#hidden objects - the journey

[bwaybby09]

Okay, so I was playing an advertisement of Hidden Objects - The Journey, and look what I found:

[fogaminghub]

https://www.fogaminghub.com/post/accompany-palamena-to-the-cape-a-quest-for-redemption-in-visions-of-mana

✨ Accompany Palamena to the cape in Visions of Mana! 🌊 Join Val and the Alms on a heartfelt quest as they navigate the challenges of Chapter 4: "Back with a Vengeance." Unlock the power of the Salamando Candle and dive into a story filled with emotion and adventure. 

🌟 Check out our blog for detailed objectives and tips! 

[flash-from-the-past]

Personal Shopper

[drchucktingle]

It’s the day of Gorbo’s big presentation at Jurassic Law and, although his conscious mind is ready to go, his hidden stress and anxiety is coming out in strange ways. Things certainly don’t get any better when Gorbo is approached by a frantic man with a terrifing warning about a sentient book in his future.

Gorbo brushes it off, but when he meets a similar book, he finds himself thrust into a strange journey that defies the expectations of The Tingleverse. Now, Gorbo and this living object, who happens to be a representation of Gorbo’s lacking motivation, are locked in a hardcore gay encounter that will turn the whole Tingleverse on its head.

This erotic tale is 4,100 words of sizzling human on gay lack of motivation action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, and living concept love.

----

please enjoy brand new tingler POUNDED LOVINGLY BY MY LACK OF MOTIVATION AFTER REALIZING THAT SLOWING DOWN IS ACTUALLY AN IMPORTANT PART OF EMOTIONAL REGULATION AND IT’S OKAY TO FEEL UNMOTIVATED SOMETIMES out now on amazon and top tier patreon

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Kris's Birthday

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Close to the end of their journey, Kris has a small celebration with the beasts, and reflects some on both their past with their brother, and the light world ahead.

(Reminder that I draw these scenes out of chronological order!)

YAY managed to get another part done! This one won the poll, so had to go with it first! At least Kris finally gets a nice, happy moment with all the beasts they've recruited!

Alt text under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide opening shot. Kris sits facing Ralsei, with the rest of the Fun Gang surrounding them. The Gang now consists of Susie, Noelle, Lancer, Berdly, Catti and Jockington, and Monster Kid. The Fun Gang have set up camp in a hollow crater, the landscape around them rocky and barren. Everyone is lit solely by the glow of a campfire in the center of the crater. Ralsei addresses Kris: “Get plenty of rest, Kris.”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris and Ralsei, still across from each other with the fire between them. Ralsei continues, “Tomorrow we face the last bound god before the Dark Fountain…it’ll be our toughest fight yet!” Kris responds, “Yes. I understand.” They stare into the fire.

Panel 3 - Closeup on a happy Ralsei as he holds up one claw. “And since we’re so close to the end…”

Panel 4 - “...I thought I’d conjure up a special surprise for you!” Ralsei moves his claws, and magically congeals a plate, food and frosting all together in a swirling center.

Panel 5 - Ralsei holds up the finished object in front of the fire: a small frosted cake, topped with strawberries. “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kris!” he declares with a broad smile.

Page 2

Panel 1 - Ralsei holds the cake up in the foreground. Kris looks at it in surprise. Behind them, Susie and Noelle look on with interest. “Wow! Is today really your birthday, Kris?” Noelle asks.

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris. They scratch at their head in confusion, and respond, “I… Is it? I’ve lost track of the days since arriving here…”

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Ralsei happily hands the cake to Kris, who takes it. He says, “Well, I’m not sure if it’s exactly today. But by my estimates you should have had one by now! So now is as good a time as any!”

Panel 4 - A wider upshot as Kris takes the cake, and the beasts watch. Berdly leans in closer, curious, and asks, “What do you humans do on these ‘birth-days,’ as you call them?”

Kris replies, “Well, typically…you eat cake, or some other sweet treat, and you spend time with your friends and family.”

Panel 5 - Kris stares into the fire again, and continues, “And usually, they also give you gifts.” Behind them, as if in abstract shadow, is an image of a younger Kris surrounded by the other Dreemurrs, all smiling. It seems to be a memory of a past birthday.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Closeup of Kris still looking into the fire, their eyes hidden by their hair. A shadow seems to fall over them. The memories of happier times still hurt.

Panel 2 - Lancer pipes up: “Ya got the cake and friends part right here!” Kris turns to see Lancer and Susie smiling at them, and gives a small smile back.

Panel 3 - Noelle leans in over Kris as well, her head taking up most of the panel. She says, “Sorry, we don’t have any gifts for you…but two out of three isn’t bad, right?”

Kris’s smile broadens a little, and they reply, “No, it is not.”

Panel 4 - Kris pulls out a smaller knife…

Panel 5 - And in a shot focused on the cake, begins to slice the cake into equal pieces with the knife.

Panel 6 - Kris offers a piece to Catti, who happily licks it up. “Tasty.”

Panel 7 - Kris tosses a piece across the fire to Berdly, who catches it in his mouth. “Thanks, Kris!”

Panel 8 - Kris turns around and tosses another piece into Susie’s open jaws. “Hell yeah, cake!” she says, excited.

Page 4

Panel 1 - A wide shot as the whole Fun Gang sit around the fire, enjoying their cake slices, small as they are. Kris works on eating their own slice. Noelle says, “That was good! …Do you think there’ll be lots more cake in the light world?”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris, who turns to look up at Noelle. “Yes, there are. But I would have thought you’d be interested in the humans more,” they say around a mouthful of cake.

Panel 3 - Noelle looks off to the right, and responds, “Sure, I’ll have some, if they’re soft… I don’t like the hard bits, like armor and bones.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Noelle leans back against Susie, snuggling into her side. “I mostly want to get to the Light World and quiet this feeling in my mind…once I do that, I’ll be happy,” She says.

Susie grins, and says, “More for me, then! I can’t wait to get to the Light World and all that food…”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Susie rests her head on the ground, and continues, “I’m gonna eat up all those humans and finally feel full!” She smiles and licks her lips at the thought. Lancer sits just nearby.

Panel 2 - Wider shot of all the beasts around the fire. Across from Susie, sitting in a loaf, Catti says “Greedy.”

“Oh come on, like you aren’t excited for the food!” Susie responds with an annoyed look.

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Catti looks up towards the dark clouds above them, grinning broadly. Behind her, Jockington also looks Skyward, his body wiggly. Catti says, “Not just that. Open skies. Sun. Fresh smells. New magic.” Jockington adds, “It’s been, way too long since we, learned a new technique!”

Catti reiterates: “Lots of things. Looking forward to them.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris turns to Monster Kid, who’s been quiet this whole time. They’re mostly buried underground, but their tail is currently out of their mouth. Kris asks them, “You’re looking forward to leaving the Dark World, too?” They reply, “Y-yeah, Kris! I wanna eat some humans too, but…also wanna be someplace niver, y’know?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Monster Kid’s face as they continue: “Here it’s really hard to find food. And it’s so dark and cold, and e-everyone’s trying to fight each other… I hate it, yo.”

Page 6 

Panel 1 - Wide downshot of the whole Fun Gang huddled together in the empty crater. The barred landscape stretches out around them. Berdly looks to the skies, and says, “Yes, it’s true. The terrain here is so bleak and devoid of sidequests.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Berdly as he smiles, looking excited and proud. “But if the Light World has as many humans as you say, I’ll be able to max out my volume in no time!”

Panel 3 - Susie looks away and sticks out her tongue, clearly annoyed at the prospect. “Oh goody, we’re aaaall excited for that…”

Berdly, not picking up on her sarcasm, just continues to beam proudly. “And rightfully so!”

Panel 4 - Noelle nudges her enormous nose against Kris’s back, and says, “We’re all really excited to see the Light World with you, Kris.”

Kris turns back towards her slightly, and smiles. “Me too.”

Panel 5 - Kris reaches around the fire to hand the now empty plate back to Ralsei, who takes it.

Panel 6 - Ralsei makes the plate vanish into shards of nothing with a wave of his claws. “Then let’s get some rest!” he says, satisfied.

Panel 7 - The small campfire is now extinguished. Only a thin wisp of leftover smoke rises from the blackened wood and coals.

Page 7

Panel 1 - A wide shot of the crater, still at night. With the campfire out, all of the eldritch beasts are now asleep. Monster Kid is buried underground. Catti is sleeping as a loaf, with Jockington resting on her back. Berdly sleeps with his head tucked under one wing. Susie and Noelle sleep snuggled up together, with Susie’s long tail curled around them. Kris lays nestled between them, long hair and shaggy fur serving as a makeshift bed. Ralsei stands off to the side.

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris. They lay awake between the two beasts, staring up at the sky. They look pensive.

Panel 3 - Slightly closer, Kris looks down and to their right. Ralsei asks from offscreen: “Kris! Are you feeling all right?”

Panel 4 - Downshot of Ralsei as he looks up towards Kris. He spreads his arms out in a hopeful gesture. “I know perhaps this isn’t the sort of birthday you would have had back home, but I was hoping I did okay on such short notice…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they close their eyes. “I just…” They take a deep sigh.

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the makeshift bed, looking sad. “I can’t remember the first birthday I had with mom and dad and Azzy anymore.”

Page 8 

Panel 1 - Shot of the dark skies above. Thick clouds silently roll across a starless expanse. “The whole day feels like it’s completely gone.”

Panel 2 - Wider shot, with Ralsei in the foreground. He still watches Kris carefully. “Oh, I see. I suppose Seam has asked for quite a few payments from you during your time here…perhaps you sold the memory?”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block out budding tears.

Panel 4 - “Yes. Likely,” they say. Kris sadly holds up their left hand above their head. Their hand is missing the pinkie finger…another payment to Seam.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Ralsei as he looks downward. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

Panel 6 - Medium shot as Kris hugs themself, still nestled in the hair and fur. “Asriel would usually get me a book he thought I’d like, and I’d complain about it, but then read it cover to cover in one night. Once I learned how to read, anyway,” they say with a small smile.

Panel 7 - Low angle shot as Kris continues to reminisce, watching the dark clouds above. “Mom and dad also always got me a square of chocolate. I don’t know how they afforded it.”

Page 9

Panel 1 - In a flashback panel, Asriel and Kris sit across from each other outdoors, each leaning against trees. Simple woods surrounded them, and a lazy river rolls by just past them. Beyond the river are a few small homes and farms from the town. Kris holds an apple, while Asriel has a book and feather pen. Both are talking, looking happy. 

Kris speaks over the flashback: “Azzy and I would go and sit by the river in the summer, and he’d point out plants and animals and tell me to give them science names. Even when I said crass or foolish ones, he wrote them down and said he would petition to get the names changed.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris as they look away, the memory still feeling a bit sad to them.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Ralsei, interested and responding to the stories. “Your brother sounds like a generous soul.”

Panel 4 - Kris looks down, still sad and reminiscing. “He didn’t have to be so nice to me. Everyone said he’d leave town and go do great things.”

Panel 5 - Another flashback panel, this time in Azzy and Kris’s shared room. It looks similar to their room in canon, but much older and more bare-bones, with simple wood walls. Kris sits on the edge of their bed, listening. Asriel sits on the edge of the bed, looking pensive, his cheek resting against his hand. 

Kris continues over the flashback: “But he…he told me that he didn’t like that pressure. That I was more fun to hang around than whatever great thing the town expected him to do.”

Page 10

Panel 1 - Closeup on Ralsei. He looks on, his tattered scarf flowing behind him. A curious smile crosses his face. “The way you have spoken about him, all this time…I am so curious to meet him.”

Panel 2 - Kris nestles down into the bed of fur and hair, and shuts their eyes, drifting off to sleep at last. They mumble, “Maybe…maybe soon.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot of all the beasts, asleep in the crater. Kris finally sleeps as well, tucked between Susie and Noelle. It’s dark, and quiet. In the foreground, Ralsei remains awake and watching, his back to the camera. It’s unknown what he’s thinking.  

[luna-azzurra]

Tips for Fight scenes #1

Consider how each character's personality, background, and motivations would influence their fighting style and tactics. A character who is impulsive might rush into a fight without thinking, while a more strategic character might carefully plan their moves. Use the fight scene as an opportunity to reveal hidden depths or conflicts within the characters.

Take advantage of the surroundings to add dynamism to the fight. Characters can use objects in the environment as weapons or shields, or they might use the terrain to gain tactical advantages. Think about how the setting could influence the flow of the fight and make it more engaging for the reader.

Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations of the fight to immerse the reader in the action. Instead of just focusing on the physical movements of the characters, bring the scene to life by painting a vivid picture of the entire sensory experience. For example, describe the metallic tang of blood in the air or the adrenaline-fueled pounding of the characters' hearts.

Ensure that the fight scene serves a purpose beyond just showcasing action. It should advance the characters' emotional journeys or the overall plot of the story. Consider how the outcome of the fight will impact the characters and their relationships, and use it as a catalyst for further developments in the narrative.

Don't limit yourself to traditional weapons or fighting styles. Research different martial arts, historical combat techniques, and improvised weapons to add variety and authenticity to your fight scenes. Think about how each character's unique skills and resources would shape their approach to combat.

Use pacing, suspense, and foreshadowing to build tension leading up to the fight. Hint at the conflict to come, then gradually escalate the stakes as the scene unfolds. Consider incorporating moments of uncertainty or doubt to keep the reader guessing about the outcome.

Every character should have strengths and weaknesses that come into play during the fight. These vulnerabilities could be physical, emotional, or psychological, and they should add depth and complexity to the conflict. Think about how each character's flaws or insecurities might be exposed under pressure.

Show the aftermath of the fight and the impact it has on the characters and the world around them. This could include physical injuries, emotional trauma, or changes in the balance of power between characters or factions. Use the fallout from the fight to drive further conflicts and developments in the story.

