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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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Scandal

Dedicated to: my mali smišni @meowyoi mwah mwah happy late Valentine's Day, king <3

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Ship: RinneShu Word count: 1153 Summary: They should have been keeping their dating a secret, but Rinne just can't help himself sometimes. Notes: minimally proofread, minimal plot, but they do make out

It's hard to really say what went through Rinne's head when he did what he did. Whether he did it on impulse, or because he just wanted to stir the pot. Were you to ask him, he would tell you that none of it was even his fault, of course, but that they should have known not to interview him on live television. Who "they" is, would be left unsaid. The truth was that he thought only for a moment before getting distracted.

Because Shu was working overtime trying to make everyone believe that he hated Rinne. That he hated Crazy:B, and that he especially despised Rinne Amagi. None of this was hard to believe, as Shu's particularities were well-known, and the idea of him holding no affection for such troublemakers was hardly an impossible concept. Except - it was untrue. And Shu was well aware of the fact that he didn't hate Rinne, but that's how he wanted it to seem. However, he went too far in this attempt, and now the public was convinced that Shu and Rinne had something going on between them.

Not like they were wrong. That's what Rinne was thinking about when the interviewer asked him what the deal was with him and Itsuki. He was thinking about that something that was going on between them. Trying his best to remember that warning Shu had tried to emphasise so many times, but coming up short.

Because all he could remember was Shu's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Until he had to lean his knee on the sofa cushion, right by Shu's side, leaning in as much as Shu pulled him. Their lips meeting, engulfing one another, until he couldn't even think of anything except his make out partner. Rinne's hands wrapped around that annoyingly skinny waist, pinching until his companion all but squeaked. He couldn't help but smile into the kiss, biting Shu's lip just to provoke him further. Just to tease. Only to be met with Shu's fingers giving his hair a quick tug, and feeling the tables turn on him alongside the tongue that caressed his lower lip, begging to join his own. And Rinne allowed it, of course he did. He had no choice, he preferred to believe, but to kiss back with as much fervour, to let Shu's hands pull him in, as if trapping him in the kiss. It took all their strength to pull away as they ran out of air. Rinne leaned his forehead on Shu's, keeping eye contact as if hypnotised by the sight of him. Out of breath, face flushed, spit in the corner of his mouth. Shu looked like a miracle, but Rinne was certain he looked no better; he could feel his heart pounding in his throat, moments away from bursting out.

"You… Nobody can know of this," Shu warned, his hands trailing down, from Rinne's hair to his shoulders, lingering over his arms. "You mustn't tell anyone about this." "Yeah, sure, babe." Rinne wrapped his arms around his waist fully, continuing to pepper kisses all over his face, from the corners of his lips to his nose, cheeks, forehead. "I'm serious," Shu protested, though he made no attempt to push him away. "And I'm taking you seriously." The kisses never stopped. And the moment his lungs felt full again, Rinne leaned in for another round. Shu did little to fight it.

But he didn't take him as seriously as he ought to have. What's the deal with you and Valkyrie's Itsuki Shu, the interviewer asked. Rinne was warned by Shu of what to do at that moment, when asked those questions, wasn't he? He was. But it's not his fault. "The deal?" He asked, chin leaned into his hand, ankle propped up on his knee. "Itsuki talks about Crazy:B, and you specifically, as if you did something to him personally. Is there some sort of drama going on between you?" Interviewing Rinne on live television - a mistake made by the company. Giving him instructions right before sucking on his tongue - a mistake made by Shu. "Nah, he's just a bit of a primadonna. I'm his boyfriend, there's no beef between us. Well, unless ya count the-"

He knew he screwed up. The moment that crude joke, no, the moment the word boyfriend left his mouth, he knew he screwed up. And he knew well what was waiting for him when he got back to the shared dorms.

Indeed, there was the man of the hour, Itsuki himself, sitting cross-legged on the couch as if waiting for him. The door shut closed, and Shu stood up. There was something dragon-like about his appearance, brows furrowed, that gaze full of malice. It would make Rinne meow and purr at him if he had a little less sense in him, but he knew better than to provoke in this moment. "You said we're dating on live television?!" "I know it seems bad right now, but, look, it'll be okay, we just-" "Last week I called you a degenerate parasite of the idol industry, and you let slip that we're DATING?!" "I know, I know, but it ain’t that bad! Wasn't it hard keepin' it under wraps? Now we can just date like a normal couple!" "Are you out of your mind?! We are in the middle of a scandal right now, did you even check your socials since you went and blew up our reputations?" "Oh, c'mon, it ain't the end of the world, bro, chill, we'll be fine!" A pause. "Did you just call me 'bro'?" "... I'm sorry, honeybun."

Shu sighed, rubbing his temple with his fingers, as if trying to alleviate a migraine. "Just get out of my sight." "You mad at me?" Rinne pouted "YES, I'M MAD AT YOU!" "You're not gonna break up with me, are you? Babe, I'm sorry, I'll never call you 'bro' again, I promise. Rinne-chan loves ya." He spoke in a quiet voice, trying his best to endear himself to his pissed off boyfriend. And Shu's eyebrow twitched as it, unfortunately, worked surprisingly well. "You had better fix this."

After Rinne had successfully mooched another kiss off him, one he leaned into fully despite how begrudgingly he seemed to give it, Shu left the dorms. Apparently, he had business elsewhere. Though it left Rinne pouty and in a sour mood, given he wanted to hang out more, it did give him a chance to see what Shu meant when he asked him if he'd even seen what was happening on social media.

Not like he had a chance to get far beyond unlocking his phone. With sixteen missed calls from Saegusa, and many more emails flooding his notifications, he knew that his headaches were just beginning.

But it'll be worth it when he finally gets to parade around freely with Shu on his arm.

#korka's writing #korka's fics #ensemble stars #the spam is over. sorry and thank you

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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Growing Up, directory

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Concept: an exploration of Mika's past and his growing inner psychology as presented through the celebrations of his 15th, 16th and 18th birthday (or, during his final year before Yumenosaki, first year in Yumenosaki/pre-War era, and 3rd year in Yumenosaki/!!time as calculated by the person who almost failed maths in years 11 and 12) Total word count: 5955

Warnings: implied child neglect, exploitation of child labour, restricted eating and not eating at all, canon-compliant cruel pre-War era Shu, angst-focused look at Mika's past

AO3 link (tumblr links below the cut)

Notes and ramblings: I wanted to, for Mika's birthday, write about his past. I talk a lot about the fact that he seems to have been parentified, and it's just intriguing to me - his life before Yumenosaki. We only know that he grew up in a home and that he was "in charge of" taking care of the younger kids, to the point that he'd have felt guilty if he were adopted himself (even though it seems like a part of him still craved acceptance and a family). I just wanted to expand on that <3 And so, this three-parter was born.

"An exploration of Mika's past and his growing inner psychology as presented through the celebrations of his 15th, 16th and 18th birthday", or, in other words, a fic that is supposed to expand on what little we know of Mika's past. That is supposed to showcase more of Mika's psychology, of the various mindsets he has internalised and others he adopted as a way of coping, and further how his mind and psychological state evolved and grew, dare I say, kinda sorta a-little-bit healed with time, in the simplest way:

Part 1 - Forgotten: His 15th birthday, which he himself had forgotten because he was too caught up in work, his mind always preoccupied with the other kids' living conditions to even remember his own birthday. Despite that, the kids love him as a brother, and wanted to show him their appreciation.

Part 2 - Discarded: His 16th birthday, after he was accepted into Yumenosaki and Valkyrie. Although he remembers his birthday this time, he fruitlessly hoped Shu and Nazuna would celebrate it with him. When that falls apart, he hopes Shu merely forgot, wanting to give him the benefit of doubt, wanting to believe Shu would have celebrated with him if he knew - only for Shu to tell him that there are simply more important things to care about than birthdays.

Part 3 - Celebrated: His 18th birthday, celebrated properly, and all that led up to Mika allowing himself be celebrated. The culmination of his personal growth, his coming out of his shell and making honest connections with others.

#korka's fics #korka's writing #ensemble stars

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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SHU REQUEST HO!! ily korka i will wait as long as this takes you needn't fret at all <3

Could you write Shu making an outfit for his partner? Maybe there's some miscommunication because Shu wants it to be a surprise, so his partner ends up wondering if something's wrong, and wondering just what Shu's keeping from them... With a cute fluffy ending where it's revealed all he was hiding was a new outfit as a gift for his beloved partner!

Sighs. Shu Itsuki. I'm just a tiny bit in love with him. Thank you for requesting and giving me an excuse to write him :') Also, @mayoiayasep, I remember you mentioned wanting to be tagged when I was talking ab wanting to write smth with a similar concept to this so <3

Word count: 1603 Summary: After weeks of not hearing from Shu, his partner grows worried that something may be wrong. But, upon finally getting a hold of him (by letting themself into his home), their expectations are flipped on their head as Shu hands them his gift. Warnings: it's implied Shu hasn't been eating properly </3 Notes: they/them pronouns, a singular use of (y/n), a hint of an angst as result of a misunderstanding, but with a happy, fluffy ending :>

Shu has been avoiding them for a while now. Them, his beloved muse, his significant other. The one he promised his loyalty and love to. Now, it was as if he’d forgotten of their existence. Worse, actually, he has been actively negating their existence by ignoring and avoiding them. And the people around them have noticed, and the people around them started whispering, and then they themselves noticed it, too. How could they not, hearing the other students pitying them so openly. “Did you hear?” they whispered, as if the object of their rumours wasn’t standing just a few steps in front of them. “It seems like Itsuki’s lost interest in them… They say it’s only a matter of time before they break up. If Itsuki doesn’t just ghost them!” Laughter. Venomous, hurtful laughter. Shu wouldn’t do that, they assured themself. He was… a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type to just ghost someone. They were sure he simply got engrossed in his work once more. They shook their head to free themself of the negative thoughts, deciding to visit Shu in the coming week. They’d bring him some food, check in on him. Hopefully, get the answer as to why he’s been avoiding them. It’s been long enough, and they’ve found themself sick of all the rumours that flew around them.

And so they stood, about three days later - three days of unanswered texts and missed calls later - by the front door of Shu's home. A bag hanging from the grove of their elbow, croissants fresh from that bakery they remembered Shu praising once in it, they knocked on the door. Only to receive no response. They shifted their weight from one foot to the other, gritting their teeth together. Truth be told, they were becoming quite frustrated with his behaviour. Nothing was wrong that they could tell, in fact, their relationship was only becoming stronger in the days preceding his disappearance. And then suddenly… he just goes radio-silent. They were worried, yes, but they wouldn't deny that they had feelings, too, and regardless of what Shu was going through, he was their boyfriend. Didn't they at least deserve an excuse? An explanation?

They’ve rung the bell twice by now. They called him once more - voicemail. They even called Mika at one point, who was about as helpful as Shu himself, only hanging up with sorries and, worst of all, telling them to just go home. That Shu was fine. But, being Shu's partner for as long as they were, they had a spare key. They didn't want to use it, knowing it was only given to them for emergencies, but for all they knew Shu was lying passed out on the floor and it might have been an emergency. They were worried, after all, even more so when that particular thought ran through their head.

"Shu! I've let myself in!" they said upon unlocking the door. Looking around, the home didn't seem to be in a disarray - that much. There was some settled dust on the shelves, and stale bread left out on the counter. No dishes in the sink. Either he was at least making sure he had something to eat off of, or he’s been neglecting to eat again. The dining room table was covered in papers, on which some seemingly unfinished sketches were hastily drawn. It looked like he was making something again, which made his partner breathe out in relief. Relief at knowing he was, after all, just engrossed in his work again. Relief that was soon replaced with an even stronger worry. They were thankful they came to check in on him, he was probably overworking himself if he hadn’t even the energy to answer their calls.

