#i HATE shading. but i need to practice shading in order to improve at shading. and yet……

[snoozyfruit]

🌙🪽✨✨

[cyberjaiee]

(｀Δ´) ﹒ ❋﹒📦 ﹒manifestation lesson one !? ﹐✩

⠀

# WHAT THE HELL IS MANIFESTING . . . !!! 🩹 ★?!% ft. my personal manifestation back story

⠀

i was reading a post on pinterest one day and i fully realized just what it is when i’m manifesting. unfortunately, the post had no credits ( it was cropped out because ppl tend to think that’s a good idea.. ) but if u think i’m referring to your post, shoot me a dm and i’ll edit in credits !!

thankfully, i wasn’t in my law of attraction phase for long. i practiced law of attraction beliefs when i had first started shifting in 2018.

i thought i needed to take a shower, read my script, clean my room, stay happy, all of the law of attraction bullshit, in order to shift. i thought i had to do all this before attempting to shift in order for it to be a successful shift. of course, that never worked because like i said, it’s bullshit. so since it didn’t work i took a break, for a couple of years lol. i didn’t get back into shifting until 2021 when i had became unhappy with my body bc of personal experiences, so i desired change. yes, when it blew up on tiktok. i became reliant on it because i wanted to do anything i could to get away from my void ( current ) reality. i was using shifting as a desperate escape, i became obsessed. then i stopped again, because obviously it wasn’t working. then, i started hating my body again as old memories started resurfacing. they started to haunt me more and more.

in comes : subliminals.

i’ve known what subliminals were since 2017 when i started listening to subliminals to improve myself mentally, in hope my parents would be proud of the person i had become. i’m not going to get into that at all in this post so anyways-

when i started hating my body in 2021, i started listening to subliminals for a flatter chest, flatter stomach, tiny waist, abs- yk…. the things dysphoria can do to you. my desires where all over the place as i was still unsure what my gender identity was. one day, while listening to subliminals, a video was recommended to me.

in comes : hyler.

i love hyler with my entire being. without her i probably wouldn’t have found the law of assumption for a while. to this day, i still watch hyler just for fun, i love her energy and she frequently adds a new perspective with how i manifest. but anyways, hylers full explanation on what the law of assumption was, was the video that i watched. instantly, i fell in love. i loved the law of assumption and had more faith in it. since discovering, i binged all of the videos she had posted at that time was able to manifest plenty of things, but all of the ‘big’ manifestations came in ‘late’.

for a while i stopped consciously manifesting but would still watch hyler until she mentioned another youtuber and i checked her out as well.

in comes : sammy ingram.

i started watching sammy for self-concept and physical appearance related things. i liked her confidence so i listened and with this i was able to work on my self-concept a bit, but no major changes. after a while, i started wanting my ex back…. an embarrassing era tbh.

now i don’t watch sammy anymore, i personally do not like what she teaches and you’ll understand why very soon.

this is not with the intent to start drama or throw any types of shade. i’m simply stating some beliefs i had which, tbh, where both me and sammy’s fault.

now that we’re done with my goofy ass manifestation origin story, let’s get back on track. the pinterest post. sammy often preached about ( past tense bc idk what she talks abt now ) saturating your subconscious mind. she would talk about keeping a mental diet, affirming as much as you could, etc etc. and back then, i took it as truth. subliminals would talk about the same thing, saying : listen at least 30 mins a day, stick to your playlist, only listen to one topic then flush etc etc. now, i realize how untrue all of this is.

i would make subliminals with affirmations like ‘ive always had clear skin’ or ‘i already have my results’ but i would always look at it as revision affs. the truth is, i have TRULY always had clear skin. i actually do ALREADY have my results

every version of yourself from every reality you exist in is morphed into you. you are every single version of yourself that is possible. once you realize this, you’re at your highest power constantly. reality exist, the physical reality is real, just not in the way you think. its a real reality but not 'your' reality. not the one you're meant to be conscious of. you are able to shift anywhere easily and instantly, there's literally nothing that can stop you. there are infinite realities, there is a change in each reality. even the smallest changes exist in another reality. the small fact that a piece of your rug is facing another direction in this moment, is a reality in itself. everything is the same, except the fact that a piece of your rug is facing another direction, right now. any change that could possibly exist, no matter how many changes there are, it does.

when you shift realities, you are not yeeting your body into some other dimension with the possibility of being stuck, no. a shift in reality is simply a shift in consciousness. in one reality you aren’t even reading this post, in another you stopped reading a few seconds ago, but in this one, in the reality you are consciously aware of, you are still reading this. you’re constantly shifting, each moment you are shifting to a reality where you are doing what you are doing right now, thinking what you’re thinking right now, ykwim ?

ok that was a lot.. are you still with me ??

when you shift, you become aware of another reality that simultaneously exists with the one you are aware of right now. you don’t create anything, it already exists. you are simply unaware of that reality.

like i said before, you are one with every you in each reality always. you are never GETTING anything, it has always been yours. listening to subliminals, affirming, etc, it’s all just a reminder of what you already have. for example, i tell myself : ‘i have a tiny waist.’ of course i do. there is a reality where i have a super tiny waist and all i’m doing is becoming aware that it’s something i have. everything is the same, but instead, i now have a tiny waist. i'm in that reality now.

i used to think you’d have to work on your self-concept to manifest. when really, i don’t need to do anything but become aware. you don’t need to do anything but occupy the state of having your desire. you do not need to remove all your limiting beliefs, you don't need to saturate your subconscious, you don't need to go on a mental diet, you don’t have to fully believe or work on your self-concept, stop trying to be so perfect and stop abiding by these rules that never existed. trust yourself, know that everything you want is already yours. once you occupy this state, once you realize you are just shifting to a reality that you already exist in, you will realize just how easy and effortless this all truly is. when i listen to subs i’m reminding myself of what i have, same with visualizing, affirming, etc. my physical ( 3d ) reality has already conformed, i am just becoming aware of the reality where that is obvious. i’m not getting my desire, i’m reminding myself that i’ve had it for as long as i wanted.

this is why people say thinking of your desire brings it to you. it’s not an exaggeration for fast results, it’s true. the moment i desire something, i realize that there are infinite realities and infinite versions of me that already have what i desire. so, by getting into the mindset of having my desires, my reality will shift to give me my desires. i persist in the assumption that i already have what i want and instantly there is evidence of it in my physical reality. whatever i keep assuming manifests because my subconscious will find it true and will make me aware of the reality where that exists. i just change my thoughts.

in the next post i will explain what i do to manifest,, yk so that its fun and extra <33

side note - when i was checking my timeline i came across these angel numbers lol, was scared as hell to post this but i am seeing this as reassurance,, if u like this pls lmk :

© @cyberjaiee - 2022

[angry-geese]

Alien Blues

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none! sfw. romantic/platonic(interpretable). mainly fluff. mentions of overworking and death, but nothing graphic. gn!reader

Notes: touch-starved Gojo

Word Count: 2.3k

Gojo doesn't get a lot of downtime in his line of work.

It comes with the job. Sorcerers don't exactly work a 9 to 5. This line of work is far from a normal one. Curses don't exorcise themselves, nor do they pick convenient times to show up. He usually has his hands full; be it taking down curses, or dealing with his students. A guy like him really can't take a vacation.

Despite going to the same school—and being only a year younger than him—you didn't meet Gojo until well into your adult life. After graduating, you went off on your own. The typical way of life for sorcerers wasn’t for you. You really didn't want to work with—or under—any of the major clans. At that point, you just wanted to do your own thing. To hell with the school; you’d be fine on your own. And you were.

You spent much of your time exorcising curses across the world, traveling from place to place, not staying in a single town for very long. A lot of it was freelance work. Such jobs were typically frowned upon, or at least looked at strangely. But it really didn't bother you. On your own you were powerful, and an impressive fighter, but you were working in a world that didn't accept you.

So you said to hell with fitting in.

Doing your own thing was the best decision you’d ever made. To this day you’ll stand by that. The jujutsu world is meant for people like Gojo. It demands so much more from you, and in return gives a whole lot less. It demands perfection from you—maybe even more—while he’s the set standard for this perfection. You hold no ill will towards him for it. He didn't make things this way. But it's hard not to envy him at times.

When you came back to the school, you were first assigned a teaching job.

Although you were a talented sorcerer, it was clear from the beginning you weren't meant to be a teacher. Your teaching style was viewed as a bit harsh, as you tended to just throw your students into a situation and let them figure things out for themselves, correcting them where needed. Overall you weren't a bad teacher, but your students got sent to the infirmary often. And by often, it was nearly every day. You just wanted them to be capable. You wanted your students to be prepared. To be the best of the best. How are they supposed to improve if they don't have experience?

To be fair, your students were some of the best in their grade.

For the most part you substitute if needed.

Upon first meeting, he was too eccentric for your tastes. Really, you found him annoying. Your first impression of Gojo was that he was full of himself and out of touch with the world around him. His first impression of you was that you were stuck up and a bit of a bitch.

There wasn't one thing that changed. Maybe he wore you down to the point where you tolerated him. He likes to think it was because of his charming personality. You know otherwise. His charms rarely work on you; if ever. Over time you found yourself less and less repulsed by him. The two of you bonded over harassing Nanami. On your own you weren't much trouble, but when paired with Gojo, Nanami learned to stay out of your way. If you let him. Usually you tracked him down. Your sweet tooth was just as insatiable as his. When you first took up baking, he was always nearby, wanting a taste. You’d drag him along to see new movies or shows or anything you’d think he’d like. He likes co-existing with you. The two of you don't have to even be doing anything. He can sit for hours with you by his side, doing absolutely nothing.

You've gotten to the point in your relationship where you show up unannounced. It's payback for all the times he’s come to your apartment, claiming he has some work for you, only to stay and raid your fridge, conveniently forgetting what he had to tell you. Yes you have scared the absolute hell out of Megumi on several occasions. In Gojo’s defense, he likes your cooking.

He’s not used to having you stay in one place for so long. You’re not used to it either. It feels strange sticking around Tokyo for so long. You hate feeling trapped more than anything. Maybe that’s why you moved around so much. Maybe you’re getting sentimental the older you get. For the first time in years, you feel truly at home. Gojo is one of your closest—if not your closest—friends, and there’s not much you wouldn't do for him.

You guess this is home. The end of the line, or whatever. You don't see yourself leaving for a while.

It's well after dark by the time he gets home.

The place was empty when you got here. Megumi must be out with friends. He's a strange kid. Strange circumstances lead to strange adults—or almost adults in his case. You try not to judge him too hard. You don't have a whole lot to say on his… situation.

He notices your form curled up on the couch, your face illuminated by your phone screen. The tv plays some horror movie you’ve long stopped paying attention to. Your face lights up when you see him.

His hand briefly touches your head, messing up your hair. He looks tired. There's dark circles under his eyes. He was gone for a while this time.

“I brought takeout,” you say, gesturing to the fridge, “I wasn't sure when you’d get home so I put it in there.”

“Did you eat already?” He asks. He makes a note to pay you back for the food later.

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” You say.

A bit of guilt hits him. You really didn't have to wait for him. You know his habit of being chronically late. He says he’s fashionably late, to which you reason he is never fashionable ever. He actually seemed a bit bothered by that one, which only made you tease him more.

Momentarily he disappears into the kitchen, returning with your food. You have his order memorized. There's only a handful of things he’d get anyway. He’s not a picky eater, and usually gets what you get. Pick one of about three things and he’ll probably eat it.

The food is still good even while cold. Gojo talks about his recent job while you eat. He says it was nothing special. But he called Nanami for backup, so you know that’s a lie. He hardly touches his food. Since when doesn't he want to eat? The guy has a pretty impressive appetite at times. Seriously, he could eat you out of house and home.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You nod.

He clears away the empty takeout containers from in front of you, returning the leftovers to the fridge.

When he returns, he sits next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. The leather is an ugly shade. You’re sure if it weren't for Megumi, he would have bought something much worse. His taste—in everything, really—can be tacky. You make sure he knows this. Always have to keep him on his toes. Nanami is right about some things. You never take Gojo’s side for too long.

“You were gone for a while this time.” You say.

A smug looking grin spreads across his face. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes and groan. “Sounds like you were worried about me.”

Really, you could worry yourself sick thinking about him. It's hard not to. Everyone has their limits, and you constantly wonder when he’ll hit his. Strongest or not; he’s human after all.

“Of course I worry.” As much as you hate to admit it, you care about him. You won't say it. It feels like bad luck to say it out loud.

He knows. He feels the same way. Over time he’s grown jaded and angry with the way things are. He tries not to worry too much about you. This life isn't an easy one, but you can handle yourself. He knows that. Years on your own have proven you're not only a capable sorcerer, but a talented one. The strongest doesn't need to worry about himself, so much as the people around him.

In a weird way he’s proud of you.

You open your arms, instinctively he goes into them.

You pull his head to your chest. He does little to fight against you. Hell, he practically leans into your touch. You take his glasses, setting them on the table beside you. His eyes close when your hands move to his hair, gently pulling it out of his eyes. He’s not quite sure what to do with his arms. Eventually he settles on resting them at his sides. One snakes around your stomach, coming to rest on the fleshy part of your hip. You're awfully comfortable to lay on, he notes.

Your movements are familiar, and oddly comforting. He makes note of the way your heartbeat suddenly drops off, before picking up in pace. From the smell of your shampoo, to the sound of your breathing. He can only describe it as home.

Lots of people will die in this line of work, but he has faith you’ll always be around. You’re too stubborn to die.

Touch in a sense like this is almost foreign to him. Touch in a non fighting context is just bizarre. He never de-activates infinity long enough to get hit. He's had his fair share of one night stands. Hell, he could have anyone he wants. He’s had everything and anything in between. Men and women across the world either want to be him, or be with him. But this—intimacy like this—is strange. The others get kicked out the morning after. But you’ll always be around. He likes to think he’ll be around for you too.

Maybe he’s more touch starved than he thought.

He’s Satoru-fucking-Gojou, a man like him doesn't get touched starved. He feels a wave of shame at his reaction. His face burns. His pride won't allow him to admit how much he enjoys this.

It's the first time you’ve held him close like this. The action is so oddly intimate and it’s not even in a sexual way. Your movements are familiar. He fits so nicely against your chest, he notes.

He practically purrs in delight as your fingers brush a sensitive spot towards the back of his head—where his neck and shoulders meet—sighing softly. Goosebumps rise along his exposed flesh. You take note of his reaction, and focus on that spot more, dragging your fingers across his skin. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. His eyes close as he leans into the crook of your neck.

"Do you want to watch something different?" You ask.

His heart nearly stops when your hand moves to cup his cheek. His face is warm. He's a wimp when it comes to horror movies. He says they don't scare him. They do. You’ve spent plenty of night sitting next to him, watching his body tense with terror.

He wasn't paying attention to the tv until now. He shakes his head, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground and not the screen.

"This is fine." He says.

"You sure?"

He nods.

He fights sleep as long as possible, but eventually he'll have to give in to it. You’ll be there long after he’s fallen asleep. Maybe even after he wakes up. His head nods, his eyes struggling to stay open. His breaths even out, his chest rising slowly.

You're not really sure what to do once he falls asleep on you. Your position isn't the most comfortable, but you suffer through it so as to not wake him up. If he’s fallen asleep on you, then he definitely needs the rest. He’s a light sleeper anyway. Any movement would be sure to wake him up.

It’s not long after that his body heat—and the sound of his steady breathing—lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to a blanket haphazardly tossed over the two of you. The tv is off. Two glasses of water are set out on the coffee table, condensation collecting on the outside. Megumi must have come home. Gojo's drool collects in a small pool on your collarbone, which is a bit gross. You use the corner of the blanket to wipe it away. It’s a bit odd seeing him so at-peace. It's rare he even lets his guard down. You rest your chin on the top of his head. His hair is soft, and tickles your neck. The sight of him makes your chest swell with affection. The intimacy of it all is enough to overwhelm you. It's been a while since you’ve cared so much about someone.

It's nice having him home.

He stirs, stretching out a bit like a cat. You card a hand through his hair. He grumbles something in response. Probably a weak “what?” Your joints are a bit stiff from staying in the same position for so long.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask.

He sleepily mumbles an answer—one which you don't understand. It's just as legible as the first. His eyes don't even open. You take it to mean he wants to go back to sleep. You pull the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it under his chin. The sun is still barely up. You’re not in a rush to get up. You don't have anything to do today anyway, work can wait. If Nanami calls, you’ll just ignore him. You could stay in all morning if you wanted.

And you just might.

Come hell or high water, you’re staying on this couch.

In a bit you should get up and start breakfast. Most of the food in the house is for Megumi, but there should be enough to make something small. Pancakes sound nice.

[inotanzen]

hiii! i really admire your art skills. and the fact that you improved so much in just 6 months is inspiring! do you have any tips on how to improve? i'm 26 and i want to improve but i feel like ive neglected my art for so long and now it's too late. :(

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH OMG ?? oh man i’m so bad with feeling and gratitude but this seriously means more than i can express so i worked really, really hard on narrowing down my best tips! so here’s

Eli’s Top 5 Rules To Be a Totally Cool Awesome Badass Artist In As Long As It’s Going To Take (In Order) :

Most important rule of all is it should be FUN. be disgustingly self indulgent, draw what you want and LOVE, not what you think you should or what everyone else is, or how everyone else is! don’t vibe with doing sketches first? hate lining? despise complicated painting styles? find shortcuts, don’t do them!!! if you’re doing digital maybe draw your sketches traditionally first and scan them/take a photo to draw over, try a lineless style, cel shading, or mixing mediums, the options are endless! this is where your “style” will come from. all “style” is, is an artists shorthand.

You are your only competition. never compare your progress to anyone but your past self, it’s not a race in terms of how good you are at X age after X amount of time spent practicing. i saw it illustrated in this comic a few years ago (that made me cry at the time, because i hadn’t started drawing yet) as seeing your skills as a beautiful potted plant- just because some people are walking around with theirs fully grown and thriving, doesn’t mean your little sprout will stay small forever. just be patient, keep watering it, and eventually, it’ll be a beautiful flower all your own. ❀

Use references Obsessively. this includes tracing! (ethically) there’s a ton of resources out there, redraws of frames from movie or shows are great too! play around with it, try using the perspective but change the style or turn it into a character au for a fandom you love. (this is part of that first tip!) mashing together images past the point of original intelligibility is acceptable as well. the goal isn’t to obsess over accuracy or stop using references altogether though, just to use them differently over time.

