#she ended up going to the void and eating ink because she was upset with him

[solid-gold-au]

Upset

[cosmichoneyedblossoms]

When I Tell You Goodbye

Pairing: Suho x Reader x Kyungsoo

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.0 K

A/N: The lyrics in this piece are not of my own creation, all the credit goes to Avery Lynch

“I wish I could remember what it feels like to touch your skin… and what your voice sounds like one person, I know FaceTime can distort it… and I miss it…” The keys under your fingers felt familiar as you sang the bittersweet lyrics of a song meant for him.

“I’m sick of kissing you in my head—oh baby tell me when can it be real instead ‘cause I would do anything to be close to you again…” It seemed to feel like forever since you last sang these words and saying them now felt like a lie like you were trying to convince yourself to feel these feelings for him once again.

“And it’s hard being here half empty when somewhere different is my favorite part of me… If I could just hold you for real, that’s the only thing I’ll need… Baby, that’s all I need.” The sound of the piano keys faded out, and the room filled with a silence that was kinder than any noise you made.

“You’re up late.” A very familiar voice spoke into the silence, disrupting its thickness.

“I couldn’t sleep…” You added slumping a bit as you dropped your hands into your lap.

“You know…” Suho’s voice hummed behind you, “It’s weird to hear you sing that song when you told me that you’re falling out of love with him…” Turning around to face him, you couldn’t form any words to offer him because he was right.

Four hundred sixteen days away from Kyungsoo scuffed up the warm fluffy feelings of love and left you with a deep-seated loneliness that wouldn’t let you live. From the beginning, you spent countless nights in Kyungsoo’s bed, crying yourself to sleep; there were many days where you couldn’t be bothered to eat or get up to leave the dorm. You were a depressed mess—that is until Suho joined you one night. He attempted to soothe your aching heart and fill the painful void Kyungsoo left in your chest. Little did he know that the friendship he shared with you would result in your heart finding love in him than your boyfriend of four years.

“You know you’re going to have to tell him eventually… it’s already August, and he comes home in January, Y/N—” The slam of your hand against the piano keys cut him off.

“I know, Suho.” How could you not? It was the only thing dwelling on your mind, “I just don’t know how to tell him…” Suho could see the weight that was weighing down on your shoulders and how much pain it was causing you.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said I love you back then, and maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” His voice made your eyes dart up to his with your brows furrowed, “Now, now, don’t make that face.” He added as he walked over towards you and straddled the bench you were sitting on, “I feel like I’m right, though. I said it first.”

“This relationship is a vast two-way street. We both felt the same way, so even if you didn’t say it, it was inevitable that I was going to say it, Suho.” With a sigh, you leaned forward for your head to fall onto his shoulder, “I don’t think this is a mistake… I think it was for the best for me to fall for you… the only mistake I made was not telling Kyungsoo sooner…”

“Well…” The weight of Suho’s hand smoothed over your hair as he rested his head against yours, “If you’re looking for ways to tell him, I suggest you do it the way you know best… write it like you did for the one you made for him when he left.” You knew he was referring to the song you just sang, but how could you even come close to explaining everything?

“You think it would leave a bad taste in his mouth?” You asked, unsure if it was a good idea.

“If you’re asking if he’s going to be upset, you already know the answer, Y/N, but you can either tell him, or we can cut this off… I just know that I couldn’t just go back to how we were.” Gentle lips pressed themselves to your temple as his arms wrapped around you, “You didn’t mean to fall out of love with him.” Suho’s statement caused something to click in your head as if the words of the song were already writing themselves behind your wild thoughts.

“You’re right.” Lifting your head, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I think I have an idea.”

“I knew you would.” He smiled, seeing the sparkle of inspiration flicker behind your dark eyes, “I’m going to head to bed, will you join me soon?” His heart fluttered at the slight smile you gave him with the nod of your head.

“Let me just get some of it down before it runs away from me, and I’ll be there before you can say ‘I love you,’ okay?” He slowly nodded and leaned into you, instinctively you closed your eyes, and he hovered over your lips as he took in your beauty.