So, they went straight to his workroom. They knocked on it, still keeping their manners. “I know you’re in there, I can hear your machine,” they said upon getting no response. “Come on, it’s me! I’m giving you two minutes, and then I’m coming in.” “Non!” The first word they’ve heard from him in weeks. In what felt like years. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t even spoken at all in those weeks. “Don’t come in yet! Give me ten- twenty more minutes and I’ll come out.” “Shu, I’m worried about you!” “Fifteen more minutes! Just wait in the-” a whispered curse, “... in the kitchen!”

And what else could they do? They’ve waited this much, fifteen more minutes won’t kill them. And if Shu collapses, well, they’ll at least hear it and be able to help. So, to pass the time faster, they tidied up the papers from the table, placing them all on one stack in the corner. And sneaking a peek at a few of them. It looked like a full outfit this time, quite the attractive one, too. They left the bag of croissants on the table, and proceeded to wait the remaining time. Soon enough, Shu stumbled out of the room, as if in a daze. The dark bags under his eyes told the entire story. “What date is it?” He asked. They took a glance at him, looking him over. His fingers were sloppily bandaged. “You’ve hurt yourself. Come on, I’ll properly bandage that for you.” He dodged their attempt at taking hold of his hand. “The date. What date is it, (y/n)?” Upon getting an answer (and a worried look from his partner who now knew just how badly he was out of it), he nodded. “Perfect. Perfect timing. Actually, scratch that. You were too early. Work on that.” He was rambling. “Work on what? Never mind. Sit down, when’s the last time you slept?” “Unimportant. Come with me.” “No. I’ve been so worried! At least eat first and-” “With me, now.”

He grabbed their wrist, pulling them over to the workroom. Truthfully, he wasn’t very strong, but they’ve decided to humour him just a little more. The sooner they comply, the sooner they can shove carbohydrates down his throat and forcefully tuck him in. “Fine, fine, stop pulling!” Immediately upon entering the workroom, he laid a bunch of cloth in their arms. A full outfit. Was this what he was working on? “Go put this on. I will turn around, rest assured.” “That’s not the problem… Surely, playing dress-up can wait until after you eat something?” “It’s not playing, darling, it’s a fitting. Go on. Call for me if you need my help.”

A few minutes later, they were both situated in the dimly lit workroom, standing in front of a wall-length mirror that, frankly, could have been cleaner. “Stand up straight,” Shu mumbled, patting down their waist and pulling on the cloth here and there to straighten it out. “Give me your hand.” He took hold of the sleeves, folding them inwards a few times, shaking his head, and unfolding them again. The sleeves were a perfect length. He walked a circle around them, his piercing gaze boring holes into every part and detail of their body. But it seemed like everything was just right, and not even he, ever the perfectionist, had any complaints. Once more, he stood behind them, this time kneeling to check the hems. Once more - “Perfect. Exactly as I envisioned it.” And he finally sighed out.

Shu stood up, patting down their shoulders for one last time. He let his hands trail down their arms, and back up, before he gently took hold of their shoulders. And they caught his eyes in the mirror. He held their gaze. “I told you to stand up straight. You’re wearing the Itsuki Shu’s work. Wear it proudly.” They took a moment to properly take those words in. They were wearing an outfit made especially for them by Shu. They marvelled at their reflection for a moment. The outfit truly looked perfect, not to mention it was tailored exactly to their tastes. Shu must have been quite the listener, even if he acted uninterested so often, there was not a single detail that wasn’t precisely to their tastes. From the silhouette to the colours, nothing was less than perfect. And as they stood there in awe, Shu’s hands started travelling once more. Down their back, and around their waist, he wrapped them into a hug, one rather uncharacteristic. He must have truly been tired. He buried his face into the crook of their neck, as if hiding, before whispering into their skin, “I’m taking you out for dinner… Tomorrow. Make sure you wear this.” “Tomorrow? Did you make this for-” “Our anniversary, yes. I’m… not proud of the fact that I made you worry. I can assure you I will try my best that it doesn’t happen again. But I won’t apologise for wanting to keep your gift a surprise.” “Fine. Thank you.” They placed their hands on top of Shu’s, who was still keeping his wrapped around their waist. Well, right up until that moment. He retracted his hands the moment theirs touched him, as if he was burnt by the contact. “The… The clothes will get creased.” He came up with an excuse quickly, but the words did little to hide his reddening face. He coughed, stepping back and putting some distance between them.

“You mentioned you brought food, is that right? I could eat… As long as you agree to keep me company.” “Of course. Come on, I bought your favourites.” “Thank you…” And though he merely mumbled it, too proud to say out loud, they heard it anyway: the smallest of apologies for having worried them.

#korka's fics #korka's writing #ensemble stars

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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thank you for enabling me korka ily. your writing is amazing <3 idea number one! numero uno! silly little Mika fluff!! How about Mika realizing he has a crush on someone; and his idea of a confession is to make them a plushie! But Arashi tells him he needs a little more flare than that to make his feelings clear. So, perhaps some cute little Mika shenanigans, trying to plan the 'perfect' confession and make the best plushie for his potential partner~?

I told you this was the first fic I'm gonna write in the new city, and I think I kept my promise. I thought about scheduling this for your bday, but~ Instead of a late request, consider this an early bday gift <3 and I hope I'll get your second request finished in time, but I can't make any promises

Title: Operation: Score Mika a Date Word count: 3576 Summary: Arashi does her best to make Mika finally, finally confess to his crush. But when nothing she suggests works, maybe it's best to trust Mika do to it his way... Notes: Less of a focus on the "making the best plushie" part, but I hope I made up with it with the shenanigans. Arashi turned out to be a major character lol and Mika and Naru being besties <3

“Na~ru-cha~n!” Cries reverberated throughout the common room. Mika, the originator of said cries, laid draped across the aforementioned Naru-chan’s lap, whining all the while. "I dunno what to do!" he drawled out, groaning into her thighs. And Arashi, who tried her best to comfort him by petting his hair, sighed. "Well, they seem to like you, don't they? You're always telling me about how they give you compliments and like talking to you, right?" Of course, the “they” she was talking about was Mika’s crush. The person he’s been going on and on about for ages. He was absolutely in love, and it was obvious from how he alternated between crying and giggling about them every day. Today – it was crying. "But what if I'm misunderstandin'? What if they don't like me like that? Uuwh…” he cradled his head in his hands. “It makes my head hurt…" "You'll never know if you don't just tell them how you feel." "But what if… How do I even do that? I can't just tell 'em - I l-love ya…" "Oh, Mika-chan…" Arashi truly didn't know what to do about him anymore. "Just speak from your heart!" Mika paused, pondering it for a moment. He seemed to really give it some thought, his brows furrowing as Arashi continued twisting his hair around her fingers. Ultimately, however - "That ain't helpful at all!"

This has become their routine by now. Mika, the silly guy, managed to fall in love. No, rather, he tripped into love. Faceplanted straight into it before he was even aware of what had happened. Arashi was thrilled to find this out; she always aspired to live out a teen drama and if there was one thing missing from her checklist, it was helping her best friend woo their crush. Now her best friend, Mika, has finally fallen in love, and she, as knowledgeable as she is about matters of the heart, can help him! But Mika was not very open to her ideas. Every "Confess to them!" was met with "What if they reject me?", every "They were flirting!" with "They were just bein' polite" and every "Just ask if you can kiss them" with "Are ya crazy?! They'll start hatin' me!" It was as if he was working directly against her and himself, rejecting every idea in its conception, not even entertaining the idea of a happy ending. Yet, Arashi never gave up.

Like many best friends, they frequently had sleepovers together. When HiMERU and Tetora had work or other plans, Arashi would often invite Mika to sleep over in her dorm, and Mika would do the same whenever Ritsu was gone for the night. The beds were big enough, and they were close enough to share them without any awkwardness - not to mention that it was fun. And this time, too, Mika was sitting criss-cross on Arashi's bed, who was sitting on her legs next to him, peering at his phone while eating cucumber slices. "So, you’ll confess to them in person, right?" she inquired. “How are you going to ask them to meet up?” "I sent ‘em, … um, hey - are ya free this weekend?" "Oh, sweetie, that makes you sound too shy. Just ask if they want to hang out this weekend." "Ain't that too direct?" "Everybody likes direct men. You have to show you’re confident! You know what you want and you’re not afraid to ask for it!" Mika flinched. "Read!" he exclaimed. "They left me on read! N'agh…!! This is too stressful!" He hugged the pillow in his lap, burying his face into it. "Bein' in love sucks for real!"

"Alright, alright, it's not the end of the world, maybe they're busy! Put the phone down, come on, I'll do your nails." He hesitated letting go of his phone, hoping he’ll see them typing any second now, but ultimately doing as he was told. He watched Arashi grab her kit before setting his hands on a magazine. To be used as a pad; to avoid getting product on the bed sheets. It was a magazine targeted towards girls, one of Arashi’s older ones. A few seconds passed in silence, but, as she started prepping his nails for the new paintjob, she began speaking, "Talk to me, Mika-chan. How are you planning on confessing, anyway?" "’M not. I mean, I am, but I ain’t got a plan. I was just gonna wing it." "Wing it?! Oh, dear… Well, fine, think about it now. What do you think you could do? I’m sooo curious, and you never talk with me about your plans on seducing them." "Se-seducin’?" His face burnt red. "I dunno… They mentioned they liked the plushies I made once. Maybe I can make 'em a plushie and…" "I'm sure that'd be cute, but for a confession," she tsked, "you'd need a bit more pizazz!" He tilted his head, not unlike a confused puppy. "Pizazz! Flair! Everybody loves a grand gesture of love. Hmm, actually-" She set her tools down, raising his hands and grabbing the magazine that was under them. As she showed its cover to Mika, she beamed, "Look! Read what's written here!" "Um… I dun think knowin' trends from four years ago will impress 'em." A groan. "No, silly, here." She pressed her finger against a box of text in the corner. "The 10 best ways to confess to your crush! You can even do their 'Do they like you back?' quiz if you’re so worried!"

When Mika's nails were painted and dried, he helped Arashi dye her hair. Rather, he was dying her hair while she read him out the questions in the magazine’s quiz, marking all his answers to count up later. "Do they go out of their way to talk to you? A: they only talk to me when they have to, B: no, they tend to avoid me, C: sometimes, but they stick to small talk, or D: yes, they talk to me about almost every topic there is." He huffed. "Well, I guess D…?" "Alright… Do they find excuses to touch you while talking to you?" "N'ah… I dunno. They touch my arm when I make 'em laugh and… Sometimes they bump their knee against mine when we sit next'ta each other?" "That's a yes!" As she tallied up his answers, he was finishing up with her undercut. Absentmindedly playing with her hair as his thoughts trailed off.

Mika knew he had to confess to them someday. Being around them started becoming painful recently (he's been pining for some months, and being friends with your crush can sometimes be a curse as much as a blessing), and he felt guilty over how much his heart hurt every time they made plans with somebody else instead of with him. They've become friends and, he was certain because of how much of a catch they are, it was only a matter of time before they end up telling him about a significant other. His heart would break. He had to confess, otherwise he was always going to wonder. Especially if they start dating someone else, especially if it turns serious. He can pretend to be happy for them, but… "Great news, Mika-chan! Listen, it says: Sparks are flying! You are your crush's crush! If they not only like being around you, but also initiate conversation often, if they hold eye contact and smile easily at you, if they can't help laughing at your every joke (no matter how bad) and touching your shoulder when you talk - they like-like you! Confessing is not only safe, but highly encouraged. A romance is already blooming between you, and you need to make sure you lock it in." She closed the magazine, leaving it on the desk and spinning around in her chair to meet Mika's wide-eyed stare. "See? Just as I told you! They li~ke you, Mika-chan, you have to tell them how you feel! As your best friend," she placed a hand over her heart, as if swearing, "it is my duty to make sure you two end up on at least one successful date." He bit his lip. Truthfully, he felt like crying, both out of happiness, but also out of anxiety. He was afraid to raise his expectations, but if Arashi was that confident… "Alright. What's it say 'bout those ways of confessin'?" "That's my bestie!! So-" she grabbed the magazine again, jumping from the chair to the bed again. But a ping interrupted them. Mika's phone. He immediately grabbed it, checking the new notification. Arashi looked at him worriedly as he started trembling, but his huge smile quickly made those worries dissipate. "They replied!" he all but squealed. "They replied?!" "They replied!!"

