#unfortunately like everything else this is a skill you must learn to hone

[uncanny-tranny]

If you're trying to get out of the Moral Purity sinkhole, I think reframing how you think and feel can be a helpful first step.

Instead of being petrified by my very thoughts being "pure," I tried to internalize that... it can't be achieved, moral purity, so instead of being pure, maybe I could be kind? Or just even nice, anything but the crushing sould-destroying urge to make everything pure enough.

I think that's why, now, I'm incredibly suspicious of any group or community that demands purity. What good is purity if you can't even focus on anything else, like being compassionate or funny or deep or anything because you must only focus on being pure?

It's really hard to break out of the moral purity merry-go-round, but I think learning how to step off before you vortex yourself into the pits of hell can be a welcome change.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: a stupendously underrated classic of queer punk meets synth sophistication, and an album without which we wouldn’t have Dare by the Human League: Homosapien, the 1981 solo opus of Buzzcocks frontman Pete Shelley. Find out more by watching the video, or reading the transcript below!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about one of those albums that isn’t necessarily the most acclaimed or best remembered work of its period, but nonetheless played an important role in history, and remains unrivaled for its uniqueness: Pete Shelley’s Homosapien, first released in 1981.

Shelley has historically been chiefly remembered as the frontman of the punk act, Buzzcocks. But, despite punk’s reputation for simplicity to the point of obnoxiousness, Shelley was one of many musicians to come from the punk scene with a penchant for experimental or otherwise ground-breaking music. His very first solo release, 1980’s Sky Yen, features little more than a brash wall of oscillating electronic noise, not unlike the earliest provocations of industrial artists like Cabaret Voltaire.

Music: “Sky Yen (Part One)”

Subsequent generations of critics have gone great lengths to coin and define terminology, in the hopes of breaking this period down into constituent parts, but the more I study it, the more I’m inclined to view it as just a huge soup. There was, quite simply, a lot going on in Britain’s underground in the late 70s and early 80s, and in practice, the lines between punk, post-punk, industrial, synth, noise, and other avant-garde miscellany are frequently illegible. As an artifact of this era, Homosapien resonates with all of the contradictions this melting pot would imply, fusing emotional rawness and pristine production in a way that never quite settles down and feels comfortable.

Music: “I Don’t Know What It Is”

“I Don’t Know What It Is” served as the opening track of the album’s second side, as well as its lead single. With a bona fide guitar solo as well as a propulsive, and truly soaring, chorus, it somewhat resembles that most 1980s of art forms, the power ballad. It is, ostensibly, a love song, and is revealed to be one quickly enough, but its portrayal of love is far from kind. While a real power ballad might take the concept of love for granted, “I Don’t Know What It Is” seems to portray it as something mysterious, inscrutable, and dangerous. And I can’t forget to mention just how much Pete Shelley stands out as a vocalist--his high-pitched, perhaps even fried or shrill vocals add a great deal to the song’s sense of unease, and really sell the idea of someone who’s being overtaken by an uncontrollable and dominating force.

Of course, perhaps the most noteworthy thing about Homosapien’s sound is its fusion of the hard, driving acoustic guitar of punk with the electronic sensibilities of its producer, Martin Rushent. I wouldn’t say this combination is ever terribly cohesive in its sound, but I think that’s why I find this album so interesting: there’s a tension that permeates each track, a feeling that things don’t fit together. While Homosapien is a pioneering work of electronic-centered production, enough of the pieces are still in place that you can certainly hear the shape of music to come as you listen to it. It’s not just the synthesisers, but also the use of electronic percussion here--it’s difficult to overstate the impact that so-called “drum machines” had around this time. While reviled by many, both then and now, rhythm machines were undeniably “instrumental” in changing what popular music sounded like. Even synthesiser-based electronic acts like Gary Numan, OMD, and Kraftwerk often relied on traditional percussion, so this genuinely was pretty shocking at the time.

Perhaps the most important element of the legacy of Homosapien is the fact that Martin Rushent would go on to use the skills he honed here to produce one of the most influential albums of the 1980s, and perhaps of all time: The Human League’s Dare, which would go on to cast an enormous shadow on nearly all popular music to come, after playing an enormous role in instigating an era of popular dominance of synth-pop. In that sense at least, Homosapien is certainly a very historically important album, and for that reason alone, I think it deserves a fair bit more attention than it gets. Still, for as much as the electronics might be the most forward-looking element of this album, one also can’t deny that it remains full of aggressive and perfectly punk overtones, as on the crass or perhaps dismissive screed of “Guess I Must Have Been In Love With Myself.”

Music: “Guess I Must Have Been In Love With Myself”

While Homosapien has many moments of seemingly being too thorny to get a good grip on, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t also times in which it can feel like a bit more than the sum of its apparent parts, as on its most narrative-driven track, “Pusher Man.”

Music: “Pusher Man”

“Pusher Man” is one of, if not the, most synth-centered compositions to be had on Homosapien, but its insistent pacing and neurotic portrayal of the “low life” theme of buying illicit drugs mean you’ll never confuse it for run of the mill synth-pop. Moreso than anything else the album offers, this track reminds me of the sort of “synth-punk” that American acts like the Units and Crash Course In Science would put forward at around the same time. “Pusher Man” was, at the very least, a sufficiently experimental track to earn the honour of being cut from the US release of the album in order to make room for some non-album A-sides, as happened to many albums at the time. But hey, that’s enough beating around the bush. Let’s talk about the real crown jewel of this album.

Music: “Homosapien”

If you’ve heard anything from this album before, chances are, it was probably the title track, which proved to be quite the commercial success--despite being banned by the BBC on account of its homoerotic content. Given that this very same year, they also came after OMD’s “Enola Gay” for its obviously nonexistent reference to homosexuality, one might be forgiven for thinking that a tune called “Homosapien” was simply misinterpreted. The title track isn’t terribly explicit material, but its clever wordplay nonetheless deals quite deftly with issues of sexuality and personal identity. In the earlier verses, Shelley introduces us to typified roles of gay male sexuality--the “cruiser,” the “shy boy”--only to seemingly doff them with the tune’s defiant refrain, asserting that the only truly important identity a human being has is that of “Homosapien.” Far from being an unfortunate coincidence, the similarity of “Homosapien” to “homosexual” is being employed here completely deliberately, particularly with it being mashed into a single word and thus gaining a greater resemblance to the word “homosexual” in print. It not only allows Shelley to belt out a borderline dirty word, but also creates a sort of unconscious syllogism, suggesting, in a sense, that homosexuals are people too.

With elements of both unapologetic pride in one’s own queerness, as well as the uncompromising assertion that humanity is something much deeper than that, the title track of Homosapien is one of the most fascinating and inspiring queer anthems of its time. Its artsy slipperiness has prevented it from feeling more shallow with time, and its straightforward or raw quality, intensified by that constant acoustic guitar, has kept it sounding equally sharp. It genuinely does surprise me that this album isn’t at least a little bit better remembered than it is. Outside of the title track, most of this album is currently not available on services like Spotify and YouTube Music at the time of this writing, and I actually struggled to present musical examples here. That’s really a pretty high level of neglect in this day and age, and I hope it can be rectified in the relatively near future.

It would be no exaggeration for me to say that Homosapien features some of my very favourite cover art of any album. Homosapien’s sleeve design sees Shelley occupy some sort of sleek, but hollow hyper-modernist office. Geometric forms suggest the world of the artificial or ideal. An Egyptian statue beside Shelley is a reminder of history, and the idea that even the greatest empires must eventually fall. Likewise, the telescope and early computer positioned nearer to Shelley are evocative symbols of science and technology--but in context they seem more sinister, being juxtaposed against a phrenology bust, which evokes the ways in which our attempts at science have caused misunderstanding and great human misery in the past. The central scene is framed in with large areas of black, which make the space feel even more claustrophobic and uninviting, and Shelley appears to be pushed into the background, almost belittled by the inanimate objects. Overall, I think it’s sort of funny that this album’s cover is perhaps more iconally “New Wave” than the music itself ended up being, particularly with Shelley clad in this somewhat foppish white suit and bow tie--certainly a big change of attire for a former punk!

Given the experimental nature of the collaboration between Shelley and Rushent, you might be surprised to learn that Homosapien actually wasn’t a one-off. Just two years later, Shelley would release a follow-up LP, XL-1, which was also produced by Rushent and largely continues the same ideas. While Shelley would never see the success of “Homosapien” again, the XL-1 single “Telephone Operator” would also chart to a lesser degree.

Music: “Telephone Operator”

My favourite track on Homosapien is “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça,” which closes out the first side of the album. If you’re familiar with my other work, you probably already know that I’m coming at this as someone chiefly interested in the electronic side of things, and I think that of everything on this album, “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça” is the closest to being convincing as a synth-pop tune. With a bubbly, synth-dominant sound and lyrics that are more contemplative than aggressive, it’s much closer to the mould of what I usually listen to for fun than a lot of the other tracks are. That’s everything for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça”

[asktheheirofslytherin]

«Latin? No. Not good enough to read, at least. I am working on it, but…» she said, narrowing her eyes as if something was suddenly displeasing her. «It’s unforgivable that Hogwarts doesn’t teach Latin nor allows it at least as an optional class after the second year. With our entire spellcasting based on Latin one would expect a serious school to make that a priority…

These? No, these wounds are barely a few minutes old. I had never used a Portkey with the Lethifold before, it must have startled it and it grabbed onto me. Now it relaxed again. It’s a bit lethargic because it's digesting, I overfed it these days. But it’s impressive what it can do in a few seconds, isn't it? And this even without really meaning to harm me. I don’t know what Ekrizdis’ training method was – if he ever wrote it down it was not in the books I have – but the only one I could think of was teaching the Lethifold that I am an excellent hunting spot and that if it waited here with me food would come regularly to it,» she explained, and made the gesture of sliding something under the mantle.

«This Lethifold is very intelligent. I couldn’t find any study about the intelligence of this species, but my father and I conducted a couple of experiments of our own this summer and it seems to have an intelligence equal if not superior to that of an octopus. It can evaluate a situation, solve problems, make associations. It learns fast, but I myself am edible food for it and to teach it I have to literally put myself right into its mouth. At the beginning it was life-threatening to a point that perhaps it would have been wiser to back away. And even after months, when it had already learned that I was not to be killed, from time to time it would just start… randomly snacking on my flesh during the day. Luckily, with time and patience it learned. I can’t complain. It is an occasional hunter and I am food, so it is nature. Everything comes with a price and I keep thinking that the advantages of having one outweigh the discomfort. Well, at this stage of training at least. But if you could really lend me that text… Not only training other Lethifolds would be less risky, I could even convince my friends to get one each. It’s fear that stops them, they have seen what this one did to me…» she made a pause, considering something.

«May I ask… Do Horcruxes grant invulnerability as well? What would happen if, say, somebody created one and then got mortally wounded, with the Horcrux remaining intact?»

🦅

(Changed a bit my format, since now we can avoid the bricks of text, hope you don't mind)

I have always said Hogwarts should have made Latin a required class, beginning at first year. I shall have to make it so when I am in enough power to do so. Until then, we shall make do with what little knowledge you have. Unfortunate.

Amazing - you have developed a symbiotic relationship with the Lethifold. Absolute genius. How long did the process take? Did it not try to escape? And how often must it eat? Nagini does not need to eat every day - is a lethifold similar? 

Ah - horcruxes do not grant invulnerability. I can get mortally wounded in battle like anyone else. Of course, I have honed my skill over the years to decrease the chance of such a thing happening to me. But it is a thought that still looms when I enter a situation. However, if I do not actually die, then nothing happens to the Horcrux. Additionally, if I had, say, more than one horcrux, and it was destroyed, nothing would happen to me, nor any of the other horcruxes. 

[shoujolover-666]

The Counserllor: Azul Ashengrotto

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042859/chapters/66974293

Warning: Slight Mental breakdown from Azuls side

Characters: Jakurai Jinguji, Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was sitting on the couch, on the table were the untouched sugar cookies that had been offered to him. A pleasant smile was on his lips as his hands were resting on one on his knees, one leg crossed over the other as he observed the nurse and counsellor of Night Raven College.

In a way, the man was infamous in his own way after he started his work here.

The man who looked as if he couldn’t hurt a single fly didn’t seem to come from any of the countries and places that were known to him. That was something he concluded after careful probing and a lot of information seeking.

Even after his contracts were broken, he had a few people who were under his services because of the dirty secrets he gathered on them, making them more than willing to work for him as long as no words were spoken about them. Of course, as a reliable business partner, he wouldn’t go back on his work.

Despite that, it was a pain to gather new contracts and collect new abilities of those who didn’t learn from the mistakes they made. Sure, they were more careful with their wording now, but the octopus was always able to find one loophole he was able to exploit.

That only proved him how unbelievably greedy and stupid humans could be.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, that he was now in the office that belonged to the mysterious man who seemed to have healing abilities. A skill that was more than practical when in the right hands. Crowley actually asked him to get some counselling after the overblot incident, but he didn’t force him to.

No, Azul was there out of his own volition. He wanted to know more about the man who seemed as if he had no flaw.

A man who seemed so saintly and perfect, that it made his skin crawl and his teeth hurt. He wanted to know a weakness. He wanted to have something that he could hold onto, or else he wouldn’t be able to rest well. There was one thing he knew about everyone, but Jakurai Jinguji… he was a blank slate. A Wild Card. And there was nothing that he hated more than not having control over the situation.

“Thank you for taking time for me, Jinguji-Sensei.”

His tone was nothing but polite as he spoke to him. Azul’s mask was sitting on his face like a second skin, it was a facade he honed to perfection.

The only time it cracked was when the pesky dorm head of the Ramshackle Dorm ruined all of his contracts, the hard earned skills he got from other people through well-crafted plans.

Jakurais lips mirrored the smile that was on his lips, but it was an earnest one, almost as if he tried to mock him. If he weren’t in front of him now, he would have frowned. It couldn’t be true that he was truly as saintly as people made him out to be, could be? Everyone had to have a downside, even someone as cheerful and nice as Kalim had his flaws.

“No need to thank me, Ashengrotto-Kun. It is my job to listen to your problems and help you to the best of my abilities.”

Long, thin fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear before the tall man grabbed a cookie, eating it slowly.

The octopus mourned after the treat. He would have loved to take one, the sugar would have done wonders to his mood.

Really, having to clean up after the mess that Floyd made was always a pain, but someone had to do it.

“Is there anything specifically you want to talk about?”

Surprisingly, the man didn’t seem to be wary of him, despite the rumors that must have spread about him.

The next sea witch, who wasn’t as merciful and nice as he made himself out to be. A cunning man who didn’t stop using the dirtiest tricks as long as it meant that it would be to his advantage.

Even before the rather… unfortunate events, these rumors were around, but back then, they mostly had been stopped by the twins before they were spread too far. Nowadays, they had better things to do.

“I am actually curious about you, Jinguji-Sensei. Would you mind answering some questions?”

It seemed as if he didn’t expect that question, for he could see the slight rise of one of his eyebrows and the short halt of his fingers, before he ate the rest of the cookie, licking his fingers clean.

“I don’t mind it at all, Ashengrotto-Kun. If that makes you feel more comfortable around me.”

That gentle tone and his gestures reminded him of his mother. From the tone he used to the words were spoken, he couldn’t help but see his mother in front of him, The woman who accepted him, despite the fact that he was just a dumb and useless octopus in the past, even when she told him again and again that he wasn’t how he described himself.

He took a deep breath.

No. There had to be something that he could do against him. There has to be.

If not… If not… would that mean he was just useless? That he could never compare to someone who was just naturally born perfectly?

Without knowing, the smile on his cracked, and he started to breathe more heavily, his mind spiralling down the abyss like back then.

“No. No. No. No.”

It was his fault, right? If he just had been born as someone else, he wouldn’t be a worthless octopus like that, right? Why couldn’t he have been born to be perfect?

Azuls vision became more hazy, not noticing that he started to say these words out loud because of the voices in his head that started to grow louder and louder with every passing second, telling him that his efforts were useless.

And then it all stopped. Warmth enveloped him, and he could feel surprisingly strong arms around him. Blue-Silver eyes were blinking the tears away, surprised by the situation he found himself in.

“I am bad with alcohol.”

… What?

“I do tend to be forgetful sometimes, I am not good when it comes to rides, and sometimes I don’t know when somebody uses sarcasm. I also tend to be too trusting.”

Why was he saying all of this? Shouldn’t he keep these kinds of things to himself.

“Azul, something like a perfect person doesn’t exist. As long as we are people, we are bound to be imperfect. That doesn’t mean that our efforts to be better are in vain.”

The hand that was on his back was rubbing him in a soothing manner, reminding him once again of his mother. He really wished to see her again, but he didn’t dare to ask her to do this to him, for he wasn’t a child anymore.

No, as a grown person, he couldn’t ask her to do something like this… or can he? When the counsellor… When Jakurai-Sensei was doing something like that, it can’t be too bad to ask though, can it?

Jakurai let go of him again, and something was placed inside of his hand. It was a strawberry cookie? “I wanted to give those to you earlier, but I was waiting for the right moment. There is barely sugar in those. When you asked me if you could visit me, I asked around to find out what your eating habits are. If they are not to your liking, I am sorry.”

His eyes widened before he started to laugh. It sounded a bit rough around the edges because of how he was crying just a few seconds ago, but he hasn’t felt so at ease for quite a while now.

“You know, if you want to talk about your past, feel free to do so. Everything that is being said here won’t be leaked by me, not to any other student, not to the other teachers and not to the headmaster, I promise that on my honour as a doctor. If you want to, we can make a contract on it?”

Azul shook his head. So he really knew about his habits but was willing to make a contract, just to ensure that the octopus would be able to talk to someone about his problems?

He couldn’t help but feel trust.

“No need to… but I will take you up on your other offer, Jinguji-Sensei.”

The man with lavender coloured hair shook his head.

“No need to call me Jinguji-Sensei. Please call me Jakurai, anything else just makes me feel older than I am.

At that, he couldn’t help but laugh a bit more. It seemed as if he wasn’t the only one with slight insecurities?

“Very well, Jakurai.”

Both were smiling.

[mando-chicken]

Dark Fives AU Timeline

The Dark Fives AU is an AU based on the concept of a force sensitive Fives. This will be a general overview of the draft timeline, it may be subject to change as I begin to develop the AU further, but it should give you a general idea of what happens.  

This took me so long to write oof, putting it under a read more to save your dash space!

To begin with, Fives didn’t really see himself as being any different to his other brothers. For the most part he just assumed that everyone had finely tuned senses, and thanks to a bit of a small attention span during his younger years he didn’t really notice when strange things happened.  

Items he’d placed in a certain location would move closer to him and he would just assume that he must have put it closer to himself than he’d originally thought, or he would anticipate something before it happened and just put it down as dumb luck or a funny coincidence. Echo was usually too buried in regs or whatever exercise they were completing to notice these small tells either.  

This advantage in skill over the other cadets was one of the many reasons their squad was fast tracked to their final test at a young age.   

His skills give him an edge during battle and later during ARC training, but for a long while his abilities remain largely dormant.

Fives, occasionally, unconsciously influences the emotions of his brothers when feeling a particularly strong emotion – when he was agitated about failing the test the first time his anger rubbed off onto Hevy and Echo who then began to fight – he’s entirely unaware when he’s doing it, but it seems to effect Echo the most prominently.

When Fives loses Echo his abilities cause almost the entire 501st to plunge into a deep sadness as a wave of depressing emotions crashes over them from Fives. The Jedi notice something is bothering their troops but can’t quite pinpoint it thanks to Fives withdrawing himself from everyone else for a while.  

It’s on Umbara when Fives finally cracks. After all the stress and horror that Krell put them all through he finds himself alone in one of the unused hangars, pacing and muttering angrily to himself. He’s worked himself up and when his emotions reach their peak he can’t help shouting, releasing all of his pent-up emotions at once.  

Everything surrounding him is suddenly all violently throw away from him in all directions and it’s like the floodgates have finally been opened. He can feel the force as it all pours into his mind for the first time, whispering, shouting, screaming at him all at once. His panic only makes things worse; his mind being filled with images, thoughts and feelings of brothers all throughout the galaxy.  

And he can feel them all dying.   

It isn’t until Rex decides to come looking for him almost half an hour later that he’s finally found. Everything within several meters of his person is floating in the air dangerously, but Rex only needs to take one look at the state his vod’ika is in to brave the danger. He’s shaking and finding it impossible to get down enough oxygen, begging for the horrible voices and feelings to get out of his head and leave him alone.  

Rex holds him for what feels like hours, struggling to get through to the distressed trooper and fearful of making the situation any worse than it already is. Eventually, however, Fives is exhausted from his panicking and begins to slowly drift off, calming slightly as he does so. It’s only then that Rex decides to call Kix to give him a once over and is able to get a somewhat shaky explanation.  

They decide that until they can completely confirm what is happening to Fives, they won’t speak to the Jedi, their trust too shaken after killing Krell earlier that very day.  

It becomes very difficult for Fives to hide his abilities after that – clones are used to expressing their emotions with one another, but due to having received no training on force abilities Fives finds almost anything can set off his abilities and it begins to become a bit of a hazard during battle.  

Deciding that he’s becoming a danger to his brothers, Fives begins to experiment with the force during his downtime in the hopes of being able to control his skills. Without instruction on how to use the force he finds himself getting easily frustrated by it, but as a result finds that getting agitated is perhaps the easiest way of getting the force to do as he wishes.  

When Tup attacks a Jedi, Fives senses what he’s going to do just before he does it, but it still unable to reach his brother in time. For a long while afterwards he blames himself for not reacting fast enough, despite all the training he’d been doing with his abilities.  

Much of the arc continues the same way as it is portrayed in the show, up until the final confrontation with the Coruscant Guard. Able to sense Fox’s intention to fire at him, Fives reaches out with the force, throwing back the approaching troopers into the side of the large crates behind them. While none of the Guard are seriously injured by his attack, they are rendered largely unconscious from the strength of the attack.  