“I love you…” He whispered against your lips as his grazed over yours. Suho had this way of making you want for him; it was too easy to give into him.

“I love you most.” A gentle kiss was pressed into your plushness before he pulled away and began to get up, the heat from his lips lingered on yours as you watched him walk out of the studio and now you were left in the same silence he found you in. Getting up, you wandered over to the bookcase that was in the corner and pulled out a black leather-bound notebook, one that was filled with all of your lyrics. Pulling the elastic band from the front, the leather cover popped open slightly, revealing ink stained pages filled to the brims with words of love and devotion. You put the elastic back over the cover and slid it back into its spot and pulled out a new one, one that can be ruined with words of heartbreak and deceit.

Hours had passed since Suho asked you to join him, but the cold space beside him kept him awake. Flipping over, his eyes caught the flashing five that appeared in the hour spot on the digital clock; it had been near midnight when he came to bed, and you still weren’t there with him. He got up from the mattress and padded his way out the bedroom and through the halls of the dorm until he approached the studio, which was still flooded with light, “Is she still awake..?” He whispered, peeking his head to see you asleep on the love seat, your fingers gripping a notebook and pen.

How did I know?

Stepping into the room, paper crunched under his feet; he was so drawn to you that he didn’t notice the multiple crumpled up pieces of paper that riddled the floor. Without thinking, he began to clean up the mess when he caught the words that were heavily creased into the parchment, them only piquing his interest in what you came up with. After throwing all the paper away, he made his way to you and slipped the notebook and pen from your hand to set them down at the end of the couch, “You’ll show me when you’re ready, right, Y/N?” He asked you, but there was no response to his question, just your steady breathing.

Five times, you tried five times to send your song to Kyungsoo, but your nerves got the best of you, and you never slipped it into the mail dropbox. It sat nestled inside your purse, awaiting its trip to the base, but your hands hesitated to pull it from its spot and drop it into the box.

“Y/N?” Your coworker’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you flicked your gaze up to his face, “It’s about time for your break.”

“Oh, thank you.” You slightly bowed and untied the knot in your apron strings as you made your way towards the door that led out to the cafe floor.

“Oh, hey, before you head out there, your fans are back again.” His added statement made you freeze at the door.

“Really?” You asked, and you could tell by his grunt that he wasn’t lying, “Okay, I’ll get rid of them.” You knew the fans he was talking about; you played your songs once in the shop, and you instantly became the idol of your workplace. All they ask for you is to play a song, and then they leave, so why not just do it?

“There she is!” A girl squealed as you came out of the kitchen. Instead of stopping, you made a beeline to the piano that sat in the corner of the shop and sat down at the bench.

Kyungsoo sat quietly at the table, lost in his thoughts as his squad members conversed around him. Sleep hadn’t been his friend the last couple of weeks as he had problems falling asleep; thoughts of home lingered longer than usual, and the image of your smile started to fade the longer he spent away from you. Even though he was in his world, he faded in and out of the conversations that were happening around him until a familiar voice brought him back, “Hey, Kyungsoo…” Xiumin hummed.

“What’s up?” He asked, and he watched him pull his phone from his pocket.

“Did you see that Y/N’s little fan group uploaded a new video of her?” Xiumin asked, and Kyungsoo cocked his head.

“Is that so?” The wavering in Xiumin’s eyes wasn’t telling him if it was a good or a bad thing, “What’s wrong?”

“I think you should listen to it…” Handing Kyungsoo his phone, Xiumin already had the video up on the screen, and Kyungsoo stared at the frozen picture of the back of your body sitting at the piano that was at your cafe. His thumb hovered over the play button for a second before letting it fall onto the screen. The deep, slow chords of the piano were different from what he was used to hearing from you, without hearing your words, he knew it was for him. The conversations that were going on around him stopped as soon as your voice flowed from the speaker, now all ears were on you. Kyungsoo listened carefully from the first verse; it was filled with hints of things that used to be yours—the crooked midnight smiles, picking of wildflowers on walks, the warmth of shared smiles, but the next part hit him.

