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luckyroll3 · 16 days ago

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Picture Perfect

Summary: After experiencing loads of chemistry with Chan during a magazine photoshoot, your insomnia leads to a chance encounter with him late night at the hotel pool that turns into an intimate one-on-one private photography session.

Chan x Reader (f); Smut; Fluff

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 15,451

You arrive at the studio two hours before the scheduled shoot, the weight of your camera bag a familiar comfort against your hip. The space smells of cleaner and expensive equipment, a scent you've come to associate with the peculiar blend of anxiety and control that defines your work. Your footsteps echo across the polished concrete floor as you flick on the industrial lights, transforming the cavernous room from shadow to clinical brightness. Today’s subjects are from Stray Kids; they’re a global sensation, eight impossibly photogenic men.

This is huge for you and you refuse to be anything less than impeccable.

The studio assistant has already arranged the sets according to your specifications, but you double-check everything anyway. Your reputation for perfectionism precedes you in the industry; it's how you landed this high-profile job in the first place. You adjust a reflector panel by two inches, tweaking the angle until the light bounces exactly right. Not harsh, not flat. Perfect.

You examine the concept boards propped on sleek easels with minimalist black frames housing images of striking contrasts and bold silhouettes. The brief called for "raw authenticity with polish," whatever the hell that means. But you understand the visual language behind the marketing jargon. These men need to look accessible yet untouchable, human yet godlike. The contradiction that sells.

Crouching beside your primary camera, you check the settings for the ninth time. Your fingers dance across the dials with practiced precision, muscle memory taking over as you mentally run through your shot list. Background music flows through hidden speakers; something ambient and unobtrusive, selected to create the illusion of calm in a space that will soon vibrate with heightened energy.

"Checking the histogram?" asks your assistant, materializing with a clipboard and a coffee that's more cream than caffeine.

"Always." You straighten up, rolling your shoulders to release the tension gathering there. "Did the stylist confirm the wardrobe arrived?"

Before she can answer, the atmosphere shifts. The front door swings open, and suddenly the air in the room feels electrified. You hear them before you see them; laughter, rapid-fire Korean interspersed with English, the unmistakable sound of a group that shares years of inside jokes and comfortable chaos.

Stray Kids spill into the studio like paint splashing onto canvas; They are vibrant, impossible to ignore, instantly transforming the space. Your eyes dart from face to face, mentally matching them to the brief profiles you'd studied. The tall one with the intense gaze must be Hyunjin. The one with the angelic features and impossibly deep voice has to be Felix. The one joking loudly and making exaggerated hand gestures is probably Changbin.

While your assistant scurries to greet them formally, you hang back, observing. It's part of your process, watching subjects before they know they're being watched often reveals the most authentic versions of themselves. The group moves like a single organism with eight distinct personalities, a choreography of friendship that speaks of a long-term shared experience.

And then, separated slightly from the playful chaos, your eyes lock with his. Bang Chan. The leader. You'd recognize those dimples anywhere, those intelligent eyes that seem to register everything at once. While the others are still shrugging off jackets and exclaiming over the studio setup, he approaches you directly, purposeful and present.

"Good morning," he says simply, extending his hand. His voice carries a hint of Australia in the vowels, a warmth that seems both professional and personal. "You must be our photographer for today."

His hand meets yours, and the contact sends an unexpected current up your arm. Static electricity, you tell yourself. The dry studio air. Nothing more.

You gave him a calm, practiced smile. "That's me," you respond, impressed by how steady your voice sounds despite the ridiculous flutter in your chest. “And you must be the one they warned me about.”

That earned you a soft chuckle. “Guilty. But I have a feeling they probably warned you about all eight of us.”

"You’re right. ‘Complete and utter chaos’, they said,” you confirm with a smirk. “Welcome to the studio. I've been looking forward to working with you all."

Chan's smile deepens, dimples appearing like punctuation marks on his face. "We've heard great things. Your work with that indie rock band last month, MindSweep, was incredible."

The fact that he's familiar with your portfolio catches you off guard. Most celebrities arrive prepped only with the bare minimum about the shoot itself.

"You've done your research," you say, allowing a small smile.

"Always." His eyes hold yours a beat longer than necessary. "It's important to know who's capturing your image, don't you think?"

Before you can respond, the management team arrives, breaking the moment with schedules and logistics. You slip back into professional mode, addressing the group as a whole, explaining your vision for the shoot, how you'll be working with each of them individually and as a unit.

"We'll start with group shots, then break into individual sessions," you explain, gesturing toward the main set. "The concept is contrast; light against shadow, structured against fluid. I want to capture the duality that defines your group."

As you speak, you notice Chan watching you with an intensity that makes your skin warm. Not a critical stare, but something appreciative; like he's seeing more than just another industry professional running through a routine.

The shoot begins, and you fall into the familiar rhythm of direction and capture. Your voice becomes firm, confident, all business as you position the group, adjust lighting, suggest angles. This is where you shine; behind the lens, control at your fingertips, seeing what others don't.

"Changbin, chin slightly lower. Seungmin, quarter turn to your right. Felix, that's perfect; hold that expression."

Through your viewfinder, eight faces transform under your guidance. You work quickly, efficiently, calling out adjustments and praise in equal measure. But no matter where you point your camera, you keep finding your focus pulled to Chan. The way he positions himself naturally, understanding the composition before you have to explain it. The subtle shift in his expression when the shutter clicks; somehow more present, more aware of the lens than the others.

"Chan, can you move slightly to center? Perfect." Your voice betrays nothing, but when he follows your direction with a knowing half-smile, something unspoken passes between you.

Two hours in, you're reviewing images on your monitor when you sense him behind you, close enough that you can smell the faint notes of his cologne. It’s something woody with subtle hints of vanilla.

"How are we doing?" he asks, voice low near your ear.

You scroll through the images, hyperaware of his presence at your shoulder. "Great. Your group photographs well together."

"Professional harmony," he says with a light laugh. "Over eight years of practice."

"It shows." You stop on a particularly striking image of him, the studio lights catching the angles of his face in a way that emphasizes both strength and vulnerability. "You have a natural instinct for the camera."

"Maybe it's the photographer," he counters, and you refuse to look up, focusing intently on the screen to hide the flush that threatens to rise to your cheeks.

When you move to individual shots, the energy shifts again. Each member brings a different presence to the set: I.N with his fashion-forward confidence; Hyunjin with his intense, almost theatrical expressions; Lee Know with his effortless cool that makes every frame look like an editorial spread.

During Han's session, you catch Chan watching from the sidelines, his gaze moving between you and the set with quiet assessment. When he catches you noticing, he doesn't look away. Instead, he offers that same half-smile that somehow makes you feel both seen and challenged.

"Chan, you're up next," you call after concluding with Seungmin, who thanks you with surprising formality before bouncing back to make fun of Changbin, who promptly pulls the younger member into a headlock.

Chan steps into the light with an ease that speaks of countless photoshoots, but there's something different about his demeanor now; a focused intensity directed at you rather than the camera. As you approach to adjust his position, your hand briefly touches his shoulder, and the contact, though professional, feels charged with meaning.

"Turn slightly toward the light," you instruct, your voice lower than intended. "I want to capture the contrast between shadow and illumination on your face."

He complies, but his eyes remain fixed on yours rather than looking into the lens. "Like this?"

You step closer, reaching up to adjust the angle of his jaw with your fingertips. The touch is clinical, something you've done with countless models, but your pulse quickens embarrassingly.

"Almost. Look past the camera, not at it. I'm trying to capture contemplation."

He holds the pose perfectly, and you retreat behind your camera, grateful for the barrier. Through the viewfinder, you see him differently; fragmented into composition, light, and form. It's easier to maintain professionalism when reducing him to artistic elements.

"Perfect," you murmur, capturing frame after frame. "Now, relax your shoulders,” you say, voice low. “Think less magazine cover, more… album you made for yourself but never released.”

His brow arches with amused curiosity, but he follows your direction. And when he exhales, the wall drops. The image you capture in that instant is breathtaking; it makes your heart skip.

“Now, don’t move but look directly at the lens."

When he does, the intensity in his gaze seems to bypass the camera entirely, connecting with you despite the equipment between you. Your finger hesitates on the shutter for a fraction of a second before continuing.

Throughout his individual session, you maintain the appearance of cool professionalism, but there's an undeniable current running beneath each exchange. His responses to your direction come just a beat slower than necessary, as if he's considering each word. When you show him a particularly striking image on the camera display, his shoulder presses against yours briefly, and neither of you moves away.

Chan hovers near your table as you scroll through the preview reel on your laptop.

“Got a favorite yet?” he asks.

You tilt the screen toward him. One of him leaning against a pillar, looking half-bored, half-thoughtful.

He laughs. “I look like I just told someone they disappointed me.”

“It’s honest,” you say. “People like honesty.”

Your eyes meet again. Something soft flickered there; recognition, maybe. Or curiosity.

"I like how you see things," he says quietly, for your ears alone.

The final group shots are a controlled chaos of eight bodies and distinct personalities coming together under your direction. You navigate around the set, occasionally brushing past Chan as you reposition lights or adjust compositions. Each momentary contact feels deliberate on both sides, though nothing could be proven.

From across the room, you notice Felix whispering something to Seungmin while glancing between you and Chan. Seungmin responds with an eye roll that dissolves into a knowing smile. They've noticed something; perhaps the same electrical current you've been trying to ignore.

"Last set," you announce, positioning the group for the final concept. "I want movement in this one; natural interaction, nothing posed."

They fall into comfortable chaos: Changbin playfully headlocking Seungmin, Hyunjin dramatically posing while Han pretends to faint at his beauty, Lee Know trying to kiss I.N. while the youngest recoils in horror as he laughs, and Felix grinning brightly at all the chaos. Chan maintains his position slightly apart, his eyes finding yours over the top of your camera with unmistakable intent. When Han yells something loudly in Korean, Chan breaks the intense eye contact and dissolves into a fit of giggles.

You capture it all: the friendship, the playfulness, the subtle thread of tension that runs between you and the group's leader. In the viewfinder, they're just images, compositions of light and shadow. But the feeling in the studio, particularly when Chan's gaze meets yours, that's something no camera can fully capture.

When you finally call the shoot complete, the group erupts in relieved laughter and thank-yous. As they gather their personal items and the stylists begin packing up, Chan lingers near the equipment, examining your camera setup with genuine interest.

"This lens," he says, gesturing but not touching, respectful of your equipment. "It's the same one you used for that editorial last spring, isn't it? The one with all the dramatic shadows."

The fact that he remembers such a specific detail about your work catches you off-guard again. "Good eye," you reply, impressed despite yourself. "Most people wouldn't notice the difference."

He shrugs, a casual gesture that somehow manages to highlight the line of his shoulders. "I pay attention to things that interest me."

The statement hangs in the air between you, ambiguous enough to be professional, specific enough to be something more. Before you can respond, his manager calls him over to discuss scheduling, and the moment stretches thin, unresolved.

As the group prepares to leave, Chan turns back, catching your eye across the now-cluttered studio. The smile he offers is different from the ones he's given all day; smaller, more private, like a secret between the two of you. You nod slightly in acknowledgment, already knowing that the photographs you've captured today, technically perfect as they may be, won't fully convey what passed unspoken between photographer and subject.

You're coiling the last of the lighting cables as the clamor of eight voices, stylists' directions, and management's hurried phone calls has dissolved into a humming silence punctuated only by the soft clicks of your equipment being packed away. The overhead lights have dimmed to their evening setting, casting the space in a warm glow that softens the industrial edges of the room. You look up to find Chan standing by the door, one shoulder propped against the frame, watching you with a quiet intensity that makes your hands fumble slightly with the cable. You didn't realize he had stayed behind.

"I thought you left with the others," you say, voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet studio. You loop the cable with methodical precision, focusing on the task to maintain composure.

"The others went ahead to dinner." His voice carries easily across the space between you. "I told them I'd catch up."

You nod, placing the coiled cable in its designated case. The studio feels smaller somehow with just the two of you in it, as though the walls have inched closer. Your movements are deliberate, professional, a contrast to the inexplicable nervousness fluttering beneath your ribs.

"Everything go okay with the shoot?" you ask, though you already know the answer. The images captured today were some of your best work, partly due to the subject matter, though you're reluctant to admit that to him.

Chan pushes away from the doorframe and moves into the room with unhurried confidence. His presence seems amplified in the emptiness, drawing your attention even as you pretend to focus on closing equipment cases and checking memory cards.

"Better than okay," he says, approaching your workstation where the monitor still displays the last image you were reviewing, coincidentally, one of him, eyes direct and challenging the camera. "I've done hundreds of these, you know. But this one felt different."

You glance up, meeting his gaze. "Different how?"

He considers the question, running a hand through his tousled hair in a gesture that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Most photographers see what they want to see. You seemed to be looking for what was actually there."

The compliment catches you off guard. It’s specific, thoughtful, not the generic praise you typically receive. You turn away, suddenly conscious of how close he's standing, his presence radiating a warmth that has nothing to do with the studio lighting.

"That's the job," you respond, closing the laptop with a soft click. "Finding the truth in the performance."

Chan makes a sound that’s half laugh, half acknowledgement. "Is that what you think I was doing? Performing?"

You look up at him again, allowing yourself a moment of professional assessment. "Everyone performs in front of a camera. It's human nature."

"And what about now?" He gestures to the empty studio. "No camera. No audience. Am I still performing?"

The question hangs between you, weighted with implication. His expression is open, curious, with something simmering beneath the surface that quickens your pulse.

"I don't know," you answer honestly. Most of the celebrities you meet are always on, camera or not, audience or not. "Are you?"

His smile appears slowly, creating those dimples that the camera loves so much. In the softened studio light, they appear deeper, more intimate somehow.

He ignores your question. "Thank you," he says suddenly, the phrase landing with unexpected significance.

You tilt your head slightly. "For the shoot? Just doing my job."

"No." He shakes his head, taking another step closer. "For seeing us, seeing me, the way you did. The pictures were..." he searches for the word, "honest."

You find yourself mirroring his movement, drawn forward by some invisible pull until barely two feet separate you. The air feels charged, like the moment before a flash fires.

"Honesty makes for better art," you say, your voice dropping to match the intimate atmosphere that's developed around you both.

"Is that what brought you to photography? The pursuit of honesty?" His questions feel deeper than the typical post-shoot small talk, probing gently at your passion rather than just your process.

You consider how to answer, surprised by your desire to offer something genuine rather than the practiced responses you usually give. "Partly. I like finding the moments between the moments, I guess. The truth that exists when people think no one's watching."

Chan's eyes hold yours, and for a second, you feel as exposed as if you were the one in front of the lens. "Like how you were watching me today when you thought I wouldn't notice?"

Heat rises to your face, and you're grateful for the dim lighting. "I was doing my job," you counter, though the defense sounds weak even to your ears.

"Very thoroughly," he agrees, the teasing lilt in his voice making your stomach flip. "Especially during my individual session. I counted at least twice as many shots as the others got."

"Some subjects require more work," you reply, surprising yourself with the boldness of your response.

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the quiet studio. "Ouch. Is that how you talk to all your clients?"

"Only the ones who hang around after hours to critique my process."

"Not critiquing," he corrects, his hand coming to rest casually on the edge of the desk, inches from your own. "Appreciating."

The proximity of his fingers to yours creates a tangible tension, a magnetic field you feel compelled to either break or complete. You remain still, neither of you retreating or advancing.

"You know," Chan continues, his voice lower now, "I requested you specifically for this shoot."

This admission is surprising. "You did?"

He nods, eyes never leaving yours. "Your work has this... rawness to it. Even with all the commercial gloss, there's something uncalculated about your images. It's rare in this industry."

You find yourself momentarily speechless, touched by the specificity of his observation. Most people in his position would hardly give a second thought to who was behind the camera.

"I’m sure the label had several options," you say, recovering. "I assumed they made the final call."

"They did… after I made my preference clear." His fingers drum lightly on the desk, still tantalizingly close to yours. "I can be persuasive when I decide I want something."

There's that unspoken current again, running beneath his words, charging the exchange with meaning that extends beyond professional admiration. You should probably create some distance, maintain the boundary between photographer and subject, but your feet remain rooted to the spot.

"Well, I'm flattered," you say, aiming for nonchalance despite the warmth spreading through your chest. "Though you might be overestimating my talent."

"I don't think so." His response is immediate, genuine.

Your phone vibrates on the desk, breaking the moment. You glance down to see your assistant's text asking if everything wrapped up okay and if you need her to come back. The real world intruding on whatever bubble had formed around you and Chan.

"I should finish packing up," you say, though most of the equipment is already secured.

Chan straightens, giving you space, though reluctance is evident in his posture. "Of course. I didn't mean to keep you."

You busy yourself with the remaining equipment, aware of his presence as he moves to the doorway again, one hand coming to rest on the pillar in a casual pose that somehow manages to highlight the lean strength of his body. Even in this unguarded moment, he's naturally photogenic, and your fingers itch for your camera.

"I meant what I said about your work," he says as you shoulder your camera bag. "It's special. You see things others miss."

You allow yourself to meet his gaze again, abandoning the pretense of professional detachment. "And what do you think I see when I look at you, Chan?"

The question is bolder than you intended, stripping away the polite veneer that's characterized your interaction so far. His expression shifts, surprise giving way to something darker, more intense.

"I'm not sure," he answers honestly. "But I'd like to find out." There’s a smirk on his face that you try to ignore as you sling your tote bag around your body and pick up your box of equipment.

You move toward the door where he stands, knowing you need to leave but reluctant to end whatever this is. As you approach, he remains in place, his body creating a partial barrier that will require you to pass close to him.

“Thank you again for today,” he says softly. “You’ve got a really calm energy. Kind of rare in rooms like this.”

“You’re not so bad yourself. Thank you for being a great subject,” you respond as you readjust the box to hold your hand out to him. “Hopefully I’ll get to work with your group again.”

He takes your hand in his and squeezes gently. “Hopefully.” He holds onto your hand for a second too long, before releasing.

As you move by him, he remains close enough that your shoulder brushes against his chest, a contact that could be dismissed as accidental but feels entirely deliberate.

At the threshold, you pause and look back at him, standing in the glow of the studio, somehow looking like he belongs there. The day has been a symphony of unspoken communication, charged glances, and professional pretense masking growing attraction. Now, on the cusp of leaving, that attraction crystallizes into something palpable enough to touch.

As you finally turn to leave, his voice follows you one last time.

"And for the record," he says, "I wasn't performing today. Not with you."

You glance back over your shoulder, allowing yourself one last look at his face, memorizing the way the fading light catches his features. "I know," you reply simply. "That's what made it interesting."

His answering smile follows you out the door.

****

You stare at the hotel ceiling, counting the tiny stucco bumps until your eyes cross and uncross. Sleep is playing hard to get tonight, flirting with your consciousness before ghosting you completely. The digital clock on the nightstand flashes 2:17 AM like it's mocking you. Your body also still hums from the shoot. You’re creatively energized and emotionally restless thanks to the residual adrenaline, as your mind replays today's session on an endless loop, specifically the moments when Chan's eyes found yours over the camera lens, the way his voice dropped when speaking only to you.

You reach for your phone, then think better of it. Your brain won't be silenced by another mindless scroll through social media or the muted sitcom reruns playing on the hotel TV.

"Fuck it," you whisper to the empty room half an hour later. With a frustrated sigh, you kick off the suffocating sheets and pad to your suitcase. If sleep is determined to evade you, you might as well do something about it. You pull out the yellow bikini you packed out of habit and a thin cotton cover-up that's seen better days but feels like an old friend against your skin. Hotels equal pools equal bikinis; simple traveler's math.

The elevator ascends silently as it carries you to the rooftop, the mirrors reflecting a woman caught in the liminal space between exhaustion and alertness. You pad across the marbled hallway and stop at the glass doors. According to the information packet in your room, the pool closes at midnight, but your keycard still grants access. Either someone forgot to update the system, or night swimming is the hotel's unspoken perk for insomniacs. You push through the glass doors into the night.

The rooftop deck appears as a midnight oasis, the pool a rectangle of liquid sapphire, illuminated from below by lights that pulse gently between shades of blue as moonlight dances across the water’s surface. The water glitters under the night sky, empty and peaceful, while silver patterns shift and reform with each gentle ripple. The city sprawls below in a patchwork of lights, but up here exists in a bubble of quiet separate from the urban pulse.