[averyhungrycaterpiller]

A Complete Character Development Profile (redo)

- When filling out my own character template for my oc, I realised there was so much I missed, so I did a redo

Section 1: Basic Identity

Personal Information

Full Legal Name:

Stage/Preferred Name:

Aliases/Online Personas:

Name Origins and feelings

Did they choose or inherit their name:

Meaning (linguistically, cultural, familial):

Do they feel like fit their name:

Any resentment or pride around their name?

Do they hesitate before introducing themselves? Why?:

Nicknames and Titles

Current nicknames:

Who uses them and in what tone:

Nickname they hate but tolerate:

Nickname they miss hearing:

Professional titles or honorific’s:

Age Profile

Chronological age:

Mental age:

Emotional age:

Age they appear:

Age they feel:

Age related feelings

DO they feel behind or ahead of peers?:

How do they relate to others their age?:

Do they lie about their age? Why?:

Gender identity

Assigned at birth:

Current identity:

How they embody their gender:

Have they explored or questioned it?:

Do they surprise aspects of their gender:

Do they correct misperceptions? How:

How do others perceive their gender:

Sexual Orientation

How they identity:

Are they open about this:

Are any internal conflicts or journeys of discovery:

Current living situations

Where they live:

Type of dwelling:

Who they live with:

How long they’ve been there:

Environmental impact

What their space smells like:

Soundscape of their area:

How the environment has shaped them:

Do they know the shortcuts and hidden sports:

Do they feel connected or displaced:

Dream living situation:

Birthday and celebrations

Birthday:

Zodiac sign:

Do they believe in astrology:

Birthday feelings and traditions

How they celebrate:

Do they dread or enjoy birthdays?

first birthday they remember:

Worst birthday experience:

Do they tell people hen their birthday is?

How they feel about surprise celebrations:

Section 2: Personality Deep Dive

Internal Srengths

Primary strengths:

How it manifests:

Do they recognise it as a strengths:

External strengths

Primary strengths:

How it manifests:

Has this strengths ever backfired on them? How:

Hidden strengths (ones they don’t recognise in themselves)

Primary weaknesses

What is it:

Is it a flaw or defence mechanism:

How to they hide it:

How their weakness effects others

How their behaviour Echoes in a room:

Are others protective or exploitive of their weaknesses:

Psychological Profile

MBTI Type:

Enneagram type:

Core childhood wound:

How this derived their behaviour:

How it manifests in

Conflict:

Decision-making:

Daily Routine:

Big 5 Personality traits each on a 1-5 scale)

Openness:

Conscientiousness:

Extraversion:

Agreeableness:

Neuroticism:

Do any traits clash with each other?:

Character Archetype

Which archetype do you think they are:

Which archetype would they think they are:

Emotional Landscape

Attatchment style:

How it manifests

In conflict:

When needing others:

Do they test people of cut them off quickly:

Primary fears (physical)

What is it:

Triggers:

Physical responses:

Primary fears (Emotional)

What is it:

Specific triggers:

Physical response:

How they rationalise this fear:

Core memories: Happy

What happened:

Associated textures/smells/songs

Would they share this with others:

Core memories: Sad

What happened:

How it shows up in dreams/habits/reactions today:

Would they rewrite it or cling to is as part of their identity:

Object of significance

What is it:

Condition of the object:

What this condition represents:

Associated memory or person:

Beliefs and philosophy

Core beliefs:

How they justify their morals:

Do they act in line with their beliefs or just speak them:

Do they believe in fate:

If not, how do they explain the unexplainable:

Confidence and self perfection

Where their confidence is real:

Where their confidence is armour:

Do they crumble when unseen or rejected:

How they see themselves vs how others see them:

Section 3: Goals dreams and motivations

Current goals

Surface level goal:

What it’s really about:

Obstacles in their way:

What they’re willing to sacrifice for it:

Long term dreams

Big dream they’ve never spoken aloud:What haven’t they shared it:

Is this dream inherited or self born:

What would achieving it mean to them:

Shame and pride

What they’re embarrassed to tell others:

Why is this shameful to them:

Source of pride:

What accomplishment do they cling to when feeling worthless:

Do they overplay or minimise their accomplishments:

Regrets and pain points

Petty regrets:

Large scale regrets:

Which ones keep them up at night:

Source of misery (the unscratchable itch in their soul)

Admiration and envy

What they admire above all else:

Person who embodies their unmet potential:

Trait they mock in others but secretly envy:

Section 4: Mental Health and coping

Mental health

Diagnosed conditions:

Undiagnosed conditions they might have:

How long diagnosed/untreated:

Do they deny it or medicate it:

How it manifests for them specifically:

Coping mechanisms

Healthy coping strategies:

Unhealthy coping strategies:

Crisis response:

Who they call in a crisis:

Intelligence and emotional processing

IQ (estimated):

EQ (estimated):

How they intelligence isolates or connects them:

Do they weaponise their emotional intelligence:

Humour style

What makes them laugh when no one else does:

What humour makes them uncomfortable:

Do they use humour as a defense mechanism:

Section 5: Behavioural Patterns and Habits

Daily habits and routines

Morning routine:

Evening routine:

Work/productivity habits:

Self care habits:

Bad habits

Sensory tics:

Toxic coping:

Avoidance ritual:

When do they allow these habits in front of others:

Behavioural tells

When stressed:

When content:

When scared:

Normal state:

Verbal Mannerisms

Do they use rhetorical questions!

Sarcasm level:

Do they complete sentence or often drift off in thought:

Precise or vague in speech:

Do they often mirror others:

What they say vs what they don’t

Truth they always avoid:

What they overstate to distract:

Are they brutally honest or do they sugar coat:

Physical presence

How they move across a room:

How much space they take up:

Are they aware of their physical presence:

Posture and body language:

Expressions of love and care

How they show love:

Do they know their actions make others feel loved:

What they need to feel loved:

Section 6: Hobbies and Interests

Current hobbies

Public hobbies (ones they don’t hide):

Secret hobbies (tell few to no people):

Hobbies they wish they had more time for:

How they feel whilst doing hobbies:

Skills and talents

Natural talents:

Learned skills:

Skills they’re working on:

Skills they’ve abandoned:

Section 7: Physical Appearance

Defining features

What a police sketch would capture:

Parts of their body they highlight:

Parts of their body they hide:

Facial features

Face shape:

Nose shape:

Eye shape:

Eye colour:

Lip shape:

Eyebrow shape:

Eyelash length/thickness:

Body details

Height:

Weight:

Body type/shape:

Skin tone:

Skin details:

Tattoos:

Piercings:

Facial hair:

Body hair:

Style and presentation

Clothing style:

Signature detail:

How much effort they put into their appearance:

What’s habit vs performance:

Personal preference vs societal pressure:

Self perception and others reactions

Why do they dress (to disappear, seduce, intimidate etc)

Their opinion of their appearance:

Their most attractive feature in their opinion:

Body part the obsess over:

Are they conventionally attractive:

How they handle compliments:

How they handle stares:

The vibe they give off

What music would play when they’re introduced in a movie:

What do people assume about them based on looks:

Are those assumptions correct:

What type of people are drawn to their vibe:

How do they react to that attention:

Section 8: Relationships and social connections

Trust and loyalty

Person they trust most:

Why they trust them:

Was this trust earned or given easily:

How they test trust:

What they wish they could to for this person:

What’s holding them back:

Conflict and animosity

Person they hate the most:

What they wish they could do to them:

How this hatred affects their daily life:

Family dynamics

Biological family structure:

Relationship with parents/guardians

Mother/maternal figure:

Father/paternal figure

Quality of relationship:

Siblings

Number and ages:

Relationship quality:

Birth order effects:

Extended family

Family members they avoid:

Family secrets or dynamics!

Chosen family:

How their chosen family differs from biological:

Friendships

Best friend:

How they met:

What they value in this friendship:

Friend group dynamics

Size of social circle:

Role they play in the group:

Group activities:

Childhood friends still in their life:

Friends they’ve lost and why:

How they make new friends:

What they need from friendships:

Professional relationships

Work/school relationships:

Mentors:

People who believe in the

Professional reputation:

Romantic relationships

Current relationship status:

Relationship history:

What they seek in a partner:

What they believe love should look like:

Relationship patterns:

How they behave when in love:

How they handle breakups:

Deal breakers in relationships:

Social expectations and roles

What others expect of them:

Roles they’ve earned vs inherited vs resent:

Where they belong:

Where they pretend to belong:

Non human bonds

Relationship with animals:

Significant objects:

Connection to places:

Spiritual or supernatural beliefs:

Section 9: Background and history

Childhood and upbringing

Where they grew up:

Type of community:

Socioeconomic background:

Families reputation in the community:

Were they known, invisible, praised or feared:

Childhood environment

Sensory memories:

Neighbourhood dynamics:

Safety level:

Cultural influences:

Defining incidence

Stories they retell:

Stories they never tell:

Pivotal childhood moments

When they realised something was wrong in the world:

When they realised there is good in the world:

First time they felt truly seen:

First major disappointment:

Education and development

Educational background:

Academic performance:

Favourite subjects:

Teachers who influenced them:

Extracurricular activities:

Notable people from their past

Person who made them feel they could become something:

Person who made them feel small:

First crush:

Childhood hero:

Early role models:

Major accomplishment

What they minimise:

What they overplay:

Trauma and loss

How they carry it:

Do they use it as a weapon, warning or wound:

How it’s shaped their worldview:

Life changing moments:

Biggest regrets:

Moments of triumph:

Current life context

How they view their past:

What they’ve learned about themselves:

What they’re still learning:

Section 10: current life and daily reality

Living situation

Current home:

How they feel about their space:

Personal belonging that matter most:

How they maintain their space:

Financial reality

Current financial situation:

How money shapes their decisions:

How they treat expensive things:

Financial goals or fears:

Relationship with money:

Daily life and routine

Typical structure:

Morning person or night own:

How they spend free time:

Daily stressors:

Daily joys:

Current challenges

Biggest current problem:

What they’re working on improving:

What they’re avoiding dealing with:

Support systems they have:

Support systems they need:

Future outlook

Where they see themselves in 5 years:

What they’re most excited about:

What they’re most worried about:

Changed they want to make:

What’s holding them back from change:

[metamorphesque]

I love dissecting Frodo's ("Lord of the Rings") personality and character arc through a Jungian lens, even if only as an amateur.

The One Ring, as an external object, represents the hidden darkness within all beings. It does not simply impose evil from the outside; rather, it reveals what already exists within, amplifying the ring bearer's deepest, often unconscious, desires for power, control, or survival. I see the Ring as both the Collective and the Personal Shadow in Jungian terms — a manifestation of the darkness that resides not only in individuals, but in all of Middle-earth.

By carrying the Ring, Frodo is in constant confrontation with his own Shadow — the hidden, darker aspects of the self, which Jung defines as "the thing a person has no wish to be". His journey, to me, is the psychological equivalent of undergoing Shadow work: he is forced to look into the abyss of his own nature, to confront his potential for greed, corruption, and even cruelty.

Unlike (my dear) Boromir, who denies his own susceptibility and is thus consumed by it, Frodo is well aware of his vulnerability. He knows what the Ring could turn him into, which is why he resists the temptation to use it. He has glimpsed the depths of his Shadow and understands its power. Because of this, he refuses to arm it. He knows that once he hands his Shadow a weapon, it may never let go. Thus, both in the books and in the movies, Frodo has not killed anyone. Professor Tolkien makes sure to remind us of it in "The Scouring of Shire".

Yet true individuation does not come from merely resisting the Shadow but from integrating it — acknowledging its presence without being ruled by it. This is the essence of Frodo’s transformation.

At the beginning of his journey, his understanding of morality is simplistic: good vs evil, deserving vs undeserving. He believes justice is about giving people what they “deserve". We can see this in "The Shadow of the Past" of "The Fellowship of the Ring".

'What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!'

But as he carries the Ring (undergoes the shadow work), he realizes that the line between good and evil is not external — it runs through his own soul (subconscious).

By the time he returns to the Shire, he has changed in ways that make it impossible for him to reintegrate.

His final refusal to kill the ruffians and Saruman (in "The Scouring of Shire"), even after Saruman tries to stab him, shows the full "glory" of his transformation. He could act in anger, but he knows that doing so would only feed the very Shadow he has spent so long confronting. He has seen the full potential of The Shadow (both collective and his own), and thus, he does not wish to "entertain" it but arming it.

‘All the same,’ said Frodo to all those who stood near, ‘I wish for no killing; not even of the ruffians, unless it must be done, to prevent them from hurting hobbits.’

But even as Saruman passed close to Frodo a knife flashed in his hand, and he stabbed swiftly. The blade turned on the hidden mail-coat and snapped. A dozen hobbits, led by Sam, leaped forward with a cry and flung the villain to the ground. Sam drew his sword. ‘No, Sam!’ said Frodo. ‘Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against. He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it.’ Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. ‘You have grown, Halfling,’ he said. ‘Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell.’ "The Scouring of the Shire", "The Return of the King"

Frodo has ventured deeper into himself than most ever will, and though he has integrated his Shadow, the wounds remain. This is why he cannot stay — his journey has taken him beyond what the Shire represents.

Jungian individuation is the process of becoming a whole, integrated self — embracing both the conscious and unconscious aspects of one’s being. Frodo reaches this stage, but at a cost: wholeness does not mean happiness. His burden has re-shaped and changed him irrevocably, and though he has gained wisdom and knowledge of his "full" self, he has lost the ability to live as he once did.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Four: The Scary Part? He's Tiny

Prev/Next

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 763

You stood at the helm of the ship, next to Eurylochus, who kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He’s rather awful at judging that.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, turning to him.

“What?”

“You keep looking at me weirdly.”

Eurylochus hummed, debating whether or not to tell the truth. He settled with telling half of it.

He shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Eurylochus was saved from having to try and stutter out an excuse by Polites, who sprinted up to you, barely acknowledging the second in command’s presence with a small nod as he turned to you.

Polites’s glasses kept slipping off his nose and he continued to adjust them as he spoke. “There’s an island- Ody thinks it might be- what the lotus eaters were- talking… about.”

