#my whimsy won't leave

[artificial-transmutations]

Going Green

"Microtransactions!"

Charles looked around the board members.

"Micro. Transactions. Have you ever heard of that? Anyone?"

Slowly, heads nodded.

"Oh, good! So, you *have* heard of them. Does anyone care to explain to me then why our games barely have any? In fact, I have yet to see *any* microtransaction revenue from our latest release."

"But Sir, 'Orcs and Morcs' is a single player game - and not for a mobile platform, too. It doesn't even have an online connection. It would be highly unusual."

Charles M. Anderson cut the engineer up with a gesture. He didn't even know the other man's name, which wasn't too unusual. Even though he was the CEO of GreenGames for six months now, he didn't bother to learn his subordinates names until they proved useful. And this unnamed engineer could be happy if he still had a job after this meeting.

"I don't care about your techno-babble. Microtransactions is where the money is, so I want them in our products. *All* our products. And make sure to make them mandatory for any progress, too."

Charles usually talked about "Releases" and "Products". To him, video games were just a product like any other. Of course *he* didn't play any of those silly games, games were for children and losers. He only cared for the numbers, the graphs and revenues.

"What about the backlash? I mean, I understand that you want to generate more revenue, but GreenGames is known for providing high quality games that *don't* try to rip their customers off."

"So?"

"So, this could be bad publicity for us. Really bad."

Charles looked around the table and noticed most of the other board members nodding.

"Listen up, everyone. I think there is some misunderstanding here. You think that I care about our customers. I really don't, as long as they continue to buy our products. There is no such thing as bad publicity. So, I don't tell you how to draw your silly ogres and you don't try to meddle in the business aspect of the company, okay?"

Even though the inflection suggested a question, it was perfectly clear that it was neither a question nor a request. Again, heads nodded and tried to avoid eye contact. Good. Respect was very important for a leader.

One woman spoke up. Charles suspected her to be some lead writer or something.

"It's orcs, Sir."

Charles blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

"You said ogres, but our games are about orcs. That is our thing, we make games about orcs."

"There is no difference between orcs, ogres, unicorns and all that whimsy stuff. Leave me alone with your fantasy crap."

"But there is another thing. You are responsible for the story of our products?"

The woman agreed with a careful: "Yes, Sir?"

Charles looked her straight in the eye. "It has come to my attention that there are certain woke elements in our products. As a story writer, I expect you to take care of that."

"What... do you mean by woke? And by taking care of that?"

Charles sighed. Why was everyone so incompetent?

"Apparently, there is same-sex smut in our products, some even have pronouns. That crap needs to disappear asap. It is 'go woke go broke', after all."

The writer woman looked at Charles incredulously. "But Sir! Same-Sex romances are a well-accepted part of the industry for *decades* now. And it's not like the player has to engage in that, too. It's just an option - an option we actually received much praise for in the past. And about the pronouns... It's just a setting that influences some dialogues on how the player character is referred to. Again, it is perfectly possible to play as a straight green cis male if that's what you want to do."

Charles shook his head, his voice now dangerously low. "One more word of that, miss, and you can start looking for a new job. 84% of our customer base is male, and male customers want to see boobs, that's a fact. I won't tolerate wasting company resources on pacifying some noisy minority and alienating our main audience."

"But sir!" the writer woman objected.

Charles' look silenced her.

"One more word and you're out. We'll find another writer. Someone who does the job and keeps their mouth shut. This meeting is over. I expect results end of next week."

Nobody dared to speak up when everybody left the meeting room, and Charles returned to his office. What a productive meeting.

Just as he turned to his computer to check today's KPIs, he noticed a new email.

From: Employee Council

To: Charles M. Anderson

Subject: Going Green

Body:

Dear Mr. Anderson,

we here at GreenGames would like to take the opportunity to point out some concerns about your leadership role.

We have noticed a disturbing development since your takeover and would like to remind you of the values we stand for at GreenGames. We like creating games, and we identify with the work we do. Our players are important to us, and we strife to be open and accessible for everyone. Just like the protagonists in our games, we have honor and use our strengths to better the world. You in particular should be the living embodiment of this ideal. Please take this chance to re-think your methods and decisions and "go green" for real.

Sincerely,

The Employee Council.

Charles was outraged. How dared those subordinates criticizing him? He reached for his phone, ready to phone his secretary to find out who this "Employee Council" was but was interrupted by a ripping sound.

The right arm of his expensive suit jacket had ripped at the shoulder, which was unusual. He would have to have a stern talk with the tailor. Charles stood up and took off his jacket - or at least, he tried to. It was like the piece of clothing was way too small all of a sudden. He finally managed to get out of it, but only with several more rips in the fabric. Charles loosened his tie. He was sweating like mad, and when he looked down on himself, he was in utter disarray. His shirt looked like it was several numbers too small and as he was watching, one button after the other flew off with an audible "pling", exposing his torso underneath.

But was it really his torso? Not only was it *bigger*, it also looked way *hairier*. Charles had never been a man with much body hair, but now, he looked down on a stomach that was showing visible abs covered with a dense treasure trail of dark hairs. They continued upwards where they met with a true forest of curly dark hair that covered the slabs of pecs that were still growing as Charles watched.

He had to loosen his tie again before taking it off entirely. All of his clothes felt constricting, so, he peeled himself out of his shirt, too. His expensive watch was interrupting his growth painfully, but Charles was too occupied to notice, let alone care. With a dull cracking noise, the leather strap broke, and the watch flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall.

As Charles continued to grow, the chair underneath him creaked, but, again, he had other things to worry about. His lower body was still covered by his dress pants and shoes, but that was getting tight, too. His shoes especially were getting painful, and it was a relief when the front broke, exposing large muscular feet and toes. His pants were filled to the brim with heavy, muscled legs now, but there was another region where the capacity had been reached. His groin formed an obscene bulge. That alone would have probably fit - barely - but it was accompanied by an unusual feeling. Charles didn't *mind* his extreme change. In fact, the hyper masculine body turned him on, even. He watched as a dick print became clearly visible outlined against his groin, as his cock grew hard. It pulsed, once, and Charles felt a spurt of precum soak into his boxer shorts. A wet patch became apparent as the liquid seeped through his pants - all from a single spurt. His dick pulsed again, and Charles' head began to swim. The air in the room was thick with sweat and testosterone by now, and Charles groaned from arousal. Man, what would he give for a nice firm manly ass right now, giving him a lap dance.

Wait, what? Manly ass?

But it was true! Every time, Charles tried to think about sexy girls, but all that came to mind were men. Burly, hairy men, twinkish shaved men, green-skinned ogre-man. No, not ogres, he corrected himself. Orcs.

As he thought this word, his dick pulsed again and made Charles almost cry out from arousal. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He *ripped* apart his dress pants and lowered his boxer shorts that looked like a pair of briefs on his massive body now, releasing a gigantic stiff rod and a matching set of heavy balls - along with a whole cloud of manly, musky smell that made Charles even hornier than before.

He closed his gigantic hand around his shaft and moved it up and down, in a slow, barely constrained motion. He had almost come by that one stroke, so horny was his mind. Fascinatedly, he watched as his cock and balls took on a deep, green color. It looked almost like a cucumber, or the penis of the incredible hulk. Or... an orc. As he moved his strong hand up and down again, the green started to spread in all directions.

Yes! There was no doubt: He was becoming a big, strong, sexy orc! Charles let all restraints fall away and started pumping in earnest now. With each stroke, the green spread, until his entire torso was of a rich green color. His head felt a pressure as his facial structure reformed, and his ears grew long and pointy. His hair lost darkened and grew out into a wild mohawk-like hairstyle. At the same time, a black beard sprouted around his entire jaw, underlining his masculinity.

Meanwhile, the green had swept across his arms and legs, quickly eliminating any leftover pink spots. The green color looked incredibly hot under the coat of dense, manly hair, and Charles felt himself getting closer. He grunted with each stroke like an animal and where his muscular green body touched the furniture or his executive chair, it left a film of manly sweat. Finally, he felt a short bit of pain on his ears and nipples, as small metal piercings appeared there: Short studs in his ears and small rings in his nipples.

That sent him over the edge. With a final bellow, he came, mightily. His large green balls contracted and his massive cock spew cum everywhere: All over his stomach, his chest, his furniture, even his face!

Charr panted in the afterglow of his orgasm. He was the epitome of virility and although he had just cummed all over his office, his mind kept creeping back to sexy guys again. He would be able to go again, soon - but that had to wait a bit. He used the remains of his suit to clean up a bit (although it was still clearly visible and smellable what happened here), stuffed his mighty tool into the cum-stained underwear and reached for the phone.

"Please send the board to my office, I want to issue an honorable apology, and announce our new strategy." He rumbled with his new, low voice. After a moment of consideration, he added: "And please send someone to install our games on my PC."

He rubbed his hands. This would usher in a whole new era for GreenGames - with the greenest possible CEO.

I have the feeling that a lot of companies could benefit greatly from a bit of a greener leadership!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #straight to gay #orc #musk

[joestarfoundation]

dom female reader headcanons + imagine

your babyboy wakes up every morning, eager to please you. you are his everything, his entire world revolves around you<3 he loves the feeling of submission and the thought of you being in control. It's not just a kink for him, it's a lifestyle

you can see the excitement in his puppy eyes when you enter the room, dressed in your favorite leather outfit. he knows what's coming next, and he can't wait. as you walk towards him, he kneels down in front of you, ready to serve and devour your delicious cunt<3

he loves when you use him for your pleasure. whether it's making him worship your body or using him as a human furniture, he is more than happy to fulfill your desires. he finds joy in knowing that you are satisfied and that he has pleased you<3

one of his favorite things is when you take him shopping for new lingerie. he loves the feeling of you picking out what he will wear, knowing that it's not just for show, but for your pleasure! he takes great pride in wearing what you have chosen for him, and it makes him feel even more submissive:((

he also loves when you take him out in public, holding his leash and showing everyone who is in charge. he loves the feeling of being owned by you, his goddess, and being on display for everyone to see. it makes him feel special and wanted

tell him he's your good little slut and feminize him, although he doesn't accept it, he has fantasized more than once about you dressing him up in pretty, girly outfits. he knows that you would take such good care of him and make him feel beautiful and desired, much more than he already is<3

slap him, peg him, degrade him, ride him, praise him... practically use him

you hummed as you looked for some strap that could break the little naughty whore you had behind you, he had been very whimsy all this time that you were gone

he even touched himself without your permission, you found him in the room you both shared, humping his hand while making a moaning noise like a bitch and he seemed to have forgotten you were right there

"oh my god what did i do, im so sorry mommy..." he sobbed when you heard his voice from inside of the closet

"what is this my babyboy?" you asked while staring at him

he blushed heavily but still tried to find the words, "i uhm... im sorry about earlier, i was really confused and all, it won't happen again i promise-"

"didnt we agreed that if i caught you doing something like this again you would be punished?"

he tried hard to say anything but you didn't give him any chance "well baby, i'm not gonna forgive this..."

he stared at you in fear and he slowly took off your skirt, "so what are you gonna do now?" he asked with big, childish eyes

"do you wanna know what's gonna happen now?" you ask with an evil smile on your face

he nodded nervously while looking down, he didnt understand why you had come here to punish him, all he did was touching himself!:((

"bad boys deserve to be punished and take up in the ass mommy's huge cock"

now, at this moment you had a big dildo tied to your waist, probably one of the biggest ones you had used with him. you tried to close your legs a little and press the base of the fake cock against your crotch to get some stimulation, you imagined that this time it would be like the other times, him lying on his back, with his legs open, your dildo in his ass, and your hands jerking off his neglected cock<33

he loved being dominated by you after all, no woman ever made him feel more wanted and horny than you :3

but now, you couldn't imagine it anymore. he stood there completely naked and scared:(

"baby, just let me put this thing in your butt and i'll leave you alone, it wont hurt much, i promise..."

he shook his head. completely scared and helpless:(((

"just trust me baby... you want mommy to fuck you, don't you?"

the question had been rhetorical, but you knew exactly what he wanted. he stared at you with those huge eyes, shivering from fear and need, "yes please mommy, i-i need you to please me.."

"good boy<33" you whispered and moved closer to him. "close your eyes and wait for mommy to fuck your sweet asshole :3"

he followed your orders like a good boy and he closed his eyes waiting for you to get ready to slide your fake cock into his ass<3

"mhmmm-m-mommy" his cute moans, echoing in the silence of the night, helped you to relax a bit before going through with it

"ready baby?" you asked as you pushed more of the toy towards his hole and started sliding it slowly inside of him

"uhhuh-hhuh-mm-mmm" he answered in a whisper as you continued to slide your big plastic dick in and out of his ass, occasionally stopping to put pressure on the tip of the cock

"your mommy loves how tight you are babyboy~ fuck- could you call me by my name sweetheart?" you asked while pushing the dildo deeper inside of him

"mhmm hmmm- y/n!! y/n baby<3" he moaned in excitement, he was trying his best to make his tiny asshole take more of the giant dildo inside of it, but he was struggling. his cute face was red from embarrassment and lust, you could tell he was really enjoying every second of it though<33

"oh my god mo...mommyyy!! i cant hold it, its coming!" he cried out loudly

the combination of his cries and you slowly moving the dildo in and out of his ass filled the room with soft moaning sounds <33

you finally stopped the slow motion movements and decided to speed up a little bit, slowly slid the big strap inside of him, each inch pushing further inside of him, deeper and deeper until it pressed against his prostate, stimulating him with gentle vibrations until he reached another orgasm:(((

he collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily while you removed the strap from his ass. you smiled down at him and knelt down to pet his hair, smiling widely at the sight of your babyboy getting pleasure from such things

a minute later he turned around and hugged you tightly, "thanks mommy... i love you so much <3" he said in between kisses on your cheek you smiled, "of course you do baby, i love you too <3" you replied and kissed him passionately on the lips

then, with nothing else left to do you both fell asleep wrapped up in each others arms:)

#mommy k!nk #md/lb #domme mommy #domme reader #dom reader #dom fem reader #sub men #x reader #headcanon #imagine #mommy dom little boy #femdxm #male sub #subby boys #soft fem dom #gentle fdom #fdom #boy sub #subby men #dom mommy #sub puppy #he gets pegged #men gets pegged #reader insert #reader interactive #oc x reader #your character here #imagine your f/o #imagine your favorite character #fuck tumblr

[granolawriting]

hi can you do sith anakin x reader (reader has healing powers but no one knows it she is both fascinated and scared of anakin and watches him secretly (he senses it) everytime he walks in front of her etc) reader is maid and she is amazed by story of kybers and lightsaber. So one time her duty is hanging his robes so she goes to his room scaredly but after getting her job done she realizes his lightsaber is there so she cant help but examine, touch his lightsaber but he senses it and suddenly behind her after that idk yandere stuff happens and when he touches her he senses her healing powers so chooses her as his personal maid and makes her massage his temples everynight for headache, a bond starts to form between them

A/N: This is usually the kind of specificity I like to keep commissions for, but regardless I enjoyed trying out the scene building based on your suggestion! I appreciate your request :) I hope you enjoy <3

pairing: Sith!Anakin x reader

content warning: brief choking, power dynamic

word count: 3.2k

Your eyes watched him go by. Black enveloped by more black, a wave of terror rushes over you at the sight of his path. His robes define evermore the intimidation wishing to be imbued within his subjects as his path is blazed with red. Though with careful luck, you found yourself his maid. Or well, one of many. There was a great deal of women tasked with the upkeep of the empire, and so very often his own dwelling. But that was incredibly rare. No one was allowed so close to him, and especially to you all he was was but a mystery. 