Inspiration/motivation won’t be gone forever. don’t force yourself to practice drawing, or you’ll end up resenting it altogether. i’ve had my tablet and pencil since january but i say 6 months bc there were two (almost three) entire months where i had no inspiration and just did Nothing. take time to consume new media for ideas or look at what inspires you instead! keep folders of the things you find most appealing to pull up when you need them. art can be a freeing escape if you allow it to be!

Look at art you admire and think about Why you admire it. why does it look good, what catches your eye most? is it the colors? the lighting? the shapes and perspective? the varied line thicknesses or the overall layout composition? everything can be broken down into components, hone in on the ones you like most and try to emulate them. we’re all just flowing down the stream of shared inspiration together. :)

bonus digital art tip: you will always need more layers than you think you do. give each element its own layer like it’s the most introverted mf you’ve ever met, i swear on everything good in this cursed world you will thank me later. layer/item selection and transform are your best goddamn friends for life.

there’s also a lot of art related posts in this tag and on my art twitter ♡ thank you endlessly again and good luck on your journey!!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Practice Makes Perfect.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Commissioned by the lovely @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC/Reader.

TW: Death, Light Gore, Blood, Graphic Injury, Mentions of Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, Slight Sociopathy/Apathy, Implied Anxiety, Obsessive mindsets.

Her smile was familiar.

Or, familiar might’ve been the wrong word for it. Cozy in the way a hotel room was, stiff and sterile, but repetitive and recognizable, too. Reassuring like a disinterested family, soothing like the buzz of a broken streetlamp, relaxing like being so utterly, completely, absolutely lost, there was nothing you could do to possibly make things worse than they already are. It wasn’t off-putting, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. She didn’t feel intimidating, and yet, you still wanted to keep your distance, like a mouse might from a docile housecat. To stay bundled up in your little corner off the coffee shop, your coat pulled over your chest and…

And then she glanced up, and something in your brain short-circuited.

You really should’ve stopped staring earlier.

Instantly, your eyes shot back to the wooden tabletop in front of you, to the mug you’d almost forgotten, steam still rising off the top. She was a barista, after all, she was working, and the last thing she needed was some creep staring her down for the better half of the last thirty minutes, if only because of that uncanny, unidentifiable resemblance to something you couldn’t name. You weren’t a regular, but she felt new, still awkward with the machines and robotic with costumers, but you couldn’t say you were any better. You’d hardly said a word to her, aside from your order, and you didn’t plan to, not if you could help it. You’d never been good at that kind of thing, and you had a feeling your luck wouldn’t improve with someone so…

Someone like her.

Not that you’d been all that lucky with much of anything, lately. Hell, you were only here because you’d missed your train, and the next wouldn’t arrive for another hour, at least. There were more pressing things you could focus on, like the early shift you had tomorrow, how late you were going to get home, the busted lock on the door of your apartment, but it was easier to hate the rigid schedule that hadn’t bent to your will, the sidewalk that’d been just a little too crowded let you squeeze your way through peacefully, the light snowfall that meant you couldn’t wait at the station, regardless of how badly you wanted to bunker down on an uncomfortable, freezing bench and stubbornly glare at the tracks until you found a way to turn-back time and avoid such a trivial problem entirely. It was easier to focus on the barista, how her black hair fell in front of her face as she worked, how your fingers twitched, moving reflexively to push it back. It was an invasive kind of intimacy, the type that was as unearned as it was unwanted. Irrational and irritating, despite your attempts to brush it off.

Downing the rest of your drink, you forced yourself to stand. The station would be better, and fresh air would help to clear your mind, to stop you from paying attention to things that didn’t need attention. You tried to start towards the door, but you hardly made it a full step before something caught the back of your collar, tugging you back into place. There was a brief pause, a second that stretched out just a little too long, but hesitantly, you managed to turn around, only to be met by the smiling face you’d been simultaneously inspecting and avoiding. Only to be met by her, the barista, the girl you’d been all-but leering at, since you walked in.

Reflexively, you moved to apologize, but she was already talking, already forcing another paper cup into your unoccupied hand. “On the house,” She explained, in place of a proper greeting. You didn’t mind. You couldn’t really say you expected one, not from her. “It’s cold out there, and you’re starting to look like you could use it.”

There was a playful lull to her voice, a hint of something that balanced on the line between an insult and a genuine show of sympathy. You could only bow your head, your eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I could, honestly,” You managed, the words coming out meeker than you would’ve liked. If she noticed, it didn’t seem to dampen her mood, her grin only growing broader as you went on. “Thank you…”

“Anya,” She finished, her smile never faltering.

“Call me Anya.”

~

You recognized her eyes, too.

Dark, just teetering on the shade where brown begins to blend with back. You might’ve said she looked distracted, but that wouldn’t be right – if anything, she seemed a little too concentrated. You were better about your staring, this time, but it would’ve been impossible not to look over you shoulder occasionally, not to throw a glance in her direction as you ducked behind a rack of magazines. It was a pathetic effort, really, an unnecessary one. It was a corner store, not her bedroom. You were shopping, not setting up hidden cameras. You’d gotten here before her, and you would’ve left if she hadn’t come in, if you could just put a strange resemblance aside and manage to act like a normal, functional human being. That’s what you should do, really. It’s what anyone else would do, whether or not there was the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant chance she’d see you and think, quietly and to herself, that you were a creep.

But, you weren’t someone else. And you really, really didn’t want her to think you were a creep.

So, hiding behind the magazine rack it was.

Currently, you were staring down a display cooler, trying to blend in with the background or melt into the fluorescent lights. You wanted to make yourself less noticeable, to shrink into your jacket and disappear, but that wasn’t an option – you were sure you already would’ve abused the privilege, if you had it. You just had to wait her out. You just had to—

“Another rough day?”

You just had to die. That was it, you just had to die.

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable, inviting herself into your personal space before you could make the mistake of invading hers, choosing to stand just a little too close, her shoulder nearly touching yours. “Is it that obvious?” You muttered, your voice still low, like you were still trying to hide. A fox, still trying to walk on the leg it’d already chewed off. “I wasn’t really planning on running into anyone, this late.”

You said it like the two of you were friends, like it even made sense that she’d taken time out of her night to talk to you. Instantly, you regretted opening your mouth at all, but Anya only laughed. “I’d offer you another coffee, if I could,” She quipped, nudging you gently, her tone still unbothered, as if she made a hobby of confronting near-strangers. She might’ve, for all you knew. She felt like the kind of person who did. “A little company can’t hurt, though. I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at this kind of thing.” There was a pause, and enviously, you scanned over a dented energy drink. “Lots of training, y’know? People say I have a common face, makes it easier for people to talk to me.”

You allowed yourself a small sigh, a wave of relief washing over you. She must’ve been used to it, the strange stares and that distorted attraction, but you still tried to keep your eyes in front of you, on the sleeve of her silver coat as she reached up, toying with the cooler’s handle. “I don’t really have a lot to say,” You conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just been a tough week. My karma’s been off or something – nothing just seems to go right. Not that anything’s gone that wrong, either.” It was one of the few advantages of living such a small life. If you had the time to worry about whether or not the same girl would recognize you twice, you couldn’t have had much to worry about in the first place. “I’m just… a little stuck, I guess. It’s like I’m treading water, but I still know I’m going to drown, eventually.”

You caught her reflection in the clouded glass, an expression similar to guilt passing across her features and disappearing just a quickly, fading into a small, understanding smile, so unabashedly sympathetic, it almost felt practiced. “Like the universe has a bounty on your head.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“Things can always get worse.” It was a declaration, shameless and unabashedly pessimistic, the kind that forced the tension in your shoulders to dissolve and your nerves to settle in the pit of your stomach, if only out of respect for her confidence alone. “But, no one should have to die alone. If you want to walk me home, we could try to stave it off for another twenty minutes together.”

If it were anyone else, any other stranger, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. You hadn’t been making excuses – it was late, closer to sunrise than sunset, and if your luck was going to get any worse, wondering around the city probably wasn’t the best idea. But, there was something about the way she asked, like she already knew you’d say yes, like she already trusted you enough to know you would. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You didn’t want to break whatever golden, idealistic expectations she’d managed to form, in the handful of days since you’d met.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” You admitted, letting her hook her arm around yours, pulling you closer to her side as you fought to keep your focus on the ground, willing the heat rushing to your cheeks to cool. “If it’ll keep me alive, I mean.”

There was only a smile in response, bright enough to let you overlook that, despite already moving to drag you to the cashier, she didn’t actually have anything to buy.

“I’ll do my best, this time.”

~

You could’ve sworn you’d seen her apartment before, despite knowing you’d never taken a step past the threshold.

Admittedly, you probably should’ve made more of an effort to change that before springing at the first opportunity to move in. Despite her confidence, Anya liked her privacy, and she always seemed to prefer your place over hers, taking every excuse you offered to spend the night or hand out or, on one special occasion, try and fail to surprise you with a romantic dinner. It almost felt unreal, trying to navigate the strange, empty halls, a cardboard box in your arms and your eyes burning, a side-effect of the white walls and the hanging fluorescent lights, complicated metal fixtures she seemed a little too fond of. You’d have to ask her about that, later on. You doubted your vision would last, if the entire apartment was like this.

“Already lost, babe?”

Your heart raced at the sound of Anya’s voice, but not like it used to, not out of pure, nervous tension. This was a nice sensation, a more pleasant sort of unease, leaving your cheeks flushed and your tongue failing as Anya draped herself over your shoulders, her own crate already thrown into whichever black room she decided it belonged in. She’d wanted to help, but with the Spring heat and how much time the two of you had spent cleaning out your last place, neither of you seemed capable of getting much done. “Can you blame me?” You asked, leaning back and melting into her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured my back to your empty, bleached out murder den.” There was a pause, a slight hesitation on your part. “Which is not what happened, right?”

“Oh, no, not until I see how unbearable you are to live with, at least.” You huffed, attempting to shrug her off, but Anya only laughed, her arms dropping to your waist and her cheek coming to rest against your back. “I mean, I should be the scared one, if anything. After what happened to your apartment—”

“It was just bad luck,” You interjected, already embarrassed. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“An entire building burning down is not ‘bad luck’.” She sounded annoyed, but her faux exasperation was half-hearted, at best, a sentiment only backed up by her breathy sigh, all poorly veiled relief and numbed exhaustion. “It’s just a miracle you weren’t home. When you called me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if…”

She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. You were still in a state of shock, honestly, still stuck in the same distant headspace you’d been in when you first saw the smoke rising into the air and the caution tape surrounding your neighborhood and the crowds, and you couldn’t imagine it was any less gruesome for her. “It’s not all bad,” You offered, reaching back, running your fingers through her hair idly. “If you hadn’t wanted to go on a date that day, I might’ve actually been—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. Above you, something creaked, the sound of metal scraping against metal as a fuse fizzled and popped, an electrical static that fell silent just a moment too soon. You barely got a chance to consider moving before you were thrown on the ground, Anya on top of you and a mangled pile of glass and wires scattered across the floor behind her, the invasive light of the hall suddenly dulled into something grey, something absent. It took you a moment to process it all – the cracked floor tiles, the ache forming in the spot where your chest hit the ground, but Anya was quick to recover, a stifled laugh slipping past her lips before she could swallow it back. You might’ve been tempted to do the same, if your tongue hadn’t suddenly felt so heavy.

You might’ve been able to take it as lightly as she did, if the sound hadn’t been so familiar in such an awful, terrifying way.

It was difficult to speak, but you managed, the words coming out faltered and breathless. “I can’t… A-Are you alright?”

“You’re alright,” She mumbled, more to herself than for you.

“I’m fine, as long as you’re alright.”

~

Somehow, you felt like you’d heard her voice before.

Her smile was familiar, as were her eyes and the unnerving emptiness of her apartment, but you felt like you’d heard her voice before, like you’d listened to her, like you’d lied with your head in her lap and you’d heard her, not just something similar, not just an imitation you could convince yourself wasn’t the real thing. It was personal. It was real. It was Anya, even if you knew it couldn’t be. Even if you knew it wasn’t supposed to be.

Even if it had to be, and you were beginning to realize it could never have been anything else.

Anya was trying to be gentle, today. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be gentle if you found her like this, at the bottom of a staircase in a pool of her own blood, bones shattered and ribs cracked and body so twisted, you weren’t sure how she’d even recognized you. Still, there was an exhausted lilt in her voice as she crouched by your side – or, what she must’ve thought was your side, at least. “I knew this would happen.” There was a pause, a spark of agony that flittered across your scalp as she reached down, combing her fingers through your hair lazily. “Took a week longer than last time. Getting you back to my apartment is usually a turning point, but… different rules for different run-throughs, I guess.

“This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen,” She went on, not bothering to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come. “Car accidents are usually bloodier. You’ve gotten gutted a couple times, usually a day or two after we’re supposed to meet, and when you get caught in that fire…” She trailed off, and you tried to take a deep breath, something in your lungs ripping and spilling out, as a result. “I had to pull you out of a train crash, once. A fucking train crash. You hated trains, a few cycles ago.”

Anya let out a huff, something between a sigh and a groan, but if she had more to say, she didn’t bother offering more than a parting kiss to your bruised forehead, forcing out a whimper so cracked and so pitiful, you could hardly bring yourself to acknowledge as human. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

A blocked heel pressed against the crack in the back of your skull, and Anya’s weight shifted with a small, practiced grace.

It hurt, for a moment.

But then, it didn’t.

~

You looked a little different at the start of every cycle.

Anya didn’t mind. You were still you – beautiful, lovable, endearing you, regardless of the color of your jacket or what drink you chose, the day the two of you were predestined to meet. It didn’t matter if you were a little more jittery than you were last time, a little less willing to meet her eyes as she took your order, she could look past that. Whatever gap existed between the two, she could bridge it. Whatever hesitancy dozens of bloody, gory deaths might’ve instilled in you, she could help you overcome it, she could choke it out of you until only admiration was left, the same love she felt for you.

Of course, her goal was your survival, to protect you and get close to you and make sure you shake off whatever awful curse you seem to be under, but Anya found that a relationship was the best way to do that. She’d tried keeping her distance, manipulating individual factors rather than keeping you out of harm’s way directly, but that’d been about as effective as the time she’d locked you in her bedroom and attempted to take a more forceful approach to keeping you safe. She needed to keep a firm hand, not a strangle-hold. She needed to be outgoing, not intrusive.

Part of her was a little worried, albeit not nearly worried enough. She’d been the shy one, the first time the two of you met, stuttering and plain and completely unimportant, and you’d been confident, care-free, a far-cry from the paranoid, anxious shell you’d taken to hiding in, lately. She still loved you, obviously, she doubted she could ever stop loving you, but you were different. She was different, too. Both of you were.

But, Anya couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She smiled as she finished writing, reading over the number written onto your cheap, disposable paper cup, her name underneath it, punctuated by a row of hearts, for good measure. You wouldn’t call, she already knew, but Anya wasn’t feeling as patient as she usually was, she didn’t want to wait as long to skip to the fun part of her little routine. It was the least she could do to experiment. If she got lucky, you’d be desperate enough to ask for her help, after a little prodding. And, if she wasn’t, it’d be fine. She was sure of that. It’d always be fine.

She knew what to do if she made a bad impression, if she said the wrong thing, if she decided she couldn’t trust you with your own safety, anymore. You’d already abandoned her over and over again, died and left Anya to smooth over the damage…

She was sure you wouldn’t mind if she chose to be a little selfish, this time around.

[theclockworkmonk]

Desire and Will

This is the most popular fic in my "Aang/Katara Missing Moments" series on AO3. This is the first time I'm posting it to tumblr.

Summary: With Aang still having trouble letting loose with his firebending, Zuko asks an alarming question:

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Words: 3,944

Read on AO3

FF.net

*******

Katara was awoken by what was, to her, the scariest sound in the world: the sound of Aang in pain.

"OW!" she heard him cry out, and she wrenched her eyelids open and rolled to face where his voice was coming from. There, she saw Aang still laying on the ground where he had been sleeping, rubbing his backside like it had been kicked. Towering over him, fists clenched and face scowling...was Zuko.

A jolt a fear cut through Katara's still half-asleep mind as she reached over for her bending skin and flicked it open with her thumb. She was ready to fight, ready to—

"You're burning daylight!" Zuko barked at Aang, "Get up! Twenty hot squats, now!"

Katara's sleep fog finally cleared and she remembered why Zuko was here in their camp. She remembered their whole reluctant arrangement to have Zuko teach Aang firebending, and the nerve-wracking few days they had disappeared together and apparently danced with dragons.

Katara groggily collapsed back onto her pillow, too tired to even growl at Zuko that the rest of them didn't have to train to defeat his evil dad, thankyouverymuch, so maybe bark his orders more quietly at absurd hours in the morning.

Aang seemed to be feeling the same way, because he just moaned in response. Zuko squatted down next to Aang and pointed out into the canyon that contained the Western Air Temple, where the sky was already turning blood red.

"You see that? That's sunrise, Avatar. That's the sign of a firebender's inner strength coming to life with a new day." He grabbed Aang by the shoulder and started shaking him, "Can you feel it, Aang? Can you feel your inner fire starting to reignite?"

"No," grunted Aang plainly.

Katara was remembering more now, and becoming more annoyed. Right, what had Zuko said to her at the north pole? "You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun?" of course it made perfect sense that on top of being cruel, bloodthirsty monsters, firebenders were also something far worse: morning people. Ugh, did this mean that Aang was also going to be a morning person from now on?

"Well we've got to fix that," said Zuko, and he practically dragged Aang to his feet and started pushing him off towards the courtyard that they used to train, that jutted out from underneath the rock overhang so they were actually in the sun. With their sleeping area quiet again, Katara tried to go back to sleep, but now the knowledge that Aang was off with Zuko, alone, at the other end of the temple was nagging at her brain. It wasn't like she thought Zuko would suddenly attack him or something; she had accepted by now that this wasn't some kind of absurdly elaborate plot against them—mainly because she didn't think Zuko was clever enough to pull off something like that. But still, whenever she thought about Aang with no one around him but Zuko, she found that she...didn't like it.

After a few minutes, she accepted that she wasn't getting any more sleep, so she got herself up and started making her way in the same direction Zuko and Aang had gone. As she was rounding the last corner before the courtyard, she started to hear their voices.

"So if my firebending wakes me up with the sun, and my waterbending keeps me up with the moon, when exactly am I supposed to sleep?"

"You slept for a hundred years, isn't that enough?"

