but a specific species of fish. Harvey has fish all over his apartment. He has drawings of them, models, paintings, he has ships in bottles and paintings of ships. He has fishing magazines too on that cabinet where his tv is (it’s visible in another shot).

Harvey likes the sea - again there is a lot of boat imagery, some pictures, post cards and some others bits and pieces.

Harvey likes ducks - listen Harvey has a bunch of wooden ducks around his apartment and he actually had one on his desk for a while. (There’s a shot in one episode of Harvey and Jim’s desks from overhead, it’ll be season one or two, and Harvey’s desk is cluttered but not dirty and he has a duck on there.)

Harvey is a reader. Harvey has a TONNE of books in his apartment, given how little space there is and how much is devoted to books is pretty damn cute. Harvey has a bunch of books on shelves but the ones I can make out on the shelf behind Jim when Barbara comes around at the start of Pinewood are - A book either written by or about Elenore Roosevelt - Crime and Punishment - Kill Me If You Can - James Patterson - RESULTS - This looks like some sort of self help book maybe? - There’s also a lot of second hand, old looking books which I’m guessing include some classics. - There is also a LOT of other reading material - case files, news papers, magazines, letters.

Below is the screenshot I’m talking about with the books on there. I wish I could zoom and sharpen to see what other books are on there but hey ho. Also look at that a ship in a bottle!

Harvey likes his music. He has a bunch of records and even has some on display on his cabinet. He also has an actual record player. - You can see those in the first picture.

Harvey’s actually a pretty clean guy, his apartment is tidy, save for the case files and stuff stuck all over the window, and the beer bottles, and the takeout left on the side. I think that has something to do with Jim being there too though because I think Harvey - when he’s all good and things are going well - is the kind of guy that has clutter but his apartment isn’t dirty if that makes sense. - evidence of this might be in his kitchen which is really tidy.

Harvey seems to be really thrifty - a lot of his furniture and the decor seem to be really old and a bit mismatched - like maybe he picked them up in a charity shop - this is a theme that carries on into his second apartment too.

Harvey’s sentimental - he has post cards from somewhere on his memory board in the corner (that we see behind Barbara), he also seems to have a bunch of knick knacks that were passed down to him. The jugs on the top of the cabinet are ornamental and he takes them to his new apartment so clearly they mean something. There are also pictures that move to his new apartment and other trinkets.

Now season four is the next time we see Harvey’s apartment and he’s moved. At some point - I’m guessing after he left the GCPD - he could no longer afford his old apartment and so he’s ended up down-sizing.

As you can see in the above screenshots from season four Harvey’s fortunes have clearly taken a downward turn - as we could argue has his mental health.

Where before his apartment sung Harvey Bullock - was chock full of personality and just so Harvey - this new one seems a little void of that - like he’s mostly just ‘existing’ there. Sure there are things there that make it Harvey’s - there’s still fish references (though they’re few), there are books on the cabinet in the foreground and the one with the lamp on in the background, his jugs are there and I think a few ducks but gone are the neon signs. Gone are the records proudly on display. Things seem squirrelled away now which to me suggests that maybe his new neighbourhood isn’t the best.

Harvey’s old apartment was pretty tidy too - with the exception of the evidence that him and Jim had been up drinking and talking about the case - this new one isn’t. Harvey’s clearly going through it - his shirts are simply tossed on the floor. There’s a pile near the tv and some at the back. Like he just doesn’t care and he doesn’t have visitors which makes him care less.

In his old apartment there were beer bottles and a few takeout containers - which again could have been from the previous evening or even from Jim - but they were few. In this new one used cups litter the place, the kitchen is a goddamn mess and all that suggests Harvey isn’t taking proper care of himself.

What’s also kind of depressing is behind Harvey, behind the sofa is his bed. It’s got to be a single or at most maybe a twin. (I don’t have that screenshot). It’s barely got any covers on it either. Now I know we never saw Harvey’s bedroom before but here’s the thing - that’s because it was in a separate room AND he had a separate bathroom too.

So Harvey in season four has gone from a well lit, well decorated, roomy, one bedroom apartment to a single room apartment with I’m guessing what is a bathroom at the back (there’s a door off the kitchen). He’s gone from being a, somewhat, tidy taking care of himself guy to an untidy, unkempt, version of himself.

Where magazines - probably about fishing and maybe a private eye one (given the three displayed in season 2) - once littered his table, now bills do. (There are letters piled on a table just behind Jim in that final screen shot. One of them clearly with a red stamp on which I’m guessing is for either final bill or something overdue. - Nice to see that it looks like he has some personal letters there as well though - which is adorable. I wonder if he writes them on the typewriter he had in the screenshots from season 2).

Oh and one last thing - I’m wondering if Harvey is a bit of an artist, or has a bit of the artistic about him. I say this because the book case at the back (in the kitchen with the lamp on) from season four has a pot full of what looks like pens and maybe some paintbrushes - the same pot is also on his cabinet in his season two apartment.

#harvey bullock #gotham #meta is this meta #I think so #maybe #anyway here is the apartment post I promised #now I promise I'll give it about ten days before I make my next big Harvey post #and I promise the next one won't be as long #look I just love him okay #and seeing him go from that first apartment to this is heartbreaking #especially given his heart of absolute solid gold

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