“… but I didn’t mean to fall out of love with you…” He could hear the crack in your voice like you were forcing the words to come out, “No, I didn’t dream in a million years this is what I’d do…”

Was this your way of telling him that you were no longer his?

“If I could stay, you know I would… You never did nothin’ wrong…” It wasn’t loud, but he could hear you sniffle between the break in the chords, “You’re exactly who you always were… this is my fault…” The shake in voice told him that this song was for him, and it was the hardest one to perform, but it was the hardest one for him to listen to. He had no words, but he can’t say he wasn’t surprised. Months away from each other always creates a distance that can’t be overcome with a few texts and FaceTimes here and there. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t upset, but he understood where you were coming from. Pulling out his phone, he unlocked it and found your name in his messages. His fingers typed out a message, and before he could even think of erasing it, he sent it.

“I saw the video. I’m sorry, and I hope you’re okay. Hearing you cry as you sang that song was heartbreaking, but I understand. I hope for nothing but your happiness, and if it’s not being with me, I won’t make you stay. Don’t apologize for ‘falling out of love with me’ because there’s nothing to apologize for. I love you, but not enough to force you to stay. Stay healthy and stay safe. I’ll see you when I come home.”

[elenaescribe]

Why I write (an essay)

Picture me as a small 11-year-old girl, a tiny hurricane with glasses and braided hair. I always slumped in my seat because the world seemed so incredibly uninterested in whatever I tried to communicate. Smoke puffed from my flaring nostrils as something ignited within me. Back at my house, my childish hands hovered over a keyboard and furiously began to type. The filter restraining me in front of my classmates was slowly vanishing as I dissected my surroundings like a passionate critic. It made sense to spill my mind onto a piece of paper, it played a tune in my heart that somehow made it clear I was… different. Nevertheless, my views were private and muzzled by my preteen shyness.

At the end of the school year, my class was assigned a project where we’d have to do extensive research on a topic of our choosing and give an oral presentation. Picture me beaming with enthusiasm as I realized this was an opportunity to unveil the fire in my mind. It was obvious for me to pick a subject close to my reality, so I decided to talk about childhood depression. This was the same year I started taking antidepressants and began to regularly attend therapy. It was also the first time my parents were called in to talk about a talent my teachers saw in my writing. I was not the usual depiction of a fifth grader. My classmates bullied me mercilessly for the markings on my wrists and my lack of conventionality; it would be less than a year before my first hospitalization.

That oral presentation would go on to define a large part of my identity: the need to open a conversation about important subjects that somehow fly under the radar. I found confidence in fighting for a cause many try to silence. It wouldn’t be long before these themes would take over my writing, dominating pages with sharp sentences about a decaying psyche. The more isolated I felt from reality, the more I found myself coming to life in the lines I wrote. The sentences spilling from my fingertips were a clear report on my state of mind and it quickly took on a new meaning: I was no longer dissecting those around me, instead, I was analyzing my inner monologue and taking endless notes on it.

Picture me as a rotting 14-year-old girl clad in oversized sweaters and tight leggings to give off the appearance of a thinner version of myself. Imagine counting calories and lying down in an empty bathtub as if trying to drown out the melody in your head telling you to carve lines into your skin with sharp objects. I was the ghost of the girl with fuel and purpose, my strong voice became a mere whisper and all I could think about was dying. There was no vision of the future, my body ached from fighting with therapists and shrinks and my family. I spiraled into a cycle of fear and neglect. The only place I felt remotely comfortable was in front of a computer with my hands on a keyboard. “This is my legacy” I thought. “A collection of personal writings in the style of Go Ask Alice”.