You trace his body as it walks past you, watching as yellow eyes and the brood of a Greek tragedy coat his face peppered with strands of brown hair that fell to his lower neck. Though your eyes linger upon his waist, a specific item that never fails to catch your whimsy is the handle to the blade no one but him ever held anymore. 

Order 66. 

You remember watching that transpire. Though you were quite young, you remember the Jedi. You remember their blades, how they were formed, the kybers harvested from far-off planets and infused into specialized sheaths that harbored great power divinely intertwined with its wielder. When you were young you envied the force, yearned for it to grace you with it's presence though as you grew older and more practical, you settled for an infatuation with the lightsaber's story. And with your master, boss if you will, being the only one left with such a sight, it oftentimes shed from your mind that insurmountable fear of him, to one of fascination and wonder. What was his story? 

That's a question no one knew, and no one ever would know.

Fear washes over you. Immanent, impending doom. You slowly gaze up from where you allowed your eyes to wander for many moments too long, to find the eyes of Anakin staring back at you. FUCK. 

…

The silence is more petrifying than the words he could say. The fear of not knowing overtook the fear of what he was going to do and he knew that. However, after a moment longer, he left without a word. A clacking of heel against freshly cleaned tile slowly drifting off into another corridor as you are left with a heart rate that could kill. Your breath levels after a few more moments of silence enveloping you, an empty room, and a myriad of assumptions to be made. But regardless, your mind still sits on the sway of the saber along his belt. Its complexity still entices you as much as it ever has. 

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

“You wish me to, drop these in his room?” 

Held within your hands are the robes that which Anakin wears on his daily excursions, often needing to be washed and repaired due to stains and wear; though the stench of blood could never quite leave it’s woven threads. 

“Is there a problem with that?” 

“Oh no uh, not at all. I just didn't know that was within my realm of ability” 

“Well, it is now. So do your job. And don't think we won't be making sure you don't do anything you’d regret.”

Stern eyes meet yours, for a droid that is. Your manager in a way, is a droid. A bit odd, but takes out the reasonability of a human to be compelled to go against code. This thing is more apt to kill you than anything else.

Though with little more convincing needed, you take the robes down the infamous corridor that seldom ever walked. You could feel the aura of his common passage seep from the metal beneath you as the hallway never seemed to end. Anxiety wells up in you as you approach its entrance. 

This is where Anakin lives. Lord, Anakin. 

A loud beep of a properly put-in keypad was what proceeded to a large hissing of the doors opening. You slowly enter within its realm, one slow foot over the other, scouring every area for possible life that you should undoubtedly be in fear of. Despite having a reason to be there, the intimidation lingers within every surface he’s touched, every glass held that lay on the coffee table, and undoubtedly the bed at which he sleeps that you stare at with eyes of awe. You saw Anakin for a moment, within this room. Not the Sith, but the man. You saw the empty glass of water next to his bed, the disheveled sheets that indicate a bed slept in, you see things left half open- the living of a person within these walls. Though one of the things you notice left open is his closet. Your destination is to be swiftly met and your activity finished. Before people start to question. You make your way into his closet, swiftly put his things where they belong, and exit his room. 

However, something stops you. It catches your eye, the glint of it's metal reflects off the sun that shines through his windows and you stop where you are immediately. 

His lightsaber. 

Why it wasn't with him, is a mystery you hold with much contemplation but all sense is overriden being in such close proximity to the single weapon you’ve been infatuated with since you first laid eyes on it. It’s almost as though it calls to you, sings to you. 

A head moving left and right, surveying its surroundings as you stand alone in this room does the desire grow too strong. Your hand outstretched, slow feet step closer to it. Until it's finally touched your fingers. The meer power exuding from it is never something you could have accounted for, but probably should have. A touch of fingers grows into a grip of fingers, and a grip upon it grows into both hands holding this item yearned for your entire life. You felt euphoric, this isn't something you thought you’d ever be able to feel, or experience. Eyes look down into its core and see the kybercrystal staring back at you, and with simple means, you find the blade ignited in a red beam of flame that relayed noise with every motion of it as you softly swung it in the open air. A smile coated on your face in a way you've never felt, joy so strong your face hurts from pure happiness.

This was very short-lived. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” 

your stomach drops as you hear a horrifyingly familiar voice sound behind you.

Anakin. 

It's, you, didn't even hear him come in. It's as if he appeared. The blade drops from your hand, sheathing itself in the process so all that follows its loss of grip is the hard clank of metal greeting the hard tile of the floor where you stood.

Hurried, petrified voice that only sounded a means for survival as your mind stayed blank with terror; 

“Oh please, god oh I'm so sorry I didn't mean to. Please sir don't hurt me plea-” 

Without another word you are thrown against a wall, feeling the choke of his hands from feet away as he holds his arm out to signify the force used to harm you. 

“Did you really not think I’d feel something like that? Do you know nothing, young girl? The moment you laid eyes on that thing it is as though you laid eyes upon me. Which I promise you I’ve noticed as well. Do you work for the rebels perhaps? Or are you just nosy?” 

your hand grasps at an invisible hand across your throat, restricted air desperately escapes your body as you gasp for breath within his grasp. All you can muster is a “No” 

“No what?” 

Furrowed brows and rancor coating his yellow eyes, a scowl across his mouth as he tightens his grip upon your neck as a sadistic means to give you a thought that you may have a chance to actually explain yourself. 

Though as your hands follow the lines of your neck, you feel the bruise forming around you heal. The strained vocal cords of a woman choked begin to grow well as you grace yourself with the one thing that’s made your world livable as of late. An attunement with life and death that has made you well-equipped to heal. You couldn't bring people back from the dead, but you could heal them from the brink of it. That included yourself, and though it's never been as useful as it is at this moment, it has saved you many times in the past. Especially others. 

His eyes begin to show sight of confusion at the lack of intense struggle; a sterner look upon your face as you try to heal yourself with hands softly drawn across your neck, he quickly notices the wounds on you disappear as he creates them. He stops his tournament for but a moment, taken aback at the sight of such a thing. A thing he's never seen before, the ability to heal what was once broken with powers within only yourself. 

“What do you think you're doing?”

You collapse to the ground, gasping for air but not nearly as much as you’d need to if it hadn't been for your healing. His voice is deep, laced with anger as his lesson on you didn't seem to reach it’s desired outcome, but regardless curiosity got the better of him as he truly desired an explanation for your ability. 

“Sir please I-, I don't want to die. There's so much unfinished for me to do and I just-”

“That's not what I asked. How are you healed.” 

You pause for a moment. Realizing that he noticed yet again what you try so hard to hide. Touching your neck ever so slightly you shift the direction of what you explain to him;

“This is, I can heal. That’s all that I can do sir. I don't do it too often, I don't know what it does. Or how I can do it, really.” 

“Can it heal others?” 

An opening. Your salvation. 

“Yes! Yes. Yes, I can. Please, I'll heal whoever you need me to. Please just spare me.” 

“Get out.” 

You pray thanks and run as quickly as you can. As your feet hit the tile that separated the entrance of his dwelling and the corridor you were in just moments ago, it felt as if an eternity was spent within the confines of that room. Confronting him as he stood there ready to kill you. You have never felt so grateful in your whole life, that you were able to make your way free after all you did. After touching, even playing with his saber. 

You touched his saber. 

It hit you then. That you finally actualized something that you allowed overtake you in obsession-- something that meant an unfathomable amount to you, something you’d dreamed of your whole life. And you got away with it. 

Desire overtook you, replaying those brief moments of freedom in your head over and over as you yearn for just another moment with it in your hands. Just a second more, the sound gracing your ears for just one more turn. But you couldn't. You barely saved yourself from his grasp the first time, there's no means to say he wouldn't do away with you if you ever tried something like that again. Like you could even get close again. You wouldn't be surprised if he just allowed a delay of the inevitable, that tomorrow morning there would be inquisitors at your door ready to whisk you away like they did any other rebel spy. 

You needed to sleep. There's nothing productive out of the fear you held within yourself, and as you slowly lulled yourself into a slumber that coming night, all that filled your dreams were action and power wielded within the saber. The feeling of it in your hand, the way it weighed on you, the power you felt exude from the weapon's very core only allowed more vivid actualization of what had been the dreams you kept for years upon years. You were enamored with Anakin even more after this point, and despite the fear that lingered deep in your heart, there's something to be said about feeling his essence for but a moment. It was something inexplicable, something fascinatingly complex. 

-----

“Lord Anakin wishes to speak with you.” 

A knock upon your door as morning broke followed by this request from a member of Anakin's innumerable messengers across the empire. He hands you a bit of paper requesting, or moreso demanding your audience in his dwellings at 5 in the evening that day. 

Looking at a clock shining a bright 7 a.m., all that welled within your heart was fear and anticipation. your door closed once the messenger had provided you with the information he was tasked with, and alone you stood for a moment at your entryway trying to gather what he could have wanted from you. You were insignificant at best, all that caught his eye was your increasingly daring behavior that hinged on means for execution. Though for some reason you lived, and for that very reason you held a modicum of faith that there was somehow a positive means to be in his private audience. 

-----

As your day drew to a close, every minute feeling like hours against the impending clock that determined at 5 pm, may you live to see the next day, or might you not be so lucky. Quickly changing out of your working clothes, you make your way to Anakin's room with an intense grasp on the time, so as to not be a moment too late. Or early for that matter. 

Stood outside the arched doorway of his room you sit there with a quickened heart. Anticipation and petrification consume you respectively as the only door that divided you from him was little effect in withholding the feeling of him right on the other side, the aura of a man who had little remorse. Sympathy. Consideration or especially means for compromise. It was what he wanted, or death. You reminded yourself, steeling yourself for whatever he may demand of you as you enter. 

“You may come in already.” 

His voice booms from the inside of the room. He could tell you were there. He could sense your fear no doubt, tell your presence from behind a steel door. You enter with haste.

There you find him sitting on a chair, waiting for you to approach him. With cautious steps you obliged, taking in all you could of your surroundings-- surveying for anything that may cue you in a second before he does. 

You stand a few feets' distance from him. 

“No, come here.” 

He motions his hand towards you, as you observe a face of indifference at the sight of you. It was better than anger. Much, better than anger. 

You arrive at around a half-foot distance from him, and with that he commands; 

“Give me your hands.” 

As he opens up with both his arms outstretched as you slowly move them into his, feeling a cold and calloused hand grab yours the moment they were in reach, and moving them slowly to his temple. You stood there in silence as he closed his eyes at the touch of your fingers upon his face, a furrowed brow that implied that you weren't providing for him what he had expected of you. 

And then it dawned on you. He wants you to heal him. 

“Would you, like me to heal you, sir?” 

A polite tone coated your voice to hide any semblance of anxiety or embarrassment. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I can't quite do that without knowing the source. Can you tell me what you want to heal?” 

“Headaches. Migraines. Must I say more.” 

“No, no not at all. Thank you, sir.” 

And so with gentle hands along his temples, you feed within him the power that he has grown privy to. Though as you watch along his face an unforeseen tension seems to be released from his face as it grows softer under your touch. A scowl turns into a resting face, and a furrow of brows evens out for a feeling of tranquility you can only assume overtook the body of a man relieved of an incessant headache. 

And a tear, runs from his face. 

After a few more minutes you feel as though you’ve done all you can, and let up from his face. 

He looks at you for a moment, and you see someone you oddly recognize. For but a moment the gruff exterior of a man dealing with war looks upon you like, just a man. No amount of intimidation could negate the fact that he was just that, and as you healed his mind, you felt as though a bit of his heart was able to shine through in its place. 

“Very well. I expect you to report here instead of your usual station tomorrow from now on. Is that clear?” 

“Oh uh, yes sir. May I ask what you will be expecting of me from now on? What shall I do for you?” 

“You will be my personal assistant. Do you object to my order?” 

“No, no sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.” 

And as you turn away to walk back to your room, he calls upon you once more. 

“Thank you.” 

That is all he says, and proceeds to turn into his bedroom through a separate door. As you depart from his home, you feel within yourself a well-developed liking for Anakin that overshadows the fear you held for him. To understand him is what you desire most, and although to heal the mind isn't to be able to read it, you realize that much can be learned through what parts of a person hurt most. 

----

As time went on, to report to his door every day and follow his list of commands, cleaning his place, placing his robes, and most importantly healing his mind most every night, you began to learn intimate details of him that made him quite human to you. He was very slow to speak, only when it was absolutely necessary. But he was kind to you, and as time grew on he seemed to enjoy you as well. You gathered that no one visited him, no one really felt comfortable in his presence and that was something that drastically changed within your own feelings toward him.

 And as the bond grew even stronger, he had a room built for you close to that of his own, as a means to keep you closer for when he needed it. He was very hard of emotion, and in those moments of healing is really the only time you felt as though you could truly see Anakin. And there's cause to believe he thinks so as well. To heal his mind is to heal his heart in a way, and with every night spent together for a few minutes softened him up to you immensely. 

He felt vulnerable around you, and that made him feel human, even for just a moment. 

#anakin skywalker #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin fanfiction #hayden christensen #sw anakin #enemies to lovers #enemies to implied lovers #anakin fluff #sith anakin #sith x reader #vader x reader #darth vader

[south-of-heaven]

Poly! Judgement Day going to Disneyland? I"m going there in December with my family as a gift for my 18th birthday which was in June and I'm super excited 😍 (I hope what I said after the request doesn't go against your guidelines because you said you don't want people to vent in your ask box, if it does, sorry, I promise I won't rumble anymore.)

- Lilith🩰

Disney || The Judgement Day x Reader

Summary: Your partners take you to Disneyland for your birthday.

Your heart is aflutter with excitement as you stand before the magical gates of Disneyland, hand in hand with your partners, Finn, Damian, Rhea, and Dominik. The anticipation has been building for weeks, and now that the moment has arrived, you can hardly contain your joy.

The air is filled with an atmosphere of enchantment, and the iconic Disney castle stands tall in the distance, a beacon of wonder. Your eyes widen with childlike wonder as you take in the sight, feeling like you've stepped into a fairytale come to life.

Finn's smile is infectious as he wraps his arm around you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Happy birthday," he says, his voice warm and filled with genuine happiness.