Aang laughed, but Katara recognized it as his uncomfortable laugh. Aang never liked being reminded of all that time he wasn't there for the world, which Zuko would know if he wasn't such a heartless jerk and a terrible teacher. The fact that he barely knew Aang and had no way of knowing what he was uncomfortable with was entirely beside the point.

Katara decided to not announce her presence and instead leaned against one of the stone pillars within the shade of the overhang, while they were out in the increasingly bright morning sun. She was far enough away and in enough shade that they were unlikely to notice her, but if they did happen to look her way then she could plausibly deny she was snooping. She didn't like the idea of leaving Aang alone with Zuko, but she still realized hovering would interfere with them. Aang was always trying to impress her and Zuko was still visibly terrified of her ever since she threatened to kill him the day he joined their team (which she definitely didn't take any pride in).

Aang and Zuko finished their warm-ups and faced a target at the far end of the courtyard, a few wooden logs they had haphazardly nailed together in the vague shape of a human.

"Okay, let's see if that trip to almost get eaten by dragons was worth it," said Zuko, "set your stance..."

Aang positioned himself in a sideways battle stance in opposition to the dummy.

"Now, control your breathing…"

Aang drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

"Now…STRIKE!"

Aang punched his right first towards the dummy, and a single fireball erupted from his knuckles, traveling about 10 yards to the dummy, briefly engulfing it in flames before dissipating. After the fire and smoke had quickly cleared, Katara saw that the dummy was slightly singed, with a few spots glowing orange for a few seconds before cooling down. Katara could feel the heat of the blast from where she was standing.

Zuko, however, didn't look impressed, "Well that was...certainly better, I guess."

"You guess!?" Aang incredulously asked out loud, and Katara incredulously asked in her head at the same time, "Come on, that was the biggest blast I've ever made!"

"Yeah, and if you were any other novice, we'd call that a really promising start. Heck, you might even be called a prodigy. People would be saying you could become a master in just a few years."

Aang's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"But we don't have a few years, obviously, so sorry, but we need to find a way to fast-track this."

Aang threw his hands in the air, "Well what more can I possibly do!"

Zuko frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Well to be honest, I think you're still being too timid and restrained. You're certainly doing a lot better than before our trip, but I still sense a lot of energy in you that you're not letting out."

Aang looked confused and started to get defensive, "Well of course I'm holding a little back, I'm trying to stay in control! Jong Jong said that firebending requires constant discipline or fire will destroy you. He didn't even let me shoot fire, he had me try to stop a bit of fire from growing, and when I didn't listen to him—" Aang managed to cut off his own rambling and managed to take a deep breath and closed his eyes, "that was when I burned Katara."

Zuko's face cycled through several different expressions as a lot of things suddenly started making sense.

"...Oh," was the only thing he could say.

Aang continued, "I hated that version of myself, even more than when I've gone into the Avatar State. After that, I promised myself I would never firebend at all!"

Katara tried to keep track of all the different emotions she was feeling. She was touched by the fact that Aang cared about her so much that the memory of hurting her still got him to be this upset, annoyed at him for being this worked up over something that happened months ago, she had long since forgiven, and was really not important in the context of their mission, and guilty that her getting hurt and the way she reacted had caused him this much heartache, even while she knew that she hadn't really done anything wrong.

Zuko sighed, raised his hand, and after a few seconds of hesitation, lightly patted Aang's shoulder in the most awkward, panicked "there-there" gesture Katara had ever seen.

"Look Aang," said Zuko, "I can't speak to what this 'Jong Jong' guy taught you. Maybe his way is better, I don't know, but it sounds like it takes a lot longer, and we don't have the luxury of being patient and deliberate about this."

He pulled on Aang's shoulder and turned him around so he would stop looking at his feet in self-pity and look his teacher in the face again, "The people of the world don't need their Avatar to be a wizened sage right now, they need a stick of dynamite."

Zuko took a few steps away and tried his best to pretend to be a wizened sage himself, "I can only teach you how I was taught, and I was taught that even when it's not fuelled by anger and rage, all firebending is still fuelled by strong emotion. When teaching me about the elements, my uncle said—let's see if I can get this right…"

He started rubbing his hand on an invisible large belly, stroking an invisible beard, and speaking in an old man's raspy voice in his best impersonation of his uncle.

"Fire is the element of Power. The people of the Fire Nation have Desire and Will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want."

Aang chuckled at the impression, his mood clearly improving, while Zuko looked really impressed with himself. Katara wouldn't have been surprised to learn that this was the first time in his life the dour prince had made someone laugh.

"See what I mean? Remember what we learned with the dragons. Fire is Life. And passion for life is what fuels firebending. You need to stop thinking like a monk and use your passion."

Aang didn't look frustrated or dejected anymore, but he did look puzzled.

"Um...okay," Aang said, thoughtfully scratching his head, "How am I supposed to do that?"

Now it was Zuko's turn to get frustrated. He hadn't anticipated one of his jobs as a teacher being having to explain how to feel things to this guy. That was something he was not qualified for.

"I don't know," said Zuko, not hiding the annoyance in his voice, "just think about it. Try to recreate those emotions when you're channeling your energy for your bending, and it might make your firebending more powerful. Hasn't there ever been something you...desired? Coveted, even? Something that you needed to have or to win more than anything?"

Katara almost laughed out loud, boy are you barking up the wrong tree.

Aang spent a few seconds earnestly considering Zuko's question, "I don't think so. My people believed that worldly material possessions were meaningless, and attachment to them was the source of suffering. We didn't really have anything beyond what we needed and a few toys that we shared. I played games with all my friends, but I didn't really care much if I won, I just tried to make sure everybody had fun."

Katara was grinning at what an unbelievable dork the mighty savior of the world was.

Zuko, however, groaned and dragged both hands down his face, "Yeah, of course you did." It seemed to Katara that this was the first time Zuko was having to relate to someone who was actually a good person.

Aang just shrugged at Zuko's exasperation, "Sorry, hotman."

"Stop calling me that!" Zuko thought for several more seconds before his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers with an idea, but then immediately looked like he regretted having the idea, and started looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Hey...can I ask you a personal question? It's going to sound weird and unrelated, but just trust me, okay?"

Aang raised an eyebrow, "Uh….sure?"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Aang's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his face turning bright pink, and Katara's heart seemed to stop in its tracks.

After what seemed like an eternity, Aang finally found his voice again, but all he could manage was a weak, "Uh...what?"

"Just bear with me for a second," pressed Zuko.

"Um," Aang squeaked, "Yes. Yes I have." and his face moved past pink into deep scarlet.

"Okay," breathed Zuko, "Now, I know I'm sounding like a gossiping school girl, but I promise I'm going somewhere with this. Ugh."

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, like this conversation was physically painful. "Tell me about your first kiss," he finished in a too-deep voice, very transparently overcompensating.

Katara was positively screaming inside her own head, No Aang, do not, under ANY circumstances, tell him about your first kiss.

She felt like her heart and stomach had completely removed from her body. She refused to believe that these were the circumstances where The Incident between she and Aang was finally getting verbalized. Aang hadn't even bothered to talk to her about it yet, there was no way he was going to spill it all to Zuko. The fact that the main reason Aang hadn't talked to her about it was the fact that she had been avoiding him non-stop was entirely beside the point.

Katara started running through a hundred scenarios to try to find some way to stop this conversation. Should she rush in and pretend to be sick? Say that they're under attack? Just stay hidden and bloodbend them both unconscious? But before she could decide on one, to her horror, Aang started talking.

"Well," Aang began, his cheeks still red, "it was back at the Southern Air Temple—"

All of Katara's panic seemed to instantly vanish and be replaced with confusion.

Wait, what? Why is he telling him that? Katara thought, We barely knew each other at the Southern Temple….Does he THINK we kissed at the Southern Temple? I guess that would explain a lot. Did he hallucinate or something while in the Avatar State—

"—and she was part of a visiting caravan."

….Oh.

Oh.

"We got along really well while she was there, she was really good at all of my favorite games, and while we were saying goodbye she just kissed me."

OH.

"By the time I realized what was going on, she just giggled and jumped up on her bison."

Katara was simultaneously feeling unbelievable relief that her big secret wasn't being talked about and unbelievable white-hot fury at Aang. She had just spent several weeks believing that her first kiss had also been Aang's, and now she finds out that she's just the latest? Latest of how many? Exactly how friendly had he gotten with those fangirls on Kyoshi Island? She was two years older than him, by all rights she should be on at least equal footing with him in this mess between them, who gave him permission to have more experience with kissing than her? The fact that he had never once told her that he had never kissed a girl before was entirely beside the point.

But Katara cycled through all these thoughts in just a split second before calming herself down and realizing that she had no reason to care about this. What did it matter if Aang had kissed some girl a hundred years ago? It's not like she thought of Aang that way. Aang had clearly just misunderstood her platonic affections. It's not like she had ever seriously thought about kissing him (especially not during some of the more recent times she had kissed him on the cheek). In fact, she doubted that even he had given any serious thought to kissing. He just had a little crush and the intensity of the moment got to his head. So this is fine.

It's fine.

Seriously, it's fine.

It's completely fine. Whatever she was feeling certainly wasn't jeal—

"Wait, she kissed you?" Zuko interrupted Aang's rambling and yanked Katara back to reality, "I asked you if you had ever kissed a girl."

"Well you also asked me to tell you about my first kiss!" Aang yelled with his hands in the air, frustrated again, "Which one is it!" He was clearly angry that in his panic he had revealed an embarrassing story for no reason.

Zuko put his palms up defensively, "Okay, okay, sorry, bad wording on my part. So, to clarify: have you ever kissed someone else? Have you ever been the one to take the initiative?"

Katara's heart started racing again. Why couldn't Zuko get distracted and drop this?

"Um…" Aang's face had been red before, but now all the color seemed to drain from it and he looked like a ghost, "...yes. But I don't think dwelling on that will help fix my problem. In fact, it's kind of a downer, actually."

"Why, was she an airbender too?" Zuko asked. He supposed dwelling on a girl he had feelings for that had been killed a hundred years ago would be counterproductive in fueling Aang's inner fire.

Despite how angry she had gotten at Aang's kissing experience, Katara now found herself hoping this girl was another airbender.

"No," Aang responded, rubbing the back of his neck, "this was after I came out of the ice. Pretty recent, in fact…"

No such luck.

"Okay, so what's the problem?" asked Zuko.

"Well...it didn't exactly work out well for me. She didn't really kiss me back."

Katara scowled, well that's not fair, she thought with more than a little bitterness. It's not like she had a chance to. You're not allowed to act upset if someone doesn't kiss you back when you spring a kiss on them with no warning and then fly away before they even know what's going on. If he hadn't been so dramatic and used his actual words then she would have—

Katara let out a gasp of fear at where her train of thought was leading her. She would have….what, exactly? If she had known the kiss was coming ahead of time, what would she have done? Let him down easy? Told him to focus on the mission? Thrown him into the ocean?...or would she have kissed him back?

No.

Well…

Certainly not.

Maybe?

Perhaps if they tried again wow where did THAT thought come from?

Meanwhile, back in reality, Zuko was waving away Aang's concerns, "That doesn't matter. Don't think about anything that happened afterward. Just bring yourself back to that one moment, where you overcame caution and went after what you wanted. Set your stance."

Aang faced the dummy and resumed his fighting stance.

Katara couldn't help but inch a little closer away from her "hiding" spot. Now that Zuko had stopped pressing Aang for details and was doing his job, she felt like she could observe with a nervous curiosity instead of outright panic.

"Now," instructed Zuko, "take a deep breath, close your eyes, and picture this girl, how she looked in that moment."

Aang's eyes closed and drew in a breath.

Katara swallowed hard. At this moment, there was no more uncertainty about Aang. He was thinking about her, in that way, right now. And that knowledge made her hold her breath and made her face get a little warm.

"Try to remember how you felt immediately beforehand. How she made you feel. Try to recreate how your heartbeat was affected. It's starting to get faster and harder. How your breathing changed—remember, it's your breath that creates energy in the body for firebending. Yours is getting shallower and more intense. Remember how your stomach muscles reacted. They're tensing in anticipation. Now, in your mind's eye, make your move and kiss her, and at the same time….STRIKE!"

Aang punched his right fist towards the dummy, and his hand exploded.

There was no whoosh like with the previous fireball, but a roar as a conical wave of fire erupted from Aang's knuckles, completely enveloping the dummy 10 yards away and continuing onward to blast past the outer railing of the stone courtyard into the vast expanse of the canyon. And to Katara's alarm, it kept going. It wasn't a single blast but a continuous, monstrous stream of fire easily 15 feet wide at its biggest and so hot that Katara had to turn away and shield her eyes.

Several seconds later, the flames finally died down and Aang blinked his eyes open, looking equal parts proud and terrified of himself. The wooden dummy….did not exist anymore. There was no way to tell if Aang had burned it to ashes or simply blasted it backwards into the canyon. The previously white stones that made up the part of the courtyard that had been in front of Aang were now blackened and cracked.

Zuko had reflexively thrown up his arms to shield his face, stumbling backward. He was still sitting on the ground, eyes widened to the size of Appa's, and his mouth hanging open in shock. He sat there for several more silent seconds until Aang gave an awkward cough, then his face split into the biggest grin Katara had ever seen on him and he started cackling with delirious relief and excitement.

"All right!" Zuko exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he loudly clapped his hand on Aang's back, who had returned to looking embarrassed.

"No, don't you clam up again," warned Zuko, "hold onto that feeling. Come on, I'll show you how to make a flame whip."

Katara slinked backward away from her pillar and began a very undignified scurry back to their sleeping area. The fire had long since dissipated, but her face still felt hot and flustered, and her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. Her mind was filled up by the same three words, repeating over and over again:

I did that.

Thinking about her made Aang able to do that. She could no longer simplify things by telling herself that this was just a confusing crush he had let get to his head. For most of the time she had known Aang, the thought that he would have any….desires like that for anyone simply didn't compute for her. He was too selfless, too kind, too pure. He was a monk for crying out loud.

But what she just saw Zuko coax out of her sweet, innocent friend was….not pure. Had he had this inside of him the entire time? And what brought this out of him was thinking about her. Thinking about kissing her. As much as she tried to deny it, when she thought about this power she had over him….she liked it. She was now able to see Aang in a new light, and at least consider the possibility of being more than friends with him.

But she still fought against it, because that realization was absolutely terrifying.

Katara shook her head and splashed some of her bending water on her face. She resolved to keep doing what she had been doing: focusing on their mission. She could sort out all this confusion when the war was over.

Although….

If the goal was to help Aang defeat the Fire Lord and end the war, then naturally they all had an obligation to assist Aang with his bending in any way they could, right? So she supposed it couldn't hurt to give Aang the occasional extra-tight hug now and then. Purely for training purposes, of course.

After all, she thought with a slight smirk as she arrived back at camp, everyone else still sound asleep, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn't give my student the attention he needed?

[writingbeary]

One of Us

CW: mentions of hate comments

Note: Set around late 2020 during Mingi’s hiatus

────────── ♔ ──────────

Being a celebrity brings in a lot of diverse experiences ranging from being loved by everyone to being hated enough to receive unpleasant words on the daily. It's like a coin being flipped, you may think that you'll be able to predict which side it'll land but never a hundred percent certainty. You could hear all the compliments in an hour and be sent threats the next, and that is what Minyoung has been facing the moment she debuted as an artist.

She understands that she cannot really please everyone and that there's always people who will drag her down, but that doesn't mean she no longer feels hurt when she sees hate comments directed at her. She's especially prone to haters being in a majority boy group. It wasn't like she received a lot of mean comments but it certainly increased over time as they gain more recognition particularly with the general public.

Minyoung also knows not to read the comments section to avoid coming across the hate but she wanted to know how the people thought of their performances, especially hers and improve upon them using their comments as base. However, what she is seeing right now aren't criticisms towards her craft but mostly of her interactions with the members and some of her appearance.

Sighing, she closed her phone as she lied down in her bed staring at the ceiling. The comments were replaying back in her head even if she tries to think of something else.

[Why is she even in the group? She doesn't sound that great.] [She's just doing lipsync. Poor members who have to deal with it] [She's so touchy with the members, especially to Jongho who doesn't really like skinships.] [She's pretty but she needs to lose some more weight.] [Leave the group.]

Minyoung bit her lip trying to stop herself from crying as a tear slipped past her eyes. Everyone was present in the dorms and the last thing she wants is to worry them if they see or hear her crying. Her thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open with San barging in. She immediately hugged her stuffed bear effectively hiding her face. "Mintokki! Dinner's ready. Come eat."

"I'm fine. I don't feel like eating tonight oppa." Minyoung answered trying to sound as normal as possible as she bites back a sob

"Are you feeling sick? Do you want me to get medicine or anything?" San frowned reaching out to touch her forehead to check her temperature, finding it normal.

"I'm alright. I'm just tired and sleepy. I think I'll sleep early tonight. Don't worry." she mumbled against the plush faking a yawn to throw off any suspicion and letting out a tired smile. She wasn’t lying when she said she was tired but, it was a different kind of tireness she is feeling right now. However, she also doesn’t want anyone to worry since they’re usually perceptive of when her mood is low so she figured sleeping it off would be better for her.

"Alright. Sleep well then Mintokki." San chuckled while ruffling her hair a bit.

Minyoung mumbled good night hugging the bear closer. San left her room, closing the door and heading back to the kitchen.

"What about Minyoung?" Seonghwa asked making San shrug in response. "She says she's feeling tired and she's heading to bed early."

"Huh? I thought she was looking forward to eating stew tonight? I made sure not to make it spicy for her too." Wooyoung frowned as he set the clay pot down on the table.

"That's weird. Is she feeling ill?" Yeosang wondered since you were still energetic even after practice ended.

San shook his head and answered “I checked her forehead but she doesn’t seem hot. She really might just be tired.”

"Just let her rest for now. We can keep a bowl for her in case she gets hungry later." Seonghwa said, already pouring a bowl and setting it aside for the girl.

Jongho looked at your room's door worried but decided to let you have some rest as the eldest suggested. You had the room to yourself ever since Mingi went on his hiatus and went back home to rest. He thought that maybe you were feeling lonely being alone in the room for so long. He figured he could just check in on you after eating to make sure you're okay.

(Next day)

Hongjoong was about to head go out to grab himself something to eat when he noticed Minyoung standing outside his studio. He wasn’t surprised about the visit but he was confused why she didn’t just barge in like the usual. Chuckling, he asked "Why are you frozen there? The door wasn’t really locked so you could have just come in.”