Not a soul in sight. Perfect.

You kick off your flip flops and drop the cover-up onto a lounge chair, its fabric forming a crumpled shape. You slip into the pool without ceremony, sighing as the warmth wraps around your skin when you slide beneath the surface. This is exactly what you needed, something real and immediate to wash away the day’s lingering electricity.

You float on your back, eyes open to the vast spill of stars above, letting your thoughts dissolve into the gentle lap of water against the pool’s edge. Your eyes gently close as the water plugs your ears against the world, creating a private universe as the silence holds you.

A splash shatters your tranquil solitude. It’s almost silent, signifying the execution of a clean dive.

You jerk upright, treading water, as a figure cuts through the water just below the surface with practiced grace and professional looking strokes, powerful arms slicing through the blue. When the swimmer surfaces with a satisfied inhale and exhale and pushes hair back from his face, your heart performs a complicated gymnastic routine against your ribs.

Chan.

He freezes and his eyes widen when they meet yours, recognition sparking between you like the underwater lights reflecting on the pool's surface. His surprised expression mirrors your own.

"Oh," he says, his Australian accent coating the syllable in honey as he treads water. "I didn't think anyone else was… I can go if you want privacy."

"No!" The word comes out louder, quicker than you intended. "I mean, it’s fine; it's a big pool. Plenty of room for two insomniacs."

His laugh is low and warm, creating ripples around his shoulders where they break the water's plane. "Is that what we are? Fellow members of the Can't Sleep Club?"

"Charter members," you confirm, treading water at what feels like a respectful distance. "I was halfway through counting those ceiling bumps when I had to bail."

Chan grins, accompanied by those infamous dimples. "I was writing lyrics in my head. Same ones I've been stuck on for three days. Figured maybe they'd flow better in water."

"Does that work? The water thing?"

He makes a so-so gesture with his hand, droplets flying from his fingertips like tiny diamonds. "Sometimes. Water, shower, driving; places where your body's busy but your mind can wander. You know what I mean?"

You do. You tell him about your own creative process, surprised at how the conversation flows easily, the water providing a buffer against the awkwardness of speaking with someone you spent the day assessing and photographing.

��What about you? What’s keeping you up?”

"Same disease, different symptoms." You don't mention that he, specifically, has been the primary thought keeping you awake. "The ceiling in my room was starting to mock me."

Chan laughs, the sound echoing slightly in the open-air space. "Mine was definitely judging my life choices."

He swims closer with lazy, confident strokes, coming to rest a respectful distance away. Water beads across his shoulders and collarbones, catching the moonlight like scattered diamonds.

"So," he begins, "do you crash hotel pools after 2 AM often, or am I witnessing a rare event?"

"Only when particularly photogenic boy band leaders keep me from sleeping," you quip before you can stop yourself.

His eyebrows shoot up, and for a horrifying second, you think you've overstepped. Then his face cracks into a grin. "Oh? And here I thought it was my sparkling personality that made an impression."

"That too," you concede, relaxing into the banter. "Though your dimples did most of the heavy lifting."

He splashes a small wave of water in your direction, the playful gesture breaking any remaining tension. "And here I spent all those years developing my musical talents when I could've just smiled my way to success."

You splash him back without hesitation. "Don't sell yourself short. Your music isn’t that bad,” you add with a smirk, causing him to laugh loudly.

"You’re funny. So do you leave tomorrow?" he asks, gliding even closer, his body a shadow beneath the illuminated water.

"Yeah, I'm covering a music festival in Austin on Saturday for an online magazine. Arts and culture beat."

"We fly out tomorrow too. We have a couple performances in Tokyo before heading back to Seoul." His gaze holds yours a beat longer than necessary, and the water suddenly feels warmer against your skin.

The two of you drift into an easy conversation. You talk about music; not just his, though you do mention a B-side from their last album that you particularly love, watching his face light up with pride. He asks thoughtful questions about your work, listening with his whole body, nodding and responding in ways that make it clear he's not just waiting for his turn to speak.

He’s different in this setting: looser, softer. He's not Bang Chan the performer right now; he's just Chan, a guy with tired eyes and a bright smile that seems to pull from somewhere genuine. And when you laugh together, it doesn’t feel like a first-time thing. It feels familiar.

"That's exactly what I was trying to express in that track," he says, after you describe how a certain chord progression in one of his songs made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something both terrifying and beautiful. "Like you're about to jump, and you don't know if you'll fly or fall, but the not knowing is what makes it worth doing."

The conversation shifts to art, to creativity, to the way certain combinations of notes or words or colors can crack something open inside a person. You're both moving in lazy circles now, sometimes drifting closer, sometimes apart, like binary stars locked in orbit.

"I’m surprised you've actually listened to our music. I thought maybe you just did your homework for the shoot."

"I like to understand what I'm capturing," you admit. "But I was a fan of your production style before I knew about this job. The layering you do with vocal harmonies on your solo tracks is..." You pause, searching for the right word. "It's architectural. I mean, it’s also there in many of the group songs, you singing harmonies in the background, but it’s more pronounced on the songs you record by yourself."

Chan moves closer, genuinely intrigued now. "Most people don't notice that stuff."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he agrees, eyes never leaving yours. "You definitely aren't."

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the gentle sound of water as you both tread calmly.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice is softer now, more intimate.

"Depends on the question."

"What made you become a photographer? Like, really; not the answer you give in interviews."

The unexpected depth of his question catches you off-guard. You consider deflecting with humor but find yourself wanting to give him honesty instead.

"I was always the observer," you tell him. "The kid on the periphery watching how people interact, capturing moments in my mind before I ever had a camera. Photography just gave me a legitimate reason to keep watching."

Chan nods slowly, absorbing your words. "That makes sense. You have that quality of seeing beyond what people present."

"What about you?" you ask. "Was music always the path?"

"Always," he confirms with absolute certainty. "Even when I was being passed over for groups and debut and my parents were gently suggesting backup plans. Music wasn't just what I wanted to do; it was the only way I made sense to myself."

His hand gestures animatedly as he speaks, sending small ripples across the water's surface. One hand comes to rest briefly on your arm to emphasize a point, and the contact, though fleeting, sends warmth radiating through you despite the cool water.

"I get that," you say. "Some pursuits aren't choices, they're necessities."

He studies your face with unexpected intensity. "Exactly. That's exactly it."

You've drifted closer during the conversation, close enough now that you can see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. His gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

"You know what's funny?" Chan says, his voice softer now. "I came up here to be alone, but this is the first time today I've felt like I could breathe properly."

"The irony of finding peace with a stranger in a pool at 3 AM isn't lost on me," you reply, and he laughs again, the sound rippling across the water's surface like rain.

"Are we still strangers, though?" he asks, and there's a genuine curiosity there, a head tilt that makes water droplets run from his hair down the curve of his neck.

You consider this. "Maybe not. Maybe we're... temporal friends. Friends for tonight."

"I like that," he says, swimming closer. "Temporal friends with potential."

"Potential for what?" The question hangs between you, heavy with possibility.

Instead of answering, he floats onto his back, staring up at the slice of sky visible above the hotel's glass barriers. You join him, your shoulders occasionally brushing as you drift. The contact sends tiny electric currents through your body each time it happens.

"Some people are just blips," he says eventually. "And some are turning points."

The philosophical tone surprises you. "Which am I?"

His hand finds yours underwater, fingers intertwining like it's the most natural thing in the world. "I don't know yet. That's what makes it interesting."

When you both right yourselves again, you're closer than before, your hands still touching. Close enough to see the water droplets clinging to his eyebrows, the moles scattered across his face and neck that makeup usually conceals. There's a small scar peeking out from the edge of his swim shorts on his hip; it makes you want to trace it with your fingertips.

"Today, during the shoot," he says quietly. "There was something there, wasn't there? I wasn't imagining it?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs. "No. You weren't imagining it."

"And now?" he asks. When you don’t say anything, he continued. "I have a confession," he says, his voice dropping to a register that vibrates pleasantly against your sternum despite the water between you.

"Should I be worried?"

"I couldn’t stop thinking about you from earlier today."

Heat that has nothing to do with the pool temperature rises to your cheeks. "Oh really?"

He nods, one hand reaching out to tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear. "How you talked about your philosophy for taking pictures, capturing the moments in between.”

His hand lingers near your face, and something shifts in the air between you. The playful banter recedes like a tide, leaving something more raw and honest in its wake.

"Chan…," you start, not entirely sure what you're going to say next.

"I like how you say my name," he interrupts softly. "Not like you're saying the name of someone you've heard of. Like you know me."

His arm brushes against yours as a slight current pulls you both toward the center of the pool. Neither of you moves away. The contact is deliberate now, the press of skin against skin underwater creating a different kind of conversation.

“Funny,” he says, bobbing in front of you. “I didn’t think the most memorable part of today would happen after the shoot.”

You look at him. “Are you trying to be charming?”

He shrugs, grinning. “Am I succeeding?”

Instead of answering, you move closer. So does he. And then the space between your bodies disappears.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks quietly, and the directness of it, the simple honesty, makes your breath catch.

You nod, and he eliminates the remaining distance between you with a smile that's equal parts shy and certain. His lips touch yours with cautious pressure, cool from the water but warming quickly. It's tentative at first. Slow, exploring, questioning. But when your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, the kiss quickly deepens into something hungrier. His tongue traces your bottom lip, and you open to him with a small sound that seems to echo across the water's surface.

His hands find your waist underwater, drawing you flush against him and anchoring you to him as your legs tangle together to stay afloat. The sensation of being weightless while he holds you makes every touch feel amplified.

You break apart, breathing heavily, foreheads touching. Around you, the water ripples with the movement of your bodies, small waves lapping against the pool's edge like applause.

"That was..." he trails off, searching for words.

"Good potential," you finish for him, and his laugh is breathless against your mouth before he kisses you again, more certain this time, his hands moving from your waist down to your ass.

You can feel every inch where your bodies connect: the firm plane of his chest against yours, the brush of his thighs against your own, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your hip. The water seems to echo the sound of your combined breaths, magnifying them in the quiet night.

When you pull away again, his eyes are darker, more intense than before. The playful musician has been replaced by something more primal, more focused. It sends a shiver down your spine despite the warm water.

"My room or yours?" he asks, his voice rough at the edges.

You consider for a moment. "Mine's on the twelfth floor."

"Mine's on the fourteenth, but we’re more likely to get interrupted by my bandmates. They’re a bit… mischievous. And nosey."

"Mine it is," you agree, and there's a moment where you both just look at each other, a silent acknowledgment of the threshold you're about to cross.

He kisses you once more, softly, before you both swim to the edge of the pool. You climb out first, water cascading from your body, suddenly aware of how your bikini clings to every curve. Chan follows, and you allow yourself to appreciate the way water runs in rivulets down the contours of his chest and arms, highlighting the definition of muscles that his usual oversized hoodies conceal.

He retrieves your cover-up from the lounge chair, holding it open for you with a gentlemanly flourish that makes you snort with laughter, breaking the tension. He grabs his own t-shirt, using it to roughly dry his hair before pulling it on over his wet skin. It seems neither of you remembered to bring towels for your late night swim.

As you walk toward the elevator, leaving damp footprints across the marble floor, his hand finds yours again. It's such a simple gesture, fingers lacing together, but it carries the weight of intention. This isn't just about physical attraction. There's a connection here that transcends the random chance of two insomniacs finding each other in a hotel pool at 3 AM.

The elevator doors close, and Chan leans against the wall, still holding your hand, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Still temporal friends?" he asks.

"With increasingly clear potential," you answer, and his laugh follows you all the way down to the twelfth floor.

When you and Chan finally make it back to your room, it doesn’t feel reckless. It feels inevitable.

You fumble with the key card, your breath hitching when Chan’s hand brushes your hip, casual but deliberate. You open the door and step aside to let him in. The room is dim, painted in soft golds from the city lights bleeding through the windows.

The hotel room door clicks shut behind you with the finality of a decision made. The two of you stand in the dim entryway for a moment, water still dripping from both your bodies, the air between you thick with anticipation. You're suddenly aware of how small the space feels with Chan's presence filling it. His eyes catch the subdued light from the bedside lamp you'd left on earlier, turning them to liquid amber. The wet t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, leaving nothing to imagination yet somehow making you hungrier to see what's beneath. A small puddle forms where you both stand, neither of you moving, the moment suspended between hesitation and inevitability.

"So," Chan says, breaking the silence with a nervous laugh that humanizes him instantly. "This is the part where I'd normally make a joke about being all wet, but I'm trying not to be that guy."

"You just made the joke while saying you weren't going to make it," you point out, grateful for the tension breaker.

"Fuck. I did, didn't I?" His dimples deepen as he runs a hand through his damp hair. "Let me try again. Hi, I'm the hot guy from the pool who can't stop looking at your mouth."

Heat blooms between your legs. "Much better," you say, stepping closer. "I'm the girl who's thinking about peeling that shirt off you."

"Thinking about it, or...?" He lets the question hang.

In response you reach for him, bringing your lips to his.

The kiss is different now; deeper, more urgent. You curl your fingers into the hem of his soaked t-shirt, slowly pulling it upward. He raises his arms to help, and the wet fabric makes a soft sucking sound as it releases his skin. You break the kiss to pull it the rest of the way over his head. You drop it to the floor with a soft splat, your eyes tracing the contours of his chest and abdomen.

His hands settle on your ass, thumbs brushing the bare skin just beneath the bikini bottom.

He kisses down your neck slowly, as if savoring each inch of you. You shiver as his teeth graze your collarbone.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper.

He chuckles against your skin. “Only if you want me to be.”

His palms slide over your ass, up your back, around your front and across your tits until they find the tie of your cover-up, tugging gently. "Fair's fair," he murmurs.

The light fabric falls open, then to the floor, and his breath catches audibly at the sight of your bikini-clad body. His eyes travel a slow path from your collarbone to your hardened nipples probing through the fabric, then down your stomach to your thighs, appreciation evident in the way his pupils dilate.

"You're staring," you whisper.

"Can you blame me?" His voice has a rough edge to it now. "I keep thinking I should pinch myself. The hot photographer from my shoot is standing in my hotel room in a wet bikini."

"Your hotel room is on the fourteenth floor," you remind him with a smirk. "This is my room."

"Details," he dismisses with a wave, stepping close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Important detail, though: I really want to kiss you again."

"Then do it."

His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with a gentleness that contrasts the hunger in his eyes. This kiss is more deliberate, more knowing. His tongue slides against yours, and you taste chlorine and the steak he had for dinner. You press closer, your damp skin meeting his, and he groans into your mouth.

Your fingers dance along his spine, feeling each vertebra, mapping the terrain of his back. His hands move from your face to your shoulders, then lower, skimming the sides of your breasts through the wet bikini top.

"This needs to go," he murmurs against your lips, fingers finding the tie at your back. He pulls to loosen it.

"Yours too," you reply, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his swim shorts.

There's a moment of clumsy, laughing urgency as you both shed the last of your wet clothes. Chan's swim shorts stick to his thighs, requiring an ungraceful hopping movement that makes you both dissolve into giggles. But the laughter dies in your throat when he stands before you, fully naked and unashamed.

His body is a testament to discipline. It’s all lean muscle under smooth skin, the definition of his abdomen leading your eyes downward to where he's already hard for you.

"Your turn," he says, his voice lower now, serious.

You reach behind your neck to untie the second set of strings of your bikini top, letting it fall away to the ground. Chan’s sharp intake of breath is more gratifying than any practiced compliment. His eyes darken as he takes in your bare breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in an unconscious gesture of want. The bikini bottoms follow, sliding down your legs to join the puddle of wet materials at your feet.

For a moment, you just look at each other, naked in more ways than one.

"You're fucking beautiful," he says, and there's something raw in his voice that makes the words feel like more than a line, more than what you say in these moments.

"So are you," you reply, meaning it.

He closes the distance between you again, and the first touch of his naked skin against yours pulls a gasp from your throat. His erection presses hard against your stomach as his arms encircle you, hands splaying across your back to pull you closer.

The kiss deepens, turns hungrier. You walk backward toward the bed, unwilling to break contact, until your calves hit the mattress. Chan follows you down as you fall back, his body covering yours, hips settling naturally between your spread thighs.

"You've been driving me crazy all day," he admits against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. "Standing behind that camera, completely in control."

Your fingers trail slowly down his back. "And now?"

His smile is wicked, dimples appearing like punctuation marks to his intent. "Now it's my turn to capture you. Tell me what you want," he breathes against your neck, where his lips have been leaving a trail of heat.

"You," you say simply. "But also… talk to me."

He raises his head to meet your eyes, a question in his gaze.

"I want to hear you," you clarify. "Not just the polite, edited version of the idol they train you to be. I want the real you."

A slow smile spreads across his face, something darker and more primal than his stage smile. "Careful what you wish for," he warns, then drags his mouth down your body, pausing to take a nipple between his lips.

You arch into the sensation, a moan escaping as he uses his tongue in wicked circles around the sensitive peak. His hand finds your other breast, thumb brushing back and forth across the nipple in counterpoint to his mouth's rhythm.

"Fuck, you taste good," he murmurs against your skin. "Been thinking about this since I saw you this morning, standing there looking all professional but with this mouth that had me imagining all sorts of unprofessional shit."

His confession sends a thrill through you. "Like what?" you ask, running your fingers through his damp hair as he moves lower, lips tracing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your navel.

"Like how you'd sound when you cum," he says, settling between your thighs, his breath hot against your center. When his lips kiss the inside of your right thigh, it quivers. "Like how your body would react to mine. Like whether you'd be loud or quiet." His tongue takes a long, deliberate swipe through your folds as if he was licking a large scoop of ice cream. "Like how wet you'd get for me."

Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact, a whimper escaping your lips.

"That answers one question," he says with a smirk you can feel against your sensitive skin. "You're responsive. I like that."

His tongue finds your clit, circling it with just the right pressure to make your thighs tremble. One of his hands slides up your body to palm your breast again, while the other holds your hip, thumb making small circles against your hip bone.

"Chan," you gasp as he sucks gently at your most sensitive point. "That's… fuck…"

"That's the idea," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your arousal. "But not yet. Want to taste you first. Want to make you cum on my tongue before I fuck the shit out of you."

The crude words in his gentle voice send a fresh wave of heat through you. His mouth returns to your center, more insistent now, tongue alternating between broad strokes and focused attention to your clit. He slides one finger inside you, then two, curling them to hit the spot that makes your vision blur at the edges.

Your body arches into his hand and mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction. He watches your reactions with the same intensity he brought to your camera lens, learning what makes your breath hitch, what draws out the low moan from the back of your throat.

"Fuck," you breathe as his fingers establish a rhythm that sends heat spiraling through your core. "Right there."

Chan's smile is both tender and triumphant. "I like when you tell me exactly what you want."

So you do. With unfiltered directness that makes his eyes darken and his movements grow more urgent. The professional distance that separated photographer from subject dissolves completely as you hold his head between your legs, as his tongue trades places back and forth with his fingers with devastating precision.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice vibrating against you. "Let me hear you. Tell me how it feels."

"So fucking good," you manage, your hands fisting his hair. "Don't stop, please don't stop…"

He doesn't. His fingers work in tandem with his mouth, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher. The tension coils tight in your core, your breath coming in shorter gasps.

"I'm close," you warn, and his response is to increase the pressure, the speed of his fingers, the suction of his mouth.

When you cum, you breathe out, “Oh Chan!” Your body arches off the bed. He stays with you through it, gentling his touch as the waves of pleasure wash over you, gradually bringing you down until you're boneless and breathing hard.

He kisses his way back up your body, a smug satisfaction in his eyes that you're too blissed out to call him on. When his mouth meets yours, you taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a renewed pulse of desire through you despite your recent orgasm.

"Condom?" he asks against your mouth.

You gesture vaguely toward your bag on the nightstand. "Travel pack. Always prepared."

He laughs, reaching over to open the bag and dig around until he removes the small box. "A woman who comes with emergency condoms. Be still my heart." He opens it and removes a packet.

"Less talking, more fucking," you say, grabbing his wrist to pull him back to you.

His eyebrows shoot up at your directness, but the dimpled grin that follows is approving. "Yes, ma'am."

He tears open the foil packet and rolls the condom on with practiced efficiency. Then he's hovering over you again, his weight supported on his forearms, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance.