It came as no surprise that I was hospitalized a second time. The nurses were manipulative and abusive, it shocked me that there could be such a large loss of humanity in a place where people were supposed to feel safe and cared for. Hospitalizations are meant to serve as a time of rest and recovery, not as a suspenseful game of survival. This period also became the first time I could not bring myself to write. It was as if the bleak walls of the clinic had consumed my identity and swallowed my voice. I felt abandoned, weak, paranoid and terrified. The physical and psychological aggression I experienced in that prison-like environment wounded me deeply. Something was visibly wrong with me when I left that place and I knew things were changing; I was not the same person. This would be my first encounter with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

It wasn’t until we moved to Costa Rica that I fell back into the habit of writing. I wrote as a mean of endurance, the ink bleeding from my pen became my oxygen supply. Desperate pieces describing the multiple shadows that followed me from Chile became my life’s backdrop. Something about being in my parents’ native land gave me the warmth and trust required to tell such overwhelming stories. Tales came out of me like a stream of never-ending memories; my body felt cleansed and slightly purified. The muck stuck to my lungs was plastered across word documents, loose pages, napkins, anywhere it would stay long enough for me to document it. I clawed my way out from the void and left a trail of evidence.

For a couple of years, I felt free- my attention was drawn to self-help and beautiful music. It was time to get rid of anything that reminded me of the catatonic girl in the bathtub. The only concrete evidence of her existence was in boxes stored safely in my room; the numerous things she wrote continued to live in their own habitat. As I found myself balanced and stronger, so did my art. I returned to my origins, my essays were detailed notes on the various scenarios taking place in a young life. They weren’t hurried or out of breath, in fact, they were… joyous. The inner monologue became about adjusting to a happier state of mind.

Then came my first year of college. Film seemed like a great career choice, since I could take up screenwriting and tell inclusive stories about mental illness to fight social stigma. I was buzzing. Unfortunately, at the end of my second week there, I was sexually assaulted by an older film student. Picture me frozen, bruised, bitten, eating my skin in my sleep because the guilt was overwhelming. The reactions people gave me when I trusted them with my experience was devastating. I deserved it. It wasn’t rape. I was overreacting. I needed to get over it. There was nothing to be upset about. So, what if he kept trying to talk to me? That didn’t count as harassment. I couldn’t take legal action because there wasn’t a case to begin with. I would only humiliate myself. I would have to apologize to him. He was an artistic genius. His documentary won awards. People wouldn’t believe me. It was all in my head. My assaulter went as far as saying I had a penis phobia.

What happened blew out my light for a while and I refused to write about it. It was an experience too painful to revisit, all I wanted was to erase it and the damage it left behind. Thankfully, the event took place at the beginning of the Me Too era and I felt strong enough to share my story online. Motivated to continue to speak up, I wrote through tears and panic attacks; I murdered the stillness within me and set the fire ablaze. There had to be a way to let the agony out, a way to achieve total justice and open everybody’s eyes. Especially those that basked in the fake glory of keeping their blindfolds on.

I write because it is my way of making a difference. I feel it’s my purpose to expose the horrible things taking place in the darkest corners of humanity. The abuse in mental hospitals, the misconceptions regarding mental illness, our antiquated views on sexual assault, self-harm, eating disorders, trauma and so much more. It’s a never-ending list of cruel realities being swept under a rug so people can feel comfortable and safe. I want to be the guidance and safety I needed when I was a child. Art can and will shape the world and I desire to be a part of that movement. It is our time to inherit the earth and transcend hatred with wisdom.

Here is an extract (roughly translated to English) from Ode to Envy by Pablo Neruda, a poem that captures this idea perfectly:

"I will write not only

so as not to die,

but to help

others live,

because it seems that someone

needs my singing."

[ramblinganthropologist]

DA Halloween 2017 - From the Ashes

Prompt: From the Ashes ( from @dahalloween‘s 2017 challenge)

Summary: When Falon’Din’s eye glows bright over Ferelden, Cahel Mahariel finds someone he thought he lost for good. For just a short time, friends are reunited on a cold night as the seasons change. As it turns out, death doesn’t change much at all, and two young men can enjoy the fire together once again. Word count: 1895

---

Sometimes, you found things when you least expected it.