You blinked. “Oh,” was all you said.

Polites raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He demanded. “That’s the first thing you think to say?” You shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Eurylochus snorted in amusement and Polites narrowed his eyes mockingly at his friend.

Then the world seemed to move in slow motion. Eurylochus was speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. You yourself seemed to move fine; you could shake out the stiffness in your arms and legs in normal time. You snapped your fingers in front of Polites’s face, but you didn’t get a reaction.

You heard laughter from above your head, and you looked upward.

“Reveal yourself,” you ordered.

“Hm… I don’t think I will.”

You smirked. “I meant, please reveal yourself, Lord Hermes.”

A handsome yet short man appeared before you. He had a mop of curly light brown hair and a black mask covering his eyes. The snakes that were curled around his staff flicked their tongues at you as the tiny wings on his sandals flapped. “How did you-” He looked down at himself in surprise and yelped. 

He gave you a reproachful look. “Please don’t do that again, little lady,” he said, shaking his caduceus at you.

You crossed your arms. “Hello, Lord Hermes. Please stop stalking me.”

Hermes giggled and glided around you, studying your stance and scars. “Now, now,” he chided. “You shouldn’t talk to a potential patron like that!”

You raised your eyebrows. “Patron?” You asked, unable to keep the skepticism from your voice.

“Oh, yes.” Hermes came to a stop in front of you, still hovering a few feet above the ground. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time, Y/N of Ithaca.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that part. Your voice in my head and all.”

Hermes laughed again. “Ooooh. Quick-thinker, too, I see.” The tips of his sandals skimmed the deck of the ship as he looked at you thoughtfully. “I think of myself as lucky to have reached you first, before any other god could offer to be your mentor.”

You blinked.

“Come on,” the god urged. “I’m sure Odysseus has told you of his own mentor, Athena? Shame she abandoned him.”

“I-I…” You couldn’t finish, your mind skimming through the possibilities of how this could end. “What could you offer? Why should I not wait for a different god or goddess like Ares or Artemis?”

“So glad you asked!” Hermes beamed. “I am the god of thieves. I will teach you how to steal more than objects in the heat of the moment. I will teach you how to detangle hidden meanings and important information from the most confusing of sentences.”

You tilted your head slightly. That skill sounded useful.

“I am the god of travelers,” he continued. “I can aid you in your journey home.”

“I am the god of speed. I can train you so hard, you’ll have more stamina than any man. You’ll be as fast as Achilles was.”

“I am the god of language, and I can teach you the skill of negotiating-”

“Let me sleep on it,” you interrupted.

“Oh.” Hermes gave you a sad smile. “You won’t be sleeping tonight.”

“What do you-”

Suddenly everything sped up, leaving you stumbling. Eurylochus grabbed your shoulders to steady you. You could feel Polites’s concerned gaze on your back as you grabbed Eurylochus’s forearms in an attempt to make the world stop spinning.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus said as you swayed slightly. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to slump forward.

“I forgot about how fragile mortals are,” Hermes giggled inside your head. “You might be having that sleep earlier than either of us expected.”

Then you blacked out.

[celestiliall]

Dealing With A Runaway Cat ── .✦

Synopsis: you, a renowned Crysos heir, having abandoned your duty of supporting the Flame-chase journey in order to pursue your own, decided to pay a little visit to Castrum Kremnos. Little did you know that this would be one of the rare moments where the ferocious lion would pursue your tail from behind.

Walking into the ruins of the once-glorified city who worshipped the God of Strife, Nikador, your eyes sparkled with mischief upon finding numerous of treasures left behind by those city dwellers who had to flee when the Black Tide struck. Now, it was only you and your beloved treasures waiting to be collected.

Being a thief whilst having catlike abilities has its own capabilities, being able to sneak past from others easily without being noticed, not having to worry if anyone could catch up with you—not if you were already aware of their presence running toward you. This way, you would be able to flee even before they walked in where your presence lingered moments prior.

And even if they did manage to corner you... well, let's just hope they would be able to keep up with your speeding ability of a cat~

Like what the prophecy had foretold, you were one of the few selected people who was blessed with golden blood and the ones who would take part in the Flame-chase journey, defeating the Titans and bring back the Twelve Coreflames with your companions for the world to start anew.

—or that was how it was supposed to go; you never cared about the Flame-chase journey, and would rather indulge yourself by wasting your limited years stealing treasures from different cities, having been faced with the cruel reality of not having anything since you were little, forcing you to grow up selfish in order to have everything, everything except for what your heart truly desired...

Companionship.

Humming with a satisfied tune, your heels echoed throughout the grounds of the dead city, feeling your heart swelled up with elation after collecting some of the treasures and putting them into your sack of bag behind your shoulder.

Having been satisfied with today's discovery, you decided to end your adventure and continue tomorrow; in another city. Looking around the chilling sights of the city, your vision spotted something that looked... Out of place.

It wasn't something extraordinary in particular, just an abandoned necklace sitting a few meters away from the other treasures that were nearby.

Of course, objects randomly lying around in an abandoned city isn't uncommon, given that the owner might have been in a rush prioritizing their life to care about their expensive accessory from falling—but something about this exquisite jewelry spoke something of a hidden intention devised by someone in order to catch your eyes...

Before you know it, your figure had already approached the necklace who was waiting to be picked up by someone, crouching down in order to take in the design. Despite appearing expensive, the jewelry had already lost its former touch of good qualities, as if having been washed up by the shore long enough for it to look as damaged as this.

Nevertheless, a treasure is still a treasure—no matter what kind of form it had taken. So, with a hint of curiosity in your eyes, your hand reached out to take the necklace into your possession. But before you could even as hope to touch the piece of jewelry, your ears caught wind to the sound of footsteps.

Someone is coming.

And judging by the volume of their steps, you could assume that they were already nearby.

How? With your enhanced hearing ability, you would've figured that someone was here even before they were in a close distance from reaching you. So how was it that this person managed to escape your sharp senses?

And something about the sound of the heavy footsteps, it reminded you of someone who used to chase you down whenever you head off to steal something...

Oh crap, it's definitely a trap!

Abandoning your previous task at hand, you ignored the necklace and was about to get up and use the chance to flee as quickly as possible—but then something yanked you by the back of your hoodie even before you managed to scramble away, or rather, someone.

The action elicited an almost sharp yelp resembling that of a cat from you, being forced to stand up with your feet losing the feeling of the ground. Then, a familiar grumble from someone was heard, still keeping you in a vulnerable state of being manhandled.

"Hmph... Found you."

Recognizing the familiar and husky tone from none other than the strawberry blonde-haired man standing behind you, you inaudibly sighed.

"If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed that you were the ancient Zagreus themself for being able to escape my sharp senses into tricking me, Mydei."

"Even without the power of Trickery or Time, I would've still been able to know where you were exactly heading, given that we had these exact moments before together."

That answer received a frustrated groan from you, now being dragged away with a single hand like what a mother cat would do whenever it picked up its child from the ground with its mouth.

"You're coming with me. No more running away from your duty, else I will have to use a different method next time I have to drag you back again."

Lesson learned.

No matter how a cat managed to swiftly escape from the others' watch silently, it can never escape the sharp instinct of a ferocious lion searching for its prey.

Heh, not that you would stay being dragged until reaching Okhema.

[quandledlngle69]

⸻ 糸師凛 ITOSHI RIN.

TW; obsession, ritual, demonic things, blood, family trauma, deep detail of body, dolls, pain, corrupt religion, child abuse, mention of strangulation, vivification.

ever since you were young, your mother shunned you for your obsession with dolls. hours were spent crafting your first doll from scraps of fabric, straw and animal bones.

you didn't show your mother your perfect creation–knowing her lips would curl in disgust, and she would scoff, turning her head away while mumbling something hurtful under her breath. something about sin, something about god's unlove for such behaviour.

dolls were unholy, vile objects for the devil to merge with, a mockery of gods actual human creations. thats what she told you as she strangled you with a rosemary, the marks indented in your skin for weeks.

your father was an indifferent, absent man. he had spent not a nick of time with you–rather too engrossed in his scientific pursuits then being a family man. you grew up with no friends, a curse and a blessing; not having anyone to talk to beside yourself, but no one to judge you for your rather unnatural hobby. you recall your younger self passing by a workshops with a collection of dolls, always managing to captivate you; your little nose pressing into the glass, fogging it up with your warm breath until your mother yanked you away.

a part of you hoped for your future self that it was just an awkward phase that you would grow out of–though you never did. the gratification you felt making dolls, slowly becoming more life–like the more you matured–as if on the journey with you, made it unthinkable to ever let go. it was apart of you, and it soon surged into something more sinister; human hair, picked off scabs, even blood was shoved into the heart of the doll, sewn up or sculpted behind an imitation of the protective hard, white, calcium rows.

you wouldn't utter to any soul what you created in the dark, hidden behind excuses of intentions and an insatiable itch of something highly unethical.

the last straw was when a young man you were arranged to be wedded to shunned you once he found out about your 'hobby.'

that only instigated a heated screaming match with your mother, who promptly kicked you out once she realised her fears were concrete, that you would age alone, without a ring ever on your finger.

perhaps its the fact you were a misanthropist that coerced you to endure the next decade locked away in a shrubby attic–the rent cheap and no one to disturb you. you crafted what you had never done before, a life–sized anthropomorphic doll. you've had an image of the perfect man since you were a little girl. sketches ranging from little scribbles from when you were a wee thing, to fully fleshed out realism of this fictional man. sometimes he was in your dreams, a whisper away, smoke in the wind that couldn't be heard.

it was trial and error, and you had almost gone into a deep debt with the overly luxurious, top–quality materials and supplies you had gathered. your hands were rough and calloused from the work, your lungs damaged with the hard dust and particles you were too careless to filter out with a mask. from dawn till dusk, the hours not wasted, yet slaving away, a steaming cup of black coffee always on your wooden desk.

when you had finally concluded your work, you had taken a step back and admired it in all its glory. His face sculpted from your callous but nimble fingers, facial features eerily in harmony with each other, sharp like a cutting edge of a diamond.

his figure loomed over you, much taller than most handful of men walking the city streets. the doll's black hair was trimmed accordingly, bangs wispy sweeping across the right side of his eye; in the dim light, it flaunted a subtle seaweed–green tint. it's glass eyes were the most alluring part, most costly–worth an arm and a leg. a bright, opalescent teal–cold in nature, almost reticent. it's long lashes only tied them together like a ribbon of a bow, imagining if it blinked, they would flutter softly like butterfly wings.

you loved it–no, you were full of jubilation.

a familiar name abruptly popped into your mind, a man of a lover in a foreign book you once read. you quickly snagged a fountain pen, your hand carefully stretching out the dolls foot, scribbling heartedly on the sole bottom of the shoe.

Itoshi, Rin.

────────

you would spend the next few days observing, hours spent just staring rather hard at your masterpiece, never seemingly finding a flaw. you would talk to it, even if it was all one–sided, making you feel sheepish at times, yet you never stopped.

but slowly, the insatiable greed for more than this came to your mind. that this wasn't enough. it wasn't enough to just have this immobile showpiece of yours, hiding away in the darkest parts of your studio. in your dreams, it talked, breathed with lungs, a warm specimen as if it had blood running in it's veins.

it was gormless to think this wishfully.

────────

arguably, this wasn't a good idea, standing in a grotesque cathedral, abandoned long ago. it was the witches hour–there was only pitch darkness, the air smelling faintly of wax, dust, and something unsettling–sacrifice. you stood outside of it, the ominous pentagram bold on the wooden floor panels, the stick of red chalk staining your hands. some of the symbols you didn't understand, almost an ancient text that spoke nothing but sinful deeds. five lit candles stationary on each sharp point, their fire threatening to flicker out.

you didn't know what was more unsettling, the fact this suffocating atmosphere was purely demonic or the fact you were still going through with it, aware of the potential consequences. you were sporting a dangerous game, playing as god. this was damning your soul, that truth was crystal clear when the ritual required your blood, a drop long smeared on the dolls cheek.

then came the words–latin, you think.

you stumbled over them, your speech ever slow, butchering the pronunciation; yet evidently enough to indulge in whatever demonic power you were summoning.

────────

It hurt.

it hurt a lot–why did it hurt?

it started from the inside out, the developing cardiac muscle forming a beat, squeezing and expanding. nerves emerged from seemingly nowhere, flourishing in sparks as they danced like undone pieces of thread to every crevice of his body. a warmth of muscle and fat melded together like butter, limbs jerking, fingers and toes flexible with their contraction and flexion.

for the first time, he involuntarily inhaled, like such a thing was a natural urge. it was sharp, painful, it burned like hot coal in his chest. his lungs, fixed behind rows of bone, spasmed and heaved. he could smell. it carved itself in his nose, it was musty, like mildew and sawdust. he could almost taste it on his tongue. he could blink, delve visually into the blurry world in front of him. his skin felt as though it was doused with gasoline and lit with a match, without the mercy of relief.

he throat ached with a sore.

someone was screaming. is it him? is that deep, agony–filled voice belonging to him only?

his head lolled forward, his whole body alamort, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he struggled to open them, his resolve too weak, eyelids too heavy. he felt a warm liquid running out of his nostril, something red and thick. his new given mind not being able to compose a simple thought in such a nebulochaotic state.

he couldn't understand the sudden cold feeling brushing against his cheek, the sudden invasion of aroma, something sandalwood and paint–like. something hoisted his slugged and limp body up, as if he was still a ragdoll. a sturdy warmth bloomed on his front, a muttering of a voice, his nose brushing against what seemed like a neck.

it was the last thing seared into his mind before the world went dark.

Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

waaaaa i can't remember who to tag for this divider if you know pls lmk

[soaringwide]

PAC: A message regarding the situation in your mind

9 Piles, short-to-medium messages that can be applied to multiple situations.

I saw this reading by @redwinewhiteroses and thought it was such a wonderful idea that I wanted to do something similar.