"Ready?" he asks, his playfulness momentarily set aside for genuine concern.

You answer by wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him forward, guiding him into you. His cock enters you in one slow, delicious slide, deep and intentional like he wants you to feel every second of it. And you do. “Chan…” escapes your lips in a breathless sigh.

"Fuck," he groans this time, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

Your bodies fit together like they’d been crafted with this moment in mind. He fills you completely, stretching you in a way that borders on too much but settles into perfect. For a moment, neither of you moves, adjusting to the sensation of being joined.

Then he begins to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, and coherent thought fragments into pure sensation. His eyes never leave yours, creating an intimacy that's almost too intense.

"You feel amazing," he whispers, pace quickening. “Better than I imagined.”

"You imagined this?" you ask, wrapping your legs higher around his waist.

His laugh is strained with pleasure. "All. Fucking. Day."

The admission pushes you closer to the edge, and you tighten your legs around his waist. You run your hands down his back, feeling the muscles work as he moves inside you, then up to tangle in his hair.

"Harder," you whisper, and something flashes in his eyes; relief, maybe, at being given permission to let go.

He complies, his hips snapping forward with more force, setting a new rhythm that has the headboard knocking gently against the wall. The new angle hits something inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

Your hand slips between your bodies, seeking the additional pressure that will send you over. Chan watches with fascination as you touch yourself while he moves inside you, his rhythm faltering briefly at the sight.

"That's the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen," he murmurs, voice rough with desire as he increases the pace of his thrusts.

"There," you gasp. "Right there."

"Got it," he says, voice strained with the effort of control. He maintains the angle, the pace, then slides his own hand down to replace your fingers with his, circling your clit with the same rhythm he uses to fuck you. "Want to feel you cum around my cock, gorgeous."

The combination of his words, his skilled fingers, and the relentless pressure of him inside you pushes you toward the edge again. Your nails dig into his shoulders, causing him to hiss slightly.

"So close," you pant. "Chan, I'm…"

"Me too," he grits out. "Together, yeah?"

You nod, beyond words now. His movements become more erratic, his breathing harsh against your neck where he's buried his face. The tension builds and builds until it shatters, your orgasm washing over you in waves that have you crying out as you shake, clinging to him. He follows moments later, his hips stuttering, his face buried in the crook of your neck, a low, guttural sound torn from his throat as he pulses inside you.

Both of you lay tangled in the sheets, skin to skin. For several heartbeats, neither of you moves. The only sound in the room is your combined breathing, gradually slowing, the silence filled with a kind of intimacy neither of you expected.

Eventually, Chan lifts his head, a dazed, satisfied smile on his face.

"Well," he says, "that was worth staying up for."

You laugh, the movement causing him to slip from inside you, which makes you both wince slightly. He deals with the condom, tying it off and reaching over to the bedside table for a tissue to wrap it in, before setting it on top. Then he lies back down beside you and closes his eyes.

Your bodies cool as breathing returns to normal, the air conditioning raising goosebumps on damp skin. He traces abstract patterns on your stomach with light fingertips.

You watch him as he breathes deeply. The bedside lamp casts a golden glow across his features, highlighting the sharp angle of his jawline, the curve of his shoulder, the contrast between light and shadow that defines his face. Something about the image calls to the photographer in you; the desire to preserve a moment of perfect vulnerability.

You sit up suddenly, propping yourself up on one elbow “Don’t move.”

Chan blinks, breath still shallow. “Huh?” He watches you with curious eyes as you reach for your camera bag on the bedside table. “What are you doing?”

"The light on you right now..." You turn back to him, camera in hand. "It's perfect."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a flicker of hesitation. "You want to photograph me? Now? Like this?"

“Yeah,” you say softly, a hint of vulnerability in your tone as you sit cross-legged beside him. “You’ve never looked more honest than you do right now. I want to capture you as you are now, the moment between the obvious moments, you know? What no one else gets to see. And I'm not talking about dick pics for the internet. I mean... art. Something real. But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

He considers your words for a few seconds, vulnerability passing across his feature before resolution settles in. “I've been photographed thousands of times, but never like this. Never just as... me.”

His assessment touches something deep inside you. "Are you sure? These kinds of photos have a way of causing trouble if they get out."

"I trust you," he says simply with a sweet smile. "And only if I get to take pictures too."

“Okay,” you agree too quickly as you remove the lens cap.

"How do you want me?" he asks when you look back at him, bringing the camera to your face.

"Just be yourself," you say. "Forget I'm taking pictures. Just exist."

He nods, and you begin, the camera coming alive in your hands, an extension of your vision. Chan relaxes into the sheets, initial self-consciousness melting away under your gentle direction. You capture him in unguarded moments: stretching his arms above his head, the lines of his body creating geometric perfection against the white sheets, his hands covering his face as he tries unsuccessfully to hide from you. Fragments of him are immortalized in the frame: the curve of his hip disappearing beneath the sheet, the hollow of his throat, the play of light across his collarbones.

You continue to snap more pictures. He laughs at something you say and you capture him with his head thrown back, his whole face transformed by joy.

"Turn toward the window," you instruct softly. He complies, the city lights creating a backdrop of unfocused brilliance behind his silhouette as he looks thoughtfully out the window.

"Beautiful," you murmur, more to yourself than to him, as you capture the image.

Something shifts in the atmosphere as you work. What began as artistic appreciation transforms into another kind of foreplay, each click of the shutter heightening the renewed tension between you.

"Your turn," he says after a while, his voice low and sure. When Chan reaches for the camera, you surrender it without protest even though you’re hesitant.

"I don't usually…"

"You promised," he responds with an adorable pout, that vulnerability back in his voice. "I want to remember you too."

You nod and show him the basic settings. Chan's a quick study, his artistic eye evident in how he frames each shot. He directs you with surprising skill, finding angles that frame your body in light and shadow. The sensation of being on the other side of the lens is foreign, exhilarating. You feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with your physical nakedness, but his genuine awe at capturing you makes it easier.

"Beautiful," he murmurs as he reviews the images. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

You move closer to see, your bodies aligning naturally. "You're good at this," you observe as he reviews an image on the small display.

"I've picked up a few things," he replies with a modest shrug that contradicts the confidence in his hands.

The photos are raw, honest; There’s one with your head thrown back in laughter; you gazing directly at the camera with an openness that startles you; you with your eyes closed, a small smile playing at your lips.

"We make a good team," you say, taking the camera back to scroll through all the images; his and yours intermingled, a visual conversation between two artists.

"We do," he agrees, and there's something bittersweet in his tone that makes you look up. "Come here," he says, arm outstretched in invitation.

You move into his embrace, your head fitting naturally into the crook of his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you to trace lazy patterns on your skin. You capture a couple more photos. One of you and Chan’s legs intertwined with the sheets and selfies of you both looking into the lens as he kisses your forehead. Then you replace the camera on the side table and snuggle up closer to him.

Outside, the sky is lightening, the first hints of dawn creeping around the edges of the curtains. Reality begins to seep back in; he has a schedule to keep, a public persona to maintain. You have another job, a deadline looming.

"This was..." he starts, then pauses, searching for words.

"A perfect night," you finish for him.

He nods, relief in his eyes at your understanding. Without either of you saying it explicitly, you both know this can't be more than what it is, a beautiful, temporary connection between two ships passing in the night. You listen as his breathing steadies, but not deep enough for sleep.

"I should go," he says softly twenty minutes later, though he makes no move to leave the warmth of the bed, of your body against his.

You know he’s right, but neither of you seems ready to face the intrusion of reality. There’s a fragile peace in the air, an unspoken agreement to stretch this moment as long as possible. You shift slightly, soaking in the comfort of his skin against yours.

"Probably," you agree, equally reluctant.

A long silence settles between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It hangs there with weight and meaning, like an unfinished sentence where both parties know the end but are content not to say it out loud. Your fingers trace lazy circles on his chest and his hand moves slowly on your back, each of you committing this small eternity to memory.

Thirty more minutes have passed.

You lift your head from his chest to look at him. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you could almost believe that the rest of the world doesn't exist. He places his hands at the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his. The kiss is slow, easy, like it has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with connection. But you know better.

You turn your body to straddle him, and he lets out a small, surprised exhale against your mouth. You feel him harden beneath you, his body eager to defy the sense in his words.

"We're never getting out of here," he murmurs, voice a mix of amusement and longing.

You pull back slightly, enough to look into his eyes. "I can live with that."

His laugh is a quiet rumble in his chest, and he kisses you again, deeper this time, hands finding your hips. You reach blindly for another condom, fumbling with eagerness, and break the kiss when your fingers wrap around it. He doesn’t stop you when you tear the wrapper open and slide the latex onto his already hard and ready cock; instead, he shakes his head like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

He sits up against the headboard, an appreciative smile on his swollen lips. He lets out a shaky breath as your fingers skim along his length, adjusting the condom into place. Then you lift your body over his dick to lower yourself onto it, feeling every glorious inch of him filling you once again. The sensation is so consuming that you forget to move at first, the both of you going still in awe of the hunger that pulls you together. His lips crash back onto yours, kissing you like he needs it to breathe, his grip tightening at your waist to bring you fully down on him. You start to rock your hips slowly.

Chan’s mouth and tongue are relentless as he kisses you at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. Your chests are slick with sweat as you lose yourselves in the friction, the heat. You move against him slowly, deliberately, savoring every pulse and gasp, determined to make this last, to stretch this out; this morning, this moment, this everything. His hips buck involuntarily upward in a particularly dizzy thrust, and you slip his name into his mouth like a secret, earning you a low growl of approval in return.

Your legs tremble while you try to maintain the languid pace, the teasing rhythm that has him groaning and biting at your lip in desperation. You know neither of you can hold on much longer, and you’re both okay with that. You arch your back, changing the angle, and Chan gasps your name like a plea, his fingers digging into your skin just shy of bruising. You clutch at his neck, your own breathing ragged as the two of you press your foreheads together, locking eyes and you let him guide you faster, harder, until there’s nothing left in the world but the two of you, right here, right now.

You and Chan move together in a rhythm that feels more like music than anything else. There is no rush. Just tension building between your bodies, heat cresting, pleasure folding in on itself. And when you finally come apart together, it is a full-body kind of release. You kiss again like you are trying to memorize his mouth, losing yourself in the taste and feel of him, in the beautiful lie that maybe this doesn't have to end.

But of course it does. Time is the only thing you don't have in abundance, and eventually, he draws back, the reluctance unmistakable. "One more for the road?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, and it's clear he's not just talking about another kiss.

"Get out of here before I decide to keep you," you reply, though your actions say otherwise as you lean in to capture his mouth once more.

You finally roll off of him a few minutes later, and with a sigh he gets up. He drops the condom in the wastebasket under the desk and moves to the door. As he gathers his still-damp clothes from the floor, you watch him dress with an artist's appreciation and a lover's nostalgia. He looks younger somehow, more vulnerable as he struggles with the clinging fabric of his swim shorts then the t-shirt, an adorably embarrassed smile on his face.

You wrap yourself in the sheet, following him to the door. There's an awkwardness now that wasn't there before, neither of you quite knowing the protocol for this kind of goodbye.

"This wasn't..." he begins.

"I know," you interrupt gently. "It wasn’t for me either."

The understanding passes between you without need for elaboration. This wasn't casual, wasn't meaningless, but it also wasn't the beginning of something. It was complete in itself, a perfect composition needing no additional frames.

"I'll delete the photos if you want," you offer, giving him an out.

He shakes his head firmly. "Keep them. They're ours."

The possessive pronoun warms you, makes you smile. "Okay."

Chan leans in for one last kiss, soft and lingering. "Thank you," he murmurs against your lips. "For seeing me. Not Bang Chan from Stray Kids. Just me. Chan. Chris."

"Thank you for being worth seeing," you reply, “and for seeing me in return.”

He smiles, dimples appearing one last time, and then he's gone, the door closing quietly behind him. You stand there for a moment, the sheet wrapped around you like a toga, feeling the weight of the night settling into your bones, not with regret, but with a bittersweet satisfaction.

The camera sits on the nightstand, holding memories that will never make it to social media or a magazine spread. Just between the two of you, a secret collection of moments when two insomniacs found something real in the middle of the night.

You return to bed, sleep finally finding you as the sun rises, your dreams filled with chlorine-scented kisses and the echo of laughter across water.

****

Almost a year later, your name is finally starting to make the rounds in the art world, and even you have to admit it has a nice ring to it when you're not too busy downplaying your success. It’s been a whirlwind of openings, critiques, and collaborations, but this, your first solo show, is something else entirely. It feels like baring a piece of your soul on a white gallery wall. And nothing says "soul-baring" quite like the portraits from that night with Chan.

They’re intense, raw, somehow both detached and intimate. The more you think about it, the more you realize they belong in this show. They have to be in your show. You also realize you need Chan’s blessing before you drag his naked plump ass into your artistic existential crisis.

So you sit at your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys as if they'll self-destruct upon contact. You know how careful he is about his image, how much he values his privacy. Asking him to let you display these photos feels like asking him to strip down in front of strangers. Something he probably wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, you think with a small smirk.

You stare at the blank email, cursor blinking like a metronome counting down the seconds of your courage. The intimate, raw, unflinchingly honest images of Chan are scattered across the floor of your home studio, some framed, some still rolled. You need his permission, not just legally but emotionally, to hang these moments between you on sterile gallery walls for strangers to consume with hungry eyes.

The warm yellow lamp casts dramatic shadows across the portraits. In one, Chan’s face is captured in moments of unguarded vulnerability, his eyes holding the weight of sleepless nights.

That one you printed just for you, not for public display.

Your fingers tap the desk, dancing with indecision. It's been eleven months since you last saw him. Eleven months since that night when he let you photograph him in the early morning hours, when your images became something more than pixels on a screen. Eleven months since there’s been any type of communication between the two of you.

You bite your lip and type out a message that walks the line between professional courtesy and personal appeal:

Dear Chan, you type, delete, then type again. Too formal.

Hey, you try. Too casual.

Hi Chan; or do you prefer Chris now? Delete delete delete.

Hey! Long time no see 😉 Yeah, no.

Chan, you settle on, simple and direct like the photographs that captured the planes of his face.

Your email takes shape, professional on the surface with undercurrents of something deeper flowing beneath each carefully chosen word:

I hope this email finds you well.

Better. You dive in from there.

My first solo exhibition opens in three weeks at the Harlow Gallery. It would mean a lot to me to be able to include portraits of the photos you and I took that night.

You pause, swallowing the memory of his skin warm against yours, how his fingers traced invisible paths across your back.

I believe these are among my strongest pieces. I wanted to formally request your permission to include them.

The truth clings to your fingertips: these are your strongest pieces because they're the only ones where your lens captured not just a subject, but a feeling; something raw and unfinished between you and him.

The images have been prepared with discretion in mind. Your privacy is my priority. Nothing identifiable will be shown in the pieces chosen for public display; no faces, no awkward explanations required if someone you know or who knows you comes across them. I've employed techniques to obscure any identifying features while preserving the emotional essence of the work.

Of course I’ll understand if you’d rather keep them private and will respect whatever decision you make.

You're lying through your teeth on that one; you will not "understand," you'll just quietly die inside, box up the portraits, place them in the darkest corner of your storage unit, and move on with your life.

The exhibition will proceed either way, with or without them, but these images, your images, represent something valuable in my artistic journey.

You stop typing, fingers trembling slightly. The lie burns in your chest; the exhibition would proceed, yes, but it would feel hollow without these centerpieces, these moments when your art found its truth.

If you could let me know by the end of the week, I would greatly appreciate it.

Too demanding? You bite your lower lip, tasting minty lipgloss and indecision.

At your convenience, of course. I know you’re a busy man.

Better. Respectful of his perpetually packed schedule; the endless rehearsals, the world tours, the 3AM studio sessions he described to you while in the pool, floating inches away from you.

Thank you for considering this request.

You hesitate over the sign-off. Warm regards feels too distant. Love feels too presumptuous. You settle on your name alone, letting it stand naked and honest like his portraits.

The completed email stares back at you. Your mouse hovers over the send button, your heart keeping time with the second hand of the clock above your desk. Your stomach twists with what feels like stage fright, though you're not the performer between the two of you.

With a deep breath, you click send before courage fails you and brace for an eternity of radio silence.

The email whooshes into the digital void, and you exhale. Your chest feels simultaneously lighter and heavier.

Your phone sits face-down next to your laptop; a deliberate choice. You know yourself too well; you'd check it every thirty seconds if you could see the screen. Instead, you slide it into your desk drawer and close it firmly.

You stand, stretching arms above your head, vertebrae cracking like kindling. The room suddenly feels too small, too full of reminders. You need distance from this space where his presence lingers.

Hours later, after a walk that took you nowhere in particular and a dinner you barely tasted, you return to your apartment. The desk drawer calls to you like a siren, but you resist, choosing instead to lose yourself in mindless TV until sleep claims you mid-episode.

Morning arrives with cutting precision, sunlight slicing through blinds you forgot to close. Your first conscious thought is of the email, followed immediately by a rush of adrenaline that propels you from dreams to reality in seconds. You fumble for the desk drawer, fingers clumsy with sleep and anticipation.

Your phone screen illuminates with notifications in the form of social media updates, promotional emails, app reminders, but your eyes search frantically for only one name.

There.

Your thumb hovers over his name. Four letters that contain multitudes. You tap, holding your breath as the message loads.

Yes, you have my permission.

One sentence. Five words. That’s it. No greeting, no sign-off. Just a simple, efficient granting of what you asked for.

You read it again. And again. Turning the words over like stones in a river, searching for hidden meanings in their smooth surfaces.

You find none.

Your fingers feel numb, but you sense a warmth in your chest, an uncomfortable heat that you recognize as disappointment. The simplicity of the words leaves you reeling more than any objection could have. You expected... what? A question about how you've been? A comment about the images themselves? A catch, like maybe an interrogatory phone call? Some acknowledgment of what passed between you that morning? A cheeky postscript hinting at unfinished business?

But there’s none of that here. Just five words that feel as impersonal as a text alert reminder from your dentist’s office.

You place the phone down carefully, as if it might shatter under the weight of your expectations. The logical part of your brain offers explanations: he's busy, he's professional, he's respecting boundaries. The emotional part whispers less comforting possibilities: he doesn't care, he's forgotten, it meant nothing to him.

"At least I have permission," you say to the empty room, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

You force a smile that no one sees, straightening your shoulders as you stand. The exhibition preparation waits for no one's feelings, not even yours. You have frames to select, lighting to consider, labels to write. Professional obligations that require you to set aside the hollow feeling expanding beneath your ribs.

Your laptop wakes with a tap, calendar app open to a countdown of days until the opening. In twenty days the gallery will be filled with critics, collectors, fellow artists… people whose opinions could shape your career trajectory. This should be occupying every corner of your mind.

Instead, you find yourself opening your digital photo gallery, scrolling to the folder labeled simply "CCB." The photos inside are more honest than you've been with yourself. In every line, every shadow, every careful composition of his features, your feelings are transparent. No wonder you need these pieces in the exhibition; they're the only work where you've been truly vulnerable.

You close the folder and return to your email. You type a reply to Chan; brief, professional, and carefully constructed to match his tone:

Thank you. I appreciate it. I truly hope you’re good.

You send it without rereading, without allowing yourself to overthink, before opening your exhibition checklist. Then you immerse yourself in the practicalities of your upcoming show, burying your disappointment beneath layers of logistics and artistic decisions.

You have permission. That's all you needed.

The rest? The unspoken words, the space between five clinical words and the volumes you wanted to hear? You'll transform into nervous energy for the exhibition. After all, isn't that what artists do? Turn heartache into something strangers can hang on their walls?

****

When opening night arrives, the gallery buzzes with bodies and champagne chatter. You smile with practiced ease as a woman in architectural glasses gestures toward your most vulnerable piece: Chan's torso in black and white, his face artfully shadowed beyond recognition, but his essence unmistakable to anyone who's ever run fingers along the ridges of his abs.

"The vulnerability here is striking," she says, and you nod, wondering if she can see your own nakedness beneath your carefully selected gallery outfit, your heart beating against your ribs like a trapped bird sensing freedom on the horizon.

"That's precisely what I was exploring," you respond, your voice pitched perfectly between passionate artist and composed professional. "The tension between revelation and concealment."