It was easier to convince Mika to go with the magazine's advice when Arashi had managed to convince him he had a chance. Usually, he would stay away from grand gestures - he was shy himself and didn't like the pressure of it all - but the seductive sparkle of the possibility of a date with his crush was too tempting to turn down. And so, method one: asking them out directly. Per Arashi's instructions, Mika was to talk to his crush, and ask them if they wanted to get coffee with him after work. Something casual enough, but obvious as a date. Unfortunately for Mika, his crush responded with, "Oh, cool! Should we invite the others, too?" … Arashi bought him ice cream and promised they were just a little oblivious. It can't be helped, since he was too chicken to say, "As a date".

Method two: leaving them a note. They both decided that would be a good next step. He can write out a proper confession, and not worry about stuttering or chickening out. All he has to do is write out his thoughts, leave the note somewhere where they'd see it, and then wait for them to bring it up. Mika poured his soul into that note, he didn't even want Arashi to give him advice on it - he wanted it to be all his own words. He mentioned how long he's liked them and how shy he feels around them, the excuse for why he's writing a note. How he really wants to take them out on a date. How he just wants that single chance, one date! But that he'll respect their wishes if they don't feel the same way, not even enough to give it a shot. He ends it all with a scribble of a flower. But in the adrenaline rush of "Oh, shit, I'm actually doing this, I'm actually leaving my heart out in the open," signing the note escaped his mind entirely. He just slipped it into their pocket when they weren't looking, and ran off.

"You're never gonna believe it, Mika!" they laughed, fishing for something in their pocket. "Look! I have a secret admirer~!" They waved the note in front of his face. His note. Did they recognise his handwriting? Were they making fun of him? He blushed, the very tips of his ears burning up, ready to deny and defend himself, but they spoke first. "What, are you jealous? Come on, you're an idol, I know you get love letters all the time, too, let me have this. You're no fun!" They joked. "O-oh, you dunno who it's from?" His heart was about to explode, he could feel it beating in his throat. "How could I? There's no signature. Whoever it is uses a really cute dialect, though." "Cute?" There it was. They were making fun of him. "Yeah, I think it's very attractive, actually. Well, I hope this person will actually ask me if I got their note, I'm dying of curiosity." "... Y'think it's attractive…" Mika has stopped listening. And functioning. "Hey? Mika? Do I need to take you to the infirmary? You're looking a bit feverish." "N'gah!" He got startled, hand clasping over his chest. "No, no, ‘m fine, I just suddenly remembered I have some, uh, work to do. See ya later!" It was a step closer, but he was still unhappy with the result. At least he could be comforted knowing they thought his dialect was cute. Attractive, even.

Method three: spreading a rumour. This one sounded counterproductive to Mika, but Arashi found merit in it. She was going to be the gossip, to "wing woman" him, as she put it. "Hey, did you hear," she whispered to whoever would listen, "that Kagehira has a crush on (y/n). He's head over heels in love. Do you think he has a chance?" All Mika had to do was gauge his crush's reaction to hearing the rumour, and decide whether it's a good enough reaction to mention that the rumour is true. It travelled across town fairly quickly (and Mika was scolded by Ibara over it, as it escaped the confinement of ES, but those were the sacrifices they had to make) and soon enough… "I heard a weird rumour, Mika - you'll laugh, I promise - people are saying you have a crush on me." They laughed, but he had trouble discerning whether they were laughing at the absurdity, or out of their own shyness. "Yeah, that’s… weird. And what do you think about it?" He stuffed a candy in his mouth the moment the sentence dripped off his tongue. Where did he get the courage for such direct questions? "I don't know. We're friends, aren't we? People often confuse close friends' behaviour with that of lovers. Maybe they thought you were into me because we always hang out alone. Like now!" "Right. That is funny." He never laughed in a more forced way. They'd already changed the subject, and he was left with no information on how to proceed.

"Mika-chan, I'll be honest," Arashi was lying on her stomach on Mika's bed, leafing through a fashion magazine. "I think we're running out of methods." Mika was sitting on the floor, back to his bed's frame, head leaned into his palms. "I know." "You're going to have to ask them out directly. I mean more directly than last time. You’re going to have to tell them you want to take them on a date, in those words exactly." "... I know. It's just!" He groaned, hitting the floor with a hand and leaning his head on the mattress. "This sucks, this sucks so bad! Why’s it so hard?! I'm always tellin' ya how I feel 'bout them, I can write it all out, I can talk to anyone else 'bout it, but in front of 'em, I just… I freeze up, like an idiot! Like a stupid, worthless coward! I hate it so much!" He sniffled, quickly wiping his eyes before the tears could fall. "It ain't fair at all! And nothin' I do is workin'... Naru-chan, I think they just don't like me and're pretendin' they don't get it. I'm probably embarrassin' myself badly 'n they're just too nice to say anythin'." "That's not true!" She flipped closed the magazine, shifting into a sitting position. "You're not an idiot or a coward! I don't want you to talk like that about yourself." "I am… I'm so stupid to think they'd even like me back." He hid his face in his hands. His shoulders were trembling, and Arashi felt bad. She felt guilty, as if her pushing him was to blame. "Are you crying...?" "... No." "Mika-chan, you're my best friend. I know when you're crying. Do you want a hug?" He just sobbed into his hands and nodded. And she got down, kneeled beside him, and hugged him close to her chest.

He cried into her shoulder for a minute or two. Shaking and sniffling, squeezing her for comfort. When his sobs died down, she took the chance to speak up, "Hey, Mika-chan, I had an idea." "Please, no more ideas… It ain't gonna work, nothin’ will." "No, hear me out. Please? You don't have to do it, just think about it." When she was met with silence, she decided to continue speaking. "Remember what you told me when we started Operation: Score Mika a Date? About the plushies? I was thinking…"

It took weeks of hard work. A big chunk of his savings for the materials, too. And a lot of patience. But it was finished. He'd already called his crush and asked them to meet up in their usual hangout spot, one that he knew wasn't going to be crowded. And he arrived early, enough that he can take a moment to calm down and steel his nerves. Even Arashi came with him, hoping to give him a last-minute pep talk. "You have it with you?" She asked rubbing his shoulder. "I do, 's here." "You got this, okay? If they reject you, just nod and say-" "'S okay, I hope we can still be friends - I know." "And don't be pushy." "Mhm." "Oh, I think I see them… I'll be a bit further away if you'll need me. Text me how it goes, okay?" "Y-yeah."

Arashi left, and a few minutes later, his crush stood in front of him. "Hey! You said you wanted to see me because you had something to tell me? It's not something bad, I hope?" He stood silently. Gulped. He was holding his gift behind his back, and he could feel his palms getting sweatier. It was now or never. "(Y/n)-chan," he didn't stutter yet, "I wanted to give ya somethin'. You said ya liked my plushies, so…" He slowly brought his hand in front of him. He was holding a classical teddy bear, with dark green fur and mismatched yellow-blue button eyes. Though the craftsmanship was definitely a bit unprofessional, the amount of care and love that went into it was truly visible. The bear was holding a heart, sewn into its paws, with embroidered lettering. Shaky, but obviously something that was worked very hard on. A simple message on it: I love ya.

Mika's hands were shaking as he outstretched them, offering them the plush bear. "Ac-accept it, please." And he bit his tongue for that stutter. "And… Accept my feelings… (Y/n)-chan, I wanna be yer boyfriend." Did he sound confident enough? He hoped he did. He was certain he didn't look confident, what with the blushing and the avoiding eye contact, but he said it loudly, clearly… "D’ya wanna go out with me?" He really couldn’t look them in the eye, instead he stared down, fiddling with his sleeves, while waiting for the answer. Seconds felt like hours. He looked up timidly, curious on why they were silent. He was afraid they were creeped out. But they were… staring at the teddy bear. "It's really cute. I love it… Thank you, Mika!" They smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat and his knees nearly buckled. He didn't want to press them for an answer to his confession, but he couldn't deny that not even that praise was enough to distract him. He just wanted to hear an answer. "And… So, will ya…?" "The rumour was true, then?" They smirked at him. Mika was truly going to die if they kept looking at him like that. But he nodded. All his cards were now thrown face-up on the table. "The note… The note, too. Tha' was me…" "I knew it," they laughed. "It was so hard trying to give you hints to just ask me out already. But it was cute watching you struggle." "N'ah? Ya wanted me to…? Is that a yes? You'll go out with me?" His vision was getting blurry, and if his legs don't actually give out, he'll consider it a miracle. Mika was barely breathing, his heart beating out of his chest from the excitement. And his eyes just sparkled as he leaned in closer to them, eager and excited. If he had a tail, it’d certainly be wagging. "Of course I will! Let's make this our date, then. Where do you want to go?"

When he arrived home that day, he was running on autopilot. He texted his crush, no, his significant other (he's getting giddy just thinking about it!) he had fun today. He asked them if they want to go on another date sometime soon. He took a shower, changed into his pyjamas, and he just… lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Before flipping over and screaming into his pillow. Memories of their first date still fresh in his mind. They walked holding hands, they shared cotton candy… When they were sitting on a bench, they even leaned their head on his shoulder. They did all the things couples do on dates… They were a couple now! He held the pillow closer. When the sun set, he walked them home and they… He kissed them.

Mika was still high off the excitement of that day. He wasn't going to get any sleep that night, but he's happy. He's as happy as he was when he was accepted into Yumenosaki, when Shu allowed him to become a part of Valkyrie. He just wanted to call them, to hear their voice again, but instead he called Arashi. He wasn't going to bother them so late in the evening, and Arashi was dying to hear the details, anyway. One thing is certain, however: Mika cannot wait for their next date.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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You know how Mika has a very high pain tolerance? How it's mentioned in reminisce of marionette when arashi finds him sawing and he pricks himself with the needle and even bleed and he's like "no it's fine I actually don't feel it much" what if one day he just... Decided to experiment with it for a bit? See until what point it is too much for him to handle? It starts with little cuts, but as he does it more his body gets used to it and he needs more and more to feel it (and he likes to feel it... It becomes addictive... It inspires him for his art even) until he's taking chunks out of himself, not even due to the pain of the cut itself but how much the medicine stings when he has to treat it again

I won't lie to you. Between Mika having a very high pain tolerance and all the lines where he's just casually dropping the fact that he's a masochist, I have had the same thought…

PLEASE read the note and warnings carefully before reading below the readmore.