Receiving no response from the younger girl, Hongjoong frowned pulling the girl in the room and sitting down with her. "Did something happen today?"

The girl shook her head before mumbling “Is it alright if I hang out here oppa?”

Hongjoong smiled patting the girl’s head “Of course. When have I ever kicked you out of the studio? You have that priviledge among the members, so make full use of that.”

“Have you eaten anything?” Hongjoong asked as he was looking through his phone, deciding to just get delivery. “I’m getting chicken. Do you want anything else?” He thought that if you were feeling down then eating your favorite food could lighten up your mood a bit. Receiving a nod from the girl who has settled herself on the recliner, hugging her knees, he proceeded with the order before turning back to his computer. He figured that if you weren’t ready to tell him what is bothering you then he wasn’t about to force you to say anything and if by being with him gives you some sort of comfort then he’ll let you stay with him until you’re satisfied.

While waiting for the food, Hongjoong noticed that Minyoung has fallen asleep so he went and covered her with a blanket. Sighing as he still hasn’t figured out what it is that’s bothering her, he decided to ask the members if anything in particular happened lately.

(Group chat with the members without Minyoung)

Mingi: What’s this? Why do we have a new chat?

Yeosang: Hongjoong-hyung made a new one

Mingi: But Youngie isn’t here.

Seonghwa: Speaking of her, does anyone know where she went? I can’t contact her

Jongho: I checked her room. She left her phone at the dorms

Hongjoong: Minyoung’s with me at the studio. That’s not why I made this separate group though. Does anyone know what happened? She seems upset at something

Yunho: Did Wooyoung eat her snacks again without asking?

Wooyoung: I didn’t! That was one time, stop bringing it up!

Seonghwa: Not that I know of? Minyoung was pretty excitable the whole day.

Yeosang: She was just monitoring our performances this morning.

Jongho: She seemed down since yesterday. San-hyung did she say anything last night?

San: Huh? No. She said she’s tired but nothing else.

Hongjoong: So we don’t have any idea? Nothing off about her?

Wooyoung: Ah.

Yunho: See? Wooyoung did something again.

Wooyoung: I swear, I did nothing! Wooyoung: But she didn’t let me hug her as usual today.

Jongho: Now that I think about it, usually she would be clinging on to one of us but she avoided everyone.

San: Can’t we just ask her? It’s faster that way.

Hongjoong: She fell asleep and she didn’t look like she’s going to talk even if I ask.

Seonghwa: Let’s just observe for now. Maybe she’s just having an off day.

Hongjoong: Right. Hongjoong: I’m looking at you Wooyoung.

Wooyoung: That was just one time! Wooyoung: Look. I won’t even dream of doing it again. Do you know how Jongho looked at me that time? Wooyoung: 〣( ºΔº )〣

Jongho: ε-(‘ﾍ´○)┓

The whole week, the members felt like Minyoung was not as bright and cheerful as she usually is even when they tried bribing her with her favorite foods. It wasn’t that big of a change but she did talk a lot less on camera and pulled back quickly when she hugs the members. No one really knew what was happening until they noticed repeated comments for calling Minyoung out for being touchy with the members and generally just throwing shade at her, during their group VLIVE where they were just hanging around and sharing stories as they reacted towards their old performance videos.

Wooyoung who was able to read some of the comments suddenly looked serious and pressed his lips to a thin line. He glanced at the girl who looked as if she’s making herself smaller and sinking into her seat and scooting away from the members. She was leaning against Jongho before but suddenly sat up and made some distance between the two of them.

Frowning, Wooyoung looked straight at the camera looking a bit pissed off but trying to maintain his calm “If you’re joking around then please know it isn’t funny.” He said in a warning tone. Confused, the members looked at him when Yeosang realized what was happening upon seeing another wave of comments.

Yeosang whispered it to Jongho who was still at a loss. The latter immediately looking at the girl who at this point looked about ready to cry.

“If you’re just going to be mean, then please leave. I won’t mention your usernames but know that if you repeat this kind of behavior again… you know who you are.” Wooyoung continued his warning as the staff with them behind the camera immediately motioning for the group to change the topic or end the broadcast. Hongjoong let out a sigh and followed the instructions but making a mental note to talk to the group after the broadcast.

The car ride was quiet on the way back to their dorms. Minyoung was about to head straight to her room when Jongho caught her arm. “Young-ah, can we talk?”

"Let me talk with her for a bit." Hongjoong walked past them waiting for the girl outside her room. Minyoung smiled lightly to Jongho before following Hongjoong to her room.

"Is everything alright bun? Aside from the broadcast earlier, you’ve been pretty down lately." He asked grabbing a chair while Minyoung sat on her bed.

Minyoung bit her lip, trying to think of how she’ll start since she knew that she wouldn't be able to hide it from Hongjoong and although he won't force her to say what's bothering her, he would still look for the cause himself.

Hugging her plush bear, she confessed the reason why she had been feeling down "I..read them again."

Hongjoong let out a sigh deciding to sit beside her bed to pull her into a hug, rubbing circles on her back. "Young-ah.."

"I know oppa. I know I shouldn't let it get into my head but.. there's more now..I couldn’t help it. I'm sorry. I’ll be fine though. Don’t worry."

"It's okay. If it makes you feel better, then cry it all out. I'm here. Bun, do you remember our promise before we debuted?" Hongjoong pulling her up so she'll be leaning on his side, as he patted her arm to comfort her. Minyoung nodded remembering how this was a similar situation back then.

"We're a team. If one goes missing, then we're not ATEEZ. 9 people makes up ATEEZ. Nothing less than that. Mingi might not be promoting with us right now but did we exclude him from the group? We didn't. The same goes for you or any of our members. If the pressure is too much right now, you can ask for a break. You are more important than anything else. We'll protect your spot, just as how we've been doing with Mingi. Do you want to do that?"

Minyoung finally looked up shaking her head. "No. I'll be fine. I feel like if I take a break now then it’ll only give them more reason to make me leave the group." the statement left a bitter taste to Hongjoong’s ears as he knows it’ll only fuel their hate. “But if you need a break, you can always ask for it. And we’re right here with you. You’re one of us and nothing is going to change that okay?” he said making the girl smile knowing he’s not just saying it for the words but he means every bit of the statement.

“Do you mind if we let the other members know?” Hongjoong glancing at the door. He was pretty sure the rest of ATEEZ were just behind the door waiting for an update.

“It’s okay.”

At this, Hongjoong patted the girl’s arm before opening the door revealing the rest of the members as expected. “I guess we’re having a group meeting right now.” He chuckled as he moved a bit to let some members in the room. Jongho and Seonghwa immediately going over towards Minyoung’s side and putting an arm around her from each side.

“I’m..sorry. I made you all worried.” Minyoung bit her lip before glancing at everyone’s expressions

“You don’t have to worry about what those people say! If they give you a hard time, just tell us and we’ll take care of it.” Jongho declared confidently making the others laugh but nod in agreement.

“Here.” Yunho held out his phone to Minyoung, the girl confused but took it from him with her face lighting up when she saw the screen.

“Youngie. Are you feeling okay now?” “Mingi-oppa!” Minyoung gasped in surprise but happy to hear his voice after a long while. Everyone was relieved that her mood seemed to be lighter than before. They prioritized making sure Minyoung was okay but they also knew that they had to take action against the malicious commenters.

As if clapping back against those commenters, all of ATEEZ posted a selca with Minyoung for a whole month after the broadcast. They also made sure to make everyone know that ATEEZ is made up of 9 members in every post they make, but what made the fans laugh the most is that all the members seemed to cling unto Minyoung a whole lot more especially when they see a camera filming them. KQ also released a statement that they won’t tolerate any malicious acts towards the group and its members while their official accounts suddenly had an increase in Minyoung content. They also scheduled VLIVEs where Minyoung covers dances with either San, Seonghwa, and Yunho, or a song recommendation with Hongjoong, or a game competition with Jongho, or a relaxed stream with Yeosang.

It was quite a statement from both the company and the group. It was a declaration that ATEEZ is a 9-member group no matter what people say and that if needed, they aren’t afraid to take legal action to protect everyone in the group. This action made the team cheer “9 makes 1 team” resonate louder in the fandom.

────────── ♔ ──────────

ATEEZ Minyoung Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. Any portrayal of real people is a combination based on what we could see on cameras and imagination of the author. This is purely fan fiction written for entertainment. Thank you for understanding.

━━━━━━ʕ ˵• ₒ •�� ʔ━━━━━━

Writing Beary Corner

Another dramatic update lol Don’t worry this might be the last for a while since all my remaining drafted ones are on a more cheerful tone! 

Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading this!

-Mimi

16

[chessdaze]

@khoc-week ⭐ Day 1 - 8/1 

◾ Reference Sheet 

I actually drew one for Sid last year but I decided to update it. His design overall hasn’t changed it’s mostly my style that has - and the quality of my work so I’m glad I was able to redo him for this year. I really want people to get to know him properly this time. 

I’ll repost the original world lore and his background below, but I also want to answer the prompt question In character so here’s that:

◾ How would your character describe themselves?

“Eh, what kinda question is that?” Sid raises an eyebrow, but it’s barely noticeable over his large round sunglasses. “I dunno, smart, stubborn, and uhhhh tough?” There’s a pause. “I was one o’ the only kids t’ even go t’ school back in the city, and Helio and Mari never fuckin’ give me a moment t’ breathe without telling me o’ my stubbornness. As for tough, well, the muscles ain’t for show, I guess.”

“What ya askin’ me this for anyhow? I got work t’ be doin’, these houses won’t build themselves.” 

Now for world info and sid’s bio:

the world trapped in a desert

The Basics

Cindergate is a city that has seemingly seen disasters, parts of the city are being rebuilt and other parts completely abandoned and falling apart. It’s cut off from the vast desert around it by a large, also crumbling, gate. The city has a mix of technology, though seems to shun anything too ‘high tech’.

The city has a population of tough individuals who know how to survive in harsh conditions. Most of the population in this world are human, with occasional animals who can also survive the harsh sun and heat. These people are ruled over by one family - who govern and help make and enforce laws. Because of this the head of the family is often referred to as ‘sheriff’. The family keeps laws strict in the town. There is one law in particular that the sheriff is always eager to punish those for breaking-

The Keyblade Wielder Ban

The people of Cindergate are aware of the keyblade, heartless, the worlds, etc - however they consider Keyblade wielders evil, no matter who they are or what their motivations may be. They believe that the wielders are dragging darkness into the world and are the reason so many heartless live in the desert that surrounds the city. The city has to constantly beat the heartless back, and are the reason why a good portion of the city has been abandoned or is always needing to be rebuilt.

It has been the tradition of the world for a while that if a wielder is found, they are to be branded as a traitor to the city - both metaphorically and literally. After a trial to determine if someone is a wielder or not - they are branded with a mark in the shape of a keyhole. Then they are dragged through the city and out to the gates that surround it. The wielders are then exiled, pushed out to the near lifeless desert. The people of the city will often attack them with weapons or throw objects at them to make sure they don’t try to run back into the city. They consider the wielders ‘sacrifices’ to the heartless to keep them at bay.

At times the heartless in the desert will get the better of the wielders with no training. Those who manage to survive their first day and night have the chance to come across a safehaven made by wielders in the reaches of the desert and on the edges of a canyon.

Landscape.

The city is the mix of a steampunk and wild west setting. There are some technology around the city but it’s big, clunky, and steam or coal powered. The part of the city that has been abandoned has a chance of heartless sneaking in, and so there are people here who patrol at night on occasion but besides that at times kids sneak into the area to play - but it’s strictly forbidden to do so and they will be punished if they do.

The desert surrounding the city is vast and nearly lifeless. Aside from the heartless, there are few plants and animals that live there.

Past the nearly lifeless desert is an area of plateaus and canyons. Within this area those who have been exiled from the city attempt to make a living. They find items that the people of cindergate ‘sacrifice’ to the heartless, (pieces of machinery, cloth, food, etc) and try to repurpose it for their own needs. There’s a bit more life in this area, but not much in terms of subsistence.

The Survivors

The wielders and those who were exiled with them (family members who hid them, other accomplices, and even people who were falsely convicted of being a wielder) have been managing to survive so far, though it’s a constant struggle. They’ve made houses out of spare pieces of wood, tarp, scrap metal, and hide themselves in as much shade as they possibly can.

Some practice with their keyblades in order to get a handle on their abilities and fight off heartless that come near the safe haven. Others completely shun the fact that they can use a keyblade and refuse to wield it. Those who are not wielders try to contribute by making food or volunteering for other odd jobs. There are also wielders dedicated to finding a way off world.

AND NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY -

Sid’s about:

Born to the ruling family of Cindergate, Sid had everything handed to him on a silver platter. And he hated it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strict rules of the town or the terrible court system. Any time he would try to speak up on this though was met with punishment from his parents. So he decided to bide his time, becoming their perfect ‘puppet’ so that he could become the leader one day and change things for the better.

While still considered a bit of a rebel, his parents at least ‘admired his change of heart’ and let him walk around Cindergate freely. While growing up he made two friends - a girl name Mari and a boy named Helio. The three of them were practically inseparable, they were some of the only ones that didn’t care who Sid was related to. He could be himself around them, and so he vowed to keep them safe most out of everyone in the town.

Mari revealed to the boys one day that she was a keyblade wielder - which was a terrible discovery. Keyblade Wielders were banned from Cindergate and it she was found to be a wielder she would be arrested, branded, and exiled to the harsh desert that surrounded the town. The desert that was filled with heartless. At the same time Helio revealed himself to be a wielder as well - having been one of the longest out of all of them, since he was a child. He knew better than anyone what would happen to wielders who got caught as his mother had been cast out when he was a child. Sid promised that he wouldn’t let them get caught and that he would lift the ban, they just needed to keep their keyblades hidden until he became the leader of the town.

This was easier said than done, especially since Sid would come to be a wielder as well. An old friend of his family invited Sid to his deathbed. This old man revealed how close Sid’s father and him used to be, and how they had a dream to make Cindergate a thriving place. But Sid’s father had done nothing more than oppress the people and make the ban more strict than it needed to be. So the old man had a solution - to pass on the power of the keyblade to Sid. He had kept it hidden all of his life, hoping that one day Sid’s father would change his mind on the ban - but he never did. In his last moments he forced Sid to take the power of the keyblade from him, saying it was Sid’s responsibility now, before passing.

Sid was terrified and furious with the power he had been given. Yes, he had been wanting to make CinderGate a better place for wielders and non wielders alike but - he didn’t want it to be like this. Still, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He told his friends of his new found gift and worked to become even more like the 'perfect’ leader his parents wanted him to be, just so he could take over quicker and get the stupid ban taken down.

Not long after this, Helio and Mari were caught for being keyblade wielders. Sid stood up to his parents to try and get them to see reason. When they still wouldn’t listen he revealed himself as a wielder in front of the whole town - saying if they were going to throw out his friends they would have to throw out him as well.

And they did, but not before branding him as a traitor - literally. They burned the keyhole shaped brand onto the side of his face before exiling him,Helio, and Mari out of the town. The three ran until they couldn’t anymore, fought off heartless, then collapsed with laughter - surprised but grateful they were still alive.

A while longer of traveling lead them to a survivor camp. Other people like them who had been exiled from Cindergate. It wasn’t much, but it became home for the three wielders. Sid took it upon himself to improve the day to day lives of the survivors by building various machines and other contraptions to make life easier for them. But still, it wasn’t enough. Thanks to his parents hoard of keyblade wielder knowledge (because how else were they supposed to fight off such a 'threat’ without an entire library full of knowledge?), he knew of other worlds and he knew that the keyblade could get them there. He just wasn’t sure how to unlock the power. None of the survivors were masters by any means, some of them didn’t even have a keyblade - and were friends or family of wielders exiled or falsely accused and wanted nothing to do with the keyblade.

Sid, taking another burden onto his shoulders, did the only thing he could think he could accomplish - he made himself and his two friends keyblade armor. He hoped that with the armor they could brave the passages in between worlds and find a way to get all the survivors to a new home.

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 4

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: none... yet

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble—

And I will do it without fear or doubt,

To live an unstained wife to my sweet love.

Jisung feels exactly as Juliet does in Act IV; he, too, would suffer in order for his love for you to remain pure. Venomous snakes, giant bears, and even being buried alive sound fairly doable. Seeing you with Hyunjin is a different story, however. He’s not even in Act IV, but he insists on watching you from backstage. Yugyeom and Ryujin seem to have taken a liking to him, and Jisung wants to shout that Hwang Hyunjin isn’t all that great.

He has no evidence of that, but he just feels it in his heart.

In the spare minute you’re not performing or playing a “dead” body on stage, you’re waiting in the wings with Hyunjin by your side, praising you for your acting. You beam at his compliments and say, “It’s all because we practiced in class today.”

Hyunjin shares a class with you, drama most likely. Fantastic. Absolutely amazing. Jisung only sees you at rehearsal, but you’re both always preoccupied with other things, so he doesn’t even get to be with you that long. He feels a twinge of envy, and it grows when you seemingly allow Hyunjin to playfully tug at the sash around your waist.

He abruptly turns to Changbin and asks, “When do you think dinner’s going to be?”

"I don't know. After this act?"

"How many scenes are there?"

He flips through his binder. "Five. And we’re on the second one. Are you hungry already?”

“Just asking. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Only a short distance away, Hyunjin gently turns you around and ties the loose sash back into a neat bow. He’s slow and methodical, and Jisung knows he’s doing so on purpose. Anger flares throughout his body, and he stares daggers at the back of Hyunjin’s head. You don’t look bothered though. You play with your fingers while quietly thanking him. Ryujin is nearby; she could have done it, Jisung bitterly thinks.

You nearly miss your cue because of Hyunjin’s antics and are forced to run on stage. Jisung feels a smug grin forming from his vindication, so he quickly tucks his nose into the collar of his shirt, pretending to be cold from the air conditioning.

“Hey, Jisung, right?”

“Yes,” he replies, slowly drawing out the ‘e.’ What does Hyunjin want with him?

He sits down on the coffin beside Jisung. “Well, Y/N said you were a big Shakespeare fan, and I was wondering if you could give me some advice on how to portray Romeo. Ms. Park’s advice isn’t really helping me, so I thought maybe yours would. Since, you know, you like Shakespeare’s plays.”

“S-sure.”

Should he give him good advice? Bad? It’s probably going to be all bad since he doesn’t really like Romeo, let alone Romeo and Juliet.