The Harlow Gallery hums with the particular frequency of successful opening nights: crystal glasses clinking, expensive perfume mingling with the subtle scent of the fresh flowers arranged strategically throughout the space, conversations rising and falling like tide pools of intellectual pretension and genuine appreciation. Track lighting casts dramatic shadows that seem to dance across the sleek white walls as people move between installations.

You've been on display nearly as much as your art tonight, smiling, explaining, accepting compliments with gracious nods while deflecting personal questions with practiced pivots back to technique or inspiration. Your outfit, black, high waisted jeans and a silk blouse in a shade of gold that your best friend insisted makes your eyes and skin look "illegally good", was chosen specifically to make you feel armored without looking unapproachable.

A gallery assistant appears at your elbow with another flute of champagne, which you accept with a grateful smile even though you've barely touched your first. The cold glass against your palm grounds you as you survey the room, cataloging which pieces draw crowds and which visitors linger longest before particular portraits.

The unnamed portraits, displayed along the west wall in a deliberately subtle progression, have become an unexpected focal point. There are no names, no context; just light, shadow, and raw emotion. The Chan series, as you call them in your head, draw crowds who stand transfixed by their stark intimacy, unaware they're peering into their own fantasies as much as yours.

You watch as a couple stands before the centerpiece: the muscles in Chan's back rendered in exquisite detail, his head turned just enough that his jawline is visible but his identity preserved. The woman leans into her partner and whispers something that makes him nod slowly, appreciatively.

You feel a bizarre pride mingled with possessiveness. These strangers are connecting with intimate moments crystallized in grayscale, moments that belong to you and Chan alone. Yet sharing them was your choice; your art exists to be witnessed.

"The anonymity makes them universal," comments a man in a blazer too structured for the casual confidence he's attempting to project. "Yet they're so specific they feel like portraits of someone the artist knows intimately."

You offer a noncommittal smile. "Art exists in that space between the personal and universal."

"Did you sleep with him?" The question comes from a young woman with brightly colored hair and an MFA attitude, her voice just quiet enough to seem conspiratorial rather than rude.

You don't flinch, though something tightens in your chest. "I find that reducing art to biography limits its potential meanings," you reply, the rehearsed line flowing smoothly. You've anticipated this question, prepared for it, though hearing it still feels like a finger pressing into a bruise.

The critic from the local arts weekly approaches, notebook in hand, and you're grateful for the interruption. His questions are predictable but thoughtful, and you settle into the familiar rhythm of discussing inspiration and process without revealing the raw nerve at the center of this exhibition.

Hours pass in this manner; you circulate, champagne warming in your hand, feet beginning to protest against your sensible but still somewhat uncomfortable shoes, and your face aching from smiling too much. The gallery gradually empties as the evening progresses, guests departing in small clusters until only the most dedicated art enthusiasts and your closest friends remain.

Your agent catches your eye from across the room and offers a subtle thumbs-up. Red dots have appeared beside five pieces in the exhibition, each sold before the night is even over. Three from the Chan series. Success by any metric. You should feel elated.

Instead, you feel a curious hollowness. As if you've offered something precious to the world and the world has accepted it without recognizing its true value. Which is absurd; you created these works to be seen, to be sold, to launch this next phase of your career.

Eventually, even your most lingering supporters make their excuses. Your agent promises to call tomorrow with details about the sales and potential commissions. Friends hug you tightly, their proud whispers warming your ear. The gallery owner assures you the night exceeded expectations before instructing the staff to finish closing procedures.

"Take your time," she tells you with a knowing smile. "Artists should have a moment alone with their exhibitions. Lock up when you're ready."

Then they're gone, and the gallery transforms in their absence. The space seems to exhale, to settle into itself. The lighting, dimmed for closing, casts longer shadows that soften the stark whiteness of the walls. Without conversation to fill it, the room feels both vast and intimate.

You slip off your shoes, padding barefoot across the polished concrete floor, enjoying the cool firmness against your tired soles. The silence wraps around you like a familiar blanket. This is the moment you didn't know you were waiting for, communion with your own creation in the absence of external validation or scrutiny.

Your fingertips trail along the cool glass of one of the frames. You move slowly through the space, reacquainting yourself with each piece now that it exists in this public context rather than the private sanctuary of your studio.

When you reach the Chan series, you pause. In the softened light, the portraits seem to breathe with a life of their own. The careful shadowing that preserves his anonymity now looks like an invitation to peer closer, to discover the secret at the heart of each image.

You press your palm flat against the glass, as if you could reach through it and touch the texture of the print.

"They look different than I’d expected."

The voice freezes you in place. Low, accented, and unmistakable even after all these months. You don't turn immediately, irrationally afraid that doing so might dispel what must be an auditory hallucination born of exhaustion and champagne.

But then comes the soft sound of footsteps, and you have no choice but to face the source.

Chan stands at the far end of the gallery, half-illuminated by the ambient lighting. He's dressed simply, yet impeccably; black jeans, a white tank top beneath a black designer, tailored suit jacket, and those beat-up Converse he's always favored. His hair is slightly longer than when you last saw him, wavy strands falling across his forehead perfectly. The silver chain around his neck and the silver rectangles in his ears catch light as he shifts his weight.

Dimples frame his gorgeous smile as he stands there, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he can’t quite tell if he belongs here or not.

"Different from what?" Your voice emerges steadier than you feel, a small miracle.

He moves closer, each step deliberate. "Different from when we took them, I guess. You made me look… human."

“You are human, no?” you say with a small smile.

“Correction. I’m an idol.” He smirks, causing you to stifle a laugh at the memory of him sharing with you that part of the training they all received was that they could never admit they used the bathroom.

He stops before one of the pieces to the left of the centerpiece. In this portrait, one bare shoulder faces the viewer, head turned just enough to reveal the edge of his profile, one earring catching the light.

"You made me anonymous." It's not a question or an accusation, just an observation.

"I promised I would." You move closer, still maintaining a careful distance. "Your privacy was always going to be protected."

"I know." He nods, eyes still fixed on the portrait. "I trust you."

Three simple words that somehow mean more than his brief email permission. You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat.

"Why are you here, Chan?" The question emerges harder than intended.

He turns to face you fully now, and the full force of his attention hits you like a physical touch. His eyes, those soft brown eyes that can turn so intense, search yours.

"I wanted to see them. See how they looked here, on display." He gestures vaguely at the gallery space. "I didn't want to come during the opening. Too many people. Too much…" He pauses, searching for the word. "Performance."

You understand immediately. His life is an endless series of performances, of being watched and evaluated. This, whatever exists between you and him, happened in a private space, away from scrutiny.

"How did you know I'd still be here?"

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, one of his dimples appearing. "I guessed. You seem like the type to always stay late. After shows, after shoots. You like the quiet after everyone leaves."

The fact that he deduced this about you from knowing you for a day, this small, insignificant trait, makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"Do you want me to show you around?" you offer, gesturing to the exhibition.

"I'd like that."

You move through the gallery together, maintaining a careful distance that nonetheless feels charged with potential energy. You explain certain pieces, the techniques you used, the challenges you faced. He listens attentively, asking questions that reveal he's paying genuine attention, not just being polite.

When you return to the Chan series, a comfortable silence falls between you. You stand side by side, both facing the portraits that capture moments only the two of you remember.

"That morning," he says finally, voice low enough that you have to lean slightly closer to hear him, "after our impromptu photo shoot. When we lay there together..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. You remember perfectly. The camera set aside, his arms holding you tight, your head on his chest, before you straddled him and the two of you fucked slowly, one last time.

"I never forgot," he continues as his eyes settle on the portrait of both of your legs tangled together with the sheets. "Even with everything; the tour, the comeback preparations, the endless meetings and recordings and fittings."

Your heart stutters in your chest. "I never forgot either."

His eyes find yours now, something vulnerable and determined in his gaze. "I know my email was short. Too short. I wrote about twenty versions before I just…" He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it aches. "I didn't know what was appropriate. What you wanted. If things had changed. But I wanted to ensure you had what you needed. So I just hit send."

"Nothing changed for me," you admit in a whisper, the words escaping before you can consider their wisdom.

Your fingers brush as you both shift position, and you feel a spark. Neither of you moves away.

"I'm here for three weeks," he says as he intertwines his fingers with yours, the casual tone of his voice belied by the intensity of his gaze. "Longer than I usually get. Some meetings, some studio time, but... lots of gaps. Actual free time."

You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Would you…" he starts, then reconsiders. "Could I see more of your work? The stuff you haven’t shown anyone yet?"

The invitation is clear; not just to show him your art, but to rebuild the private space you once shared. Where he isn't Bang Chan of Stray Kids, and you aren't a photographer with a sold-out exhibition. Where you're just two people who created something together that exists beyond glossy prints.

"Yes," you answer, simple and direct. "I'd like that."

His smile breaks slowly across his face, dimples appearing like parentheses around joy. In this moment, he looks exactly like the man in your most treasured, private photos, the ones too intimate to ever display.

"Tonight?" he asks, hope threading through the word.

"Tonight," you confirm.

“I made hotel reservations, but…”

“You can stay with me,” you whisper.

He nods. “I’ll call my manager and have him cancel.”

You stand together, face to face, before the images that capture your shared, secret night, the air between you charged with the promise of something more real than art, something waiting to be brought into existence with careful hands and open hearts. Chan’s hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the touch featherlight as though he’s worried you might vanish. He pauses, thumb grazing your skin, searching your eyes for any hesitation. Then he cradles your face with familiar tenderness, leaning in until his lips brush against yours, gentle at first. The kiss deepens, drawing you in. You taste longing and the months between now and your last kiss, an entire year compressed into this one moment. His mouth moves with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring every second he wasn't sure he’d get again. His free arm circles your waist, tugging you closer until there’s no space left between you.

The two of you indulge in the quiet, charged moment. There are no loud declarations, just two people finding each other again. Maybe for real this time.

My Masterlist

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diz-eaze · 20 days ago

Text

thinking about the intimacy of visions,,,, and visions with yans in general.

; includes; childe, escoffier, sethos, xilonen, diluc, arlecchino, albedo, emilie, wanderer, ifa, & shenhe.

; yandere, yandere themes, some of them being freaks per usual, unhealthy relationships, minor suggestive content for some, mentions of captivity for a few, not proofread i both rushed and wrote this in one go.

childe exchanges his hydro vision with your vision before engaging in combat. of course, his element doesn't change: it's still his water blades that glide through the enemies' skin as if mere butter, but there's romance to be found in their last moments, being the vision situated on his belt, glinting its eerie glow at them in farewell. a sense of pride sprouts from the recesses of his chest, stemming from his beating heart as he thinks of your vision as a form of reaper that sends off their souls to the afterlife. should your vision be stained by their blood, then childe will dutifully take on the task of wiping it clean, not stopping until he greets himself in its reflection. he takes great care of your vision, seeing as it was his idea in the first place, yet he hopes that you also take care of his in a similar way.

escoffier finds your vision out of pure coincidence. she finds it haphazardly lying on the ground floor of hotel debord, disconnected from its usual place on your thigh strap. it's only logical to assume that you lost it and haven't a clue, so in an act of kindness, escoffier bends down to pick up the dainty thing. once in her grasp, she twists and turns it around to inspect as she walks back to her kitchen. yet in her palm, the sight of your vision flows into her psyche, poisoning her mind with debaucherous thoughts of what she can do right now. it's not right, that she knows, yet temptation runs deep when she thinks about how your vision is so often strapped to your thigh.... with a bite of her lip, escoffier retreats to the very back of the kitchen, where her sins are unknown to all but herself. her tongue peeks out from between her lips, she nears your vision to the base of her mouth, and she licks it from bottom to top, all while feeling the cold metal of its casing.

sethos uses your vision as a bargaining chip, holding it high above your head as he waves it back and forth in taunt, saying that you have to do this and that for him in order to get it back. once back in your grasp, he'll challenge you to a 'friendly spar' to keep your senses sharp, or so he says. but even with the ba fragment gone from him, his strength is still commendable, as he has no qualms with defeating you even with your vision. you always feel like a sore loser afterwards, too, and he'd be there to wriggle into your side as he coos out comfort and compliments, half-baked they may be. should you permanently let go of your vision, and refuse to take it back from him, you'll find yourself in a similar standing to those shogunate soldiers who went mindless after their visions were ceased - sethos retells you this tale whenever you're being a tad bit too bratty with him.

xilonen, in classic artisan fashion, forges customized accessories specially tailored for your vision, all under your behest and wishes. she'll yawn and roll her eyes at the request, yet less than a day later, you'll find her holding out the newly crafted item in front of your jaw-slacked figure. you'll laugh and thank her, excitedly attaching the charm to the bottom of your vision, completely missing the phlogiston engraving she had embedded in. it's nothing new, really, this is how she's always done your vision accessory requests for ages, and you've remained blissfully unaware in your own euphoric joy. she may not personally seek you out to follow around natlan, but through feeling your steps and location from the phlogiston alone, is enough to satisfy her.

diluc, for all his morally questionable actions, longingly encases your vision between his fingers as he drifts to slumber every night. since you're not quite ready to share a bed with him just yet, he settles his perpetual yearning by sleeping with your vision under your reluctant acceptance. the constant glow it radiates often causes him to envision that it's you by his side, sleeping soundly with your body fitting into his like gears clicking into place, yet reality often disappoints when he opens his eyes to empty space and the vision still in his hand. beggars can't be choosers, still, his longing is starting to seep through the bottle supposed to contain it, and it's only a matter of time before he tires of the glass orb and instead breaches the topic of sleeping together once more over dinner.

arlecchino persistently insists on giving you her pyro vision as a protection charm, seeing as you lack the means of one. her innate power stemming from the balemoon curse is more than enough to protect her, even without the vision or her delusion. while it grants you no actual power, the meaning of arlecchino offering it up for your hands to grasp is clear; she will always be your protector. she herself will be your vision to wield, the power for you to use as you see fit. her vision, her curse, and her delusion are all yours, similar to the rest of her. offering up her vision is not a sign of submission, but that of sacrifice. arlecchino lays down the gift from the gods at your feet as a taste of the lengths she can and will go through for you.

albedo is intrigued enough to research the complexities of visions. it's within his nature as a researcher and alchemist to probe into the mysteries that plague teyvat, and visions are no exception to this. however, rather than using his own vision as his test subject, he uses yours instead. it's a multi-faceted reason; he sees you more often, he gets to touch an item you often touch, he learns more about visions, and he learns more about you. as far as he's concerned, studying up on visions is a goldmine of opportunities and interactions with you, and he's not willing to pass up on such an offer anytime soon. he'll study you under the microscope, no different from studying your vision.

emilie, during the times she's forced into combat, greatly prefers to stick to one elemental reaction. her dendro vision glows brightly as she channels her innate power into fruition, yet she'll look behind her to see if you've already applied pyro to the surrounding area of the enemies before making her move. burning. it's the only reaction she ever creates during battle, even more so if with your pyro vision there to enable hers. frankly, nothing else gets her going more than this. in the aftermath of the battle, the horrendous smell of burnt fabric and smoke lingering in the air disturbs the romantic ambience she was going for, and so she creates floral scents from her dendro vision to mask the displeasing smell. like this, life is perfect - consisting of only you and her, nothing else. pyro may burn dendro into nothing more than ashes, yet with her dynamic with you, it seems as if the places have been switched despite all logic.

wanderer falls back into hideous habits, one specially gifted by his former self, most likely, in the form of keeping a captive in his temporary place on the outskirts of the main city. with your current situation in mind (and less than savory responses...), he's forced to attend classes and duties without your company. to remedy this, wanderer opts for settling your vision right next to his anemo one whenever he goes out. the clinking caused by the two visions constantly colliding into each other as he walks creates a cacophony of sounds that seems so euphoric to his ears. there is something so exhilarating about your vision being entwined with his. it causes a smile to itch on his lips, it leaves a pleasant tingle down his spine, and anticipation at the tips of his fingers as he counts down the seconds until he's able to see you once more. old habits die hard, though this specific habit is one he's not letting go of anytime soon. love has always been selfish in that regard.

ifa's anemo attacks strike harder and faster whenever you're around, evident by the constantly stronger teal color of the item at his back. some may assume that this is done on purpose to show off in your presence, yet what most fail to take into account is that ifa is unaware of this phenomenon that only you can cause. it's subconscious; his anemo bullets fire off with astounding speed, and he maneuvers through the air with a sense of expertise that's not even found in soaring qucusaurs. though, the truth behind his increased strength around you is caused by the intense feelings he experiences. his ardor simply cannot be contained within just his body, and is thus transferred into his vision, wherein his capabilities surpass what he's used to. feelings of madness is what propels ifa to greater heights, and while it seems idealistic at surface level, this illusion will fall apart once he's made aware of this and decides to utilize it against you. for a man of intellect, it'll only be a few days before truth dawns upon him.

shenhe firmly believes that her cryo vision only serves one purpose: that being to serve you. her cryo clone is created with the sole intention to protect you, while she fights enemies head-on without you ever having to lift a single finger. when visiting her during work, shenhe will protect you from the smoldering heat inside wanmin using her cryo to cool you off. should a single bead of sweat form on your face, a frown will appear on hers for hours to come. when you crave icy treats, she's two steps ahead by having already frozen them beforehand. it's comedic, even endearing, at how eager shenhe is to please you using the power bestowed upon her from the heavenly principles. yet the use of her cryo vision extends past helping you with trivial tasks and wants. it's especially useful when it comes to extermination, death caused by hypothermia rather than slaughter is considerably easier to clean up in the byproduct of such actions. in her belief, her cryo vision is nothing if it can't help or serve you.

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novlr · 5 months ago

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Any tips on how to describe indoor spaces so they feel real and match the vibe of the story without throwing in too much detail?

Getting interior scenes just right is all about finding the balance between setting the mood, showing the unique personality of your story world, and keeping the plot moving. There are lots of ways you can use senses, action, and background to set a scene, all of which can work seamlessly with the type of story you want to tell. Here are some tips on how you can achieve that:

How does it look?

Lighting: does your space contain the soft glow of lamps, harsh fluorescent lights, or natural light?

Use colour and textures like peeling paint, plush velvet, or sleek marble.

Size and scale: is it claustrophobically small or impressively grand?

Architectural features: does the space have high ceilings, crown mouldings, or exposed beams?

Furnishings: are they modern, sparse, antique, or cluttered?

Style and decor: what style is represented, and how does it affect the atmosphere?

State of repair: is the space well-kept, neglected, or under renovation?

Perspective and layout: how do spaces flow into each other?

Unique design features: describe sculptural elements, or things that stand out.

Spatial relationships: describe how objects are arranged—what’s next to, across from, or underneath something else?

How does it sound?

Describe echoes in large spaces or the muffled quality of sound in carpeted or furnished rooms.

Note background noises; is there a persistent hum of an air conditioner, or the tick of a clock?

Describe the sound of footsteps; do they click, scuff, or are they inaudible?

Include voices; are they loud and echoing or soft and absorbed?

Is there music? Is it piped in, coming from a live source, or perhaps drifting in from outside?

Capture the sounds of activity; typing, machinery, kitchen noises, etc.

Describe natural sounds; birds outside the window, or the rustle of trees.

Consider sound dynamics; is the space acoustically lively or deadened?

Include unexpected noises that might be unique to the building.

Consider silence as a sound quality. What does the absence of noise convey?

How does it smell?

Identify cleaning products or air fresheners. Do they create a sterile or inviting smell?

Describe cooking smells if near a kitchen; can you identify specific foods?

Mention natural scents; does the room smell of wood, plants, or stone?

Are there musty or stale smells in less ventilated spaces?

Note the smell of new materials; fresh paint, new carpet, or upholstery.

Point out if there’s an absence of smell, which can be as notable as a powerful scent.

Consider personal scents; perfume, sweat, or the hint of someone’s presence.

Include scents from outside that find their way in; ocean air, city smells, etc.

Use metaphors and similes to relate unfamiliar smells to common experiences.

Describe intensity and layering of scents; is there a primary scent supported by subtler ones?

What can you do there?

Describe people’s actions; are they relaxing, working, hurried, or leisurely?

Does the space have a traditional use? What do people come there to do?

Note mechanical activity; elevators moving, printers printing, etc.

Include interactions; are people talking, arguing, or collaborating?