Word count: 1037 Summary: Mika is incapable of feeling loved unless he feels pain. Mika craves to be loved, so much that he inflicts pain on himself every day, hoping it would help. But it's so easy to get used to a sensation you feel every day, so easy to want to escalate... Warnings: self-harm and self-mutilation for masochistic reasons, using a sewing needle and a boxcutter, description of gore (hypothetical, regarding Mika's art). Please, please do NOT read ahead if that sort of topic makes you uncomfortable. Curate your own experience, I am not responsible for anything that happens after you click "read more". If there is anything that needs specific warnings, that I haven't added, let me know. Note: I don't wanna make this seem deeper than it is, but, while editing, I got to thinking ab Mika as a character and. Ended up assigning him a fucked up idea of love. Something about him growing up feeling unloved and unwanted, combined with lines like "I want to be touched even if it's so hard that it hurts", his hatred for (his) humanity, and so on. And it made me wonder a bit about Mika as someone who (wrongly) considers love to be painful, who is so desperate to feel wanted and loved that he'd twist being rejected, having pain inflicted on him as a sort of love. Who'd want to feel any sensation given to him, just because it's a sensation given to him. And even that sort of Mika having to give himself those sensations, making him even more desperate, making him feel even more unloveable. I ended up straying a bit from your prompt because of that, and made him think a lot about love, and not just the exploration of pain, but. Well. It was interesting to explore, I think. There's something awfully tragic about characters who would seek out even abuse because they crave "affection" too much. Maybe I could write a better character study for this topic one day... I hope the desperation for love and a sort of touch-starvation comes across well enough, considering this was barely even proofread.

Mika had always been fascinated with pain. He doesn't know how it started, really, but for as long as he'd known himself, he'd been enamoured with the sensation. Pricking his skin with sewing needles, shallowly, carefully, just enough to pierce skin, to draw blood. The pain that made him hiss, that made him breathe out in pain as much as pleasure. The blood droplet that sprung from the wound, sparkling like a ruby, before he would pinch the skin around it, forcing it to burst, to trickle in a rivulet down his skin. He would watch it spill, curve and dribble with a fascination, his pupils blown wide and a pleased smile etched into his face. It was a relaxing hobby for him, a way to pass the time. A way to feel something.

Yet, like with all sensations one does on the daily, one evening he realised that he didn't feel a thing from it anymore. The prick gave neither pleasure nor pain anymore, instead just a dull throbbing in his finger, leaving him on the edge. The droplet seemed small, the blood - unimpressive. What happened? He watched the droplet grow until it burst on its own, flowing down his finger. The same view he'd cooed and panted over so many times before - now dull. Boring. So uninterestingly everyday. He popped his finger into his mouth, licking up the blood from the base to the tip as he wondered what to do. What to do? It was such a beloved pastime of his, he didn't want to end it. But what could he do? Before he knew it, he was addicted to the mixing, melting of pain into pleasure, of the way his own blood glistened in the dim light of his room, illuminated only by the weak, old lamp on his desk. He didn't want to stop now. Mika couldn't stop now.

His gaze fell on the boxcutter sitting on his desk, the one he used to open a package just the day before. Now beckoning him so seductively. The gears in his head whirring as he finally released his finger, wiping the saliva on his shirt.

With shaky hands, he took hold of the boxcutter, pushing the blade from the safety of the plastic guard. He spent a minute just looking at it, adrenaline already picking up, gulping as he wondered whether he should. But then he remembered how good just a needle felt, and he has to - he just has to try it! Just a little cut, just to feel something! He turns over his hand, revealing his palm. The hands rough and calloused from work, always used for such noble tasks, now driven to do something as horrible as this. There was a part of him that was aware of that - naturally. A part of him that understood that he was not exactly normal for deriving pleasure from such acts. That he was somewhat weird for getting excited whenever he would see his own blood. But he couldn't help it.

He is so… starved for feeling. For feeling anything, even if it was pain. He wants to be held, touched, embraced, too. He’s, as much as he hates admitting, human, too. He wants to be shown affection. But Mika did not grow up well. He knows he's wrong to equate love with pain, but he knows nothing else. Even if it hurts, he just wants to feel. And he has to settle for doing even that to himself. He’s a lost cause, he knows that. Unloveable, a freak with creepy eyes, worthless. Oh, how he wishes he didn’t have those feelings, that need to be loved. He would be so much happier as a doll with no thoughts or will of its own, after all.

Mika glided the blade over the lines on his palm that would talk of his fortune, not cutting yet, just tickling himself. He'd heard it mentioned that this was where it hurts the most. Tingles ran down his spine. It's fine, because the gloves he wears when performing cover his palms, anyway. Nobody will know of his weird habits, of his freakish tendencies. Of how he needs pain to feel loved.

With a gasp and a yelp, he pressed the blade into his palm, dragging it across until he's left with a clean, albeit shallow cut. Just enough to draw blood, it's always just enough to draw blood. It's how he justified it to himself. Mika had to squeeze his eyes shut, panting and groaning in pain, his forehead smacking against the desk as he squirmed. It hurt so bad. It hurt so good. He left the boxcutter to the side, turning to lean his cheek against the desk, raising his hand above his head. It was so much more blood. Thick droplets gathering all along the cut, gravity pulling them down until they coursed down his hand, his wrist, dripping onto his face.

In a moment of giddy exhilaration, he brought his hand to his mouth, licking the wound clean. Moaning into his skin as the taste of iron made his head spin. Following that, he used a finger to spread the skin, to force more blood out. And he gasped. "Memo, where's my memo pad…" he mumbled to himself, digging through his messy desk drawers with his clean hand. He was inspired. In bullet points, he wrote down his ideas, biting the pen's cap while considering the concept, unconsciously flexing the hand that was cut, revelling in the sharp stinging. A vertical cut along the stomach, hands forcing the skin apart until a gaping wound is left, revealing organs. It was such a good concept, he almost couldn’t wait to get cleaned up so he could start working on it. Oh, what a wonderful hobby he had, one that gave him as much pleasure as it gave him pain, and as much inspiration for his art as he would have ever wanted. He wiped his hand across his face, greatly enjoying inhaling the metallic scent, before leaving the room.

After all, the only thing that felt better than making himself bleed, was cleaning the wound up with the sting of rubbing alcohol. Maybe he could even sew this one up with some pretty green thread. And maybe one day he’ll find that special someone who’d hold his hand and carve beautiful flowers into his skin, who would show him love in the only way he can understand.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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ohhh little gorey prompts you say?

you know how some serial killers have calling cards? mika as a serial killer but his calling card is to take the heart of his victims ♡

Serial killer Mika!! My beloved fr. I love that idea, but also I had to look up anatomy pics for this and ?? Why did I think a liver was like. Much lower and much smaller lmao

Word count: 1517 Summary: Mika has a bit of an unorthodox hobby - he's really found himself in the art of murder. And he always makes sure to take a souvenir with him after each kill <3 Warnings: gore, mucking about inner organs, death Note: I have no idea what I did to his motivation tbh. You know that part of Human Comedy where he goes off on why humans suck? I just remembered that and went "aye, let's go"

A starless night, dark and cold. Mika clutched his bag closer to himself, seeking the warmth he couldn’t get from his light blazer. He forgot to dress up warmly today, not expecting the sudden drop in the temperature. Already dozing off, he barely kept himself on his feet in the train, leaning onto the pole with all his weight. There was still a few more stops until he could get off, he wouldn’t be harmed by closing his eyes, just resting them for a minute. The train was empty, anyway. Just him and one older man who was fast asleep on one of the seats. But as he let his guard down, Arashi’s warning from earlier that day echoed in his mind. “Be careful on your way home, today, Mika-chan!” she’d said. He knows why she told him that, and why there was no need for him to be careful, but he’d feel bad ignoring her advice.

There was a bit of a problem in the city. The news only ever talked about it, everyone seemed to be in a panic, people were spreading truth mixed with lies. Even a mythology of it was born. There was a serial killer on the loose, to keep it short. Nobody knew who they were targeting, why, who they even were and if they worked alone or not. The only thing that was known was that people have been turning up dead. And the theory of a serial killer was brought up when, after a few autopsies, a chilling pattern was noticed. All of them were missing their heart. Or, rather, although they were found dressed, stripping the bodies revealed a sloppily stitched up chest. And taking out the thread - an empty spot where the heart was supposed to be. The killer’s sign, their calling card. It couldn’t have been anything other than a sick person, to be able to not only murder someone violently (all the victims showed signs of struggle, strangulation marks, shallow cuts, and bruises. The cause of death was almost always blunt force), but to then cut them open, steal the heart and sew them back up, putting their clothes on and leaving them on the street. It was a wonder how the killer was never caught, considering the bodies were always out in the open. And what on Earth were they doing with the hearts, anyway?

Well, that’s why Arashi wanted Mika to be safe. He was so thankful to have friends who worry and fuss over him, but she was worried for nothing, really. He couldn’t tell her that, but he knows nothing will happen to him. And he sees how fearful she is whenever she has to return home alone, too. He notices how scared she gets whenever the topic is brought up. Mika wishes he could tell her not to worry, nothing will happen to her. But he can’t. As much as he trusts her, he just can’t tell her why he’s so certain no harm will befall the two of them.

“Hah~,” Mika breathed out. Sat on his knees on the hardwood floor, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm, careful not to touch his face when his hands were so filthy. They always struggled. And he was never able to land a clean cut because of that - not only could he not see in the dark, but then they keep fighting him off… As if it would save them. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he fished the little pincushion from his pocket, laying the vibrant red thread and needle on the floor between him and the body. Another person who struggled, another person who will be found with a bruised neck and broken bones. He’s thankful he had the dresser to bang their head against - he was already so tired, he felt like he might have been overpowered this time. That would have been a tragedy.

It didn’t take much effort to strip the shirt off a corpse, and it took even less effort to drive his knife into their chest - right above the sternum and between their clavicles. It took a bit more effort to wedge the knife down, to tear through their skin and flesh, down to their stomach, however. The stench of blood mixed with the horrid stink of death, permeating the air. But all it did was make Mika breathe in deeper. He’d always liked the scent. He wiggled the knife a bit, trying to pull it free from the body. It gets stuck sometimes, that’s just how it is, so he had to be forceful. With an “oomph”, he finally freed the knife, setting it down beside him. He had no qualms digging in, either, shoving his gloved hands into the gaping wound, spreading it further open so he can reach in more freely. Though it was always difficult to reach the heart without taking anything else or breaking the ribs, Mika thought he was getting better. Wiggling his hand below the ribs, past the stomach and the liver, until he could grip the heart. His other hand was leaned on the corpse’s shoulder, to keep himself from falling as he leaned over them, blindly digging around their organs. When he felt the heart unbeating in his hand, he made sure to squeeze it just enough to hold it safely in his hand, not enough to break it, as he tugged. It took one, two, three strong pulls to separate it from the rest of the body, a disgusting sort of squelching sound resulting from his efforts.

And when he held it in his hand, this proof of life, this proof of his taking of a life, he felt an immense exhilaration in his own heart. He felt powerful, in control. This was all it was to him. All those people acting smart, trying to guess his motives - there were no motives. He just did it because he wanted to, because he could. Because it made him feel good to exert his power over others in this way. All of those people asking why he was doing it, if he was antisocial or if he had a personal vendetta against these people. He didn’t. He just hated humans, so much. Mika knows all of the people he’s killed have done horrible things, because they’re humans and that’s what humans do. So, is he really in the wrong? There is no such thing as innocence in this world, so why does it matter if he takes a few lives? When others are making lives worse, his acts of killing may as well be a mercy.

The sewing, however, was still crude. He cuts too deep, and so his mere thread can never sew them up as well as he would like to. Mika threaded the needle, trying his best to make it look tidy this time. He was improving, he thought. It might take a few more tries to perfect, but there was definitely an improvement compared to his first times. He managed to actually close up the hole this time, tying it off neatly and biting the leftover thread off, giving it a clean finish. At least, in his opinion. He always got angry when watching all those hotshots on TV calling his sewing “sloppy” – he’d love to see what they’d manage with nothing but a needle and a thread. The body was clothed once more, and he waited by the entrance to this now resident-less home, peering from behind the curtain for his chance. Although it was already nearing two in the morning, stray cars passed by, some folks returning from an outing here and there. He had to make sure nobody sees him, after all, or else his fun would be cut short.