Damian, with his stoic demeanor, can't hide the small grin that tugs at the corner of his lips. He's clearly enjoying the thrill of being here with you, and it warms your heart to see him so relaxed and carefree.

Rhea's playful spirit is contagious as she bounces on her toes beside you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Get ready for an amazing day," she says, her enthusiasm practically tangible.

Dominik, the gentle giant of your group, beams down at you with a look of pure adoration. His presence is a calming force, and his happiness at being able to share this experience with you is evident in his eyes.

As you pass through the gates and step into the heart of the park, the excitement bubbles over. You're greeted by the vibrant sights and sounds of Disneyland—the joyful laughter of children, the melodic tunes of familiar Disney songs, and the smell of delicious treats wafting through the air.

The day unfolds like a dream. You explore the various themed lands, from the whimsy of Fantasyland to the futuristic charm of Tomorrowland. You ride thrilling attractions, indulge in delectable treats, and meet beloved Disney characters who pose for pictures and share warm hugs.

Finn's arm never leaves your side, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of excitement. Damian surprises you with his willingness to try the whimsical rides, a side of him you've rarely seen. Rhea's laughter is a constant soundtrack, and her energy keeps the group's spirits high. Dominik's protective nature shines as he ensures your comfort and happiness at every turn.

As the day turns into evening, you gather in front of the castle, bathed in the glow of the nighttime spectacle. Fireworks dance across the sky, painting it with vibrant colors and whimsical patterns. The magic of the moment is palpable, and you find yourself holding hands with all your partners, forming a circle of unity and love.

With each burst of color in the sky, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the incredible people who have made this day possible. The joy, laughter, and love you share with Finn, Damian, Rhea, and Dominik make this Disneyland adventure more magical than you could have ever imagined.

As the final fireworks light up the night sky, you find yourself surrounded by the warmth of their presence. The day has been a beautiful celebration of not only your birthday but also the bonds you share. And as you link your fingers with theirs, you know that this enchanting memory will forever be etched in your heart as a testament to the love you all share.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #pro wrestling #wrestling #wwe #damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian x reader #finn balor x reader #finn balor #rhea ripley x reader #rhea x reader #rhea ripley #dominik mysterio x reader #dirty dom #dominik mysterio #the judgement day wwe #the judgement day x reader #the judgment day

[howlingday]

Beacon Class of '24

Warning: The following dialogue contains material that may be too hostile and disturbing. Reader discretion is advised. -----------------------------------------

Yang: Is this what cam-girls feel like?

Weiss: I feel like cam-girls do a little more than we did.

Yang: At least those girls get paid! We have to flirt with that dork for free!

Weiss: It's not for free. We lost a bet. We don't get paid, it's just hoin' pro-bono.

Yang: Why would put up flirting with Jaune in the first place?

Weiss: What? You thought Blake could steal that hot dog roller?

Yang: Well, no, but... Ugh... That whole class yesterday. "Wow, Jaune~! Your One Piece drawings are so good~!" Ick!

Weiss: That's not the worst part. Everyone had to watch us do that was the worst part.

Yang: And he probably won't leave me alone for a month now. He's gonna go home and make characters of us in his games.

Weiss: He'll probably make us in Larceny at Large.

Yang: You can make characters in Larceny at Large?

Weiss: Do I look like bitch who would know?

Yang: Whatever. God, I need Mygone. (Fiddles in bra) H-Hey, where'd-?!

Weiss: (Pops pill in mouth)

Yang: Bitch, that was my last Mygone! How'd you take that?!

Weiss: Quick hands. Hm. Mygone and titties. What a combo.

Yang: Goes together like peanut butter and Pain-Away.

Weiss: This is true!

Yang: Ugh, yeah, he kept doing that, too! Like he has to be a fucking expert or something.

Weiss: It can't be worse than, "Uh... Okaaay?"

Yang: FUCK! I HATED how he said that!

Weiss: Like he has to be the gay comic relief cat in a fucking Whimsy cartoon.

Yang: This is true~.

Weiss: This is true~!

Yang: Quite the interesting outfit~.

Weiss: Yes, indeed~.

Yang: Stop screaming, we're having sex~!

Pyrrha: What are you girls up to? It sounds like you had a class with Jaune.

Weiss: She has BurgerQueen! Pyrrha, where'd you get BurgerQueen?!

Pyrrha: ...BurgerQueen.

Weiss: Bitch, give me a fry!

Pyrrha: Is that how you ask?

Weiss: Bitch, please give me a fry!

Yang: And yeah, we had a class with Jaune.

Pyrrha: (Feeds Weiss a fry) I could tell. He was drawing pictures the whole class.

Yang: No...

Weiss: What were we doing in the pictures?

Pyrrha: Just cute things, like holding hands and making kissy faces.

Yang: Weiss, we're gonna get murdered! We're gonna get murdered by a guy who gets motion sickness from riding a fucking bike!

Weiss: At least he won't torture us, since he'd get even more motion sick from carrying our bodies.

Pyrrha: Yes, well, I ripped them up. Not because I'm jealous or anything, but because I respect you both too much. I'm definitely not into Jaune at all.

Yang: You're the best, P-Money~!

Pyrrha: I know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sell the janitor Drow-Zs. Later. (Leaves)

Weiss: She has got to be the hottest bitch ever.

Yang: I love her hair.

Weiss: ...Hey, what's gayer? Dating a girl or wanting a girl to have sex with your dead body?

Yang: Uh... Dating a girl?

Weiss: (Sighs) Yup. Still straight.

POP!

Yang: What the hell was that?

Weiss: It's probably the air conditioning unit exploding again.

Yang: Oh... Fuck, that scared the shit out of me.

POP! POP!

Yang: Huh. That's a lot of AC units.

Goodwitch: (Via PA) Attention faculty and students, we are in an emergency lockdown. Please follow emergency guidelines.

Yang: ...What the fuck was that about?

POP! POP! POP!

Jaune: (Muffled) COME AND GET SOME!

Weiss: Is that...

Yang: Jaune's fucking snapped! We gotta get the fuck outta here!

Weiss: Huh...

Yang: What do you mean, "huh"?! Let's go!

Weiss: Relax, Yang. There's no way he'd come for us. He likes us, so we're the last people he'd want to kill. Just chill out.

Yang: Easy for you to say! YOU TOOK MY LAST MYGONE! (Runs to door)

Yang: (Walks back)

Weiss: I thought you were escaping.

Yang: The doors are locked down.

POP!

Weiss: Oof... That was a big one.

Yang: You won't be in Volume 4.

Cardin: (Muffled) Is this because I ripped up your anime books?

Jaune: THEY'RE NOT ANIME BOOKS! THEY'RE CALLED MANGA!

POP!

Jaune: MAAANGAAAAAA!

POP! POP! POP!

Jaune: Anime girls are better than real women!

#rwby #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #class of '09 #class of '09 the anime #wrath club #jaune arc #cardin winchester #glynda goodwitch

[celenawrites]

TW - just a vent about fandom stuff.

I feel kinda sad about how some creators in the CoD fandom have now abandoned creating content for the game series due to the demanding nature of other fans who used to consume their content. (fics, art, etc)

Like, these artists/writers in the fandom write fanfics/create art, FOR FREE OF COST and dedicate SO MUCH TIME AND ENERGY to their craft despite not getting much in return, only to deal with senseless hate, ignorance, stupidity and get treated as content generation machines; instead of actual human beings with jobs and studies and friends and families that need their time and attention as well.

A lot of us folks who write or draw do this as a hobby. As an outlet for our creativity, and we find this community for the media we are currently fixated on and we create things inspired by it cuz it brings us joy. IT MAKES US HAPPY SO WE CREATE CONTENT FOR IT!!! And then to see the same fandom/community and their horrendous behaviour driving away the creators from the fandom and the media itself is just....sad. Very disheartening.

Like I miss so many of the creators who have just given up on CoD cuz of this issue. Their works have inspired me to start writing again. They make me wish I start learning how to draw and paint again too. Their works have touch my soul, and made me happy - gave me something to look forward to every day.

But I'd much rather they leave the fandom and take care of themselves and their life, than to succumb to this weird pressure fans and fan-content consumers put on them, y'know?

Plus recently, I've seen a lot of racist and stereotypical prejudices from some CoD fans (and even some creators). I know a lot of them are new to the fandom, I was too. But I took an active effort to learn more about this game series. (and it's an ongoing effort cuz I cannot afford to play the games so I have to settle for wiki articles, gameplays, and comics) And I see so many fans not give a shit about it. They treat these characters as blank canvases to fulfill their hypersexual fantasies. (I like me a good smut fic or two, don't get me wrong) But that just makes it impossible for newer fans to get to know more about the lore and the characters. I had just finished watching the campaign for MW, and let me tell you, there are so many complex missions, characters and storylines to explore and depict through fanfics, and it's insane so many people disregard it for their whimsies so easily. That will just stunt your growth as an artist/writer! Read up on the lore, watch the game plays(the OGs and the remakes!) , maybe even read the comics!!! I promise you won't regret it ever!!!

Also, please! For all that is holy, stop putting these complex fictional characters into restricted boxes and label them. That just makes them so one-dimensional. Like -

Soap is not always cheery and bubbly and your fellow bestie. Simon is not an abuser/emotionally dead asshole just because he has a hard time expressing his emotions like everyone else. König, despite the lack of storyline/lore we have on him, isn't an uwu social anxiety babygirl, damn it. Stop excluding Gaz from your HCs and fics! He's a complex man with so many interesting things to explore about his overall story and psyche as a part of 141. He's not always begging for Price's approval either, he can and has objected to how questionable their methods have been regarding their field/work. Stop excluding Gaz from 141 stuff! It makes you look like a POS, and a lot of the people who exclude him are doing so for....pretty racist reasons. As a POC, this shit sucks balls. Also stop stereotyping POC characters in CoD - Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria, Gaz, Farah....just stop. Their ethnicity or race should not deter you from writing about them in a way that doesn't come across as prejudiced and ill-informed.

Also, not necessarily a rant, but please consider/remember the fact that the military has always been a bit of a morally dubious field of work irl, and just cuz CoD is military-centric and features characters who work in the army or PMC and take out bad guys - that doesn't take away from the violent history military has and how they have contributed to the deterioration of many countries (mainly in the Middle East). Heck, even these characters in the CoD games have done extremely unethical things and employed treacherous methods in order to get the job done. These characters may be good people in fiction, but that doesn't mean that they have done great things or have always stayed morally pure. Explore the dubious nature of it all - explore how dark and harrowing it can be for them and for the people that unwittingly or knowingly get involved in their work. It's dark and twisted but it's crucial since it's inspired from our world and it's necessary for us as humans and as artists to explore such themes and analyse them! It's crucial for the soul!!!

#call of duty #cod:mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price #simon ghost riley #alex keller #farah karim #cod #alejandro vargas #valeria garza #rudolfo parra #fandom #tw vent #celena.rambles

[highfantasy-soul]

Moments I loved from NATLA Episode 4 - Into the Dark ❤️️❤️️

Aang and Iroh interacting more - love that they're not friendly to each other, per se, but it builds a foundation that makes their later respect make sense

The Earth Kingdom being harsh with their 'fallen foes' is nice to seed in here as in the animated version (season 1), most of the 'bad' stuff was relegated solely to the Fire Nation

The Earth Kingdom is no pushover and it's nice to see that early

Sokka defending his dad "My dad would have never done what you did" even after he commiserated with the Mechanist about his dad 'not valuing' what Sokka could bring to the table.

Though Sokka is frustrated that his dad doesn't see "him", he knows his dad is an honorable man doing his best and when Sai tries to use him as an example of 'doing the wrong thing just to survive', love that Sokka calls him on it

SECRET TUNNEEELLLL!!!

Like them introducing this now - all old buildings have secret passages - it's just a law

Teo's "its time to fight!" attitude - love it. He's so ready to stop cowering and wants to hit back

Flopsy statues!!!!!

Rolly ball throne? Nice touch

"Bumi? BUMI!!" :D

"You did 🤨" Love how Aang keeps his "I'm just gonna say the truth and I don't care if that's 'not allowed' I'm gonna do it anyways because your social rules are stupid" attitude

Katara's water pouch!!

Love the shake in Jet's voice as he tells Katara "I am nothing like the firebenders"

Katara's assessment is shallow on her part, but the core has a ring of truth - no, freedom fighters aren't the same as their oppressors, but when you start harming your own people to hurt the enemy, then you really have lost sight of what's right and wrong - why you're fighting.

FREEZE JET'S ASS!

I love Jet, especially this version of him, but yeah, no touchy

And Katara is absolutely right: Jet might have helped her through her block, but her power, that's all hers.

What are you going to do, Zuko?? What choice will you make!!??

Love that we're getting this choice of his here in Omashu

Bumi's puns 😭 kill me now - though very canon accurate

Like the vibe that everyone just has to laugh as to not anger him - there's less of a whimsical madness vibe to Bumi here and a more serious - yeah, this guy is our leader vibe that's quite unsettling

The tonal shift with Bumi did give me pause, but I like how the writers kept the jokes, the games, his eccentricities, but shifted the vibe to make them darker

In the cartoon, whimsy might work, but if you think about it realistically, that leadership style would NOT work during a war - a 100 year war, at that.

HIPPIIEESSSS!!!!

Sokka getting into that maraca - you let your little musical heart fly

"What are you doing here?" "We're doin' what we're doin'" :)

Oma and Shu lesbian supremacy!!!

Always get chills when this story is told

Lol Sokka's "There's no such thing as angry spirits." Right before the episode where they're kidnapped by an angry spirit XD

Love the switch up of the rocks not really being the path out - keeping us animated show fans on our toes as to what the lesson will be this time

Everything about the Earth Kingdom soldier's interaction with Iroh - all of it is just so good.

The cartoon glossed over Iroh's warmongering past - but he did do terrible things that hurt so many people. No, 'it was war, I was a soldier' is not an acceptable excuse (we didn’t accept it with Jet, so why the double standard for a ROYAL MILITARY GENERAL??)

The funeral scene

Leaves from the Vine

Zuko offering a soft and kind memory of Liu Ten instead of just talk about him being a soldier

Zuko sitting next to Iroh so he won't be alone!!!!!!!!!

The conversation between Katara and Sokka in the cave where she talks about how Jet helped her and Sokka how Sai helped him - then Katara reminding Sokka that when he was forced into a leadership position for the Southern Water Tribe, he didn't have anyone to help him through that

The concept of us all needing people to help us through our journeys is so important and really comes around at the end of the episode and just through the entire series

BADGERMOOOLLLEEE!!!!

Is it bad that all I could think about was how cute it was the entire time it was on screen?

Dallas Liu is so. Freaking. Good. At. His. Stunts!!!!

And the first mention of the theme Zuko struggles with of compassion being weakness!