Camp was quiet at last, with only the hooting of owls and intermittent snoring from various tents making any noise at all. Above the cold ground, a blanket of stars sparkled between the two moons, both full for the first time in months. That probably would have meant something to an astrologer, but for him it just meant more light.

Cahel flexed his freezing fingers as he moved a little closer to the blazing camp fire. That night, he had drawn the short straw and wound up on second watch. He was still yawning, and the little sleep he got later would do nothing to curb it the next day. Hopefully, no darkspawn would try to eat him when the sun came up. They might just have advantage.

“It's getting colder, Tamlen. Snow's going to be falling soon.” The massive mabari at his feet made no sound – he, unlike his master, was fast asleep. That fact didn't go unnoticed as the elf pulled a face. “You know, you're a damn traitor, sleeping while I'm stuck up hoping nothing tries to kill us in our sleep.”

He couldn't help but let out a good natured chuckle though. A dog was a dog after all; when they needed to sleep, they did it regardless of who was on guard duty. At least he was providing some much needed warmth to his freezing toes as he leaned back, staring up at the starry sky.

Fall always was the best time for looking at the stars, even in Blight-ravaged Ferelden.

“Let's see, there's the Big Halla and the Yearling... and there's both of Dirthamen's ravens.” He squinted, eyes glowing in the light as he inspected the stars. “Wait, what's that one?”

A bright blue star, close to the smaller of Thedas' two moons had drawn his attention. In the ink-black night sky, it gleamed like a jewel amongst the duller white dots of light. Yet, as he stared up at it, a shiver ran down his spine. There was something downright unnatural about it, especially considering that it hadn't been there an hour earlier.

He might not have been a master of the night sky, but he knew for a fact stars didn't just up and disappear.

Maybe that was why Cahel shifted a little closer to the fire and kept his free hand on the sword strapped to his side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was an old song that the elders sang during nights like this. Since it had always been past his bedtime, he only remembered fragments.

Something about seeing what you'd lost in the mist of the night? Or maybe it was about being careful where you pissed at night; he didn't really remember.

“I'm just freaking myself out, Tam.” At least, he hoped so his voice dropped to a whisper. It had to be the cold making bumps raise along his arms; what else could have done it? They weren't in a darkspawn heavy area, and the only mages around were snoring away – and Morrigan might deny it, but she definitely snored – in their tents.

Had to be the weather. Had to be.

His commitment to that theory wavered the second the fog began to roll in, though. The hair rose on the back of his neck as his heart began to pound faster until he was sure only his binder was keeping it in. Something was beyond the line of the trees, but he couldn't look.

Down at his feet, Tamlen's large head rose as he began to growl. His hair was standing on end too, but he was far more prepared to go after whatever was waiting for them. Lucky he was, because his master was frozen in place.

“W-Who's there?”

Cahel's voice came out as shaky as his knees. Forget reaching for his sword, he couldn't even figure out how to speak right. At the moment, it was though something was holding him in place, forcing him to look into the darkness. Not even his eyes could tell what was beyond the trees, try as he might to piece it together.

Then there was the light, faint as if from a hundred yards off. It started as a small ball, but soon it grew until it was the size of an adult. A spectral hand reached out from the corpse of trees, resting on the wood in glowing white. It was see-through, much like the face and body that joined it.

“Mind moving over? It's cold over here.”

There was no denying that voice; Cahel's eyes widened as he finally made out the features of the glowing figure at the edge of camp. Standing there, still wearing the armor he had been the day they had lost him to the mirror, was Tamlen. Or, at least it was something that looked a lot like Tamlen; he was missing his feet for the most part.

Made sense; it wasn't like the dead needed their feet to go anywhere.

The very much dead elf sat at the edge of the log, sinking through halfway. By then, the mabari named for him had stopped growling. Instead, he sniffed at the log, yelping when his nose went straight through to the wood. Quickly, he returned to his master's feet, much to the amusement of the specter.

A moment passed before Cahel could find his voice again. “What...”

“Am I doing here?” Tamlen finished it for him, shrugging his shoulder. “To the void if I know. Last I remember I was staring up at Cherche as she slit my throat.”