Mention solitary activities; someone reading, writing, or involved in a hobby.

Capture movements; are there servers bustling about, or a janitor sweeping?

Observe routines and rituals; opening blinds in the morning, locking doors at night.

Include energetic activities; perhaps children playing or a bustling trade floor.

Note restful moments; spaces where people come to unwind or reflect.

Describe cultural or community activities that might be unique to the space.

How is it decorated?

Describe the overall style; is it minimalist, baroque, industrial, or something else?

Note period influences; does the decor reflect a specific era or design movement?

Include colour schemes and how they play with or against each other.

Mention patterns; on wallpaper, upholstery, or tiles.

Describe textural contrasts; rough against smooth, shiny against matte.

Observe symmetry or asymmetry in design.

Note the presence of signature pieces; a chandelier, an antique desk, or a modern art installation.

Mention thematic elements; nautical, floral, astronomical, etc.

Describe homemade or bespoke items that add character.

Include repetitive elements; motifs that appear throughout the space.

What is its history?

Mention historical usage; was the building repurposed, and does it keep its original function?

Describe architectural time periods; identify features that pinpoint the era of construction.

Note changes over time; upgrades, downgrades, or restorations.

Include historical events that took place within or affected the building.

Mention local or regional history that influenced the building’s design or function.

Describe preservation efforts; are there plaques, restored areas, or visible signs of aging?

Describing indoor spaces doesn’t have to feel like a chore. Focus on the details that matter most, tie them to the mood or characters, and let your readers fill in the blanks. A well-crafted space not only sets the scene but builds your character's relationship to it. Use sensory language, background, and action beats to tie it into your narrative, and don’t be afraid to play around with motifs and contradictions, depending on who is experiencing it!

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writing tips #writing resources #creative writing #writers #writing #writing community #creative writers #writing inspiration #writerblr #writing advice #writing reference #writers on tumblr #ask novlr #writer

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timefall-if · 5 months ago

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DEMO (prologue / 11th of January 2025) || An IF based on & inspired by the show "Arcane". Time Fall is a drama interactive fiction story with steampunk & cyberpunk elements, set in the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken, also known as The Spire and The Depths. It's meant to follow complicated relationships, complicated choices, and complicated consequences. It is written with an 18+ audience in mind due to heavy themes and topics such as death, use of drugs and alcohol, swearing, violence, (optional & skippable) explicit sexual content etc.

Time does not wait for anyone, even for the one that controls it.

After the bloody aftermath of Draeken's rebellion against Delphora, you're left an orphan. Your mother lies dead beneath a pile of bodies, crushed under the boots of the Time Watchers, and your older brother, Mylo, is nowhere to be found. Bruised and scared, you're taken in by Marek, your mother's friend, together with a few other strays he managed to catch hiding in the shadows of the night.

As Marek tends to your wounds and wipes away your tears, the Council of the Eternals, forever holed up in their lavish upper city, is falling apart. They are in complete mayhem and disarray as, unbeknownst to you, one of the five time shards that keep the heart of the city—the Clocktower—working in tune with time's balance has been stolen.

Oddly enough, that lost shard looks suspiciously similar to the strange shiny stone your mother gave you and your brother right before the doomed uprising. With it gone, the flow of time grows slippery and erratic, as the Clocktower starts to decay without its missing piece.

Life in the undercity of Draeken, also known as The Depths, is brutal enough. But when an ill-fated encounter leaves you forever altered—your blood itself changed—you’ll soon realize that time is strange, and the thin fabric of reality a fickle thing. Even more so when it’s something you can no longer just witness ... but may be forced to control.

༒︎ Fully customizable MC including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality etc.

༒︎ Choose 1 out of 5 occupations for your MC: underground pit fighter, street artist, black market medic, inventor, or dingy bar singer.

༒︎ Romance 1 out of 4 love interests, all of which are gender-selectable. Engage in hookups with other side characters.

༒︎ Find your brother, or let him find you.

༒︎ Go through an unimaginable physiology-changing experiment and manage to keep your sanity, or become completely unrecognizable to those closest to you.

༒︎ Betray the people you care about or protect them at all costs.

༒︎ Explore the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken on a steampunk/cyberpunk background.

༒︎ Become the hero everyone wants you to be, a new world order dictator, or God :D

Maddox / Maxine (M/F) - Rough around the edges and with a body built for combat, M's very demeanour and appearance reflects years of hard living together with you in Draeken. Taken in by Marek after the failed uprising, M had grown overbearingly protective of you on the very first night of sharing a bed with each other as kids. Now, all grown up, M fights in Marek's underground fighting pit to earn their keep, but with every bloodied knuckle, their anger grows—anger at the scraps their people are handed by Delphora’s elite. M is ready to make a change. Are you?

— Possible (romance) routes: Best Friends to Lovers / Best Friends to FWB to Lovers / Best Friends to Lovers to Enemies / Best Friends to Enemies

Riven / Raven (M/F) - A street-smart wildcard loyal only to the highest bidder, R lives by a simple rule: survive and have a good time while doing it. So they smuggle goods and sell information to whoever pays the most. R is not above double-crossing anyone, and they don’t pretend to be. Always charming, confident, and looking at you like they want to take your pants off any second, you’ll have to find out if R is worthy of your trust, or if they’re truly incapable of not betraying those they care about.

— Possible (romance) routes: FWB to Lovers / FWB to Friends / Lovers to Enemies / FWB to Enemies

Seraphim / Seraphina Vaughn (M/F) - The strangest person you have met down in The Depths, and that’s saying something. S is sweet, about as intimidating as a puppy, with a wide and bright smile and … clothes that sometimes seem to be too well tailored to their frame with golden silky linings that make them stand out in ways they’re trying to hide. They’re a people pleaser at heart, but S’s thinly veiled ambition and naivety about the streets of Draeken makes you wonder about their intentions. They seem to be attached to you from the moment you meet. Can you figure out the catch, or will your trust come back to bite you?

— Possible (romance) routes : Friends to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / Friends to Enemies

Cassian / Calypso Kazimier (M/F) - C’s deep sense of superiority and disdain for The Depths is reflected clearly on their sharp and cold face, their commanding presence demanding respect and authority with every move. As the most influential member of the Order of the Eternals, C makes it their very purpose to ensure that no one can challenge their rule, and that any threat to their control is dealt with swiftly and without mercy. What happens when that threat might be you? C is untouchable, they will make sure to squash you with their own hands. Unless …

— Possible (romance) routes : Corruption Arc / Enemies to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

DISCLAIMER: this is a project in early progress, meaning that there are things that might be subject to change later on.

LINKS: cog forum || ROs physical descriptions || other project || neon dividers credits

#time fall if #interactive fiction #interactive game #interactive story #if wip #wip #interactive novel #dashingdon #arcane #arcane fandom #choicescript #cog game #hosted games #interact if #choice of games

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deception-united · 1 year ago

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Let's talk about transitions.

Transitioning between fast-paced and slow-paced scenes is essential for maintaining the flow of your narrative and keeping readers engaged throughout your story, allowing for moments of reflection, introspection, and character development.

Here are some strategies to smoothly transition between different pacing levels:

Use scene endings and beginnings: End a fast-paced scene with a cliffhanger or revelation that propels the story forward, then transition to a slower-paced scene that allows characters (and readers) to process the events. On the flip side, begin a slow-paced scene with a hook or question that intrigues readers and draws them deeper into the story.

Bridge paragraphs: Include bridge paragraphs between scenes to provide a smooth transition. These paragraphs can briefly summarize the previous scene's events, set the scene for the upcoming events, or transition between different settings, characters, or points of view.

Change in tone or focus: Shift the tone or focus of the narrative to signal a change in pacing. For example, transition from a tense action scene to a quieter moment of reflection by shifting the narrative focus from external events to internal thoughts and emotions.

Utilise pacing within scenes: Even within a single scene, you can vary the pacing to create transitions. Start with a fast-paced opening to grab the reader's attention, then gradually slow down the pacing as you delve deeper into character interactions, dialogue, or introspection. Conversely, speed up the pacing to inject energy and excitement into slower scenes.

Symbolic transitions: Use symbolic elements within the narrative to signal transitions between pacing levels. For example, transition from a fast-paced scene set during a stormy night to a slow-paced scene set in the calm aftermath of the storm, mirroring the shift in pacing.

Foreshadowing: Use subtle foreshadowing in fast-paced scenes to hint at upcoming events or conflicts that will be explored in slower-paced scenes. This creates anticipation and helps to smoothly transition between different pacing levels by maintaining continuity in the narrative arc.

Character reactions: Show how characters react to the events of fast-paced scenes in the subsequent slower-paced scenes. Use their thoughts, emotions, and actions to provide insight into the impact of these events on the story and its characters, helping to bridge the transition between pacing levels.

See my post on pacing for more! ❤

Previous | Next

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing resources #writing help #transitions #creative writing #pacing #plot development #deception-united

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plutosunshine · 5 months ago

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Your Healing Daily Routine: the 6th house

The 6th house in Aries

Since the Aries sign and Mars are responsible for the body, movement, and activity, a healing routine here cannot be done without physical activity as the foundation of health. Regular workouts can help you release accumulated energy. Morning exercises will also be beneficial for you.

People with this placement in their chart find it crucial that no one imposes a daily routine on them from the outside. They want to manage their own schedule and set tasks and goals independently.

For this placement, a certain level of competition is essential to stay in shape and maintain motivation. This can even include competing with yourself and your own ambitions.

A nutritious diet supporting a high activity level is also vital for this placement. Foods like fast food may slow you down.

It is important for this placement to incorporate new elements into the routine to avoid boredom. Try new sports or hobbies.

The 6th house in Taurus

For this position, creating a comfortable and sustainable environment is essential. Arrange your workspace and home to make them cozy, whether it’s through soft fabrics or pleasant scents.

It’s very important for you to maintain a balanced and high-quality diet with fresh products. Enjoy each meal, eating slowly and mindfully.

Choose activities that bring you joy, such as yoga, walks in nature, dancing, or pilates. For people with this placement, regularity is more important than intensity.

Try incorporating meditation and breathing exercises into your daily routine, and spend more time outdoors.

Hobbies like crafting, drawing, cooking, or even gardening might suit you well. These activities can help relieve stress and strengthen your connection with yourself.

Organize your time in a way that helps you avoid rushing and stress. Staying calm and in harmony is crucial for this position.

Don’t forget the importance of quality sleep. Create a comfortable atmosphere: warm blankets, silence, soft lighting, and high-quality bedding.

Pay attention to simple pleasures that help you relax.

The 6th house in Gemini

Everything that helps you grow also helps you heal. Whether it's regular reading of books, articles, educational courses, or anything else. With this approach, keeping a journal or writing down your thoughts can be very helpful for structuring them. You might have a lot of thoughts on a daily basis, so light meditation can help calm your mind and improve focus.

Social interactions with people are also beneficial, whether it's participating in group discussions or sharing a common hobby, where you can exchange information.

You would benefit most from physical activities related to coordination, such as walking, yoga, or dancing.

Try to plan your day with room for flexibility and changes. The "bit by bit" method might work well for you, breaking tasks into smaller portions and alternating between work and rest. Variety is also important to avoid boredom.

Make an effort not to overwhelm yourself with information. Take breaks from the constant flow of information or filter what you consume.

The 6th house in Cancer

It is very important for you to create a cozy atmosphere at home so that your daily routine becomes something enjoyable, whether it's lighting candles, meditating, or listening to calm music. Do household chores in a way that makes them pleasant.

Homemade meals that make you feel warm and cozy can also have a healing effect. Warm drinks, such as chamomile tea or milk with honey, can also help you create a sense of comfort.

Keeping a journal to write down your feelings could be a good practice for clearing your mind of accumulated emotions.

Take care of your body by nurturing your soul. Practices like yoga and other activities that harmonize the body and mind can be helpful. Taking baths with sea salt or essential oils can also benefit you.

Decorating your home can positively impact whether it's fresh flowers, soft fabrics, or cozy lighting.

Daily communication with your loved ones is incredibly healing for you.

Listen to yourself and your feelings; if you need to recharge or rest, don't force yourself to go against your needs.

The 6th house in Leo

For this placement, it is extremely beneficial to wake up with the sunrise. The ritual of waking up plays a significant role in setting the tone for your day. Starting the day with some exercise or dancing to your favorite music will help you kick things off energetically.

It is also crucial for you not only to eat delicious food but to make sure it is visually appealing. Food that pleases the eye will give you an extra boost of energy. Don’t forget to include heart-healthy foods in your diet, as Leo governs the heart (e.g., nuts, avocados, greens, fish).

Approach your daily tasks with a touch of creativity. Even routine activities can be transformed into something enjoyable.

Find time in your routine for self-care, whether it’s a face mask, a stylish hairstyle, or a striking outfit. These small touches will help you shine even brighter.

Engage only in physical activities that you truly enjoy. Most importantly, they bring you joy and a sense of strength.

Treat yourself to a “mini celebration” every day. It can be anything, from a delicious cup of coffee to a meeting with friends. Make sure to carve out time for yourself, your hobbies, and your pleasures.

The 6th house in Virgo

For this placement, organization and daily planning are essential. Creating lists and planning tasks can be very helpful. It reduces your anxiety and helps you feel more productive.

Taking care of your mental health is extremely important. Even small practices like meditation or breathing exercises can be beneficial. Keeping a gratitude journal can also be helpful.

Health is one of the main focuses of this placement. A balanced diet and moderate physical activity are crucial for Virgo in the 6th house.

Minimalism and order at home are very important for people with this placement. A clean and cozy space is a part of a healing routine.

Self-care rituals, evening relaxation, and other such practices will help restore energy.

One of the healing rituals for this placement is learning. Whether it's taking courses, reading books, or something else, it keeps you sharp and energized.

The 6th house in Libra

For the 6th house in Libra, it is crucial to establish balance in your daily routine. Try to create a schedule that includes time for work, rest, and personal pleasures.

For the Libra sign, beauty is very important, so dedicate time to beauty rituals and self-care.

Organize your workspace and living area in a way that incorporates elements of beauty and comfort.

Your diet should not only be healthy but also aesthetically pleasing. Enjoy the process of savoring your meals.

Since balance and harmony are of great importance to Libra, practicing them on all levels is essential. Meditation and breathing exercises are particularly well-suited for this placement.

Remember to seek inspiration and enjoy the beautiful things in life. Engaging in creative activities can also be incredibly healing.

The 6th house in Scorpio

Psychological cleansing is crucial for the 6th house in Scorpio to make space for emotional transformation. This can manifest in daily life through practices such as meditation, journaling, or other rituals.

The 6th house in Scorpio signifies a strong connection between the body and emotions, making nutrition an essential part of healing. Intuitive eating is particularly well-suited here.

Any water-related rituals, whether swimming, baths with oils, or something else, have healing power.

Physical activity also plays a transformative role alongside massage therapy.

Try to live each day with the mindful question, "How can I transform today?"

For Scorpio in the 6th house, work should not just be a duty but a place for deep transformation. Learn to let go of work that no longer brings you satisfaction.

Scorpio is the sign of transformation, so it's important to maintain an energetically clean space. Regular cleaning and decluttering will be beneficial.

The 6th house in Sagittarius

Physical activities with an element of freedom, such as cycling, running, or yoga in the park, can be very beneficial. Activities like hiking and climbing might also suit you well.

Sagittarius loves exploring new things, so don’t hesitate to add exotic and unusual dishes to your diet. Try to follow the philosophy of mindful eating and enjoy every meal.

Plan your day while leaving room for spontaneity. Use tools like manifestations and motivational quotes.

For Sagittarius, personal growth is essential, so anything related to self-development will be helpful, whether it’s reading or immersing yourself in other cultures.

Sagittarius is a traveler, so try exploring new routes even within your city. Regular trips, if possible, will also be highly beneficial.

The 6th house in Capricorn

A detailed daily plan can be very beneficial. Capricorn loves structuring everything, so having a well-planned day is important.

Regular physical exercise is useful as it teaches discipline and responsibility.

Spend more time outdoors in nature to feel connected to it.

Take care of your bone and joint health (which Capricorn rules), specifically by adding calcium- and magnesium-rich foods to your diet.

Nutritious, wholesome food is essential. Try to eat at the same time every day.

Regular massages to relieve tension, especially in the back and neck area, can be helpful.

To feel productive, try to develop the habit of completing even small tasks daily. However, be cautious and remember that it's important to let go of guilt for "not being productive enough." Striking a balance between rest and work is crucial.

The 6th house in Aquarius

For the 6th house in Aquarius, it is essential to create a routine that remains diverse and engaging. Try changing the sequence of tasks or introducing something new to maintain interest.

Aquarius rules technology, so using modern apps and gadgets for health tracking can be beneficial—for example, a pedometer, fitness tracker, or meditation app.

Since Aquarius is a collective sign, participating in group activities of any kind can be highly beneficial.

This sign is also open to experimenting with unique sports, whether it’s dance aerobics or aerial yoga.

It’s very important to relax the mind through mindfulness practices, such as reading inspiring literature or engaging in other mentally stimulating activities.

Make sure to leave room for freedom in your schedule—allow yourself the flexibility to change plans unexpectedly.

The 6th house in Pisces

It is important for you to start and end your day calmly—without rush or stress. Instead of a rigid daily plan, opt for a gentle, flexible approach. Creating a cozy and peaceful atmosphere around you is essential.

Pisces is a highly spiritual sign, so meditation, mantras, prayers, and breathing techniques can be especially beneficial.

Water-related rituals are also helpful, whether it’s salt baths or swimming.

Support your mental health through creativity. Allow yourself to express your artistic side on a daily basis.

Since Pisces is deeply connected to music, don’t deny yourself the pleasure of listening to your favorite tunes or meditating with healing sounds.

Pisces thrives with slow, flowing physical activities, such as swimming, yoga, and Pilates.

Additionally, getting enough sleep is crucial for the 6th house in Pisces.

This placement also requires daily moments of solitude, where you can be alone with yourself and recharge your energy.

#astrology #astro #natal chart #astro observations #birth chart #astro notes #astrology posts #zodiac #6th house

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tahbhie · 5 months ago

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How Plot Progression Works—Myths and Facts.

Let me start with a myth.

Last week, a writer approached me with their half-finished draft, unsure how to continue. Apparently, they got writer's block in the middle of the work. For about thirty minutes, we discussed the book freely as if it were a finished and published work.

Then I realized the issue.

☞ The problem?

From the conversation, I noticed that the writer's thoughts and ideas, which they voiced for the book, totally contradicted what they had written.

Their book followed a sequence of events. It was well-calculated, and the plot progression was on point but only to a certain level. I noticed robotic recurrences.

Something like this:

Scene 1— a sudden revelation

Scene 2— an unexpected fight

Scene 3— introduction of a new character

Scene 4— a conflict

Scene 5— another sudden revelation

Scene 6— an unexpected fight

Scene 7— introduction of a new character

Scene 8— a conflict

Meanwhile, all these elements didn't tie to each other in the story. They just performed different roles in each scene and were rendered useless in the next and every other scene that followed.

☞ Why did this happen?

Among other reasons, being extremely rigid with writing advice is a main factor.

Writing advice is great, but don't bend your style to suit the rules; bend the rules to suit your style.

Here's a clearer example of what I'm talking about.

Writing advice often says to keep readers on the edge of their seats within the first five pages, but this doesn't mean introducing unrealistic problems that don't fit your story. For example, introducing a sudden and improbable conflict just to add excitement can disrupt the flow and believability of your plot

During our session, I already understood how to assist, and we were setting our comfortable hours when the writer suddenly said, "I was told to include conflict in the middle of the book, then I ran out of ideas when I got there. I could have added one just a few pages in because I believe it would do well there, but again, I was unsure if that would make sense."

Now, who said conflict can't start a book? When you start your book with a conflict, you just have to ensure that you build towards 'the reason' behind the conflict so your readers can understand.

☞ Should I follow every writing advice with a closed mind?

No, you shouldn't. Remember that you are writing that book because you want to, and your idea was great enough to convince you to actually write. You need to enjoy the process and create what you truly want to create. Follow instructions flexibly.

Now that the myth is out of the way, let's talk about things that make a plot.

➜ Basic plot elements.