And when he finally did leave the body in the street, he returned back to the train station, waiting for the late train, as if nothing had happened. The “souvenir” he took wrapped in his blazer, which was stuffed in his bag alongside his ruined gloves. To be safe, he remembered to wash his face and forearms in the bathroom at the station. His shoes were still bloodied, but he can pass it off as mud if anyone questions him, or even just say he got a nosebleed he didn’t notice. Mika’s hand gripped the bag closer to him, unconsciously patting at the section where his blazer was placed. And all those folks wondering why he took the hearts and only the hearts… What did it matter? It was for him. For his collection, to be placed in a jar and kept. To inspire his art.

And once more, the news will talk about a brutal murder. Once more, he’ll have to comfort Arashi. Once more, he’ll laugh and assure her nothing will happen to him on his way home. Once more, he’ll pretend like he’s oblivious and stupid, making sure that everyone sees him as nothing but a harmless young man, as the least suspicious person in this city.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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”Conclusion: the other aspects of the pet name kind of go over his head, but he loves it all the same. Take his advice, call him “baby boy” in public. Make Lilia’s day.” 😭 Please I need this scenario in my life now

Ask and you shall receive <3 very late, but you shall receive

Post that the ask is quoting

Word count: 1651 Summary: Lilia and the rest of Diasomnia gang get first row tickets to seeing the heir of Briar Valley get babied. Warnings: none that come to mind. Hints of angst in the first few paragraphs tho Note: they/them pronouns used, established relationship. Also, it was a joy writing dialogue for Lilia, but just you wait until I learn Shakespearean English, then I'll truly have fun with him.

Seasons change, years pass, graduation comes and goes, and through all that, Crowley, in the end, never did find a way back home for the new Prefect of Ramshackle. The former Prefect of Ramshackle. Though they left a legacy, in reforming Ramshackle as well as in helping with a record amount of Overblots in such a short timeframe, the fact that it was impossible for them to ever return to their life before Twisted Wonderland weighed down their heart like a heavy rock. Every reminder of their old life, their old home and their old world served as a source of hurt and regret. Even having to think of it as their “old” life, and this as their “new” life broke their heart in ways that nobody in this world seemed to understand.

But, despite that, they managed to build a life for themselves in this world, in Twisted Wonderland. It wasn’t easy and, though fifteen years had passed since, they still sometimes found themselves waking up, expecting the last decade and a half to have been just a vivid dream, and that they’d open their eyes to their old room, living their old life. That they would awaken thinking it was all just a vivid dream. And, sure, they would feel sad to know all the connections they’ve made were just a figment of their imagination, but… Their heart ached for their home. On mornings like that, it was Malleus who was able to bring them some sense of comfort, of ease. His presence and kind words, as well as featherlight touch of support was enough to ground them, to remind them that everything was fine. That he was by their side, that he will always be by their side. That he was their home now.

And what even to say of Malleus and the former Prefect of Ramshackle? Nobody but he himself could say when exactly it happened, but the changes in his behaviour truly started becoming clear around the time of the VDC - even the students that usually took great care to avoid him started noticing it. Whispers and rumours flew around the campus of the Malleus Draconia falling in love, with a magicless human, no less. As if the heir of Briar Valley, a fae with such a dreadful aura and powers – both as a mage and as a figure of authority – that have made him stand above nearly everyone in Night Raven College. A fae as him wouldn’t fall for any of his fellow students, least of all one who doesn’t even have any powers to compare to his. But, well, those who didn’t believe the rumours were probably the ones who got the biggest shock when the two announced their engagement years later.

And though they now lived together in the Briar Valley, awaiting the date of their wedding, not much else has changed. Silver and Sebek were still knights employed by the palace, serving Malleus directly (although the years of service under their belts have promoted them on the order’s hierarchy), Lilia stuck around as his retainer and, given the Queen was still alive and kicking, Malleus could still enjoy a certain amount of freedom, remaining the heir of the heir. Freedom from responsibility, freedom to move as he pleased, and his betrothed still had time to get used to life in the Briar Valley - and to life as a future monarch well before they’d have to begin the life of a real monarch. It was a grace period of sorts, for which they were both thankful.

With all that freedom, the group of Night Raven alumni had more than enough time to spend time together, doing nothing but chatting and just hanging out, as they often did back in college. Their favoured way of catching up turned out to be weekly picnics - not taken far from the palace, in fact, oftentimes they just laid out a blanket in the gardens. But the true charm of those picnics was, of course, the informality, the lack of expectations for any of them. Silver and Sebek could sit at the same “table” as Lilia, as Malleus and his betrothed. None had to mind their manners or take care to choose their words carefully. They were equals, just a group of adults out for brunch, to catch up. In fact, even the food itself was always to be made by themselves, simple finger foods and sandwiches (though, rest assured, Lilia was still banned from the kitchen; his job was to find a spot and set up the blanket, the plates and whatever decorations he deemed appropriate) to truly make it feel as a moment for themselves, with no connections to their social statuses, to the palace life.

And so, they met up again on a sunny day, with a blue sky clear of clouds hovering above them. “Master Lilia chose a wonderful set-up today as well,” Sebek was quick to praise, taking not a second longer than was needed for the aforementioned retainer to set their replacement for a dining table. And with that said, he set down the beverages he was in charge of preparing and bringing that day, three pitchers that were no problem for a knight as himself, as he’d put it, to carry in one trip. “You say the same thing every time. Aren’t you tired of it?” Silver commented, setting out the small, bite-sized cakes flavoured of various fruits he’s brought on one of Lilia’s decorative platters. “Of course not! For it is true every time I say it, of course I would not tire of saying it!” Their back-and-forth once more devolved into a tense quarrel, another thing that hasn’t changed since their days of college. “Now, now, calm down, young ones,” Lilia tried his best to stop the argument from escalating. Floating between them, he placed a hand on each knight’s shoulder, gently, yet firmly, squeezing them in a fatherly manner – as a subtle warning. “We’ve come here to enjoy the good food and good ambience together, have we not? Hark, enough squabbling! Malleus and you, dearie, bring forth your offerings and let’s chow down!”

Malleus brought out the heaps of sandwiches, separating them into groups (depending on their ingredients) and placing them on different platters. Each sandwich was wrapped individually, so he made a note to point out which group had which sort. While he was being fed praises by Sebek, and while Silver was then starting another argument with his fellow knight, Malleus’ betrothed set down the foods they were tasked with preparing - which were the salads this time. One of greens, and one of fruit. “These look a lot better than last time, Malleus,” Lilia commented upon unwrapping a sandwich. Malleus hummed, and looked at them who were still preoccupied with setting up their bowls. “In truth, I received assistance this time.” “Can’t even make a sandwich on your own, huh? A true crown prince you are, little one,” his retainer chuckled, honey-sweet parental affection apparent in his smile. “Right?” and his betrothed chimed in. “I had to show him how to make them step-by-step. Multiple times, even!” “Is that so?” “It sure is. I’d even say I deserve to be thanked and lauded. Wouldn’t you agree, Malleus?” And with Sebek too busy arguing with Silver, he had nobody who would defend his honour. So, he accepted, with a laugh, “You’re right. You have my deepest gratitude, my treasure.” Lilia burst into laughter, earnestly enjoying the exchange. “My, my! Dearie, looks like you have him wrapped around-”

“You’re welcome, baby boy. Now, c’mere, let me give you some head pats.”

As Malleus leaned forward, careful to angle his horns away from his betrothed’s face, to accept his promised head pats, Lilia went silent. Not because he no longer found the situation funny, quite the opposite, it was rather that he didn’t know if he should laugh at this new turn of events. He quickly turned around, mumbling something about giving the couple privacy, trying to hide his increasingly reddening face. His shoulders shook and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets from the force of his held-in giggles, but, still, he did his best to stifle his laughter with a hand firmly covering his mouth. And it was this that finally got the two knights to stop bickering, with Silver being in a similar state as his father - albeit less theatrical and better trained in his way of hiding his snickering. Sebek, being Sebek, immediately stepped up to defend his lord. “Have you forgotten your place, human?! To think you would dare call our prince such an… infantilising term!” “Oh,” Lilia inhaled, his hand resting on his chest as he attempted to calm down from the fit of laughter, “calm yourself, Sebek, I’m sure they didn’t- I apologise.” He started laughing once more, this time not able to hide it. “Kufufu, Sebek, child, you need to chill...” “It’s just a term of endearment, Sebek,” they defended themselves, as well, “you know I would never insult Malleus!” “Besides, it’s a term I like,” Malleus added calmly, but with a hint of sternness to it. “So, there’s no reason for you to get so upset on my behalf, is there? I may be your prince, but take care you don’t forget that they are your prince’s betrothed.” Sebek grumbled a bit, but ultimately had nothing else to say. “Can we start eating? I’m starving,” Silver interrupted, having laughed his heart out in the shadows of their conversation. “Right, right!” Lilia was too eager to change the subject by now, still feeling breathless. “Let’s eat, let’s eat… whew… baby boy,” he let his voice decrease into a whisper with the last words, and a last chuckle. He’s certain those kids are going to be the death of him some day.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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Hihi Korka!!! I bring you another Natsume request because I love your writing and also this has concept has been marinating in my head all night;

A student of the Producer course who decides to produce for Switch, but kind of ends up falling for Natsume; but Natsume seems oblivious to the Producer's attempts at hinting to their crush. But Natsume himself is also harboring a perceived one-sided crush, leading to a bunch of misunderstandings and pining shenanigans~

I hope this all made sense lol. Thank you once again, Korka <3

Whew!! Ay, I'm ngl. I looked at this and went "Oh this would go so hard as a 20k slowburn idiots to idiots-in-love multichapter" but if I were to write multichapters, it'd take literal years, I think, so. Best I can do is implied past pining and a confession scene preceded by a misunderstanding that gets resolved relatively quickly. OTZ

Word count: 1737 Summary: How do you ask out someone who seems to be completely unaware of all your advances? Directly. Be warned: the really oblivious ones won't even get that one. "KitTEN" count: 2 Notes: they/them pronouns! I hope this is fine, again. I'm always a bit more nervous ab writing for mewchies, I feel like I need to wow you </3

Being in the producer course meant being fought over and for by the various students and units who frequented the idol course. That was simply the natural order in Yumenosaki school – as each year a lot more applicants would apply for the idol course over any of the other courses. And, of course, it’s best to have a producer who’s only dedicated to your unit. However, that simply isn’t possible in a lot of situations, and a single student of the producer course will often have to juggle multiple units – which prompted the cycling method to be implemented. So, instead of a single producer having to split their attention into working with multiple units at the same time, all of the producer students would simply switch who they were producing every once in a while. But, despite that, if a single producer clicks well enough with a unit, and vice-versa, they can claim exclusive rights on one another. This was, naturally, another way to encourage developing professional relationships amongst classmates, as switching units and producers right when they’d gotten used to each other was generally considered bothersome.

This is the path that the unit Switch decided to walk on when they chose their permanent producer. And this was quite the feat, considering not just Switch’s popularity, but also the fact that their leader was one of the so-called Five Eccentrics. As the name said, he was quite the eccentric young man, and he never really made an effort to become closer to any of the producers. Except for that one. It was as if that one enchanted him. It was obvious to everyone except to him, who thought he was being so cool about his changing feelings. Although, to his credit, thanks to his general odd behaviour, nobody really figured out why he was treating them so specially. It certainly took him a few weeks to realise, too – but Natsume Sakasaki had a crush for, what was probably, the first time in years, if not ever.