Without the Guard to disrupt them, Fives is able to pass on all the information he’d learned from his time on Kamino and from the chancellor. Anakin is still highly skeptical, but with the convincing of Rex he’s willing to at least let them do a little investigating on their own.  

While Anakin and Rex inform the chancellor that Fives was killed during a shootout – alleging that his body was lost when it fell down a nearby shaft to the lower levels – Kix and Jesse are quick to escort their brother to a disused medical facility within the GAR where they can begin some tests. 

Finding the presence of the inhibitor chip is easy enough, but after a lengthy discussion they decide to allow Kix some time to study the chip and try to figure out just how it works. Anakin is very much interested in Fives’ force sensitivity, but unfortunately is unable to find the time to try and help the trooper hone his abilities, especially when the outer rim sieges begin.  

Unfortunately for Fives, he is barred from joining his brothers in battle and forced to remain back on Coruscant by himself, unable to leave certain areas in case he is discovered. During this alone time, he is able to channel his frustration into strengthening his abilities.  

When Echo is saved by Rex, Anakin and the Bad Batch he returns to Coruscant after being informed that Fives is still alive and the two of them are finally able to reunite.  

Anakin is more than angered when Kix later confirms their fears about just what the chips were intended for and he immediately gives the order for the 501st to have their chips removed as subtly as possible.  

When Anakin confronts Palpatine, he brings with him Rex, Fives and Echo (who insists he won’t let Fives go without him). Palpatine is all too happy to admit to everything, deciding that it’s time to try and turn Anakin to the dark side. For the most part he succeeds, but makes the mistake of insulting the gathered clones. What he wasn’t expecting was for one of them to practically throw him across the room with the force. He especially wasn’t expecting his loyal trooper, Fox, to draw his blaster and shoot him squarely through the back.  

Fox is loyal to the chancellor, but his loyalty is to the Republic first and foremost, and there’s no way he can allow someone who has openly admitted to manipulating both his brothers and both sides of the war. He’s never been so happy that people tend to forget his presence in the room.  

Skywalker takes over as chancellor, stating that it was Palpatine’s last act before he died after being gunned down by a ‘rogue bounty hunter’. With a little bit of Echo’s newfound computer skills, they’re able to come up with a flawless video that they show in place of the actual security footage that has already been erased and replaced.  

His first act as chancellor is to free all clones, offering them all rights as full Republic citizens and permanently ending all clone production, passing on the information about the chips to all medics in the GAR. The senate is in uproar over the decision, but there’s nothing they can do about it, Anakin has the entire clone army on his side.  

The Jedi, too, are upset by this development, but they are quickly outlawed and chased from Coruscant. Many of them die, but not as many as in the original purge. Cody assists Obi-wan in leaving Coruscant in secret, but refuses to leave his brothers behind and elects to stay with them in the GAR. During all the chaos the wolfpack and a large portion of the 104th are able to flee Coruscant with their Jedi and several younglings in tow – while no reported sightings are ever confirmed, it’s suspected that they’re all living together somewhere in the outer rim. Many other commanders and captains decide to leave the army, sneaking their Jedi out with them as they go.  

Without Dooku and Sidious to lead them and assist war efforts from behind the scenes the war is brought to a close, taking only a few months longer. The planets and systems that had defected from the Republic are brought back into the fold and quickly after the first Galactic Empire is formed.

The Kaminoans attempt to keep many of the young clones who are yet to be born, but Emperor Skywalker, who has recently become a father himself, refuses to allow these children to be kept as slaves and sends in his men to take them by force. Fives can’t recall a more glorious sight than watching Tipoca City burn, all his brothers safely by his side.  

Anakin takes on training Fives personally and within a few years he is anointed as the first member and leader of their new Imperial Inquisition. He trains force sensitive younglings to use their gifts and even manages to find a few fellow force sensitive brothers who quickly become a part of a tight knit group of fearsome enforcers of the Empire’s will.  

Rex and Cody share the burden of commanding the GAR, and Rex continues to serve as Anakin’s most trusted advisor. Cody on the other hand oversees the training of civillians who hope to join the GAR, ensuring that their skills are sharp enough to be considered for entry. It’s a hard job for them both, but they’re determined to ensure that standards are upkept for both the safety of the Empire and their brothers who chose to continue serving in the army.  

Echo works closely with the special forces, reporting directly to Rex, Cody, and occasionally Anakin. He meets up with the Bad Batch and they quickly become a formidable team and good friends. He of course returns back to Coruscant regularly to meet up with Fives and the two of them often exchange crazy stories from their work.  

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 23/36 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Chapter 23

Garahel had served well enough at first. He didn’t know what to make of his commander, but he followed her readily enough. He had a soldier’s mind, regimented, ready to obey. It had hardly hurt him at all when Loriel had made him forget about the massacre Anders and Justice had left behind. She had even told herself that she was doing him a favor—who would want to remember something like that?

 That was one little nudge—it did no harm, just like the handful of times Loriel had borrowed Alistair’s mind did him no harm. His mind was not much like Garahel’s—flimsy like paper, not rigid like iron—but it was weak, and she had only done it twice. It did him no harm. She was sure of it.

 She never did figure out whether it was her fault after all, the way Garahel started to forget, to lose track, to be otherwise inadequate. It would not have shocked her, but perhaps it was that her own demands rose so sharply, in the months after. She could not afford to tolerate any mistake. That was her policy—things in her Keep were done right the first time, or they were done by somebody else.

 Garahel was better off back in the barracks, anyway. It was better for him.

 And that had left Loriel needing a Seneschal.

 Half a dozen men and women must have done the job incompetently until Brigit.

 Brigit had arrived in the second year as a pilgrim. She had been an orphan raised within the Chantry—Loriel suspected that her mother had been a mage—and when the Blight had struck, she’d been utterly wasted in the employ of some traveling Orlesian merchant. Within months of her coming to the Vigil she had made herself indispensable, as clerk, assistant treasurer, recordkeeper, and finally—when yet another candidate proved disappointing and had to be dismissed—as Seneschal. It had been a meteoric rise, one well-deserved. She was fervent, professional, and effective, and worth a thousand Wardens. Sometimes weeks and weeks would pass in which Brigit was the only person Loriel spoke to.

 Brigit still wore a Chantry amulet around her neck, and Loriel had never asked why—whether out of sentiment, or true belief. She never spoke of Andraste or the Maker, and it seemed likely that if she truly believed, it would have been impossible to conceal. Brigit believed with a fire like the sun,

 The only thing Loriel did not like about Brigit was the awed and breathless way she looked at her Commander. Brigit was a faithful woman. Loriel sometimes wondered just what she put her faith in.

 Loriel relied on her, depended on her, believed that anything she asked Brigit to do was good as done. But she did not trust her.

 It wasn’t her fault. Loriel didn’t trust anybody. A maleficar, even a famous and beloved one, could not afford to.

     tck  

 But after the fresh spate of assassins, she came as near to it as she ever would.

 Brigit had only had the job for a few months when it happened. Loriel was still nominally carrying out most of her duties as Commander and Arlessa. She had yet to build most of the Underkeep—wasn’t even calling it that yet.

 The assassin had caught her sleeping—or didn't catch her. He’d triggered one of the traps at the window as he’d come in, but somehow avoided the paralysis it was meant to bestow. It didn’t end up mattering—now Loriel was fully awake from her thin sleep. That there was a struggle at all shamed her, brief as it was. It ended with the unfortunate man smeared on the floor, splattered into the walls, sinking into the upholstery, dripping down from the ceiling. She’d panicked and reached for a messy spell. Embarrassing.

 The assassin was thoroughly dead, but she could feel an enchantment lingering at the edges of her consciousness. At first she worried it was a suicide-trap and moved to counter it—after all, if she were an assassin trying to kill a mage of her caliber, a suicide-trap is how she would have done it. Sacrifice a man to let the mark think she was safe, and only then spring the real trap. But it was only the assassin’s amulet. She dug it out from the remnants of a ribcage and probed it. This was an object of power; she admired the skill of whoever had made it. No wonder he’d almost entered undetected. Whoever had sent him equipped him well—but who? Someone from Tevinter, if she had to guess, for no Circle mage could have made something like this.

 While she stood in her nightgown, admiring the amulet and wishing she hadn’t killed the assassin quite so quickly, the door opened. Brigit stood there, one hand on the doorknob, the other loosely at her mouth.

 Outwardly, Loriel looked at her neutrally. Inwardly she shuddered at the thought of having to find a new Seneschal. Brigit was so good at what she did, absolutely one of a kind. There would be no point in bending her mind with blood magic; her will was too strong, her mind too sharp. If she tried to bend her mind, it would break, and she would be of no more use whatsoever. She wouldn’t kill her, but to make her forget would as good as kill her. Loriel was already regretting it even as she prepared to do it.

 “I...commander,” Brigit said, schooling her face. “I heard a disturbance. But I see you have it handled.”

 Loriel waited a beat too long to respond. “Most likely the Crows,” she said, then cleared her throat. “In the future, you will knock.”

 Brigit bowed her head. “Of course. I apologize for the intrusion.”

 “Accepted. Regardless, I thank you for your concern.”

 Loriel’s gaze bored into her, and she didn’t so much as flinch.

 Perhaps it wasn’t      obviously    a blood spell that had done this. She knew spells of pure spirit that could turn a man into a walking bomb. Brigit wasn’t a mage; how would she know that it hadn’t been ordinary, Chantry-sanctioned spirit magic? Of course she couldn’t.

 “You will be discreet,” Loriel said.

 Brigit inclined her head once, deeply. “I saw nothing, Commander.”

 ...no, of course she knew. She was not stupid. She knew there was something      not to see    .

 “Shall I have a more secure place for you to sleep made up?” said the Seneschal, surveying the remnants of the assassin as he dripped from the ceiling.

 “No. I prefer this attempt on my life not to reach too many ears, and servants will gossip.”

 It was a risk, of course it was. Perhaps a stupid risk. But there was no one like Brigit. She could hardly believe her luck in finding her in the first place. It would be foolish to waste her for something that may well turn out to be nothing.

 And truth be told, Loriel was      not    all that worried about what would happen if word got out about her, though she didn’t realize it until that moment. She was not a little girl cringing before powers greater than she anymore. She was the only power that mattered here.

 With a flick of her wrist the blood and viscera rotted and dried to dust, years of natural corruption compressed to moments. It was a good trick—not even blood magic. She’d learned it when she was twelve. The room was still a mess, but she didn’t much care. She didn’t intend to use it any longer.

     tck  

 After the first incident, Loriel moved her quarters to a room of not-quite-perfect security, a high tower just barely scalable by somebody very determined. The summer was hot, and the window left open. She didn’t have to wait long. When the next assassin came, she was careful not to kill.

 She peeled open the woman’s mind, but learned nothing of interest from it. She was indeed a Crow, and knew nothing of the man who had paid him to die in this fruitless attempt on the Warden-Commander’s life. She shaped the remnants of the the Crow’s mind into something bent on the murder of her master. Her body was finely honed; it could kill without thinking. She wouldn’t need her mind for that. Most likely she would fail, but Loriel didn’t need her to succeed. She only needed to send a message.

 Soon after she received word from Master Ignacio himself that the Antivan Crows would no longer be taking contracts for her.

 Message received.

 Of course, that did not mean that there would be no more assassins—only that there would be no more Crows. Though there was reason to believe that any mark that even the Antivan Crows would not touch, other players in the game would not go after, either.

 Regardless, Loriel would not be so foolish again. She slept only underground, so wreathed in enchantments that no assassin could even begin to hope to pass through. No more waking with the sun—she set a timed rune of light instead.

 At first she feared she would miss it—but after some months had passed like this, she found the sun to be as unnecessary as everything else.

     tck  

 Her work was stagnating.

 Months had passed since so much as a sighting of the Architect. Years since a real conversation. Each morning, she still asked—and each time, the answer was the same. How fine, how fitting, that      now    of all times, did she realize that the Architect was exactly what she needed to make progress.

 The Architect could control the Blight itself, without apparent effort, without apparent thought. Whatever the secret to curing the Calling, Blight-magic was part of it. Maybe the ancient creature could cure the Calling himself at will, and simply chose not to—or maybe he couldn’t, and something Loriel could do would make it possible. She had gathered everything there was to know about him, and the more information she had, the more confused she got. She just needed to talk to him—properly, not just the cryptic scraps of scrawled messages she managed to exchange with him via the Deep Roads. And now even those had dried up.

 She occasionally had news of the Messenger, wandering the countryside cloaked and hooded, saving farmers from bandits and doing all manner of good deeds—or some cockney story of that nature. On one occasion, she even managed to catch up with him and requested he get a message to the Architect. But the Messenger, it turned out, was no longer taking messages—he was no longer in contact with the Architect. He was his own man now, insofar as he was a man.

 Useless. She had nothing.

 Except the strange black crystal delivered to her by Velanna, years ago, now.

 That thing was all she had, and it drove her mad. She could make no sense of it. It had no structure that she could detect, no enchantment she could touch. It didn’t even rightly seem to be a crystal, not in any meaningful way. It was a piece of the Void itself for all she could divine of it.

 Why leave this to her? Was she supposed to know what it was and what to do with it? Was it a puzzle, a challenge? A joke? A mistake?

 Finally, despairing of making any progress herself, she brought it to Avernus.

 It was humiliating. Infuriating. The old man was not better than her, she could not stand to believe it.

 “This?” he said, peering at it hungrily. “Very well, seems simple enough. Disappointing that you could not manage it yourself, but always wise to know when to ask for help, eh?”

 “Shut up,” she said impassively. She simmered, but only a little; she was too relieved to finally have help. “I suppose you will be wanting my notes?”

 “Yes, yes,” said Avernus, and Loriel gave him her exhaustive and close-written account of everything that she’d used to fail to unlock the crystal’s secrets. He skimmed, and proceeded to try several things she already knew would not work.

 “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped, after thirty minutes of this. “Assume I already tried everything a fool might think of.”

 “Anyone can make a mistake when working alone, not only fools,” he replied flatly, without so much as looking up. “That I am diligent in my work has nothing to do with whether or not you are an idiot.”

 “If you have nothing to contribute, then what was the point of my coming here?”

 “Of course I do,      child,”    he said, snapping her notebook shut. “It is already quite clear to me just what this crystal of yours is.” But an hour later he was still muttering and rotating it before an enlarging glass. And hours later, maybe days—it was hard to tell when neither collaborator needed to sleep, eat or drink very often—the both of them surrounded by reference tomes and testing reagents, they understood, if anything, less.

 “Enough,” Avernus barked finally. “We will make no further progress like this. I have the vague beginnings of ideas, but nothing further yet. I’ll keep it here and try my guesses later, and maybe then I’ll make some sense of it.”

 Loriel’s head was full of cotton fuzz. She did not need to mind her mortal needs very often, but she did need to, and she was realizing she had found her limit. She couldn’t tell if she needed rest or food or water more—all she felt was deprived. Even so, at his words, she was suddenly fully alert. “Keep it here?”

 “Yes, child. Rest and go home, come back in a month. Or don’t come back—the journey is long. I’ll send word when I have something.”

 All tiredness fled from her. She was flint-sharp and cold as steel. “No. No, I do not think so.”

 “Don’t be foolish, child,” Avernus snorted. “You wanted my help, I’m willing to grant it.”

 “It was entrusted to me, and with me it will stay.”

 “I need the damn thing in order to help you with it.”

 What did he think he was playing at? Had he grown so bold as to steal from her? She couldn’t think of any reason he would want it—unless he meant to contact the Architect first? To conspire with him against her? Did he resent her hold over his life? “I am ordering you to give it to me.”

 His eyes flashed. “Ordering me?”

 “Yes. Indeed. Ordering.” She sounded manic even to herself. “As your superior officer. Not to mention the sole reason that you are still alive.”

 “What you are is a stubborn child, jealous and irrational.”

 Loriel had been gathering power almost without realizing it. The temperature in the room had dropped to near freezing. “Do not think,” she said softly, “that because I value your assistance in my work, that I also value your life. You are a betrayer and a murderer. There is nothing you know that I cannot find out myself, even if I had to rip it from your head myself. Do not push me.”

 For a moment he hesitated. Was that fear? Or was he merely judging his chances? For a moment, Loriel thought this disagreement might really escalate to a full-blown wizard’s duel.

 But it was not a long moment. Avernus scowled and bowed his head and submitted. “Very well. As you wish,      Commander.”  

 The haze passed. She was no longer sure why she felt quite so threatened. Why feel threatened? She was in charge here. Had always been so. Foolish to doubt it. Childish. Absurd.

 After that she did not hear from him for nearly a year.

     tck  

 Returning from Soldier’s Keep, a detachment of inconveniences awaited her.

 Brigit was waiting at the gates, standing pin-straight with her hands gripped tight at her front. She bowed as Loriel’s coach approached. “Commander. You have visitors.”

 “Get rid of them,” Loriel said irritably. “I am not available.”

 “I tried, ser,” Brigit said, distressed. “I promise I did, I’ve been holding them off for months. I didn’t expect them to come in person.”

 It occurred to Loriel then that Brigit was competent enough that if it was possible to get rid of these visitors, then they would already be gone.

 “And who are they?”

 “Emissaries from Weisshaupt, ser. They have questions for you.”

 Ah.

 “Can you hold them off for another hour? At least so I can change.”

 “Of course, ser. Will you—?”

 “I will not require assistance.”

 She changed into a less dusty uniform, washed her face, combed her hair. There wasn’t time for much else; Brigit was very good, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

 This wasn’t the first angry communication she’d received from the Anderfels, but the first who had come in person. Loriel had been batting away their letters and ignoring requests to come to Weisshaupt for years. The First Warden was not terribly happy about her predecessor’s policy of transparency for new recruits. And she was      terribly    curious as to how Loriel had survived slaying an Archdemon.

 She just managed to seat herself at her desk when Brigit let the detachment in.

 Three of them, two women and a man. The man was a dwarf, the women both human. One was certainly a mage—Loriel guessed she mostly used primal magic, and classified her as a moderate threat—but the other was an unknown quantity. She was big, that was for sure—if she got her hands around Loriel’s throat she would have to act fast. They were blue and silver still coated with the dust of travel, and they didn’t look happy.

 “Wardens,” she said by way of greeting.

 “Commander,” the dwarf said eventually. He introduced himself and the two women, and spent nearly a minute on pointless pleasantries before saying anything of substance.

 “We came to speak of sensitive matters, Commander. Warden business.” His eyes slid to Brigit, standing off to the side in a protective stance, as though at any moment she would be called upon to defend Loriel with her body. “If you would?”

 “I trust my Seneschal completely,” said Loriel. “I can’t imagine there is anything we might speak of that she shouldn’t hear.”

 “Nevertheless.”

 Loriel sighed. “Very well. If you would, Brigit.”

 Brigit left, unable to resist glancing back as she did. Kind of her to worry—but it would be easier this way.

 The dwarf—Henrick—waited for Brigit’s footsteps to fade before fixing Loriel with his bright blue gaze. Loriel smiled back politely, utterly vacant.

 “The First Warden is interested in you.”

 “Yes, I know. I received her letters.”

 “But you did not see fit to report to Weisshaupt.”

 “I did not think it was necessary.”

 “Orders are not generally something left to the discretion of those who receive them.”

 “As you may recall, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were nearly destroyed during the Fifth Blight. It has not been trivial to rebuild the Order here, as the First Warden herself requested of me. Traveling to Weisshaupt would take me away from the Vigil for months.”

 “We understand that. Nevertheless, the First Warden has weighed these concerns, and decided that, on balance, such a journey would be valuable.”

 Yes, very valuable—very valuable for getting her out of the way and replacing her with someone more tractable. Loriel’s eyes carefully did not narrow. “Then the First Warden and I must agree to disagree. She is certainly welcome to come here, if she feels a face to face conversation with me is so important.”

 “It seems that there is a great deal that you and the First Warden disagree on. Such as the importance of our carefully guarded secrets.”

 This again. It had been a thorn in her side ever since it had become standard procedure at the Vigil. “If you are referring to the Ferelden Warden’s policy of transparency for new recruits,” Loriel said delicately, “then rest assured that no sensitive information has been made public. The details of the Joining remain strictly guarded. All that the public knows now is that the Joining is sometimes fatal, which any fool could have figured out on his own. In telling them up front, we build trust with those we protect. In the long run, we will be stronger for it.”

 Privately Loriel thought it had been a stupid idea to make that information public. It had caused her no end of headache out of Weisshaupt, and probably made no difference to the recruiting rates. The kind of man—it was usually young men—who came to give his life to the Grey Wardens would not be deterred by knowing that the Joining could easily kill him. Every single one of them was absolutely certain that      he    would survive.

 Anyway—she hadn’t gotten a choice. Why did anybody else deserve one?

 Loriel picked up her recently-sharpened quill pen and twirled it around her finger.

 “Be that as it may,” said Henrick. “You had no authority to do it.”

 “I am Commander of the Grey. I rule my Wardens as I see fit.”

 “To a point. Warden-Commanders have a great deal of discretion, but not this much. The First Warden has questions.”

 “I’m sure she does,” Loriel said icily, dragging the sharp quill across her palm, calming herself.

 “For instance—how you survived the slaying of Urthemiel. This should not be possible. There are rumors that Urthemiel is not dead—that he still lives in the Deep Roads in another form, and that you send good lives after bad on patrols to find and slay him. Have you anything to say to that?”

 They mean the Architect, Loriel realized with a start, and it took effort not to laugh. “I say it is absurd, but I do not control what the First Warden spends her resources on. By all means—if she wishes to waste everyone’s time in investigating a Blight that has been over for years, she is welcome to. The patrols are purely routine. To read anything else into it is, to be frank, bizarre.”

 “That is wonderful to hear,” said Henrick. “I am sure the First Warden will understand when you explain it to her yourself.”

 With great effort, feeling rusty and incompetent, Loriel put on her most gracious, diplomatic tone and expression. “I am sorry if I have been curt. Please rest assured that all these concerns will be addressed. All letters will be responded to, all questions answered. Everything will be explained. I may be an unorthodox commander—but I am loyal to the Order.”

 “The time is far past for letters,” Henrick interrupted. “We did not come here idly. Our orders are to bring you back to Weisshaupt to answer for all that has transpired since the Blight—by force, if necessary.”

