so the trailer for miss hokusai advertised one type of
movie, and then the actual movie was …. something else entirely. but the
trailer gave me ideas, so here they
there is girl –
there is woman –
there is a young woman, an old girl, and she has the eyes of
youth but the weight upon her shoulders is that of age. or perhaps it is the
other way around. perhaps she has the eyes of age, but upon her shoulder is the
weightlessness of youth, of ignorance.
there she is, whatever she is.
her name is kana.
she is the daughter of a famous painter, known as juro. he
is a man larger than life, and he paints wonderful things. he takes what is
ugly, and makes it beautiful. he paints an unhandsome woman as a goddess, a
sneering merchant as a king, a dirty city as a glowing capitol. he leaves all
he touches brighter than it was found.
kana is not like her father.
she is a painter, but she is not famous. she has a mother
she doesn’t speak to, and younger sister she visits as much as she can. she has
pushed them both aside to follow her father, to sit with him in dirty shacks
putting ink to paper as she does her best to make beautiful things. she throws
off the expectations of her gender, of her station, of anything and everything
in her pursuit to be a master painter.
technique is easy. she completes half of her father’s
painting while he drinks, while he whores, while he seduces lords and ladies,
while he paints empty things for empty people, while he leaves her alone in
their dirty shacks. she can do the detail work, has a steady hand and a sharp
eye, but when it comes to the whole picture – it is left lacking.
“her work lacks your beauty,” an old man says, talking to
her old father while she kneels in the corner, ink staining her hands, the
floor, ink just – staining.
“of course it does,” her father says, offhand. “how can she
paint what she does not know?”
kana never expected lack of knowledge to be her downfall.
so that night when her father is gone, she does not stay in
to work. instead kana paints her face, wears a kimono that’s too small on her,
and goes to the worst part of the city, to where the alleyways and walls are
stained red by the glow of the lanterns.
ok but think about the first time Viktor and Yuuri say “my husband” when referring to each other??? im crying in the club
With Yuuri it’s like. they aren’t even married yet. he’s just already starting to think of Viktor as his husband it’s adorable
reporter: So, what’s a typical day with you and Viktor like?
Yuuri, neatly tucked under Viktor’s arm, his hand in Viktor’s back pocket: Oh, well my husband and I usually––
Viktor: [dying on camera]
and Viktor? Viktor loves the term “fiancé” he says it whenever he can. which means that the first interview he does after he and Yuuri get married is full of him loudly, purposefully correcting himself
reporter: Do you have any comments on the other skaters here today?
Viktor, bouncing with excitement: oh? other skaters? like?? Yuuri?? Yuuri, my fiancé–– oh, excuse me! My husband. My husband, Japan’s Ace, Yuuri? Yes, well his free skate was wonderful, I love my fiancé–– oops!! I meant my husband.
and of course
reporter: Skater Yuuri Katsuki––
Viktor and Yuuri, simultaneously: It’s Katsuki-Nikiforov.
He does this thing with people he loves. The way he lets you in, just a little bit at a time, and you don’t even really notice it until suddenly you know everything about him, every scar on his body and mind. It stops being a question of whether or not you’d follow him off a cliff and it becomes just a fact of life, that you’d hold his hand on the way down. All of a sudden, you’re a part of him, like another limb, and you don’t think to question it until you realize that you treat him the same way, like he’s your heart and your lungs and your blood would freeze in your veins without him. You stop being two distinct beings with two separate minds. You’re still different people, but it stops being a ‘you-and-him’ and it becomes a 'we’. And then he’s gone, and you’ve heard of phantom limbs, when amputees feel agonizing pain in limbs that aren’t there anymore, and maybe that’s what this is, but you’re walking around like a zombie and you can’t think and you can’t even fucking breathe, because he isn’t here and you’ve forgotten how to live without him.
Summary: It had endured centuries on earth, indulging selfishly in Its desires, never once blinking at Its monstrous ways. Your arrival into Its existence warped the both of you into an emotional chaos of white-hot lust and desire, throwing the both of you into never a ending poignant rollarcoaster of longing and unattainable sensual tranquility.
The clock was ticking. It couldn’t bring Itself to leave you, yet It couldn’t bring Itself to stay either. It hated this love, It hated this lust, It hated this desire, and most of all, It hated that It didn’t hate you.
Author’s Note: Critique is welcomed. This is the first fic I’ve written in ages. Apologize for any typos or grammar mistakes, I swear I proofread this three hundred times. Typos will be the death of me. I tried. The next two chapters will be posted within a couple of hours. I may or may not have accidentally written 20K+ words of this fic before posting. Whoops. Enjoy!
Words: 5.1K +
Warnings: Very gory. NSFW content. Very sexual. Lots of clown sex. You know, the usual.
The first time It had tasted you was where it began. It had sunk Its teeth into your skin, every intention of getting a quick, juicy meal out of your body. Its eyes rolled to the back of Its head, the endless row of gums and fangs spilling out from Its deformed excuse for a mouth, becoming more monstrous by the second. Your ears were ringing rapidly in your head and you were convinced your heart would burst from fear sooner than you would die from this grotesque being; the organ pounded against your chest like it was a cage, a desperate animal fleeting to escape, your breathing impossibly quick. It had you cornered, there was nowhere to run, and even if there was, the monster had made it clear that It was more than capable of using Its strength to stop you.
You knew one thing on this night; you were sure you were going to die.