Also, I wanted to get back into pick a card readings by doing shorter messages than what I usually do, and something people can go back to when needed for different purposes or situations.

So take a deep breath and focus on the situation you'd like an answer for when selecting the eyeshadow swatch.

book a reading ★ all PACs ★ testimonials

ONDINE 01

You have completed a cycle, and before you lies an open field. I think that despite this time being very exciting, because you have the opportunity to get on this entirely new journey, to start fresh and go wherever you want, I think that your previous failures still weight heavily on your mind, and that you are deeply scared to repeat past mistakes. You fear that things will end horribly before you even set foot on this new journey. I think the message here is to learn to not be so pessimistic and to have a bit of trust in yourself and the World. Perhaps you also need to spend some time recentering yourself and cooling down your heated emotions, so that you can see this situation more objectively, and avoid thinking the worse prematurely.

Try to channel the energy of excitement for this adventure that you are about to go on. Find the sense of wonder for what the world can offer, without worrying so much. Part of your journey is about finding this sense of magic and faith back, so that you have the energy to start something fresh. Yes no road is ever fully safe and nobody knows what's around the corner, but you can prepare for it, and you can handle it. So smile, for today a new sun is rising.

GALAPAGOS 02

You are being presented with an opportunity that you are pondering on deeply. I see you wondering if you can trust this situation, or person, thinking about where it could lead you, how it could unfold, playing with scenarios in your mind as a way to plan ahead. This situation, or person, is provoking new and exciting emotions to rise to the surface, but you are hesitant to trust it and go along with these sweet feelings it's creating in you. It seems good, but is it too good to be true? Are you fooling yourself and seeing things too naively? I think you may be trying to rule your heart with your mind because you don't trust this fickle thing, as if you were trying to over-compensate the strength of your desires, setting them aside by being as objective as possible.

The message here is about getting out of your head and back into the world. Not everything needs to be figured out, some things are meant to be lived to the fullest, with their light and shadow. Today you are being called to savor the pleasures of what is happening, to open yourself up to celebrate the beauty and joy of life and to share it with others. Things may not be as unstable as you fear them to be, so open your heart and join the dance. Beautiful memories await to be made.

NIGHTCLUBBING 03

The energy of your situation is one of withdrawal and deep reflection. There is a profound need to reconnect with the deepest aspects of yourself. For some, it could have to do with your spiritual self, as in, reconnecting with what is True to you, what gives you a sense of faith, what drives your soul forward. In all cases, this is about piercing through the night with the light of your mind in order to find hidden knowledge within yourself. A type of knowledge that is unique to yourself, your path, and your life. Perhaps you are currently reconsidering important life choices, or trying to find a new sense of direction, and you are being nudged to look inwards and focusing on your own truth rather than looking out to find answers.

What's interesting, is that the advice is talking about what unfolds after this time of self reflection. You are advised to take your gaze out of yourself and towards the world, to first plan actionable steps in order to bring your plan to life. You gained the clarity you needed and you have all you need to focus your energy in a focused way. Not only that careful but determined process will bring success to your endeavor, I'm also getting that the process itself will feel rewarding, as in, it will feel like reaping the fruits while you are moving forward. It's like after all this soul searching, moving forward again will feel like a win in itself, and you are encouraged to enjoy this stimulating energy and keep rolling with it.

BIARRITZ 04

This situation talks about an urgent need for security, be it financial or health related. It seems you've recently hit a wall and feel drained, again either when it comes to your health and body, or your money-related issues, but it could very well be both. You aspire for stability and a deep sense of achievement, but the truth is that you feel only half there, so severely lacking, which could manifest with a job that makes you feel sick and/or not paid enough for the amount of effort and energy you're pouring in. You know better conditions are possible and you want to go after that.

The advice is about weighting things carefully and not rushing into things. It is only natural to want out of this situation as fast as possible, but the ground under you is shaky and will require balanced actions. It would be tempting to just want out as fast as possible but you must be careful about not being rash and going after more than you can handle. I'm drawn to the idea that it's related to what you are currently able to handle personally, as in, you need to take things easy and take care of yourself well if you want to be able to get out of this situation in a graceful and healthy manner that will reward you in the long run. Otherwise you run the risk of harming yourself further and getting back to square one. So focus on finding balance within yourself, be mindful of your limits act slowly. It may seem like things are going too slow for your liking, but it's the best way forward for the time being.

VALHALLA 05

I get a sense of energy, excitement and freedom with this pile. This feels like a new year on a personal level, where everything seems possible and you have an open field in front of you to take whatever first step you want to shape your future. There is this massive burst of inspiration that feels cheerful and motivating, as if you could conquer the world today. The future feels hopeful and you have the drive to put things in motion. You may quite literally throw a party, sharing your joy with friends and significant people, possibly to celebrate some type of milestone.

The advice talks further about this, telling you to lean further into this energy of completion and new start. Do not look back but focus on the future and immerse yourself in this rebirth of creative energy in the purest form. Side note but when I mean creative energy, I don't mean that you literally need to be an artist, but that this energy is about creating something new that brings emotional fulfillment. The main takeaway is to savor this feeling of completion while opening yourself up to what the future will bring. Embrace this burst of positive feelings and let them fuel your movements forward. This is indeed a time to be excited and hopeful.

THUNDERBALL 06

You seem to be currently sitting at a crossroad, contemplating a decision that weights heavy on your mind. It feels like whatever you decide to do will have significant impact on your future, and you're feeling a bit stuck, turning things around in your head, trying to find the best course of action.

What you don't see is that what stops you from making the right decision has to do with looking at things with the wrong mindset. You seem fearful, full of self doubts and feelings of inadequacy, which in turns distorts the situation in your mind, making it seem more dramatic and fatalistic than it actually is. You yearn to connect to your situation in a genuine, positive and efficient way that aligns with who you are and how you feel, but it's like you're overwhelmed by this shadow which stops you from doing those things. It also seems like you are not investing in yourself in the right way, or your energy in the right way, which is increasing this feeling of being misaligned. It calls for doing things differently instead of keep doing the same things over and over again.

The message is to take a step back and let go of seriousness for a minute. Try to look at things more playfully. Find your way back to a joyful lightheartedness, which you've been severely neglecting. This cannot be forced, mind you, but will arise once you let go of the reins you're holding onto way too tightly. You don't need to control everything 10 steps in advance, it can actually be more efficient to just go with the flow and focus on the little sparks of light along the way. Life is kinda silly, and so are most of your problems, let's be fair, and it's time to embrace a new mindset that will free yourself.

BLONDIE 07

Your situation is about yearning for something that you hold very dear to your heart. An opportunity for growth, for change, something you find valuable and think that it will add a lot to your life. You have your eyes set on the prize, however, your whole mindset is being dragged by this feeling that you don't have enough, that you are not enough, and that you are somewhat unable to get what you want due to feeling somewhat broken. You goal seems far and your current situation dire, and you're exhausting yourself dreaming about it while feeling that you'll never get it.

The message is that you are making yourself stuck by getting lost in those heavy feelings of lack that are not followed by any actions that could actually bring you closer to you goal. This results in a feelings of apathy and boredom and refrain you from actually seizing the opportunities that you can. There is a need to correct your course of actions by opening yourself up to the future and get yourself out of that loop. Free yourself by doing things differently and looking out for actual actions you could take, and detach yourself from the chaos of your emotions. You need to rekindle with your sense of drive and determination to get the wheels out of the mud. Remember that you have all it takes and add a bit of discipline into your life. I know I hate that word too, but when you're stuck in a loop, it's basically a routine that you need to unlearn, and learning a new one requires sustained effort and focus until it becomes natural.

MEKONG 08

For your situation, I see you either currently going through, or about to go on a process of stepping out of isolation to get into the world once more. It's not just about simply socializing more, but really getting out of a dark place that see you withdrawing from the world and getting stuck in mental distress. It seems you realized this is going to lead nowhere good and are now trying to balance your emotional state out by reaching out to loved ones, be they friends, lovers, family, or some form of community at large. This is really an empowering process where you're taking accountability for the way you feel and trying out different ways to feel better by getting out of your own space. And I really think this has to do with physically going somewhere, even for a few hours.

The message is highly energized and full of movement, as the cards encourage you to channel the energy of forward motion and novelty. Yes it may feel awkward and unusual for you to step outside your (dis)comfort zone, but it will be highly rewarding on many levels. Take a first step! It doesn't have to be something grand and hard to do. Try to find little ways to start moving forward again, get out of your own space, reach out to people and seek connections. Go in with an open mind and an open heart and keep working at it day after day. It will only get easier as you get used to the feeling, and you will fuel yourself when you realize how better you start to feel.

NIGHT FLIGHT 09

For your situation, I see you holding onto a specific way of envisioning the future. It's like, there is a certain way you want things to be, you want to future to unfold to follow some type of plan of vision of yours, and you're clinging onto it rigidly, and feeling highly disappointed when things inevitably don't turn out the way you expected. This in turn makes you feel fearful and stuck, unable to act in any meaningful way because you worry you're going to get things wrong once again and not end up with the desired result.

The message calls for being perseverant, but it also says to refresh the way you look at things. If you keep doing the same thing, you're not going to end up with a different result, but rather you'll keep going round in circle and feeling more and more disappointed. The way to go is forward, and how you can start doing that is by detaching yourself your rigid expectations of how things need to unfold in order to give room for inspiration that will strike randomly when something ignites it, which you are unable to see right now because you are so blinded. Yes you must remain active and initiate things, but you must do it from a different place. Not a place of ''everything is going wrong and I'm never doing the right thing'', but from a place of optimism and inspired actions. If you feel overwhelmed by fear, anger or insecurity; let it rest for a bit. Wait for excitement and a desire for adventure to rise into your chest to guide your steps, it will yield much better results.

[dippedinmelancholy]

I’m back on my bullshit thinking about ACOSF again.

Comparing Nesta and Feyre’s journeys is just so . . .wrong. Regardless of who you like more, when you take the time to reflect on how both of their love stories “end”, objectively, one is at best an abuse victim, at worst a horror story.

Feyre gets everything she ever wanted, absurdly quickly. Five homes, endless power, a baby boy within a couple years of her marriage when many fae try for hundreds of years. Her mate/husband is a piece of shit, but she forgives and loves him regardless. All of the most powerful people in the Night Court, and not a single one who will ever be anything less than an echo chamber for Feyre.

Nesta is berated like a dog for all of ACOSF. She is trapped, only let out to complete tasks, her own body’s abilities hidden away from her, and used as a sexual object to control a man. She is emotionally berated by her jailer while he continues to fuck her. All of her sharp edges are filed down until she is acceptable. When she steps out of line, she is then physically abused via the hike, forced to carry more than her body is meant to endure. The abuse continues mentally, despite the man she is with knowing she is suicidal.

Yet, Nesta endures. She does as she is expected. She breaks. Against all odds, she survives the Blood Rite, despite no one in the Inner Circle caring to try and help her.

She saves the entire Night Court royal family. High Lord, High Lady, son.

By the end, mere months after Nyx’s birth, Nesta still has no place in the Night Court. She is emotionally abused, still. She exists to serve. Her te refuses to defend her, even when her life is threatened. The only home she has is very nearly trapped inside of, being forced to other perform extreme physical activity, or ask another person to let her leave her own house.

Nesta is an abuse victim. I honestly do not care what mean things she’s said to Feyre when they were literal children. I do not care that the “cruel” voice in Feyre’s head is Nesta’s. That does not justify or excuse that Nesta is trapped and emotionally and mentally abused on her best of days. She has nothing in this new life that is hers. Everything is held within the palm of Rhysand’s hand.

Feyre has gotten everything she ever wanted. She has faced no consequences for the hundreds of lives she’s utterly ruined. For the theft or laws she broke. She is loved, cherished, protected, adored.

Nesta is eternally paying the price for childhood sins. She is trapped, violated, and has become the thing her mother wanted her to be. A woman taking the abuse men offer, all for the sake of her family.

Nesta will never see the world. She will never know what the world has to offer for a woman with a good name and coin to spare. Nesta is a horror story.

[beifong-brainrot]

Ok, so this is very overdue, but in my defence, I have had a lot on my plate and this is a mildly heavy topic for me lol. This is the continuation of a post about Zuko's scar from the perspective of a burn victim, which I made almost a year ago. I've wanted to make another post, concerning Aang's scar and its handling in the show, from the perspective of a burn victim.

This post will heavily build off the previous one, so I do recommend giving it a read, if you haven't. In that post, I asserted that Zuko's scar, in a way, symbolises his failure to adhere to the Fire Nation's standards and his "imperfection" through their skewed perspective. This is an interesting subversion of the trope of a scar symbolising an "objective" imperfection, failure or moral flaw.

Now, Aang's scar does fall into this trope, as his scar is a testament to his defeat in Ba Sing Se at the hands of Azula, and the world percieving him as dead and, therefore, having failed in his mission. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as I believe that atla handles this trope with much grace and sensitivity.

The immediate parallels between Zuko and Aang in the Awakening are obvious. Of course, there is a scar present, and a shameful exile upon a fire nation ship. Aang grows his hair out, which is against his own cultural beliefs, which mirrors how Zuko cut his hair, which denotes shame in his culture. And, of course, the I need my honour back quote.

To both of them, in these stages of life, their scar acts as a brand, and a mark of failure. They both act out, and push away those who try to help them.

Zuko and Aang are already presented as strong parallels, and placing a comparison between Aang's shame and Zuko's redemption is an excellent way to tie that aspect of the show tighter.

Of course, there are differences and this parallel makes them even more obvious. While Zuko has a scar on his face, Aang's is more concealable, on his back.

Now, in fiction, back scars are usually mostly hidden, often to be displayed as a character disrobes for the first time. Usually, it's old scars, and they serve as a testament of a past life of violence. Aang's scar flips this trope on its head, as it is fresh and it is not a testament of a violence filled past, but of a violenece filled present.