Initially, your plot should have the following:

✧ Protagonist ✧

Who are readers following in the story? Make that clear in the first few chapters. If you're writing from a first-person point of view and plan on switching between characters, aim for a maximum of two characters. It becomes clear that those two characters are an important part of the story; hence, they get the privilege to narrate the story from their respective views.

✧ Goals and objectives ✧

What is your protagonist after? Here's one thing you should know: your character doesn't have to know what they want at the beginning of the story. They may be as confused about their life as anyone reading, but as the story unfolds, they find a goal worth reaching and discover the needed strength to reach the goal.

✧ Antagonist ✧

What/Who is standing as a threat? A threat is hell-bent on ruining your protagonist and stopping them from achieving their goals. An antagonist could be an object or a human. It all depends on the concept you aim for. Funny enough, the antagonist could be a lie that starts out seemingly small but ends up being harmful. The rom-com movie "Upgraded" is an example of this concept. The lie the art enthusiast told was the greatest trouble she faced.

✧ Conflict ✧

What are the problems the protagonist faces? Problems can start from anywhere over anything, and you can choose to make them mild and solvable at first while building up to something larger.

✧ Resulting consequences ✧

What happens after the protagonist faces the trouble and tries to solve it? Did they lose anything? Hurt someone? Earn support from people they least expect?

✧ Character arc ✧

How has the journey shaped your protagonist? After going through something they probably never saw coming, how has it changed them? For a timid main character at the beginning of the story, do they finally become brave and display a different side of themselves?

All these are important for a well-rounded story as a whole.

Join the Writers' Universe and connect with like-minded writers.

➜ Secondary plot elements

These elements help you shape the above category.

● Setbacks

Let's use movies to illustrate this. There are certain points where we lose hope for the main character, almost convinced they've lost. We see them at their weakest points, hurt that the antagonist got them good. These moments are the setbacks. The protagonist is made vulnerable.

● Loss

What did the setback cost them? The reason I intentionally labeled this as loss is because to move a plot forward, some things need repairing. Since most loose ends were already from the beginning of the story, adding a fresh loss piques the reader's interest. It doesn't have to be the death of someone. It could be the brutal end of an alliance formed on an emotional scale.

● Break of a new dawn

I just wanted to get creative with the title. This point marks the pivotal change of events, and once again, there's hope for the protagonist as they find solutions to their problems. In this stage, they discover hidden abilities within themselves (this isn't limited to fantasy).

And there you have the important sections of plot progression. But keep these few things in mind. To ensure you're not leaving a huge gap in your plot, try to:

┗→ Introduce elements that work for your story:

It's common to believe something works well simply because it did in your favorite book. You might want to reconsider that with a different mindset.

┗→ Tie elements together:

Of course, this doesn't apply to all, but try to create a link between events in your story. If a fight occurred in a scene, link it to a cause in a few scenes ahead. This can lead to another conflict, this time on a larger scale, without having to introduce something entirely different.

And back to the question that birthed this post:

ᴥ Should conflict come early or not?

It depends on your work, but it can come early. That's not taboo.

There was a movie I watched featuring a female lawyer as the protagonist. The movie started with the kidnap of her only child, and the rest of the scenes drove us to the 'cause,’ then more conflicts, setbacks, and finally resolution. We were also able to explore the character’s personality based on the decisions she took in different emotional scenes.

She tried to keep her calm in some scenes while she just flat-out threw a tantrum in others, but overall, she was a strong woman who was broken by the incidents occurring and then rebuilt. I read a book with the same premise: the main character was a tween who misplaced something precious and decided to go on an adventure to search for it, and that was what the story was built upon.

I always tell writers one thing—own your book. The first draft seems to be the toughest one of its pair, but if you don't allow yourself to freely express your thoughts, there will be no first draft or story at all.

✧✧✧✧

Struggling with any stages of writing? Send me a message, and let's sort it out for a suitable fee.

✧✧✧✧

Do you want to create characters readers are compelled to start a fandom for?

Check out "My Characters and I" extensive coaching session. Understand the secret behind every attractive character. The slots are limited, and this opportunity closes once capacity is reached. Don't miss it; you never know when you’ll stumble upon these golden gates again.

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elleaitch22 · 6 days ago

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Terms of Endearment

Chapter 16: Someone to be Chosen

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Our girls are back! Please leave comments, reviews, or live reactions! Mostly fluffy family dynamics! I hope y’all love it!! xx Elle

Warnings: Mentions of emotional abuse, PTSD, effects of gaslighting, self-deprecation, elements of dom/sub

Word Count: 6.7k words

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige woke up with a smile. She woke up with a smile on her face for the first time in forever, and it was all because of Azzi Fudd.

They had another date. This one planned by Azzi. One she made sure Soleil was included in. “I just want to make sure she’s okay with everything before we get any deeper.”

They had their second date on a Tuesday afternoon, too excited to wait for the weekend.

It started with Paige picking Soleil up from school instead of Azzi.

“Mommy!” She squealed. “What are you doing hewe?”

Paige laughed warmly, “Me and Azzi wanted to surprise you with a family day.” She said, scooping her baby into her arms.

Lei gasped. “Does that mean Azzi is in ouw family?” She beamed when the woman nodded to her. “Like my othew mommy? I get two mommies?!” Her body vibrated with excitement.

Paige knew that her answer would break Soleil’s heart. “Maybe we can talk about it at lunch or dinner.” She paused at her pout. “Don’t make that face, Lei. She’s still in our family.” She pressed a kiss to her nose. “Come on, Azzi’s waiting for us in the car.”

“Azzi! Hi, Azzi!” Soleil shouted, climbing into her car seat. She fastened the top while Paige clicked the bottom straps into place.

Azzi turns to the back seat with a wide grin. “Hi Sunny Girl! Did you have a good day today?” She asked.

“I haved a good day, but it’s gonna me the best day because Mommy said we have family day today!” Soleil bounced in her seat.

“That’s so good, Lei! Do you wanna know what we’re gonna do today?” Azzi started. Soleil’s ponytails bounced as she nodded, “First, we’re going to go to my house to eat lunch, then we’re going to go paint, and then we’re going to go to the aquarium!” She spoke excitedly.

Soleil’s big blue eyes were bright with joy and anticipation. “Auntie Nika took me to the quawum one time! We saw the fishies!”

“You think you’re going to like our family day, Soleil?” Paige asked from the front seat.

The little girl was filled with energy, but that didn’t matter. As soon as Paige pulled onto the highway, Soleil was knocked out.

“It’s good that she’s taking a nap. Even though it’ll only be 45 minutes, it’ll help her be less cranky.” Azzi said, looking at the girl warmly.

A large hand landed on Azzi’s thigh, and while the skin to skin was nowhere near erotic, it still made her warm.

She turned her head back to the woman driving. Her jawline was still as perfect and sharp as the day Azzi met her. She was dressed casually in a pair of black cargos and a 90s style graphic tee. Her hair was down, natural waves flowing gently, and Azzi decided she really liked her hair like this. It made her look younger, softer somehow.

“You’re staring at me, Princess.” The blonde said, with a smirk on her face.

Azzi felt her cheeks darken. “You’re one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen, Paige. Of course I’m staring.” She turned to look at the window instead. If she couldn’t admire her girlfriend’s beauty, she’d admire all the trees blurring as the rode.

Paige didn’t say anything, but at the next stoplight, Azzi could feel like heavy gaze of her eyes. She started at Azzi’s neck before looking at the skin of her bare shoulders. She’d only had on a cropped pink tank top and a pair of short overalls that were intentionally splatter painted. Azzi wanted her outfit to be symbolic of the fun they would have on their date. As Paige’s eyes reached the expanse of Azzi’s thick thighs and long legs, her thumb started to brush light circles into the tanned skin.

“You’re so sweet to me, Azzi.”

The praise hit her right in her chest. She didn’t think anyone had called her sweet since she was in elementary school. It was confusing, rewiring how she thought about herself, but if Paige kept saying things like that, her whole brain was going to end up rewired.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

As they rode the elevator to Azzi’s apartment, she hid a smirk.

Paige wanted to order food for lunch, “If I have the money, it doesn’t make sense to just buy the food, Az.”

“Eating home cooked meals is healthier. There’s less sodium, chemicals, and the food is properly seasoned.” Azzi paused and went in for the winning point. “I just don’t want Soleil to eat all those chemicals in processed food.”

She had already seen Paige hesitating, but the point about Soleil was the nail in the coffin. She almost giggled as how easy it was to make her girlfriend (!!) fold.

The blonde rubbed Soleil on her back, trying to wake her up as they walked down the hallway.

“WAIT!” Azzi exclaimed when they got to her door.

Paige stiffened, “What?” She said calmly, voice tight.

“You can’t come in yet! Give me ten seconds. Literally, just count to ten.” She scrambled inside and shut the door behind her, not even giving Paige a chance to follow her in.

Soleil’s head popped up, “Why is Azzi acting cwazy, Mommy?”

Before Paige could answer her question, the door swung open.

Azzi was holding two bouquets. The bigger one had pink and yellow roses, blue iris, and orchids, and the smaller was just sunflowers.

“Azzi got us flowews, Mommy!” Soleil wiggled until Paige put her down. “Thank you for the flowews Azzi!”

The brunette handed her the bouquet, “I got you sunflowers because you’re my Sunny Girl.” She grinned.

Soleil held her flowers proudly as she marched into the apartment.

“I’ve never been given flowers by a partner before.” Paige said, quietly.

Azzi’s smile softened, “Well, I think you should always get flowers. I’ll get them whenever I can.” She said softly.

“So, what’s my bouquet symbolize?” The older woman smirked, stepping close to her girlfriend.

“Appreciation.” A kiss on the cheek. “Affection.” A kiss on the other. “Trust.” A firm, but short peck on the lips. “Thank you for finding me, Paige.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The lobby of Color Me Mine was filled with the shrieks and giggles of a happy girl as Azzi and Paige swung her in the air.

“Welcome to Color Me Mine, what can I get started for you today?” The young girl at the register smiled.

Before either adult could respond, soleil had gotten on her tippy toes. “I wanna paint some cups fow my mommy and Azzi. And they gonna paint a cup fow me!” Her voice was filled with anticipation.

The girl’s smile faltered, looking at the women. “Um,” She started, eyes panicked.

“That’s fine, Lei. Just remember even though we paint them today, we can’t take them home until next week.” Paige reminded her.

The cashier breathed out a sign of relief. “Okay, so the studio fee will be six dollars for the child and ten dollars for two adults,” She mumbled as she hit a few buttons on the screen. “Once you go to the wall and pick your pieces, I can ring you up and get you guys started,” She smiled at the trio.

Soleil was already off, browsing the rows of mugs like an art critic. She silently pulled a plain unicorn into her hands, inspecting it before handing it to Paige. “For Mommy.” She said seriously, still looking at the other dishes. Her lips twitched at the sight of a mug with little indented hearts covering the outside. “For Azzi.”

Azzi and Paige both chose the mug they wanted Soleil to paint for them before deciding to customize another dish for each other. The brunette chose a big bowl that would be more aesthetically pleasing than the fruit bowl sitting on the counter at the penthouse. Paige decided on one of those big plates. Something that you could put on a coffee table or on display on a kitchen counter.

They carried the plain pieces back to the register. And when the girl said, “That’ll be 176 please,” Azzi had tapped her phone to the tablet before Paige could even pull her phone out.

The woman glared at her girlfriend, “Why would you do that, Azzi. We’re on a date.”

Azzi had never seen someone glare as prettily as Paige Bueckers did. Instead of a snarl or a grimace that made her fearful, Paige’s expression was kind of cute. Her brows pinched together a little, her eyes were laser focused, and her mouth was opened just a little.

“Yeah, but it’s my date. I planned it, so I pay for it.” She smiled; cheeks pink from her thoughts.

She turned away from the counter and gripped Soleil’s hand. “Come on, Lei Lei! Let’s pick a table.”

Five minutes later, Paige was no less upset. “Paige,” Azzi was met with a grunt and no eye contact. “Come on, P. Are you really mad at me?”

Blue eyes met brown before rolling. “We agreed to let me take care of you.” She huffed. “I thought that was the conclusion we arrived at last week.”

“You are taking care of me, Paige,” Azzi smiled softly. “It’s the only reason I could pay for this date.”

Soleil’s head popped up from the abstract painting she was creating, “What’s a date?”

Azzi shook her head. This was all Paige’s domain. “A date is when two people who want to get to know each other better spend time together.” She rose from her seat and nodded to the next table. The two women walked over so Soleil wouldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. “I don’t like you paying for things. If I’m taking care of everything, that includes everything.”

“So, what?” Azzi started, brows furrowed and nose scrunched. “If I want to do something nice for you, I have to ask permission first?” She glared.

“I gave you my black card, Azzi. You’re an authorized user.” Paige answered, bewildered. “I know I initially did it because you had to buy stuff for Soleil, but you’re my girl now.”

Azzi’s head went back like she’d just been slapped. “What does that have to do with anything?” She scoffed.

“I don’t want you to be in the same situation again.” Paige paused. “If you feel like you need to leave, if you want to leave, you should be able to. If you decide you aren’t happy here with us, with me, I need you to be able to leave and be okay financially.” She breathed deeply. “So, I need you to save your money. Keep your checks, just in case.”

Azzi’s whole body drooped like a wilted flower. “You think I’d just leave?”

“No, no, no, Azzi.” Paige said, leaning across the table to grab her hand. “I don’t think you’d ever leave, but I don’t know the future. I might end up doing something or you may just decide that this isn’t the life you want anymore. Which is valid. I just want to make sure you will be fine, even if you leave.”

The brunette nodded, understanding her girlfriend a little more. “But I need to pay for things I planned. It makes me feel…dirty. If I use your movie to buy something for you, it’ll feel make me feel like I’m just using you for money.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Azzi. So, if you pay for the dates you plan, will you let me pay for everything else?”

Azzi knew this was probably the best offer, so she just nodded her head.

“Thank you,” Paige breathed out, relaxing.

The rest of the painting date is filled with soft teasing, messy hands, and never ending giggles.

“Come on, Paige. Everyone knows that unicorns have rainbow hair, not just pink and purple.” Azzi smirked.

“Are you really just doing a plain, boring pattern, Azzi?” Paige questioned after Azzi’s second row of patterned hearts.

Azzi helped Soleil paint little smiley faces all over the mug the girl had created for her mom, while the younger woman begged the older to leave Soleil’s mug for her alone. She didn’t want anything extra added to the vase Soleil had spent so much time crafting.

The bowl Azzi made for Paige was going to be beautiful after it came out of the kiln. The patterns were clean, but the lilac shade added an element of ‘Paige’. Paige’s creation was yellows, golds, and neutrals. The piece would look good wherever Azzi decided to put it.

Most people would have hated a date where they spent two hours painting dishes with their significant other’s child, but to Azzi, there was no other place she’d rather be.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The aquarium went much better than their painting date. Paige watched with a smirk as Azzi paid for the tickets, then they were off.

The moving walkway was in a tunnel showing aquatic life swimming above them.

They let Soleil lead their excursion, and. She wanted to stop at each sign, and she asked one of the women to read each one.

“Azzi, that’s so cool that ottews hold hands so they don’t go away in the night!” Her nose was pressed against the glass. “I want to be with the ottews when I gwowed up!”

Then she paused and looked to the woman. “Can we hold hands when you sleep at Mommy’s house? She questioned.

“Of course, Sunny Girl.” She smiled brightly at the girl.

The next plaque to read for penguins was. Azzi looked at Paige as she read all of the facts about the birds. She was bathed in a blue hue from the water. Soleil was perched on her shoulder, too show to see inside the pod. She was such a good mother. As much as she worked, it was clear the two were obsessed with each other.

They drifted off to the coral reef exhibit where there was a touch pool. Soleil immediately darted over, excited to touch some of the animals she had been learning about.

“Can I touch the stawfish, Azzi?” She questioned nervously.

Azzi held the girls hand in hers, slowly guiding her to brush against the animal lightly. “We just have to be gentle, Sunny. They’re alive, just like us!”

Soleil’s tongue peeked out of her mouth as she focused on using her most gentle hands, not wanting to hurt the animal.

Like Azzi had done in the penguin room, Paige stood back and watched them. She smiled at how natural they looked, with Azzi kneeling next to Soleil, her hand guiding her daughter’s. Their comfort with each other wasn’t forced. It was natural.

They lingered a while, moving slow. Azzi didn’t rush Soleil, and Soleil didn’t seem to feel the need to bounce between tanks like she usually did. Paige wondered if this was how it would always feel. Like a shared rhythm.

In the jellyfish room, they all spoke in whispers, as if they’d entered a cathedral.

The tanks glowed like something from a dream; soft pinks, electric purples, tendrils swayed in time with the current. Soleil pressed her palm flat to the glass and let out a little gasp as Paige read the plaque.

“They don’t even have bones,” she breathed.

Azzi, beside her, murmured, “They don’t have hearts either.”

Soleil turned to her, eyebrows pinched. “Then how do they love?”

Azzi smiled. “Maybe they love with their light.”

That earned a small, reverent silence. Paige let it settle over her like a warm wave.

Then Soleil turned, eyes lighting up. “I wanna hold youw hands now. Both of you.”

Without hesitation, she reached up, sliding her small fingers into both of theirs. Paige looked down and saw Azzi’s thumb brush gently across Soleil’s knuckles. Their eyes met, just for a moment, and Paige couldn’t tell if the flicker in her chest was joy or yearning.

They passed into the oceanarium where the tank stretched stories high. A beluga swam slowly past, its pale body moving like a cloud underwater. Soleil pressed close to the glass, then turned to whisper, “That one’s my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Paige said. “She looks like she’s dancing.”

“Azzi,” Soleil said seriously, tugging at her hand. “You have to pick your favorite too.”

Azzi hummed, thoughtful. “I think I like the sea turtles. They’re slow, but they always get where they’re going.”

Soleil seemed satisfied by that. “You’re like a turtle.”

Azzi blinked. “Oh?”

“Because you’we safe. Like a shell.” Soleil didn’t even look up, just said it and turned back to the tank.

Azzi stared at her a moment longer, then swallowed and blinked fast. Paige reached out and laced their fingers together where Soleil couldn’t see. Just for a second. Just to say, I heard that too.

They wandered through the rest of the galleries slowly, drawn to glowing tanks and colorful fish. Soleil was getting quieter now, all her energy sinking beneath the surface. When they passed a small cart selling stuffed animals, she tugged at Paige’s shirt and pointed at a sea otter plush.

“That one,” she whispered. “So it doesn’t float away.”

Azzi handed over her card before Paige could say anything. “We’ll tie it to your wrist if we have to.”

As they made their way to the exit, Soleil holding her sea otter tight under one arm, Paige glanced sideways at Azzi. Her curls were a little frizzier now from the humidity, and there was a smear of something on her sweater, from Soleil’s snack probably.

She had never looked more beautiful.

“You okay?” Paige asked quietly as they stepped outside into the soft golden light of late afternoon.

Azzi nodded, smiling. “That was perfect. The otters, the jellyfish, the way Soleil called me her shell.”

Paige bumped their shoulders together. “You’re kind of my shell too.”

Azzi flushed, looked away, but her fingers brushed Paige’s again as they walked back toward the car.

And for just a moment, Paige let herself imagine a thousand days like this, soft, slow, full of light, and Azzi beside her for every one.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi chose a cozy restaurant for dinner. Little Wild had mismatched chairs and tables with fairy lights twinkling everywhere.

“Mommy, it’s like the staws!” Soleil turned to Azzi, eyes wide. “Aftew we leawn about the ocean, can we do staws?” She asked entranced.

She beamed when Azzi answered with a small smile and nod.

The dinner was filled with nervous energy that Soleil ignored or didn’t notice. Azzi was deep in her head, overthinking everything, so it wasn’t surprising when she stumbled over ordering her lemon thyme chicken dish.

Once the waiter brought their food out, Paige had pity on her girlfriend.

“Soleil, we wanted to talk to you about something.” She started.

The girl looked up from her bowl of macaroni and cheese, fork frozen in the air. “Am I in twouble?” She asked, eyes squinted.

“What? No,” Paige said, head jerking back. “Azzi and I have been going on dates. Spending time just the two of us because we care about each other a lot.”

Soleil’s brows raised, “Because you want to know Azzi bettew?” She questioned, referencing what Paige had told her earlier.

“Yes, Sunshine.” The blonde paused. “Is that something you would be okay with?”