“Thanks. I don’t really know how to play Romeo. It’s really hard to be him when I know that he’s just a dumb, horny teenager.”

Jisung thinks that’s exactly what Hyunjin is, but he digresses. “Just pretend to be maddeningly in love with Juliet. That’s, like, the entire plot.”

He sighs. “I can’t say those things to Y/N. I physically can’t. Every time I do, I get red and embarrassed. When she looks at me, it’s even worse. You know how Romeo says Juliet is the sun? That’s exactly what Y/N is.”

A strangled noise leaves Jisung’s mouth. To his horror, he knows exactly what Hyunjin is describing.

“You get me, right? There’s just something about her.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you on stage. You’re worrying about the sleeping draught actually being poison, but even anguish looks pretty on you. His own anguish is the opposite. His head hurts, his heart is erratic, his foot repeatedly taps the floor. Hyunjin looks over at Jisung, waiting expectantly for an answer.

“Jisung?”

“I can’t help you,” he blurts out, not looking at him. “There’s— there’s nothing helpful I can tell you if you can’t say those lines.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he sighs. “Thanks anyway.”

Hyunjin finally leaves him alone, but Jisung can’t bring himself to watch you as closely. He always had an inkling of a feeling that Hyunjin was interested in you, but he could never tell if he was flirting or just being Hyunjin. Now that he knows the truth, Hyunjin looks different, and you kind of do too. You’re less bright, while Hyunjin’s turning into a muddy gray color.

The rest of Act IV goes swimmingly, with only some redos. Just like Changbin predicted, dinner break starts when the act ends. Jisung chooses to walk to the convenience store with Chan and Jeongin even though he brought food from home. He doesn’t want to face Hyunjin or you after what he just learned. Jeongin asks about why he isn’t working lights like usual, and he makes up some excuse about wanting to work on homework during rehearsal.

You’re the real reason why.

“But you don’t even do homework. Ryujin says you just space out and stare off in the distance,” he protests.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” he shrugs. “Does anyone like doing homework?”

At the convenience store, Jisung hesitates in front of the chip aisle, thinking back to when Hyunjin gave you a bag. It only takes a few seconds for him to decide before he snatches two off the rack.

Jisung finishes his dinner of rice balls on the walk back, but he doesn’t start on his chips. Is it strange that he wants to share chips with you, just like how you did with Hyunjin? The activity was so mundane, but Jisung feels like that part is missing from his relationship with you. All you and him talk about is theater, but he’s never going to be more than your theater buddy if theater is the only thing you two have in common.

After dinner, the final act begins, and Jisung is unusually worried about the kiss scene, despite knowing that you are too shy to kiss for now. He rotates between sitting down on the prop bench and getting up for water he isn’t thirsty for. Hyunjin, instead, skips over it, and Jisung can breathe again. When Juliet wakes up from the sleeping draught, you’re supposed to kiss him before stabbing yourself with the dagger. As he expected and hoped, you skip over that step as well. His breathing slows and returns to a more reasonable pace.

The act ends with the Capulet and Montague families making peace with each other and deciding to erect golden statues of their dead children to memorialize the tragedy. There’s a few cries of disbelief and astonishment in the comms at such a stupid conclusion, and Jisung is one of them. He hates this play so much. You’re the only tolerable thing about it.

Ms. Park makes you and Hyunjin go over the death scenes again and reminds you that she expects real kisses before opening night. You and Hyunjin turn similar shades of red, while Jisung goes pale at the thought. Like nothing happened, she requests all the actors come in the auditorium to practice the curtain call. All of the tech crew gets a round of applause and cheering from the actors after, and the comms are filled with tech’s own cheers.

Because it’s Friday, rehearsal ends an hour earlier than normal. Tech notes are shorter than usual, especially when Mr. Gi reveals that he wants to go home to watch his favorite show. Jisung receives some praise for improving throughout the week, but the floor crew overall still need to tidy up some of the blackouts. Once he moves on to lights, Jisung tunes them out and discreetly scrolls through your Instagram throughout the rest of notes. You look very pretty in white.

“Good job, guys, and have a good weekend.”

That’s their cue to go home. The actors are already lining down the auditorium aisles to hand their mics to Chan. Jisung spots you behind Capulet, discussing alternative death scenes with Hyunjin. You’re standing right in front of him, so you have to tilt your head far back in order to look at him while talking. Hyunjin mimes stabbing you, and you double over, clutching your stomach in pretend pain. He fakes horror and drinks from an invisible vial. It’s like the two of you are in your own bubble, and Jisung’s watching through a window.

He gets up and decides to wait in the classroom. As he walks back up onto the stage, he can hear you and Hyunjin dying from laughter. He hits the main curtain particularly hard while making his way backstage. He still wants to give you the bag of chips, but Hyunjin seems to be keeping you from him. The classroom is mostly empty, and people occasionally come in to get their belongings and leave. You finally come in, and you’re back in your normal clothes. He wonders how you’re not freezing in shorts, but that’s not important right now. Hyunjin is nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” he calls.

You brush your bangs to the side before looking in his direction. “Hey.”

“Any chance you’re hungry? I bought an extra bag by accident,” he says, holding up a bag of chips.

You laugh, and his heart rate increases. “A lot of our conversations seem to be about food. I’m getting food after, but thanks anyway.” When Jisung visibly deflates, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies. He stacks the bag on top of the other bag and rests his hand on top. “I don’t wanna give it to Jeongin. He’s probably going to ask once he sees I have two.”

“You could just eat both bags.”

“Maybe. I might also end up in the hospital for sodium poisoning though.”

You laugh again, and he turns pink with pride. However, the universe must be against him because Hyunjin appears in the door frame. You greet him with significantly more enthusiasm. Hyunjin collects his belongings, and his right hand twirls a car key. Jisung’s mouth starts forming a frown, and it deepens when Hyunjin says to you, “You ready?”

“Yeah.” You sling your backpack over your shoulder and pick up your textbook from the table. “See you Monday, Jisung.”

He says, “See you,” too late once again. With a huff of annoyance, he grabs his things and follows you two to the parking lot while staying a safe distance behind. Your textbook is now in Hyunjin’s hand, and you’re scrolling through something on your phone. He realizes with a start that you are reading off frozen yogurt flavors. When Hyunjin asks which flavor you’re going to get, you select strawberry cheesecake.

When Jisung is finally in his car, he turns up the volume on the radio and peels out of the parking lot, his hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life. In the passenger seat sits two bags of chips, unopened.

~ ad.gray

[anakinlove]

Hi!! I was wondering if you have any advice,,, I know that in order to become a better writer, I need to write. However, I'm afraid that what I write will turn out not-so-great, and it's keeping me from writing :'( Do you have any thoughts on this? (& sorry for bothering you!)

Hey! Sorry for the late reply, I’ve just been thinking about this all day to actually try to give advice and not just go “oof couldnt be me” 

I know that it is scary to think about your work being out where anyone can see it. I struggle with it myself. I worry that the fic I spent 8 hours on will get hate or quite frankly worse, not get read. But I PROMISE YOU there is always going to be at least one person that loves it. Hopefully enough to leave a comment on it, but I know that there are fics I think about that I read when I was 13 and was too young and dumb to comment on. 

My main advice would be to never let anything keep you from writing. If I had stopped writing the second I had gotten hate for it I would only have one fic. But I didn’t. I kept writing because I love it, and I know there are other people that like reading my fics too! There are going to be people that love reading yours. 

If you want, I will show you what my earliest writing looks like. It’s bad. It’s gross. It’s definitely awful, but if I had stopped when I was 14 then I wouldn’t have learned what I have. Just keep writing and eventually you’ll write something you’re so proud of you could burst. I was so proud of my very first Percabeth fic that I cried when I posted it. There’s no better feeling. Set It Free (my reader breaking up with anakin fic) is literally one of my proudest achievements bc like, I did that!! It’s mine!!!!

Overall: don’t let anything keep you from writing. Just don’t. It’s not worth it, when writing is so fun! Same goes for anything else in your life, be it art or something else. ALSO???? TAG ME IN YOUR FIC BABE LIKE DAMN I’M ALWAYS IN THE MOOD TO READ SOMETHING NEW

Ily anon thanks for stopping in💖

But if you would like some ~pointers~ from a non-professsional writer I have written some down here below the cut: 

I just want you to know that I am absolutely not a professional and quite frankly most of these are probably my opinions, but if they help you/ you have more questions please let me know, I’m always happy to help! Some of these might suck to hear but they are all the truth to me.

Honestly I think one way to get better is to make sure to always try to write longer fics. I find that having more time to play with the characters, more opportunities for different types of characters, and more descriptions for your scenes are always great ways to improve, because you might google more words that you didn’t know existed,  or find new ways to describe something. If you always write a clear blue sky try writing a dark and stormy one!

Don’t be afraid to put actions in the middle of dialogue. For example:  

“You’re so cute,” I smiled, laughing softly, “I wish I could be more like          you.”

you can even do something like: 

“May I...” he whispers hoarsely, sounding desperate. Like he needs something. “May I hold you?”

It breaks apart your paragraphs better rather than “Dialogue.” Description. Like yes absolutely use that, but test new waters! Go to new lands with your writing!

I know a lot of people that don’t do outlines for their fics, but I do! It gives me a clear set of directions for what I want to happen. Here is an example of one for an up-and-coming fic: 

This one is VERY in depth, mostly because I have a lot things I want to happen and I’m practically writing the story within the outline. I’ve also seen some that are 

“He kisses her here, smooch smooch. 

time to do the deed here

end with snuggles!” 

(I’m looking at you Julia) 

It’s just an easy way to know what you want to happen, and it prevents getting offtrack, or rambling. 

I know this is going to sound stupid, but not every sentence in a fic has to be poetry. Unless you are specifically going for a poetic fic, you don’t have to spend four sentences describing the shade of brown of your character. It can be just brown. A honey brown works too! Small descriptives in-between large ones are always my go-to. If you want to spend four sentences describing the hair, then only spend one describing their clothes, or something else. Poetic fics can be beautiful when you’re specifically going for that style. There are plenty of writing styles. Find yours! Experiment!

Try not to switch point-of-views. If you are writing in the third person, then please stay third person for that fic. Same goes for second and first. Switch between characters if it fits the scene for sure! But one of my huge pet peeves is seeing: 

She stood at the edge of the water, overlooking the lake surrounded by treews. 

“It’s so pretty” I said to no one. I looked around and noticed to my left that there was a very large tree. 

It seemed pretty easy to climb, you thought. So you climbed it all the way to the top. 

It just breaks the story apart. It sounds like three different people are narrating it. Try to stick with one! Feel free to do one fic in third-person and another in second, but don’t switch during a fic. 

If anyone wants more un-professional advice by someone who should definitely not be giving advice lmk. Or if anyone has questions, comments, or concerns also lmk. 

[tact-and-impulse]

Some fic for @shepherds-of-haven and the Lovelace Day event! Upped the challenge for myself and combined 2 prompts for each...MC. Sorry I have eight. 

Under the cut or on AO3.

I. while pretending to be a couple / in a garden full of flowers

The house was quaint and picturesque, with a gravel path leading to the front door and boxes of pansies under the bay window. The servant led them around the building, under the arch that led to the expansive garden. “This way, please.”

Flat stones marked winding pathways for visitors to traverse, under the shade of tall trees and even over an artificial stream. In one grassy area, a few tables were set up with refreshments. People milled about, enjoying the scenery. All around, flowers bloomed in abundance, in swathes of color and scent.

“It’s a beautiful place.” He commented.

“It’s even more so at night. Perhaps, we’ll see you again at such a time for you and your…lover?”

“That’s right!” Briony tightened her hold on his arm, nervously laughing. “We’ll definitely think about it.”

“Yes, and seeing more will help us decide.” Well, if they succeeded on this mission, there wouldn’t be a need to return. Somewhere, underneath the natural beauty, there was a black market organization selling magical artifacts to any buyer. With a quick scan, the vast majority here were Diminished. There were a number of older Ket too. Every stoic, weathered face was reminiscent of his father, a cousin, a neighbor. The hollow ache of self-loathing awoke in his chest, the edges of his vision fading…

“Honey, do you need to sit down?” Briony’s murmur cleared the fog, and her violet eyes were brimming with concern.

“Sorry, I was a little dizzy.” He squeezed her hand, finding genuine comfort. “But I feel better now.”

“That’s good. Let me know if it happens again, okay?” The concern hadn’t subsided but her expression was warm and she tugged him down one of the paths. So, what are we looking for?

Intel said there’s a hedge maze, but we should probably save that for later. For now, let’s keep an eye on anyone fishy.

Got it! She gave a slight nod, and he couldn’t suppress a smile.

He was still learning, but he could check anything that sparked interest with his Binding magic. And if needed, Briony could cause a distraction or get them out of a pinch, without their swords. The issue was that the garden was usually filled with groups or pairs, hence the necessity to pretend to be a loving couple. Lavinet had bemoaned not being able to join the mission and took it upon herself to outfit them. He was unaccustomed to his tailored attire and hoped he wasn’t showing it, but Briony looked pretty. Her pink hair was bound with a burgundy velvet ribbon, in the same shade as her knee-length dress. She was openly enjoying the garden, ponytail swishing with every head turn.

They were soon in contact with some Mages, claiming to have a collective date. They made small talk, delivering the cover story about their relationship. The sun was directly overhead, and Briony wiped her forehead.

“Are you thirsty?” He asked, though they hadn’t finished talking to the Mages. “I can get us some drinks.”

“Yeah, that would be great. I’ll be right here.” Don’t worry about me, I can handle it!

“Alright.” Reluctantly, he located the nearest table and picked up two flutes of vytas. How’s it going?

I don’t think they’re part of the organization, but I’m not sure if I’m selling it by myself. I’m so sorry.

It’s okay, this isn’t easy. And we can still make a recovery. He didn’t spill a drop as he headed back as quickly as he could. Briony was visibly tense, biting her bottom lip.

“Here you are, love.” He said and simultaneously thought. I apologize for what I’m about to do. Try not to break the glass.

As her fingers accepted the drink and her brow furrowed, he bent his head down and brushed his mouth over hers in a lingering kiss. One-sided at first, before she began to shyly respond.

Someone coughed. He pulled back from Briony, and he was genuinely embarrassed. The group apparently thought they wanted to be alone, and with teasing remarks, they wandered away.

Briony immediately downed her vytas. The glass was intact but a hairline crack had appeared above her thumb.

As for him, he was unexpectedly warm. His previous kisses were on missions like these, and yet, this felt new. Wait. Briony had amnesia, so had that essentially been her first kiss? “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure! I’m totally fine. I, um.” Her lips were very red…and soft. He forcefully dragged his stare back to her eyes. “Let’s keep going?”

He blinked. “With…?”

“With walking! In this garden.”

Of course. The mission. He swallowed. “Right.”

She took his arm again, but as they resumed their search, he couldn’t put her gliding touch out of his mind.

II. in the middle of battle / during an unexpected rainstorm

The sudden downpour was definitely not appreciated right now. Her brown hair was plastered to her ears, and rivulets trailed down her nose and temples. Mud squelched under her boots as she headed to the rendezvous point.

Hopefully, other people had already made it there. An unforeseen complication had forced the Shepherds to scatter, Blade ordering them to regroup at several known locations. The enemy had retreated for now, but the tension made her tighten her hold on her sword.

There! An old ruin of mossy stone provided shelter from the rain, and from what she recalled, it had to be one of the designated places. She scrubbed the water out of her eyes and hurried her pace.

As she approached, the sounds and sight of a clash met her. Two figures, fighting next to the ruin. A flash of lightning illuminated their faces, one unfamiliar and the other stoically focused. Blade. She felt relief, then dread at what appeared in her peripheral vision. A shadow, lurking in the haze.

She had improved lately, but fighting wasn’t her greatest strength and to be honest, it wasn’t her preferred option in a pinch. She only needed an instant to summon her magic, compressing a spell into her voice.

“Stop.”

The shadow froze in place, and she took the opportunity to strike. Just as the body slumped, she heard her name. The raindrops ceased as Blade lifted his cloak over her. His low voice was reassuring. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same to you.” She smiled and then laughed when she realized how soaked he was. “We can talk more if we’re both dry. Let’s go.”

They took shelter and kept watch at opposite ends. Ongoing communication revealed that about half of their party had reached another rendezvous point, and the other half were heading to theirs. Blade nodded at the information. “Understood. Did you run into anyone else?” He addressed this question to her.

“No, I haven’t. I hope they’re okay.” She rubbed her hands together, dispelling the numbness with friction.

“They know what needs to be done.” Nevertheless, the slightest crease between his eyebrows showed his worry. “But you seem to dislike the rain.”

“I always take storms seriously. I guess it’s because of years of living by the sea.” She lightly said.

“It makes sense. Would you ever go back there, if you could?”

“I don’t know. I think about it sometimes, but mostly about how I could have done more or what might have been.” The cold seeped through her wet clothing, and she hugged herself. “Anyway, it would probably be a very lonely trip.”

Blade looked conflicted, drawing one step closer. That became a pivot as a silhouette leapt out of the mist. Unsheathing her sword, she was pulled backwards by another. She switched her grip and stabbed deep, the groan of pain a good sign. Blade returned to follow through, killing her attacker. The body fell with a wet thud, and a nonverbal casting ensured it was flung faraway.

“Good work. It’s not over though; the others are having a hard time.” He readied to move. Distant voices echoed from the direction of the second rendezvous point. “We’ll have to be careful.”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait for the others.”

He was immediately concerned. “Are you injured?”

“No, but I’d only slow you down and you can be stealthier on your own.”

“That’s not true.”

“It won’t be long before everyone else comes here.” She argued. He didn’t react but she refused to budge. “I can handle myself, and we can regroup again later. But we need everyone to be alive. If it means we need to split up, that’s what we need to do, Commander.” She intended for the professionalism to ground him. Both of them. As much as she hated referencing their positions, the mission took priority.

At first, he remained unreadable. She was willing to wait; although out of practice, she was accustomed to dealing with stubborn Ket men. Then, his eyes flickered with approval. He suddenly ducked, and she thought they were being ambushed again when he kissed her. Firm but fleeting, and not cold at all. As she tried to process what had happened, he stared at her for a moment, expression affectionate.

“Everyone includes you as well. Stay safe, and thank you, Captain.” He smirked, ruffled her hair, and sprinted back into the storm.

“W-wait, uh…” She stammered belatedly. Her knees buckled, and she placed a hand against the wall for support. Her own heartbeat rivaled the intensity of the thunder overhead. She wasn’t sure how long she remained in a daze, until Trouble announced his presence.