Sokka's little 'thanks!' as Katara saves him from the badgermole XD

Seriously, all the little touches in Ian Ousley's performance are great

Idk why Sokka assumed the badgermole was a man, that's clearly a dignified lady

The power of sibling love guiding the badgermole was a great alteration from the OG - if they can be controlled through music, they can definitely respond to emotions

Bumi's whole speech here - and his willingness to get crushed - is what brought me around on this portrayal of him

He's right: it's a game where you have to make impossible choices - you have to fight even when you don't want to (a much more poignant message for Aang than 'look at things a different way')

The power of friendship saves the day!!!

"You CAN rely on your friends - and that's the only way I'm going to save the world: with my friends"

"You think like a child" (derogatory) "Is that really so bad?" (genuine)

Bumi made Appa's whistle!!! 😭😭😭😭

One last time Zuko chooses protecting his uncle over capturing the Avatar 🥲

"Everything I need is right here on this boat" 😭😭😭

[Masterlist of my NATLA thoughts]

#natla #netflix atla #atla #avatar the last airbender #netflix avatar #into the dark

[balkanradfem]

It's Halloween!

Today is the exact midpoint between the fall equinox and the winter solstice, making it the first day of the darker half of the year. It's celebrated as Samhain, or the end of the harvest season by the Celts; and they held rich celebrations and rituals for it, because they were in a season of abundance.

Because this date starts the era of darkness, and it's noticeable how much shorter the days are and also very foggy and ominous, it's believed that the barrier between the our world and the spirit world is at it's weakest, and the spirits are able to enter our world, so it's the ideal time to contact a ghost, befriend a spirit, or get possessed by a ghost. People will put on masks to make themselves friendly to the spirits.

For me, a big lover of whimsy and witches, Halloween is a sign of power, storytelling, gorgeous sights in nature, yelling at the dead, rest from harvesting, storing food, and the sign to engage in spooky and pumpkin-based activities. It also means I'm not supposed to sow any seeds inside - they're not going to have enough light to grow. However, it's a good time to plant onion and garlic outside, because they love growing their roots during the winter cold, and they appreciate this weather.

I also decided to do a little test; I've often tried to grow seeds that require being in a fridge for 5 months in order to germinate, and it never ended well (I'd forget or the plants would die after being planted). So this year I took apple seeds, mulberry seeds, acorns and chestnuts, and planted them in containers on my balcony, leaving them out for the cold winter. I have to assume that this way they'll get enough cold from being outside, and when they do germinate, they'll already be in the soil and won't have to count on my ability to remember them; I'll see them poking out!

Hopefully I manage to grow some trees.

#halloween #samhain #culture #traditions #whimsy #i'm considering doing a scavenger hunt tomorrow hehehehe #its our day of the dead tomorrow #i wanna be silly on the graveyard

[borzoilover69]

> BORZOI: READ HOMESTUCK LIKE ITS 2011 (PART 4)

(4225) Oh yeah it's all coming together now. This panel fucks so hard.

Jakeroxy is probably one of my fave relationships to think about they're so silly together! They have a really great relationship full of whimsy. They call out each others good points are generally incredibly supportive of each other, and they just feel like they click so easily together.

I could muse it comes down to their both shared aspect of void. While hope rings true in Jakes story, clear as a fucking bell, I have reason to suspect his secondary aspect may be void, due to how reluctant he is to open up to others, his ability to distance and generally keep off radar, and his own ignorance, not to mention his literal sort of secondary awareness he has for larger things hidden in the dark. Like seriously, where is he getting this information? Yet his own ignorance gets the better of him most times, leaving him paralyzed. This stirs up rage in others, his inverse.

As for how I approach classpects, well I like to see them sort of like a triad. Humans are multifaceted with multiple problems, so you should read up on your classpects. I started with Dana, and while I agree with some points, i don't really agree with all points, however Opacificas Classpect Meta is two essays that are a must read for any classpector.

Back to the point of the triad. You have your main classpect, which defines you and your main problem / struggle. You should carry to some extent of course traits of your inverse aspect. As a Prince of Void, I naturally ghost and carry traits of light, of extrapolating at length while I destroy void. I'm insightful and observant, yet more often than not I struggle with ignorance. My secondary is a Knight of Blood, due to how well I work with interpersonal relationships among others, pointing out what people are ignorant of helps me gain more knowledge of them as they toss their woes into the void that I naturally present. My bonds are strong however my natural gravitation towards void, towards being unknowable, etc, makes it difficult. My ignorance has been my downside on multiple occasions and while i've had difficulty with blood (hence why its secondary) my primary link is void.

So to sum up. Your main classpect should ring true to your main struggle and how you approach it, but also some of the inverse. They're two sides of the same coin after all. Class is your head, and how you use it. Aspect is your core, and what your nature is. Your secondary classpect is also necessary to help shit process. I don't know, you come up with a better allegory.

Maybe it'd help with how I classpected my boyfriend? I started off with looking at this post with a list of classes and aspects, and I listed off which felt like they fitted for my boyfriend:

Classes:

Witch

Thief

Mage

Aspect:

Doom

Space

Time

Heart

Having that, I started looking at classpects. Tossing at the walland seeing what would fit. But see that post I mentioned earlier doesn't really cut it. My boyfriend, personality wise according to that post, acts very much like a thief but he's not a thief at all, so we can cross that off the list. Thieves are about relocation which he certainly didn't do.

Then I took a look at aspects. If you're doing it right, go read these. Having read them, I figured out it was less problems with self and more about what needs to be done, and he wasn't as martyr like or acceptant of Doom as doom players often are, which left me with Space and Time. My boyfriend is very talented with the arts, and struggles with the same immaterial things space players do, but his mindset leant to time. I won't go into too much detail on it there, but like I said, take a read of Opacifica. Those essays are godsends. At the end of it we realised he was a knight of time. And oh boy was there a reaction.

Look NOTHING against davekat BUT WE ARE NOT DAVEKAT WE CANT DO THIS. (Hence my posts yesterday about it being so, so unbelievably over). But the shoe fit and it wouldn't come off.

So anyways final tip on classpecting, is if you have an alt account where you vent, go look at what you vent about. Or ask your friends for the reoccurring theme that your vents usually spiral into. Those help. But god I got offtopic, back to homestuck

Jake you speaking facts boy. Also is it just me or is the new Apple AR glasses reminding me of something.. I mean slap in some flashing colours on that puppy and you'd be set.

</3 :(

The frustration that sits in JaneRoxy is so often overlooked. Like shit man...it's a frustration that's so deeply rooted that it only comes out when she's drunk. I think realistically it'd come out at some point, perhaps at a party when they're older. Roxy getting upset that Jane didn't believe her, didn't see her as important as Roxy saw her. Accusing her of being unable to change. One that Jane will have to apologise over and over and even then it won't be fixed entirely. There is such tragedy and adversity that the Alpha kids have to tackle to keep their bonds strong.

Here's Jake being Jake. Just snaps right to the fucking chase! Well aware buddy! Most of his hesitant guesses and assumptions are usually facts that ring true and it's later in the story that they become more muddled but his assumption it's true never CHANGES and AUGH.

And then there's Roxy, with that subtle passive aggression that the alpha kids just HAVE going for them and facepalming as they type it out with gritted teeth. Roxy wants to be in something!! So sick of being relegated to the side to cling on.

4227

Boy watch out boy.

4228 I knew that panel looked familiar! Awesome! Except the thing is a million times BIGGER. Haha thats so awesome!

4230

You do the thing where you fly through the air shooting two guns at once. That thing isn't even that big of a deal for you. You do that thing practically every day on hellmurder island.

Jake English you are so admirable leaping out to shoot at a big monster I LOVE YOU.

4232

JAKE WATCH OUT- OH NO FUCK!!!! JAKE YOU HSOT TINKERBULL! YEAARGH!! AGGH! Haha the way he says AH HA. GOT YOU YOU SON OF A, SHIT, WAIT. is so funny.

4234

I really wanna redraw Jake panels later hes so endearing in all of them. (excepting a few..) Darling dearest.

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THIS SHMUCK LETS CHECK ON JANE!

4242

This could be some primary body horror if I was good enough for it.

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST YOU JUST WATCHED HIM CRAWL OUT OF YOUR DEAD POPPOPS NECK HOLE AND YOU RESPOND BY CALLING HIM A TROUBLE MAKER?

4247

Majestic. Spectacular. Superb.

4249 spectacular. magnificent. Spiffy. spectacular.

4253

Jake is so small compared to so much life that is happening on the island good fucking GRIEF. And he doesn't even break a sweat he's just like "Ah botherations! Shit."

I'm out of images again. Welp.

#borzoi talks #borzoi reread #classpect meta #homestuck meta #homestuck #hom3stuck #jake english #classpects #roxy lalonde #jane crocker #alpha kids #borzoi meta

[lamemaster]

The Silmarillion Elves Finding My Mutual's Blog

AN: why am I doing this? Lack of brain cells, I tell you. But here we go (lmk if you would like to be removed...I don't intend to offend anyone). A small gift for mutuals and feel free to add more blogs if needed.

Summary: How would characters from the Silmarillion react to finding my mutual's blogs. Purely based on my interpretation which may or may not be messed up.

@asianbutnotjapanese: the loremaster with all the records. Elrond and Finrod. Do I need to say more? This trio would sit together to appreciate all the writings together. A group that thrives together as they compare their findings.

Finrod's appreciation might originate in the form of odes complimented by the notes of his harp.

Kings and queens of reblogging stuff for easier access.

@doodle-pops: There's going to be a crowd here. But the chief guest of this gathering can be none other than Fingon. Accompanied by Glorfindel and Fingolfin (because I see you with that sugar daddy fic Mina).

I completely expect Fingon to encounter the blog, binge-read everything and then create his own the very next day (and yes, he will write the most cursed ships). This elf will create multiple other accounts to comment on the Fingon fics...Will jokingly compare the note count of his fic with that of Maedhros'.

Glorfindel is just another golden retriever. He will meticulously thank you and the rebloggers (celebrates humbly at his popularity). And he will be the one to send super sweet 'you're amazing' kind of asks to the writer.

Fingofin will become an established annon on the blog. No one knows it's him. His online personality is 180 from his real life. (He's got some ships and opinions and mans won't stop from stating them *aggressively*.

@a-world-of-whimsy-5: The Ainur. Sauron, Namo, and Irmo (Manwe and Eonwe are lurking) are here and they will read everything. Don't be surprised if you get a bunch of passionate Sauron requests by an 'annon' the next day. Very specific requests.

Irmo on the other hand reads even the spiciest fics with a poker face late at night. I can just imagine him laying with his phone in his hand as he scrolls through the blog. A quiet existence but don't be surprised when you wake up with 50 notes and a new followers.

Namo will start by restraining himself to the sfw fics but somehow ends up reading nsfw and goes down the rabbit hole. Next day the he can't look anyone in the eye (especially Manwe). Decides never to do that again only to come back for more (don't even bring him close to hurt no comfort, this Ainur cried for Luthien. He can't handle angst).

@wandererindreams: Ulmo, Manwe, Eru, and The Void. Just a merry group having existential conversations. You all would be sitting there with your copy of texts and believe me Eru will pull out receipts to prove shit.

The sight of the Void being hyped by all the extensive headcanons...chef's kiss. Literal black hole feels included in the fandom for the first time.

Manwe and Ulmo would be there with wisdom and appreciation for your deep contemplation. Both commenting their piece and views about the subject in lengthy comments.

Eru will be taking notes. I can envision Iluvatar, playing devil's advocate (ironic) and arguing against anything and everything. Eru likes hooman who challenge him (ask Numenorians).

@animatorweirdo: Maglor and Sauron. The second eldest Feanorian will be found blushing as he reads your works and he will revisit the blog in bouts of day-dreaming of his true love. Leaves adorable emojis in the comments.

Believe me, Sauron would get some pretty interesting ideas from all your sci-fi fics. Now he really really really needs a vampire plus werewolf SO so bad. This maia will flourish under all the attention given to him. Follows fervently but will like sparingly (he's got an image to maintain).

I would also spy a lingering Maedhros but he's got the tired mom energy so he'll be a flickering presence who remembers Tumblr once every 3 months.

Lamemaster: dead. Feanor or Finwe will smite me the second they see my blog.

#the silmarillion #writers and their muses #tolkien elves #we're fucked if this happens #Feanor will smite me #treat for mutuals

[poemstoimmortalisehim]

Garden and her lover

Before you met me , I was a barren land, neglected and ruined. My trees were stripped bare of their luscious green leaves,picked apart and trampled on by the ghosts of past lovers. Not a single flower was in sight, every last one had wilted in misery crushed by the venomous wrath of hatred and agony trapped within my soil.

Even when some semblance of a seedling formed, she cowered her head in melancholy afraid to trust the warmth of love for fear of being burned again. The once flourishing myriad of fauna that thrived my grounds were now reduced to prickly thorn bushes stinging with painful memories of betrayals and broken hearts.

It was then you came into my garden like a drizzle of hope after a starving drought of despair. Like a mother's delicate touch you tended to my dirt with patience and planted the seeds of your love.

Even during the days when I was plagued with self-doubt and would conspire with the wind to scream at you that I may not bear the fruits of your painstaking labour,you would sit with me in silence and run your hand healingly through every insignificant shrub and weed that grew.

The once blush pale beating heart of my garden was turning crimson red with a newfound purpose just like the roses you planted.Soon arrived the morning glories always in awe of your beguiling smile ready to whisper sweet nothings and extend their vines with gratitude to feel your soft enduring palms.

Then came the lavenders with their saccharine fragrance that would send me into a childlike whimsy and entrance my head with thoughts of you. The lavenders were my favorite because it reminded me of your face that glistened with purple hue and purple meant passion,the sheer unwavering passion of yours that turned my disfigured soil into the Eden the gods blessed your kind with.

The edges of your temple wrinkled like the swirls of an old tree stump but unlike the sophisticated spirals of your exterior your heart remained guarded like a shy tulip worried if the world would mock the way the petals of your mind unfolded.

Yet, during the winter nights when you would rest your weary head on my grass patch saying your musings to the moon, I would listen clandestinely to the wisdom you gained from travelling treacherous rocky paths, how they scarred your feet but disciplined your mind.

You taught me humility so I won't gloat over my vibrant carnations but appreciate their impermanence as with the ever-changing unforgiving seasons and immerse in their exquisite beauty even if, just for a moment.

And just like the notion of love even if the cherry blossoms I cherished so dearly in spring were to wither I would console myself knowing that camellias in the winter would await me.

Like a sunflower that lifts up her glowing yellow petals with cheerful exuberance your perseverance taught me to look adversity in its monstrous pouncing eyes such that even if the sky in her envy were to send ravenous thunderstorms or the sun were to scorn upon us with his scorching glances I would not falter but continue to bloom in rebellion.

Yet I knew, when the vicious hearsays from ravens turned my spirits down you would let me revel in the shade of your strength like a tall and mighty banyan tree.

The butterflies who would travel from lands far away would be swayed by your lustful charm. And while my most eye-catching petunias and freesias would seduce them with sweet nectar and striking petals the fluttery beings would insist on sitting upon the throne of your nose and staring into the alluring blooming irises within your eyes.