The girl looked between the two of them, then beamed. “So you dating like on the tv? Like Kwistoff and Anna?”

“Sort of like with Kristoff and Anna, baby.” Azzi said, relaxing.

Soleil’s gasp, smile somehow wider, “So you get to be my other mommy!” She exclaimed.

Azzi’s entire body tightened with tension.

“Well, people date to get married, like how Anna and Kristoff couldn’t get married right when they first met.” Paige started.

At Soleil’s frown, Azzi went to hold her. “I would love that, some day. But for now, me and your mommy are still learning each other. And we’d have to talk about that together.” She paused, looking into the girl’s blue orbs. “But no matter what happens with me and your mom, no matter how we feel about each other, I’ll always be here. I’ll always love you and care about you like family.”

“But you do evewything Mommy does.” She pouted. “You bwing me fwom school. We eat lunch togethew evewy day. We do big naps on the sofa. You came in my fowt. You awe my Mama!” She cried, fat tears falling.

Azzi’s eyes widened. “I do that because I love you, Soleil. And I would love to be your Mama one day. I would love that more than anything.”

“I want you to be Mama, now!” She whined. She wiggled her way out of Azzi’s arms and into her mom’s. “Mommy!” She wailed.

Brown eyes blinked back tears. She didn’t think Soleil had ever scrambled to get away from her.

“I’m gonna take her to the restroom really quick.” Paige said, already moving.

When they got to the back of the restaurant, Paige planted her daughter on her feet and squatted in front of her. “Soleil Katheryn,” She said firmly.

“She doesn’t want to be Mama!” She sobbed.

Paige hugged her tightly. “You need to breathe, baby. Come on, Sunshine. Breathe with Mommy.”

The pair breathed deeply together, arms wound tightly around each other.

“Do you wanna tell me what made you so upset?” She asked her.

Soleil nodded into her mother’s chest before letting it all pour out. “I be a good giwl, Mommy! The goodest giwl, but she doesn’t want me!”

Paige leaned back slightly. “That’s not true, baby. Azzi loves you so much. She thinks you’re the best girl, not just a good one.” She started warmly. “Do you remember the book? Can you tell me what makes a family, Soleil?”

“Love.” She mumbled, face buried in the soft fabric.

Paige chuckled, “Yeah, Lei. Love is what makes a family. Does Azzi still love you?” She questioned.

“She said she would always love me.” She whispered.

“Right, so that means she’s already your family. Does it bother you that you don’t have two mommies?” Paige asked hesitantly.

“Well, my fwiend Jade at school have two mommies. And when we wead ouw books, you do Mommy things, but Azzi does too.” Soleil explained.

Paige nodded. So, it wasn’t anything they had done or hadn’t done. She was just jealous. The blonde breathed out a sigh of relief. That would make Azzi feel much better.

“Do you think there’s anything you should say to Azzi?” Paige questioned.

Instead of answering, Soleil gently pushed away from her mother and walked back to their table.

“I was not being kind, Azzi. I’m sowwy! I just want you to be my Mama, and I was being mean. I was just mad, but I love you.” She said sadly.

Azzi scooped the girls into her arms, lowly saying something in her ear. Whatever it was made Soleil beam with joy.

After the two reconciled, the girl was glued to the woman. She offered spoonfuls of her macaroni and cheese and bites of her chicken tenders. When dessert came out, the three of them shared an ice cream with Soleil still cuddled snuggly in the brunette’s lap.

Azzi even climbed into the back seat with Soleil, the little girl gripping the tanned hand tightly. The drive back to Aurelia was filled with a comfortable silence.

When Paige moved to help Azzi out of the back and to grab Soleil, she was greeted with her daughter asleep in her girlfriend’s arms.

“That went better than I expected,” Azzi whispered as they rode the elevator up to the 57th floor.

Paige’s eyes widened in surprise. “That went well to you? She had a meltdown.”

“Yeah. But she knows things are changing in ways that she wants, but it’s not all the way what she wants.” Azzi explained.

Paige pulled Soleil from her arms once they reached Azzi’s floor. Soleil nuzzled her head into her mom’s neck before stilling.

“I didn’t cry because she hurt my feelings.” Azzi started. “I cried because I didn’t know she felt so strongly – loved me that much. It caught me off guard, but it was a pleasant surprise.”

Paige nodded, just letting her continue as the slowly trekked down the hallway.

“I know it’s too fast. I know I’ve only know you all for a month, but it feels like it’s been a year.” She gulped. “It feels like…it feels like she could be mine. I love her enough to call her mine. I’m just –”

“Scared?” Paige interjected. “I understand. We are moving fast. But I told you I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone before. Especially not this fast.”

The women stopped walking, arriving to Azzi’s apartment. “Do you think I handled it right?” She muttered, afraid of the answer.

“Yeah. It feels right, but you’re trying to protect her heart by pacing it. She knows you love her, and that’s the only thing that matters.”

The blonde leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then her cheeks. Then her nose. Then her lips.

“Thank you for making today perfect.” She said, foreheads touching. “I’ll see you Saturday for the gala, yeah?” Paige finished.

Azzi was in a bit of a daze as she nodded. She could definitely get used to doing this for the rest of her life.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi fussed with her curls once more before going out to look in her full-length mirror.

Her hair was pinned up in a purposefully messy updo with a few pieces left down to frame her face nicely. Her makeup was soft and dewy with slight hints of pink on her cheeks and eyelids. Her dress was something beautiful, a silky dress Paige had sent up that afternoon. It had a high cowl neckline and an open back. There was a slit that went high on her thigh. It showcased her long, strong legs until ending on her gold heels. She wore dainty gold earrings and a gorgeous tennis bracelet.

It was the first gala she’d gotten ready for where she didn’t hear Grant’s voice in her head. She didn’t know if that had to do with the checklists she’d been doing with Paige, the affirmations on her bathroom mirror, or being Paige’s real girlfriend this time, but she wasn’t going to complain.

She smiled at the knock on her door. She was met with a bouquet of light pink peonies bigger than her head.

“Thank you, Paigey.” She smiled, taking the flowers to put them in water.

She looked back absentmindedly and stumbled. Paige looked amazing. She wore pink suede loafers that coordinated with her caramel-colored suit perfectly. There was a silk, ivory shirt that was perfectly tucked into her pants. The twisted gold chain shined in the overhead light, just like the gold huggies and diamond studs in her ears. But the best part was her hair. It was down for once. The gentle waves softened her look. She was perfect.

Azzi didn’t remember putting the flowers in water or getting in the elevator, but before she knew it, she smelled sandalwood and bergamot. Paige was buckling her in. Which was weird, she usually had Morgan drive to galas and events.

“You wanted to drive tonight?” She asked, confusion evident on her face.

Paige smirked, “I only use a driver when I need distance. This is real now; we don’t need any extra eyes.” She finished, placing her hand on her thigh.

Azzi didn’t know if she loved or hated the split on this dress. What she did know was that the warmth that she felt on her thigh was quickly spreading.

“Why you so quiet, Az?” Paige questioned, thumb softly stroking her leg.

“It’s our first event where I’m your actual girlfriend. I’m just a little nervous.” Azzi muttered.

A warm hand gripped her face, making Azzi face her. “There is no one else I would rather have here with me. Fuck anybody else who has shit to say about it.” Azzi’s eyes dropped and Paige’s grip tightened a bit. “You belong here. You belong with me. And if I hear you say something else negative about yourself, you’ll be receiving your first punishment. Understand?”

Azzi just nodded, breath heavy, thighs pressed together. When the grip tightened again, she opened her mouth. “Yes, Paige. I understand.”

“Good,” She said, pulling her in for a steamy kiss. “Let’s go.”

The hand that was previously on her leg now rested on Azzi’s lower back as Paige guided her into the Art Institute of Chicago. She had to remind herself to focus on keeping her jaw off the floor as she looked at the displays.

She led Azzi to their table, pulling the chair out for her. “I gotta go mingle, but I’ll be back in a minute, alright?” Paige asked, planting a quick peck on her lips.

Azzi straightened as she looked at the rest of the women at the table.

“Hi, I’m Charlotte LaSalle.” She smiled brightly. “My husband is the vice chairman at Kairos.”

Azzi returned the expression. “Azzi Fudd. I’m Paige’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, we know!” A new voice interjected. “I’m Francesca Reynolds. My fiancée is Gabriella Barrett; she sits on the board of directors. Gabi said she’s never seen Paige smile that much.”

Azzi blushed, “Thank you for saying that. We weren’t sure about going public, so I really appreciate that.”

“Susan van Ellington-Brooks. What do you, Azzi?” The woman was pretty, but she looked like she had a twenty-foot pole up her ass.

She unconsciously sat ramrod straight. “Oh, I’m Paige’s daughter’s private tutor right now, but I used to teach pre-k.”

“Ah, Paige is so generous, isn’t she? She always makes such unexpected choices. And it’s so important for children to have caretakers who feel passionate, even if those roles are temporary.” Everything the woman just said was supposed to be an insult disguised as a compliment.

Azzi didn’t know what came over her before she opened her mouth. “You’re right. Working for Paige is temporary. I’ll only be tutoring her until we decide to put her in school for the full day. But I should be having a new baby by then, so there would be no point in working.” She smiled.

Charlotte and Francesca stood quickly. “We’re going to the lady’s room. We’ll be right back!” They scurried away quickly.

Susan’s petty smile turned sharper. “I think it’s so lovely when people like Paige give back to those who aren’t normally apart of this world. Those who normally wouldn’t fit in our world.”

Azzi’s brows furrowed, but before she could respond, the older woman continued.

“Paige just has such diverse taste. It’s refreshing to see her bring someone so different into our world – helping us see more than one perspective.” She finished.

Azzi disguised the way her breath caught in her throat with a smile. “Yes, well Paige has been in this world for years, and couldn’t find anyone worthy of her time or attention. So, I’ll take that as a compliment.” She stood, Paige-like smirk on her lips. “It was nice to meet you, Suzanne.”

She walked away from the table, willing her ankles not to shake. She made her way to the restroom, rushing into the handicapped stall. She leaned over the sink and let her tears fall.

A few seconds later, a knock sounded at the door.

Azzi cleared her throat. “Someone’s in here.”

“It’s me.” Paige paused. “Open the door, Princess.”

She used a paper towel to dry the water lining her eyes before opening the door.

“What happened, baby?” Paige asked, stroking her cheeks softly.

Azzi sighed, knowing Paige wasn’t going to let it go. “Somebody said that it didn’t belong – that I was just a charity case for you. And – I don’t know. I’m just putting on a show. Being at these events just shows me that I don’t belong in this world.”

“Don’t say that, Azzi.” Paige said firmly. “You belong wherever I am.”

She yanked away. “I don’t even think you mean that Paige! You bought me all these clothes. You gave me a driver. You made me move houses. You’re trying to force me to fit into your world, but at the end of the day, you know I don’t belong.” She started pacing. “And in a few months, it probably won’t even matter. You’re going to get mad; you’ll see that Grant was right about me. You’re going to see how annoying, and stupid, and worthless. Then you’re going to take Soleil, and I’ll be all alone again.”

“What did I tell you, Azzi?” Paige said, cutting off her steps and gripping her firmly, not hard, just a way to show her she wasn’t going anywhere. “What did I tell you about talking about yourself like that?”

Azzi blinked out of her self-deprecating spiral. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. She just said so many things.”

“It’s okay. I don’t care if I have to do it every day. I will remind you who you are.” She rubbed her hands up and down tanned arms. “You are enough exactly how you are. I gave you those things because you deserve the best, not because I wanted you to look a certain way.” Paige continued. “Now, we are going to go back out there, and you are going to show everyone how worthy you are. Do you understand?”

Even with Paige’s encouragement, Azzi was quiet for the rest of the night. She contributed in conversation when a question or statement was directed to her. She laughed when she heard something that was supposed to be funny.

But for the most part, she clung to Paige’s arm. So, when Azzi’s grip tightened, Paige’s alarm bells went off.

She followed Azzi’s gaze to a woman with too much filler and not enough Botox.

That bitch was the one who had said those things to Azzi.

She racked her brain for the woman’s company, relative, or spouse.

Geoffrey Brooks III. They were supposed to be signing a contract in two Wednesdays.

“I just need to talk to one more person, then we can go home. Is that okay, Azzi?” Paige questioned gently.

Azzi nodded, relief clear in her brown eyes. Until she saw where they were going. Paige’s rage grew as she felt Azzi stiffen the closer they got to the table.

“Geoffrey!” She exclaimed with faux excitement.

The older man looked up at the blonde from his seat. “Oh, honey. This is who I was telling you about! Paige is going to sign on as a backer for the company.” He smiled. “Paige, this is my wife, Susan. And this must be your lovely girlfriend! Geoffrey Brooks the Third.” He thrust his hand out for Azzi to shake.

But the squeeze on Azzi’s hip told her not to take it.

“You didn’t hear the change of plans, Geoff?” Paige asked. Faux concern dripping from her voice. “We were going to sign everything in a couple weeks, but your wife said some truly unkind things to my girlfriend. Really hurt her feelings.”

The man gaped, turning to his wife. “Susan!”

“No worries though. Azzi is so kind, so generous, so forgiving that she didn’t even want me to know that it was your wife who said anything.” Paige smiled at her girlfriend. “But I’m not.” She said, smile vanishing. “I’m pulling out. Tell your wife, thank you.”

Nobody would ever get to talk to Azzi like that and get away with it. Not even Azzi herself.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When they got back to Aurelia, Azzi was ready to just take a shower and knock out.

But she noticed the elevator going faster than normal. “Why are we going to your place?” She questioned.

“I told you, Azzi,” Paige started, looking at her in the mirrored doors. “If you spoke poorly about yourself, you would be punished. It’s punishment time.”

The elevator doors opened, and Paige guided them both to her bedroom. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

“Go clean up. I left some clothes for you in there.” Paige said, leaving her alone in the room.

Azzi washed up quickly, not wanting to make Paige angrier. She didn’t think Paige would ever punish her. She was always so good to her. Maybe it would be a one-time thing. If she didn’t put her hands on her, Azzi could justify staying anyway.

Her mind was racing as she thought about all of the things Paige could do to harm her.

“Let’s go.” Paige called from the bedroom.

She was standing in the bedroom in front of her mirror. She’d showered too. Her damp hair was left out. And droplets of water ran down her neck to the plain black sports bra she wore. Her toned torso was left on display. There was something quietly hot about the band of her boxers left peeking out of her sweatpants.

Paige looked like she belonged in one of those lifestyle magazines.

Azzi felt inferior in the thin, oversized t-shirt and loose boxers Paige had left for her.

“Come here.” The blonde stated. It wasn’t a request.

They stood in front of the mirror. Paige’s arms wrapped loosely around Azzi’s waist.

Paige’s voice was gentle, steady. “Look at yourself.”

Azzi tried to look away. Paige’s hand came up to cradle her jaw, holding her still — not with force, but with care.

“Eyes forward, Princess,” she said softly.

Azzi’s breath caught. Her eyes flicked up to meet Paige’s in the mirror.

Paige leaned down, her mouth brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear. “Repeat after me. Be good for me.”

Azzi nodded once.

Paige’s hand slid up from Azzi’s waist to rest lightly at her throat. Not constricting, just anchoring.

“I am not what they say I am.”

“I am not what they say I am.” Azzi repeated quietly. Paige kissed her temple.

“I am not small. I am not disposable.” The blonde said, firmly.

“I am not small. I am not disposable.” The feeling of lips on her shoulder burned through the fabric.

Paige paused, locking eyes in the mirror. “I deserve love without conditions.”

“I deserve love without conditions.” Azzi repeated shakily. A kiss to the corner of her jaw.

“I am allowed to take up space.”

“I am allowed to take up space.” Her voice was a little firmer than before. A kiss to her collarbone.

“I am not a burden. I am a gift.”

Silence.

“Say it, Azzi.”

“I am not a burden. I am a gift.” She whispered. A kiss to her spine, right between her shoulder blades.

“Again.”

“I am not a burden. I am a gift.” She said louder, like she was starting to believe it. A kiss pressed to her lower back.

“I am someone to be chosen. Over and over again.” She murmured, rising back up.

Azzi’s eyes filled with tears. “I am someone to be chosen. Over and over again.” A kiss to her neck, slow and reverent.

“I am not broken.”

“I am not—” Her voice cracked. “I’m not broken.” A kiss to her bare shoulder, gentle and lingering.

“You’re going so good, Azzi.” Breathed by her ear. “I am safe now.”

“I’m safe now.” She said, barely audible. A kiss to the crown of her head.

Paige guided her to the bed and climbed in after her. The brunette moved closer to her instinctively. Paige got comfortable behind her, one arm tucked under Azzi’s head, the other draped protectively over her waist.

“Say one more,” she whispered, breath warm against Azzi’s cheek.

Azzi blinked up at her. “What?”

Paige kissed the tip of her nose. “Say: I am yours.”

Azzi hesitated, then smiled, faint but real. “I’m yours.”

Paige kissed her slow, like a promise. “And I’m yours.”

Azzi exhaled against her skin and let herself sink fully into Paige’s arms. Wrapped up in love, and light, and finally, finally, safe.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #terms of endearment

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marsprincess889 · 10 days ago

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The symbols you are drawn to and what they mean

Connecting them to astrological and mythological coorelations

This is as brief as possible because I think all of these deserve separate posts, but I think I managed to convey everything. The list is short but the info is interesting and there's quite a lot of it, actually.

Inspired by the attachment I've had since childhood to first symbol listed here. Could also be read for symbols showing up in your life during specific periods, or the ones that have been connected to you for a long time.

Disclaimer: I did not include flower/plant or general animal symbolism (as in, the symbolic meaning of any animal in general), because they too deserve separate explorations.

I hope you enjoy

1. Spirals

Creation, flow of life, infinity and mother nature

A spiral is a symbol representing mother nature_ as it is found in plants, animals (tail of chameleons, coiled snakes, shells of sea animals and snails), human physiognamy, and consequently, it represents the creative and feminine qualities.

Mother Earth, Goddess Gaia is symbolized by spirals. Its element would be Earth (but it can contain all other elements).

It's the flow of life and the receptive power of the female, symbolizing how it takes and gives, how through "weakness" she gains strength. In a way, it also represents how she uses necessary destruction to keep the infinity of life going. It's a cruel, never-ending torture and blissful, merciful salvation in one.

Astrologically, people with an abundance of Earth element might be drawn to it (Sun, Moon and/or Rising along with other important placements in Earth signs_ Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn).

The nakshatras of Bharani, Rohini, Punarvasu, Ashlesha, Uttara Phalguni, Hasta, Swati, Mula, Shravana, Uttara Bhadrapada and Revati might all be connected to it.

To point out the more likely ones, their association with Bharani, Punarvasu, Swati and Revati can be more obvious.

Bharani is the nakshatra of passive femininity and mother nature, especially in a creative and sexual sense and on a cosmic scale. It is the first nakshatra where we meet the feminine and we meet her in her fierce, primordial state, at her most insistent, but nevertheless, Bharani is where the feminine keeps the infinity of life and death going, associated with the wheel of fate found in various mythologies.

Swati is the freedom and the "illusion" of this and other worlds, associated with the cosmic egg and the "mother". It's where the soul is free to play in the illusion of the material world and its manifestations, where it sees not only one but multiple realities and explores them, bound only by love. It represents infinity in the sense that it allows travel through realities, contrasting its opposite Bharani, where the infinity of life is in the hands if higher forces and humans feel trapped in the limitations of the material.

Revati is nakshatra of flow and ultimate creativity (the individualized self that seeks/came from the fires of Bharani, its yoni consort). It's the nakshatra of true freedom and free will, where the possibilities are finally infinite.

Punarvasu is the open and nurturing feminine, representing infinity, just like Bharani and Revati, but in a more direct way. Bharani is the immortality of the soul, the infinite cycle of death and rebirth oveseen by the feminine (fate). Revati is the true freedom and infinite possibilities. Punarvasu is simply the force that allows infinity, the second/third/millionth chance to repeat or break the cycle (the breaking of the cycle happens in Revati_ another Mercury-Jupiter ruled nakshatra).