In my previous post, I said that atla veers away from the very shitty "scarred villain" trope, by making scars the trademark of victims, rather than villains. However, it also avoids veering into another extreme of scars denoting a level of brokenness.

This trope often touches side characters, sometimes showing us a scarred, often hysterical, victim of the antagonist, just to drive home how evil the big bad is. Atla does this too, however, when we are shown side characters physically scarred by the Fire Nation, they are more than just their "damage", but decently fleshed out characters.

Notably, Song is shown to live a rather happy and peaceful life, despite the show not downplaying the severity of what had been done to her. The reveal of her scar is an important part of Zuko's own journey, but it is stressed that she is not just defined by it. Even moreso, Bato is a severely scarred individual who not only distinguishes himself as a valuable character, but also one who maintains his integrity and drive to fight the fire nation.

Now you'd assume this is a very low bar to cross, but too often we see characters defined purely by their scars, rather than by who they actually are as characters. Song and Bato are important, because they add a level of normalcy to characters with physical scarring by simply existing with their scars instead of being The Main Character with a Scar™️.

Now, with main characters, we see this trope of scars overtaking a character play out in a different manner. A scar can also define a main character, albeit in a different way. When a hero is scarred, often it marks a change in their character. It often marks a "fall grom grace" or a moment when the character becomes more cynical, ruthless. In essence, a scar becomes a signifier of a cruel world "breaking" a previously innocent or idealistic character.

You can argue that such a trope occurred with Zuko, though, it is handled with enough nuance and creativity that I give it a pass.

This is not the case with Aang. While Aang compromises on pretending he is dead and hiding his identity, he is not fundamentally changed by his experience. He does not forego his Air Nomad ways to be more efficient, and a huge part of his arc after this event is trying to maintain his integrity in his beliefs with his role and mission to stop the fire lord. He does not seek out revenge against Azula, he treats her just like any adversary and is even friendly towards her post canon.

This is not to say Aang doesn't struggle due to his injury, but rather the fact that the physical change of aqquiring a scar didn't come packaged with a automatic internal change. I find that often we conflate physical appearances with personality. Ergo why the scar=villain trope exists and why protagonists of media are most often conventionally attractive.

And yes, scars are often tied to traumatic events which can have massive effects on one's psyche. But the trope of tying such effects to a scar is a slippery slope to people placing too much weight on scars, and allowing physical scars to define the person who bears them.

That being said, Aang's struggles with his fresh scar nicely cover my only major dissatisfaction with Zuko's scars portrayal. Recovery or rather, lack thereof.

Now, I don't really blame the creators for skipping this step. When we meet Zuko, his scar was around 3 years old, and probably mostly healed (although I had physical therapy and weekly burn cream applications at least for like 5 years i think), therefore not needing any sort of maintenance. And while we have hints of Zuko potentially having some damage to his sight/hearing, sleeping on his burnt side and the like, we have no reall proof of that. In a practical sense, the scar is less a healed wound and more a birthmark that just appeared after a traumatic and painful event. The closest we get to seeing his scar get any kind of maintenance is the flashback of him wearing an eyepatch, which I admit is a nice touch.

In "the Awakening" we see Katara give Aang a "healing seasion". This adds to the idea that Aang's scar needs maintenance, especially as it is still rather fresh. I enjoy it because I too needed a lot of maintenance and care put into my scars for the first few months and even years after I aqquired them.

I also do love that Katara unintentionally working with Aang's scar leads to him going through a flashback. Having someone "mess" with your scars (even if it is necessary and for the best) especially when they're still sensitive can be violating and painful. I would often disscociate when people would take care of my burns.

While my scars don't cause me much issue these days, they did restrict mobility for me and I had to get physical therapy for them, as well as having creams and oils applied to them so they don't dry out. The scar tissue on my hand doesn't allow me to extend my fingers fully, and the scar on my side makes bending over/moving my torso difficult and painful.

It was even worse, of course, when I was a child and that's why i felt so seen by Aang struggling physically after his scarring. This also manifests in his chakra being blocked throughout most of B3.

And while I understand why people have an issue with Aang being more irritable during this state, I can't help but find catharsis in seeing a character be this way. It sucks when you can't do something your body should be capable of doing, something it once was capable of doing. It's frustrating, painful and downright humiliating.

Aang's frustration in "the Awakening" specifically hits close to home. While everyone around him has his best interest in mind, he is, more or less, cut out of the plans concerning his own future, having choices being made for him and having to even compromise his cultural beliefs. He is literally dead to the world, and so is his input into his own life.

Aang: I just can't stand by and do nothing! [Runs out.] Sokka: [Following.] Aang, no! [Grabs the staff.] You're still hurt, and you have to stay secret! Just let us handle this. Aang: Fine. [Grabs his staff and walks away.]

Furthermore, he struggles with relying on those he cares about, percieving it as a burden. Now, contrary to popular opinion, Aang is a decently independent character, one who us probably accustomed to fending for himself being a nomad, in tandem with his responsibility as Avatar weighing heavily on him. It leads to a heavy push for independence from him, not unlike what we've seen from Toph in "the Chase".

Aang: And I hate the invasion plan, too! [Rips down the Fire Nation flag covering his staff.] I don't want you or anyone else risking your lives to fix my mistakes! I've always known that I would have to face the Fire Lord. But now I know I need to do it alone.

Aang is also dealing with a heavy serving of guilt, as he percieves his defeat in Ba Sing Se as a personal failing. We see him take this to a dangerous extreme by leaving in the middle of the night. This is Aang's lowest moment as the Avatar. But Yue is the one who helps him find his faith in himself again (which, my little YuAang heart 🥺). I find this especially moving, since Yue is also a character who has gone through her own type of death and subsequent rebirth, which fits Aang's storyline in this episode.

Yue: You already saved the world. And you'll save the world again, but you can't give up. Aang: You're right. I won't give up.

The plot of "the Awakening" focuses heavily on Aang's initial recovery and him finding his footing and himself after a traumatic event that changed a lot in his life. But he remains himself and pulls through.

This episode, and the subsequent narrative it spins around Aang's scar as a result revolves strongly around the past, specifically failures not definining oneself. It therefore also leads to Aang's scars not defining him.

A lot of Aang's appearances in B3 do a lot to make his scars seem mundane, as we watch his recovery, his scar shrinking and no one makes comments about his scar being exposed.

Zuko and Aang as characters do a lot to normalise scars and make them seem more a part of someone, rather than a defining trait, which is something I find important to keep going in media.

Scars in media are often used as a visual shorthand, a way to quickly define a character. They overwhelm the character, rather than add to them. But Zuko, while his scar is a big part of him, is not just defined by his scar, and neither is Aang. Neither of them is just "the one with the scar on [insert body part]" but fleshed out individuals.

Their scars exist to serve their characters and enhance their storylines, rather than for other characters to simply gawk at and react to, which is something I see in many stories. It's a personal ick, as it feels like an aspect of another character exists to further the stories of others, and it furthers the idea that its ok to build one's perception about someone around their scar.

I do, however, want to note that this entire pist is from my perspective as somone who grew up with prominent burn scars. I do not hold the monopoly on scars. Its very likely there is someone with scars out there with a different perception on how atla handled scars. We all have different experiences, and we are not a monolith, so I encourage different perspectives on the matter.

I also wanted to take a moment to address the deus ex rock moment, as its a pretty crucial part of the story surrounding Aang's injury.

I know a lot of people are confused by this scene, or see it as a copout/undeserved victory. And I absolutely understand where those people come from. But looking at this moment from less of a storydriven perspective, and more through Aang's character, it does make some sense, in a rather metaphorical manner.

There is a pattern of Aang entering the Avatar State through something touching on sensitive subjects to Aang. Finding Gyatso's corpse, Katara being "killed", Appa being taken. We've seen Aang's frustration and upset due to his inability to enter the Avatar state due to his injury grow through B4, extradited by the many other factors pressing on his mental health.

The way I see it, the rock was a physical replication of said process. Physically striking Aang where he was vulnerable, and unleashing the pain and anger he had been tamping down. Like one thing about Aang in the avatar state, especially here? He looks absolutely fucking pissed.

And that is by design. I've given my thoughts on the Avatar state. It is a defence mechanism, and especially in Aang's case, it turns Aang's pain to anger and destruction. And Ozai is certainly a deserving target of otherwordly wrath. Aang would've been fully in his right to brutally kill him.

But he doesn't, he actively stops himself, he pulls himself out of the Avatar State, which was established previously to have been incredibly difficult for him.

And he choses to not kill Ozai, maintaining his own integrity and the values of his people. This is especially poignant to me after Ozai yelled to him that the Air Nomads were weak, and didn't deserve to live. At that point, in Aang's eyes at least, compromising his morals would be a quiet agreement with that statement.

I wouldn't say that the rock was necessarily even a deus ex machina, even though I joked about it being so. Aang didn't even technically need the rock to kill Ozai the whole fight could've ended right here. Aang had that man dead to fucking rights.

But he chose not to end things this way. Aang could've ended things as the Avatar, everything and everyone was pushing him towards it, he almost did it twice in the fight. But he could not. I know there are people dissapointed in him for this. But Iove that Aang chose to end this conflict not as Avatar Aang, but as Aang the Last Airbender, the last representant of the Fire Nation's first and most prominent victims.

There's something deeply poetic and beautiful about that, even if we needed a heavyhanded metaphor in the form of a conveniently placed rock to get there.

Aang and Zuko go through the most visible and highlighted character arcs in the show, and their respective scars highlight said arcs. Zuko's scar is part of his arc of finding his identity outside the strict roles and standards he was forced into. His scar symbolises his failure to fit into these standards, and a huge part of his arc is demystifying the power the scar holds over him, the power he himself ascribed to it. Only once he demystified the scar and the act of violence it came from, was he able to begin to unravel the power Ozai and the Fire Nation held over him.

For Aang, his scar was, in a way a manifestation of the pain, pressure and change he was under. But he didn't let it define him, he persevered, and, despite everything he was going through, he maintained his culture and his own integrity by choosing to spare Ozai's life.

I enjoyed this two parter, even if it was a little tough to get through. I might make some extra posts in the scar series lol. Particularly about Lin Beifong's scar (which might touch on general fandom weirdness around scars) and maybe about why the concept of Katara keeping her burned hands from the Deserter makes me feel icky (also about general fandom weirdness around scaras)

[minhosbitterriver]

📷 STILL FRAMES ( stray kids )

❛ After fainting during a photography class outing, you're tenderly cared for by a seemingly cold classmate, Seungmin, leading to an unexpected and heartwarming connection between the two of you.

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 30 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was written and completed a few months ago, but I recently found it and decided to share it with you guys! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Descriptions of being overheated, anxiety, and fainting, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The summer sun blazed with an intensity that bordered on cruelty, its golden rays casting a relentless furnace upon the cityscape. The air shimmered with the heat, every street and alley seemingly wincing under the oppressive glare. The heavens above were a fierce, unyielding expanse of cerulean, devoid of mercy or shade.

Amidst this searing trial, you navigated the urban labyrinth, your every step a testament to perseverance. Your digital camera, a faithful companion clutched in your hand, was your shield against the unrelenting heat. It was your instrument for capturing moments of beauty amid the starkness of summer’s tyranny.

As you trailed behind your classmates, each one a silhouette against the blistering backdrop, your gaze flitted with restless anticipation. You wandered through the city streets, your eyes seeking fragments of inspiration to breathe life into your assignment. The buildings rose around you like silent, stoic sentinels, their facades glistening with a harsh, metallic sheen. In the shimmering distance, you hoped for the elusive spark that would transform the mundane into something extraordinary.

The chatter of your classmates had long faded into a mere whisper, a distant hum that barely registered in the periphery of your consciousness. Conversations ebbed and flowed like an unremarkable current, a symphony of voices blending into a soft, indistinguishable murmur. Yet, this isolation was not an anomaly but a chosen retreat, a familiar haven you embraced with quiet contentment.

Surrounded by the bustling dynamics of camaraderie and friendship, you stood apart, an island of introspection amidst a sea of social engagement. It wasn't that you were unfriendly or aloof; your laughter often mingled with theirs, your voice joining the chorus of shared jokes and light-hearted banter before and after the structured rhythm of class. But when the subject turned to the art that captivated your soul, a transformation occurred.

Photography, to you, was not just a hobby but a profound and passionate pursuit. It demanded your full attention, a devotion that bordered on reverence. Your camera was not merely a tool but an extension of your vision, a conduit through which you sought to capture the world’s hidden beauty. The play of light and shadow, the fleeting expressions on faces, the intricate details of everyday objects—all of these were fragments of a larger, more intricate tapestry that you sought to weave with each click of the shutter.

In those moments, the world around you faded into soft focus, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your art. The bonds of friendship, though cherished, were momentarily set aside, replaced by a singular concentration that sharpened your senses and heightened your awareness. This solitary journey through the realm of photography was your sanctuary, a place where you found solace and inspiration in equal measure.

The only other person in this class who might share your penchant for solitude was Kim Seungmin. He, too, seemed to navigate the world with an air of quiet detachment. Yet, there were differences in how each of you manifested this introversion. While you made a concerted effort to connect with those around you—engaging in brief conversations and sharing moments of camaraderie when class was not in session—Seungmin was an enigma, a shadow that flitted away the moment the lecture ended.

Seungmin's presence in the classroom was a paradox of visibility and invisibility. He was always the first to arrive, slipping into the room with the quiet grace of dawn's first light. Despite his punctuality, he maintained a palpable distance from the rest of the group, an invisible barrier that set him apart. His demeanor, while not unfriendly, exuded a clear message of preference for solitude.

During the lulls and intermissions, when the classroom would usually be filled with animated discussions and the laughter of budding friendships, Seungmin could be found in a corner, absorbed in his own world. His fingers danced nimbly over his camera, adjusting settings, capturing candid moments, or meticulously reviewing his shots. At other times, he would be engrossed in his phone, the screen's glow reflecting the deep concentration etched on his face.