He looked over his shoulder towards the tents, and Cahel swore he saw him frown. “She's not still upset about that, is she?”

Why would she? She had only been forced to put down her former apprentice turned ghoul as he begged for death in front of her.

Still, Tamlen looked good; whole, maybe. There was no hint of the corruption that had plagued the last year of his life. If not for the fact he was fucking see through, his friend would have said he could have been in perfect health. However, death kind of negated that.

Suddenly, though, the ghost – at least, he thought that's what it might be. For all he knew, the elf was just last night's dinner messing with his stomach – looked serious as they met eyes. There was a question in his eyes, one that had gone unanswered in life. Just thinking about it made Cahel's heart race as he waited for the glowing lips to part and speak the words he had been denied for so long.

“Really, you named your dog after me?”

Dog Tamlen gave a rather sulky look in his own canine way as he curled back into a ball, back to his namesake. Elf Tamlen responded in kind, and Cahel could have sworn his transparent cheeks puffed out in mild annoyance.

Great; he had a sulking ghost AND mabari to deal with.

Still, he was feeling up to talking. “Hey, we're in Ferelden. Naming your mabari after someone is almost as big a deal as if it was your first born kid.”

“They did always take their dogs seriously.” Tamlen gave him a look that went right through him. “Like something else you're taking seriously, for that matter.”

He jerked his head over towards the tent Cahel normally slept in. Right then, Alistair was alone, probably hogging both their bedrolls as he snored into his pillow. Getting a bit of space to himself in a few hours was going to be a trial, but the warrior would probably never wake up. Once he was down, only the Archdemon could wake him up.

Those knowing eyes caused the heat to flood his face and turn it crimson. Cahel looked to the side, towards the fire. There was nothing like an ex asking about the special people in your life to make you wish for death, and apparently that didn't even help an escape. After all, Tamlen was still there.

“It's... we haven't...”

Much to his surprise, the ghostly elf began to laugh. It was a nice sound, but something about it made the bumps raise on his arms anew. Still, an almost warm look filled Tamlen's eyes as he reached over to pat Cahel on the head, hand going straight through in the process.

“Good to see you're moving on, lethallin. You know, except for naming your dog after me. That's still kind of weird.”

Well, there went his embarrassment.

Cahel was the one pouting now as he took a swing through the ghostly body of his friend. “You're an ass.”

“Death didn't change that much about me after all.”

They were both chuckling now, probably because of just how strange it all was. Even though he still wasn't convinced it was actually happening, it was nice to have just one final chat between them. After all, their last words had been marred by a lot of bleeding.

And he meant a lot of bleeding; damn if ghouls couldn't bleed.

Still, Cahel frowned as he looked over at his friend. It might have been the light, but he was getting harder to see. “Will... can I see you again?”

“I don't really know how this works, so let's just say maybe.” Tamlen's eyes were towards the sky, where the blue star was beginning to fade. “The eye is closing. Think that means it's time to go.”

There was a pause, and then, “Do me a favor, would you? Kill that damn Archdemon for me; damn thing gave me headaches for weeks.”

Finally, he stood,  but below the knees he was completely gone. His upper body was beginning to fade as well as he started to walk back towards the corpse of trees. By the time he reached it, only a bit of his neck and head were visible.

It was enough to get one last smile before he disappeared completely, along with the fog that had blanketed the campsite. Cahel was left alone, amidst the glowing embers of the fire and the wind that blew through the trees.

The star was gone up above now. However, the rest of the song was coming back to him in bits and pieces as he crowded close to the fire. When Falon'Din's eye glowed in the sky, that what was lost returned in the mist among the fall leaves. And just like those fall leaves, it would be gone in trace, perhaps never being there at all.

Well, it sounded better when somebody else sang it, but that was the gist.

“Should've known it had something to do with Falon'Din. It was too damn close to the Ravens.”