My poppies would dance devotedly to the melodious cacophony of your voice and my lilies would wish for a trickle of your sweat to fall upon them so that they may taste salvation and shimmer with pollen of adoration in your presence.

The flowers in my garden shall forever be a testament to the unrelenting love and kindness you showed me and every last seed shall be born praising your name. Alas, my dear remember that when the nights get too lonely and the days filled with drudgery lean your tired frame against my branches so that I may caress your face with dandelion kisses and help you find the courage to sprout again just as you did with me.

-A.N

#love poems #deep poems #poems #poemsaboutlove #poemsoftheday #lovepoems #original poems #poetryportal #poeticstories #spilled ink #poets corner #writing #literature #poems and poetry #poems on life #poetry #sad poetry #poem of the day #poems and quotes

[aspenwritesstuff]

Part Two

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warnings: ptsd/nightmares after an accident, general depression, ANGST, self-imposed isolation, themes of guilt/self doubt, swearing

wc: 8.99k

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas. “Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next. "You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.” Your prediction was correct. “No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.”

a/n: hello, lovely readers. I'd like to start by apologizing profusely for how long updating this has taken me. I won't bore you with the details of my health - physical or otherwise - and will simply leave it at this; life is ROUGH sometimes. Thank you to those who have patiently waited for this release. I hope that it was worth the wait. I'm doing my best to get back into writing, and I assure you that updates will start coming for my other fics soon, too. I hope you enjoy this second installment of Desderium.

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

“Mother knows best.”

You’d never quite understood why that particular phrase had become so popularized. You’d assumed up until now that it was simply a scare-tactic that adults tried to drill into pliable, adolescent minds. A way to remind them to listen, even if they didn’t understand, even if they didn’t like it. 

Standing in front of the mirror dressed in clean clothes, hair still damp from a shower, you began to understand. 

Though you never would have chosen to pass along your knowledge of your own volition - and as much as you hated to admit it - teaching Hyunjin had forced you to take better care of yourself. 

You had no desire to impress him, by any means. If anything, it was the opposite. You’d found yourself beginning to hope that he’d grow weary of trying to communicate with you, as your company was far from being considered anything close to pleasant, and that he simply would not show up for the next session. 

Yet, here you were, brushing your teeth and tying back your hair. Not ‘just in case,’ or out of anything close to it, but simply because you knew better now. 

You knew better than to hope.

The day was a stark contrast to your permanent melancholia. It was beautiful, uncharacteristically warm for mid-May, with a breeze just cool enough to soothe any discomfort from the sun. Clouds straight out of a children’s book, fluffy and broad, were sparsely littered across the expanse of blue. Birdsong accompanied the scent of the nearby blossoming trees, filling the air with a whimsy you could imagine being a work of fiction.

However, you weren’t that lucky. 

The day, despite how perfect it seemed, still carried with it its own share of hardships. Flowers could bloom all they wanted, and the sun could continue to shine, but what did that really change? 

Nothing, because this was not a work of fiction.

You still had to go to the art school, you still had to teach Hyunjin, and you still had an angry pink scar atop your hand. Indeed, today was real - and, you’d go as far as to say it really wasn’t that beautiful at all. 

If you looked at the sky for long enough, those fluffy clouds would dissipate into amorphous blobs. If you listened harder, past the birdsong, you were sure to hear a couple fighting or a parent scolding their child. If you sat beneath the warmth of the sun for too long, you would burn. 

Today really wasn’t all that beautiful. Not at all. 

You watched the world move around you as you took a seat on the bench, waiting for the bus to take you to your choice of hell. The sun had lured more people than usual from their homes, the park across the street filled with more life than you’d seen in a while. 

Two children chased after each other, giggling and shouting in excited voices under their parents’ watchful eyes. You wished you had as easy of a time as they did, playing make believe. If you could, then maybe today could be beautiful. 

But you couldn’t. And it wasn’t. 

The scent of diesel in the air foreshadowed the bus’ arrival, urging you to your feet just as it appeared atop the hill. The bus driver, a man in his fifties whose name you’d never learned, gave you a curt nod as he opened the doors. He grumbled something resembling a greeting as you stepped up the two steps to the aisle, earning a tight-lipped smile in response. 

The bus was packed today - you blamed the day’s masquerade as lovely for this, too - and you found yourself having to choose which patron to sit next to for the next ten minutes. You quickly crossed off the snoring man with his head against the window and the heavily pregnant woman across from him - you didn’t want to end up a pillow for the former, your hesitance for the latter stemming only from good manners. 

You scanned the remaining seats, contemplating if it would be too terrible to sit next to a woman in business attire chattering away on the phone, until a gentle voice called out to you. 

“You can sit here if you want.” 

Your eyes darted to the source of the invitation, a man around your age with a comforting smile and welcoming aura. He held an earbud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out likely to hear your reply should you have one. 

He didn’t seem like a terrible companion for the ride, likely returning to his music as soon as you answered. That was ideal, truth be told, not having to engage in conversation. Your decision was rushed, though, by the driver clearing his throat impatiently. 

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded, sliding into the seat before sitting, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he urged with that same gentle grin, “Wouldn’t want you to end up drooled on,” he jutted his chin towards the man you’d decided against before, earning a scoff and a smirk from you as you settled into the leather.

He seemed disappointed that you hadn’t laughed, but that was likely because he hadn’t the slightest clue that he’d gotten closer than anyone else had in months. 

This kind-faced stranger must not have been too terribly broken up over it, though, putting his headphones back in properly and tapping play against the cracked screen of his phone. You found yourself strangely comforted that you could hear bits and pieces of the song - it gave you something to focus on without having a window to stare out of. 

You shut your eyes, then, as you tried to recognize what he was listening to based solely on the thumping of bass obscured by his ears. The man with the reassuring smile was humming along now, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be bothered. You instead listened, not particularly invested though you welcomed the occupation of your mind. 

Squealing tires brought you to full attention, though you couldn’t open your eyes. Horns blared over the sound of crunching glass, screams overtaking the crunching of glass. The whooshing of your pulse in your own ears left the distinct groan of bending metal as nothing more than background noise. 

Your heart began to race, bringing an all-too-familiar panic to the forefront of your mind. You wanted to call out as the sound of sirens drew nearer, but you couldn’t speak. 

It was as though you were frozen in time whilst the world spun out of control around you. You wanted to call out, to tell someone that you were there, to beg someone to find you and pull you from the dark. 

“Can you hear me?” you could feel pressure against your shoulder, though the ability to form a response was nonexistent. 

You wanted to respond, to tell them that you could. To tell them that you were in there. To tell them not to leave you in the chaos - in the dark. 

You hadn’t realized the stranger next to you had stopped humming, nor that you’d dozed off, until you realized that it was his cautious hand patting your shoulder. 

You felt your eyelids shoot open, a pair of concerned eyes and furrowed brows staring down at you bringing you quickly back to the surface of consciousness. You felt sick, a thin sheen of sweat rising to your face quickly cooling the burn of the embarrassed heat that had crept up your cheeks. 

“You okay?” he asked then, the fear in your features registering with him the longer he looked at you.

You nodded, blinking hard as the look he wore pierced through your chest.

You had seen that look before - it was the same look your mother wore when she’d run out of tears to shed at your bedside. The same look Felix and Changbin would send your way when they dropped off their weekly bouquet - after they’d given up on trying to get any conversation out of you. The same look Ms. Park had as the nurse escorted her out as you screamed and cried.

The pity only felt worse coming from a stranger. 

You cleared your throat, finding your voice to be much smaller than you remembered it being, “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, “Sorry if I bothered you.”

“Hey, no worries,” he spoke quickly, as though the thought of you feeling like a bother were something of importance to him, “Are you sure you’re okay, though? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” he wore that same carefree smile, though his eyes carried something akin to worry. 

Why did he care? He was nothing more than a stranger you’d met on the bus, someone who shared his seat with you out of courtesy. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping your voice would come out with a more believable strength this time, “I’m really okay.”

Not quite as confident as you’d hoped, but it would have to do. Less lioness, more housecat - but at least you weren’t a mouse. 

“If you say so,” his eyes darted to the driver, then back to you, “This is my stop.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as it finally clicked in your brain that he’d been standing this entire time. You looked out the window, noticing that you were outside of the campus, “Mine, too, actually.” 

His brows shot up before he chuckled, gesturing grandly with the hand not holding his spare headphone towards the aisle, “Well, then, ladies first I s’pose!” 

You gave him your best attempt at a smile, though a grimace would be a much more accurate descriptor, before rising to your feet and walking towards the door. You mumbled a thank you and waved to the driver, who simply grumbled under his breath in reply. 

You didn’t blame him for that, though. You’d managed to hold up the bus twice in one day, effectively lengthening his workload. If you weren’t in such a haze from what you now knew was nothing more than a dream, you may have felt the need to call him out for his rudeness.

You ignored the irony of having such a dream, seeing as you’d wished your reality were just that - an unfortunate nightmare. You ignored the way your heart sank when you caught a glimpse of your hand when you waved to the grumpy driver, plunging deep into your stomach at the sight of your scar. You ignored the clamminess of your palms and how cold the once pleasant breeze felt against the moistness of your skin.

“You sure you’re alright? You really are a little pale,” your kindhearted seatmate spoke again from behind.

You wished you could justify ignoring him, too. 

“Yeah,” your voice quavered as you answered, turning around to witness that look - the look you hated, the one everyone seemed to send your way.

You weren’t surprised at the disbelief on his face, certain that you couldn’t have sounded less okay if you tried. You expected him to press the issue, forcing you into either running away or losing your temper - fight or flight, one could say. You expected him to act entitled to your story - your trauma. You expected him to push. 

“You in a hurry?”

You hadn’t expected that. You pulled your phone from your pocket, brows wrinkled in confusion as you noted the time - 9:30 - before shaking your head.

“C’mon, there’s a cafe on campus,” you knew that, of course, being alumni. The kind stranger, however, did not - and you were still too shocked to burst his bubble, “Want a coffee? Or tea? Whichever you prefer,” he rubbed the back of his head, visibly stiffening at his own awkwardness, “My treat, of course!” 

You hesitated, considering the possibilities. On the one hand, he was a complete stranger. Someone who you’d only just met moments ago, someone who could see how vulnerable you were right now. Someone who looked at you with that look you hated. On the other, he’d shown compassion and left you alone until he’d needed to wake you to get off of the bus. He seemed genuine in his concerns, though you wished he’d not noticed your distress in the first place. 

“You’re paying?” you reiterated, finally coming to the conclusion that one cup of tea wouldn’t hurt. 

He threw his head back then, a bellowing laugh coming from deep within his stomach before he got a hold of himself. He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning from ear to ear, “Yeah, I’m paying. C’mon.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cafe, waiting until you started towards that direction to fall into step next to you. 

Hyunjin had taken extra precautions to ensure he would not be late today.

He hadn’t predicted just how annoyed he’d become with his past self, however, until he found himself reaching out of the shower to snooze an alarm - the third of five he’d set - interrupting his playlist. His irritation was short lived, fizzling out nearly as soon as it started. After all, how could he possibly stay upset by something so small? 

Today was a beautiful day. 

Hyunjin turned down the volume of the song that played, content to allow the trilling call of the sparrows outside to overwhelm the gentle melodies he’d chosen. Despite his earlier frustration, he found himself oddly at peace with the replacement.

As he packed his bag of supplies, his thoughts began to drown out the symphony coming in through the windows. His mind was on you - just as it had been ever since the two of you parted ways last week. Hyunjin wasn’t obsessed, at least not in a way worth any concern, but he did have questions. 

Why was someone who’d volunteered as a mentor so visibly discontent with their pupil? Was it because of Hyunjin himself? Had he done something to bother you? To accidentally offended you somehow? Why did you all but run from the art room? Why weren’t you painting alongside him to show him the way? Did you even paint? You had to, seeing as you were capable of fixing an issue Hyunjin had been dealing with for weeks in a matter of minutes. Right? 

Hyunjin shook his head, damp blonde strands tickling the apples of his cheeks. After his first alarm, he’d debated on whether or not he should even attend the session today. If he made you that uncomfortable, was learning a few pointers really worth it? Your pursed lips and glossed-over gaze were burnt into his memory and - after the initial joy of fixing the issue with his painting had worn off - he couldn’t shake the mounting curiosity they brought with them. 

In the end he’d decided that he couldn’t pass on whatever advice hid behind your icy exterior, though. He couldn’t pass on scratching that itch, the one your venom-laced words had given him. The one that could only be relieved by answers - answers which his intuition told him would not come easily.

He zipped up his bag, considering the routes he could take to get you to open up. His ideas weren’t terrible; asking the standard questions about family and friends, debating favorite artists, bringing up his own interests in passing…but all of these ideas held one thing in common that made Hyunjin feel very, very small.

They required you to actually want to speak to him. 

He glanced at the clock, then - it was only 9:45 - noting that he had enough time to swing by the cafe for an americano. Caffeine was, for all intents and purposes, a great way to sharpen his focus and lift his spirits. He could definitely use the boost. 

His mind was swimming with thoughts, worries even, about today’s session - about you - and for a moment Hyunjin wondered if you felt just as unsure about today as he did. 

Sliding a black cap over his slicked-back hair, Hyunjin slung his supplies over his shoulder and made his way out of the dorm building. He barely registered the waves and smiles his classmates sent his way as he walked across campus, responding to them in kind with a slight delay. His mind was too busy trying to unravel the tangled enigma that was you.

The birdsong was louder without his walls as a buffer, lightening the weight he’d been carrying by a little. He looked up to the sky, a soft smile tugging at his features at the way the clouds bloomed against the sky. 

The sight made his heart feel light, forgetting for a moment about his concerns regarding his new mentor. The sky felt like the joy he’d feel at the fair as a child, and he found himself comparing the clouds to cotton candy as they melted against the brilliant sky. 

Hyunjin knew what he would paint today. Before he could paint, though - coffee. In a matter of minutes, he was walking through the heavy mahogany door of the campus’ coffee shop. Passing through those doors always felt like an entirely different world to Hyunjin; the warm-toned lights mounted in metal, industrial-style brick with exposed pipes, and the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds immediately seemed to cancel out the surrounding environment. The choir of birds was replaced by the clattering of ceramic and overlapping chatter, the gentle breeze now thick bursts of warm air from the kitchen door swinging on its hinges. Though this was definitely more man-made than the beautiful spring day he’d left outside, Hyunjin quite liked it here.

Stepping forward on the worn-down wood floors, he stopped at the counter and ordered his typical iced americano. He paid, leaving a tip before scooting to the side to allow others to place their orders as he waited for his own. He’d started to zone out slightly when he heard a familiar name called from an employee’s mouth.

Your name, followed by another that he recognized.

His head snapped up, scanning the room so suddenly that it was a wonder he hadn’t managed to give himself whiplash. His eyes landed on the carefree smile of Han Jisung approaching the counter from a booth in the corner - at which you were seated.