To you, Seungmin was a mystery, a puzzle wrapped in layers of quiet introspection. There was a certain allure in his aloofness, a silent invitation to unravel the story behind his reserved exterior. Yet, you never dared to cross the unspoken boundary that he had set. His solitary nature, so akin to your own, commanded a respect that you were unwilling to breach.

Seungmin remained a figure of curiosity, a fellow traveler on the path of photographic artistry who chose a parallel yet distinctly separate route. His quiet presence was a reminder of the myriad ways one could navigate the delicate dance between isolation and connection.

Despite his reserved and enigmatic demeanor, Seungmin possessed a rare and extraordinary talent for photography. His artistry behind the lens was nothing short of breathtaking, a fact that did not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all the professor. At the conclusion of each class, a ritual unfolded: the professor would meticulously review everyone's photographs, sifting through the myriad of images to select the ones that stood out the most. Without fail, Seungmin's work consistently earned a place among the top five, a testament to his remarkable skill.

Each of Seungmin's photographs was a revelation, an abstract masterpiece that captured the world through a uniquely creative lens. His ability to see beyond the ordinary and delve into the depths of the abstract added a layer of profound beauty to his images. Where others might see a simple street scene or a mundane object, Seungmin uncovered hidden dimensions and intricate patterns, transforming the mundane into the extraordinary.

His compositions were a symphony of light and shadow, each frame meticulously crafted to evoke emotion and provoke thought. There was an unmistakable depth to his work, a silent narrative that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The interplay of colors, the juxtaposition of textures, and the harmony of forms all coalesced into visual poetry, each photograph a verse in the grand tapestry of his artistic vision.

The professor, a seasoned connoisseur of photographic art, often marveled at Seungmin's ability to convey such profound beauty through his images. His praise, though sparing, was always effusive when it came to Seungmin's work. "A true artist," he would often muse, holding up one of Seungmin's photos for the class to admire. "His eye for detail and his innovative approach are truly remarkable."

Seungmin's talent was unmistakable, a beacon of brilliance that shone through the veil of his quiet, self-imposed solitude. Each photograph was a testament to his exceptional ability to capture the essence of the world around him, a gift that set him apart and elevated him to the ranks of the truly gifted. In his hands, the camera became not just a tool but a portal to a realm of infinite beauty and wonder.

The dryness in your mouth abruptly pulled you from the intricate web of thoughts weaving around your enigmatic classmate, who now lingered at the back of the group, his camera poised to capture yet another fleeting moment. The parched sensation nagged at you, growing more insistent with each passing second. You reluctantly tore your gaze away from Seungmin, reaching into your backpack in search of your water bottle.

As your fingers fumbled through the contents of your bag, your eyes remained vigilant, scanning your surroundings to ensure you wouldn’t stumble over any unexpected obstacles. The bustling city around you was a blur of movement and color, but you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

Finally, your hand closed around the cool plastic of your water bottle. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Your heart skipped a beat when you unscrewed the cap and peered inside, only to find a single, solitary sip left. The realization that your meager supply of water was almost depleted sent a ripple of anxiety through your chest. The class was far from over, and the sweltering heat showed no signs of relenting.

A wave of apprehension washed over you, prickling at your chest like tiny, invisible needles. You finished the last sip, the tepid water doing little to quench your thirst, and tried to steady your racing thoughts. With a shaky breath, you reassured yourself that you could endure the remaining time. Surely, there would be a place nearby where you could refill your bottle.

Determined not to let the anxiety take hold, you pressed on, reminding yourself that the city was vast and filled with countless opportunities. Somewhere among the winding streets and towering buildings, an oasis of hydration awaited. All you had to do was stay focused and keep an eye out for that small but vital reprieve.

The merciless sun, as if sensing your growing anxiety, seemed to blaze even hotter, its relentless rays wrapping you in a suffocating embrace. Beads of sweat clung to your skin in a sticky shimmer, making each movement feel laborious and sluggish. Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. Your eyes roamed the cityscape, seeking inspiration amidst the familiar charm of the urban sprawl.

You recalled the instructions given by your professor before the class set out on this journey. Find something that has two textures that contrast each other, and find a way to make them complement each other in your photo. It seemed a simple enough directive, especially considering the rich tapestry of your surroundings. Yet, the sun's unyielding assault made concentration an arduous endeavor.

As you navigated the bustling streets, your gaze flitted over the varied textures that adorned the city. Rough, weathered brick walls stood in stark contrast to the sleek, reflective surfaces of modern glass buildings. The interplay between the old and the new, the rugged and the refined, offered endless possibilities for your photographic assignment. But the oppressive heat made it difficult to hold onto any coherent thought for long.

The thirst that had been barely quenched earlier resurfaced with a vengeance, its gnawing intensity magnified by the knowledge that your water bottle was now empty. Your mouth felt as dry as the arid pavement beneath your feet, and each swallow seemed to scrape against a parched throat. Anxiety prickled at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm your resolve.

You scanned the area for potential sources of relief, hoping to spot a fountain, a café, or any place where you could refill your bottle. The city, though familiar, seemed an endless expanse under the punishing sun. Every step felt heavier, the weight of your camera pressing down on you like a leaden reminder of your mission.

Yet, amidst the discomfort and the thirst, you remained determined. You sought the contrasting textures your professor had described, letting your eyes linger on the juxtaposition of smooth marble and rough concrete, or the way a delicate flower pushed through a crack in the asphalt. There was beauty to be found here, even in the harshest of conditions.

With a deep breath, you resolved to keep going, trusting that your perseverance would lead you to both the perfect shot and the much-needed water. The city, with all its contrasts and complexities, held the promise of discovery, if only you could endure a little longer.

"It’s so hot," you vaguely heard a classmate complain, her voice barely cutting through the heavy, sweltering air as she fanned herself with a weary hand. The others nodded in weary agreement, their faces etched with the shared misery of enduring the relentless sun. "We should all go for some ice cream after this," she suggested, a hint of hope sparking briefly in her eyes.

The idea of ice cream, cool and refreshing, was undeniably appealing. Yet, you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. The fear of worsening your situation held your tongue, a silent specter of anxiety that kept you from speaking up. As you glanced around at your classmates, their faces blurred by the heat, a flicker of desperation ignited within you.

You tried to remember if you had informed anyone about your fainting spells, but your mind drew a blank. The memories were elusive, slipping through your mental grasp like water through a sieve. The thought of revealing your vulnerability gnawed at you, and although you knew you should at least ask if anyone had spare water, your anxiety clung to you like a vice, rendering you silent at a moment when you needed help the most.

The world around you seemed to shimmer and waver in the oppressive heat, the vibrant colors of the city dulled by the haze of your growing discomfort. Your throat felt like sandpaper, each breath a laborious effort. The idea of speaking up, of asking for something as simple as water, felt insurmountable. Your classmates, though kind and considerate, seemed distant and unreachable in your moment of need.

Silent, you continued to endure, your thoughts a turbulent mix of desperation and fear. The sun beat down with unwavering intensity, each ray a reminder of your growing thirst and vulnerability. You scanned the faces around you, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign that someone might notice your distress without you having to voice it.

But no such sign came. The conversations continued, the suggestions of ice cream and relief from the heat weaving through the group like a distant promise. You swallowed dryly, your silence a heavy burden, and resolved to press on. The city held the promise of respite somewhere, and you clung to the hope that you could find it before your strength gave out.

The more you pushed forward, the more acutely aware you became of the blood coursing through your veins. It was as if each heartbeat reverberated in your ears, amplifying the sense of impending dizziness. The city's vibrant energy seemed to swirl around you, the once steady ground beneath your feet now an unpredictable, undulating surface.

As the sensation of spinning grew more intense, you reluctantly allowed yourself to fall behind the group. You sought refuge against the cool, reassuring solidity of a nearby building, leaning against its weathered facade. Taking deep breaths, you tried to steady yourself, inhaling the warm, sun-baked air and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm the storm within.

Your classmates, absorbed in their own artistic quests, continued on without noticing your absence. This anonymity, usually a comfort in your solitary pursuits, now only served to heighten your anxiety. You couldn't blame them for their oversight; it was common for someone to linger behind, captivated by a potential photograph. Still, the reality of being unnoticed in your moment of need felt like an invisible weight pressing down on your chest.

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to focus on the rhythm of your breathing, hoping it would anchor you in the present moment. The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant conversations, the hum of traffic, the occasional birdcall—creating a cacophony that both grounded and overwhelmed you.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the receding forms of your classmates, their laughter and chatter fading into the background. The distance between you and them felt insurmountable, not just in physical space but in the gulf of your unspoken struggle. You pressed your back more firmly against the building, feeling the rough texture of the brick through your thin shirt, a small reminder of the world outside your internal chaos.

You knew you needed to rejoin the group, to press on and complete the assignment, but the dizziness and rising anxiety made the thought of moving almost unbearable. You considered calling out, asking for help, but the words stuck in your throat, trapped by the fear of appearing weak or needy. Instead, you remained silent, hoping that your moment of respite would be enough to regain your composure.

Your body shivered uncontrollably despite the oppressive heat, a strange and unsettling contrast that heightened your sense of unease. The world around you seemed to blur and waver, your vision losing focus at an alarming pace. Each step felt like wading through thick, invisible molasses, and even the simplest movement became a Herculean effort. Despite this, you managed to lower yourself to the sidewalk, the rough pavement a harsh but necessary support.

You concentrate on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the here and now. Yet, the ringing in your ears grew louder, a piercing sound that drowned out the city's ambient noise. It was a familiar, dreaded precursor to the fainting spell you knew was imminent, a relentless force poised to take control.

In the midst of this growing chaos, a voice pierced through the din, a lifeline in the swirling haze. "Hey, are you okay?" someone asked, their concern clear even through your muddled senses. The effort to lift your head and identify the speaker was beyond you; the world had narrowed to a tunnel of indistinct shapes and sounds.

You tried to respond, to assure them or perhaps to call for help, but your words dissolved into a string of incoherent babbles. Your tongue felt thick and uncooperative, your mind struggling to form coherent thoughts as the darkness edged closer. The last thing you registered was the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the realization that your body was betraying you in this critical moment.

As the blackness enveloped your consciousness, you felt a profound disconnect from the world around you. The sounds, the heat, the distant figure of your classmate—all faded into a void, leaving you suspended in an abyss of nothingness. The struggle to stay present, to remain in control, slipped through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

In this void, time ceased to have meaning. Seconds or minutes, it was impossible to tell how long you lingered in that state of unconsciousness. The city, with its vibrant life and relentless sun, continued on without you, a stark reminder of your fragile existence.

When you finally awoke, it felt as though you were emerging from a dense fog, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented reality around you. The disorientation was palpable, each moment stretching as your senses slowly reconnected with the world. Your head rested on someone’s lap, and though he was turned away, his presence was both unfamiliar and comforting in your vulnerable state.

Sounds began to filter through the haze, grounding you further. The low, urgent tone of the voice above you became clearer, barking orders with a mix of authority and concern. "Get some water!" Though you couldn't see who he was addressing, the urgency in his commands cut through the remnants of your confusion.

As your awareness sharpened, you noticed your arms were held aloft above your head. This small detail triggered a memory from your past, a practice you had shared with others in case your lips ever turned blue—a sign of your body’s desperate need for oxygen. The position was meant to untie the invisible knot in your lungs, allowing air to flow more freely and ease your breathing.

With this realization, a wave of gratitude washed over you. Even in your disoriented state, you recognized the significance of this gesture. The person cradling your head had either known or intuitively understood what to do, providing a lifeline in your moment of need.

You tried to speak, to express your thanks or perhaps to reassure the person helping you, but your voice was weak and unsteady. The effort drained you, and you opted to focus on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a conscious act of reclaiming control over your body.

It wasn’t until a groan escaped your lips that the person holding you turned to face you. Instantly, your face flushed with a deep wave of embarrassment upon recognizing him—it was Seungmin. The reassuring smile he sent your way was a beautifully rare sight, and for a fleeting moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. His lips moved, forming words that your still-dazed mind struggled to comprehend.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus, but the words eluded you. Noticing your confusion, Seungmin pursed his lips and turned to someone out of your line of sight. Almost immediately, a cold bottle of water with a straw was handed to him. He settled it gently by your head, positioning the straw so you could drink. The sensation of the cool water on your parched throat was heavenly, and you drank greedily, almost draining the bottle before you realized it.

Seungmin chuckled softly at your eagerness, the sound light and comforting. You felt your cheeks heat up again and averted your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Despite your embarrassment, the relief from the water was undeniable. Your head cleared a bit more, the world coming into sharper focus.

Seungmin continued to watch over you, his expression a blend of concern and gentle amusement. His presence, usually so distant and enigmatic, now felt unexpectedly comforting. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t diminish the warmth of his care, and you felt a small surge of gratitude.

As you finished the last of the water, Seungmin reached out to steady the bottle, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, but it was grounding, a reminder that you were not alone. He murmured something softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. Though the exact words were still lost to you, the intent was clear—he was there for you.

Gradually, the ringing in your ears subsided, and your breathing steadied. You risked a glance back at Seungmin, who was now focused entirely on you, his eyes full of quiet resolve. The vulnerability of the moment hung between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

You tried to muster a smile, a small token of thanks. Seungmin's eyes softened, and he returned the smile, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, the barriers of his usual aloofness seemed to fall away, revealing a depth of kindness that you hadn’t seen before.

Gradually, your hearing began to reawaken, stitching itself back together with your muddled senses. The familiar symphony of the bustling city—a cacophony of distant car horns, murmured conversations, and the steady hum of urban life—slowly emerged from the background noise, anchoring you to the present moment.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Seungmin’s voice cut through the haze, his tone edged with concern as he noticed your growing awareness. You managed a shaky nod, your head still spinning slightly. His brows were knitted together in a deep frown, a tangible expression of his worry.

“Can you sit up, or do you need to stay down a little longer?” he asked gently. “There’s no rush. Please, stay there if you’re still feeling dizzy.”