Still, even as he yawned, there was a small smile on Cahel's face. It had been a nice visit, brief as it was. And maybe, if he was lucky and survived the Blight, he would see Tamlen again next year too. Or, they might all be dead. That was kind of the toss up when it came to fighting the Archdemon. Either way, he would probably see him again.

Just, hopefully he was alive the next time. That would be nice.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                    Lee Taeil, who is known by no other name;                                                         a 26 year old son of Acat.                                                  He is a tattoo artist at Taste of Ink.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Tae-Il (Taeil); Block B 
 CHARACTER NAME: N/A
 AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: September 24, 1990; 27
 PLACE OF BIRTH: Seoul, South Korea
 OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist at Taste of Ink, Tattoo and Piercing Parlour HEIGHT: 167 cm (5’6”)
 WEIGHT: 65 kg (125.6 lbs) DEFINING FEATURES: Taeil has multiple tattoos over his body, many people will see him with the same tattoos for a day before noticing a new one he gets.

He has a large ape head on the back of his neck, a diamond with the phrase ‘Reach for the star. There is nothing to fear’ across his chest, 'Qing Kiss’ across his knuckles, a large owl holding swords and a shield (with the illuminati eye in the centre of the shield) on his abdomen with the tips of the wings reaching the front of his shoulders and various other tattoos on the tops of his hands (Oni head on the right hand, black panther with a flaming helmet on the left) and arms as well as a few on his legs.

He is easy to recognize by his tattoos, making it hard for him to get out of trouble. He also has a few piercings; he has normal lobe piercings as well as a eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow and industrial piercings through the top of the helix (one on the left, two on the right.) He rarely has his industrial and eyebrow piercings in and only wears his earrings in his lobes. 


PERSONALITY: Taeil is a very calm and collected person, never one to really blurt out or interrupt anyone unless there is a reason to. He is generally nice and open to others around him, enjoying to talk to others about his multitude of tattoos and his works.

Sometimes he can get very quiet and almost intimidating despite his size; his voice being one of the reasons. His voice can be very loud when he’s excited or enraged, but overall he’s kind of quiet. When he’s busy with work he will stay completely focused and silent; easily annoyed when others interrupt his peace.

At first he may look like he’s bad news from his physical appearance, but behind all the tattoos Taeil is a very nice guy who has an equal love of tattoos and social gatherings. If you end up getting into a fight with him, you’ll probably end up being drowned out by his voice. Make sure not to tick him off either, because have mercy if he has something in his hands. He can throw knives just as easily than throwing a steady punch. 
 HISTORY: Ever since he could remember, Taeil knew he was gifted in some way. It took a while to eventually find out what it was, but he was never too worried about the outcome. As a child, he had a vivid imagination, wanting to create and draw out all the beautiful pictures and thoughts he saw in his mind for the world to see. Sadly, he never knew his parents, only his grandparents who brought him up with vague memories of the past. His grandmother, which he loved and adored, bought him a small notepad and some pencils so he could doodle as a way to express himself.

Slowly as he grew, so did the collection of sketch pads and random binders and books of his drawings and sketches filled up most of the room on his shelves; various drawing tools scattered across his bedroom floor. No matter how complex or detailed his thoughts or visions where, he could draw it out on paper as if he was printing it straight from his mind.

His school life was okay, he had a few friends he would hang around and talk to. He wasn’t too keen on being the 'social student’ but as long as people respected him, he was okay. His marks throughout weren’t the best, making his grandfather upset that he’d spend more time on his sketching rather than his homework.

Ever since his grandparents took him in, they were supportive of him. As he grew older, his grandfather put pressure for him to go into the military or into a job that could get him good money. His grandmother on the other hand, told him he could do whatever he wanted. If he could put his heart into his work, he could always have his way. Taeil’s parents were a mystery, but his grandmother told him he was exactly like his father; He was artistic and always blooming with ideas. One day, he promised to go find his father. During his first year of high school his grandmother passed away, leaving him in the hands of his stricter grandfather. He was very emotionally tired and drained as well as his grandfather, making hard for him to focus on school.