 “I see,” Loriel said eventually, her hands in her lap. She looked between the three of them, the blue-eyed dwarf with the tri-cornered beard, the ruddy Anderfels woman, her slight and silent companion. “And there is no dissuading you from this course of action, I suppose?”

 Their stony glares were all the answer she needed.

 She sighed. “Very well. Then I have only one thing to ask of you.” Pain bit at her palm. “Go back to Weisshaupt. Tell the First Warden that the situation here is far more dire than she believed—that it hangs by a thread—and that it would be dangerous and irresponsible to call me away now. Be persuasive—because it is true. You saw it all with your own eyes. You were very convinced. Convince the First Warden.”

 The Anderfels Wardens stared blankly at her. Silence in her quarters. “Now,” Loriel said evenly, her blood pooling in her hand, “      Go away.”  

 The Wardens went away without another word.

 Loriel slumped in her high-backed chair as the door closed behind them. She would maintain some hold on their minds for a while yet, but for now she released enough of them that they wouldn’t look strange departing her office.

 Not that she had been really afraid that it wouldn’t work—but the mage might have noticed something before the spell really took hold, and then it would have been so much harder to take her mind. She doubted the three of them would walk away from the experience entirely unscathed, but this way, the damage would be limited.

 When Brigit entered, Loriel had sealed her cut and composed herself.

 “Is all well, Commander?” the Seneschal said. “I know how you detest interruptions to your routine.” She seemed genuinely concerned. How sweet. How stupid. “What did the Wardens want?”

 “Nothing you need worry about. I have addressed their concerns adequately.”

 For a beat Loriel met her eyes. Did she really not know? She had to know. Brigit was no fool. Surely she knew.

 Brigit slowly nodded. “I see...and do you still want your morning tea, Commander?”

[lnarizakis]

haikyuu: sparknoted | all about hinata shoyo

masterlist

all about hinata shoyo

foreword: Hi, everyone! I’m so glad you’re reading this. I’ve always wanted to do an analysis series of Haikyuu!!, and I think now that I have so much free time on my hands, this is the perfect time to start. I decided to start out with a character analysis on Hinata Shoyo, since he’s the protagonist of the series. The three topics I will cover are: his character, his character development, and the final arc. The topics about his development and the final arc contain spoilers, so beware! Please enjoy, and everything I say is left up for debate, addition, and correction!

HINATA’S CHARACTER

NOMENCLATURE | Since we are talking about a character, we should look at his, well, character. This kid’s name is Hinata Shoyo, and according to the Wiki, his name means “Place in the sun/Sunny place” (Hinata), and “Flying heaven” (Shoyo). Part of his last name, Hina, means a chick or a baby bird. We should know by now that the meaning of his last name is intentional - multiple times he is referred to as the sun in the manga and anime. He is often compared to Tsukishima, who is referred to as the moon. Like Hinata, he was given that name also with intention. I’m pretty sure the story mentions this, but the reason Hinata was given this name was because of how much he shines. Not just because of his personality, because of course, he is a very bright person, but his whole character shines. He radiates - the effects of his “sunshine,” per se, is found in the character development of multiple people - Yachi, Kenma, Hyakuzawa, Kageyama, and even Tsukishima.

MOON AND SUN | I’m going to side-track and talk about the relationship between Tsukishima and Hinata for a little bit - the story mentions this, but it’s worth noting and it leads into what I’m going to say next. Tsukishima and Hinata are like night and day, respectively. Hinata is bright like the day - he shines and radiates the sunshine off on other people. They bask in his light and become better people because of it. Tsukishima, on the other hand, is more lowkey; he prefers not to talk to people rather than to interact, and, initially, he has no interest in improvement. Plants don’t grow during the night (I will refer to this analogy later). The point is: one can only see the moon when sunlight reflects off of it (I think that’s how the moon’s brightness works; all I know is that the sun’s light is involved lol). Therefore, the effects of Hinata’s presence and his “shine” has affected Tsukishima so much that he is able to shine even “in the night”. So besides Kageyama and perhaps Kenma, Tsukishima is one of the people to be most affected by Hinata’s personality.

APPEARANCE | Okay, now I’m going to talk about Hinata’s appearance. He’s short, he has orange hair, and always has the brightest smile on his face. Except when he has to make a point like “We haven’t won yet,” where he’s got that awfully creepy and sinister smile on his face. But I’m going to get back to that. First- his height. When we first get to know Hinata, the very first note of his height is where he stands at 162.8 cm/5’4 ft. (April 2012). He’s as tall as I am! But he’s not tall enough for volleyball, and he is constantly looked down (literally and metaphorically) for that fact. His opponents, and even his teammates, don’t realize the hidden potential that hides within Hinata. So it becomes ironic when there are people who are taller than Hinata, and they “look up” to him. Notably, Hyakuzawa. During the first-year’s training camp in Season 4/To The Top (AKA Ball Boy Arc), there’s a scene in which Hyakuzawa is sitting on the ground while leaning against the wall. He’s looking up at Hinata, who stands in front of him. He tells Hinata that he should have been invited instead of him, which is very ironic because when Karasuno played against his school (I don’t remember which school oops), he was seen as this very intimidating guy despite his lack of experience. Anyways, the point is - despite Hinata’ s height, he makes up for it with ability and talent, to which others who are much taller than he is are just in awe, and perhaps jealous, that he could go past this misfortune of his and strengthen his other skills instead.

ELEMENTS OF HORROR | “We haven’t won yet,” Hinata says, with the most sinister smile on his face. No, man, it’s not sinister. He’s just in the moment. Of course, he doesn’t mean to pull off that kind of scary face, it’s not in him. Yet the face he makes, along with the tone of voice he uses when saying those four words, just gets people. It chills them right to the bone because it’s so unlike Hinata yet it is so like Hinata. He is the type of person to persist on and encourage himself and others just by saying “We haven’t won yet,” but he doesn’t make that type of face. So… why does he make that type of face? The reason is the author’s choice. Furudate loves horror and drew Hinata’s face with a sinister expression. That’s the simple reason, but I believe there is so much more to that. Furudate could have based his entire style on a horror-like manga, despite it being quite out-of-place as it is a manga about volleyball, but if that’s what he wants, that’s what he wants. However, he chose to draw that particular scene with a horror-type feel because that’s what the others see. That’s what everyone who watched Hinata say those four words saw. His expression, his eyes… everything about it chilled them to the bone and Furudate wanted it to make it clear to the reader that that’s how we are supposed to perceive his words. Because if he drew it any other way, it would have come off as Hinata jumping up and down exclaiming with a super-happy voice, “We haven’t won yet! Let’s keep going, guys!” But no- it’s supposed to be creepy because everyone else saw it as creepy.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

SPOILER WARNING! | This section is very spoiler-heavy! Please don’t read this section if you do not want to be spoiled for the outcomes of the nationals!

THE BALL BOY ARC | I will be covering Hinata’s character development all throughout season 4 because I think that this is the most important development to Hinata’s character. I’ll begin with the Ball Boy Arc, where Hinata must swallow his pride after entering the first-year training camp uninvited. Of course, Hinata had good intentions when he arrived, but he did not realize the consequences of his actions. Before, when he heard that Kageyama and Tsukishima were invited to these training camps, the first thought that ran through Hinata’s mind was “Why wasn’t I invited?” Yes, Hinata realizes his strength and the growth he has made throughout the time he had been practicing volleyball, but it seemed to him that he just wasn’t good enough. Upon arriving at the training camp, Coach Washijo immediately denies him to practice with the rest and so Hinata swallows his pride and announces himself as only the ball boy, nothing more. This is important because he is actually telling everybody there that he really just is not good enough.

KAGEYAMA’S SUPPORT | Coach Washijo tells Hinata that he is no good without the support of Kageyama. This comes across as a slap to the face for the poor boy, but I believe the coach told him this for two reasons. One, Washijo does not want to admit to the fact that Hinata is definitely strong and is an amazing player, but, two, Hinata is not strong without Kageyama and so he therefore cannot participate in a camp where Kageyama is not there to support him. This opens up Hinata’s eyes and he realizes that he must not rely on Kageyama all the time; after all, Kageyama is his rival. I don’t know if I’m right on this, but this is one of the two times where Hinata trains and learns without Kageyama’s help. The other time was when he practiced with Coach Ukai, the senior. If I’m wrong, please let me know!

HINATA’S COLLAPSE | Progressively throughout Season 4 we see that Hinata gains lines under his eyes. I saw two twitter posts that mention these- the first about how they could be “crow’s feet,” and the second about how they are lines of exhaustion. I agree with the second post. Throughout the season we observe how hard Hinata works and that sometimes he pushes his limits. He calls his coach to ask him about what he should eat, but I don’t know if we ever see him eat what Ukai tells him to eat. If we do… then, okay then. Lol. Anyways, not only are his eating habits being rearranged, it is also assumed that Hinata bikes home very late at night every day during the training camp at Shiratorizawa. He goes home with his heart pumping so he probably goes to sleep at an even later time. So Hinata also has a bad sleep schedule, and you know how hard it is to try and revert a bad sleep schedule… Hinata is also shown at times during nationals to be wide awake at night. With this, we can tell that he is exhausted. He is tired and in need of a rest. But he doesn’t give himself a rest, because all he wants is to prove to others, and himself, that he is good. And this leads to his downfall- his collapse in the middle of the Kamomedai VS Karasuno game. Hinata catches a fever all because he couldn’t take good care of himself. It’s so unfortunate, but it’s another wake-up call for Hinata that tells him that good things take time to come. He can’t magically hone his skills overnight.

THE FINAL ARC

THIS IS IT. IT’S REALLY THE END. | Ah, the final arc. We are so close to the end of Haikyuu!! and it makes me so sad to think about it every time. The final arc is the last match of the game. It is no coincidence that it is the last time we see Hinata use the restroom before the game. It is also no coincidence that many things that happened during Hinata’s first game are happening as well - Hinata meets Kageyama again at the restroom, he breathes in the smell of icy-hot spray, and, of course, he is going against Kageyama. That’s just awesome. But… he is not only going against Kageyama, he’s also going against Ushijima Wakatoshi and Hoshiumi Korai. This is no mere coincidence. These three people are all Hinata’s rivals. He declared one way or another that he would beat each of them and become the greater person. Hinata told Kageyama that he would, one day, beat him in a game. Hinata told Ushijima that he would beat Shiratorizawa and move onto nationals. I don’t remember if Hinata ever told Hoshiumi if he would beat him in a game one day, but we know for a fact that Hoshiumi did, at least in his mind. Let’s not forget how Hoshiumi really thought, “I’ve waited years for this day, Hinata Shoyo!!” Before the final game.

TEAMMATES: PAST AND PRESENT | I also want to mention the “commentators” for this match as well as some of Hinata’s teammates. In every game that we read/watch in Haikyuu!!, there is at least one person outside of the game who commentates on their perspective of what is going on in the game. We are not only getting the action, but also the analysis. In the final match, we are getting the commentary from Hinata’s teammates. We are finally getting their perspective in the game and how they perceive everyone’s actions. I just thought that was really cool since they were Hinata’s teammates- we never got the chance to hear their opinions about the game as an outsider. We also have some of Hinata’s teammates, Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu, and Sakusa Kiyoomi. I specifically want to talk about Bokuto and Atsumu, since the only reason I believe Sakusa was placed in the MSBY Jackals was so we could see his own ability because we never got to see him play in high school. Besides the Little Giant, I don’t know if there was any other person that Hinata looked up to more than Bokuto. I think it was great for Furudate to place Bokuto on Hinata’s team because it’s sort of a teacher-student moment where the teacher has to play with his disciple. I also think Furudate made the smartest choice to place Miya on this team as well because it shows that Kageyama is not the only one to perform a quick attack with Hinata. Having Miya on this team provides two things- it becomes a “battle of the setters” between Miya and Kageyama, and we see that Hinata has grown to adapt to perform well with other setters. It’s great character development on Hinata’s part because we see that he has definitely moved past the “he’s no good without Kageyama” thing back in high school. Good for him!

RIVALRY | Anyways, with a little analysis on Hinata’s team, we move on to the opponents. The big three opponents are, of course, Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi. It’s a really good thing that Furudate placed these three on a team together (Talking about Romero makes their team even more OP so we’re just gonna set him aside for right now, haha) because it’s a test of Hinata’s ability. We get to see the rematch of the century, since each of Hinata’s rivals have wished for a rematch against him. Hinata lost to Kageyama’s team back in middle school, so now we wonder if Hinata could beat Kageyama now. We know that Ushijima lost to Hinata, but since he declared that he would beat Hinata in the future, we also wonder if Hinata could win against him, this time without the help of his teammates back in Karasuno. Lastly, Hinata collapsed in the middle of the match against Kamomedai, so we do not know for sure if Hinata could have won against Hoshiumi. All of these questions that we have for these three rivals will be cleared in this match; we get to see if Hinata will win in the end. We will learn if Hinata has truly become stronger. This match will let Hinata examine his current self and if his skills now can finally win against Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi. It’s sort of like the “final exam” for Hinata’s strength.

Alright, that’s all I have to say! If you read all of this... then wow. I am in awe. Thank you for reading! I really enjoyed writing something like this. I was writing like the end of the world was coming. If you liked this, please let me know! Disagreed with anything I said? That’s fine, let’s respectfully discuss! Thanks!

[pyrewriter]

I am Ellrimksyt

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Eliksni Name pronunciation: Brykis (Bry-kiss), Ellrimksyt (El-rim-k-site)

From Sprog to Dreg, I have watched as my fellow younglings molted and grew, not all of us made it but it was life was not for everyone, it was how our people were. My sprog mate ,Brykis, always poked fun at me for having a more or less personal servitor that produces ether for me ever since we were Sprogs, Sekos-4 was its name. Brykis and I were raised in the same clutch, we had quickly formed brotherly bonds despite being only Sprogs at the time. One of my first memories is of being fed ether by that servitor ,as is the case for almost all Elliksni, ether is one the only things our bodies can process after all. Sprogs gaining the favor of one Captain or another was common and is actually encouraged in our guild, Pyrrhaks however seemed to take a special liking to me as a youngling. When I was mature enough and taught our language Pyrrhaks told me why he treated me as though I was his alone. "Ogrethes ,our Arkon, commanded you are my responsibility" he told me, I was grateful. Pyrrhaks was practically my father and as I matured Ogrethes became close with me as well ,like an uncle, but such affections were only ever displayed during events or behind closed doors.

House Dusk was merely in its infancy when I was taught the history of the Eliksni, of the Whirlwind, the Great Machine, of House Devils and their destruction. I was taught of how after the Devils fall all houses burned their banners and abandoned old grudges to rally under the banner of Dusk as one house. Our guild was a rarity however, we had not shed our heraldry entirely, many still followed some tradition from their respective house or bore a piece of its iconography, be it of Kings or Winter. Pyrrhaks was of Winter descent and Ogrethes of Kings so their teachings included parts of history or technique unique to their houses.

All Sprogs experienced the same teachings as me so we all knew the same history and the same traditions. It was when we reached Dreghood that we truly began maturing, every Eliksni knew how to scavenge, repair a pike, maintain their gear and weapons, and how to ambush to some degree. But we were not yet Dregs, for us to be recognized as even that we first had to prove we were worth the ether used to keep us alive and hone the skill that made us who we are. Honing those skills like learning how to perform maintenance on ships or work with advanced tech required more specific training.

I honed my general engineering skills which led me to ship repair and deconstruction and gear modification while Brykis honed his marksmanship and stealth. The two of us were often sent out on multi day scavenging missions with our adoptive father Pyrrhaks to colony shipyards. When it came down to it though, the only way for an Eliksni to prove themselves worth the ether they drain is in the field, the same way you honed your skill. Brykis and I were like one in the same, he taught me stealth and marksmanship, I taught him how to all I knew about ships. We were sparring partners and assistant engineers to each other.

Ogethres sung the praises of Pyrrhaks and his band whenever we returned with especially bountiful tech hauls from shipyards and city centers. The guild had near free roam of the island and we knew it like the back of our hands so within a few years there was nothing left that could be safely explored or learned from recoverable data. Salvage and tech deposits were plentiful and would be for a long time but there was little in the way of anything else. It was not as though there was nothing to kill of course, a minor hive brood infesting the southernmost end of the island provided plenty of targets but risen kept them in check. But even ether transmutation expeditions to refill the ether stores were boring. Lucky for me Sekos-4 accompanied me on data extractions, not everything was of use to the guild course but I was allowed to keep any literature and audio/video files that intrigued me.

I had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering those aforementioned risen on more than a few salvage runs through the more open areas of the island. They often thought themselves bold and attacked scavenger teams in the colony ship yards occasionally killing one or two of us, their inability to stay dead was rather annoying. Between the risen and the hive Brykis and I were able to hone our skills ,even as mere Dregs, to the point of what was considered almost that of honor guard. But it was not the Eliksni way to raise those of skill alone, only those who used it were raised to a station deserving of their feats. It was because of this that neither members of my adoptive family had gone up in rank, we were simple scavengers. That was until one day, there was nothing special about it, earlier I had seen scouts to the Arkon's quarters but it wasn't unheard of.

"Pyrrhaks, see me in personal chambers, bring sons" Ogethres's voice echoes through the guild compound like a gentle thunder. Brykis and I were in the sparring pit when we were summoned but when the Arkon calls for you specifically you answered. Dusting ourselves off we scrambled into our gear and met with our father. Together we entered the chambers of our Arkon, kneeling before him, "Ah Pyrrhaks, and sons, I hope you are well, have....delicate mission, only trust you".

Our father rose to speak "What have us do?" he asked.

"Little machine ,'ghost', seen in shipyards, want you and sons to go get it" Ogetres told him, I could feel his gaze fall on me and Brykis. "Succeed, I will raise the three of you to Barron and Vandals, fail, speak nothing of, bring back salvage from big shuttle" he explained. I assumed that he had already sworn the scouts who had reported the sighting to secrecy as well as if word of a risen-less ghost spread the guild would be restless. He never said why he sent us three alone but I like to think it was because he was looking for a reason to more openly display favor for his 'family' I believe it is called.

"Rise ,sons, prepare a skiff" Pyrrhaks told us, Brykis and I stood, bowed our heads and left the Arkon's chambers together to make preparations. We refueled one the lighter armed skiffs and ran the routine checks to make sure we could fly and hover without problems. Our peoples technology was far more advanced than that of humans but much of it was lost in the Whirlwind so we must do all we can to maintain or recover what remains. When all was in order I was about to go and notify Pyrrhaks when he entered the hangar.

"Skiff ready for departure, as are we, at your command, my Captain" I told him. He gave an affirming nod and I turned to lead him to the prepared skiff. "All boarded, take to colony shipyards" I called, instructing my brother.

It was a long flight to our destination and since it was only the three of us I had to act as copilot while Pyrrhaks stood over us as we flew. I felt a hand from one of his sub arms on my head patting lightly, glancing over I saw he was doing the same with Brykis and met my brother's glance. It was a moment I remember vividly, a smile crossed both our faces as our Captain, Pyrrhaks, our father told us without words "I'm proud". The moment lasted only a few minutes before he went to the aft of the skiff to double check we had brought enough for what could turn into a long expedition but it was long enough.

Upon arrival at the colony shipyard we used a hole in one of the colony shuttles to dock the skiff and engaged it's stealth drive to cloak it from any prying eyes below. Pyrrhaks thought it best to scavenge anything useful from the ship we had docked in first just in case the little machine we had been sent to capture had moved on. The height also granted us an excellent vantage point that overlooked most of the yards while keeping us relatively hidden. While Brykis and I scoured the parts of the shuttle still intact enough to hold anything of value our father used a Wire rifle to survey the area below. Salvaging took up the entirety of the first day but it had yielded a more than worthy haul of golden age tech and other valuable scrap.

Subsequent days were filled with all three of us peering down scopes for hours at the dead, still earth below, looking for the little machine. The days carried on like that for almost a week until I saw it, just a fleeting glimpse but I was certain, I trained my scope on the area and looked for another sign. "Good things come to the patient" I muttered as the little machine came into the open, scanning bodies long turned to dust.

"Hmm?" Pyrrhaks waddled over to me to see why I was speaking of old House Kings teachings.

"Little machine, near decayed transport, interested in remains" I explained, a solid slap on my back followed by pleased chittering conveyed his excitement as he spotted our quarry.

"You retrieve, I direct" he ordered taking my rifle and handing me a communicator.

I took the communicator and went to wake Brykis, "Wake" I chirped, stirring him from his rest and earning a confused groggy stare. "Found little machine, need help ensnaring" at my words he jumped to full alertness. We gathered our dagger and shock pistols before exiting the shuttle and descending the spire it was attached to. The yards were a maze but with our father as our guide and eyes above the task of finding the little machine would be Sprog play. It would be capturing and holding it that would be the most difficult part of this whole expedition.

My brother and I weaved silently through the brush and between overgrown wrecks while our father guided us from above, "Hard to track, even up here" he chuckled at one point. Eventually we came within earshot of the little machine. It was mumbling to itself about something and appeared to speak common-human but it's voice was unintelligible so I still couldn't make out the words. In any case, we split up with Brykis going around to ready a pincer move. I readied the net we had woven out wiring from the shuttle and strapped a couple of energy cells to incapacitate the little machine once it's caught. As we slowly crept forward I watched through the blades of grass as ,opposite of me, Brykis prepared to flush our quarry toward me when he fell into the earth.

The commotion and screech of pain he let out tore the little machine's attention from the remains it had been inspecting with the light from it's eye. Dropping the communicator I dashed through the brush with only my brother in mind, I could hear father's voice coming from the communicator but could not understand him. I threw the net over the little machine as I rushed past it to reach the hole Brykis had been swallowed by. He was alive at the least which set my mind at ease but I was unsure if my haphazard throw had actually managed to catch the little machine. Looking over my shoulder I saw it was in fact ensnared in the net, though the electrification had not activated ,oh well, I expected as much from ancient wiring.