With a quiet determination, you placed your hands onto the pavement, the rough texture grounding you as you clumsily pushed yourself away from him. Seungmin’s steadying presence guided you with careful hands, helping you to lean against the same building you had previously sought solace from before losing consciousness. You groaned softly, closing your eyes to escape the persistent whirl of the world around you. When you reopened them, the dizziness had ebbed, though remnants of the earlier chaos lingered at the edges of your vision.

In front of you stood a middle-aged man, his apron stained with grease and his hands clasped together in a gesture of concern. His eyes were fixed on Seungmin, waiting for instructions, his face etched with worry for your well-being. The weight of his concern was palpable, and it added another layer to the unfolding scene.

Seungmin exhaled deeply, a sigh that seemed to release the tension of the moment. He settled himself beside you, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his chest, and his gaze remained focused on you with an almost protective intensity.

The ambient noise of the city continued to swirl around you, but in this small, sheltered space, it felt as though time had slowed. Seungmin’s presence was a steady anchor amidst the chaos, his concern a quiet reassurance that you were not alone. The man in the greasy apron lingered nearby, ready to assist at a moment’s notice, his worried gaze shifting between you and Seungmin.

The world slowly regained its equilibrium, the spinning sensation giving way to a more stable awareness. The tenderness of the pavement beneath you and the warmth of Seungmin’s concern combined to create a cocoon of comfort, allowing you to regain your composure and begin to piece together the events of the past moments.

“How are you feeling?” The middle-aged man’s voice was gentle, his eyes darting between you and Seungmin with a mixture of concern and kindness. “You should eat something. Come inside—whatever you get is on the house.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over you, coloring your cheeks a deep red. You felt a pang of guilt for having worried such a considerate stranger. Just as you were about to politely decline the generous offer, Seungmin’s voice intervened with a firm yet caring tone.

“I agree, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a note of unwavering resolve. “You need to eat something after fainting like that. Let’s go inside.”

Seungmin’s tone left no room for argument, the decisiveness of his words compelling you to acquiesce. You sighed softly, nodding in acceptance. The man’s face lit up with a wide grin, clearly pleased by your agreement. With a quick, eager step, he rushed into the restaurant behind you.

Seungmin rose swiftly, brushing off any imaginary dust from his clothes with a swift motion. He extended his hands towards you, his expression one of quiet encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, then grasped his warm hands. The touch was gentle, and a subtle tingle spread through your fingers, a physical reminder of his comforting presence.

Though you felt more stable now, Seungmin’s hands remained hovering near your waist, a silent gesture of support as you made your way inside the restaurant. His protective stance was reassuring, a steadying force guiding you through the threshold.

The restaurant’s interior greeted you with a comforting embrace—a cool respite from the heat outside. The space was warmly lit, with the soft hum of conversation and the tantalizing aroma of food creating a cozy ambiance. 

The tantalizing aroma of Korean comfort foods wafted through the air, weaving its way into your senses and causing your stomach to rumble in eager response. Each fragrant note of sizzling meats, simmering stews, and freshly steamed vegetables seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, making you profoundly grateful for both the man's generous offer and Seungmin's insistence.

Seungmin guided you with gentle assurance to a table nestled at the far end of the restaurant, where the hum of conversation was softer and the space felt more intimate. The dim lighting at this secluded spot cast a gentle glow, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He carefully pulled out your chair, his movements measured and considerate, and nudged you forward slightly to ensure you were settled. With a courteous smile, he then made his way around the table, taking his own seat directly across from you.

His smile was a touch awkward, a charming contrast to the seriousness he had shown earlier. He glanced around the room, searching for the man who had so kindly attended to you, only to spot him approaching with a welcoming presence. The man carried a bottle of water and two menus, the promise of nourishment and choice clearly reflected in his hands.

As he reached the table, he placed the items before you with a friendly nod. You accepted the bottle and menus with a grateful bow and a warm smile, your heart swelling with appreciation for his kindness. The bottle of water was cool to the touch, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, while the menus promised a delightful array of dishes.

Seungmin’s gaze softened as he watched you, his concern now mingled with a gentle sense of relief. The atmosphere around you seemed to ease, the initial tension giving way to a shared moment of calm. As you began to peruse the menus, the delicious scents and the comfort of the setting enveloped you, making you feel more at ease and ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of a meal with someone who had shown such unexpected care.

The air between you was thick with awkwardness, a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging in the space after such an intensely personal moment. You busied yourself by fixating on the vibrant images on the menu, using them as a comforting distraction from the lingering embarrassment. Each picture of steaming bowls of soup and colorful plates of food seemed to blur together, a vivid kaleidoscope that kept your eyes occupied and your mind from dwelling on the recent upheaval.

After a period of shared silence, you both placed your orders, the clatter of menus and the murmur of your choices filling the brief lull. There was no longer any barrier between you and the reality of the situation. With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and, in a voice softer than you intended, you managed to say, “Thank you.” Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the table, refusing to meet his gaze, as your cheeks and ears flamed with a blush of sincere embarrassment. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could almost feel his warm, understanding smile directed at you.

“You don’t have to thank me at all,” Seungmin replied, his voice infused with genuine sincerity. “I hope you don’t mind, but I texted the professor to let him know what happened, so he’s aware we won’t be finishing the class with everyone else today.” His words were a pleasant surprise, causing your eyes to widen slightly as you briefly met his gentle gaze. The kindness of his gesture momentarily pierced through your discomfort, but you quickly looked away, your shyness reasserting its hold.

In response to his concern, you offered a grateful nod and a shy smile, the simplest acknowledgments of his thoughtfulness. The question he posed next was gentle, yet it carried an undercurrent of genuine concern. “Do you pass out often?”

At his question, you let out a soft, resigned sigh, the sound almost like a whisper of the weariness you felt. “Sometimes,” you began, your voice barely more than a murmur. “It’s been happening since I was a child, though no one seems to know why. I’ve been checked for things like epilepsy, but they haven’t found anything.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, each syllable revealing a fragment of a long-standing uncertainty.

Seungmin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with a deep, attentive concern as he absorbed each word with tender care. His silence was a soothing balm, a quiet testament to his empathy. As you recalled the moment he had lifted your arms, a question escaped you almost impulsively: “How did you know to lift my arms?”

His initial reaction was one of surprise, his eyes widening as he blinked at your sudden inquiry. But the astonishment quickly softened into a shy, almost hesitant smile. “Oh,” he began, his voice gentle. “My mother also had fainting spells, usually when it was too hot or if she had an injury.” His revelation was accompanied by a look of nostalgia, a subtle hint of the personal connection he felt to the subject.

You were taken aback once more by this shared experience. “Your mother sounds a lot like me,” you responded, your tone light but tinged with genuine reflection. “I also faint for similar reasons—when I’m overheated or emotionally overwhelmed.”

A serene silence settled between you as Seungmin gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes drifting into a distant gaze that spoke of deep, unspoken reflections. The quietude was a gentle cocoon, wrapping around both of you as he lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

You turned your gaze to the window beside you, your eyes tracing the hurried figures moving briskly down the bustling street. Each passerby was a blur of motion and color, a stark contrast to the stillness enveloping your corner of the restaurant. The scene outside seemed almost surreal, a vivid tapestry of urban life against the backdrop of your subdued conversation.

Soon, the soft clinking of dishes announced the return of the man from behind the counter. He placed your meals before you with a warm, welcoming smile, the steam rising from the dishes creating a fragrant mist that made your mouth water in eager anticipation. You bowed in gratitude, your appreciation for the meal palpable in your respectful gesture.

With a mixture of impatience and hunger, you watched him take his first bite, his expression shifting to one of satisfied pleasure. Unable to resist any longer, you dove into your own meal, an involuntary sigh of delight escaping your lips as the flavors danced on your palate. Each bite was a revelation, the taste a symphony of comfort and culinary excellence.

In moments like these, the silence between you and Seungmin felt less like an awkward void and more like a shared, unspoken agreement. The simple act of enjoying a meal together, coupled with the mutual understanding forged through your earlier conversation, made the quiet a soothing presence rather than an uncomfortable gap. The gentle hum of the restaurant’s ambiance and the shared pleasure of the food created a cocoon of calm, transforming the once-unbearable silence into a space of peaceful companionship.

As the last morsels of your meal were savored, a lull settled between you, allowing your mind to finally formulate a conversation starter. You swallowed your bite with a mix of anticipation and nervousness before glancing up at Seungmin. His features were softened in concentration, his gentle demeanor captivating as he focused on the last remnants of his dish.

“So,” you began tentatively, your voice betraying a hint of shyness, “how did you get into photography?” The simple question was laden with curiosity and the desire to connect, and as his eyes met yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Seungmin’s initial silence was a quiet contemplative pause, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a thoughtful intensity before he began to speak. “My grandfather passed away from Alzheimer’s,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. The weight of his words seemed to settle heavily in the space between you, and your heart tightened with a pang of empathy.

He continued, his tone imbued with a delicate sadness. “He always spoke so fondly of my grandmother, who died before I was born. He used to thank her for her love of photography because it helped him hold onto who he was and the life he lived for a long time. To keep his memories vivid, I started taking pictures of everything around me. I had them developed so he could have tangible memories to hold onto—hundreds of photos of myself, my parents, my cousins, but also of the places I cherished: my room, his house, my house…simple, everyday moments that mattered to him.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the significance of his words. You struggled to find the right response, your mind racing to articulate the depth of your feelings. Seungmin’s smile was tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia as he turned his focus back to his meal, leaving you in a space filled with reflection.

After a few moments, you finally found your voice, your tone warm and sincere. “That’s incredibly sweet, Seungmin. I think it was very noble of you to do that for your grandfather.” His response was a soft grin, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink as he swallowed. The sight of his smile, so genuine and heartfelt, made your heart swell with an emotion that was both tender and profound.

In that moment, Seungmin’s vulnerability and kindness transformed your perception of him. The image of his earlier aloofness seemed to fade into a distant memory, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the depth of his character. His quiet grace and the meaningful gesture he shared painted him in a more beautiful light, revealing layers of compassion that drew you closer to him.

As the last remnants of your meal were savored, Seungmin turned his attention to you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “What about you? How did you get into photography?” he inquired, his voice gentle and inviting. You had finished your meal shortly after him, the shared silence now ripe for deeper conversation.

You gave a shy shrug, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I fear my story is not as sweet as yours,” you began, your tone light yet introspective. Seungmin’s playful roll of his eyes and encouraging nod urged you to continue, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” you continued, your gaze drifting as you recall your past, “my mother always bought magazines whenever she went grocery shopping, so our house was filled with stacks and stacks of them.” A nostalgic smile crossed your face as you painted a picture of your childhood. “I remember being a child, endlessly flipping through those magazines whenever boredom set in. I would get lost in the pages, captivated by the photographs. They seemed to tell stories of their own, each image a window into a world I found enchanting.”

Your voice grew softer, imbued with a gentle warmth as you shared how that fascination evolved. “One day, I decided to try my hand at capturing my own moments, inspired by those images I loved so much. What started as a simple curiosity quickly became a cherished hobby. The camera became a means for me to explore and create, and somehow, it just stuck with me.”

As you finished, you looked up to find Seungmin’s eyes still fixed on you, his expression a blend of interest and appreciation. The connection you felt through the shared conversation seemed to deepen, the personal stories weaving a tapestry of understanding and mutual respect. In the dim light of the restaurant, the simple act of sharing your paths through photography brought a new layer of intimacy to your budding friendship, making the quiet moments between you all the more meaningful.

“I think it’s cute,” Seungmin remarked with a lighthearted chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. The unexpected compliment made your cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, a mix of surprise and shyness coloring your reaction.

“You’re a good photographer, by the way,” he added, his eyes twinkling with sincere praise. 

The words hung in the air like a soft melody, but you couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I’ve made it to the professor’s top five favorites only twice since I joined his class last year. You’re always the one receiving accolades for your work, which, I must admit, are truly remarkable.”

Seungmin’s gaze remained steady, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I think it’s a bit unfair for you to view it that way,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “The whole idea of being in someone’s top five is a flawed measure of talent. It’s based on one person’s subjective preferences and doesn’t truly reflect our abilities. While I’m grateful for the recognition, I’ve seen your photos and always found them to be exceptional.”

He continued, his words flowing with thoughtful consideration. “You have a remarkable skill for capturing unique subjects in their most authentic form. It’s a talent to reveal their essence so clearly, especially within the constraints of our assignments. It’s something I find quite impressive and not easy to achieve.”

The sincerity in Seungmin’s voice, combined with his unwavering gaze, made your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and admiration. The conversation took on a new layer of depth, as his words not only offered comfort but also illuminated a newfound appreciation for your own work. In the softly lit restaurant, amidst the lingering aroma of your meal, his encouragement created a warm and supportive atmosphere, allowing you to see your art through a more appreciative lens.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks, a vivid response to the cascade of compliments from Seungmin. The praise seemed to flutter around you like soft, golden leaves in the breeze, making your face flush a deep crimson. Seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, you allowed your gaze to wander towards the window, where the sun was gently descending, casting a golden hue over the city.

“Oh,” you began, your voice tinged with an innocent attempt to redirect the conversation. “How long have we been here? The sun is setting.” The urgency in your tone was barely concealed, and Seungmin, following your gaze, glanced out with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the fading light and chuckled softly.

“I should probably start heading home,” you continued, a note of unease threading through your voice. “I don’t like walking home alone at night.” The admission was laced with a quiet vulnerability, and as you spoke, you could feel the familiar pang of anxiety gnawing at you.

Seungmin’s head turned sharply towards you, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s no problem at all.”

A playful back-and-forth ensued as you and Seungmin debated the offer of him walking you home. Despite your initial reluctance, a sense of acceptance settled over you, allowing you to concede to his persistent kindness. You attempted to settle the bill for your meal, but the generous man from earlier refused with a warm, unwavering smile. Even when Seungmin stepped in to offer payment, the man remained steadfast in his refusal. In the end, you both left a generous tip, a token of your gratitude for his exceptional kindness.