“Hey, you made it!” A pause for scrutiny. “Why’s your face so red?”

III. surrounded by fire / shut the other one up for a minute

“You really are the strangest one. Every time I think you’re out of surprises, you manage to come up with another.” The voice was all too familiar.

She coughed, squinting past the smoke to see Croelle, looking as if he had stepped out of the ring of flames. Sparks floated around his visage.

“Oh. It’s you again.”

His lip curled in a sneer. “Is that what you have to say for yourself, when you’ve made this mess?”

“Not a mess. Just an…unfortunate side effect.”

“A side effect blazing beyond your control.” He stepped closer, looming over her, yellow gaze relentless. “You never asked me whether this little side project of yours was possible.” His tone wasn’t judgmental, just curious. “Was it because you didn’t want to know, to cling to your belief of free will? Or was it because you already knew the answer and blinded yourself to the inescapable truth?”

She did not speak. Maybe, it was a little of both. Maybe, it was neither. Ambiguity was a way of life for her. She had wandered aimlessly for years with only her pistol for protection and company; it had taken the threat of execution for her to commit to the Shepherds. But she had gained knowledge, especially with regards to her own abilities. Since her Veiled Circle days, there was a depth to magic that fascinated her, and Shifting magic provided limitless possibility. Experimenting with it occupied her free time, plucked at her thoughts during patrols and missions. Danger couldn’t dissuade her.

The temperature was becoming uncomfortable, perspiration beading at her hairline and collar. She switched to her first language in a brief lapse. “Servori. What does it matter?”

“Part of watching the Shepherds means I need to be informed. Your motive is a valuable piece of information. And my employer thinks you’re unpredictable. At the moment, there’s some investment in keeping you breathing.”

In the end, it was about work. “I see. However, I might not be alive for much longer if this keeps burning.” She directed some of her remaining magic to extinguish a portion of the fire, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t have the necessary skill.

“Are you asking for my help?”

There was no use in denying; above all, she had to survive. She sighed. “Yes.”

“I want to hear you say please.”

She leveled him with a deadpan stare. “Why?”

“I’ve earned your gratitude more times than I care to remember.” That meant he did remember. “And not once have I been repaid.”

She lifted her chin, annoyance growing. He was asking for this now? Even after multiple odd meetings where he popped in and out, she still didn’t understand him. He wasn’t quite a Mage, he worked for a mysterious party, he knew her name without asking. And he had the power to make Inquisitors listen to him. He was puzzling, and for once, she cursed her habit of fixating on difficult problems.

“You’re too elusive to properly repay.” She evaded.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be in the Chrysalis. One word is the very least I’m owed, for dealing with you and your reckless desire for troublesome situations. The tavern was one, and then you had to-”

He was talking way too much, and the logical course of action was to shut him up. As she reached out and cupped his face, there was a novel flash of confusion in his eyes before she kissed him.

And he was still trying to talk. “You…fu…listen…” His resistance only made her more determined, and finally, he gave in. One hand wrapped around her neck, the other maintained a bruising hold on her hip. Fine. If he wanted to lead, she’d go along with the flow.

She’d never done this before, and she left no room for fantasies in her mind. A kiss was supposed to be romantic, Shery liked to say, but in this case, it bought a solid minute of quiet. And it was her victory, she shut him up. That was enjoyable enough. Also, the curious tingle under her skin was compelling, but she was running out of air. She released him, rocking back on her heels. Interesting. Indignant shock wasn’t a bad look on him. She arched an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”

No response. He had been rendered speechless. The confusion hadn’t left, his eyes narrowed and focused on her mouth.

“By the way, that was my first kiss.” She added. “Does that count for anything?”

The fire abruptly died, and the light with it. The cold night air returned to tangle her curly tresses. She was going to be begrudgingly courteous, but any polite action was snuffed when he growled a curse and grabbed her face for another kiss.

IV. against the bookshelves in the library / while delirious at 3 am

“What are you reading?”

She immediately dove over the opened books in front of her. “Aah! Just, n-nothing, it’s smutty romance novels! All sorts of positions, don’t worry about it!”

“Uh-huh.” The Archmage bent down, grabbing one of the tomes on the edge of her workspace. Ignoring the disgruntled noise she made, he flipped through. “Hm, this seems more like formulas than fiction, and it doesn’t explain why you’re in the stacks this late.”

“Oh, fine.” She deflated. “I was trying to summon that thing you sneezed out.”

Red did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, remember when you had the flu? Trouble said some weird thing came out of a planar rip and it crawled away. I want to know what it is! Plus, some of the kids can’t sleep.”

“Does that mean you were the one who told them about it?” He was clearly teasing her.

“I thought it was a funny story, I didn’t realize it would scare them that bad! Come on, won’t you help out a fellow Conjurer?” She reached for the book and he didn’t fight her off.

“Sure, I’d like to find out what it is too.” He pulled over a chair, his gaze scanning over the various pages and papers. “What have you got so far?”

Tucking her chin-length curls behind her pointed ears, she went over the current iteration of the problem. He quickly located a certain volume, obviously intent on something specific, and soon resolved a few mistakes she had made. Meanwhile, she was making inroads on another part and they discussed how it would fit in. It was kind of nice working like this again. It reminded her of days long gone by, when she was still a student in Capra and he was helping out the younger Mages after graduation.

Midnight rolled around, but neither of them were tired yet. The equations became more complex, the balance in magic more precarious. She’d known he was smart, but he was really on another level. She was impressed. And when he complimented her creativity, she felt rather warm. It was approaching three in the morning, when they finally completed the summoning circle.

“I think it looks good.” Red was double checking, but his expression was confident. “Should we try it out tomorrow? Or would that be today?” He gave a light laugh.

“We might as well do it now. It’d be a waste if we stopped, right?” She grinned, and his expression was so heated she almost missed his response.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

They started the ritual. The salt lit into blue flame and the runes glowed. The air became denser, charged with power, until everything reverted as the spell ended. With a crack, a large, red-eyed, otherworldly bug resembling a centipede fell into the circle. Someone might have screamed, maybe both of them. A hefty warhammer slammed down on the creature, just as two of her daggers speared its carapace. It twitched, infinite legs curling, before remaining still.

An eerie silence filled the library. She tackled Red. “It worked!”

And then, things became a little…blurred. Granted, neither of them had slept in hours. But one moment, she was hugging him and the next, he had lifted her against the bookshelves and his mouth was on hers. Whoa. She’d considered it a couple times, that he had to be a great kisser, but she underestimated him…

When he pulled away, it was to press his forehead against hers and smile. A small part of her recalled the ‘Antiqua bedroom eyes’ gossiped about at school, but she didn’t know him well enough then to take the rumors seriously. If anything, people could have exaggerated more.

“Nice.” She managed to say, before blacking out.

As it turned out, one could get sick from staying up too late. She was feverish and indolent in bed for a few days, enduring plain broth and toast and the scenery from her window. After she recovered, she was on patrol again and upon turning a corner, noticed Red at the other end of a hallway. He was talking to some of the newbies, unaware of her presence. Instantly, she was reminded of what happened in the library, after they killed the centipede-thing. But then again, had it actually happened or had she already been sick at that point?

Slowly, she began to step back, plotting a detour in her route. She thought she was pretty good at being stealthy, but Caine suddenly rushed by, loudly greeting her.

“Shh!” She tried to hush him, but it was too late. Red had spotted her, and he pivoted, striding her way. A faint blush was spreading across his face; the kiss had definitely been real.

Oh, damn.

V. over a field of dead enemies / recovering after a battle

The last imp burst under pressure, viscous fluid spilling over the hilt of his dagger. Unceremoniously, he tossed it on top of its other fallen brethren. He shook off the blood and rolled his shoulders. The surrounding battlefield was littered with ice spikes and frozen corpses, and when he exhaled, his breath was visible. Despite his fatigued body, he grinned.

This was one of the best fights he’d ever been in.

He was running low, but he mustered the willpower to disinfect his hands and inspected himself for injuries. Nothing too concerning, and the worst wound at his ribs stung the most but it didn’t feel like anything internal had been damaged. He slapped on some liniment, the thick paste providing enough coverage until the Healers arrived.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned towards the direction of the approaching figure, tracking her fluttering braid and sleeves. Ayla lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey. You good?”

“I am, now that we’ve won.” Judging from the growing noise around them, the Shepherds had officially secured victory. Now, the tedium of taking stock of their losses and recuperating had begun.

She let out a low whistle. “You killed all of these?”

“Sure did.” The only Endarkened he tolerated was a dead one. And the more dead ones there were, the better off everyone was. He glanced at her, noticing a cut on her arm. Blood dyed the fabric a rusty brown. “Does that hurt?”

She shifted in place, failing to shield her wound from view. “It’s none of your concern, I can fix it. Later.”

“Let me see it.”

“What are you gonna do? Kiss it better?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have salve to spare…and only for Mages who admit when they’re banged up and too exhausted to summon the wind.”

“You’re such a dick, you know?” She grumbled but walked over, offering her arm. “Go ahead.”

He cleaned his hands again, certain it was the last he could do before taking a proper rest. Her injury was deeper than he initially thought. At his request, she tore the rest of her sleeve off and he tied the fabric into a makeshift tourniquet. She looked so slender, but he knew if he pointed it out, she’d prove how delicate she most certainly was not.

His line of thought came to an abrupt end when her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. “Why do you keep doing this?”

He snorted. “What, tending wounds? Nah, I just know the basics and I don’t want to die from infection. Most of what I learned was common sense to my clan. Ask any Elf and you’ll see.”

“I meant being nice to me.”

“I thought you said I was a dick.”

“Well, that too. But you ultimately end up being kind. So, why?”

“Because I like you. Hey, watch it.” He intoned, dodging her hefty jade ornament.

“Me?! But, but you…said you like me? Like how?”

“How do you think?” And before she could throw another insult, he added. “I don’t know if I’d go to the opera with you-”

“Fat chance. That’s Riel’s thing.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “But I’d be happy doing whatever you want to, or if you can’t think of anything, I’d like to show you the places I’ve been. Just the two of us, when we can catch a break.”

“…as friends?” She cautiously asked.

“No, as a couple.” He met her amber gaze. “You’re fun to be with. Yeah, you can be prickly, but I like a woman who can stick up for herself. And deep down, you got a good heart. You remind me of this southern fruit I had one time-”

“A fruit?”

“Just hold on, will you? Anyway, this fruit is thorny on the outside, but sweet on the inside. Not too many people like it, but that’s fine, more for me and I don’t share.”

Her laugh was brisk. “Good, because I don’t either. But I’m a runner when it gets rough.” She warned.

“Then, it’s a good thing I’m stubborn enough to run after you. If you need time to think about it, I can be patient.” Over the years, he had propositioned and been propositioned many times, but this was different. Ayla was different.

“Promise not to be a dick so much?”

“I’ll try my best. And you always call me out on it, which I take seriously.”

She cracked a smile and looked down at her wound. The bleeding had stopped, and he was glad. “I decide pretty fast. So…I’m saying okay. Ack!”

Utterly happy, he had locked an arm around her waist and picked her up. His grin ached, and when he kissed her, he didn’t care who was watching.

VI. during sparring / fluster the other one into losing

The recruit slid backwards with a groan, admitting surrender. “Damn, you’re tough.”

“Just takes practice.” She said, helping xer up with one hand. “Your footwork could be better, but you can train blindfolded.”

“That works?”

“Sure it does.” The reply wasn’t her own, and she glanced aside to see Chase, leaning against the nearest wall. He pushed off with one foot, walking over with a grin. “If you know what you’re doing in the dark, that’s always useful.”

Ignoring the innuendo, she turned back to the recruit. “It makes you rely on your other senses. You might not think you’re improving at first, but give it a few weeks. Your muscles will remember.” Damn it, now he’s going to twist that too.

“Mm-hmm.” Chase hummed and she regretted looking at him. He was enjoying this way too much.

A group fresh off patrol passed by, and after a polite goodbye, the recruit hurriedly joined them. Alone in the training area with the thief, she set about restoring the equipment to their rightful places.

“I knew when I joined but you really are battle-hungry.” He remarked. “Everyone’s lining up to spar you.”

“It’s what I do best.” She shrugged. She had always been fighting, Father liked to say, from the morning he and Mother had found her furiously squalling on their doorstep. They wouldn’t be surprised over her current situation, with the Shepherds and testing her knuckles with child-snatching scum in back alleys. At least, she thought they wouldn’t. With each year, it was harder to tell and besides, there was no point in wondering. They were dead and gone, with the rest of Westwood. Bitterness sharpened her follow-up question.

“Are you asking if you want to spar with me now?”

“Little old me? Go toe to toe with a Battle-Mage?” He paused. “Yeah, I’ll bite.”

The rule was simple: first to hit the ground or surrender was the loser. No magic or weapons, but she was fine with discarding her bow. He shed a multitude of daggers from various pockets, and despite her mood, such a spectacle had always entertained her.

“No blindfolds too.” He suggested.

“Afraid you’d lose?”

“As good as they can be, it’s even better to see what’s happening.” Another insinuation, but this one wasn’t so easy to dismiss. Something about his tone, the undercurrent of intimacy.

Yeah, right. She shook it off, clearing her throat. “…I mean, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

Admittedly, Chase was probably the most agile opponent she had faced in a long time. Every time she’d think a blow would land, he’d be a breath away or a step out of reach. He couldn’t touch her either; for an excruciating period, they were at a standstill.

A chance appeared when one of his cartwheels led him close to a shadowed spot. Energy surged within her as she rushed up. Her forearm pinned him against the wall, her other fist stopping short of his temple. She was breathing heavily, stray wisps of hair escaping her bun and tickling her neck. “Caught you.”

His gaze darted back and forth between her hands, his short laugh more like a wheeze. “You did, so what’s next?”

“Really? If this was an actual fight, I could have done much worse by now.”

“But I haven’t lost, technically.” He leaned in, and there was nothing except the scent of his cologne and the warm press of lips.

What? What?!

Stunned, she snapped her head back, blood rushing to her face. His dilated green eyes watched her with amusement. Instinctively, she stepped away, but his foot was there, hooking and tripping her. Shit! She thought as she was airborne. The ground met her and judging by the points of pain across her body, her landing must have been undignified. The match was decided.

Chase ran his tongue over his lips. “Guess I win.”

“You cheated.” She darkly retorted.

“Funny. Was there a rule against distractions?” At her stubborn silence, his eyebrows lifted. “Never been kissed before?”

“Of course, I have.” Not since breaking up with her ex-girlfriend though, and certainly not in a combat scenario. Stop it, she told her erratic pulse as she stood and brushed herself off. This didn’t mean anything, he was only teasing her.

Just then, Blade called from an upper window, that they were having a meeting. Chase flashed him a thumbs-up of assent. Then, he returned to her with a strangely thoughtful expression, and she felt exposed. She tried not to shiver. The moment passed, and he gestured to let her walk ahead. “Come on, after you?”

“…Thanks.” She muttered, wiping dirt off her cheek and ignoring how warm her skin was. One of these days, she was going to get him back.

VII. sharing a cloak / patrolling the battlements

A gust of wind hit her in the face as she opened the door. “Oof, it’s cold.” The chill was one drawback to night patrol, but she liked being helpful and she usually didn’t need much sleep anyway. Heading out onto the battlement, she reflexively narrowed her eyes when the wind picked up again. She moved her tumbling hair out of the way, and the person she most wanted to see was standing a short distance away, looking out at the city. Behind him, another door closed as a figure retreated inside.

Smiling, she walked over. “Hi.”

Amidst the darkness, Trouble’s golden head was a bright beacon. Half a stick of charch was in his mouth, and he blew out smoke as he turned towards her. He waved and returned her expression. “Hey yourself. Too bad it’s freezing out here.”

“It is, I already miss the fireplace. Was that Tallys just now?”

“Yeah, she said she’s turning in, now that you’re taking over. So, you’re stuck with me for tonight.”

“I don’t mind.” She answered honestly. “I like patrolling with you. Were you watching something in particular?”

“Not really. I was thinking about stuff.” Uncharacteristically, he didn’t continue to share. He took another pull of his cigarette. “But anyway, let’s start moving. Gotta get the blood flowin’ in weather like this.”

She agreed and kept pace beside him. Occasionally, she glanced up only to find a blanket of dark clouds.

“Notice something?”

“No, it’s an old habit. My teacher navigated using the stars, and I liked trying to do the same, while I was on the road. But I haven’t seen any stars in Haven.”

“It’d be nice if we could, like when we were out on last week’s mission.” He wistfully said. “Speaking of which, how’s your gun working now?”

“Definitely improved.” She patted the pistol secured to her hip. “I never knew you could fix it like that.”

“It actually took me a few tries to get the technique right.” He began to excitedly discuss the intricacies of the inner mechanisms.

She listened attentively. To be honest, there was plenty she didn’t know about her weapon and was unable to ask until recently. Her father had been a soldier, but since he became mayor of their little town, he had never picked up a gun again. It would have been nice, to hear what he thought. He and her mother would have liked Trouble.

The wind swept through, this time from her side, and the full blast forced her to stop and brace herself. The aroma of charch and Trouble’s familiar scent of grass and leather filled her nose, while heavy warm cloth draped over her. One of his hands hung over her shoulder, tightly holding the edge of his cloak. Now that they were sharing, they were standing close, sides touching. His solid body radiated heat, and she resisted the urge to lean in.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick.”

“Aw, but I haven’t been sick in a long time.” She joked. Nevertheless, she beamed at him. “You’re sweet. Thank you.”

He sheepishly grinned. “Heh. Feeling better?”

“Mm, much warmer.”

They continued on for a minute, before he slowed to a halt and addressed her. He spoke carefully. “I was talking to Tallys before you showed up.” He scratched the back of his neck, seemingly hesitant. “Basically, she called me a dumbass, but in her own way. She just thought I wasn’t noticing some things. Well, maybe I have all along, deep down. I wasn’t sure though, I’m not great with recognizing signs.”

“Trouble? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m rambling.” He squared his shoulders, his serious gaze trained on her. “Somehow, I’ve got it into my head that you like me.”

Ah. She never had any intention of being coy and was waiting for him to figure it out, but she still blushed. Thank the One-God her voice was steady. “You’re not wrong. I like you a lot. I was hoping we could be more than friends. But if you don’t want to, I won’t have any hard feelings.”