"Give hand" I chirped, laying on my abdomen and reaching into the hole, Brykis was on his back and covered in earth but he reached and grabbed my arm. Pulling him up he crawled out but didn't stand, "What wrong?".

"Leg hurt, twisted in fall" he replied with a pained clicking, rubbing his leg to ease the pain.

I nodded and told him to stay put before walking over to retrieve the communicator, Pyrrhaks was agitated at me for so carelessly running into the open but was relieved his sons were ok. When he was done barking reprimands at me he asked for a status report, "Little Machine captured, my Captain" I told him.

Pyrrhaks audibly sighed before replying, "Good, return with it, do not linger".

"Stand?" I asked, looking to my brother. There was a hesitant glow in Brykis's eyes but after a pause he tried to force himself to his feet, he let out a pained howl and fell back. Before he could try again I put a hand on his chest and shook my head wordlessly telling him to stay, "Cannot make climb, need pick up, injured".

"Understood" Pyrrhaks replied.

Turning I looked up toward the shuttle we had docked in to see the vague silhouette of our skiff hovering out of the damaged shuttle and descend. It wasn't until I turned my attention back to my Brykis that I locked eyes with the little machine and realized it was starring, never taking it's gaze from me. How long had it been observing me, it's mechanical cyan blue eye just watching silently, I couldn't tell if it was if it was scared, angry, nothing, the little machine was simply fixated. Then it cocked it's outer shell to one side somehow managing to look...curious? Breaking my own fixation on the thing I shifted my attention to my brother and immobilizing his leg.

A few minutes after I immobilized my brother's leg Pyrrhaks arrived with the skiff and brought it in close so Brykis could board safely and we could ensure our quarry was loaded properly. Once both were secured I flew us the whole way back to the guild while father tended to Brykis, drip feeding ether and making sure his leg would not need to be removed. Upon our return one of the scouts that had originally reported their sitting of the little machine greeted us as we disembarked. "Find 'special thing' did you?" he asked cryptically, calmly, not wanting to cause a commotion, Pyrrhaks nodded in reply, "Will tell, Arkon" he chittered before scurrying off.

"All, gather in Ceremony Hall, grand news is upon us this day!" the voice of Ogethres boomed through the compound with a joyous tone. Retrieving the little machine from the skiff and hiding it beneath his cape Pyrrhaks motioned for us to follow.

The Ceremony Hall, the second largest chamber in the compound and reserved for only the most...well ceremonious of occasions. Only those who maintain it ever enter when there is no ceremony being held but when there is the whole guild is packed in to witness the event. Most often it was used for celebrating and recognizing Dregs as the ascended to Vandal-hood or even a Vandal to Captain. Today however was different, today it would be used to recognize a Captain and the Dregs he saw as sons for their triumph. To successfully capture a living Ghost is one of the greatest feats an Eliksni can achieve.

I was up on stage with the Arkon of our guild standing above and behind me, my father and Captain to me left and my brother just past him with the whole guild before us. We stood proud, tall and at attention as Ogethres spoke. "Eliksni of Kings and Winter, of Dusk, we gather to recognise these three" his voice echoed through the chamber without him having to raise his voice. "These three captured living Ghost!" wordlessly Pyrrhaks pulled the makeshift net out from under his cap, holding it and the little machine up for all to see. The chamber filled with chittering, clicks, screeches and howls, all of which were silenced by the wave of Ogethres's hand. "You three, I invoke my right as Arkon, PYRRHAKS MY BARRON, your sons now Vandals, CLAIM YOUR NAMES". Together my brother and I claimed the names we had been called since we were Sprogs, the ones we made for each other since we could vocalize.

"Brykis, son of Barron Pyrrhaks" he shouted fist raised in triumph.

"Ellrimksyt, son of Barron Pyrrhaks" I yelled proud of my heritage.

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[luvknow]

royal au | the prince, lee felix

PRINCE - next in line for the crown.

LEE FELIX was the most adored prince in all the land. the townspeople dubbed him prince charming when the king held a party in celebration of his birth and all he did was giggle and smile at all the people. felix grew up to be the most handsome and sought after prince in the entire world. but to you, every person who bore a crown was the same - it meant they had money, and lots of it. as a highly-trained thief, you’ve stolen from people of all social statuses and always succeeded, moving from kingdom to kingdom so you would never be found. the lees were your next target, but you realized this heist wouldn’t be as easy as your previous ones when the prince takes an interest in you.

enemies to lovers ; fluff ; female reader ; 6k

woojin | chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | FELIX | seungmin | jeongin

the backstory of how you became a thief was just like any other thief’s - typical and painfully sad.

the homeless life in your home kingdom was dangerous because stealing was a straight-to-execution crime.

the second you were caught in the market stealing from the pockets of nobles or even a few apples, authorities would drag you to the guillotine or to be hung - it depended on how they were feeling that day.

but that mostly applied to adults. kids were a bit different, but it was much easier to steal as a kid because people felt sorry for you.

you didn’t want to take any chances, though, so you stole things carefully.

soon, it became second nature to you and that’s how you survived through the days.

whether it was money or food, you honed the skill quite well with both distraction and stealth and you thought no one had caught you.

then one day, as you were eating your loaf of bread, a woman wearing a mask cornered you in an alley.

you thought she was the wife of the baker and was ready to kill you right then and there, but that was not the case at all.

“you’re pretty good at that, little one,” she said seductively. “can you show me that again? i’ll make it worth your while.”

she dangled a little baggie of coins in front of your face and who were you to refuse that? you nodded eagerly, awaiting her demand.

“good. go get that jar of honey for me, will you, sweetheart?”

the jars of honey were stacked neatly on a crate placed closest to the shop owner. this was probably your most dangerous product yet, but you literally had nothing to lose.

other than your life, of course, but even that didn’t matter so much.

the shop owner was busy flirting with some brothel worker when you approached the shop. since distracting was already covered, you had one less job to do.

the jars were quite big and oddly-shaped, so sticking this in your shirt would not be ideal.

instead, since the sleeves of your dirty shirt were long and oversized, your plan was to slip one inside and carry it that way.

when you stopped in front of the honey, you did your usual look-around, making sure no one was watching you.

then, you snagged a jar and zig zagged your way through the market to lose sight of anyone you missed who could have been watching you.

you appeared in front of the lady minutes later, who was startled by how quiet and quick you were.

you were perfect.

“oh, thank you! here’s your payment, as promised,” she said, handing you the small bag.

as you held the coins curiously, not used to the weight and amount, she continued on. “do you have a home, little one?”

you shook your head.

a mischievous grin grew on your painted lips. “would you like one?”

turns out your new older sister is one of the most wanted people in the entire world with a very heavy bounty on her head.

she refuses to get caught but also refuses to give up this luxuriously dangerous life she worked so hard for.

that’s where you come in. her purpose is to train you to become as skilled and stealthy as her and have you do all the dirty work in exchange for some of the earnings and companionship.

you didn’t hesitate at the opportunity. it’s not like you had anything better to do.

besides, all the training was a lot of fun! you learned to shoot arrows, fight with a sword, and some hand-to-hand combat skills.

you trained from dawn to dusk as you and your master travelled between kingdoms. when the sun set was when you went about your nightly missions.

some nights were easy, some nights you nearly got yourself killed, but in the end, you always came back with your pockets and bags filled with whatever your master wanted.

“here’s that damn love potion you wanted so much,” you pouted at her one night. “i normally don’t believe in that magic mumbo jumbo, but after almost getting set on fire, i think you might be onto something with this magic stuff.”

“but of course i’m right, my dear - when am i ever wrong?” she took the black vial from your hands with care and looked at it with sparkles in her eyes. “isn’t she so powerful? oh, the wonders i could do with this...”

“who do you plan on using it on?”

she shrugged carelessly. “i don’t know. maybe a king, or something.”

the next kingdom you settled into was your master’s most highly-anticipated target.

The Lee Kingdom, known for their rich crops and strong wine, was one of the most flourishing kingdoms you’ve ever seen.

everything was golden and warm and you think to yourself how you wouldn’t mind staying here for a while.

and that’s exactly what your master had set up for you.

“this will be our last heist together,” she told you that evening.

“what? why?”

“because after this, i will have taught you everything i know and we will be rich enough to live the rest of our lives freely. and who knows, i might not even live to see you succeed.”

“don’t say that...”

“_____, my dear, this heist is going to be very dangerous for the both of us, so you have to be careful, ok?”

“who are we stealing from that makes this so dangerous?”

“a king, of course.”

you’ve stolen from honest merchants, sleazy priests, and drunk nobles, but you’ve never stolen from someone as highly-regard as the king himself.

this was going to be the toughest mission you’ve ever executed, but if this would make her happy, then you’d do anything.

“you’ll start off small,” she explained, swirling her first glass of wine tonight. “start with the merchants for food and supplies and you’ll work your way up from there. oh, and get to know the townspeople - we’re going to be here for a while.”

“a while? why’s that?”

“the king’s birthday is about a couple of months away and we need to get on the invite list or else the plan won’t work. only the most highly-regarded people get to attend the king’s birthday.”

“and how do you plan on getting us on the list?”

she pulled out the love potion vial with her signature mischievous smirk on her red lips. “using this, of course.”

well, between the two of you, if there was anyone that was going to seduce the king, she would be the perfect person to do it.

she always said fatal attraction and law of seduction were important aspects of being a good thief, but that wasn’t really your alley, at least not yet, so you’ll leave all that nonsense to her.

your first pick-ups in the new kingdom were getting the basics, like bread, meat, silverware, some medicine, and more wine, of course.

it was easy when the streets were quiet and dark at such an early time - it was barely past dinner when everything closed down for the evening.

the townspeople must have really trusted each other, too, because they didn’t do much to hide or lock up all of their goods for safekeeping.

you dropped off your first round of goods to your master, who happily poured herself yet another glass of wine, before you decided to head out again for round two.

the night was still young, so you might as well keep going until you got bored.

somewhere off in one of the many alleys of the kingdom, you heard a bunch of cats meowing.

normally, you would think of that as a bad sign, like maybe they felt a bad spirit there, or something stupid.

but they sounded so hungry and you were feeling guilty hoarding all this fish in your bag.

it was starting to smell, anyways.

when you arrived to the scene of nearly a dozen cats, someone had already beat you to the punch.

a boy not much older or younger than you bent down to place several bowls of cat food in front of the meowing fur balls.

they kept on snuggling against him and you could tell he was struggling.

“do you need some help with that?” you teased.

startled to death, the boy dropped the bowls with a loud, echoey clang.

you felt guilty, so you went to help him regardless.

“sorry if i scared you,” you apologized.

the boy said nothing as he stared at you in awe.

even in the dark, he thought you were so beautiful.

“hello?” you called out, waving your hand in front of the open-mouthed boy. "you got a little drool there.”

“huh? o-oh!”

quickly, he wiped away the drool you were obviously joking about, but he wouldn’t take any chances - he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he was drooling.

you decided to ignore the awkward encounter and focus on the now-angry cats awaiting their meals.

“damn, these cats must be starving...” you noted.

“i’d be starving, too, if my caretaker hadn’t fed me all day.”

“wait, you own all of these cats!?”

“and then some. the rest are probably sleeping or looking for their own food. but i don’t own them, i just feed them. my dad’s allergic to cats, so i can’t have any at the castle.”

“ah, that’s unfortunate - wait, did you say castle...?”

“yeah?” he said as if it was so obvious. “don’t you know? i’m the prince.”

“the prince!?” you shrieked.

this was almost too perfect - like it was a trap set just for you. but the mission literally could not get any more perfect.

your plan was set in stone. you’d befriend the prince, get invited to the party, and steal from all the snobby, rich royals who were getting drunk off their ass on some wine.

“are you not from around here?” the boy asked.

“n-no! not really. i travel a lot with my older sister,” you lied. “we just came in this morning.”

“oh! well, welcome to our humble kingdom. my name is felix.”

“i’d hardly call your kingdom humble, dear prince. it’s one of the largest and most flourishing kingdom’s i’ve ever travelled to.”

“ah well, i try to be humble, but as you pointed it out, the kingdom kind of speaks for itself.” the cute boy scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “s-so, will you be staying long...?”

“i think so. can’t imagine why we’d be leaving soon.”

“oh, good! good... well, if you need someone to show you around, i’m always free.”

“wow, a personal tour from the prince himself?” you teased. “how gentlemanly of you.”

“so did you want to...?”

“i’ll think about it.”

you left the boy awestruck and confused, but he liked you because of that. you were definitely interesting.

“wait, what’s your name!?” he asked.

“_____!” you called out to him.

felix felt like he could fly after he met you.

you came home with your fishy bag and a cute smile on your face, hoping big sis would miss it, but of course she didn’t - she never missed any detail about anything.

“what’s with the smirk?” she asked, taking a roll of bread.

“you’ll never guess who i just met - the prince.”

you saw her sit up straight with the widest eyes. “you’re lying.”

“i could not make this up if i tried.”

you saw a dangerous twinkle in her eye.

“perfect.”

you spent the days getting to know the townspeople and the little secrets of the town while at night you would do your nightly pickings and meet up with felix afterwards.

he was an interesting boy - he wasn’t like any other boy or prince you’ve ever met.

he was awkward... but very cute and kind. there were moments when you were with him that you almost felt bad about your purpose here.

but you had to look at the bigger picture - this wasn’t for you, this was for big sis.

while you were feeding the cats with felix on your seventh night in the kingdom, a loud crash that sounded like a broken vase echoed through the empty village, sending the once-peaceful cats running and you on high alert.

it wasn’t like you were stealing or doing anything bad, but being so used to being careful at night, any noise would startle you.

“you’re like a cat, too, aren’t you?” felix teased. “always active at night, fiesty, nervous ~”

“i am not nervous, that noise was really loud...”

“uhuh. maybe the spirits are coming out early this year.”

“... what spirits...?”

“y’know, like dead people’s spirits. the 31st is coming up, after all. that’s the day when they like to roam the streets the most.”

“... you’re lying...”

“i mean, i’m sure that’s all just a myth, but the kingdom loves to celebrate on the 31st.”

“oh? doing what?”

“well, instead of all the shops being open in the daytime, everything opens at night so the spirits can mingle with us, or something like that. the people decorate the kingdom with tons of flowers, pumpkins, and skulls. it’s actually one of my favorite festivals.”

“ah, interesting.”

that meant bad news for you - you couldn’t steal things when there were so many people around and you wouldn’t dare to try in daylight.

you’ll just have to double your stash the night before.

“so,” felix began. “did you... maybe want to go...?”

“hm? to the festival? sure i guess, why not.”

“cool! great...!”

“oh wait, did you mean with you?”

“i... y-yes...?” he stuttered.

“then in that case, i’d love to go with you.”

he groaned loudly before hitting you playfully. “why are you like this?”

“because you’re cute when you blush.”

in between the day he told you about the festival and the festival itself, you both went about your business and meeting up at night as normal.

except he liked spending time with you so much that he even walked you ‘home’.

‘home’ as in some random house down the block of where you were actually staying.

felix would always insist on waiting for you to get inside the house before he left, but you told him you’d go in through the back so you wouldn’t have to pick the lock every time, and he fell for it.

this whole lying to felix thing and the huge heist big sis had planned was really conflicting.

the handsome prince and his kind family didn’t deserve what was coming for them, but then again big sis gave you a life. a whole purpose.

the heist was about a month away, so you still had some time. for now, you’ll just enjoy your time with felix.

big sis decided to join in on the festivities and spent the night by the winery of course.

you ended up wandering around, eyeing all the goods you wanted, but wouldn’t touch. today was your day off, so you were going to enjoy it with felix by your side.

everything about the festival was as beautiful as felix described - the flowers were a mix of bright warm colors to match the pumpkins, the skulls were bejeweled, and the rest of the decorations were pitch black.

just your type of aesthetic.

after an hour of casually looking for him, you finally found felix in the middle of town square, but he wasn’t alone.

he was surrounded by nearly every girl in town, smiling and laughing with them.

no, you weren’t jealous - why would you be?

he was the prince, after all. that meant he was the most eligible bachelor in the entire kingdom - of course he’d be popular with the ladies.

you wouldn’t be so upset if he didn’t ask you to go to the festival with him in the first place if he was just going to socialize.

now you felt a bit foolish.

until he called out your name.

“_____!!” he screamed across the courtyard.

felix politely dismissed himself from the group before slipping past them to run to you.

“hey!” he gasped, slightly out of breath. “just in time!”

“you didn’t have to leave them to run to me,” you muttered embarrassingly. you shrunk a bit in front of felix to hide yourself from the glaring group of girls.

“but i want to be with you.”

you blushed deeply. what a charming prince. “you’re cute."

felix was the shy one now and walked ahead of you in some random direction. “let’s go!”

“but who are they?” you couldn’t help but ask after catching up. “are they your suitors?”

“yes and no... technically, they all are, but i’m free to choose whom i want to marry someday.”

“what makes them a suitor? are they royalty, too?”

“no. minimum requirement is they have to live here.”

“is that so? does that make me a suitor then, too?” you teased.

“w-well, you have to be a permanent resident to be a suitor, not a traveller.”

“ah, that’s a shame. i was going to say i’m winning.”

“you wouldn’t be wrong.”

being friends with the prince definitely had its upside.

you got to know the townspeople even better than you already had and you got free stuff mostly because both felix and the shop owners refused to let you pay.

you learned a lot about felix from the town tonight.

you learned that he was a prince everyone loved dearly, that he was kind to all his people, and it was like he denounced his princely title when he was amongst his people - he wanted to be just like everyone else.

“thank you, mr. choi,” felix bowed respectfully to the baker. “you always know my favorite snacks.”

“it’s really good!” you beamed happily after biting into the pastry.

“you never have to be so formal with me, your highness,” the baker chuckled. “you’re the prince, for god’s sake!”

“but i want to,” he pouted.

“well, i’m just glad i even had any of these left. i’ve been running really low on ingredients and stuff lately, and you know what’s crazy? so has everyone else! the han’s don’t have much metal left for weapons, the park fish market has been low on inventory, and the kwon winery got hit the worst! i’m surprised they’re open right now...”

“what are you saying?” felix asked, concern written all over his freckly face.

“the whole town thinks we have a thief.”

whoops.

now that a thief was being suspected, you’d have to lay off for a little while, but you don’t think it’ll be a problem.

“a thief? in our kingdom?”

“that’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?”

“i’ll alert my father immediately.”

“thank you, your highness. you’re so kind.”

for a moment, felix was frustrated and angry at himself that he didn’t even suspect anything bad was going on in his kingdom in the first place.

but when he looked at you, his anger seemed to melt away.

that night, you learned that felix adored you.

whenever you were talking to the shop owners, browsing through all the products, or bending down to talk to some children, whatever you were doing, his eyes were glued to you.

under the glow of all the string lights, you were even more beautiful the day he met you - now that he could see you clearly, of course.

everyone saw it. the town, his suitors, even you caught him looking at you a couple of times, but he wouldn’t look away from embarrassment.

his smile would widen to a cheesy grin then he’d look away.

who knew in such a short amount of time you’d get the loving prince to fall for you day-by-day, all because you fed cats together.

after the shops closed and people were turning in for the night you tugged on the prince’s sleeve.

“do you know what time it is ~?” you sang.

“our favorite past time together ~”

“our only past time together...”

“we can always change that.”

the cats meowed their song and felix treated them all to real fish and chicken instead of that kibble stuff he’d usually give them.

you couldn’t help but notices how furrowed his brows were which clearly meant he was thinking about the whole thief thing.

guilt was rising in your chest and now you were nervous.

“are you ok?” you asked him.

“yeah... no. no, i’m not. the thief thing is going to be on my mind all the time until they’re caught. god, i’m so angry! who would steal from these good, honest people!?”

“a terrible person...”

“you’re right.”

“do you have any idea who it might be?”

“no idea. what i do know is that they’re smart and highly skilled. there’s no way i’m going to find them...”

you take felix’s balled-up fists in your hands and he immediately relaxes upon your touch.

you can tell he’s unsure and nervous of what you’re doing, but you simply hold onto his hands and you receive a gentle squeeze in return.

“don’t worry too much, ok? it’s not your fault this is happening.”

“i know, it just... sucks...”

“you’ll catch them.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.”

felix released one of his hands to tuck some stray hairs behind your ear and kept his hand to your cheek afterwards, his thumb drawing gentle lines on the apples of your cheeks.

he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you, but he held himself back.

“hey, so there’s party that’s coming up that my father’s going...” he trailed off.

this was it. this was yours and big sis’s ticket into the last heist.

why weren’t you excited?

“it’s for his birthday and it’s an invite only,” he continued. “would you like to go with me?”

“hm, i don’t know ~” you teased. “will your suitors be there, too?”

felix rolled his eyes playfully. “yes, some of them will be, but i want to be by your side the whole night.”

“really...?”

“really.” he pulled out a formal invitation in fancy parchment and handed it to you. “will you go? please?”

“on one condition.”

“anything for you.”

“can i bring my sister? i rarely see her these days, since i spend all my free time with you.”

“of course she can come.”

“then i’ll be there, your highness.”

when you came home to your big sis, you threw the invitation on the table and nearly burst into tears.

“i can’t do it,” you muttered.

“what?” she seethed. “we’re so close! you put in so much work already!”

“the town already suspects a thief is here and taking their stuff, we’ll be caught and execute right away!”

“you knew the dangers coming into this, why are you surprised?”

and then it clicked in her head.

“you love him, don’t you?” she scoffed.

you don’t say anything.

“foolish girl. even if he does love you back, what will happen? you’ll leave me in the dust to marry him and live here happily ever after? what makes you think he’d love some lowlife traveller, hm? when he’s got suitors lined up for miles?”

god, you really wish she didn’t say that.

“listen. this is our last heist together. help me steal from the king, and i’ll leave you be here to live off your fantasy. but if you don’t i’ll tell him everything. your whole life, your purpose here, that you’re the thief - everything. so will you help me, or not?”

you only nod as a response.