With the bill settled and the evening stretching out before you, you and Seungmin began your walk towards your apartment building. The path was bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk, casting long shadows and a serene glow over the city streets. As you strolled side by side, the conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and lighthearted banter.

The initial stiffness gradually melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease and camaraderie. It was genuinely delightful to witness this side of Seungmin—a side that seemed to elude the confines of your shared photography class. His laughter, his thoughtful insights, and the warmth of his presence revealed a depth of character that was both refreshing and endearing.

In the gentle embrace of the evening, as the city lights began to twinkle like distant stars, the walk became more than just a journey home. It was a moment of genuine connection, a rare and cherished glimpse into Seungmin’s world, which felt like an honor to experience.

Eventually, you find yourself standing before the gleaming glass doors that lead into the lobby of your apartment building. The weight of the day’s end settles upon you, a bittersweet twinge in your chest as you come to terms with the departure of this unexpectedly pleasant companionship. The evening air, cool and gently perfumed with the scent of blooming night flowers, wraps around you both as you pause at the threshold.

Seungmin, his hands casually tucked into the front pockets of his jacket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The motion, coupled with his contemplative gaze, creates a picture of relaxed anticipation. His presence, so close to yours, carries a sense of warmth and quiet intimacy.

“This is me,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper, blending with the stillness of the evening. You turn to face him fully, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking care of me earlier. I’m really happy you were there.”

His response is a smile—genuine and radiant—that lights up his features and seems to fill the space between you with a comforting glow. Your heart swells at the sight, an involuntary smile curving your lips in return. Seungmin’s eyes hold a tender seriousness as he speaks. “Please take it easy, rest all that you can,” he advises, his concern palpable in his tone.

You nod in agreement, the sincerity of his words resonate deeply with you. The air between you feels charged with unspoken sentiments, a silent understanding blossoming amidst the dimming light. “It was really nice to spend time with you,” he continues, his admission eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

“I had a really nice time with you too,” you reply, your voice imbued with genuine warmth. “Maybe we can do it again sometime soon—without me having to pass out for it.”

At your light-hearted comment, Seungmin laughs—a sound that is both musical and contagious. The laughter bubbles up between you, mingling with the evening air, and you find yourself laughing along, the shared moment creating a lingering sense of joy.

As you part ways, the memory of his smile and the warmth of his laughter accompany you, leaving a soft, lingering glow in your heart that makes the end of this day feel less like a farewell and more like a promise of things to come.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

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by the way

Words: 2,502 Rating: PG-13 | fluff (hurt/comfort? slight mention of intimacy but no real smut, y/n going through the cycle of their situationship, ftdt inspo.) Type: Harry Styles x Reader Taglist:@infinityxlovers @puzio19 @emlovesniallhoran ❀ Masterlist ❀ Requests ❀ Taglist ❀ 

The faint glow of the streetlights outside filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long, dancing shadows across the dining room. Y/N traced the rim of her cooling tea mug, the silence in the apartment feeling heavier than usual tonight. The melody, a soft hum she knew all too well, was playing in her mind, a constant echo since he'd walked out the door. It wasn't angry, not exactly. More like a quiet ache, a dull throb behind her eyes that refused to subside.

He’d sat across from her, right there, his hands clasped on the polished wood, looking at her with that familiar earnestness that always disarmed her. The conversation had started innocently enough, a gentle drifting from the mundane to the deeply personal, as it often did with them. But tonight, it had veered into uncharted territory, a place where unspoken fears and hidden doubts resided.

She remembered the way his gaze had dropped, just for a second, to his hands, before meeting hers again. He’d talked about the weight of expectations, the relentless hum of the world outside their quiet bubble. And then, the words that had hung in the air, heavy and irrefutable: a need for space, a desire to rediscover himself, a quiet acknowledgment that perhaps, in their intertwining, they had lost a little of their individual selves.

Y/N hadn't cried then. Her emotions had felt too tangled, too raw to be expressed in tears. Instead, she’d felt a strange numbness creep in, a protective layer against the sharp edges of his confession. She’d nodded, perhaps too calmly, offering a soft, almost imperceptible smile. What else could she do? Argue? Plead? Those weren't their ways. Their love had always been built on understanding, on a quiet respect for each other’s journeys.

This wasn't the first time. The familiar ache in her chest, the drawn-out silence, the sudden, unexplained distance – it was a pattern she knew all too well. A cruel, repetitive dance where Harry would withdraw, seeking his elusive space, and Y/N would be left in the desolate aftermath, clinging to the hope that this time, it would be different. But it never was. The cycle always repeated, each rotation leaving her a little more bruised, a little more wary of the inevitable quiet.

She had always been the one to bridge the gap, to extend the olive branch, to whisper the first "I miss you" into the void. It was her courage, her vulnerability, that would inevitably break the spell of his solitude. She'd convince herself each time that it was a sign of her strength, her unwavering love. But deep down, a quiet resentment simmered, a question of why it was always her, why he never seemed to find his way back on his own accord.

There was a bitter irony in it. He sought space to find himself, yet in doing so, he invariably lost her, if only for a time. And then, it was her unwavering presence, her silent vigil, that allowed him to eventually return, to rediscover the comfort of their shared existence. She was the anchor, the constant, while he drifted, always confident that she would be there when he decided to moor again.

This time, a new resolve was beginning to take root amidst the pain. Perhaps this cycle needed to break, not with her reaching out, but with a new kind of silence. One that wasn't born of his withdrawal, but of her refusal to participate in the same old dance. A silence that demanded he truly find his way back, not just to her, but to the recognition of what he continually left behind.

***

Now, hours later, the numbness was wearing off, replaced by a dull throb in her chest. The dining room table, usually a place of laughter and shared meals, felt vast and empty. Each object on it seemed to amplify the quiet: the half-empty teacup, the forgotten book, the vase of wilting flowers. Every detail was a stark reminder of his absence, of the space he no longer occupied.

She knew, logically, that this was for the best. That if he needed to find his way, he had to do it alone. But the heart wasn't always logical. It clung to the warmth, the familiarity, the comfortable rhythm of their lives together. She closed her eyes, picturing his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the slight furrow in his brow when he was deep in thought. And a single tear, unbidden, finally escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.

Y/N almost wished it had been a big fight. A screaming match, doors slammed, angry words exchanged that could later be regretted and perhaps, eventually, forgiven. At least then there would be something tangible, a reason, a point of contention to cling to. Instead, the silence felt like a slow, insidious poison, seeping into every corner of her life, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness that resonated far more than any shouting ever could.

If they had argued, there might have been a messy, dramatic end, but also the potential for a fiery reconciliation, a storm that eventually passed. The quiet, almost respectful parting they’d shared left her with nothing but questions and a profound sense of incompleteness. It was too clean, too polite for something that had felt so monumental. She craved the raw emotion, the undeniable proof that what they had shared was worth fighting for, even if that fight ended in defeat.

The absence of a battle left her feeling like a ghost, an echo in her own life. There was no anger to fuel her, no passionate hurt to wallow in. Just this vast, gaping void where Harry used to be, a space that no amount of rational thought could fill. A fight, even a devastating one, would have at least proven that their connection was real enough to ignite a blaze, rather than simply fading into this desolate, consuming quiet.

The night stretched before her, long and silent. She wondered where he was, what he was thinking. Was he feeling the same quiet ache? Or was he already finding the freedom he sought, the relief of solitude? She knew it wasn’t fair to dwell on such thoughts. Their story, for now, had a pause. A comma, not a period. But tonight, from the dining room table, it felt very much like the end of a chapter.

***

It had been a month. Thirty days, seven hundred and twenty hours, forty-three thousand two hundred minutes since Y/N had last heard Harry’s voice. The initial numbness had long since worn away, leaving behind a hollow ache that resonated with every passing day. The apartment, once filled with shared laughter and comfortable routines, now echoed with a silence that felt heavy and suffocating. She found herself glancing at her phone, not expecting a call, but out of a sheer, ingrained habit, a phantom vibration in her pocket.

The first week had been a blur of hopeful anticipation and crushing disappointment. Every notification, every unknown number, sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, only for it to dissipate into a familiar sigh. She’d tried to distract herself, burying herself in work, in books, in long walks, but Harry's absence was a constant, nagging presence. The melodies she once associated with him now brought a fresh wave of melancholy, a bittersweet reminder of what they had.

Now, as the calendar page turned to mark a full month, a different kind of feeling was starting to settle in. It wasn't just sadness, but a growing frustration with the unresolved questions, the abrupt halt to their story. She missed his easy humor, the way he could always make her laugh, and even the comfortable silences they used to share. This new silence, however, was anything but comfortable. In fact, "uncomfortable silence is so over rated," she thought to herself, staring at the blank screen of her phone.

She found herself talking to him in her head, recounting her day, sharing a funny anecdote, or debating a minor point, only to remember, with a jolt, that he wasn’t there to listen. The realization was a sharp pang each time. She knew he needed space, but a part of her wondered if he even thought about her, if he missed their easy camaraderie, the way they fit together. She yearned for just a simple message, a sign that he was okay, that he remembered her.

Her fingers hovered over his contact, a familiar urge to call, to break this agonizing quiet. But she resisted. Their understanding had been built on respect, and if he needed this time, she would honor it. Still, the ache persisted, a dull throb that had become a constant companion. She picked up her phone, turning it over in her hands. “Even my phone misses your call,” she whispered, a wry, humorless smile touching her lips, as she placed it back down, waiting.

She had typed out countless messages over the past month, each one a different permutation of apology, explanation, or desperate plea. "I'm sorry if I pushed you away." "I'm sorry if I didn't understand." "I'm sorry for everything." Each one was written, rewritten, then deleted, the words feeling inadequate, insincere, or just plain pathetic in the face of his prolonged silence.

She had drafted paragraphs explaining her understanding of his need for space, even while her heart screamed in protest. She had composed short, sharp texts designed to elicit a quick response, and long, rambling paragraphs that laid bare her soul. One message, typed out in a fit of despair, had simply read, "Please, just tell me you're okay." She never sent it. The fear of no response, of a continued, deafening silence, was always greater than the hope of hearing from him.

The phone, a constant companion, became a tormentor. She would stare at his name in her contacts, imagining the sound of his voice, the casual way he’d say her name. The thought of calling him, of breaking her own silent resolve, was a constant battle. What would she even say? "Hi, remember me? The girl you ghosted for a month?" The words caught in her throat, the imagined conversation crumbling before it even began. So, she continued to write, to delete, to re-write, an endless loop of unspoken apologies and unsent confessions.

For a moment, the world held its breath. Then a torrent of memories, a kaleidoscope of their time together, crashed over her. It started innocently enough—the quiet laughter over shared coffee, the way his hand would brush hers accidentally, sending a jolt through her. She saw him across a crowded room, his eyes finding hers, a silent understanding passing between them. The first tentative touch, a gentle squeeze of her arm that lingered a little too long.

Then, the memories shifted, deepening in intensity. The warmth of his hand in hers, the thrill of their first kiss under a star-dusted sky, his lips soft and demanding. The gentle caress that turned into an insistent touch, exploring the curve of her waist, the small of her back. She felt the ghost of his breath on her neck, the low rumble of his laugh against her ear. The soft glow of bedside lamps, the tangled sheets, the hushed whispers that turned into fervent moans. The way his body felt pressed against hers, every muscle taut, every nerve alive. The scent of him, a mixture of his cologne and their shared intimacy, filled her nostrils. She remembered the fierce urgency, the slow, tender explorations, the dizzying climaxes that left her breathless and content in his arms. Each memory, from the sweet and innocent to the raw and passionate, flooded her senses, a vivid reminder of the profound connection they had shared, and the searing absence she now felt.

And then….her phone lit up.

The sudden brightness in the dim room was startling, a stark contrast to the quiet darkness that had enveloped her. Her heart leaped, a frantic bird against her ribs, before a wave of dread washed over her. It was a text message. Not a call, not a familiar ringtone, but the silent, blinking notification that promised a message. For a fleeting second, she considered ignoring it, letting it sit there, an unopened enigma. The fear of what it might contain – another brush-off, a final goodbye, or even worse, nothing at all – was almost paralyzing.

But the desperate need to know, to finally break this agonizing silence, overrode her apprehension. Her fingers, trembling slightly, reached for the device. The screen glowed with a single message, a name she hadn’t seen illuminate her phone in thirty long days: Harry.

A sharp intake of breath, a gasp she hadn't realized she was holding, escaped her lips. Her eyes fixated on the preview text, a short, almost cryptic line that pulled her further into the unknown. "Can we talk?"

That was it. Two words. Simple, direct, yet laden with a universe of unspoken meaning. Her mind raced, conjuring a thousand scenarios. Was it an apology? A request for closure? Or, perhaps, a tentative step back towards something they had lost? The old Y/N, the one who always rushed to bridge the gap, would have immediately typed a fervent "Yes!" But the new resolve, the quiet strength that had been brewing within her, urged caution.

She took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing herself to calm the frantic beating of her heart. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about her, about the bruising cycle she was determined to break. If they were going to talk, it would be on different terms. Not on the back of her desperate longing, but from a place of quiet self-respect.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, a cascade of responses forming and dissipating in her mind. Should she be cool? Detached? Or bravely honest about the pain he had caused? She didn't want to play games, but she also couldn't fall back into the old patterns. This conversation, if it happened, needed to be a true dialogue, not just a monologue of her yearning.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute, she typed out a response. Short, to the point, and carefully neutral. It acknowledged his message without giving away the hurricane of emotions swirling inside her. It opened the door, but just a crack, letting him know that the effort had to be mutual this time.

"When?" she wrote.

She hit send, and for the first time in a month, the quiet in the apartment didn't feel quite so heavy. The silence was still there, but now it was charged with anticipation, with the faint, fragile hope that perhaps, this time, the melody would change. It was a new kind of waiting, not passive and desolate, but active and intentional. The ball was in his court. And Y/N, for the first time, felt truly ready for whatever game he chose to play.