“No, I want to!” His immediate refusal sparked relief. “And I like you too. I’m, uh, not exactly used to it though. Being in a relationship.”

“Neither am I. But that’s okay, we can learn together.”

“Learning together sounds good.”

They stood like that for a few moments, happily taking each other in. Then, she pointed out. “You know, people typically kiss right about now.”

“Huh? Oh, true.” He visibly gulped. He tilted his head forward, stopped, slightly changed his angle, and stopped again. Steam was practically billowing from his red ears.

She laughed. “Here.” Slipping her arms around his neck, she met him exactly where they both wanted.

VIII. while one is injured / awakens some deep-buried feelings

Reaper’s down.

The message sent a chill through her, despite the blazing summer sun. She finished bandaging the wounded recruit in her care and swallowed. Can you give me the coordinates? I’m going to him.

Once the response came through, she ran out of cover and towards the group in the distance. All around, there were the sounds of gunshots, battle cries, and the screams of dying Endarkened. Fortunately, her path was clear, and without needing to draw her bow, she reached the portion of stone wall providing cover for the officers surrounding Halek. They stood, explaining the situation.

“We moved the Revenant body out of the way.”

“But he’s in bad shape.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Um…” It was difficult to reply confidently; her heart was pounding, her thoughts racing. “Keep the area clear while I heal him?” Her gaze fell upon a large hand, the matha nearly entirely obscured by blood, and she immediately knelt at his side. She barely registered the officers’ dispersal as she triaged him, focusing on what had to be done.

It wasn’t a secret among the Shepherds that they were close. Close friends, they insisted to anyone who would question their dynamic. He was engaged and had a duty to his people, while she didn’t know where she belonged. He felt confined in his role, a path that had been marked for him since he was born. He once said he envied her freedom, but she told him otherwise. She walked an uncertain line, between a culture that had loved and raised her with the awareness she’d outlive them all, and a virtually unknown bloodline she only knew through stolen books. It hurt to confess how tormented she was, but he didn’t seem to mind, asking her more thoughtful questions.

Perhaps, they found comfort in each other. It soon became typical for anyone searching for him to check her office first, and to send for her after one of his blood-rages. When Chase teased her for being too obvious, she had been scared to her core. She knew, all too well, how important Halek was to the Hunters and she wasn’t even a full-blooded one. No, she couldn’t feel anything more for him. But things would be so much easier if she could smile at him or gaze on his sleeping face without feeling a twinge of pain.

How long it took to heal him, she wasn’t sure. Fractured bones were set right, torn muscle repaired, and internal bleeding stopped. She held his face, murmuring the spell to bring someone back to consciousness.

He didn’t stir. Fear seized her, that she wasn’t capable at all, that he was gone forever. “Halek? Halek, wake up. Please, wake up!” She repeatedly called to him as she continued to cast, pushing the limits of her magic. Fatigue snuck up on her, dark spots floating in her vision. She had failed Maj, but she had to save him. With every second, it was harder to breathe.

Slowly, his gray eyes opened and he languidly blinked. She gave a strangled sob of relief. “You’re alive.”

“So are you.” His voice was hoarse, raw. A curse escaped him as he flexed his hand. He gripped her shoulder, firm but not painful. “Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t. I’m fine.” She reassured.

He exhaled, the tension dissipating. Then, his hand slid to the back of her head and brought her mouth to his.

It was almost too much at first, and she didn’t know how to react. He kissed her with unexpected passion, a longing he must have buried deep down. All of the emotion he had contained was given to her, and she was reciprocating in full. She loved him. Hopelessly, helplessly loved him.

When the kiss ended, they were perfectly still, the world off center. Then, a distant explosion righted it again and she remembered the situation they were in. Her lips burned as she pressed them together and carefully leaned away from him. “We shouldn’t-” The rest of the sentence caught in her throat, blocked by the upwelling of guilt as well as shame in that she had wanted the kiss. And that she half wished he’d pull her in again.

But he didn’t. His touch relented, his fingertips running through the white streak at her left temple. Any desire had receded, the chieftain’s mask back in place. “I’m sorry.”

“…It’s alright.” That felt like a lie and she had never been good at lying. She let him go and dropped her gaze as they rose to their feet, the awkward silence between them suffocating.

When he said her name, she couldn’t resist looking up at him. He hesitated for a second before he promised.

“We’ll talk later.”

[swordmaid]

Do you have any advice on figure drawing?

• draw what you see !! i know that sounds so obvious but if you’re doing 30 second exercises, then you don’t have time to think about how to properly draw the head or the body, etc. try to capture what’s infront of you, then move on quick and try not to overthink about the whole thing unless the exercise calls for a more mindful drawing than a quick one (if that makes sense ... )

• something that I find out by following other life drawing artists that a) always keep your pencil sharp b) hold them in an angle when you’re drawing so you’re getting smooth rectangle lines instead of the precise thin lines you usually get. personally, I find that it’s smoother to work with when I do that and it flows faster + you also get that shading bc of how the graphite will naturally gradient and it makes the overall drawing look more dynamic. there’s nothing wrong with the latter doing it that way doesn’t mean ur wrong, but I find that I’m slower when I draw like that and the finished drawing doesn’t look as dynamic

• figure out what you want to learn !!! unless you’re attending a class that has a specific program, the good thing abt life drawing is that you can literally try and learn anything because your reference model is infront of you and they’re going to do what you need them to do. in my last sessions, I was practicing how to draw motion and making the drawings look more smooth and dynamic so I was ignoring the fundamentals of anatomy + exaggerating some things in order to capture that. i also took that opportunity to learn how to draw hands and feet properly as well since they’re always so tricky I spent more time studying them in detail than drawing the full anatomy. i think figuring out your intent and focusing on that makes the whole session more worthwhile since the whole thing can get pretty overwhelming if you’re just new to it

• and I think the last advice I can give is try not to overthink it!! learn what you wanna know!! produce art for the sake of learning and improving your skill. your drawings won’t always come out looking the way you want them to but that’s ok bc the purpose of it is to learn. also enjoy your sessions!! I think that’s the important part LOL make sure to have fun otherwise it’ll feel like a chore and you’d get bored and hate it etc. and take breaks!! try not to overwork your hand and practice drawing from your shoulder and not your wrist lol

[pancakethepikachu]

Listen I’ve got a buddy who desperately wanted to get some real art advice that’s more than “just practice” and ya know what? I’m putting this on here to-

DISCLAIMER: This is all art advice that I’ve discovered- it helped me improve, there is no guarantee any of this will work for you so stay curious and experiment around with your own unique style!!

These are in no particular order:

1. LOOK AT OTHER ARTWORKS!! I know it’s hard to look at better art, it can be demotivating sometimes, but looking at other artworks can help you decide what features you want to incorporate into your art. For me, I often looked at Pemprika, Ask-Antarcphos, random Japanese artists, and reblogs from Houseki-no-Suffering to search for elements I wanted. You can see influences from those blogs on my work!! In fact they STILL help influence me today!

2. DO NOT TRACE!! I know it’s tempting and some people may recommend it to help study anatomy and all that, but when I say tracing hurts more than helps- I mean it. Use references and set the pictures next to your sketch as you try to draw- this will help you develop an eye for anatomy waaaaaay faster than tracing ever will.

3. FIND CERTAIN NICHES OF YOUR WORK!! Just because it’s not perfect means you’re already on the right track! I have a habit of drawing long legs and fingers and that eventually became my style- sure they’ve gotten a bit more proportionally accurate but they’re still longer than usual and that’s okay! That’s my style and I’m happy to have it!

4. FINISH THE DRAFT AT LEAST!! We all have a habit of doing one thing and then giving up- trust me I’m guilty of it too- but finishing a draft means you’ve gained experience doing something new. Yes it may look wonky and it may not be how you imagined but it’s a start and you can never run a race without starting.

5. THE PEOPLE YOU LOOK UP TO ALSO HATE THEIR OWN ART!! Creators always hate the things they create, it’s just a fact. It doesn’t matter if your art could be the most beautiful thing ever, you’ll still hate it. So instead of letting that hatred kill you, try harnessing it to find ways on improving next time. Make your greatest weakness your greatest tool so to speak.

6. DONT TAKE PART IN HOSTED EVENTS IF YOURE NOT CONFIDENT THAT YOU CAN DO ALL THE PROMPTS!! Yes drawing prompts are a fun way to test your abilities and challenge yourself, but if you can only confidently do a few out of the whole- it’s not worth it. You’ll be spending more time stressing and be anxious than actually having fun- and at that point art becomes a chore and you lose your motivation.

7. USE YOUR EMOTIONS!! Art comes out the greatest when you can harness what you’re feeling into the piece. Find a good song that makes you feel strongly in a certain way or remember a moment that triggers something visceral- let it out onto the paper freely without restrictions. Sometimes it’s the lack of form that gives art its beauty.

8. TRY ONE NEW THING AT A TIME!! I know we often get the advice to “try new things” and “get out of your comfort zone” with art. But I’m here to say that’s a terrible idea- not only are you setting yourself up to fail, but you’re overworking your brain and making art feel more like a chore. Instead of completely 180’ing your style to try and copy someone else’s- change parts of it sometimes. Maybe ink with a new brush, use a different colour, shade with hard lines rather than soft lines. Progress doesn’t come overnight.

9. IT’S OKAY TO GET CRITICISM!! Have other people look at your art that you trust and know can be truthful! Sugarcoating is a bad idea for improvement so you need to women up and accept that viewers may see things differently than you do. It’s not that your artwork is bad- far from it! It’s just that different people will see it differently- I’ve had lots of people look at the same artwork and one person may notice the eyes while the other the hair and so on- it’ll help to know what the majority of the people will notice first!

10. GET FRUSTRATED AND CRY AND GIVE UP!! Hey, let’s be real, it’s hard to improve, especially when you’re not doing so at the rate you want. Perhaps you’re not in the right moment in your life, or find that art is tougher than you thought- maybe you just can’t do it right now and need a break. Rip apart your pieces, delete those files- wipe away all trace of your artistic career- art is something that is found by the inner self. If you can’t sit there at the canvas and bleed, then you’re not trying hard enough. You’re drawing for yourself and only yourself, and if your inner self can’t handle art, then don’t force it. Wait until the time is right.

And finally, keep in mind these are all things I’ve found as a self taught hobbyist artist- I’m sure art classes are worth it. I’m not saying you should go to one or not because honestly that’s up to you-

If you wanted more technical artist tips... I can’t do that. Everyone has their own unique way of drawing- I can tell you to use a ruler or use a specific pencil- but in the end that’s creating a world where everyone drew the same. We need variety.

At this point I’m just kinda spitting bullshit so I’ll shut up and let y’all yell at me at how unuseful and pointless this all was haha

Chow!

[meteor-cities]

Þú ert jörðin | Feitan Portor

Yeah yeah I know I don’t write all the fucking time anymore. Anyways, I thought I might put something up and it’s really not a canon idea of mine but who cares?

CW: Mention of wounds

You sat at the vanity in your room, watching the rain, not daring to address the bruises and open wounds that covered your shoulders. 

It was 5 in the morning, hence the sky started turning to a lighter shade of gray than it had been for the past few hours. You couldn’t truly sleep, despite taking many measures to relieve your lingering pain from the events that occurred earlier that night.

You didn’t turn on the light. You didn’t put on your clothes. You didn’t return to the bed, where your lover was sleeping. You didn’t make any noise and you didn’t move. The thought of provoking Feitan, the man you’ve loved for a long time, was one you didn’t cope with well. He hated being woken up. More than the typical sleep lover would.

You exhaled slowly, glancing at the mirror in front of you. The blood had long ago disappeared after you showered, however, the bite marks and scratches and cuts still had traces of dried blood that would hurt to touch. 

You pondered over the methods you’d need to use in order to cover them up. Bruises were easy. Open wounds, not so much.

Some of them would definitely scar, which wasn’t a problem. The smooth, pale scars you’d accumulated over the years from nothing but rough interactions with Feitan were some of the few things you found enjoyment in. Abuse, people who had no idea of your dynamics would call it. However, you’d asked for them. Begged, even. Your masochistic nature was what drove you into such a complex relationship. It wasn’t something people would understand, except for maybe other people who did many of the same things as you and Feitan had. The only difference is that Feitan rarely showed mercy. He liked fear, he liked it when you cried and when things got pushed to the border of consensual and non-consensual touch. You enjoyed it, too. You never complained, and you never would. This is what you begged for. Regardless of how things had ended up.

You glanced at the time. Soon. Soon you’d have to stop sitting naked in front of your messy vanity and decide to reach for the scar creams and concealers and color correction products. Soon you’d have to get dressed, make coffee, make his coffee, find something for yourself to eat, leave to go to work. 

Your thoughts were disturbed after you automatically reached for the scar cream in the drawer of your vanity. You heard shifting, then you felt some type of warmth on your shoulders. You looked in the mirror.

“It’s a little early for you to be awake, don’t you think?”

Feitan was obviously still tired, but nonetheless he was awake, standing behind you, making eye contact with you in the mirror with his hands on your shoulders, moving down to your sides. You nodded slowly. 

“I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

Feitan shook his head automatically, sighing. You checked the time again. He didn’t have to be awake for another few hours, two at the least, you’d guessed. So why was he awake now?

“You look cold,” he muttered, running his hands over the bumps on your arms. You’d adjusted to the temperature of the room a while ago, so you hadn’t noticed the goose bumps on your skin. You shook your head.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

The feeling on your skin was strange. It was very much his touch, sure. But this time there was some sort of emotion towards it. One that was different from either of his two defaults: lust and indifference. You looked up. He seemed to be thinking.

“Feitan.”

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, acting as though he hadn’t spaced out into some other world you couldn’t touch.

“What’s on your mind?”

A confused look appeared on his face. You rarely asked this; usually it was because you were trying to figure out a behavior of his that wasn’t typical of himself. He thought for a moment again, replaying his actions from the time he woke up. He guessed that maybe it was because he was being gentle, being human for once. It wasn’t like those things didn’t exist in his personality; he certainly had his moments. But they were rare. Even if you’d known him from the time you were kids, only knowing him as someone who worked for your older brother, and having worked alongside the pair for some time since you two had become teens. You rarely saw a calm moment for the man, minus the times he spent reading or thinking or sleeping. Even then, though, he’d had some disturbance.

They were rare, yes. But not out of character.

Feitan let out a sigh, running his fingers through your now dry hair. You closed your eyes, enjoying the slight tug that came with him detangling your hair with his fingers.

“Darling, how long have I known you?” he’d asked. This wasn’t a question you were used to receiving minus the times he wanted to prove a point. You shrugged. 

“Many years, Feitan. Many, many years.”

He nodded, pulling the cream from your hands and opening the small bottle, slowly applying it to the new wounds. Also not a common action, but sometimes he’d do it to reflect on the actions that created such violent features onto your skin.

This time he had another motive.

He paused, examining the numerous bruises and abrasions he’d inflicted. “Why do you let me do things that hurt you?”

You held your breath, exhaling after a moment, returning yourself the the present world. Preparing your answer.

“I don’t know.. Maybe because there’s never been an ill intent. You’ve never tried to kill me. You’ve never done things that damaged me later on. You’ve never wanted something I didn’t, I guess. If you needed to kill, you found something or someone else to soothe the need, but it was never me. Never my family, never my friends and especially never Chrollo.”

He thought over this answer for some time, returning to the gentle application of the cream to your broken skin.

“Except, I’ve had so many urges to kill Chrollo.. Many times for selfish reasons..”

“Like what?”

He paused, making eye contact in the mirror again. You knew the answer, and he knew that, but he also knew you wanted to hear it from him.

“Like wanting you for myself,” he muttered. You nodded. It was an answer you’ve heard many times, mostly for the times you asked him why he did away with someone who’d been hurting you or interfering with his plans he had in mind that included you in some sick way at times.

“Feitan. Do you know what love means?”

He stopped, nearly dropping the tube of cream in his hands. The question caught him off guard, since nobody dared to discuss the topic with him. Not even you, at least until now. Love wasn’t a concept the two of you discussed. You never discussed concrete concepts either, like relationship roles. Had anybody asked, you preferred to call him your husband, yet nothing of the sort was ever established between either of you. You knew him to be someone you adored and you knew he thought of you as something that belonged to him, regardless if it was in an objectifying sense or not. Neither of you spoke the word ‘love’ to each other. It simply was deemed unnecessary to the both of you.

And you knew it was because both of you knew that both of you thought of it. Both of you would give up anything for the other. So there was no need to speak it into the world if it could be seen in how the two of you acted towards the other.

You hummed, standing up and grabbing the robe you’d discarded to the side, putting onto your body. He watched you carefully, some of the sadistic motives remaining in his expression, even if it was diluted to the point where he could control it.

“You love me, Feitan. Even if you don’t say you do. You always have. Maybe in some sick, complex way that only you and I and maybe the Troupe understand, but I’m yours, and you’re happy.”

He listened, nodding slowly. You were right, he knew that. He wouldn’t try to object to it.

“I don’t need to hear it ever, Fei, not ever. And I hope the same applies to me, yet I’ll say it anyway, because I do love you, and I know you know that.”

He shook his head, grabbing your hands, running his thumbs over your knuckles. You could tell he wasn’t trying to put up his usual walls at the moment. It was a vulnerable moment that people would never see because he only trusted you with his insecurities. You smiled at the thought, moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” You tilted your head, seeing his confusion.

“How can you read me so easily?”

You giggled quietly, kissing his cheek. “You know the answer, love.”

He nodded, pulling you tightly into his arms. It was a tender moment that he never really thought much of. He hated watching people display such affections. However, it was safe when you were home. It was safe to love you and to display it when the door was locked and the shades were shut. It was safe for him to cry and experience emotions and to smile. Because to him, there was no other safe place than you, and there wouldn’t be another one if you left. 

And that’s why you said you were married. Because in the end, no document could correctly explain what the two of you meant to the other. It couldn’t show how much understanding and patience and practice it took to end up where the two of you were in the other’s life. It couldn’t show the mistakes made when it came to understanding the other person, couldn’t prove that the both of you made improvements to make the other happy.

And he was grateful you understood that as much as he did. 

And he was grateful you trusted him to do the things he’d done to you.

And he was grateful because he was safer than he’d ever been in his life.

And he was grateful you loved him, too.

And he understood, no matter the effort, nobody would remove you from his life. And that’s all that mattered to him when it came to the outside world. That nobody would touch you. Nobody would give you the satisfaction and the care and the love he did because he was the only person who could do such things. He knew you were aware of it as well, which is why you gave into his wants and needs and why you let him torture you endlessly when it came to something going wrong. You were an outlet and in his mind there was nobody stronger than you, not even Chrollo, because of your ability to handle him and understand.