“good girl.”

it was the night of the big party and you and big sis were dressed to the nines, thanks to the jewelry shops in town.

felix’s castle was beautiful. you could only ever dream of living in a place like this.

the great hall was decorated with all of the king’s favorite flowers and candles and all of the tables had piles and piles of meat on it, ready to be devoured.

big sis mindlessly made her way towards the king, where she’d wish him a happy birthday and the plan would move on from there.

just when the anxiety of being alone was creeping up on you, a hand swooped in to lace itself with yours.

a handsome felix looked down at you adoringly with sparkles in his eyes, drinking in every centimeter of beauty that was you.

“hi,” he said breathlessly. he bowed down and kissed the back of your hand like a true prince.

“your highness, you’re so charming ~” you gasped.

“only with you. shall we?”

you and felix sat at the far ends of the table where his parents also sat.

big sis sat right next to the king, playing with the vial of love potion under the table, smirking in the process.

she must have slipped it in already.

you still held onto felix’s hand before the dinner commenced and you must have been unconsciously squeezing it tighter and tighter as time passed because he’d steal side glances of concern at you from time to time.

you’d then immediately loosen your grip and give him a reassuring smile in return.

the air inside the castle was suffocating.

“a toast!” the king began, standing up and holding up his poisoned goblet. everyone soon followed his suit. “thank you all for coming to celebrate my special day. let’s eat and drink well tonight! cheers!”

“cheers!”

and so the king drank the potion.

the food was amazing - you expected nothing less from a king himself. but it was hard to enjoy it when you were eyeing the king and big sis talking the whole night.

when dinner was over, the real party started, and you thought maybe in the pool of all these people, you’d be able to slip away from big sis and never come back -

“will you dance with me?” felix asked.

he held out his hand for you to take and who were you to refuse an offer you once dreamed about when you were a little girl?

gladly, you took his hand and he guided you to the middle of the dance floor where he laid one hand on your waist and another held your own and you immersed yourself in this waltz.

“i didn’t take you as someone who knew how to dance,” you noted.

“it’s part of the princely package.”

the music had slowed and so did you and felix. now his hands were on your waist and he held you close, hoping you’d never slip away.

“when do you leave?” he asked the dreaded question.

“soon.”

“don’t.”

“what do you mean...?”

“i mean don’t leave. stay here, with me.”

“i can’t.”

“why not?” he begged. “do you not want to?”

“no! of course i want to, i just... i don’t think this was meant to be.”

“what...?”

from behind felix, you saw big sis whisking away the king to god knows where - probably to his chamber, where she’d tie him up while you and her did the dirty work.

you needed to stop her fast.

“stay here, i’ll be right back,” you said, breaking away from felix’s iron grip.

“where are you going!?”

“somewhere! i’ll be back, i promise.”

like a tragic ending to a fairy tale, felix watched you slip away into the empty mass of the castle. for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to follow you.

what was the point, anyways? when you didn’t want to stay here with him.

but your answer was so vague, what was he supposed to think of it?

before it was too late, felix ran off to find you.

it was easy to navigate around the giant castle when there were clear signs of how to get to the royal chambers. you figured the well-lit and finely-decorated pathways led the way to them.

from outside of what you assumed was the king’s master chamber, you heard the king muffle something you couldn’t understand.

she must have already tied him up.

you kicked the door open, only to reveal the king alone in the room.

“fuck,” you cursed. before anyone could see, you began untying the frightened king.

“_____...?”

your heart dropped when you saw felix standing in the doorway, looking confused.

“what are you doing?” he asked.

you ignored his question. “help me untie your father.”

he did as you told in silence, trying to piece together what or who you were. you weren’t telling him something, but he’ll figure it out soon.

conveniently, the king kept a crossbow near his bed for protection. so you took it and a bunch of arrows, ready to do something you thought you’d never have to do.

“what are you doing with that!?” the prince demanded after he released his coughing father.

“i’ll explain later -”

“no, explain it to me now.” felix was angry now, and you were frightened, but you had to remind yourself you were doing this for him.

“follow me. we don’t have much time.”

you left the chamber with felix following closely behind you, confused and frustrated.

“you have to tell me where you keep your everything - your coins, jewelry, gold - all of it, where do you keep it?” you asked frantically.

“why?”

“because the thief is here and we’re going to catch her.”

“what!?” he shrieked. “everything’s kept in a safe in the dungeon -”

“show me.”

felix led you a long journey to the dungeon to which you assumed you’d be calling home by the end of the night when felix found you out.

but that was the consequence of the heist, and you knew that.

the safe door was huge and opened just a crack where light shone through the opening. from just outside, you could hear big sis fumbling around, stuffing whatever she could in whatever carrier she brought with her.

you opened the safe just a bit more and aimed the crossbow right at her head.

her manic laughter echoed through the safe and beyond the dungeon, sounding like an evil witch or sorceress. even felix was frightened of her.

“has it really come to this?” she asked, looking at you straight in the eyes. “you wouldn’t really do this to me, would you? to me, your big sis?”

“what is she talking about?” felix asked.

“oh, your highness! don’t you know? _____’s the thief! we’re in this together!”

“what? _____, tell me she’s lying...”

you didn’t say anything.

“she did all ~ the stealing herself,” she sang. “of course, i was the mastermind behind all of this, but she did the dirty work! she really fooled you, huh? but like every fairytale, the thief fell in love with the prince, and now she’d do anything for him. even kill the one person who gave here life purpose.”

if big sis loved you as much as you loved her, you would have been more conflicted about your choices. but she didn’t and she only used you to survive off of the things you stole from good people.

you’ve never pulled the trigger on someone so quickly.

the arrow lodged right through her skull and she fell to the ground with a loud thud.

you dropped the crossbow and turned back to look at felix, hoping you could finally explain yourself.

but he wasn’t there.

so now you were alone again, at least for a couple of minutes before the guards got there to take you away and lock you in the dungeon, just as you predicted.

the cell was cold, dark, and lonely, but even this was more than you deserved.

you’re not sure how many days have passed by now, but you’d hope at least one of those days felix would have visited you, wanting an answer.

but he never did, and you didn’t blame him.

on what you assumed was the fifth day, your cell opened, and a few guards picked you up and dragged you out without any explanation.

when you left the dungeon, you’ve never been so happy to see the sun shining.

the guards took you to the great hall where the king, the queen, and felix sat on their thrones patiently waiting for you.

you were too embarrassed to even look at him, but his gaze bore holes into you, as if he was demanding you look at him.

so you did, just for a second, and in that moment you saw how hurt and disappointed he was at you.

you were thrown to your knees in front of the royal family.

“miss _____, is it?” the kind king asked.

“yes, sir.”

“it has come to my attention that you are the one that has been stealing from all the shops in town, is that correct?”

“yes, sir.”

“i see... normally, the sentence for something like this would be execution, but you did save my life and eliminated the woman behind all of is. for that, i owe you, so you are free to stay in this kingdom. if you are caught stealing again, you will be sentenced to death, is that clear?”

“yes, sir.”

“excellent. now get out of my sight.”

you struggled to get up, not used to using your legs just yet as you spent five days sitting on concrete.

the guards unshackled you, revealing bloody wrists and ankles.

you were free - from big sis, from the life you once live, from everything.

it should feel amazing. and it does at first, but now you’re alone again.

you have to leave.

after washing out the scum for nearly an hour, you were good as new, with only the scars left on your skin. you packed up anything that you could in a backpack, along with some of the stuff you stole, since it wasn’t like you were going to give it back.

you locked up the place and made your way towards the kingdom gates, ready to leave and never come back.

“you lied about where you lived, too?” you heard felix say from behind. “is your name even _____?”

you paused, turning around to see felix jogging up to you from down the street, where you told him you lived.

as he approached, your gaze was set on the floor, where it belonged.

“so you’re just going to leave without explaining anything to me? without saying goodbye? nothing?”

tears welled up in your eyes. how could you explain it to him? in what way could you explain this whole thing and have him understand? you didn’t think you even deserved a goodbye from him, so what was the point?

“say something,” he demanded.

“i can’t stay,” you muttered. “it’s not fair to you.”

“if i said i want you to stay, will you stay?”

“what?” you cried out. “i stole from you and i lied to you, why would you want that?”

“because you love me, don’t you?” felix’s voice was desperate, hoping that was the one thing you couldn’t have lied to him about. “i know that’s not a lie, am i right? tell me you love me, too.”

“of course i love you.”

“then if you love me, you’ll stay, right?”

“felix -”

“please,” he begged. he held your face in his hands and gently lifted your face up forcing you to look at him. “just stay for a while longer. we’ll talk about everything, just... please don’t go.”

“ok,” you nodded. “i’ll stay.”

felix let out a huge sigh of relief, pressing a long, loving kiss to your forehead.

“good. will you show me where you actually live now?”

the night was spent inside your humble home telling the story of your entire life before and during your time with big sis.

whether he understood why you are the way you are or not, you’re still unsure, but falling asleep wrapped up in felix’s arms had to have been a good sign, right?

[ilytuan]

Legend Of The Painted 「jaehyun」

genre › art to life!au ︱ fluff ︱ angst 

pairing › reader ︱ jaehyun ft. taeyong

word count › 8,327

warning › character death

The sun rose its way up to the highest point in the sky, illuminating the entire space you liked to call your home. It wasn’t the largest or grandest place, but you lived here with Taeyong and the prism glass windows which bordered along one huge wall in the living room from floor to ceiling, offered the brightest sunlight on any day and kept you warm, which was more than enough. Rent was reasonably cheap too, and for struggling college students like you and Taeyong, it was the finest you could get. It was midday, and the clock in the kitchen was ticking obnoxiously, telling you to get a move on before you would risk being late.  

“You don’t mean to tell me that you’re blowing me off for what? An art museum?”

Taeyong had never been a fan of your interest in art or even the topic itself. He much preferred for you to fawn over his music or even music in general or divulge yourself in a book; but you would prefer to sit in obscene silence and you couldn’t seem to sit still or concentrate enough on a book for long before all the words start to blur together into one big incomprehensible bubble. Art didn’t need words or a sound to be what it was, which was what you loved most about it. You could find yourself immersed in a painting in complete silence because it wasn’t telling you what to feel. Taeyong simply didn’t know what made you so fascinated by the topic and found it a rather boring thing to be desirous of.

It wasn’t just a mere topic to you though. It was a form of life.

“I am, and I’m going to continue doing it until you learn how to deal with it, or God forbid, join me.” You spoke out, not even sparing him a glance though you could tell there was a look of betrayal on his handsome features. There always seemed to be one on his face whenever you spoke of art, as if one day you would pack your bags and leave him for it. But there was slim to impossible chances of that happening, for you loved him entirely too much for that.

“Are you coming back for dinner at least?” Taeyong asked, which made you turn to finally spare him a look.

The tote bag which you held in your right hand fell out of your grasp and onto the couch when you saw the jilted look on his face and rushed to throw yourself into his arms, offering comfort the only way you knew how. He gladly welcomed you and breathed in your familiar scent of neroli and oranges, telling himself that he was overreacting because art couldn’t magically come to life and steal you away from him.

“I can’t promise anything. You know what I get like, but I’ll try babe.” You offered a smile, pulling back to look deeply into his chocolate brown eyes. The pleaded look he gave almost made you want to stay home and cuddle with him for the rest of the day, but the newly opened museum was beckoning your name and somehow, your heart too.

Taeyong bit his lip and nodded in affirmation, knowing there was no way he could stop you even if he so desperately tried. Sometimes he wondered if he had your heart, or if art did.  

Whenever you visited an art museum or saw a new painting that had recently been hung up on the pristine white walls of the Seoul Museum of Art, or even a local exhibition held by members of your community and high school students, you often found yourself completely immersed in the art for hours on end – you’d only be pulled out of the trance when a security guard came to inform you of the closing hours, or when you’d finish sketching an imitation of the painting for references that you’d put to use later when you got home.

“Eat without me if I’m not back by seven. I love you, Taeyong.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Taeyong parted with you after placing a chaste kiss on your cherry red tinted lips, wiping the stain off when he realised after your sly chuckle. You blew him a kiss in return, walking backwards until you reached the door and slipped on your dirty white sneakers.

There was a new museum opening up today near your crummy apartment, and you had been anticipating it with high expectations ever since you found a notice posted through your door informing you of its building hours and how it might get quite polluted and noisy at times. The months of fine dust and drilling noises were hardly a bother when you could look forward to the opening of the gallery and have even more artwork to marvel at.

In the entire Seoul metropolitan and maybe even the whole of Korea, there wasn’t a painting or sculpture that hadn’t been visited by you. While Taeyong spent most of his time in a recording room or dance studio to create and ameliorate his music and choreographies, you were almost always out in search of a painting or sculpture to glower at. When you got home, you’d dive into your art studio that you dedicated the vacant guest bedroom to, and waste the night away, painting and sketching what you saw earlier in the day in finer details, though you would never come even close to getting it to look as magnificent.

Jung Arts Gallery was opened by a couple who were art patrons popularly known amongst art students in your prestigious university. There wasn’t a soul in the art department who didn’t know of their names and reputation, thanks to the countless times they have donated and funded different exhibitions and gifted you with an enormous amount of supplies. They never showed up in person to deliver the goods themselves, but the bundles of paints, papers, marbles, canvases and clays that were delivered always contained a heartfelt, handwritten message from them, overflowing with their kind words and earnest wishes for you all to do well and excel at artistry.

To say you were excited to see their museum today was an understatement of the century. On other days, you might’ve reconsidered going to spend more time with Taeyong, but you felt something telling you that you must go today, no matter what. And there was always the possibility that the Jungs would be there to greet their visitors, since it was the opening day and quite a special and memorable one for them to celebrate. You could only dream about being able to meet them and send your sincere thanks for everything they’ve done for your school. Without their donations, there was no way your school would’ve been able to come close of building a reputation for itself and allow a chance for students to thrive in their talents and hone their skills.

There was a rumour that went around once, about how their alleged son had attended your school and was an art major who dedicated his entire life to painting and sculpting masterpieces, but who had passed away in an unfortunate accident that was never disclosed to the public for it being much too heart wrenching. People say that’s the reason why the Jungs donate so much to your school – as a way to give what they were never able to give their son while he was alive. But you never listened long enough to hear the full gossip. They were merely rumours after all.

–

“Welcome. Please take your time in having a look around.”

A middle aged woman was standing near the entrance of a grand and pristine building, made entirely out of the finest quality of oak wood and glass windows. Her hair was tied back professionally in a low bun and it was a flattering shade of brown in contrast to her milky white skin. She wore a white turtleneck and a pair of crisp beige slacks that matched the oak floors of the building. She wore a warm smile and greeted every person who was entering through the large glass doors that towered over her nearly twice her height. She shivered after a particularly cold gust of wind passed, at the same time that a man who looked slightly older than her walked out and put his arms around her in an attempt to warm her up.

You bounded over just as he was urging her inside to keep her protected from the cold, yet she still greeted you with a friendly and welcoming smile. “Welcome to Jung Arts Gallery. Take your time to look at the art and feel free to help yourself to any of the refreshments.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Jung. I’m Y/N, an art major at Seoul Arts University.”

You weren’t usually an assertive or very talkative person but you wanted to introduce yourself to her and thank her for all of the donations she’s given your school. The way she carried herself and stood at the door welcoming people was a dead giveaway of who she was, even if she wasn’t wearing a nametag or had a flag over her head bearing her name. Mrs. Jung was graceful and elegant, and she aura exuded told you that she was a highly respectable and professional woman. That much was obvious, and the spectacular building behind her was just an added bonus to her endowment.

“Ah, yes. It’s lovely to meet you too. Are you here to see the art?” She asked, the gentle smile still on her face and if it was anyone else, you would’ve thought it to be fake, but she was truly genuine.

“I am. I’ve been looking forward to this day for months.”

“I see. Will you be here for long?”

“Probably until the closing hours. I tend to get lost in the art sometimes.” You smiled sheepishly as you scratched your head. Mrs. Jung nodded to herself, allowing her husband to pull her into the building. “Feel free to stay as long as you’d like. We can talk over a cup of tea afterwards.”

Nodding, you bowed respectfully to her and thanked her for her kindness before making your way into the first area of the building which was brightly lit by the sun’s rays and LED lights and had high ceilings windows, similar to the ones in your home. Paintings of sceneries and mountains were in this room, and it looked to be the most popular. Although you haven’t seen the other ones yet, more than half of the room was filled with observers and a small circle around each of the eight paintings, so you gave each one a brief glance and made a mental note to come back when it was less crowded. Regardless, they looked amazing from what little bits you saw and you were highly looking forward to coming here again.

The next room was similar, but there was only one window and five paintings. They were portraits. You recognised one to be of Mrs. Jung, another of Mr. Jung, and the three others you didn’t recognise. One of them was a painting of a young man though, pictured to be around your age and he looked breath taking. There was only three other people in this room, all absorbed in the other paintings and leaving you to stare at the young man in peace and solidity. You were almost sure that you let out an involuntary gasp, mesmerised by his handsome features and the detail of the painting, so much so that it rivalled Taeyong’s looks.

Getting reminded of Taeyong, you looked away from the painting to grab your phone and shoot  Taeyong a text that you wouldn’t be home for dinner, almost completely sure that you would be joining Mrs. Jung for that cup of tea which she offered. It would be a delight and absolute honour if you could chat with her and learn about all of the art pieces in this gallery and you’d be a fool to pass up the once in a lifetime opportunity.

When you slipped your phone back into your bag and switched it off to avoid Taeyong’s bombarding messages that were almost guaranteed to come with his protective and sappy side that was missing you dearly, you looked back up to marvel at the painting again only, it was gone. Disappeared, as if it had never been there in the first place. You rubbed your eyes and blinked a few times, thinking that you were just seeing things from lack of nutrition or sleep but it was to of no avail. There wasn’t even a painting in its spot to replace what you had seen, or a plaque stating what the painting was of, of who it was.

“Excuse me, but are you okay? You’ve been staring at the wall for quite a while.” A gravelly and considerably deep voice spoke, and you turned around to answer only for your breath to completely hitch and die in your throat, leaving you speechless. He was the man in the painting.

His hair was styled the exact same way as in the painting – gelled up and parted to the side slightly, with wisps of hair falling down in front of his forehead. It was a light brown colour, and his skin was milky white and crystal smooth, not even a speck of a blemish aside from the dots of freckles that were scattered from his nose and across to his cheeks. They weren’t blemishes, but somehow added to his ethereal look, making you briefly wonder if he was real. His lips were red and plump and when he smiled unsurely at you, dimples appeared on the sides of his mouth in a magical manner, again, adding to his surreal and stunning look. His eyes were a warm brown colour, similar to Mrs. Jung and somehow, the sunlight was shining in directly from the sole window in that moment, illuminating his orbs and making them the prettiest golden colour that was utterly indescribable.

“Do I have something on my face? That’s why you’ve been staring for so long, right?” He spoke, and you held your breath, too dazed by his beauty to speak a word.

“Are you real?” You blurted, eyes blowing wide when you realised what you said aloud and getting embarrassed. The young man laughed, and you found yourself marvelling at him yet again. There was no way he was real.

“I’d hope so.” He amused, grinning at you as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet. He scratched the back of his head, and you noticed how pretty his hands were too – adorned with silver rings on almost every finger, which were slender and thin, with perfect nails too, not a trace of a bad habit to be seen such as picking on the skin around the edges or biting his nails.

Taeyong often bit his nails as a nasty habit and it was probably the only thing you hated about him. The thought of anyone biting their nails and leaving it ragged and unruly was unimaginable and revolting to you. Yet this man standing in front of you had nothing you wanted to hate. Physically, there was nothing possible about him that anyone could detest; envy, yes, but despise, definitely not.

“Am I interesting? Do I look like a phantom creature?” He spoke up again and raised his eyebrows slightly in mirth at your current dazed state. His eyebrows were tinted a brown colour to match his hair and were groomed to perfection, yet another thing to add to his list of perfections. This man was the human embodiment of perfection.

“It’s just that…weren’t you in the painting? On the wall?” You admitted, but as soon as the words left your mouth you realised how dim-witted you sounded. Of course he wasn’t in the painting. There was no possible way he could have been in the painting from just now. You convinced yourself that you were just tired and hallucinating today.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t come from a painting. Although I know my looks are out of this world.”

He laughed, and your heart sped up just from the sound of it. His voice, similar to his laugh, was of a gravelly and deep, baritone pitch – it was calming and peaceful to listen to, just the right tone of deep but not too deep and easily captured your heart. It wasn’t too excessive or fake. His laugh was genuine and intense, making you want to laugh and feel happy too.

“There’s no way you’re real.” You stated in disbelief, closing your eyes and wishing for him to disappear so you could stop feeling so out of your head. You opened them again and he was standing even closer to you, eyes almost in line with yours but his height wouldn’t allow him to be any closer unless he wanted to practically fold himself in half.

He was tall. Insanely tall. His legs were long and his torso was long too. His body was clearly built and well-defined, if the muscles bulging out the arms and chest of his white shirt had any say, and his thighs which were almost straining against the skin tight black skinny jeans he had on. If he was real, then he had to be a model or an actor, or maybe even both professions. Every detail about him screamed illusionary and if there was someone else in the room, you would’ve asked them to confirm his presence but it was only the two of you.

“Hmm, if you don’t want to believe that I’m real, how about this. We walk around the rest of this gallery together and you can decide by the end of it. Deal?”

“Deal. But I’m not going to change my mind.”

He laughed heartily, throwing his head back and his eyes crinkled slightly. There was no way he was real.

–

“So, what’s your name? Or will I just call you angel boy from the painting?”

“That works. Whatever you’d like, baby.”

���Okay no. My name’s Y/N. And just to be clear, I have a boyfriend. So what’s your actual name?”

“You can call me Jeffery.”

Jeffery frowned at the mention of Taeyong, looking mildly unpleased but you chose to ignore it and move on, looking at the paintings which were hung up flatteringly in a straight row across the room. They were still-life paintings, mostly of different kinds of food and you found yourself growing hungry, completely forgetting about the fact that you skipped breakfast and lunch to make it here to the opening on time without being tardy. And you were way too excited to be able to stomach anything regardless.

“Do you like art?” Jeffery asked in curiosity after a few moments of silence. He had never been one to keep quiet and preferred to talk, unlike you.