It didn’t start off that way, of course, at first that Producer was just one of the many who were assigned to Switch. And he didn’t even think to bother getting close to them, despite Tsumugi and Sora welcoming them with open hands – as they treated every producer. The Producer was just as professional, seemingly not caring for Natsume’s cold behaviour towards them one bit. After a few days of that, Natsume realised he was getting frustrated with their behaviour. He just couldn’t figure out why it bothered him that they were so unbothered by him ignoring them. But the week passed, and they switched units, and… he couldn’t forget about them. In fact, he couldn’t stop comparing every next producer to them. “That’s not how they would do THAT,” and “They were so much more skilled and fasTER,” – most of the student body noticed that he’d somehow gotten even pickier and stricter with the producers.

So, when the cycle closed, and that Producer was assigned Switch again, he changed his behaviour towards them ever so slightly. Instead of ignoring them, he was now watching them almost too closely, as if waiting for a mistake to be made. In part, that was what he was doing. Natsume had noticed that none of the producers were good enough for Switch (for him), except for this specific Producer. But he still wanted to be sure that he wasn’t being selfish or centring himself – they were a unit, after all – and so he spent the week carefully observing them. How they planned, how they talked to the higher-ups as well as the members of the unit, how they adapted to sudden changes in plans and how quick they were at coming up with solutions to problems that commonly arise in the business. And he was pleased with the results.

By the end of the week, Natsume had sat down with Tsumugi and Sora to talk the matter of offering the Producer the title of Switch’s producer over. And the offer was made on Friday, accepted on Monday.

But Natsume hadn’t realised that he had a crush on them until weeks later, at which point he cursed himself for not trying to cast a spell on them sooner – by then it would have worked – and the fact that he had to start trying to win them over only from when he found out his own feelings. Even though he tried to make his intentions known to their Producer from that moment onward, he was being very charming, and rather subtle about it. Too subtle, maybe even, as the Producer never really noticed his attempts at flirting. Which frustrated him more than the way they shrugged off his behaviour back during their first week as colleagues.

Perhaps, most frustrating of all (or, it would have been frustrating to him had he known) was the fact that his flirting didn’t fly over their head for no reason, or even because they weren’t interested. Rather the opposite, actually. The Producer never noticed because they were too busy trying to subtly let him know of their own crush on Natsume. So, their back-and-forth attempts at flirting and seducing one another without even realising their love was reciprocated was quite the sight to behold – and one Tsumugi and Sora had fun observing.

“KitTEN,” one of the more obvious methods Natsume employed in his flirting was that pet name for them, “tell ME, what’s your favourite coLOUR?” He’d cornered them in their classroom just to ask such a simple question. “Hm,” the Producer thought for a moment, looking deeply into his eyes, as if hypnotised, “Yellow. A similar shade to your eyes, actually.” Well, it was possible that the Producer wasn’t as subtle as Natsume was oblivious. It was as if he didn’t even hear that their favourite colour just so happened to match the colour of his eyes, he was instead thinking of flower language and which yellow bouquet best to buy for his Producer – framed as a gift of gratitude for their support, naturally. “YelLOW…” he mumbled while dragging a chair over, placing it between their and the desk in front of them so he can sit directly opposite them. “It’s a colour that would really emphasise your beauTY.” They laughed. “Is that all you came to ask?” “It IS.” He made no effort to get up from his seat and leave. His eyes never left theirs. “You won’t mind if I ask you something, then?” “Of course NOT. Ask aWAY.”

It took a moment for the Producer to settle into asking, fidgeting slightly with the textbook that sat on their desk, waiting for the class to start. “I wanna ask this guy out.” Natsume frowned. “What do you think is the best way to do that?” It’s not that he was in shock. He was just a bit surprised, really. Did they seriously never notice his flirting? He already noticed his magic doesn’t work on them, but was he really being too subtle? “Who do you want to ASK? I can’t give you advice without knowing any deTAILS.” He quickly pulled himself together. While he wanted to be supportive, he couldn’t deny how disappointed he was. “That’s not really important, I just want to know your opinion. Do you think I should give him something, like a chocolate or a letter or-“ “KitTEN, you’re being awfully cruel by asking me for advice on asking someone else OUT,” though said like a joke, it was more of a warning. He didn’t like the conversation anymore. “I’m just curious!” “Well, maybe you should go ask him, then,” Natsume snapped, before he had a chance to stop himself. And though he bit his tongue, it was too late to make a difference. He didn’t apologise, however, instead he just lowered his head, yet still keeping an eye on the Producer from the corner of his eye. They… didn’t seem to have taken it personally. In fact, they were laughing. “Okay,” they said between giggles, “I didn’t know you got jealous so easily. So, how do you want to be asked out?”

It took him a few seconds to realise just what they were trying to say with that. And when it clicked, his face flushed a bright red. Whether it was shame at his outburst or the embarrassment of having confirmation of his feelings being reciprocated shown so suddenly, he wasn’t certain. All of the natural charm he’s shown in the past while openly flirting with them seemed to have evaporated in that moment, as he just sat there in total silence, head still turned to his lap, where his hands were folded politely. The Producer called out his name. “Wh-what?” “Well? How do you want to be asked out?” “… Maybe don’t start by pretending you’re going to ask out somebody ELSE. It’s a bit of a mood kiLLER.” “Sure thing!” They laughed again, which eased Natsume’s nerves as well. He breathed out a bit, trying to hide what was left of his blush with his hand. Once again, a bit too late to make a difference. “Do you want to walk with me to the station after school today?” “I’d love TO. But I’m going to take you on a proper date this weekEND.” He tried his best to save face, and whatever was left of his pride, by attempting to appear as assertive as possible with the offer. He was thankful they played along. Seeing them smile in agreement was enough to have Natsume relax.

Truth be told, he never really imagined that his feelings would be reciprocated. Instead, he thought of the Producer as entirely out of his league; a being that floated above him and whom he was really only allowed to gaze at from a distance. And to think it would be them themselves who would end up reaching out their hand to him, that it would be them who’d be asking him out. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t overjoyed. But the clock’s hands nearly overlapped, signalling the start of the lessons for that day, and serving as Natsume’s cue to leave for his own classroom. With one last promise to meet him for lunch, he bowed out and left as quickly as he’d arrived, still composed on the outside, but nearly screaming of excitement on the inside. He was already anticipating the weekend.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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Maintenance

Dedicated to @meowyoi <3 thanks for being insane with me Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Word count: 1846 Summary: Considering Mika's nature as an android, it is only logical that his maintenance should be very thorough, leaving no room for mistake or the possibility of something being overlooked. However, this maintenance is usually performed by Shu's skilled hands. In his absence, Mika is forced to complete his own maintenance for the first time, and it goes wrong in a way he couldn't even dream of. Warnings: angst with no resolution, body horror (though Mika is a robot here, I tried to evoke the imagery of it), lmk if I missed anything that should be given a warning

The sound of metal scraping, struggling to move, permeates the silence in the room lit up by a single candle. A pained moan escapes Mika’s lips as he leans on the wall for balance with one hand, a screwdriver in the other. Shu is in Paris, still. He can’t help Mika, so Mika has to help himself. But the pants and the groans come out sounding wrong, just as wrong as his words, his singing. It’s off, all of it. His voice sounds too unnatural, too robotic. He has to fix it.

He pulls his hand from the wall, using it to palm around his neck instead. Searching. His nails hook themselves in the gaps between the rest of his neck and the small compartment, hidden away behind a panel. Unable to see it in the floor mirror he stood in front of, he keeps the panel pressed under his palm to lock the position in his mind, before bringing the screwdriver to his neck. He takes a deep breath. There are no screws to unscrew. “Too unseemly,” Shu had explained. He has to do it the hard way. Mika hooks the screwdriver in the gap, prying his neck compartment open in a single turn of the wrist, crying out in pain. With his free hand, he wipes away the tears that gathered in his eye. He breathes out. The panel squeaks, dangles open.

With shaking hands, he reaches in. He’s afraid to mess up, to make a mistake, to break himself, but nevertheless he reaches in. His fingers curl around the cords that make up his flesh, pushing them out of the way, creating a path to his vocal box – a literal, small cube that housed his “voice” and all it was capable of. “N’ah!” His hand pulls back, and he yelps once more when he accidentally pulls one or two – he couldn’t tell – of the cords out in his haste. He burnt his finger on the fried vocal box. Biting his lip, he steels his nerves and reaches in once more, pulling the cords to the side with his other hand, hoping it would make the job easier. His breathing quickens. “Oshi-san…” he whimpers, as if calling for his teacher would transport him to him. Like a child calling for its mother in fear. He takes a breath. He holds it. And with a quick motion, he plucks the vocal box out of his throat. His cries – muffled. The vocal box was left, thrown, onto the bed alongside the screwdriver.

But Mika still has work to do. His maintenance is hardly over. His eyes are still dim, his limbs squeaky, and his innards tangled. He can’t dance in this state, he can barely sing, and the last thing he wants is to become useless. To be thrown away. He can’t just sit on his hands waiting for Shu to return to fix him, he has to learn to be independent. He has to learn to take care of himself, he can’t just stay a burden on Shu. It’s about time he learnt to do maintenance solo, anyway. Well, the hardest part – taking out his vocal box – is over with now, at least. Even rearranging the main cables in his torso never hurt as much as that. And, as he was thinking on it, he decided that that would make for a good next step. But he still feels breathless, nauseous just from the vocal box. Shaking fingers once more find themselves on his neck, touching and grazing until they find the panel. Its dangling makes his skin crawl, it always does, but he can’t close it – he doesn’t want to pry it open again when it’s time to insert the new vocal box. He wants to sigh, but with no voice, all that comes out is the mechanical whirring of his vocal gears spinning around emptiness.

Soon enough, his shirt finds company among the screwdriver and fried box on the bed, and Mika started fumbling about the drawers. He knows Shu keeps spare parts in one of his dressers, he just can’t remember which one. And though he feels guilty about going through his teacher’s belongings, there’s nothing he can do about that in this situation. He will simply have to beg for forgiveness if Shu notices something is out of place – which is exactly why he’s trying so hard not to make a mess. Thankfully, he only saw Shu’s shirts before he hit the jackpot, and found the compartment dedicated to his upkeep. The oilcan, a small bottle of motor oil, more tools – among which are specialised rods and pincers that made sorting his wiring out easier – and then some rags, detergent, and polish. His gaze paused on the spare parts, sifting through the eyes and limbs to get to the new vocal box. With the box and tools cradled in his hands, he walks back towards the mirror, and sits in front of it on the floor.

Stretching backwards to reach the bed, Mika grabs the screwdriver. He’s going to have to pry open the panel on his torso this time. Opening it took only a single motion that he barely even felt, as his torso isn’t as sensitive as his neck. But it seems like the mess was worse than what he was expecting. The moment the panel flopped open, out came various cables, all tangled among each other. “That don’t look right…” he thought, pressing his lips into a pout. The screwdriver discarded once more, he gathers up most of the wires in his hands, keeping them from touching the floor too much. There was a trick to this, he remembers Shu mentioning it once. He sure does wish he were a bit more attentive back then. But it’s his own body – he can figure it out. He knows he can.

With the help of a rod, he managed to detangle about a third of the cables. Tongue sticking out from between his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration, he struggled against the more complicated bunches before ultimately giving up. His hand clenches and unclenches around the rod, out of frustration, out of confusion. His eyes jump from wall to wall as he tries to come up with the solution – and then it hits him when his glance once more falls on the mirror. He can’t see. If he could see, this would go so much easier. Of course, with neither the candle that still burnt on the table next to the mirror helping his sight, he knows that the problem is in his eyes. They must have collected dust, or gotten otherwise dirty, which is why his sight is so fogged up, so dark now. He was planning on polishing them, anyway. Perhaps, he should have done that first and saved himself the trouble, but he never was the smartest robot.