Imagination and fantasy filled the void where his heartache remained, bringing him into a better mindset overtime following the death of his grandmother. There was only silence and the occasional chatter with his grandfather; silence slowly spacing them apart. After his grandfather found out he was getting very low marks in the first term, his grandfather finally decided to do what was best for Taeil and his future; stop his creativity.

Taeil wasn’t one to get mad or enraged early, but when he arrived later that evening to the flaming pile of paper and sketchbooks in the backyard he finally lost it. He put up with his grandfather enough that he grabbed everything he possibly could and left. He didn’t care if that was his only family left, he’d rather have his art than a man who only saw Taeil as his reflection.

He barely had any financial support other than the small change he had lying around in his wallet. Something had to be done, so he resorted to stealing so he could survive in the busy city. It was rough, barely having anything to eat or a place to stay. Just like a vagabond he had to constantly change his places so he wouldn’t be caught. He got into plenty of fights with men twice his size, causing him to get some serious injuries. For some odd reason, he wouldn’t feel anything at all; small pinpricks and maybe a slight throbbing sensation. He couldn’t understand why at first, he shrugged it off as just a 'natural thing’ he had.

During the winter, it got hard for him to travel and scavenge around. He had injured himself multiple times, not knowing how painful it was when it felt like nothing to him. At one point, he ended up passing out from the cold in an alley only to wake up in a small tattoo shop on the outskirts of Seoul. He was brought in by the shop owner, telling him that he would watch out for him as long as he worked for him in return when he was healthy.

After months of rest and hospital care, he got used to the shop. His mind finally began to bloom artistically once again after having a void there for so long. He watched the different artists work on their clients from the side, slowly longing to use the body as a canvas. Taeil decided in good intentions to return and finish high school so he could go to school specifically for tattooing. Most of his days were spent studying and doing homework while his evenings were for cleaning the shop up.

At the age of 23, he finally became a certified artist; creating beautiful designs and pieces on others that were distinct to his art style. He learned overtime the patience and steadiness needed for his new job, which he naturally complied to and perfected his skills in a few years. As well, he had many tattoos done by his colleagues or himself. It was almost like a coming of age for him as well as a source of his pride.

Only was it after he finished a beautiful angel tattoo for a client, was he directed to another artist of god-like skills. They mentioned he had a son, but he was never around. She also mentioned how close in appearance he looked to the man, joking that he could be his son. The mysterious woman gave him a black business card with the name of a business and its location, leaving him to process everything slowly in his overly saturated state. He decided to pack up his things and travel to that exact place to see if the man could help him seek answers. And maybe, just maybe, reunite with his father.

PANTHEON: Mayan
 CHILD OF: Acat
 POWERS: * High pain tolerance; making him last longer in a fight or when he has to escape when in a very bad physical state. * Steady hands/nerves; Makes him more focused on his movements and thoughts when in sticky situations. Comes in handy as well when doing his tattooing. * Artistic Ability; Mostly used when he’s doing his tattoos. It can come in handy when he needs to sketch out a physical image of someone or in times when he can’t just describe what he’s trying to explain. 
STRENGTHS: •He is decently in shape, making so that despite his small stature, he can easily still fight someone if needed. •His ability to keep his hands steady as well as his nerves play important roles in tattooing as well as in combat or any other scenario when he need to stand his ground. Once he gets his nerves squared away and his hands from shaking, he’s completely aware of his surroundings. •Having a high pain tolerance makes it easier for him to sit through excruciating amounts of pain compared to his counterparts. 


WEAKNESSES: •Even though he can keep his nerves at bay, that won’t stop his mind from snapping and releasing his true emotions or intentions. •Having a high pain tolerance can be good, but it can also be very bad. Since he may not be able to feel things right away, it could cause him to make his conditions worsen if he doesn’t pay attention. As well, it can also mean he has a certain limit that if it goes over, it could be very dangerous to his body. •If he tries to steady himself and/or overwork his nerves and mind too much, he becomes very weak and unable to focus; causing him to have fainting spells or to fully pass out from exhaustion.