“I do but painting especially. I’m an art major too, but I’m not great at many aspects, just enjoy it.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing. It just takes some time to find the right mediums.”

You snorted, “if it takes my whole life then sure. Guess I can live with the ‘if I’m trying, one day it’ll work out’ mindset. Do you?”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m horrible at art but my paintings are somewhere between bordering on being boring and just right. I love painting the most too.”

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Sketching.” He stated simply. There was no reason to elaborate, and you didn’t push because you couldn’t sketch anything for the life of you either.

You wandered into the next room, where a single grand piano was placed in the centre and there was no windows. A painting of the piano was framed and placed on top strategically, but the rest of the room was empty and the walls were bare, as if to draw attention and focus to the instrument as the centrepiece. It was shining and glossy, reflecting the bright light that was above and in the ceiling, and the keys were cleaned to be flawless, not a speck of dust or fingerprint to be seen.

“Do you know how to play piano?” Jeffery asked you, to which you shook your head.

He gestured for you to sit in the leather stool and reassured you that it was completely okay to do so. Reluctantly, you sat down on the plush leather and placed your hands on your lap in a shy manner, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Put your hands on the keys, I’ll teach you how to play.”

You shot him an apprehensive look, not believing that it was appropriate to do this in the middle of an art museum and if he even really knew how to play. But then again, you haven’t found a single flaw or shortcoming on his body and probably even in his talents so trusting him on this couldn’t hurt.

“Trust me. I’m close with the owners and they put this here for people to enjoy some classical music. I was a top class pianist back in the day, baby.”

You snickered, laughing at the way he smirked and cocked an eyebrow in an attempt to feign confidence. “Sure you were. Show me what you’ve got, Jeffery.”

He stood behind you, hands ghosting over your arms just above your elbows as he moved them up to rest on the grandeur black and white keys. Your nimble fingers pressed down on a key experimentally, startling yourself when a low, resonant note played, echoing around the entire room and you were thankful no one else was around. If locals saw you with another man in this position, it wouldn’t be your brightest of days and Taeyong definitely wouldn’t be the happiest. Jeffery placed his hands over yours eloquently, his large hands almost twice the size of yours.

His hands cupped over yours slightly, as if moulding them together and they fit splendidly with each other, like they were made to be together and intertwined. Taeyong never really liked holding hands.

“The note you just played is a low E. Any songs you want to try or shall I just go for it?” He mused, waiting patiently for your response, although never taking his hands off of yours. They were warm and shielding yours from the cold air that travelled around the room, and you were glad because you can never quite do anything with cold and stiff hands.

“It’s up to you.”

Jeffery’s hands carried yours fluently across the different keys, as if he knew this piano like the back of his hand and was familiar with each and every note that your finger came into contact with. The melody that the instrument produced as his hands glided with yours across the keys was harmonious and one of the most angelic sounds you’ve ever heard – as expected of an angel boy.

You both played together like that for a few fleeting moments and you found yourself wishing it would never end, but like all good things, it must come to a breaking point.

“Are you sure you’ve never played before? That sounded great.” He expressed animatedly, eyes blown wide in amazement because he had never been able to play that well, even when he was a young student who was claimed to be a prodigy. Or maybe it was the emotion and soul in the music that he lacked, but either way, it sounded better by tenfold when he played it with you just there.

“One hundred and ten percent sure. I don’t even have enough money to afford a keyboard, let alone a piano or lessons.”

“There’s a piano right here.”

You groaned at him. “You expect me to learn how to play and practice here?”

He nodded back innocently and you chose to ignore it with a shake of your head, though you couldn’t disguise the smile that masked your face. You took his hand and pulled him into the next room, which was painted black and had no windows – a severe difference from the previous rooms you had just been in. Another thing you noticed too, was the difference of art works which had switched from paintings to unique and resplendent sculptures made with finest blocks of marble and moulds of clay, painted, sculpted and chiselled to utter perfection.

Sculpting wasn’t your strong suit and had never quite peaked your interest either, but there as something resonating with you from the different chiselled and carved faces of men and women alike. But there was a strange face on each of them, embodied entirely as different people and that was very apparent, but their facial expressions were all that of sadness and longing. Frowns and downturned lips, hazed eyes and even some had visible tears in their pupils which made your heart speed up from how genuine and realistic they were, and somehow even their body language looked sad – hunched shoulders, titled heads, slumped body and as if they were caving in on themselves in sadness.

“Are you crying?” Jeffery paused to round the corner that was your body and inspect you closer, but you avoided his gaze and moved your head away from him, in a similar structure to the sculptures. “You are crying. Is it because of the sculptures?”

“No, dumbass. I have an something in my eye. I may be emotionless half the time, but I don’t cry at art pieces.”

“The tears would beg to differ.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?” You asked incredulously, frantically wiping away the tears when he looked away to think.

“Not exactly, but you’re not being truthful either, are you?”

“They’re sculptures and not living people,” you admitted, glancing around at each of them, lingering for a moment longer on the large, white marble statue in the far corner or the room. It was the furthest away from all the rest, as if separated intentionally to draw less attention, but it intrigued you the most. The features were similar to the painting of the man you saw earlier that disappeared, and similar to Jeffery’s build – large and tall, well proportioned frame that had bulky arms and equally as bulky thighs, hair styled into wisps and locks atop of his crown, and the facial features were too small to make out from where you were but they would’ve been undoubtedly striking aswell.

“They were real people.”

You turned to give him a look full of swivvet, judging the words that just came out of his perfect mouth. “And how would you know that?”

“I’m close friends with the sculptor of these statues. He was inspired by the people around him who were always happy, and he wanted to add a twist by making them look sad.”

“And would he happen to have a name?”

“He wishes to remain anonymous.”

You huffed but said nothing in return.

–

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No way am I going to believe that.” You snorted, eyes staring into Jeffery’s as you both challenged each other, playful smiles on your face in mock anger.

“It’s true,” he snorted. “All the girls loved me in high school. I grew up in America for four years, and it did me wonders in getting all the ladies when I came back to Korea.” He raised his eyebrows in confidence, as if was an attractive action but it only served to make you double over in laughter.

“What, did girls chase you around the school and bombard you with chocolates on White Day?”

“They did!” He exclaimed, mirroring your laughter and adding in his own gravelly sound that was like music from the heavens. “I received a love confession too.”

You bit your lip to contain your laughter, examining his features that were almost bursting with joy to gauge if he was lying or not. How the topic even came into discussion was a wonder to you, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. You figured it was from the sculpture you just passed which was a broken heart made out of complicated and intricate paper designs to weave in and out of each other as it flowed whenever the strings it was attached to move to create a full heart. It briefly reminded you of Taeyong, but you chose not to dwell on him because you weren’t doing anything explicitly wrong with Jeffery; you were just gaining a new companion who you’d probably never see again after you disembarked at the end of the gallery’s trail.

“So, you have a boyfriend?” Jeffery inquired, shuffling his feet as he looked around at each of the paintings that were now of animals though they were mostly pet dogs or those fish and marine animals that you find in tourist aquariums. You hummed in response, immersed in one painting of a koi fish which was swimming majestically and was of the prettiest shades of oranges, reds and whites which made the whole thing look piebald and delineate. The way the water was coloured too created a surreal feeling and made the fish look like it was jumping out rather than just swimming beneath the surface.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You tore your gaze away from the painting for a brief moment to shoot him a look, raising an eyebrow quizzically when he laughed softly.

“Nope. Never have, never will.”

You cocked your head to the side. How was someone so stunning, not taken? And he didn’t even have plans of getting with someone. If it wasn’t for his vulnerable expression right now, you would’ve pushed for reasons but it didn’t look like he really wanted to talk about himself. You coughed to gather his attention away from the paintings and to you, wearing a soft smile on your face. “Busy with work huh. Gets to the best of us.” You joked.

He nodded as if he was diffident and pursed his lips, “is it fun? Dating, I mean.”

“As fun as life can get. Makes you see the world in a whole new light I guess, because you have someone to share it with.” You proclaimed, happy with just the thought of Taeyong.

The rapper had come into your life unexpectedly, but they say that love comes when you least expect it. And there were more good than bad times with him in your entire two-year relationship, so there was nothing to really complain about. Like the man standing before you, Taeyong was too good for words and sometimes you found yourself doubting if he was even real.

“Do you love him?” Jeffery probed, and you turned around to face him yet again after you had rotated away to lightly sketch the koi fish. He was looking at you intently this time though, and his eyes held some sort of desire, as if he really needed your truthful answer.

With a proud nod of your head and a halcyon smile dancing on your lips, you confirmed. “I do.”

He turned away without another word, walking briskly into the next destination and leaving you to scramble after him.

–

The sun was finally setting and night was creeping up the country, the moon rising slowly to illuminate and bring a soft glow into each room of the gallery. Most visitors had already departed, and you saw Mrs. Jung standing by the entrance again, thanking everyone for making the time to visit and that they were welcome to come again anytime. She looked the same as earlier, not a hint of fatigue or weariness to her which you greatly admired, because truthfully, you looked like you just went to sleep and woke up again – hair in a frizzy mess and makeup smudged from earlier when you were crying at the sculptures.

There wasn’t a single room or artwork in this entire gallery that didn’t charm and entice you beyond comprehension. Each painting and sculpture was of such a high quality and skill level that you couldn’t believe the artist wanted to remain anonymous. When such skills are put out to show to the world and for people to gaze at, you’d want your name to be plastered everywhere and for everyone to know who you were, but not everyone thinks alike.

You wished you could buy a souvenir or steal away one of the paintings for your own personal benefit, but that was undoubtedly illegal and there wasn’t even a gift store built to facilitate you desires. This whole gallery was truly only for admiring and appreciating art – not a single thing costed anything and you knew it cost a fortune to build because of the grandeur demeanour of the upscale building in your expensive Gangnam metropolitan.

“So, what did you think of everything?”

You almost forgot that Jeffery was still with you after staring at Mrs. Jung for so long. But he didn’t startle you, because his voice was soft and careful as if he knew that you were in a trance from all of the new art pieces you’ve seen today. It was almost pitch black outside, but you didn’t get nearly as enough done as you would’ve liked, thanks to his numerous distractions that pulled you in and out of a daze and you’re pretty sure you talked more today than you had in an entire month with Taeyong. You really didn’t see each other too often, which was why he got so upset whenever you left him to visit an art museum. You would say it’s completely worth it this time round though.

“Everything was so magnificent and beautiful. I loved everything, but I’ll have to come back before to really take in everything, because you talk so much.”

He laughed throatily, throwing his head back. “Do you have a favourite piece?”

You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from saying, ‘the painting I saw you in’, instead choosing to say, “the koi fish painting was resplendent. The colours were blended unbelievably well and I could get lost in those water ripples for hours. If it wasn’t for your blabbering.”

“I love that painting too.” He trailed off, and you followed his gaze to see him staring at Mrs. Jung, who was still smiling happily and bidding farewells, with the addition of Mr. Jung since the last time you were looking at her. Jeffery looked melancholic, like those sculptures you saw earlier. He wasn’t quite frowning, but his eyes held a sort of sorrow that the statues also had and you had to stop looking at him in order not to burst into tears like an overflowing water dam.

“I’d love to stay with you for hours, but I recall us making a deal. Have you decided whether I’m real or do I still look like a God to you?”

He sounded like he was amused by the whole situation, a smile parading around on his face as his eyes brightened and sparkled, making the sad look from earlier completely disappear into thin air, almost as if it never existed.

If you were being quite honest, the whole day had been so much fun and a totally new experience for you. There had never been someone you wanted to discuss art with, let alone allow them into your personal safety bubble and walk around a museum with you. They were like your sacred places and no one had ever dared to enter, but Jeffery seemed to make you want to start doing otherwise. The course of the day made the deal from this morning completely slip from your mind and you didn’t even take any time to contemplate your answer.

“I never said you’re a God, but you’re real I guess.”

“I promise I’ll make you completely sure of my existence the next time we meet, but I’m afraid this is where we part today baby.”  

You shouldn’t have felt sad at the thought of departing with him, but you did. He said you’d see each other again and he promised, so you wanted to believe him and trust his words. But words are just that.

“Are you not going to leave through the door?” You shot him a questionable look when he shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked off in the direction of the first room with the scenery paintings.

“I’m gonna take one last look around. You head on off though.”

“I’ve got a tea date with the owner. See you around, Jeffery.”

“See you around, baby.”

He turned his back to you first, walking slowly to the first room of the Jung Arts Gallery for one last tour and you briefly wondered if he would wind up getting locked in as it was getting increasingly late, but shook it off when Mrs. Jung approached you with the same friendly and warm smile she had given you this morning, unwavering and completely confident.

“Are we still up for some tea?” She asked you sweetly, and you nodded with enthusiasm, allowing her to show you the way but not before you turned your head back to where he had gone to possibly catch a glimpse of him again.

Somehow, you felt like you had answered wrongly about him being real.

–

Rose tea was quickly becoming your favourite fragrance and taste – it was subtle and sweet but you could taste some of the floral and fruity flavours it infused into the boiling hot water that Mrs. Jung poured into your clear mug. The deep, hibiscus pink colour of the tea was esthetical to look at and you desperately wanted to capture a photo of the glass and the tea, because you have never tried it before, but Mrs. Jung was staring at you expectantly, although she wasn’t saying anything.

“Did you enjoy the art?” She calmly asked, wisps of her hair finally falling loose from the bun she had it in earlier, and she looked eerily similar to the man you had seen in the painting, and the more you thought about it, one of the melancholic statues.

“I loved everything. They’re all fascinating to look at.”

“Would you like to know who created all of the pieces?”

You nodded eagerly and watched as she stood up and wandered off to a shelf in the corner of the room that you hadn’t noticed before. She crouched down to be level with the bottom shelf, fingers and eyes scanning over each book that was on it before she landed on the thickest one present, “aha.”

She flickered through a few pages as she walked back over the table where you were seated, smiling triumphantly when she paused on the one she was looking for.

“My son created all of the artworks you saw today. We left them anonymous as it was something he would’ve preferred; he never really enjoyed being in the spotlight and would have favoured people appreciating his talents more than his looks or name.” She explained, smiling fondly at the baby photos she had in the photo album she was bearing in her frail hands.

“I know someone like that too. What’s your son’s name?”

She glanced up at you, tearing her gaze away from the photos she was clearly fond of and smiled nostalgically, “Jaehyun.”

You were pretty sure that your breath hitched audibly in your throat and no words didn’t manage to escape, but you concealed it as best as you could. Maybe the rumours around your school might’ve been true all along.

“He attended the same university as you. Are you a second year?” She asked, leaving the book open and astray on the table as she gave you her full and undivided attention. You nodded, not sure how to speak without stuttering with your newfound revelation.

“Jaehyun was a second year before he passed away. He would’ve been graduating this year if he was still here.”

“Are all of the pieces, his?” You managed to say, eyes pleading for confirmation.

“He created one every month and gifted them to my husband and I. Our whole house was filled to the brim with his artworks, but we kept every single one. Who knew that we’d end up opening a gallery like this with all of them.” She trailed off, glancing down at the photobook again. “Would you like to see a photo of him?”

You nodded again, craning your neck slightly to share a look at the photobook with her. “This was him as a child. He lived in America for four years and we lost most of the photos in the move back, but we salvaged this one.”

It was a photograph of a young boy in a playground, wearing a striped t-shirt and denim overalls with an adorable red cap atop of his head. He had prominent dimples on the sides of his mouth, and he was chubby but undeniably one of the cutest and purest children you’ve ever seen.

“This is him a few years after we came back and he first started painting. Jaehyun was always an active child and his friends nicknamed him Jeffery when he came back from the States as he was so energetic but then he began straying from them and painting more and more.”

You stilled at the mention of the familiar name, memories of Jeffery who had led you around the gallery flashing through your mind but you brushed it off as a simple coincidence. Surely there was no way he was the same person as Jaehyun.

“And this is him when he was presented a scholarship at Seoul Arts University. He opened a letter in the morning stating his admission and he ran to us crying happy tears, claiming it was the best day of his life. I still remember all of us cheering and crying happy tears together.”

The photo showed a young college student, wearing the signature School of Performing Arts yellow blazer, white dress shirt and black trousers. His skin was milky and smooth, hair a tinted black colour and the same dimples as the one from his baby photo. Your gaze flicked between Mrs. Jung and the photo, finding an almost identical appearance and it made a fond smile bloom on your face, before the realisation dawned on you. Jaehyun graduating from high school looked uncannily similar to Jeffery, and you felt a shiver run down your spine the more you looked into it.

Mrs. Jung shut the book after a moment of awkward silence, deciding there was nothing else to show and more than likely sensing the sudden tension you created.

She peered at you with interest, but you were avoiding her gaze and looking anywhere but at her. You gulped down the rest of the rose tea that had gone cold from when you were looking at the photos, picking up your tote bag and slinging it over your shoulder hastily. Mrs. Jung followed your movements, standing up when you did. You knew she sensed that something was wrong, but chose not to pry, instead letting you go with a motherly smile and a promise for you to come and meet her again because it was a pleasure to her. She didn’t disclose the fact that you reminded her of her son.

“Thank you for today. I really enjoyed the tea and chatting with you.”

“Come again anytime, we’re always open.”

You gulped, still avoiding her gaze as you bowed respectfully, shaking her hand firmly in farewell. You turned to walk away after you accidentally met her eyes which looked melancholic and somewhat mournful. She was smiling at you, but there was a tinge of sadness that you really couldn’t bear.

But you turned back after retreating back a few steps, eyes wide and almost bulging out of their sockets. “Would you mind if I take one last look around the gallery? I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She nodded assuredly, “take your time. I’m in no rush to get home.”

–

You walked straight to the room full of the portraits, scanning around the area for a sighting of the damned painting you saw this morning that had magically disappeared right before your eyes. You wondered how you could’ve been so clueless this whole time – from a strange guy appearing out of nowhere, walking around with you through the whole gallery, teaching and playing piano with you, talking with you as if you were childhood friends to asking you if he was real. He evidently wasn’t, and you were a fool to have fallen for his charms and tricks.

As expected, the painting wasn’t there and you sighed in disappointment. There was no one else around as it was past the closing hours but you wanted to walk through and see if you could find him. Or conjure Jaehyun up in your mind again since that’s what you did from the start anyway.  You thought you were simply hallucinating and seeing things the whole time while Jaehyun was haunting the gallery, remnants of his legacy all over the gallery which he clearly wanted to be close to. Tears sprung to your eyes as you pictured the sad looks on his face whenever he talked about the art pieces or about himself, as if he was longing to live again.

The room full of the mosaics was poignantly sadder now that you didn’t have the company of Jaehyun’s ghost and spirit with you. The statues’ frowns were deepened and you found yourself mirroring their looks, remembering how distant Jaehyun sounded when he was talking about how happy his muses were, and how he wanted to add a twist to them.

You realised it was all because he was seeing his artworks again after a presumably long time and being reunited with them. Mrs. Jung mentioned how it’s been two years since his passing, so you figured he was wandering around the area for the past while until the opening and he’s going to spend his afterlife here, revelling in his art and picturing what could’ve been if he was still alive. He sounded as if he really missed working on his art, and the look he had given his mom before you parted ways was just another example of what he deeply missed.

Your heart twisted and shattered itself as you pieced it all together, and the longer you stared at the freestanding statues in all of their majestic glory, you recalled the one who was isolated from the majority in the corner – the one who looked like the painting, and who you now knew to be the infamous Jaehyun, or Jeffery as he wanted you to call him. You didn’t understand anything anymore.

With slow footsteps, you approached it with caution, afraid of it coming to life and jumping at you like the painting version of Jaehyun. It towered over you significantly, dazzling in the light and shining with a manner of sadness. You closed your eyes tightly and stretched out a hand to touch the marble, coming into contact with the cold, hard stone and not the rock-hard abs you had hoped for. If you could see Jaehyun one last time before you bid your exit, you’d be more than relieved, because even if he was only a ghost in your imagination, you couldn’t bear to leave him heartbroken and conflicted like he did earlier. Like he would every time he looked back on his works or at his loving parents who were still grieving over him.

But Jaehyun didn’t come back; because he was dead and because he was never there in the first place. The pained look of anguish and misery that were permanently etched into your mind and would surely come back to haunt you in your nightmares, was just that – a look you had conjured up.

In all the times and visits you’ve been on to hundreds of art museums and galleries all across the Republic and even its neighbouring islands, you had never been so emotionally invested in anything to conjure up your own person and imitation of a mock story. Never had you ever felt or seen something so vividly and unequivocally to tug on your heartstrings and bring real tears to your eyes. Even without Jaehyun being here, his mere presence and arts had such a significant impact.

His art would live on forever, as would this gallery. Walking through each of the rooms that had been so symbiotically designed and structured, you knew his life and his emotions would live on forever too. You had felt it first hand, and you wouldn’t know if anyone else did too, or if you would ever experience it again, but you were eternally grateful to have felt Jaehyun today.

The emotions, sentiments and passions that he poured into each and every piece of work in this building would show and tell the story of his life, and how beautifully he lived up until the very end. He wasn’t actually with you today, you realised, but you had imagined him and was able to go through his story that was revealed through his pieces of art.

Jaehyun’s name wouldn’t be spoken often, and the true meaning and intention behind each piece would never be revealed or described by its origin, but you could feel everything just from looking at each of his creations and attaching your own special meaning to them. You felt his life today, through the masterpieces he left behind.

His spirit would always be in this gallery, and in your heart. Jungs Art Gallery wasn’t just a place for pieces of artwork, but a place where Jaehyun could live on happily and in anonymity, without the fear of having to leave or having to run for the rest of eternity.

“I’ll remember you, Jaehyun.”

[lazilymysticalzombie]

Thank God it’s Friday

Daily Writing Challenge by @sdavid09  -  Prompt #3:

Prompt: TGIF! Thank God It’s Friday! Why does your character feel that way?

Pairing: Tony Stark/reader, mention of Loki/reader

Author’s note: I just realized that I could have played a joke on the word Friday, and instead of the day of the week write a story about Tony’s AI. I feel silly now O_o

MASTERLIST

_____________________________________________________________

Thank God it’s Friday

Monday was a deceptively easy affair.  