At least the eyes are a piece of cake. They aren’t exactly secured in his head, so taking them out and putting them in is about as simple as doing the same with contact lenses would be to a normal person. First, he makes sure the rag is prepared with the liquid Shu uses to shine and clean his eyes, knowing he won’t be able to do so blind (or, at least, it would be much harder). And then Mika leans forward, holding a hand under his eyes before slapping the back of his head with the other hand – and out pop his eyes, dangling by the cords that connect them to his “brain”. Shu never liked that method of taking them out. Using nothing but his sense of touch to get around, he cleans and polishes his right eye first to the best of his abilities. And he leans back, holding that same eye with the tips of his fingers above his head, letting the cord bunch up and fall back into the cavity, before he’s able to push the eyeball itself into the same hole. He blinks that eye once, twice to sharpen the image, and glances back at the mirror to see if all looks right. And he pauses.

In the reflection, he doesn’t see the human he has been convinced he is. No. He sees something unnatural. Mika sees himself, clearer than ever. One polished-to-a-shine amber eye staring back at him. The other, dangling, swinging from a cord in the most disturbing manner, revealing a cavity with nothing but deep, sterile darkness behind it. And the more he looks, the more he wishes he could find the strength to look away. His main panels were still open. He did more damage to the cords in his throat than he thought. One sparking dangerously, a few more pulled out and hanging down to his clavicle. Not to mention the horror that was his stomach; the untangled cables that reached the floor, or the still-tangled bunches that gathered in his lap – he couldn’t decide which made him want to throw up more. How could he have ever been convinced he was a human? He’s a monster. A mistake. An abomination.

Mika stopped breathing for a moment when those words registered in his mind. Stopped breathing. Did he ever even need to breathe? Does he even have a mind? His hands are shaking, why are they shaking? He has no heart, so what is that pounding in his ears and chest? He leans forward, cold, metal hand meeting the cold, glass mirror. The eye that looks back at him holds no soul behind it. The pupil can’t widen in shock, neither can the whites of his eye redden from the tears. Tears. How is he crying? Violently, his hand rubs away his tears, one after the other, but they don’t stop. How is he crying? Who is he? Mika Kagehira. Who gave him that name? Who made him? Both hands now lean on the mirror, he’s abandoned even trying to stop the tears, but no sounds come out. He can’t make any, not without a metal box in his throat. His mouth still opens and closes, trying to make a sound. In vain. Only the gears respond in desperate whirring. Desperation. Terror. Panic. Why can’t he see anything in his eye? He leans in far enough that he could kiss the mirror if he so pleased. He wants to see, he wants to see something so bad. He wants to see proof of himself, of his existence, of a soul, of anything. Of him being more than just a machine. More than just a doll. Who is he? His hands clench into fists, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to… What is he? Does it even matter? This is proof – the cables spilling out from where his guts should have been, all those gears and the cold metal he calls his skin, that emptiness, the soulless look, in his eye – it’s all proof. He can play pretend, he can dance and sing, he can imitate and mirror.

But he will never be a human.

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

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HII ARE YOU ACCEPTING ASKS RIGHT NOW?? HHAHAHA I really love your twst Wonderland writings and I was hoping if you could write a fluff for Deuce X f.reader and Riddle X f.reader ? You can add other characters if you wantt hehehe anything if it means I can read more of your writing

Oh, thank you so much! I'm glad you like my writing <3 And, as I said, I always accept asks, it just... takes me a while sdjhjkdsk

Though it's a bit more difficult for me to write requests without any specific prompts, I'll let it slide since you gave me a genre, at least (and I happen to adore Deuce an unhealthy amount aha anyway-). I ended up writing it in fic form, and made it a bit of a Riddle/Reader/Deuce instead of separate; the first half of the fic focuses more on Riddle, and the second half on Deuce. Hope that's fine!

Word count: 2967 Summary: Riddle agrees to tutor Ramshackle's prefect alongside Deuce. While prefect Rosehearts takes the chance to subtly ask her on a date, Deuce takes the chance to walk her home, both attempting to win her over. Warnings: none Note: she/her pronouns used for Prefect + this isn't exactly tooth-rotting fluff, but I'd like to think it's cute enough to be considered fluff, still lol

“You make it sound so simple,” Deuce sighed, twirling a pen in his hand as he looked over the many, many, many textbooks strewn across the desk in Heartslabyul’s lounge. Sitting next to him, and sporting an expression of equal distress, was the prefect of Ramshackle. With her head laid on the desk and hands outstretched through its length, she groaned, “It really is hard for us!” “You’re just not trying hard enough,” Riddle, Heartslabyul’s loving prefect scolded, in his hands yet another volume of some series supposed to simplify the subject of Magic Analysis. “It’s just memorisation. That you two cannot pass with flying colours is a sign that you lack discipline, which would mean that I am not doing my job as a prefect properly. You wouldn’t want me to try and improve your discipline the hard way, would you?” “No, prefect Rosehearts…” “And you, Ramshackle’s prefect.” “Yes?” She finally raised her head, wincing as if expecting a harsh scolding. “You’ve got that monster accounting for half of your total grade. That means it’s up to you to make sure your knowledge of the theoretical half can save whatever the beast founders. I expect your final results to be a lot better than what you have shown me today.” “Yes, sir…”

“He’s softer on you,” Deuce whispered. Riddle was fiddling with some papers, marking them with his own pen, brow furrowed in thought and Deuce and the Prefect took the chance to whisper amongst each other in the silence. “Soft? He seems pretty strict to me.” “That’s because he’s still Riddle. But you couldn’t even tell him the answer to a question from the first lesson-” “That’s because I’m not from this world!” she hissed. “You couldn’t even tell him the answer to a question from the first lesson,” Deuce emphasised once more, “If that was me, I’d be headless right now. He’s softer on you. It’s kinda gross.” “Why’s it gross?” she laughed, leaning on her elbow to stand closer to Deuce, their talk hushed. “Well, he… Look, it just is.” “Jealous he treats me better?” “You two!” Riddle interjected, “Unless you’re talking about the material, it would be wiser to quietly revise while I’m making worksheets for you.” They mumbled a few apologies in response, but shared a look and a giggle when he looked away.

In a way, they both deserved to be stuck in the situation they were in, sitting at a desk in Heartslabyul’s lounge from the moment classes ended for the day and being tutored by the strictest prefect in Night Raven College. Magic Analysis classes weren’t going as well as they would have liked it, and especially not as well as Riddle would have wanted. Although it made sense for Riddle to be on top of Deuce’s grades, he had also taken an interest in the Ramshackle prefect’s grades, even going as far as saying that, Riddle being the prefect of the dorm she frequents most often, the formally unsorted Prefect is as much his responsibility as any other student in his dorm. Well, that’s what he says.

It was certainly true that Riddle was far stricter on Deuce than he was on the Prefect, something even she could (finally, in Deuce’s esteemed opinion) realise now that they were both being tutored by him at the same time. The softness in his voice, the way he addressed the Prefect, pointed out her mistakes and guided her to the right answer very starkly contrasted with the way Riddle massaged his temples and sighed in frustration each time Deuce even made a minor mistake. Not to mention the thinly veiled threats that he spits whenever the poor thing makes a less minor mistake. Frankly, it was funny, to both Deuce and the Prefect, just how bad Riddle was at hiding his bias. And he was trying. Ace called him out on it once, during a courageous, stupidly courageous, episode, and all Riddle could do was turn as red as the roses in the Heartslabyul mazes and threaten, “I ought to lop your head off for your insolence! How dare you even insinuate that I would ever treat anyone unfairly, least of all my own dorm’s students!” Though the stutter and sputtering didn’t go unnoticed, a classmate of Ace’s managed to shut him up before he could point it out.

“Here,” Riddle finally said, giving the two stapled papers, a stack for each containing about a dozen pages. “Solve these worksheets. I made sure the questions only cover what we went over today, so I expect you to be able to answer everything – correctly! And do it on your own, no whispering or talking to one another during, understood?” “Yes, prefect Rosehearts,” the pair said in well-practised unison. “That said,” he finally sat down, hooking one leg over the other and crossing his arms, “if you happen to struggle with a certain question, skip it, and we will go over it together when you finish.”

Riddle has changed since his overblot. It wasn’t a severe change, nor was it a fast one, but he has become more lenient, more laid-back, in his own way. Of course, he never changed who he was at heart, but the improvements could be seen in the small things; he gave the two their work, and left them to it. Returning some minutes later with tea, setting it down on the table and staying to watch over them, but to offer support in his silent presence and not to observe like a tyrant waiting for a mistake he could punish. There was no anger in the way he helped them go through the lessons, not this time, at most it was exasperation, a desperate want to make them understand. To make them prosper, achieve, live their lives as students with as little to fear as possible, in terms of schoolwork, at least.

The old Riddle would, perhaps, have only given them the extra textbooks and had them go their way, but he had more understanding now. Maybe it wasn’t obvious to those who didn’t know the old Riddle, but these, as small as they were, improvements in his behaviour, in the way he interacted with the world and people around him, were a source of pride for everyone from Trey to Ramshackle’s prefect. He may have still been playing up the act of a strict prefect, but that was only because he still cared for rules, for order. But he graduated from a feared tyrant to a respected prefect who rules with an iron fist. Or, he was on the way to graduating. There was still some room for improvement, of course. “I’m done, but,” Ramshackle’s prefect interrupted the silence. Riddle, who entertained himself with his own study materials, looked up and into her eyes, boldly. “But?” he asked. Even without getting an answer, he’d assumed she hit a snag with some questions - which was to be expected. Despite giving them questions relating to what they went over, Riddle wasn’t the type to make anything easy. Least of all if it was meant to help in studying. Walking across the table to stand behind the Prefect, he looked at the worksheet over her shoulder. He leaned forward, pointing a finger at the first question he saw unanswered. “Do you not understand what’s asked of you, or do you simply not know the answer?” He asked, a hand resting on her shoulder now. “I don’t know how to answer,” she said. “Hand me your pen… thank you.” Cupping her hand for just a moment as he took the pen from her, Riddle began scribbling on the paper, his cheek almost touching the Prefect’s. A graph. “Would it be easier to understand… like this?” he added. Though hastily drawn, the small graph was a simple, perfectly marked, visual explanation of the question’s proper answer. “When you’re looking at this type of magic, it’s easy to forget this detail,” he tapped on one part, “but if you do, everything else falls apart. It’s small and seems insignificant, but it’s vital. Does this help?” “Actually, yeah. Thanks!” For a moment, Riddle faltered. The smile she shot him in that moment had him frozen, and it took all his strength just to pry his eyes away. She was truly disarming. “It’s alright. Try to write the answer in your own words, I’ll check how Deuce is doing. If you need more help, call me over.”