To emphasize Punarvasu's unique role, it's also the nakshatra of patterns and pattern recognition. Consequently, it's associated with prophecies. Ruled by the Mother goddess Aditi (whose name means "boundless"/"limitless", "innocence"), it's first nakshatra (if we start the count from the first nakshatra of Aries, the first sign) that offers such freedom and is, in my opinion, the first nakshatra of magic.

If you have these nakshatras, an abundance of Earth and Water elements, Venus and/or Moon with great relevance in your chart and possibly also major activations in 2nd, 5th, 8th and/or 12th houses, you might be highly drawn to this symbol.

Gaia/Gaea is an Earth goddess, the primordial titaness. There is an abundance of Earth Mother goddesses across various mythologies and cultures. You might feel connected to them too. It's possible that if you love this symbol, you're also drawn to the following colors: pure or milky white, grass green, soft pink, brown.

The following placement might connect to this symbol:

Sun, moon or ascendant in either of these nakshatras (not ranked): Bharani, Rohini, Punarvasu, Ashlesha, Uttara Phalguni, Hasta, Swati, Mula, Shravana, Uttara Bhadrapada, Revati.

Emphasis on Earth signs, especially Taurus and Virgo.

Ketu or Atmakaraka in Punarvasu, Bharani, Swati, Revati or Mula.

Any of the planets located in earth signs being vargottama (same sign in D1 and D9).

Taurus, Pisces or Virgo in big three in D1 and/or D9.

2. The Ouroboros

Cycles, endings, turning point, infinity

A snake eating itself/its own tail, is an ancient symbol and as relevant now as it was then.

Astrologically it connects to two nakshatras associated with serpents_ Ashlesha and Uttara Bhadrapada. Both also represent an ending of a cycle in some way. Ashlesha's symbol is the coiled snake and it wraps up the first stage of nakshatras, marking the first gandanta point (there are three in total_ the points where both the nakshatra and the sign end, transitioning from water signs to fire signs). Uttara Bhadrapada is the soul solidifying in its truth, settling into the limitations, a point where the inner serpent that began to awaken in Ashlesha has gained "wings" and has matured into a dragon.

You might be drawn to this symbol in times of intense transformation, deep cleansing and revision.

Serpents have been considered symbols of awareness, instinctual intelligence and wisdom. Snake represents the inner animal of a person and the raw part of a being, the one that's stripped bare of any constructed defences.

Coming full-circle, being at the same spot you once where at but now it's different, just because you have gone through it.

It's the indicator of a critical point, the one that feels like "!!!" in your soul. It's a warning and a chance, a reminder of the past and the doorway to completion.

In a way, it also represents self-mastery, as the snake is both nourishing and destroying itself.

Ouroboros can relate to the water element, as it is in many ways about completion and both of the nakshatras symbolozed by serpents_ Ashlesha and Uttara Bhadrapada are in water signs_ Cancer and Pisces, respectively.

Another nakshatra that can be associated with it is Shatabhisha_ the last Rahu ruled nakshatra. Rahu, being the head of the serpent, is closely connected to its meaning. Shatabhisha in particular is symbolized by a circle and is about containing various types of information (represented by another one of its symbols_ water reservoir).

Those who have these nakshatras are also often drawn to snake deities, mainly, goddesses: Nagas, Sirona, Tefnut, Wadjet, Asclepius, the Gorgons, so on. Snake deities are often associated with healing and water. There are also primordial water deities who may or may not be directly associated with serpents. An interesting goddess to mention is Hecate_ goddess of crossroads, who is the triple goddess of the liminal, often connected to turning points, not unlike this symbol. Self-realization and completion are deeply tied into the Ouroboros.

Astrological houses that might be connected to it: 4th, 8th, 12th.

The element of water is the most suitable for this symbol, but the element of fire can also resonate to it due to its purifying nature. People who are dominated by these elements (especially water) might connect to it.

The most possible placements of people who resonate with this symbol:

Sun, moon, Ascendant, Ketu, Atmakaraka or chart ruler in Ashlesha, Uttara Bhadrapada or Shatabhisha nakshatra.

Emphasis on water signs.

Sun or moon conjunct Rahu or Ketu.

Moon or Ketu in the 4th, 8th or 12th house.

Rahu or Ketu in the 1st house.

3. A cross

See this article to learn a little about different types of crosses

https://symbolsage.com/types-of-crosses/

Limitations, stability, mortality, the finite, devotion.

We all have our cross to carry.

What is the cross exactly? It's a symbol on its own and part of other symbols. The astrological symbols for Earth, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto all contain it.

Looking through the many variations of this symbol, it's clear that in its simplicity it's more universal and ancient than hyper-specific. Considering the fact that it's seen in a variety of contexts across millenias, I want to exert the most prevalent meaning of the cross as it's been percieved and depicted through the people from various cultures and ages.

First of all, I have to speak about the mass popularization of this symbol through Christianity and the subsequent (and inevitable) association of it with this religion in people's minds. In Christianity, cross is synonymous with mortal suffering and bearing of Earthly struggles with grace.

Suffering of the material has to do with boundaries, limitations and the "finiteness" of it. In many ways, it relates to Saturn, as like the cross does for Christians, it represents responsibility and bearing. But Saturn is also stability. The limits and boundaries have the other side to their harshness_ the blessing of endurance, stability and realiability.

The symbol for Earth is a cross inside a circle. It shows stability in that context too. In essence, a cross might simply be the core structure.

An interesting thing is that the symbol for denial is a cross too. Denial is basically a "no" and a stop, so, it ties into the limitation aspect of it.

So, the first astrological coorelation I want to make is the connection of this symbol to planet Saturn.

Saturn relates to the symbolic role of the cross in a general sense and the nakshatras that are ruled by Saturn based on vedic astrology (Pushya, Anuradha, Uttara Bhadrapada) consequently adopt that association. Connected to sacrifice, duty and devotion, this planet clearly aligns with the meaning of the cross as people of many cultures and eras have understood it.

In its Christian sense, the cross calls to mind the crucifixion, death and rebirth of the Christ.

To credit Claire Nakti_ I learned about this next coorelation from her video.

Purva Bhadrapada nakshatra is connected to that story in a deep way. Ruled by Jupiter, bridging the Saturnian Aquarius and Jupitarian Pisces, it represents the soul passing through the abyss, where it must shed all that is unnecessary and tempting to save the only thing that really matters_ the soul. 11th house of Aquarius is about gains from friends, it's a place where we're already on a massive scale, influencing/being influenced by huge forces. 12th house (Pisces) is about renouncing all of that for spiritual enlightenment. It's connected to intense isolation and withdrawal from the material, and often, the everyday life. In Pisces, Purva Bhadrapada is alone, seeking the truth that will set them free. It is through suffering and the brave sacrifice that the enlightenment is achieved (the thematics of Purva Bhadrapada are not something to misunderstand, there is more about it that I want to say but for now, I hope this little overview is enough, for the sake of it being a part of the context).

After Purva Bhadrapada, we enter the Saturnian Uttara Bhadrapada, sitting completely in Jupiterian Pisces (the flipped rulers of Purva Bhadra). In Uttara Bhadrapada, the intense fire of the previous lunar mansion is turned to ash, and the purity of the soul that was achieved through fierce cleansing is now to be maintained by repetition and steely discipline. Uttara Bhadrapada is strongly tied to endurance, quiet or silent strength and honor. It's called "the warrior star", and its associations call to mind the idealized image of the knights of middle ages, how their moral code of honor was what they lived and hoped to die by. This lunar mansion is the stabilization of the cleansing, and it's where the soul tries to access freedom by submitting to the limitations first, once and for all. Saturn_ its planetary ruler, as I have said, is connected to the limitations of material existence, including the illusion of time, and the nakshatra of Uttara Bhadrapada is strongly tied to sacrifices and suffering, maybe even moreso than Purva Bhadrapada, because the first Bhadrapada nakshatra has yet to achieve the purity at first, the second one is pure and gives its all to maintain it.

Other Saturn nakshatras of Pushya and Anuradha are associated with suffering and sacrifice as well (and natives of these nakshatras might be drawn to the cross too, as it shows their resilience and devotion), but Uttara Bhadrapada has shown to be directly tied to the ressurection of the Christ after the crucifixion (my personal take, as Purva Bhadra is the crucifixion, and Uttara Bhadrapada_ the latter, is about "the rise from the ashes", connected to the flying serpent/dragon Ahirbudnya).

So, the Bhadrapadas can be connected to the Christian story of Christ's death and ressurection. But if we take into account the general, mass associations with this symbol, then other astrological placements come into the play: Other two Saturnian nakshatras of Pushya and Anuradha; Bharani nakshatra, ruled by Saturnian God of death_ Yama, the place of Saturn's debilitation, nakshatra of physical limitations and coming into the body, as well as mother Earth and the inevitability/fate; Hasta nakshatra_ located fully in Virgo (natural sign lf the sixth house), the most material sign/house in the literal sense, connected to everything Earthy and/or Earthly (Hasta women also might tend to be intensely devoted to their chosen religion, there are examples of that in Christianity).

I want to mention a notable exception: Brigid's cross, a symbol of the Celtic goddess, is visually a little more different than others and holds a different meaning as well. It is, in its essence, Solar, matching the nature of the goddess Brigid herself.

The following placements might connect to this symbol:

Saturn in the 1st house.

Saturn conjunct Sun or Moon.

Saturn conjunct either Rahu or Ketu.

Purva or Uttara Bhadrapada in big three, as atmakaraka or Ketu.

Pushya or Anuradha in big three.

Bharani nakshatra in big three or as Ketu.

Hasta nakshatra as Ketu.

Saturn in Aries (debilitated) or Libra (exalted).

Saturn being Vargottama, exalted (in Libra) or prominently placed in D9.

4. Cup, Goblet, Chalice, Grail

The most desired thing, the ultimate, the container, the feminine.

A grail is the physical manifestation of the spiritual essence, the vessel that holds the substance.

The importance of this symbol can be understood through the concept of "The Holy Grail". Even used out of its mythological context, the term is used to describe the ultimate meaning, the most wanted thing. In various legends and written texts, it was said to have miraculous attributes including healing powers, granting infinite abundance and/or eternal youth.

The origin of it in the collective conciousness is unclear, it might be Christian or Celtic. In Christianity, it is described as the cup that the blood of Christ was spilled into. As far as Celtic legends go, it's connected to King Arthur, his knights of the round table and their quest. The Grail, according to those legends, was said to be protected and guarded by The Fisher King, hidden in a secret castle.

I'm thinking of talking more about this in another post, but to explain shortly, the Grail relates to Bharani nakshatra.

In this lunar mansion, the spark that was initiated previously takes form and gains definition, making it the place of birth. Bharani nakshatra is related to the feminine as the one who forms and manifests/birthes life. In this way, life is the most precious thing in and of itself, and the desire that drives it is under the domain of the feminine principle of the universe.

The Grail is connected to the themes of mortality, immortality, desire. Bharani, being the lunar mansion that rules over the cycle of life, soul attachments, love, desire, gatekeeping, secrecy, the "ultimate" attainment, it is mythologically connected to the quest for the Holy Grail.

For context: the symbol for Bharani nakshatra is the Yoni_ the feminine sexual organ.

Venus, Bharani's planetary ruler, is said to be the planet that grants ressurection, which is already the theme of Bharani, but it also represents the pure physical manifestation of the spiritual essence. Venus is "the goal", the ideal end-result of the journey, hence, it's the "ultimate" desired thing, the "highest" and famously considered unnattainable.

Just like how the knights went through many trials in its search, for then only three of them (Percival, Galahad, Bors, based on different versions) to find it, the treasure that Bharani protects_ the female herself, is difficult to access and requires specific energy to acquire and "possess" it, symbolised by the yoni_ female sexual organ (the main symbol of this nakshatra).

The spiritual attributes of the Holy Grail are also resonant to Bharani: the drive to "have" and "possess" but being denied it ultimately leads to humility and reverance that any creature has for what they believe is the higher power.

Bharani represents the sacred power of the feminine, rooted in her receptivity. The worship of her and everything that she represents is closely related to and, in many ways, the same as humans worshipping the divine. The love for women or a woman, especially for men, inspires feelings of awe, fear, passion and bliss.

The feminine is passive in a sense that she just IS, she does not have to do anything in particular. There is enormous power in that, and Bharani represents that power, as well as the unique and often misunderstood challenges of that state.

Bharani's core associations and themes are directly connected and resonant to the symbolic meanings of The Holy Grail, as well the mentions or depictions of cups/goblets/chalices in general. But without the meaning and the symbolism attached to "The Holy Grail", the chalice has always held that association, and if we percieve it as simply a physical manifestation of the spiritual, its meaning can be connected to the nakshatras of Virgo: Uttara Phalguni, Hasta and Chitra.

Uttara Phalguni relates to the woman as the bringer and embodyment of privilege, power and abundance, symbolised by the ripe fruit ready to be plucked. This is also the nakshatra of people who make great leaders and rulers, and women of this lunar mansion in their big three love to grant power and favors to masculine people they deem worthy. They also like to deprive those they deem unworthy, and these favors often have to do with actual, material and physical advantages and gifts, and, oftentimes, political/material/social influence.

Hasta is the veiled woman, concealed and unreachable until she decides to reveal herself. All Virgo nakshatras, as well as Bharani, relate to the woman being "a recource". Hasta is basically "barren" to almost everyone. It also shares the archetype of the passive feminine who aims for self-sufficiency (connected to goddesses similar to Persephone and Proserpina, more directly associated with Hasta than Bharani) with Bharani, and they both relate to it in different ways.

Chitra relates to crafting and scuplting, to fitting the outer shell to the inner substance. It's the nakshatra of materials in the literal sense and relates to precious objects. Material things are not shallow if they are of value (if they are made correctly, in accordance with the rules and the law, if their appearance and physicality aligns with the essence), and that is what Chitra has to prove.

The sign of Virgo (the maiden, the virgin) shares the themes of the physical manifestation and limitation with Bharani nakshatra (which is placed fully in Aries, natural ruler of the 1st house of the body). The constellation of Virgo has been described as "The Queen of Heaven", possibly reffering to ancient goddesses who share this title: Inanna, Isis, Nut, Astarte, Asherah. Bharani relates to the idea of "The Kingdom of Heaven", closely connected to the Holy Grail. Sumer goddess Inanna, in particular, who is mentioned the most often to carry that status, is archetypically extremely similar to the Norse goddess Freya. Freya is deeply resonant to Bharani nakshatra (so is Inanna), and both of those goddesses are somehow associated with love and beauty as well as the underworld. Both also represent the "maiden" aspect of the feminine, not just the "mother" aspect, and "the maiden" archetype can be associated to Bharani and the sign of Virgo. These goddesses, therefore, might connect with people who are drawn to the grail's symbolism.

Besides them, one of the very few to own the Grail, according to Arthurian legends, was Morgana, also called Morgan or Morgan le Fay_ enchantress and a sister of Arthur. Morgan le Fay could have been a goddess herself, but whether or not she was, she's still an important representative of the achetype of the magical woman/ambigous witch, even today. Morgan le Fay is also sometimes linked to The Morrigan_ a fierce triple goddess of battle, victory, fate amd death.

Mercury nakshatras, especially Jyeshta and Revati might relate to Morgan le Fay, and Jyeshta in particular might connect to The Morrigan.

Another interesting astrological coorelation would be the lunar mansion of Mrigashira ("Deer's head", the first one to be ruled by Mars, bridging Venusian Taurus and Mercurial Gemini, ruled by the moon god Soma). It is the nakshatra of quests and searching, in every sense of those words, and as The Holy Grail is almost inseparable from the quest of the knights in the collective human conciousness, it resonates to the symbolism of the Grail in a mythological way. Mrigashira (in Taurus) has the same planetary rulers as Bharani, the primary nakshatra connected to the grail: Bharani's nakshatra ruler is Venus and its sign ruler is Mars, with Taurean Mrigashira it's the other way around (Mars as nakshatra ruler, Venus as sign ruler). Both of these nakshatras are connected to bravery and action, both are points of importance in terms of decision making (in different ways), both are connected to love/sex/union/genders, both relate to the empowerment of the identity or the humbling of it through love (manifests in different ways). "Soma", the name of Mrigashira's god, is also the name of the mythological drink, the nectar of gods, sometimes seen as the drink that alters conciousness and gives knowledge, sometimes it's the drink of immortality. The nakshatra of immortality is Bharani (again, the same things have been attributed to Bharani). These two nakshatras are connected in many intetesting ways.

The last placement I want to mention is Vishakha nakshatra_ lunar mansion sitting opposite Bharani, bridging the signs of Libra and Scorpio, belonging to the same astrological caste (mleccha/outcast) as Bharani. "Vishakha" means "poison vessel", so it's easy to see that it shares themes with Bharani and in many ways is the other side of the coin. Another name for Vishakha nakshatra is "Radha", meaning "the gift". While this lunar mansion deals with the substance of the poison (energy/anger) itself, its name suggests that it is also directly connected to the vessel that contains it. This latter theme is more often expressed through feminine/female natives of Vishakha nakshatra. Vishakha is also the same caste as Bharani_ mleccha (outcast), like Ashlesha and Shravana nakshatras.

This is the only caste that has all of its nakshatras forming a pattern on the wheel_ they all square two of the others and oppose the remaining third other one, making all of them the corners of a square. All of these four nakshatras (Bharani, Vishakha, Shravana, Ashlesha) came up when I was researching characters/people connected to Arthurian legends.

Note: Bharanis and Vishakhas make an amazing team and have excellent platonic chemistry, in my opinion.

The three nakshatras connected to the Holy Grail through their own symbolism all have both Venus and Mars associated with them. With Bharani and Mrigashira, one is the nakshatra lord and other is the sign lord (flipped versions of each other), Vishakha however bridges the Venusian Libra and the Martian Scorpio. Venus is the feminine in her abundant and pure state, at her end-goal. Mars is the force of movement and action, the masculine in his natural assertive and active state. When these two planets come together (when they're both associated with the same thing or when their union creates something) then procreation, desire, sexuality, sexes, love, division and unity are at the forefront. Bharani is the one nakshatra out of the three that does not have another rashi ruler, making those two planets its only direct rulers.

If we think about how life is created_ through the masculine asserting on and entering the feminine, then the feminine going through the hard and laborous (no pun intended) process for nine months and a life-threatening birth at the end of that period, we can see the interplay between those two planets as well as the themes of Bharani nakshatra. In its most overarching sense, the Holy Grail is the feminine body, the female herself, in all of her human incarnations and as the great feminine/mother nature. The feminine suffers from the limitatioms she herself creates, but those limitations are necessary, and she barely has the choice in all of it. The feminine as the hand of fate is both the authority and the servant, as the suffering she "creates" affects her too, and she is only the servant of the cosmic universal law, which she herself represents.

The struggle and the limitatioms are not simply "negative", they're also "positive" and necessary for life itself to exist. This process (cycle of life, death and rebirth) that the feminine oversees is, ultimately, "neutral", because it's the only thing that is. That's what the justice that mortals think they cannot comprehend is. We can't know some things, because we're not meant to.

Generally, the soul is seen as "masculine", but it cannot taste life unless it enters the form_ the "feminine". Not only is the grail the feminine as human women, but it's also the body itself, since the body itself is the feminine.

To review, people with following placements might connect to this symbol, moreso if they have multiple of these:

Bharani nakshatra in big three (especially), ketu (also really important), atmakaraka or as chart ruler.

Virgo in big three or as Ketu.

Mrigashira, Vishakha or Ashlesha nakshatra in big three.

Emphasis on elephant yonis_ Bharani and Revati (one or both).

Important or many placements in the first house, especially Venus, Ketu and Moon.

Sun, Moon, Venus, Mars, Atmakaraka or chart ruler in the 8th house. (8th house is a house of vulnerability and receptivity, but also a place where fierce protection is emphasized.)

Venus being Vargottama (in the same sign in both D1 and D9)

Ketu in the 1st or the 7th house.

Rahu and Ketu axis in Taurus and Scorpio (Rahu or Ketu in either), especially if they're in Jyeshta and one if the Snake yonis_ Rohini or Mrigashira. (Refer to my post about Morgan le Fay)

Most of these placements are also connected to Arthurian legends: its stories, characters and motifs. I'm most likely going to explore this better in another post.

I hope you liked this. This kind of posts are way more natural to me, here it was a lot easier for me to research and convey the gist, I'm just more interested in it. It's a little different, I know. I hope it's interesting and appreciated nontheless.

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