Tony woke up well rested, with no nightmares haunting him throughout the night and a cuddly sleeping partner, who happily returned his good-morning kisses. He ate breakfast (blueberry pancakes made by Steve who decided to take proper care of his team and breakfast was The Most Important Meal of The Day, Tony), drunk piping hot coffee and left for SI. After boring meetings with the board, he was allowed by Pepper to show off a bit in the labs for the amusement of the young men and women working to better the world, and then went home. He found Y/N waiting for him with a home-made dinner and a movie, for which he repaid her with some fun times behind the closed door.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his well-earned peace and quiet.  

Tuesday started with an alarm going off in the distance, informing the Avengers of a new threat in the glorious city of New York. It turned out that a new evil overlord named The Nemesis decided it was the time the Avengers learned about his might and power. The Nemesis, also known as John McCullen - one of the young doctors of Tony’s own facility – was not only highly intelligent, well prepared and magically skilled; he was also always three steps ahead of them in every sense.  

Having incapacitated the Hulk by sending him to another dimension, he tore down Bucky’s new arm, stole Cap’s shield and revealed some secrets to Natasha, that made the redhead decline working with Clint altogether. And then he disappeared. Like a mist.

The shit finally hit the fan on Wednesday.  

Steve decided that since the Nemesis comes from SI, it must have been something Tony has done that made the young scientist turn evil. Bucky took Tony’s side, which only made Cap angrier. He refused to leave the workshop, instead insisting on keeping an eye on the progress Tony was making.

While Tony and Strange were desperately looking for any sights of Bruce and trying to contact Thor who once again was off Odin only knows where, Natasha and Clint had a massive fight. Tony was not sure what has exactly transpired between those two. Suffice to say that they destroyed half of the common room with his collection of vinyl discs and, in the end, had to be divided by two very angry super soldiers. Clint had a split lip and carried in his hand a broken bow Tony just finished upgrading, while Natasha lost all her knives and, surprisingly, shoes.  

Bucky, who had to take down the Black Widow without his biggest advantage, supported a black eye and tore his favourite pants. Steve was positively fuming – the Captain, who had nothing else to do now but wait - kept asking Tony in a very dry voice if he had finally found Bruce.

At least Y/N was an oasis of peace and tried her best to comfort the team and keep Tony sane.  

Well, until Thursday.

On Thursday night Thor finally came back – together with his slimy brother, the god of Mischief and All that is Crazy. With all that was going on, no one felt easy having him here. No one, but apparently Y/N, who developed a weird fascination with Asgardian magic and couldn’t stop asking him quiet questions and, to put it frankly, flirt with the brat.  

Loki turned out to be at least useful during the fight with the Nemesis. While the young man was clearly very talented, Loki had thousands of years to hone his craft and thanks to that he was able to restrain him long enough for Tony to search his lair. He found Cap’s shield, some stolen blueprints and a tiny hedgehog that was unnervingly familiar. Together with Thor, Loki, Clint and Natasha (who decided to bury the proverbial hatchet for a moment to save the people of New York) Tony and happily wielding his shield Cap were able to take down their foe and bring him to justice.

‘Thank god it’s Friday’ - Tony thought bitterly, hidden in his workshop. He retreated here in the late morning, after Loki finally manged to transform Bruce back to human. It turned out that the Nemesis didn’t actually send the Hulk into another dimension, but magically turned him into a hedgehog and kept as a pet. No wonder they couldn't pick up Bruce’s DNA signature in any of the places they tried – the DNA signature was simply different. Of course, not now, Tony grunted to himself, Loki fixed that and then proceeded to help the other Avengers.  

- Loki the Saint – mumbled Tony, working on the new arm he promised Bucky. He knew he was being unfair, that Loki did help a lot and without him no one knows how long it would take them to defeat this new villain. He even took some time talking with Nat, after which Nat decided at least talk things through with Clint.  

It really wasn’t about that, he knew. It was the burning jealousy he felt every time he thought about Y/N and Loki. After the battle, after everything was cleaned up and all the forms had been signed at SHIELD, he spied them talking quietly in a corner of the room. Loki gave her something which made her smile like a thousand tiny suns and then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. For which she blushed and punched him playfully on the arm.  

The tablet Tony was holding in his hand snapped in half. He looked down on it, sighed and put it on the table, making a mental note to reinforce the glass structure. A delicate knock on the door made him pause.

- Tony – said Y/N, smiling at him bashfully. - Tony, baby, I was looking for you.

He didn’t answer, just opened a new project. Nat broke Clint’s bow, maybe he could make a new one, use some new materials, hide some darts maybe...

- Tony? Has something happened? - there was a slight worry in her voice now. Tony gritted his teeth. - You disappeared so quickly, Thor and Loki have already left...

- And you didn’t go with him? - Tony asked sarcastically. He rubbed his eyes; the tiredness and all this week’s troubles was making him crankier and more prone to arguing.  

- With Thor? Why would I leave with Thor? - she asked with consternation.  

- Not with him. With Loki. I saw you two getting cosy with each other, I thought...

- What, that I would cheat on you? - she exclaimed with more astonishment and disappointment than anger. - That I’d leave you? After all you have done this week? And through all the time we know each other?

- I – Tony lost his voice for a moment. - I did nothing. I couldn’t stop my own employee from going crazy, I couldn’t find Bruce, I couldn’t make Nat and Clint work things out peacefully, I couldn’t...

- Oh, you idiot – she whispered, touching his face lightly. He didn’t notice her getting so close. - You did everything you could. You worked through Steve’s moods, you were working tirelessly to find Bruce, you were worried about Natasha and Clint. You managed to get everyone work together to bring down the threat, that had nothing to do with you. And even now you don’t stop, but immediately look to rebuild and make everything better. - She sneaked her arms around him, hugging him tightly. - How could I love anyone but you?

- What about... - he cleared his throat. - What about Loki in the office then? He kissed you.

She started to move away and for a moment he was terrified. He fucked up. He should have kept silent, she was here, she was his and now she’ll leave...

- Loki was helping me with something. - She took two silver bracelets out of her pocket and showed him the engraved inscription. ‘You are my favourite, now and always’. - I had it made here, in New York, but I asked Loki to make it a bit more... you know, magicky. - She smiled shyly. - You see, he put a spell on them. If you touch it here – she took his hand and placed his finger on a hidden button he didn’t see at first. - the other bracelet vibrates and turns arc blue.  

Tony was speechless. He was looking at her like an idiot, with his mouth open and his hand still in her palms.

- And... – he croaked after a moment. - And the kiss he gave you?  

- It wasn’t a kiss, silly! - she started laughing now. Tony was absolutely lost. - He just said something... well, something dirty. - she looked at him flirtatiously. - He said that if I want other vibrating gifts for you, he’ll be happy to provide. 

Oh god, he made an absolute idiot of himself. He thought... He just thought...  

- Anyway, that’s my gift for you. Now, let’s order and eat something and then we’ll watch a move, maybe? With all this week’s drama and action, I think we deserve some down-time. Thank God it’s Friday...

- Yeah, - Tony said quietly, following his girlfriend out of the workshop, a ridiculous smile on his face. - Thank god it’s Friday.

[thetollofthebells]

TAGGED BY  STOLEN FROM : @murroyilodel TAGGING :  @crossingredqueensrealm, @immortalxdreamers [ take your pick of muse ;] ],@frollothings, @elisethetraveller, @children-of-guardians, annnnnnd anyone else.  You know the drill.

——   PHYSICAL STATS;

RUNNING SPEED   —   7 / 10.

RUNNING ENDURANCE   —   8 / 10.

LIFTING STRENGTH   —   10 / 10.  

CARRYING ENDURANCE   —   10 / 10.

JUMPING ABILITY   —   10 / 10.

THROWING STRENGTH   —   9 / 10.

STEALTH ABILITY   —   3 / 10.

PAIN TOLERANCE   —   8 / 10.

SWIMMING SPEED   —   0 / 10.

SWIMMING ENDURANCE   —   0 / 10.

STRETCHING ABILITY   —   1 / 10.

DANCING ABILITY   —   0 / 10.

CLIMBING ABILITY   —   10 / 10.

TOUCH SENSITIVITY  ( PLATONIC )   —   10 / 10.

TOUCH SENSITIVITY  ( INTIMATE )   —   10 / 10.

GENERAL REFLEXES   —   5 / 10.

OVERALL PHYSICAL CONDITION   —    7 / 10. SIDE NOTE : [ I like this so I’m going to include them too! ] [ Quasimodo’s body is a strange thing.  That’s not an insult.  As far as he’s concerned, he’s very much a contradiction in every way; burly yet acrobatic, strong yet artistic, ugly yet beautiful.   A life of ringing bells (at least for the past 5-6 years as of canon, and nearly 10 years during sequel…) have really honed his body strength and endurance wise.  His throwing ability is so high because think of him throwing Claude off of him at the end.  He tosses him effortlessly across the room as if he were nothing.  Unfortunately for him, he is rather clumsy when on his two feet walking normally.   His body isn’t made to do stretches, so trying to be stealthy is not really in the cards for him.  His uneven gait gives him away instantly, having to walk to maintain his balance with his uneven form.   Having never been near open water, he doesn’t know how to swim and I don’t think he really has a desire to, to be honest.   He is very sensitive to touch, mostly in a negative way. When he’s given physical affection, his body is so starved for it that he’s almost responsive to a fault. Frollo had a way of touching him that always made him feel small, especially when those hands were the cause of so much pain.  Yet, physical pain doesn’t really affect him anymore, his mental scars run much deeper.  When Frollo slashes Quasi’s arm with his sword, he hardly even acknowledges it, yet Frollo’s grip on his mind must be smothering.  Meanwhile, Esmeralda’s hand on his arm makes him instantly calm himself, just reveling in the feeling of another human. If he didn’t have his deformities (granted, they don’t really hinder him that much/at all) his body would probably a bit higher overall.  But because of them, he does suffer from knee pain and back pain and it can be a bit of a hinderance to him. ]

——   MENTAL STATS;

ADVANCED MATHEMATICS   —   5 / 10.

SIMPLE MATHEMATICS   —   10 / 10.

SPATIAL AWARENESS   —   3 / 10.

CHEMISTRY UNDERSTANDING   —   2 / 10.

BIOLOGICAL UNDERSTANDING   —   2 / 10.

NATURE SCIENCES UNDERSTANDING   —   4 / 10.

CREATIVE INTELLIGENCE   —   10 / 10.

ARTISTIC ABILITY   —   10 / 10.

MUSICAL PROWESS   —   10 / 10.

MIMICKING ABILITY  ( AUDITORY )   —   8 / 10.

ODD PROBLEM-SOLVING —   7 / 10.  

COMPREHENSION  ( SPOKEN WORD )   —   5 / 10.

COMPREHENSION  ( WRITTEN WORD )   —   10 / 10.

COMEDIC ABILITY   —   5 / 10.

COMEDIC TIMING   —   5 / 10.

OVERALL MENTAL PROWESS   —   8 / 10. SIDE NOTE:   [ Quasimodo was lucky (I use that term extremely lightly…) to have been taught by Frollo.  Many people were not able to read, write, translate languages as well as Quasi is.  All that time alone to practice really has made him book smart, and because of that, his problem solving skills are pretty great.  Take for example Esme’s escape from the Cathedral, Quasi instantly comes up with a creative solution to get her out. Speaking of creativity, Quasi basically drips in it.  Artistically, he loves to dream up new ideas and even in his every day life, he has some of the best ideas.  Frollo would never admit it, but he was impressed when he had found Quasimodo had made a table out of old statue parts and an extra piece of wood.  The same for when another statue piece had been used for a candle holder in his “bedroom.” His musical ability is through the roof, and I feel like there’s a joke in there somewhere?  But he is so in tune (ah there it may be) with his bells and what sounds harmonious and what doesn’t.  Plus, back in that time, there were several things that couldn’t be played such as parallel octaves and parallel fifths along with tritones as these were all seen as going again God (boom, my second degree of music comes in handy here!).  He needs to know where to be and does, always being a step ahead of the melody.  The only reason his mimicking ability is only an 8 is because of his hearing loss.  He used to be much better at repeating melodies when he was younger and able to hear better. Quasi can be funny sometimes when he allows his guard to fall.  He has a bit of sarcasm running through him, and sometimes, he can even catch Phoebus so off guard that he laughs for far too long after the joke has passed. ]

——   EMOTIONAL STATS;

INTERPERSONAL INSTINCT   —   2 / 10.

INTRAPERSONAL INSTINCT   —   8 / 10.

EXTROVERSION   —   0 / 10.

MORAL COMPASS   —   10 / 10.

EMPATHY   —   10 / 10.

EXTRASENSORY ABILITY   —   4 / 10.

EMOTIONAL ENDURANCE   —   10 / 10.

COPING ABILITY   —    5 / 10.

TENDENCY TOWARDS ABUSIVE BEHAVIOUR   —   0 / 10.

TENDENCY TOWARDS VICTIM BEHAVIOUR   —   7 / 10.

LEVEL OF DENIAL   —   5 / 10.

PROTECTOR COMPLEX   —   10 / 10.

DAMSEL COMPLEX   —   0 / 10.

EMOTIONAL INTIMACY  ( WITH PARTNER )   —   10 / 10.

EMOTIONAL INTIMACY  ( WITH FRIENDS )   —   10 / 10.

EMOTIONAL COMPREHENSION   —    4 / 10.

TENDENCY TOWARDS PANIC   —    8 / 10.  

GENERAL EMOTIONAL STABILITY   —   5 / 10. SIDE NOTE: [ This is the biggie.  Quasimodo somehow remained so pure of heart despite 20 years of mental and physical abuse.  His empathy for others can cause him pain, and he knows what’s right and wrong.  Through his life, he knew what Frollo was doing to him and others was wrong... He just didn’t realize that he himself didn’t deserve it. He’s been through a lot in his life.  His only “family” (again, using that very loosely with a huge grain of salt) calling him ugly, deformed, misshapen... That leaves mental scars that are almost insurmountable. The trauma of learning that the only person you’ve loved killed your mother.  Watching him as he tries to kill the woman that he has feelings for and almost being successful... There’s a lot of trauma there.  He’s made it through, but he doesn’t really know how to cope with all of that a lot of the time.  Quasi’s locked up his feelings around other people for so long that he doesn’t know how to express them.  A lot of the time, he finds himself crumpling in and he’ll just break down into panic attacks.  He’s always been prone to them, but even more so after the events of the movie.  A very good example is looking at the gargoyles (who are three portions of his personality that we get to see personified as per the art book), especially Victor.  When Paris is burning, Victor has an entire outburst of anxiety about Esmeralda being missing.  “...It’s a lost cause!  She could be anywhere, in the stocks, in the dungeon, on the rack!  Oh God!” In general, Victor seems to be the more “uptight” one, and definitely represents that part of Quasi’s personality that he’s locked away. Along those lines, he has a lot of difficulty in social situations.  His social cues/reading aren’t really the best as he hadn’t had any exposure.  It’s nice to have his friends there to make him feel more comfortable and they help him get better at the each time they visit.  With his friends, he is fiercely protective and gets jealous quite easily. Basically, he’s just trying to better himself, but he doesn’t know how/where to start.  Esmeralda, Phoebus, and hell, even Clopin help him more than they know.  He’s grateful that he has such a supportive friend group, especially after everything that happens post movie. That’s why he always gets so invested with anyone he talks to.  I always joke that Quasimodo has a tendency to become extremely clingy, but when you’ve done nothing but talk to yourself for 20 years, you’re probably going to be that way too haha. ]

[veryangryhedgehog]

“In Anno Domini 900,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

In Anno Domini 900

(Because I couldn’t fit it anywhere else in the chapter)

The tower was cold, dark, and clammy. Condensation often dripped from its stony walls. Ordinarily, Xiar wouldn’t have minded so much. It was an old, twisting structure, it was going to do as it wished. The problem was the constant battle to save his books from water damage and rot. Well, he said his books. Everything that involved magic was a little fuzzy. He was ninety-nine percent sure this tower belonged to him. But he was still always looking out for the real owner of the tower to come striding in and throw him out for being a loony.

To be fair, he didn’t necessarily look sane. Xiar had a passion for long, star-covered robes and pointy hats. Again, he couldn’t remember exactly why. He knew there had been a reason, but whatever it was was lost on him. That’s why he was here in the first place.

Just six months ago he’d been a wizard of great power. Until, that is, he’d faced a being of immeasurable force and had been forced to use incredibly powerful magic. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been strong enough to wield it properly, and though he’d succeeded in holding back this being, his knowledge and magical skill had been taken from him. So here he was, retracing his steps and trying to relearn everything.

It was hard, long work, made even more so by the water, and crumbling stone, and occasional tremors from the structure of the tower itself. But if there was one thing that Xiar Flooferpoofen was, it was optimistic. So he kept working and learning, and knew that someday, he would reclaim his old power.

But even he was a little unnerved when one morning before dawn, he looked out the tower window and saw a black horse and rider plodding across the snowy valley towards him. His first thought was that the rider must have been out for a stroll… in the middle of the night, riding as swiftly as his mount would carry him through the bleached landscape. His second thought was that he would ride right past into the dark, but it became apparent that he was slowing down as he approached the base of the tower.

His third thought was that his memories had been wrong. He didn’t own this tower, and its real owner had returned. Xiar couldn’t help feeling the air of danger the rider brought with him. He might not be just kicked out. He might end up dead.

Until he watched as below, his cloak whipping out around him, the rider dismounted and knocked on the door. Usually, people didn’t knock on the doors of their own towers. Xiar paused, hoping that maybe, if he didn’t move, the man would go away.

Then he banged harder and Xiar was nearly shaken to his feet as the tower itself shuddered. He hurried down the spiral steps, cursing his old bones all the way. The man knocked one more time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Xiar shouted, though whether the man could actually hear him was up to the will of the gods.

It appeared against the odds that he had, for as Xiar creaked down the last few steps the knocking ceased. He opened the door, and didn’t bother looking at the visitor before proclaiming: “Behold, whether man or daemon you be, know that I am a wizard of great power, the mighty Xiar Floo—”

He tried for a fireball, but all he managed was a sad little puff of smoke in the snow before the man’s feet.

Said visitor stared at it for a second, before turning his gaze back to Xiar, who couldn’t help noticing the slight disappointment visible in the shrouded features under his hood. The man was pale, with dark hair and nearly darker circles under his eyes. But there was something slightly off about him. The eyes themselves were too old for such an unmarred face.

“Are you the master of this tower?” he asked incredulously.

“I just told you, I am Grand Master Wizard Xiar Flooferpoofen! Well, was might be slightly more appropriate.”

The man frowned. “Was?”

“Magical accident, I’m afraid. All my knowledge, poof! Up in smoke. I’ll relearn it eventually, of course. Only took me fifteen years the first time! But I’ve begun rambling. What brings you to, uh, my tower?”

“Please forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself,” the man ducked his head. “My name is Lucius Marcellus, and I was told that the master of this tower might hold some ancient knowledge I seek. But if you’ve lost all of that…”

He began to turn, but Xiar stopped him. He wouldn’t let this man turn away disappointed. And he liked to be helpful. “Wait!” he began. “Though I myself may be lacking in the brains department, my books certainly aren’t. They may contain that which you are looking for.”

Marcellus paused, and looked about ready to decline, until he happened to glance up at the sky, just beginning to grey with the dawn. “Thank you,” he nodded. “Deeply.”

A grin spreading across his many wrinkles, Xiar turned and led the way inside, a skip in his step. It had been so long since he’d had any kind of visitor. “Marcellus,” he commented as they climbed the numerous steps—had there been less of them on the way down?—“That’s an old name.”

“It is,” Marcellus mumbled, almost to himself. “It’s probably near time to change it…” There seemed to be something melancholy in the way he said that, the look of loss in his old eyes. But then her shook his head. “Do you need some help?” he asked as he saw Xiar struggling up the last few stairs.

“Oh, hush,” Xiar just chuckled. “I’m probably younger than you are.”

Marcellus froze. “What do you mean?”

“I’m only twenty-nine.”

Blinking in the candlelight, Marcellus frowned and looked over at Xiar once again, the wrinkled face, the long, white beard. “Twenty-nine?” he repeated. “Magical accident?”

“Magical accident.”

Finally, the study came into view, and the mountain of stone steps was conquered. Xiar hadn’t noticed how chaotic the place really was until there was someone else here to see it. His books were scattered in every place he could fit them, every place that wasn’t occupied by puddles of water or plant matter.

“Now,” Xiar began apologetically, “what exactly is it that you’re looking for?��

But Marcellus didn’t respond, for just then the tower began to shake again. “It that… normal?” he asked finally.

Xiar waved him off. “Happens all the time. Old tower and all that.”

“Right…” Marcellus glanced around at the piles and piles of books. Organized chaos was the word of the day.

“It may look like a mess, but I guarantee you I know where everything is,” Xiar defended his collection.

Shaking his head, a wry smile crossed Marcellus’ face. “Alright then, I’m looking for information on Atlantis. More specifically, why it’s a lost city in the first place.”

Xiar blinked several times. He had to admit that he had fully expected something easy, like the uses of mandrake root. Okay, maybe not that, but it was hard to come up with good examples off the top of one’s head. “Atlantis?” he said. “Hardly anyone even remembers that name anymore. You wouldn’t happen to be a wizard yourself, would you?”

“No, no,” Marcellus shook his head. “Merely a scholar.”

“No one is a ‘scholar’ these days unless you’re studying god,” Xiar laughed.

“Yes, it does appear that things have headed in that direction.”

Blundering around the tower room, Xiar began to search blindly around. He knew that he had something relevant around here… “You speak as if you’ve known differently,” he mumbled distractedly.

“Oh no, I’ve just been told stories.”

“Ah, here it is,” Xiar pushed aside several musty tomes, and there on the surface of his desk was a tattered scroll. The tower rumbled again, a little stronger this time. They had been getting more frequent, the rumblings, but Xiar hadn’t paid them much mind.

Marcellus took the scroll and read the first few lines. “This… this is a story.” He seemed confused.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve heard all the stories. I’m looking for the truth.”