They ended up working for most of the afternoon, until the sun had already disappeared from the horizon. Thanks to Riddle’s newfound gentleness, and in part to Ace’s frequent visits filled with as many jokes as mockery, the pair barely felt the study session, and the resulting fatigue wasn’t as severe as they had thought it would be. In the end, both Deuce and the Prefect could say they understood the materials better, and Riddle could bask in the pride of knowing his tutoring style is truly superior, in knowing his way is the right way after all. “Deuce already knows this, I would hope,” he commented while the Prefect was gathering her stationery, “but if you ever need help with anything, even if it’s not related to your coursework, the doors to Heartslabyul are always open for you. Naturally, it will be me who will aid you – but I wanted you to know. You can rely on me.” “Of course. Again, thank you,” she nodded along, “I really feel like I understand better now.” “It’s really not something you need to thank me for. It’s my duty as a prefect and, besides… I appreciate your help, during the Unbirthday party incident, I’ve been wanting to repay the kindness you have shown to my dorm.” Though he didn’t want to say it, the truth was that Riddle felt indebted to the Prefect. Not only because of the solidarity she has shown to the Heartslabyul students (though it played a part, naturally, Riddle cares for his dormmates even if he has trouble expressing it), but because she also showed sympathy to him, who was the least deserving of it in that time. Being given a second chance by his entire dorm, even by those he tormented, was heart-warming, but something about her was different. Being looked at with kindness by her, considered a friend despite all he did, it made him more flustered than he cared to admit. “I just wish I could show my appreciation for you in more than this.” “This is more than enough, I didn’t do anything special,” she insisted. Always so humble, Riddle noted. “Perhaps… But, should you be up for it, I would love to treat you to some tea in the coming days. It wouldn’t show the full extent of my thanks, but I hope it would be a satisfactory start.” “I’d be happy to!” “Uh, sorry to butt in,” Deuce interrupted, rubbing the knuckles of his fist against his palm in an almost nervous stance, “but it’s got pretty dark out. I could walk you back to Ramshackle, if that’s okay with you, Prefect?” Deuce seemed oblivious to the way Riddle glared at him, brows furrowed, but he didn’t say a word. The Prefect nodded, “Of course!” Receiving a last helping hand from Riddle that day, him helping her put on her coat, she waved him goodbye before leaving the dorm at Deuce’s side.

The autumnal winds were picking up, and with the sun’s disappearance, the temperature drop became just slightly harder to deal with. The Prefect huddled closer to Deuce, hugging her jacket in an attempt to conserve as much warmth as possible. “It’s chilly,” she commented. “Sure is.” Deuce kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, glancing at her every once in a while. “More importantly,” he tried to look at her, tried to figure out what she was thinking about, “you got yourself a date with Riddle, huh?” “A date?” she snorted. “We’re just gonna get tea, if that’s what you’re talking about.” “You know the saying; today’s tea is tomorrow’s wedding toast.” “Nobody says that.” “I say that! What, are you not interested in him? He seems interested. Even Ace said so.” In truth, Deuce probably wouldn’t have noticed if Ace hadn’t said it first. But, still, he was only mentioning this as a way to test the waters for himself.

Deuce’s thoughts towards the Prefect were… complicated. He noticed it most acutely in that moment when he was waiting for her response to his question. His hands turned clammy, and he was rubbing his nails against his palms as he kept them clenched in his pockets, nervous, fearful, hopeful. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear. If Riddle was interested in her, if she was interested in him, she would be happy, and Deuce wants to see her happy. But he also felt the selfish want, the desire to hear her laugh his question off, to say, “What are you even talking about? As if!”, to know that he has a chance. That’s what it was about, he noticed as he let a louder-than-expected gulp slide, somewhere along the line Deuce had developed a bit of a crush on the Prefect. The sudden realisation wasn’t really sudden, he’d known for a while, just not as consciously as in that moment. “Forget I mentioned anything,” he said finally. He’d rather not hear the answer, not when there was a chance he could hear her confessing feelings for another man. The resulting silence was nothing if not awkward. “But, you know, he’s a good guy. Now, I mean. He’s a better guy than he was before. So, if you do like him-” “What? I have your permission to date Riddle?” Though her sentence was biting, her tone was playful. “Wh- no! I mean, you don’t need my permission for- You can date who you want and, I was just,” he tripped over his words, a layer of pink dusting his cheeks, reaching to the tips of his ears. “I would never, that you’d need my permission! I didn’t mean it like that!” And her laughter – it was like music to his ears. “I’m just messing with you!” “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day,” Deuce breathed out, nearly deflating as a look of fatigue replaced his panicked expression from earlier.

“Well, it’s improved, right?” The Prefect commented once Ramshackle dorm came to their view. The dorm certainly looked less like a ruin, but it still gave off an aura of an abandoned haunted mansion from a cheap horror flick. “Definitely better than when you just arrived,” Deuce agreed. “Right. It’s been a while since then, huh?” Though seemingly an innocent observation, her eyes seemed to have wanted to say I wonder when I’ll be able to go back home. And Deuce noticed that. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, “I didn’t want to remind you.” “It’s okay, it’s okay.” She waved him off. When her hand fell to her side, Deuce’s eyes were still stuck on it. On how… empty her hand seemed. “Hey, Prefect.” His voice faltered, and he squeezed his hand close and open lightly, slowly, as if he was gathering the courage to do something bolder than what he was used to. And he was. The Prefect merely acknowledged him, waiting for him to continue talking. He took a deep breath, before reaching out, enveloping her smaller hand in his own. “I said Riddle was a good guy, but… I am, too, you know? I’ll help you if you ever need something so… you don’t need to rely only on him.” “What’s this about?” “He just… He told you, back there, to come to him if you need any help. It was cool, I’ll admit, but I’m not losing my best friend to him. You come to me first, okay? If we can’t solve your problem together, then we go to him. But… I wanna be the one you can rely on first. Deal?” “You’re cute.” “Don’t call me cute when I’m being this honest!” He accidentally squeezed her hand a bit harder in his (overemphasised) outrage, but apologised meekly a moment later. “Come on, I’m serious. I want you to count on me, I wanna be… important to you.” “You already are. Now, stop being a baby, we’ll see each other tomorrow and you’re acting like I’m leaving forever.” “Right, okay, sorry. Oh, before I leave: since you already agreed to Riddle’s request, I’m gonna take you to the beach, okay? Just to hang out, the two of us. Keep next weekend free.” For a moment, he thought he had managed to be bold enough that she’d think he’s cool, but he wouldn’t be Deuce if he hadn’t let a quiet “If you want to,” accompany it.

Before she even had the chance to answer, the realisation of what he proposed dawned on him, and he decided to bounce, letting go of her hand as if it burnt him. “Think about it! Good night!” he yelled as he got a few steps away from her, before promptly turning around and, for lack of a better word, running away. Deuce really never thought he was going to have to compete with his senior, his dorm’s prefect at that, for a girl’s affection, but he didn’t want to give up. It won’t be befitting a student on the honour roll, but… Riddle’s already noticed the loving gazes with which Deuce stares at the Prefect (thinking he’s being subtle, no doubt) and he’s ready to bring his A game just as much. The following weeks will prove to be interesting, and, if nothing else, Ace will have a criminal amount of fun watching it all unfold.

#korka's writing #korka's fics #twisted wonderland

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korka-mindlore · 5 months ago

Text

Les Artistes Maudits

A big thank you to @meowyoi, whether you like it or not, this wouldn't have existed without you and your enabling motivating and exchanging ideas with me <3

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Pairing: I didn't write with any in mind, but one can definitely interpret it as Shumika;;;; Word count: 988 Summary: The "concept" for a Valkyrie serial killers AU - just what it says on the tin. Though still working as the idol unit Valkyrie under Cosmic Production, Shu and Mika recently discovered they share a... hobby. And Shu decides to show him the artistic value in killing, you know, as a bonding activity.

Warnings: unrealistic and gratuitous violence, body horror (of the "stuff that should be inside is outside" flavour), descriptions of vomiting and gore, blood, death. Let me know if I missed anything.

"Unruly. Careless, disorganised, devoid of any artistic intent or value. How could you even hope to stand by my side as an equal with this... atrocious work?" "Ngah... I'm really tryin' my best, though..." "Well, your best is not good enough. After all this, you are still naught but a failure. Give me the knife." The disgusting squelching of a blade cutting skin, tearing flesh, sliding through wet tissue seemed louder than it actually was in the deep silence of the night. "Of course a useless whelp like you wouldn't even know how to wield a knife properly." "'M sorry, o-" "Be quiet! In the first place, it is your fault that we were seen. We could have had the police called on us, then what would have happened?! Now you just continue blabbering, on and on, do you want the neighbours to become suspicious, too?"

"Watch," he continued, "watch how little blood I’ve gotten on me. And now look at yourself - as if a pig exploded here. Sloppy. Messy. Inexperienced." True to his words, though the victim's neck was now sliced open, blood coating his throat, chest and clothes, the only filthy part of his own body were the tips of his fingers. His clothes pristine, yet his knife dripping. By contrast, his companion was covered in blood head to toe - literally. A result of the victim fighting back, coupled with the darkness in which he was as blind as a bat, the blood was a mix of the victim's as much as his own. Apologetic as he was, he made no sound. He knew that his Teacher was right. Compared to the clean cut over the larynx that rendered this person into the corpse it was at that moment, the brutish gashes that covered the victim’s arms and face were a result of swinging the knife blindly in the darkness. "You are in no way talented in this field, but... I suppose if I could have taught you the art of music, I can teach you this more undervalued art form, as well."

And he watched. Sitting on his knees, quiet as a bug, he watched his Teacher sliding the knife through the corpse's chest - starting between the clavicles and finishing by his pelvis. He cut him open, still careful not to get any more blood on himself than necessary, but when he set the knife down, some of that vigilance was set down alongside it. Rolling up his sleeves, he tore open the gash, spreading the skin apart until the organs were in sight. His companion squirmed for a moment, the stench nearly making him gag, but he stayed quiet. Obedient. The sound of snapping, the ribs were broken, spread apart. "Come here." The Teacher held his bloodied hand out, and the protégé took it eagerly. "Take the intestines out." "Are ya sure? Wha' if I mess up..?" "You won't. I'll guide your hands." "I dunno 'bout this," he stuttered out as his Teacher, true to his words, guided his hands into the corpse's guts, "'M not use'ta... this close to..."

A bout of sudden dizziness, he lost his sight momentarily, as well as his lunch. The stench accompanied with the sounds, the textures, the feeling of his hands digging through a person's guts, slimy, wet, rough. Truly, he wasn't used to it. It all resulted in retching, spitting remnants of vomit on the floor besides the corpse, his entire body convulsing and hands instinctively tightening around the guts, breaking them in places. His Teacher's hands still calmly covering his, he was waiting for his fit to end. Once the sputtering turned to dry heaving, he continued, "You'll get used to it. Take the knife, take the intestines out, and-" "Can't-" He shook his head, tears in his eyes and still trying to catch his breath. "You can. I will help you. This is barely any different from what you've been doing until now, it is only slightly more... hands-on. Be quick now. We shall create art together, and we'll force all the world to behold it."

They worked together, stripping the body of its organs, piece by piece, and elaborately, intricately drawing patterns on the floor with the innards and blood. It was artistic in a sick, perverse way. From the positioning of the organs to the carefully planned splatters, the soul of an artist was present in every detail. Circles, symbols, broken bones and dripping blood, the corpse positioned as a doll, silent, beautiful, glassy eyes and a forever-locked-in youth. The victim’s own heart carefully positioned in his arms, as if cradling a child. Perhaps symbolic of something only known to the two accursed artists. It was only when the Teacher was satisfied, blood now coating his forearms up to his elbows, that they deemed it right to leave.

"You did well tonight. You still have a lot to learn, and you're most ungraceful in your ways, but you have improved somewhat from the drab methods I first saw you use. For that, you deserve a modicum of praise, I suppose. However, your stomach is far too weak for this artform. We must work on that." “Y're right. ’M sorry I ain’t nowhere near yer level, but I’ll get better, I promise!”

But their conversation was soon interrupted. Sirens. Cars were pulling up nearby. Looks like they weren’t as quiet as they had thought. With one shared look and a nod of understanding, they began preparing for an escape. “Put your hood and mask back up,” the Teacher commanded, fixing his own disguise. “Un. Let’s go through the back; we can hide in them woods ‘n take the long way home.” “Not a bad idea. Come, Kagehira, it is time for us to take our leave. We still have more blessings to bestow on this world, it would be a shame should our work be cut short here.” “Yes, Oshi-san.”

#korka's writing #korka's fics #ensemble stars

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