Hyunjin felt a pang of something akin to jealousy in his chest as he watched Han accept the drinks, surprised to see a soft smile on your face as the boy carried the drinks back to the table. His mind raced, out of his own control, as his eyes fell to the floor.

Up until now, Hyunjin had assumed that you simply just…didn’t like people, as a general consensus. Though seeing your calm smile as Han handed you a tea, he felt himself shrink. It wasn’t that you hated people as a whole, you just for some reason hated him. What had he done? Had he accidentally offended you in some way? Was his art not good enough? Were his aspirations annoying you? Was it just…him, as a person? The insecurity ran rampant as he peeked back up at the two of you, his chest aching. He’d truthfully been hopeful, hearing he’d have a mentor that had survived the same art program he was a part of now. He’d even spoken to his friends about how cool it would be to have a friend who could fully comprehend the pressure he was under.

It wasn’t that he had any problems with his current friends, it was the simple fact that all of them had majored in a different department. None of them were artists in the same sense as Hyunjin was, opting for theater or music rather than traditional art methods.

He was so excited to meet someone like-minded and artistically inclined. Beyond excited, even, his friends having called him out on how annoying he’d gotten as he counted down the days to meeting his new mentor. And, now, he felt stupid.

As he watched you sip your tea, your eyes alight with inaudible laughter at something undoubtedly stupid Jisung had said, he felt stupid. As he realized that, despite having so much in common, you’d so easily warm up to his friend; that this may actually be the first time he’d seen a ghost of a smile on your face, he felt stupid.

If he had to feel this way, the very least he owed his bruised ego would be the privilege to act the same way he felt.

Without a second thought, Hyunjin left his position against the countertop and strode with false confidence over to your table, plastering a grin on his face that he hoped would hide his distress, before sliding in next to Jisung. “Jisung,” he greeted warmly before casting his eyes towards you, watching as the light slowly left your eyes, “I see you’ve met my mentor.”

You imagined this is what crashing through thin ice during a leisurely skate would feel like. One moment, you were focusing on the offhanded quips coming from your new companion, the now-unfamiliar sensation of contentedness lulling you into a sense of security. You’d stopped thinking about what happened to you, not even noticing the slight tremble in your scarred hand when you’d lifted your tea. 

You’d been about to laugh, though perhaps out of pity for the awkward jokes Jisung had been spouting, but still…for the first time since the incident that had stripped away your joy, you were about to laugh just as you would before. Until your blood ran cold, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Before you now sat Hyunjin, staring straight into your eyes with a nearly imperceptible curiosity. Along with Hyunjin came the memories. Along with Hyunjin came the pain. Along with Hyunjin came the truth. You would never be the same. You felt your features fall into absolute blankness as you held his gaze, eyes darting to Jisung briefly before returning to Hyunjin. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Hyunjin continued, casually tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His statement seemed to pull Jisung out of his shock at his sudden arrival, the clueless grin he often wore finding its way back to his face. “Ah, we just met today!” He said cheerfully, pulling your attention away from Hyunjin momentarily, “On the bus.” You nodded, the air having not quite returned to your lungs enough to provide an auditory response. Hyunjin was looking at Han now, which helped greatly in your quest to find your breath, but your chest still ached.

Hyunjin looked puzzled as he turned to Jisung, a brow raised as he cocked his head to the side. He wore his disbelief plainly enough that the other man had no trouble understanding what the look meant. “She had time before a meeting,” Jisung looked between the two of you now, his expression shifting back into one of comfortability as he put together the pieces in real time, “With you, I’m guessing?” Hyunjin nodded, his brows still knitted together despite the small smile he wore whilst listening. You could tell, despite your short time knowing him, that the wheels were turning behind his calm facade. About what, you were unsure, but something about the neutral position of his features felt completely fabricated.

That alone was enough to keep your voice at bay.

“Small world, huh?” Jisung continued, his cheerfulness a welcome - though temporary -  distraction from the tension you felt radiating from Hyunjin. “Yeah, very,” Hyunjin replied, turning to face you once more. As his dark eyes met your own, it felt as though you were shrinking. If you could dissolve into the plush booth seat, you’re sure you would have. 

You should say something, right? Certainly, you knew that you should. Of course, engaging in conversation with him was something a normal person would do in this moment.

You, however, simply could not.

Despite the way Hyunjin looked at you expectantly, not much differently than a child waiting for instruction, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say hello. You felt smaller and smaller as your mouth ran dry, clutching your cup of tea tightly enough to indent the thin plastic cup.

You were saved as the barista called Hyunjin’s name, watching helplessly as he slid out of the booth. 

“Lesson’s in five minutes, we can walk together.”

Though you were sure he meant it innocently, the way he phrased it as a certainty rather than an offer nearly sprang you into a panic. Had Jisung not been present, you’d be searching your mind for any believable excuse - not wanting to spend more time alone with Hyunjin than was required of you. But Jisung was there, and Jisung was far from able to understand why, exactly, you had an aversion to spending time with his friend.

“Sure,” you managed, barely a whisper as you pulled yourself to your feet. You still held your tea, now in both hands, as you turned to Jisung. “Thank you, for the tea. And the bus.”

The man grinned up at you again, “Yeah, no problem. Have fun!”  You felt guilty at the fact that, despite his genuine encouragement, you knew you would be doing anything but. Regardless, you gave him your best attempt at a smile - though you wouldn’t be surprised if it came across as more of a grimace - before turning towards Hyunjin.

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked, his expression still pleasant - if he’d sensed your mood shift along with his presence, he wasn’t showing it.

You simply nodded, casting one last glance to Jisung before following Hyunjin out of the building. He didn’t look back at you, not even once, as his long legs carried him effortlessly towards the studio. You quickened your pace to keep up, though it didn’t seem that Hyunjin noticed. The last thing you wanted to do was thicken the already awkward air - it was much easier to just half-jog behind him.

Even as he held the door open, his gaze still wouldn’t meet yours. It was impossible not to feel a bit grated by his sudden attitude. He’d interrupted your prior conversation, pulling you to the lesson alongside him, just to all but pretend you weren’t there.

Not that you were really complaining, seeing as you hadn’t the slightest intention of being buddy-buddy with the stark reminder of your own misery, but his sudden shift from the vibrant persona he’d exuded at your previous lesson still left an odd taste in your mouth.

Perhaps he’d finally gotten the message? Maybe, after your less-than welcoming attitude on day one, Hyunjin had given up on trying to weasel his way into your life aside from lessons? It didn’t seem as though that would be the case, though. Despite your sharpness, he’d still chosen to attend the lesson today…

Then, why? Why was his face lacking the blissfully ignorant smile he’d worn last time, even as you’d made it clear that you had no desire to befriend him? Why was the silence he’d once found absolutely necessary to fill left alone?

You hadn’t expected your questions to be answered so quickly, but as  you approached the door to the studio, pulling it open and stepping inside, Hyunjin finally spoke.

“Did I do something?”

It was such a simple question. Four words that, on their own, didn’t hold much weight - but spoken in such a small, genuine voice from your once-enthusiastic pupil felt like a punch in the gut.

Is that what this was about? You were teaching him, weren’t you? What else did he expect?

“What are you talking about?” you asked him, voice sounding filled with more disinterest than you’d intended as you set down your bag, having a seat on an empty stool.

“Did I do something to offend you?” He repeated again, remaining frozen in the doorway. He still wouldn’t look at you, studying his own shoes against the floor as though they were the biggest point of interest in the room.

It was painfully obvious that Hyunjin truly believed there was something he’d done to warrant your offputting behavior; from the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears to the way he shuffled in place. He looked like a child that had been scolded in front of his friends as he awaited your answer, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“No.” Your response held much less weight at first glance than his initial question had. A single word, simple enough for an infant to claim as their first. Though, paired with the way it cut through the air - terse, leaving no room for debate - you didn’t doubt that Hyunjin had felt a sting. Hyunjin nodded, flinching at the word as if it were something much less innocuous. He swallowed hard before stepping forward, sitting on the stool opposite of you and pulling a blank canvas from his messenger bag. He set it on the easel with delayed movements, his eyes appearing glazed over - as if he were in a trance. “If I didn’t do anything,” he started, pulling out his paints and setting them up on a small table, “Then it must just be me in general, hm?” You raised a brow, ignoring the pang of jealousy you felt to the best of your abilities as he pulled out his brushes, twirling one around his finger delicately as he stared at all of his color options. How were you supposed to answer? It wasn’t as though you could tell him that your innate dislike for him came from his ability to do what was taken from you. It wasn’t as though you could simply say that you were sure he was a great guy, and that your quiet rage came from a place of envy. You simply couldn’t. Hyunjin already made it real enough, speaking aloud what had happened would only serve to twist the knife. He must have taken your silence as an affirmation, a laugh escaping his lips in the form of a whisper as he shook his head. He lifted a tube of vermillion before pulling out his palette, filling one of the divots with the rich shade before setting the tube down - letting it clatter noisily amongst the others. His foot tapped against the floor as though he were physically holding himself back from speaking, dipping the brush into the paint carefully. His body language was screaming anything but calm yet, despite this, his hand was steady as he raised the red-tinged bristles to his canvas. You watched as the single line he painted was joined by another, forming haphazard, angry angles. Scarlet against white. The heartache watching him create with such effortless movements was different than any you’d felt before. You averted your gaze as the dull ache grew into something bigger - something quietly furious, intimidating in its sheer density as it took up each crevice of your mind. Your attention seemed much less volatile as you focused in on your own hands, guiding your vision from your fingertips to your palm before turning your hand over. Your heart plunged into your stomach before you glanced back at Hyunjin’s canvas - now blended with different shades of orange and pink alongside the aforementioned red. You looked back down at your own angry, red line. 

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, there weren’t any complimentary colors that could be added to lessen its impact. There was no gentle pink to soften it, no comforting orange glow.  Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, the angry red you’d been cursed with could not be changed into a sunset. The mood could not shift into something inspirational, it could not become something soothing on the eyes. It could not, and would never be a sunset.

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, you could not blend out the rough edges. You couldn’t simply feather out the red until it looked like it belonged. You couldn’t add or take away anything, there was no camouflaging the puckered evidence of loss that you were forced to wear.

Hyunjin’s words rang in your mind once more; it must just be me in general. It wasn’t that you necessarily felt bad about your feelings - those were your right, the only thing you’d earned from your tragedy. You did, however, feel a bit guilty about the collateral damage sitting alongside you, moving his brush along the canvas wordlessly.

You were right before. You couldn’t tell him why you felt this way, he definitely wouldn’t understand. Nobody would, after all, unless they’d been forced through what you had endured. There was, however, one thing you knew you could do.

“It’s not you.”

Hyunjin paused, moving his brush away from the canvas as his back stiffened. Your words weren’t soft, weren’t sweet, weren’t meant to be reassuring whatsoever. You’d stated them plainly, as if they were simply a fact you’d decided to share. As dark irises flitted over to you, curiosity filling their chocolate depths, you held your breath.

“No?” he asked before looking away, resuming his work after the initial shock of your voice had worn off.

“No,” you echoed, looking anywhere but his palette as he squeezed a bit of yellow into an empty space.

“Then what?” he asked, still focusing on his work. Though you weren’t looking, you could hear the whisper of bristles against vinyl. It was a beautiful sound, or at least it was before.

“I…can’t tell you that,” you mumbled, looking out the window at the students wandering campus. Two girls running into an embrace that nearly convinced you they could be lovers, a couple of boys doing that odd, handshake hug that men had somehow decided unanimously meant they weren’t in love, a girl beneath the shade of the old ginkgo tree sketching away.

Even absolute strangers held the power to remind you of loss, it seemed.

You looked back towards Hyunjin as he blended daffodil yellow into the sky he’d created, wondering if you’d be better off watching the girl outside.

“You can’t?” he hummed, setting his brush aside before grabbing one with thinner bristles, tucking it behind his ear as he reached for a tube of black paint.

“No,” you reiterated.

Hyunjin simply hummed in response, supposedly deciding against pressing further as he dipped the thin brush into the inky black.

He was bringing it towards the canvas when you sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a realization about what he may be about to do.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, causing Hyunjin to stiffen once more before turning his head towards you.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make a black silhouette,” you said simply, still shocked that you’d corrected him at all. It was almost funny that you’d startled yourself - you were supposed to teach him, after all.

Hyunjin slowly set the brush down, a single brow raised as he waited for you to explain.

“It’ll contrast too heavily with the backdrop, and it won’t look natural,” you mumbled, looking away from his expectant gaze as though you feared he’d read your mind otherwise, “Blend black into one of the shades you used for the sunset until it’s dark enough to mimic a silhouette.”

Hyunjin nodded, finally peeling his eyes off of you long enough to slowly add a bit of black to the purple tone he’d used before. He seemed almost scared as he held the palette out towards you, tentatively speaking in a voice so soft it was a miracle you heard him.

“Like this?”

You took a glance and nodded, looking away again right after. Hyunjin pulled the stained palette away slowly, setting it down before dipping the brush into the handmade indigo and beginning to add a shape against the glowing backdrop.

You looked up as he worked, fighting against your instincts as you watched him carefully craft a circle, the shape of a ferris wheel slowly coming alive against his beautiful skyline.

Hyunjin continued to work, and you continued to watch, the sounds of breath and brushstrokes filling the otherwise empty air of the studio. The discomfort was still there, still pushing against your lungs with every inhale, but it was no longer suffocating as you watched Hyunjin focus in on his work.

He looked so absorbed that you were a bit taken aback to hear him speak.

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas.

“Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next.

“You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.”

Your prediction was correct.

“No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.” The words felt like poison in your mouth, sour enough to burn your throat.

How did Hyunjin manage to endlessly remind you that things were not the same?

You wouldn’t pick up a brush with a joyful smile again, creating to your heart’s content. The images and ideas that flew around your mind now destined to wither away there, never to be given life against a stretched canvas.

“But,” Hyunjin continued, painfully oblivious to the rising levels of envy and rage radiating from you, “There’s no way you’d know this otherwise,” his almond eyes stayed focused on his work as he spoke, never leaving the canvas even when he dipped his brush back into the deep purple shade.

You would no longer lose track of yourself - of time - as you became absorbed in manifesting images from your mind’s eye. Unique sights were no longer subject materials. Flowers were simply flowers, sunsets simply sunsets, ferris wheels simply ferris wheels.

“I said no,” you repeated, clenching your fists at your side as if you could physically hold the facade of being calm in place, “I don’t.”

And you meant it. 

You did not paint, not anymore. 