Slowly, Xiar sat on his stool, his old bones creaking. “Isn’t there always some Truth in every story?”

He thought about this for a second, then shrugged.

“That may just be a story, but it’s your job to find where the Truth lies.”

Unfortunately, just as Marcellus opened his mouth to ask a question, the ground itself began to rumble. Not just the tower, but everything around it as well. The towers of books quickly collapsed, and the one glass window shattered.

Marcellus rose to his feet, shakily. “We need to get out of here,” he clasped Xiar’s hand and helped him up as well. They began to wobble their way to the staircase, but with a great crack a part of the wall crumbled and fell directly over the doorway.

“Why do things like this always happen to me?” Marcellus mumbled.

“Well,” Xiar began, “look on the bright side…”

“Which is…?”

“Yeah, I can’t think of anything.”

Running over to the newly created hole in the wall, Marcellus looked downwards. “No one alive could survive that fall.”

“Well, I guess that means that I’m up,” Xiar pushed up his loose sleeves. “Help me clear this rug.”

A large pile of paper and books had landed or had already covered the bearskin rug on the floor. Quickly, the two men pushed the mess aside.

“Are you going to attempt magic?” Marcellus asked, a little incredulously.

“Not attempt, do,” Xiar winked. “It’s all in the mindset.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. So what if he hadn’t been able to cast even the simplest spell since the accident? The fear of death would provide just the pressure he needed to break this block.

Alright, here we go, he thought, trying in vain to remember how it had felt to use magic, how to drag up the last visages of power from that far place under the waves and hone it to an edge. He was, and would be, one of the last true wizards. He must be able to do this. Float.

“I don’t believe it,” he heard Marcellus mumble, and opened his eyes. The rug was hovering a few inches off the ground. Xiar laughed in relief, but he could already feel the magic fading. There wasn’t much time.

“Get on!” he commanded, and with a bit of difficulty, Marcellus managed to jump on and pull Xiar up behind him. By now bits of stone were falling on their heads. “Forward!” Xiar felt the need to say it out loud, in order to hold onto the magic a little longer.

The rug shot forward, out of the hole in the wall, and a second later the whole tower started to collapse in on itself. Marcellus’ horse was easy to pick out against the white snow, galloping away from the rapid shaking. Xiar brought the rug into a barely controlled dive downwards into the snow.

Marcellus hastily pulled his cloak down over his face as the sun rose over the horizon. He recovered much faster than Xiar, who struggled to sit up and spit out a face-full of snow and fur.

“That was certainly an event,” Xiar laughed, his eyes twinkling as the tower finally crumbled in a puff of snow and a tremendous boom. He was so high off of magic that he nearly fell back down into the snow.

Blinking, Marcellus looked more downcast, though it was hard not to with his face in shadow as it was. “Your tower, all your books. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, no matter,” Xiar waved him off. “Everything happens for a reason. I’ve been thinking of setting off on a journey anyway. There’s only so much you can learn from books, you know.”

“I don’t know how you stay so optimistic,” Marcellus shook his head.

“it’s probably more difficult for you,” Xiar smiled. “I’m pretty sure angst is a legitimate side effect of vampirism.”

Marcellus began to nod, then froze. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“The way you speak of old things as if they weren’t old at all. But your fear of the sun is really what did it.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” Xiar shook his head, “I’m just much more observant than I appear. But I’m flapping my gums. You, my friend, should get out of the sun. Have you still got the scroll?”

Patting his cloak, Marcellus smiled. “Safe and sound. But I shouldn’t leave you out here alone.”

“I’ll be alright,” Xiar insisted. “I’m not the one in physical pain. Your cheek is smoking.”

He patted his cheek out, and though he still looked conflicted, Marcellus mounted his horse. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Don’t you have some reading to do?”

Marcellus grinned, waved, and set off.

“Remember, this is important!” Xiar called after him. “Find where the Truth lies!”

Once Marcellus had disappeared over the nearest hill, Xiar looked down at the bearskin rug. “Now, let’s see if I can do this again…”

[doe539]

The Little Doe

Summary: In a world where the British magical community is on a verge of extinction in the next century due to the decline in magical births caused by pureblood inbreeding, laws are passed that only served to further degrade the already low position muggle borns held within society by reducing them to nothing but broodmares. The cocky arrogant James Potter finds himself with possession of the shy but fierce Lily Evans, a little doe that suddenly makes him question everything he knows about the divided society he lives in.

Chapter 1

In all of her 16 years of living, Lily Evans knew nothing outside the black walls she was caged in since the moment she was brought here as a child with all the other muggleborns , or as Umbridge likes to call them, “Filthy Mudblood Whores!” when she is particularly angry. She could barely remember how her parents could look like but she can distinctly remember her older sister calling her a freak for making a wilted flower bloom again. It was really funny how the memories she could remember depicted her being ostracised for being a witch while in the magical world she was hated for being born to those who weren’t magical. It seemed that muggle borns truly were considered anamolies in both worlds with only themselves to turn to.

Alongside the other muggleborn girls, Lily soon learned that they were brought to the ‘Mudhouse’ as they called it for one sole purpose: to learn and accept their future roles of bringing future magical offspring into the world.

Lessons concerning cleaning, childbirth, and how to obey your Pureblood superiors were routinely thought. All of which Lily found herself sleeping through, as shown by the scars in her arms as punishment for doing so. The only academic lesson that was really thought was the History of the British Magical Community, which only really focused on how a crisis regarding the decline in magical births caused by inbreeding resulted in the British Ministry passing the Handmaids’ Act in 1950. Although there was fierce opposition to the bill by those supporting Muggleborn rights such as Albus Dumbledor, Newt Scamander and a few Pureblood families, their voices were squashed by the vast number of families concerned with their future. From the whispers Lily heard around, she found out that muggleborns were already treated ina deplorable manner at best before the Act was passed so many chose to leave the British magical community as soon as they entered for more tolerant communities.

While initially pleased at the decline of muggleborns, karma served to come back ane bite the community’s ass when they learned that lack of new blood led to less powerful offspring and more squibs. Hence one of the clauses in the Handmaid’s Act strictly forbade any muggleborns from leaving the community and moving elsewhere.

“Pshh first they don’t want us, and when they do, it’s purely for our vaginas those fucking psychos”, muttered Lily under her breath.

“Ahem Ahem did you say anything Miss Evans?” Lily turned her head from the window to stare at mocking eyes of the hideous pink monster otherwise known as Dolores Umbridge, the woman in charge for educating muggleborn woman for their future roles as Handmaids. Coincidentally, she was also one of the women who helped to pass the very Act that would lead Lily to living the miserable life she has and the even worse life that awaits her.

Pausing to quickly compose herself after envisioning how it would be like to strangle the woman, Lily quickly shook her head and stood up straighter. Umbridge merely smirked and pointed her wand at Lily.

“As you can see class, this is a prime example of a behaviour that should never be commited near any Pureblood. A muggleborn woman is to stay still and quiet at all times, not letting anyone know of her presence unless required”

“What are we? Humans or statues?” Lily muttered again, causing her companion Mary McDonald to stifle a giggle.

“Miss Evans, for demonstrating that act of behaviour again, you will have to come to my office after this class to receive your punishment”

Umbridge had a wide grin on her face, eerily similar to how the Joker in the Batman Series looked like based on the muggle magazines they were able to smuggle into the building.

The rest of the muggleborns looked sympathetically at Lily who only shrugged,

being used Umbridge’s form of punishments. It was only a matter of time anyway that she was to be sent to a Pureblood household and be forced to have a dozen children.

After class and a whispered ‘good luck ‘ from Mary, Lily trudged herself to Umbridge’s office and waited outside the door. She could hear two female voices from inside the room, one that she could easily point out as being Umbridge who sounded delighted for whatever reason and another voice she couldn’t pick out but sounded pleasant despite the owner of the voice sounding rather annoyed. Lily couldn’t help but be excited after hearing this new mysterious voice, since the only people she could remember interacting with in all her years here were Umbridge, the other muggleborn girls, and the Pureblood guards who liked to leer at her and the other girls every time they walked past.

Finally after nearly plastering herself to the door, Lily could hear footsteps and quickly moved away. Umbridge opened the door and looked slightly confused when she saw her but realisation quickly struck.

“Ahh I apologise Mrs. Potter, you see I had a student who was behaving in a quite atrocious manner you see, if you would like to come another time-“

“Bring her in Umbridge, I would like to see the state you put these girls in”

Lily quickly looked up at the firm but pleasant sounding voice and took a step inside the room after Umbridge ushered her in.

“Ahem well Mrs. Potter this is Lily Evans a fifteen year ol-“

“I’m sixteen”

“ Shush child, yes this girl has unfortunately not been one of my best students. While she may fool you into thinking she is some innocent doe based on how quiet she is, she often displays great acts of disobedience”

Lily knew the irritating woman was not only referring to the minor incident that occurred today but in the past when her magic tended to spiral out of control. While Lily’s fiery personality had slowly died down throughout the years as a result of the oppressive treatment she faced, there was still some fire she held onto. Lily knew she was a powerful witch and she knew Umbridge knew that too despite her constant preaching on why muggleborn women were magically inferior than their Pureblood counterparts. As muggleborns were forbidden from having a wand, Lily developed her skills in wandless magic and using all the information she was able to learn from the outdated magical books dumped in the trash, she was able to perform such a level of magic practically unheard off from a witch with no magically education. Using her knowledge she was able to teach all of the other muggleborns and helped to hone their skills as well. Of course Lily bring Lily, used her knowledge to also annoy the hell out of Umbridge. Vanishing her chair, changing the colour of all of her outfits from pink to a hideous orange, and lifting her skirt when ministry official were sometimes around were some of her favourite tricks. As she she was not using a wand, they couldn’t trace it back to her, but Umbridge always seem to knew it was her and hence made sure Lily was never there when she had an important meeting. Judging from the warning and panicked look in her eye, Lily could practically hear the nasal voice of Umbridge warning her to not embarrass her or else.

Mrs Potter on the other hand seemed perfectly calm and even a bit amused as she appraised Lily. Lily suddenly found herself being self conscious of her appearance. From the past she could also remember children teasing her for her hair colour and many seemed to find the bright green colour of eyes creepy. The ugly red colour of her dress only served to further lower her self esteem infront of the smartly dressed woman infront of her.

“Well aren’t you a pretty one” she remarked, much to Lily’s surprise. Her gaze quickly zeroed on the necklace around her neck.

“That’s a very pretty necklace sweetheart. Who gave it to you?” Not being used to anyone talking to her in such a tone Lily nearly forgot to speak or even move until Umbridge suddenly grabbed the necklace and tore it from her neck.

“Oh forgive me Mrs. Potter, she must have stole it from somewhere! Oh you know muggleborns, can’t trust this lot!” Her highpitched voice combined with the loss of the only item she had of her parents caused a surge of magic to ripple within Lily and in a flash the necklace was back in Lily’s hand.

The sound of a pin dropping was all that could be heard in the room as everyone registered her actions. Lily quickly closed her eyes in terror and awaited the verdict of being sent to Azkaban for simply acting like a witch when the Wizarding world didn’t see her as one.

“Oh Mrs Potter I am so sorry!” Lily never thought she could see someone look so pitiful and gleeful at the same time. The slight curve of Umbridge’s mouth indicated her excitement of finally sending the redhead to the Wizarding prison.

“Don’t you worry Mrs Potter, I will send her right to-“

“I’ll take her”

The elderly stylish woman’s statement was met with incredulous looks from the other two people in the room.

“Wh- What Mrs. Potter please I am sure that there are other more suitable and obedient girls-“

“Enough Mrs Umbridge, I will take this girl and that is final. I would like all the arrangements done by today and I will be here for her tomorrow.”

With that, Euphemia Poter turned to Lily, winked and disappeared through the floo.

[fairycosmos]

why do i have such an unhealthy habit of saying yes to people when i cant do/dont want to do what they ask? :( im really stressed out about a commission i might not be able to do but i said i could do it (or at least try), and a lady from work asked to see some of my writing for fun if it was okay and i enthusiastically said "yea!!:)" like always even tho i dont rly want to share any of it... idk why i always accept these things that i cant do and stress myself out. how do i not let them down?:(

hey love. i’m really sorry to hear that. :( it must be so upsetting to have to deal with such a stressful complex. unfortunately i think this is actually a super common issue, especially with young people who haven’t had the chance to develop a true sense of self. if you have low self esteem on top of that, you’ll look for validation anywhere - even at your own expense. perhaps subconsciously you crave encouragement and praise, like most of us do. you’re trying to find reassurance from others because you refuse to give it to yourself, you know? it’s a really shitty, unhealthy trap to fall into but i get how easy it is to do so, i’m pretty much in the same place rn. the truth of it is that, to find a stable sense of confidence, you have to start with appreciating yourself and cutting yourself some slack. make the active choice to care about your own well being and happiness. everything you need is inside of you already. like, you think appeasing people and putting yourself in situations you find uncomfortable just to please them will be rewarded with you being perceived positively, right? in reality, people should like you for who you are, rather than for what you can do for them. and they will. just because you don’t see your naturally positive qualities, doesn’t mean they don’t. it could also be that you put all of your worth into your drawings/your writing, and so you feel like those are the only things worth sharing about you, but that’s not the case. your presence and your personality is good enough on its own, i promise. i know you dont believe that. but nobody else sees you as negatively as you see yourself. the problem with depending on others for self worth is that it creates an environment in which you wont ever feel 100% content with who you are. it’s impossible to please everyone all of the time. people will always find a reason to hate, or to cause drama. but you dont owe anyone anything, you really really dont. not your time, not your energy, not your work. saying no and putting yourself first is a skill, it takes time to hone and perfect, especially if you’re prone to self hatred. but it’s still very possible. allow it to be a process. learn one step at a time. you’re not letting people down, you’re setting your own personal boundaries and you have EVERY right to do that. i cant stress it enough.

even if you just begin with rejecting one inconvenient commission per month, or complimenting yourself when you look in the mirror, or being honest with someone about your comfort zone. small efforts like that will add up over time, and sooner than you think, you’ll realize that it’s not actually that difficult to root for yourself because you deserve it. we’re taught from birth that what other people think determines who we actually are, but that’s just not true. other people’s perception of you is often untrustworthy and one dimensional. you’re still a good artist, even if you’re not available 24/7. you’re still a good writer, even if your stories are private. it’s not about recognition or proving yourself, it’s about the sense of fulfillment you get from enjoying your hobbies. you don’t have to sacrifice that for other people. it’s pointless. there’s honestly no shame in being up front, because that’s the only way to get your point across. you wouldn’t expect others to drop everything just to draw for you, right? so dont project that expectation onto yourself. you’re doing great. you haven’t even done anything wrong. so, take a breath. if you make the conscious decision to incorporate small, confidence building exercises into your daily routine, then you’ll definitely notice a difference eventually. and yeah, you’ll feel stupid at first. and yeah, you’ll feel bad for not being able to be there for everyone constantly. but that’s just life, that’s just how it is and the people around you will have to accept it. it may take a while, but try to observe your own behaviour, notice the moment in which you overexert yourself just for someone else’s approval - so that the next time you feel the urge, you’re able to quell it before you act on it :) you dont have to prove that you deserve to take up space in the world by going out of your way all of the time. you’re good enough as you are. that’s what it always comes back to. i’m sorry, i know words are so empty when you’re in such a worried state of mind, but i hope you’re able to take at least some of what i say seriously. because i mean it with all of my heart ! just let me know if you want to discuss this properly, or if you ever need a friend. hit me up anytime.

[driftingglass]

Your writing is absolutely stunning and I can't help but be amazed by it. I have read all your fic's and I love all of them. I love writing but I believe mine is average and I really want to improve. How can you write so beautifully? How long did it take you to write in such way? ( practicing I mean) 😊❤

First of all, thank you for taking the time to leave this comment in my inbox, and for providing such a thoughtful question to mull over. This is important for any writer to address, and I’m honored you’re seeking advice from a writer like me. I’m always insecure about my skills as a writer and learning how to continuously develop is difficult for anyone, no matter how experienced and well-rehearsed.

There are a few simple rules that I’ll share with you that I practice myself, and other personal beliefs that keep the process moving. 

I don’t have a specific timeline set out because I can’t remember a time where I didn’t write. I was horrible at it, understandably, at first, like most everyone. Still sinking into this new “skin,” so to speak, that I understood was the eventual layer of writing I wanted to reach and hold onto.

Unfortunately, I can’t provide a “step by step” process to achieve a certain kind of style. That, ultimately, is up to you. But we’ll get more into that later.

For one thing, it’s essential to know how much you love writing. 

And clearly, you seem to care quite a lot about it, hence that you love it but you believe it’s “average” and you want to improve. I’m not going to say that average writers don’t exist, because they do. People who tell you that every writer is “good in their own way” are wrong. 

Not every writer is good. Of course, this can be subjective to a point, but the fact remains that there are degrees of separation. And there is, at least in my experience and journey, a main difference between great writers, average writers, and, yes, terrible writers. 

I want to make it clear that I don’t consider myself to be a great writer by any means. Like every creative, we’re always pushing ourselves to be better and hone our craft, and this is no different for me. It’s an endless scope of a process that requires discipline and evolution, and both your own critical eye and that of another. 

One of the most important aspects of being a writer is understanding the amount of time and commitment you will need to carve out for your craft. “Good” and “average” writers only write and read every other day. Terrible writers don’t put in the time at all. 

But you don’t want to be good or average, do you? I doubt you even want to consider yourself “great” at one point. You want to be solid, and the best you can be. Maybe even the best. 

And what I want to share with you is what separates the average from the best.

In order to become that level, or at least improve, you must make the time to read and write every single day. It could be as little as 250 words or as many as 10,000 when it comes to writing. And reading? Well, reading is accomplished no matter what, but reading essays, articles, nonfiction, fiction, it all counts towards something.

It’s important to take the time to both consume from other influences, genres, sentence structures, ideas, plot developmental strategies, etc. just by reading other works. Invest in your favorite genre of fiction or whatever you’re interested in practicing yourself, and watch as even your subconscious works to help you grow. 

My average wordcount per day is 4,000 to 5,000 words. I also tend to overwrite quite a bit, and cut away the unnecessary fat later. My heaviest wordcount taken in one day caps off at 11,000 words. 

I get up early in the morning, go to the gym or run outside to get the blood flowing, write for a solid hour, then leave for work that same morning. It requires a lot of discipline and no, it’s not easy, but it’s worth it. And after work I write as well until I reach my goal for that day. 

Although I might also be a wee bit insane. So take that into account when asking for advice from someone who cares way more about writing than pretty much anything else, save for… coffee, some animals, and a handful of friends.

Regardless, this is something every great writer does. They make the time.

Start small, and grow from there. See how many words you can accomplish in one busy day. Create a routine for yourself. Let the ideas flow and grow into something that even surprises you. 

There are countless writing prompts, exercises and more to draw influence from. With my own ideas I just think of them on the spot, but in college I tended to look for prompts for short story concepts that didn’t require more than one ginormous chapter to set up a plot.

I’m hesitant to give advice about critiquing because I’m ware of how much this is a problem for me personally. I’m very harsh about my writing and can be obsessive about the turnout, leading to an ironic series of burnouts and even stalling. 

However, I can say that being critical, while sometimes dismissed by friends and colleagues, is absolutely necessary for you to improve. If you notice something off about your sentence structure, or if you realize that a character you’ve created definitely would not say “that line,” then feel free to erase it.

One of the best things about writing is that you are in control of your own imagination, and what you put down.

Just remember that it’s normal to feel burned out. 

Writing, like any passion, takes a lot of practice, time and commitment to make into something grand and beautiful. Your style will grow into itself and you’ll find a reflection of you in what you create. I never planned to have a certain style. 

The moment you try to replicate every other writer instead of accepting the type of writer you are meant to be, is one of many mistakes a first-time writer makes. Take it from someone who struggled with this for years before finding the courage to understand that writing is a process. 

Writing is rewriting. Remember this too.

It’s easy to forget how not everything you craft will be perfect. Writing is always imperfect. Even the best writers are far from perfect. Because perfection is, well, impossible to achieve. 

All that you can control is how hard you work at it, what you choose to focus on to improve your craft, and how you choose to approach your inevitable mistakes. 

The fear of failure is one of the biggest reasons great minds stop before they go through with what they want to accomplish. Sometimes it’s truly the only difference separating a published work from an unpublished work. 

Believe me, these upcoming aspects will tie together. I don’t intend to leave you hanging.

J.K. Rowling was rejected twelve times for Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (and probably even more). Pierce Brown faced rejection from over 120 agents before he was able to sell Red Rising. Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, J.R.R. Tolkien, William Golding, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rudyard Kipling–and so many more, have all faced rejection.

But rejection is inevitable for anyone who dreams. In fact, let’s move away from just writers for a moment. Would you believe that Walt Disney himself was turned down from his plans of financing the Walt Disney Company over 300 times? 

Success never falls into laps. Real success is made by actions taken. The choice to take those steps and keep moving forward, and never giving up, is one of the most important things about being a writer (and person). 

If you remain in a comfort zone, you will forever be stagnant. Growth only comes to those who challenge themselves and push forward. If you struggle with adapting character, research and figure out ways to make them more personal. Do you struggle with dialogue? Read your phrases allowed, study the character more, and test out different clauses and details.

There are countless ways to approach improving writing. It takes a myriad of steps, and it all comes down to the all-around focus you want to have. 

You know you want to improve. You know that you love writing. And for some, that’s enough of a reason to throw yourself into it and see what happens.

As one last thing to close this off (I could go on and on about this for days), please remember that your style is unique to you. It is a part of who you are, not anyone else. Everyone has writing influences (dozens, even) but their style is meant to be that. An influence. Not a replication. 

It’s a difficult journey and extremely stressful and heartbreaking at times, but it’s so, so rewarding.  

Writing, while something that’s incredibly wonderful to share with the world, is ultimately about you. You should write for you, so write what you want to write, reshape it accordingly, and keep at it until you reach your goal… and then keep going. 

I wish you the best with your endeavors, Anon. Thank you.