And now he could smile a genuine, happy smile. And that made you smile, too.

A killer, sure. A sadist. Someone who could never be happy, who could never have empathy. That’s what people knew him to be.

But you knew differently. And you wouldn’t listen when someone told you things you’d heard before. And that’s why he would never give you up.

Special.

You are special.

[loopyhoopywrites]

How Does A Hermit Accidentally Get Published? (A TLD excerpt)

Okay so this is kinda long, and minorly spoilery? But if anyone is interested in how The Hermits’ Guide to Friendship (Vol 1-4) came to be, I just finished typing up it’s origin story. For context, Cedrix and Tim have just been escorted to a private VIP booth at Ye Olde Nightclub by CJ Themir, the author of the guides, who is begging them to help him.

Tag list: @kryskakikomi @shattered-starrs @ifonlyicouldwrite @sybil-writes @raevenlywrites @sunlight-and-starskies @notwritinganyflufftoday @chauceryfairytales @writeblrfantasy @dazed-night-lights

* * * * *

Of all the critiques one could accurately make regarding Prince Cedrix, an unwillingness to help his subjects would not be one of them. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cedrix was, to the despair of his diplomatic advisers, extremely hands on when it came to sorting his kingdom’s problems.

(Rescuing damsels was, perhaps, the only exception to Cedrix’s willingness. Given, however, his sexuality, the lack of male damsels, and the strange cultural expectation that a Rescue equated to a proposal of marriage, this was understandable.)

Despite his willingness, Cedrix looked at CJ, with his fans, fame and, presumably, fortune, and found himself with one question.

“What could someone like you possibly need help with?”

Tim, it turned out, also had a question.

“What happened to your accent?”

CJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. Unlike his previous suave swoop, this time the gesture was a clear sign of stress, turning his artfully arranged curls from a masterful oil painting into something more akin to a child let loose with twelve fingers and a bucketful of muddy paint.

“It’s a long story.” He said, deftly managing to answer and evade both questions simultaneously.

“We have time.” Said Cedrix.

“Okay.”

CJ ran his other hand through his hair. It didn’t help.

“Okay,” He said again, “I’ll- I guess I’ll start at the beginning?”

“That is how most stories start.”

Cedrix crossed his arms impatiently. Tim, always eager for story time, swapped his empty tankard for a new one and snuggled into Cedrix’s side. CJ was twisting his hands nervously, and his left leg was bouncing as if possessed by a particularly hyperactive jackalope. Coupled with the way his eyes darted nervously around the balcony, Cedrix wondered CJ should be the one with a tankard in hand.

“Beginning,” CJ finally repeated, looking Cedrix in the eye only to immediately glance away again, “Well, um, my name isn’t actually CJ.”

As far as beginnings went, this one was hardly a surprise. Cedrix crossed his arms tighter, hoping the story improved. Quickly.

“My name… it’s Daigo. Daigo Ramirez.”

Here, CJ paused, the silence lingering a moment too long, and then a moment longer.

“Sorry,” He said eventually, smiling sheepishly, “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to say that.”

Unsympathetic, Cedrix merely fixed him with a glare that clearly meant get on with it. Tim slurped his drink through a brightly coloured curly straw that hadn’t been there when he started.

“I am – well, I used to be – a hermit,” CJ – Daigo – began, “People have always been a bit… much, for me.” He smiled wryly, as if amused by some private joke. Cedrix snuck a glance at Tim, suspecting that the wizard would be far more sympathetic than Cedrix himself. Tim, however, didn’t seem to be listening, instead busy attempting to balance the cherry from his drink on the tip of his nose. It was only when Daigo cleared his throat that Cedrix realised he’d been staring.

“Continue.” He ordered, dragging his attention back to the author.

“I lived in a rented room above an antiques shop,” Daigo seemed to shift more comfortably into his chair as he settled into his story, although his leg still jiggled distractedly, “It was about as close to solitude as I could afford, given the high demand for isolated towers and caves amongst royalty these days. The store’s owner would leave groceries outside the door once a week, and in return I left rent money under the unwelcome mat. I never had to leave, and no one ever came to visit. Even the store below hardly ever had customers.”

Cedrix couldn’t help but wonder how using the privy fit into this self-isolation situation, but he was far too proper to ask.

“The room I lived in had one window,” Daigo continued, “That looked out over the beer garden of a local tavern. In the summer months, between my daily meditations, I found myself in the habit of watching the patrons who sat out there. Not in an inappropriate way, of course!”

Realising how his penultimate sentence might have sounded, Daigo raised his panicked eyes. Cedrix looked back with impatient indifference. Tim was still struggling with his balancing act.

“I started, um, making notes,” Daigo hesitantly continued, acutely aware that this was not helping his ‘not a creep’ argument, “I wasn’t – I’m not – interested in actually interacting with people myself, you understand, but watching people interact was – is – intriguing to me. I supposed it turned into a sort of… research project.”

“Research project?”

“Um hm.” Daigo agreed, his nervous hands easing from a jerk into a mere twitch as he hit his stride, “I ordered some books, ending up with quite the extensive library, and when I’d learnt all I could from those I began to talk to people.

“Not directly,” He quickly clarified, “But I cultivated a decent number of quill-pals who provided valuable insight into the field of social interactions. It turned into quite the thesis.”

“Am I to assume that this rather lengthy attempt at an explanation is the Guide’s origin story?” Cedrix asked.

“I- well, yes.” Daigo responded, his fidgeting returning with a vengeance as he avoided Cedrix’s gaze, “Only, I didn’t mean to get published.”

“It seems to have worked out fairly well for you.”

“Well!?” Daigo exclaimed, momentarily forgetting just who he was speaking to, “You have to be joking!?”

Cedrix just gave him The Look.

“Sorry,” Daigo’s cheeks quickly turned a rather unflattering shade of horrified pink as he realised he’d just yelled at royalty, “It’s just, all this-” He waved toward the edge of the balcony, where they could just make out his crowd of admirers below them, “-is the last thing I wanted. I hate it.”

“Why did you publish The Guide then?”

“It was sort of… an accident.”

“How does one publish four books by accident?”

“Five if you count the autobiography.” Daigo reluctantly corrected. He caught sight of the copy of From Cave to Rave that Tim had repurposed into a placemat and shuddered. “Here’s the thing. As part of my research, I was writing to a great many people-”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“-Which meant I was sending a lot of mail. It was agreed that I would leave it outside my door along with the gold pieces needed to cover postage, and my landlord would drop it off at the postman’s guild for me.”

“So?”

“I, um, accidentally left my thesis with my outgoing mail.”

“And it got delivered.” Cedrix surmised.

“I don’t know how!” Daigo stammered, letting out the type of laugh that people only ever laughed if it was a choice between that or crying, “It didn’t have an address on it. It wasn’t even in an envelope!”

Daigo’s leg was now bouncing so fast it was almost a blur, and Cedrix had the sudden bizarre image of it becoming detached and flying across the room.

“Next thing I knew, publishers were practically breaking down my door.” Daigo said, so stressed by the mere idea that beads of sweat were starting to gather in little committees on his forehead. Cedrix would have offered him a handkerchief, but given that Tim had given up on balancing his cherry and was now onto his third cocktail, he had a feeling it might come in handy later on.

“You still had to have given permission.” He pointed out instead.

“They, um,” And here, Daigo looked almost guilty, “Offered me money.”

No almost about it, that was definitely guilt. Cedrix neglected to comment, instead choosing a far more effective rebuttal that he’d long ago picked up from his stalwart knight; the Raised Eyebrow of Disapproval.

“It’s sort of hard to earn money as a hermit,” Diago said, his immediate jump to excuses proving once again the effectiveness of the Eyebrow, “Plus, they said it would be a one time thing! Rewrite a few sections, sign a piece of paper, get paid. They never mentioned all… this!”

Once again, Daigo waved an arm in an attempt to encompass his fame, fortune, and what could almost be considered an army of fans, his face plastered with unbridled horror and despair. Cedrix sighed.

“This piece of paper,” He said, putting the pieces together and creating an all too common portfolio of the utter stupidity of the average commoner, “Am I to assume it was, in face, a contract?”

“…Maybe.”

“And did you, perhaps, happen to read this contract before you signed your name at the bottom of it?”

Daigo’s silence was answer enough, but Cedrix was still going to make him say it.

“Pardon?”

“I skimmed it.”

“I see.” Cedrix said, pursing his lips in thinly disguised disapproval. Luckily for Daigo, Cedrix had never been in possession of anything even close to a generous amount of patience, and he wasn’t about to waste what little he had left on a lecture on the importance of reading the terms and conditions.

“And CJ?”

“My publishers wanted to prove that the advice outlined in my books worked,” Daigo sighed, “And that meant I had to be their first success story. They created this persona for me. It was only supposed to be for a week or so, whilst they advertised The Guide, but, well, my books proved more popular than previously anticipated.”

“An effective marketing technique.” Cedrix couldn’t help but comment. He leant back in his seat, fixing Daigo with a cultivated stare of indifference.

“So,” He asked, finally returning to his original question “What do you expect me to do about it?”

For the first time, Daigo didn’t look away. Instead he leant forward, meeting Cedrix’s gaze with a confidence nobody would have imagined he could have possessed, and Cedrix was suddenly certain that he was about to regret asking.

“I want you to help me fake my death.”

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Dēlīrĭum || Arthur Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “Yay I love prompts! Okay; Arthur Shelby & number 16 from that beautiful list of yours. Happy writing! :D”  ♡

Summary:  n.16 from my prompt list: “Another’s hands on her skin” (Finn being my precious little baby, Thomas being both a caring “big” brother and an unbeatable bitch, as usual) Warnings: swearing, heavy drinking, cocaine use, mention of PTSD, angst, Arthur being softer than cotton candy

Author’s notes:

I just reached 168 followers, yay! I know it may not seem like much, but I’m shamelessly happy right know, thank you so much babes ♡

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m letting you down, idk, I just can’t help but think that you’re not happy with my latest works; so, please, if  what I think is true, tell me what’s worng and what’s right about my writing, take a minute to send me a message, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want, take a look at this:  ↠ Contāgĭo↞

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Probably, this piece is angsty, I don’t know why it came out this way, maybe because I’ve been very low in the past days, so I’m sorry if this is not what you expected. Anyway, let me know what you think about it ♡ 

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Dēlīrĭum [dēlīrĭum], delirii  neutral noun II declension 

1. delirium, frenzy 2. madness, lunacy, folly 3. rage, wrath, ire 4. unbridled desire, fierce passion

That familiar dense fluid inexorably dropped out of the crystal bottleneck, its dark stream harmonically danced, giving birth to an indefinite number of small whirlpools, before steadily falling into the compact glass held in Arthur’s trembling hand.  His gaze followed the whole process with noxious attention, those few moments stretched out in his blue eyes, till it seemed like it took an eternity for the whisky to brim over his cup, and, during that distorted time, he somehow managed to find some numb peace, alienating his haunted mind from the thundering world around him. Nevertheless, when even the last drop run its course, that usual asphyxiating chaos, along with his compulsive thoughts, returned to fill his ears, destructively afflicting his brain again. That had been a long rough night at the Garrison, and finally, nearly at the crack of dawn, he was allowed to seek a little solace by sitting alone at the table in their private room and downing his umpteenth glass of liquor, yet no relief came for him as he couldn’t help but think about his only excruciating obsession: you. Your mother had always been Polly’s closest friend, for which reason you practically grew up around the Shelbys, easily becoming part of their family since you truly loved all of them like your own siblings, and they just felt the same way about you; however, it turned out to be even easier for you to mercilessly steal the callous heart of their oldest brother. Indeed, Arthur had been madly in love with you for as long as he could remember, what irreparably bound him to you was such a strong feeling, that the cruel war itself hadn’t been able to weaken it, not in the slightest; still, after all those years, he couldn’t find the guts to come clean about his incommensurable affection for you. Actually, the mere thought of telling you the truth terrified him: every time he looked in the mirror, he only saw a rude, pathetic man unworthy of a wonderful, sweet creature like you, he knew he could never give you what you really deserved, he knew he just was not enough, and he definitely hated the idea of making you unhappy by forcing you to remain stuck with such a wreck for the rest of your life. Anyway, during that long time, he had learnt how to cope with his difficult feelings, he had gradually become able to hide them, eventually finding a way to stay by your side without going crazy; but that night, when you entered the pub holding hands with an unknown bloke, when he noticed the way you smiled while looking into his brown eyes, every single piece of his frail soul fell apart all over again, leaving him devastated and close to a new mental breakdown. Once more, his chest seemed to unnaturally collapse under the weight of that terrible realization, pain radiating through his whole body as he tried to get rid of that dreadful sensation by slightly shaking his head. Yet, nothing changed, everything in that moment felt just like a flashback of the war, the booze together with that deep sorrow were dangerously tricking his mind, leading him to hear inaudible noises and sense inconsistent hands strangling him almost to death. Still partially aware of what was going on in his brains, and eager to break free from those mental chains, he inconsiderately took from his pocket the small blue ampoule Finn had given him, pouring its deadly white content on the table and hastily cutting it, before he could inhale the Tokyo with such violence that, soon after, blood started to fall from his left nostril. Arthur stood there for a while, in religious silence, with his wide eyes turned at the ceiling in a mute prayer to that God who had apparently forgotten about him long before that day, nevertheless he prayed for the world to stop wildly spinning around him, and when nothing happened, again, he couldn’t hold back his deleterious ire anymore. Before he had the chance to realize what he was doing, he found himself rabidly throwing the massive wooden table against the closed door, along with its four chairs and several empty bottles, his palms now covered in blood and wounded by uncountable glass shards. In the meanwhile, the main salon of the Garrison was occupied only by Finn and Isaiah, busy playing cards and drinking beer, excited to be finally allowed to stay up late at night, yet, as soon as that loud crash reached his ears, Finn dropped everything without a second thought and, utterly immersed in a blind panic, he promptly run towards the blinders private space, for his mind was already picturing the worst possible scenario. The youngest Shelby used all his strength, he kept kicking the barred door and ramming into it, until he knocked it off the hinges and barged into the room right away, finding Arthur alone in the middle of the place, crimson drops rolling down his fingers and a disoriented look on his tormented face. “Jesus Christ, Arthur! What happened? Are you okay?” Anxious breaths left the boy’s lips as he swiftly approached his brother, paying attention to avoid that mess made of sharp splinters and jagged pieces of wood, he meticulously checked that no serious harm had occurred and soon sighed with pure relief, still, when he tried to fraternally place a hand on Arthur’s arm, an impetuous shove threw him against the opposite wall. “Go away, Finn! Get the fucking out of here!” Still dazed due to the violent collision, Finn simply looked at him for a brief moment, he was beside himself, foaming at the mouth as he took dangerous steps in his direction, thus the young man managed to get back on his feet as fast as he could and escape that room without a backward glance. Anyway, he didn’t get to walk past the doorstep, because his face unexpectedly came in contact with Tommy’s chest; apparently, the middle brother had abandoned his accounting ledgers, alarmed by those same loud noises. “You’re the only one who can do something, I-I tried to help him, I tried! But he wouldn’t let me, p-please...” Tom lovingly gave him a pat on the shoulder, bringing his restless rambling to an end and flashing him a sympathetic smile, before he gently smacked his freckled cheek two times as a sign of gratification. “It’s all right, kid. You did good, go home now, eh? I’m taking care of this” Finn nodded keeping his eyes down as he rejoined Isaiah in order to leave the pub, Thomas, instead, just leaned against the doorframe and calmly lit a cigarette, while his sceptical gaze remained on Arthur who, on the other hand, keeled over the floor with both his hands covering his face. “Would you mind explaining what the bloody hell is going on?” Tommy’s stoic tone didn’t change a shade as he greedily sucked down the bleak smoke and watched his sibling squirm on the ground, screaming out all of his frustration. “It’s y/n, Tommy! It’s always been her” His voice cracked for a few moments, overwhelmed by a cry bereft of tears. “I-I can’t bear to see another’s bloody hands on her skin, Tommy, I just can’t. This... she is- she is driving me insane, brother!” Arthur’s fists collided multiple times with his own face as he continued to desperately alternate heavy sobs and gruesome wailings, until Thomas reached for him, roughly lifting him up by harpooning his jacket collar, he managed to get him to stand up, more determined than ever to put some sense back into his dizzy head.

“Hey!” His hoarse voice raised and he buried the fingers of his right hand in his brother’s cheeks, so that the strong grip on his face obliged Arthur to look into Tom’s stern icy eyes as they brutally delved into his tormented conscience.  “You are Arthur fucking Shelby! If you want something, you fucking take it, because you fucking can!” Those words left Tommy’s mouth in a proper roar, still they were not enough to fix that tragic situation, in fact, a couple of seconds later, Arthur reacted to that sudden assault and violently pushed him away, before going back to cover his face with his palms, in attempt to shut down all the demons riddling his mind. “She doesn’t love me! Don’t you get it? She never will, goddamn, look at me!”

A loud husky laugh echoed through the room, leading Arthur to raise his head, glancing at Thomas in disbelief. “Are you laughing? You ‘fucking laughing at me?!” Before Arthur could physically attack him, Tommy stopped his laughter and cleared his throat, it was impressive how, in a single instant, he was always able to get his usual severe expression back. “Yeah, I’m laughing, Arthur. I am, because y/n’s been dying for you since the bloody first grade, that girl’s been trying to get your attention in every possible way”  Tom’s index finger menacingly pointed at his brother’s chest while he kept shouting in his confused face “And she started dating that cunt since she was sure you would’ve never fancied her, ‘cause she’s fucking blind, just as you are! You damn idiots!”

Arthur’s blue eyes unrealistically widened in shock as his bran processed that absurd load of information, he started frenetically walking up and down the room, diving his fingers in his long hair in order to relax a bit.

“She is... Is s-she... Oh my fucking God! I need to see her, w-where is she, Tommy? Did she leave with that prick? I swear I’ll cut his hands off if he dares touch her...” The influence of cocaine on his brain was made clear by his frantic delirium, he kept bouncing from one place to another with a look halfway between enthusiastic and frightened, so that Thomas had to stop him by slightly poking the sweaty back of his neck in order to have his attention again. “She’s at Polly’s with Ada. They’re probably drunk, but so are you, now just go and take what’s yours, for God’s sake!”

@namelesslosers, @shadow-of-wonder