You would never again need to brush off complaints that you smelled of paint at parties, and your mother would not tut disapprovingly at the colors caked beneath your nails. You would not fill a mug with water to clean brushes. Coffee cups were just coffee cups, glasses just glasses, and jars just jars. “And last week,” Hyunjin added, almost as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “With the oil paints, that wasn’t common knowledge.” Your nails dug painfully into your palms now, sure to leave an indent when you let go. Your balled up fists trembled slightly with the sheer force you’d squeezed, your lips parting to reiterate your point until it happened. The white-hot sting, sudden and overwhelming, radiating from the marred flesh atop your hand. You hissed, pulling it quickly to your chest and covering it with its unsullied counterpart while you opened and closed your fingers quickly, chasing relief desperately. Hyunjin turned to face you now, his eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of your scrunched up features. He set his palette down hurriedly, not bothering with grace as it clattered against the table - a tube of paint falling to the floor in the process. “Are you okay?” You hated how genuinely he’d asked this, concern written across all of his features as he reached towards you carefully - as though you were a cornered rabbit he’d decided to help, despite its skittishness. Considering the evasiveness you’d insisted on keeping behind every word you’d said to Hyunjin thus far, you supposed that would be an accurate assessment. Teeth metaphorically bared at every opportunity, subliminally warning him to stay back - letting him know that you wanted him gone. Hyunjin didn’t seem to care, though, as his brows creased together - his eyes shooting to the hand you were cradling. He took a sudden step back when you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes with a ferocious mixture of rage and shame.

“I’m fine,” you snapped before grinding your teeth together, pulse whooshing in your ears as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. You didn’t want to discuss this with Hyunjin. You didn’t want to explain to anyone ever again what had happened to you. In that moment, you truly were the injured animal Hyunjin had approached you as - hissing as you were slowly backed further into a corner. Your only hope being that he would simply drop the matter - leaving you to lick your wounds alone. Of course, Hyunjin did no such thing. “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a single step back after registering the harshness of your tone. His widened eyes, brimming with genuine compassion and worriedness, quickly faded into nothing as you zoned in on a splash of red against his cheek. Red paint - cracking as it dried - against his pale skin. He’d likely wash it off later, perhaps even laughing about how clumsy he’d been to manage staining his skin in the first place. The red paint - blended beautifully with concise brushstrokes and complimentary shades - against white canvas. A gentle yellow that radiated warmth, peeking between periwinkle clouds to illuminate a perfectly captured carnival ride.

An angry, red scar - cradled desperately against your chest as it throbbed incessantly, ensuring that you would always remember your loss. Always remember your pain.

Your red couldn’t be cleaned off, washed down the drain and forgotten. Your anger could not be softened by colors more delicate, could not be blended into something beautiful. This line would not turn into a sunset, would not become the backdrop for nostalgia, would never become pretty.

“I said I’m fine!” you snapped, causing Hyunjin’s face to pale. He backpedaled once more, only stopping when his thigh brushed the stool he’d been sitting on. Without uttering so much as another syllable, Hyunjin simply picked up his brush - continuing to paint.

The air was heavy with a wounded silence as Hyunjin worked on his piece. Your pain had dulled from a scream to a soft hum, searing heat turning into more of a prickle. You found yourself wishing your internalized wounds would settle as quickly as your hand. Certain broken things, it seemed, couldn’t be reset to heal accordingly.

It wasn’t until Hyunjin broke the silence, barely above a whisper, that you’d realized how much time had passed. “You’d be good at it, I think,” he’d said, setting down his brush as he eyed his work carefully, “Painting.”

You didn’t respond, not trusting your tongue at his sudden proclamation. 

You were good at painting once. You were really good. He couldn’t know that, enough people were aware of your loss. You often found yourself wishing that you’d simply stayed asleep, comatose after the accident. At least that way you wouldn’t have to deal with the pity-stained faces of those who loved you. It was strange, now that you thought about it. 

You weren’t sure you remembered what their eyes looked like before. Before you were broken. Before they felt sorry for something far beyond the reach of their own doing.

Before everything had changed.

“I actually didn’t start painting until recently,” Hyunjin continued, almost as though talking to himself, “I switched majors at the start of this year.”

You listened to his monologue, though you weren’t looking at him. You were watching out the window once more. The girl was no longer beneath the gingko tree sketching, and the groups of friends were nowhere to be seen. The campus was quiet as the sky melted into a replica of Hyunjin’s canvas - warm and soft, casting a golden glow on everything it touched.

It bothered you - it bothered you a lot - that Hyunjin hadn’t been serious about painting for longer than a few months. He didn’t realize how lucky he was, to be allowed to dream. To be allowed to pursue something you’d loved with your whole heart on a whim. 

You bit your tongue, not wanting to end up saying something you’d regret - something you couldn’t take back. You couldn’t control your past, of course, but you could make an effort to control your effect on the present.

Hyunjin continued on despite your lack of input - you were nearly convinced he’d have continued talking even if you’d left the room. 

“I’ve always liked art, though,” he insisted, adding a few highlights to bits of the wheel before chewing his lip in thought. He added a dash of a muted turquoise to the indigo silhouette as he continued on.

“I guess I was just inspired recently,” he mused, seemingly unbothered by your silence, “I actually tagged along to a gallery exhibit with my aunt. There was a piece there…” he took a deep breath as he painted, his lips parting into a fond smile as he recalled what must be a precious memory for him.

“It was so delicate,” he said quietly, setting his brush down to examine his piece, tilting his head at nearly a ninety-degree angle, “A hand holding onto a flower so loosely that I truly wouldn’t have been surprised if I watched it fall down the canvas.”

Your heart stopped before jumping into your throat to race uncomfortably.

No.

“The flower matched the pink of the knuckles and palm so perfectly,” he hummed, tilting his head in the other direction, “Everything was so muted, yet so…believable.”

You knew the exact pink he was referring to. You knew that the flower was a carnation, and you knew that the petals alone had taken ten painstaking hours to complete.

No, no, no, no.

“It wasn’t inherently happy,” Hyunjin’s voice stayed level as he rambled on, “It wasn’t inherently sad, either…” he grabbed his brush again, adding bits of a golden highlight to the cool clouds.

You knew exactly what he meant, the loose grip on the stem chosen specifically to depict apathy - uncaring of whether or not the delicate bloom fell to the ground.

This cannot be happening.

“But, for some reason, it made me feel lonely to look at,” his brows furrowed then as he focused harder on his application, ensuring he wouldn’t muddle the colors as he added contrast, “I decided to switch majors so I could do that, too.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, the air becoming increasingly more difficult to pull into your lungs.

What the fuck?

Hyunjin stood from his spot then, taking a few steps back to look at the canvas from afar, “So I could tell an entire story without words or gestures. So I could make people feel.”

Even if you’d wanted to reply at this point, your mouth had gone dry long ago. Your hands began to tremble at your sides as he spoke.

What the actual fuck?

“I was kind of disappointed that the artist wasn’t there,” his lips were pulled into a frown now, his reminiscing cut short by visible displeasure, “I had so many questions…” he trailed off as he stared at his canvas, searching for anything he could alter to give it the exact feeling he’d sought after during its creation.

You already knew that the artist hadn’t been there. That the artist had been in a hospital bed, hooked up to machinery, with their hand wrapped in a bright white cast. You knew that the artist was surrounded by people who loved them, yet had never felt so empty and alone in their life.

How is this happening?

“Apparently, they go by Eclipse, so I’ve asked the gallery owner to contact me if another piece is put on display,” he approached the painting again now, sitting in front of it with a studious expression on his face, “Even if they wouldn’t answer my questions, I want to thank them,” Hyunjin picked up his brushes, one by one, and made his way over to the sink to wash the acrylic from their bristles.

This is actually insane.

Your breathing became ragged as you struggled to maintain your composure. It was your art that had inspired the very person you envied to begin to chase after your dream. It was because of your art that he’d even chosen to take painting seriously. How fucking ironic was it, that the event that had changed everything for you had done the same for another? 

You had lost, he had found.

“It’s thanks to them that I’ve discovered something I love so much, after all,” he mused, setting his brushes on a towel to dry neatly. He turned to face you, then, his eyes alight from his recollection. It wasn’t until his face dropped that you realized there was something hot running down your face.

Your vision had blurred the moment he’d mentioned the pink in the hands you’d painted, though you hadn’t noticed until just now. There were no tears falling, no - that would indicate singular, controlled drops. Emotion poured from your eyes in streaks, unending as they dripped down the edges of your jaw.

Hyunjin appeared panicked as he hurriedly dried his hands off, though he didn’t approach - not that you’d expect him to after your earlier outburst.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” he asked, brows furrowing together as he recognized the trembling of your breath. 

Words evaded you as your throat began to close, your shaky hands gripping the sides of the stool as if that could somehow steady you. You shook your head, hoping that the dark bits of his outline you stared into were his eyes.

How could you blame him for being confused? “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he said softly, his voice shifting from the calm and enraptured way he revealed his inspiration to a quiet, almost guilty tone.

“Okay,” you exhaled more than actually spoke, but Hyunjin seemed to hear you clearly as he nodded his head.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t think you’d –” he cut himself off as you held up your hand, signaling for him to stop.

“Don’t,” you managed between uneven breaths.

“But –”

“Don’t,” you repeated, finally releasing your vicegrip on the stool to wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry, I just thought maybe…I dunno, I really thought you’d wanna give painting a shot…”

You shook your head, giving him a barely audible, “I’m not a painter,” before turning your head away, still wiping helplessly at the wetness on your cheeks.

“I–” he cut himself off, simply to nod once more. The atmosphere felt heavy as you sniffled quietly, doing your best to regain composure - hoping to at least be able to look him in the eye and speak clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, voice still laced with regret, “I won’t bring it up again, okay?”

You pulled your bag up onto your shoulder, stepping towards the door as Hyunjin watched, the frown remaining etched between his brows giving away just how taken aback he’d been by your reaction. To anyone else, it would’ve been a nice, heartwarming story about a boy who fell in love with painting.

But you were not anyone else.

You were an inspiration to the boy who’d picked up your dream, claiming it as his own and thanking you for it with the same breath.

You were Eclipse, the one who’d painted the noncommittal hand and the carnation dangling from its fingers.

With your broken pieces Hyunjin had become whole. 

In any other circumstance, you’d have told him that you’d created that piece. You’d have asked him what questions he had with a smile on your face. You’d have felt honored to have inspired someone else to pick up a brush and create.

But this wasn’t any other circumstance.

And you did not feel happy, or honored.

You felt hollow.

You looked at Hyunjin then, his face not too different from how you’d imagine a deer caught in the headlights to appear. His full lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words he’d been searching for. 

You stopped with your hand on the doorknob, shifting your focus from Hyunjin to his canvas. Collecting yourself enough to give him critique was the least you could do - unwilling or not, you were supposed to be teaching him. You did your best to push back the pain, at least for long enough to do your job.

Nostalgia hit you in waves as you studied his piece, a comforting and child-like wonder encouraging your eyes to stop their leaking. The canvas as a whole felt warm like summer. You could swear you could hear children’s laughter and the crashing of waves in the distance the longer you looked. 

He’d done exactly as he said he wanted to. His work made you feel something, even amidst the confusing swirl of emotions you were experiencing. His work, because of you had stopped the flow of tears, at least for now. You pulled your still-watery eyes away, meeting Hyunjin’s. The clarity and calm your voice now held was a surprise - to you and Hyunjin both.

“It’s a beautiful piece, Hyunjin,” you said truthfully, casting a glance over your shoulder at the shell-shocked boy still stood by the sink, “Really beautiful.”

You meant it, too - his piece was beautiful.

A part of you had wanted to say more - to tell him in detail how it had made you feel.

But that part of you was gone.

That part of you had been broken off, picked up by Hyunjin himself.

And despite your desire to pretend it was still there, to thank him for the warmth of his work, you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t there, it belonged to him now.

With one last glance at his unchanged, startled expression, you stepped out into the hallway. You didn't know if he could hear you as you spoke your parting words - and you honestly weren't trying to be heard.

Yet, the words left your lips with an unlikely conviction - softened only by the thickness your tears had left in their wake.

"I'll see you next week, Hyunjin."

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin angst #hyunjin romance #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin fanfic #skz angst #skz fanfiction #hyunjin fanfiction #hyunjin x yn #skz non idol au

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

since the idea hasn't left my head in days, please enjoy this not!fic about Cecilia Stirling and Valancy Gay. (Please note that it does include spoilers for the actual book past where the book club has reached!)

Cecilia Stirling Smith was hastily and scandalously married at 17. Her son was born 6 months into the marriage, validating the whispered rumors that flew through Deerwood. He died a year later, leaving his parents shattered. The marriage, although it lasted, is unhappy. Vincent Smith dutifully made an honest woman out of the girl he courted at college, but the love is gone. While their son lived, it seemed as though he might help mend the ties, but his death ruined any chances they had at happiness together. Cissy has been trying to have another child -- her son was the only creature she had ever loved, other than the fleeting first summer with her husband, and she is desperate to feel that again. But her health is gone, and none of the advice or tinctures or doctor's visits that her family showers upon her have done any good.

Vincent Smith is not a bad man at heart, but he is a foolish and impulsive one. His father is wealthy, but Vincent has no head for business and no interested in it either. He would rather spend his time idling. When Cissy was young, this whimsy swept her away, raised as she was in the stifling clutches of the Stirling clan. Now, older, sadder, fully dependent on Vincent Smith for her continued well being, she finds him desperately unsteady.

Valancy Gay is unmarried at 29 and intends to continue that state. She was raised by her widowed father Abel Gay and the Deerwood Presbyterian Church, and although she has been courted, none have progressed far. Valancy believes firmly that she will either find her predestined match or she won't, but she refuses to settle for anything less. In her secret heart she yearns for love and romance, but she has seen what unhappy marriage can do to a woman and she will not compromise herself that way. Valancy fell in love with Barney Snaith the moment she saw him, but he doesn't love her back, although she is his dearest friend, and she is content to adore him in the confines of her heart. She knows he likes her, and that is all the satisfaction she needs.

Although Cecilia Stirling and Valancy Gay went to school together, Cissy was not encouraged to socialize with Valancy. So they knew each other well enough, but never became friends proper. Cissy always thought Valancy very daring, while Valancy remembers how Cissy would smile shyly at her when her relatives weren't watching. Everyone loved pretty, delicate little Cissy Stirling, but Valancy always felt rather sorry for her. After the scandal, Valancy's feelings doubled down.

Their paths cross again when Cissy finds herself finally pregnant with her second child. The dictates from both the Stirlings and the Smiths are immediate and iron clad: Cissy is to rest. She is not to exert herself in any way, and she is not to get overly excited, for fear that it will harm the baby. Cissy chafes at the inaction, although she doesn't dare defy her families. It's Mrs. Smith, Cissy's mother-in-law, who suggests that they find Cissy a maid to help her keep up with the house. She has a household maid already, of course, but a personal maid who can help her dress and fetch her books and attend to her during the night would do her good.

Vincent Smith mentions to his friends at the bar that he's looking for a good, steady girl to keep his wife company. Barney Snaith, also at the same bar, overhears this and mentions it to Valancy next time he's over at the Gays. Valancy thinks back to kind, meek Cissy Stirling from school and feels a twinge of predestination. She has Barney take her to Port Lawrence the very next day to apply for the position.

The Stirlings are utterly scandalized, but Vincent Smith isn't a bad fellow, and he saw how Cissy reacted to seeing Valancy again. Valancy seems steady enough, and no one can find a bad thing to say about her reputation, although many try, and she's willing to start at once. Since Vincent Smith is the one who will be paying Valancy's wages and the one whose house she will be staying in, the Stirlings can't say anything. Dr. Marsh, once he sees how Cissy enjoys Valancy's company, also steps in and advises the Stirlings in the strongest terms not to kick up a fuss, for the sake of Cissy's baby.

Cissy thrives with Valancy's companionship. Valancy is there to help her, yes, but she also rapidly becomes Cissy's friend and confidant. It's a difficult pregnancy, but with Valancy's companionship Cissy begins to feel that she really can survive this. Barney comes to fetch Valancy twice a week to have dinner with her father, and he also gets to know Cissy, to the horror of her family. Even Vincent Smith is dubious about this, but Barney is never anything other than a perfect gentleman to Cissy. The housemaid is always around to chaperone, and anyway it's plain to anyone with eyes (except for Valancy and Barney himself) that Barney Snaith is utterly devoted to Valancy Gay. Even Olive notices it, when she happens to be over one afternoon when Barney comes to fetch Valancy.

If Vincent Smith is dubious of Barney, he is delighted in Valancy, who seems to him everything that Cissy isn't. She's strong and bold, neat and decorous but not afraid to speak her mind. Never has he more strongly wished that he'd listened to his father and not gotten himself involved with Cecilia Stirling.

The baby is born to great fanfare in September. Cissy's labor is long, but not difficult, and both mother and child come out of it alive and well, although Cissy is quite weak. They name the girl Jane. Cissy tells her family that she's always loved the name, but she confides in Valancy privately that it's in Valancy's honor. Valancy, who has never cared for her middle name, is touched and declares that the baby is welcome to full use of it.

Valancy isn't a wetnurse, and now that the baby is born the Stirlings start again making noise about replacing her with someone more suitable. Yes, she undeniably helped Cissy during her pregnancy, but little Jane is going to need good, solid role models and someone like that definitely won't suit. After all, Valancy Gay is nearly 30 and still unmarried, going tearing through the town twice a week with that horrid Snaith man, and entirely unashamed of any of it. Valancy assures Cissy that she'll stay as long as Cissy will have her around.

When baby Jane is two months old Vincent Smith tries to kiss Valancy. Valancy tenders her resignation the next morning.

She agonizes all night about what to tell Cissy. In the end, John Foster speaks to her about courage and truth and she tells Cissy everything. Cissy is crushed, but she understands why Valancy has to leave as a result. Valancy promises to visit often -- during the day when Vincent isn't home -- and to write even more often than that.

Valancy goes back to her father's house, somewhat at loose ends. She could continue as a nurse or a companion -- the Smiths would give her a good reference, even if the Stirlings won't -- but she doesn't want to spend her life waiting on others. She liked caring for Cissy because she liked Cissy, and she's under no illusions that other positions would be as personally fulfilling.

It takes Barney nearly two full weeks to work up the courage to ask if she'll come keep house for him that winter. Valancy initially scoffs -- Barney Snaith, who fusses every time she makes him take the mud off his boots before he walks into Abel Gay's newly mopped kitchen, couldn't possibly want someone to keep his house. But he talks her 'round and says he'll match whatever Vincent Smith was paying her -- Valancy and Barney agreed long ago not to talk about where he got his money -- and Valancy doesn't really want to spend the long Muskoka winter at her father's house. He has a woman to cook for him anyway, a distant cousin that Valancy's never really liked. So Valancy moves to Barney's island for the winter.

It's delightful. Valancy cooks and keeps the house, yes, but mostly they just enjoy each other's company. Barney declares at one point that her presence alone is worth the money he's paying her, never mind her cooking. Valancy holds the compliment in her heart for a long time. When she writes to Cissy about it, Cissy reads the letter out loud to baby Jane and wonders aloud how two people as perceptive as Valancy and Barney can be so oblivious to what's happening under their own noses.

Spring thaws out the frozen countryside, and with it comes Barney's father. Barney had been taking money out of his account to pay Valancy's wages, and Dr. Redfern had finally tracked him down. He arrives on a day when Barney is out -- Barney's been going out on his own quite a bit lately, and Valancy worries that he's getting tired of her. Dr. Redfern introduces himself and tells Valancy the full story, including the lost love, and Valancy understands. She understands why Barney had never seemed interested in her, why he always shied away from the subject of love and marriage. She writes him a letter and leaves for the mainland that evening.

She goes first to her father's house, and tells him that she's going to Montreal, to find work and make a life. He's sad to see her go, but he's in a fatalistic, predestination stage of drunkenness and doesn't try to keep her. She promises to write.

With some of her last month's salary, she buys a train ticket to Port Lawrence. She can't leave without saying goodbye to Cissy, who is her dearest friend and like a sister to her. For Cissy, she will endure an evening of Vincent Smith.

Cissy convinces her to stay the night. While Valancy is playing with Jane, Cissy, in a rare show of determination, demands that her husband find Barney Snaith and tell him that Valancy is staying with them, and that he must talk with her as soon as possible. She knows the two of them, and knows that without some intervention of the non Divine kind, they will drift apart from each other forever and both be miserable thinking they've set the other free.

Barney arrives at the Smith house the next morning, not having slept a wink all night but freshly washed and shaved and wearing clean clothes. The housemaid lets him in with a poorly concealed laugh -- she watched him and Valancy for nearly a year same as Cissy did -- and takes him to Valancy's room.

Barney confesses everything to Valancy. Not that he loves her, not quite yet, but about his childhood and his adolescence and the girl who got away. He compares it to Cissy and Vincent Smith, and how unhappy they have become with each other. Slowly, Valancy relaxes, but she's not ready to come back yet. She realized, in her own sleepless night, that she can't keep living in hope that God will do everything on His own. If she is going to meet her predestined love, she needs to go out and find him. It's then, when he realizes that she's still serious about leaving without him, that Barney blurts out that he loves her. He hadn't known, hadn't realized until he came home and found her gone, but he's loved her for years.

Valancy is very still. Her world is spinning before her, all the certainties save one crashing down. Without thinking further, she asks him to marry her.

Barney hesitates, Valancy pulls back, and just as the housemaid thinks that it's ruined after all, Barney breaks into laughter and kisses Valancy, saying he's always liked a girl who went after what she wanted. After the kiss, he says he might as well tell her everything, and Valancy figures that this is where he admits to the terrible crime that they'd joked about his having committed for years. Instead, he admits to being John Foster, and it says something about the emotions of the day that this is the least important of the revelations.

Barney and Valancy marry in a small ceremony at the Presbyterian church that Cissy, in a second bout of determination in as many days, insists on attending. After the ceremony, Barney pulls Vincent aside and, married man to married man, tells him that he really needs to get his act together. He's never going to be the husband that Cissy longs for, but he can be a husband she grows to like again, and he owes it to her and to their child to be that person. If he really can't do that, he needs to once again step up, like he did when they married, and get a divorce, instead of keeping her chained to him while he makes eyes at the maids.

Valancy steadfastly refuses to be a society hostess, and Barney promises her she won't have to be. They plan to travel for their honeymoon and then settle in Montreal, out of the city but near enough that they can visit his father regularly. Cissy and Valancy keep up a correspondence, and when Valancy and Barney return to Montreal, Cissy and Vincent and Jane visit regularly. Over the course of these visits, Vincent takes an interest in Dr. Redfern's work. Since it's clear that Barney is never going to consent to take over the business, Dr. Redfern takes Vincent on as a potential successor. Things between Vincent and Cissy aren't perfect, but they are better -- Vincent is trying to take Barney's words to heart, and Cissy is learning to assert herself when she needs to. Amelia Stirling is just thrilled to bits that her daughter is Mrs. Redfern's intimate friend, and that her son-in-law is poised to take over the business when Dr. Redfern retires. Olive is positively sick over the entire affair. Valancy thinks it's the funniest thing she's ever seen.

#blue castle book club #Blue castle spoilers

[mikaelcipher]

“Utsuki.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. And then responds with slight surprise, “Tasuku. Isn't it late?”

“That's what I meant to tell you. I just finished grabbing a drink of water, so I'm heading back to my room.” Tasuku looks him up and down, taking in his business attire and his briefcase, where his laptop is kept. “Overtime?” he guesses.

“Mhm.” Chikage nods, leaving his shoes at the door.

“... Would you like me to carry you?”

“Huh?”

“...”

They stare at each other for a good long minute until Chikage realizes that Tasuku is serious. “Is it because—...” That one time he joked about letting Tasuku carry him? “I wasn't serious at that time, you know.”

“Still, you're probably very tired, right?”

In the darkness of the singular light in the living room, it's hard to tell whether Tasuku is wearing a sincere expression or what. “I'm not that tired,” Chikage tells him but despite that, he does bring his briefcase close to his chest. “But if you insist.”

And he meant to joke about that too but somehow, he's in Tasuku's arms, being carried through the halls of the dorm. He wasn't sure what to expect at first, maybe for Tasuku to throw him over his shoulder or to carry him on his back but — a bridal carry? Really?

They're both mostly quiet as Tasuku makes the short trip from the living room to Chikage's shared room with Chigasaki. It's an odd situation, he thinks... It's strangely calming. Usually, when his feet are off the ground, he wouldn't feel very safe.

It's a trip too short when Chikage's back on his feet again.

“See you tomorrow, Utsuki,” Tasuku says and Chikage doesn't make it show that his mind has wandered.

“Yes, thank you, Tasuku. I should make jokes like these more often if it means you'll give in to my whimsies.” He smiles a little.

“Give in to your whimsies?” echoes Tasuku, confused. “You just have to ask, really. If you want me to carry you to bed again tomorrow, just let me know.”

“... That won't be necessary, thank you.”

“Alright, well... Goodnight, Utsuki.”

“Goodnight, Tasuku.”

Maybe he'll go overtime again tomorrow.

#tasuchika #a3 #a3! #tasuku takato #chikage utsuki #drabble #im sleepy asf and its almost 2am so its just a quick lil drabble #based off of that one recent comic of chikage joking ab tasuku carrying him #honestly hes SO gay #putangina bakla talaga tong si chikage eh #baklang bakla kay tasuku #mik dribble drabble

[kensiewritesaboutmusic]

Speak Now

The album for every teen in their 20’s, everyone coming of age in their 30’s. This album brings back memories of teenage heartache and the romanticism of young new love. The soundtrack to our youth somehow made new and shiny. Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) was so highly anticipated it hardly needed any marketing or advertisement and this re-record is closest to the original we’ve heard so far. The twisty wordy almost rant-like lyricism still bringing that wonderstruck feeling 13 years later with new whimsy and stronger vocals that still leave you wanting more.  After 13 years it’s no surprise Taylor’s voice has matured in a definite way which you can hear in tracks such as Dear John. Being the 5th track you know it’s going to be the most emotional, such as opening a wound that was never fully healed. Re-recording it must have been like having flashbacks of being drafted at 19 into a war you never really asked to be apart of. Lying about your age to be recruited, too little too late to realize the regret this would leave you in because you were so young. If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Would be all I could think of if I was in her place.

The opposite side of Dear John is Timeless, a vault song that truly fits into the Speak Now essence. A recurring theme throughout the album is how time can be healing or romantic the way a young couple romanticizes about the life they’ll build together and keep the memories in a cardboard box. Taylor also writes about how time can be paralyzing and stagnant, how the world feels unmoving when you’re heartbroken and nothing can heal you. Time seems to be a ongoing theme throughout Taylor’s writing. Even at 19 Taylor was capable of writing songs with depth and powerful storytelling. Timeless has to be one of the best closing songs on an album that Taylor has written. 

The album has proven to be what we all hope for time and time again, one track after another. It's probably my personal favorite of the re-records so far. This album holds masterful Poetry and hits all the right emotional nostalgia. I can't wait for another re-record!

#taylor swift #speak now tv #speak now #the eras tour #taylors version #taylornation #swifties #ts the eras tour #music review #album review #super short album review #first I've ever written #be nice #writing #music #journalism #musician #new music #pop music #music journalism

[kibbits]

There’s something both terrifying and comforting about how the break a leg!boys interact with y/n. On the one hand, they’re machines capable of tossing you around like a rag doll with no awareness of the fragility of human flesh. On the other, they’re machines who can just straight up ignore the limits of puny human strength. You want uppies, they’ll give you uppies, tango dips, bridal carrys, you name it and they can do it regardless of shape or size.

Yeeeess, YEEEESSS!! You get it, Anon!!

Ehehehe, yeah - Once they understand those limits (physical and, yknow, asking permission), then it's fun, and comforting, and even useful! (changing light bulbs has never been this easy dkdjd)

And I imagine if you're touch starved, you both get to solve that by having the equivalent of 3am kitchen counter conversations just casually sprawled over each other like lazy cats in some corner somewhere (or, if you don't like touch, just both sprawled somewhere backstage - think like exhausted people after a show djdnd)

But before that? When they think that the world is a stage, and people (especially Fazbear employees) can be props? That's kind of terrifying!

Especially since your only real defense is how willing they are to play pretend with you, and to follow the rules and cues you can come up with.

Well, until they learn how people work on the personal level, at least.

(Adding a readmore cause I now realize it got long djdnd)

At least, for dancing and stuff like that, the most you would probably be worried about it getting motion sick? (And also it's kind of terrifying that the huge sentient hunk of metal won't let you LEAVE until the musical number's done. And you don't know how they want it to end. Better know how and when to jump in if it's taking a dramatic turn!)

Especially with Moon! Like: Sun's the hero. He might manhandle you, and it might be uncomfortable or scary, but ultimately you're safe. He's just used to having a STAFF bot co-star so he can be rough but not whiplash-rough.

Moon, though - he's supposed to be a villain! Seeing how skittish and uncomfortable you are means he's doing a great job!! If the play called for death, he was encouraged to break the bots for dramatic effect! (no blood and gore, but bits of robot flying everywhere! STAFF bots are cheap to replace!)

But there's many kinds of villains, and you can kind of manipulate the 'story'. At least, turn a brutal villain into a crafty, scary one that doesn't kill but terrifies. (Or, like, a Megamind kind of one if you're clever enough and find a way!)

Convince the dragon that he needs the princess alive, and all that... You want a heel, though, something that's fun to root against or be scared of!

When you're all friends, sometimes the whimsy still takes them to lead you in a dance or something, but they'll be way more clear about it, and give you plenty of chances to refuse or back out if you're not feeling it

Thanks for the ask!!!! I am. Rotating this in my mind so hard. I love to draw those interactions most ehehehehe

#fnaf sb au #fnaf dca au #break a leg!au #asks #anon #wough why am i at work I want to DRAW now djdndjd #was debating waiting till i had sketches to add to this to answer but i got too excited fjdnd and idk how long im working today anyway