#years of honing my craft only to draw this

[jaratedeguadalupe]

he will not in fact, cover them up

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

notes; This is my first time writing fan fiction. I hope that you guys will like it, and since English isn't my first language, please don’t hesitate to mention any mistakes <3. The story takes place when Rhys was in the early stages of being the High Lord of the Night Court, around 300-350 years old, so 200 years before ACOTAR actually began. I'm not sure yet how many parts this story will have, but I hope that you all will keep reading it ;)))

here is the link for part 2

---

The sound of hammer striking hot iron echoed through the narrow streets of Velaris, mingling with the melodies of the city—the distant hum of conversation and the ever-present whisper of the Sidra River. Within the heart of the Rainbow, a district renowned for its vibrant arts and crafts, a new shop had begun to draw attention. It was an unassuming place at first glance, yet the sheer force of energy within its walls set it apart. This was no ordinary smithy.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, your hands expertly maneuvering the red-hot blade beneath your hammer. Sparks flew with each strike, the heat from the forge wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace, both comforting and overwhelming. The rhythmic clang, clang, clang of metal against metal was music to your ears, a symphony you had been conducting since childhood.

Velaris was in your blood. Though you had been born here, your early memories were of the forge and the sound of your master's hammer. Your mother, a powerful and kind high fae, had died giving birth to you, and your father, unable to bear the weight of his mate’s passing, had followed soon after. You had been raised by a close friend of your father’s, a Master in the art of blacksmithing, who had taken you in as his own. It was under his watchful eye that you learned the craft, your small hands gradually growing strong and sure as you worked beside him, day after day.

With your master, you had traveled across the courts and to the far reaches of the continent, learning from smiths of every kind, studying techniques and secrets long forgotten by most. But no matter where you went, Velaris always called to you. And now, after hundred years of honing your skills, you had returned to the City of Starlight to forge your own path.

The shop itself was a reflection of your work—functional, yet beautiful in its simplicity. The front room was a gallery of sorts, with weapons and tools displayed like pieces of art. Gleaming swords, daggers with intricately carved hilts, and axes that looked as though they could fell the mightiest of trees hung from the walls, each one a testament to your skill. The floor was of polished wood, dark and smooth, with rugs from the weavers of Velaris adding warmth to the space. The light streamed in through tall windows, catching on the steel and iron and casting a soft glow across the room.

The shop had been open for only a few months, yet it had already begun to stir curiosity among the citizens of Velaris. Word spread quickly in the Rainbow—whispers of the new blacksmith who had come to claim a place among the best. But you rarely dealt with the customers yourself. That task fell to Alexander, your young apprentice. At only ten years old, he was sharp as a blade and twice as charming, with a quick smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. The boy had a knack for reading people, knowing just what to say to put them at ease—or to convince them that they needed a new sword or dagger.

As you plunged the heated blade into a trough of water, the hiss of steam rising into the air, you heard the familiar chime of the shop’s bell and the light patter of Alexander’s footsteps as he went to greet the newcomer. You allowed yourself a small smile as you heard his cheerful voice, already launching into his well-practiced routine.

“Welcome to the finest smithy in Velaris!” Alexander’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm. “You won’t find better craftsmanship anywhere in the city—or the continent, for that matter. What are you looking for today? A sword? A dagger? Or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

There was a pause, and then a voice, low and measured, responded, “I’m looking for the blacksmith.”

Your hands stilled, your grip tightening around the hilt of the blade you had been shaping. It was rare that someone asked for you directly. Most customers were content to browse, to admire the work and perhaps make a purchase. But something in the tone of that voice, the way it cut through the air, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise. “You’re in luck. She’s right here. Let me fetch her for you.”

You took a deep breath, wiping your hands on a cloth as you made your way toward the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as it closed, and you stepped into the light, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. Alexander was standing by the counter, his wide eyes flicking between you and the figure standing in the center of the room.

As you rounded the corner, you finally laid eyes on the stranger. The words of welcome you had been preparing died on your lips as your gazes locked, and you felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over you, as if this meeting had been fated long before you had returned to Velaris.

Alexander, sensing the shift in the air, stepped back slightly, his usual exuberance giving way to a quiet curiosity. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The best blacksmith in Velaris.”

The stranger’s eyes never left yours, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for whatever would come next. He took a step closer, towering over you despite your own considerable height, his presence imposing. His dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing violet eyes that seemed to take in everything with a single glance.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice smooth and rich, hinting at depths of authority and power. “I’ve heard much about your work, and I find myself in need of your particular expertise.”

The chill from the incoming winter seemed to linger around him, a reminder of the cold that had swept through Velaris with the approach of the Winter Solstice. Despite the warmth of the forge, you felt a shiver run through you—not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m honored, my lord,” you replied, maintaining eye contact, feeling the weight of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysand’s expression was serious, and his next words carried an air of significance. “The Solstice celebrations are approaching, and with the colder days upon us, I’d like to commission two sets of weapons—a sword and a dagger—for my brothers. I want them to be special, crafted with the utmost care and consideration for their owners.”

Your mind whirred with ideas, but you needed more information to tailor each piece to its future owner. “To create something truly fitting, I’ll need to know more about your brothers. What are their personalities like, and what are their preferences in combat?”

Rhysand’s face softened slightly as he spoke of Cassian and Azriel. “Cassian is a warrior through and through—strong, fiercely loyal, and a born leader. His weapon should reflect that strength and his role within the Illyrian legions.”

You nodded thoughtfully, picturing a sturdy, bold design for Cassian’s sword. “And Azriel?”

“Azriel operates in the shadows, precise and strategic. His weapon should be subtle yet deadly, embodying his role as spymaster.”

A smile flickered across your face. “I have the perfect idea for him—a sleek design with a hidden element, perhaps.”

Rhysand’s approving nod encouraged you to continue. “Since those two are illyrian maybe we can include syphons in the design. It might be best to work with their olds ones. If you could send those to me, I can restore them and integrate them into the new weapons, preserving their familiar feel while enhancing their function.”

“That sounds ideal,” Rhysand agreed. “I’ll arrange for some of their old syphons to be brought to you tomorrow. They are quite worn but hold significant meaning for my brothers.”

You glanced up at him, reassured by his confidence in your abilities. “I’ll ensure the weapons reflect both their personalities and their needs.”

Rhysand’s smile was genuinely warm now. “Thank you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing your craftsmanship.”

With that, he turned to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he stepped out into the cold Velaris air, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling his departure.

Standing in your forge, you felt the weight of the responsibility settle onto your shoulders. This commission was more than just a job; it was a chance to craft pieces that would be carried by some of the most formidable warriors in the Night Court. You had done works for other lords, kings or fighters, but every time a new challenge would come up your excitement increased so much. The idea of those people working with your creations was just incredible. 

As the cold seeped into the shop, you turned back to your workbench, pulling out parchment and charcoal. Your sketches began to take shape, influenced by the discussion and your insights into the characters of the two brothers. Powerful, elegant, and deadly—just like the men they were meant for.

The forge called to you, and as you answered, diving into your work, you felt a sense of purpose. These weapons would be more than just tools; they would be extensions of the warriors themselves, forged with skill and imbued with the spirit of the Winter Solstice.

After a few more hours of work and locking up the smithy, you and Alex headed up to your cozy apartment. It was adorned with all the comforts of a true craftsman's home—polished wooden floors, local Velaris art, and big windows that showcased the night sky. Your personal collection of swords decorated the walls, each blade a story from your past travels with your old master.

At the foot of your bed lay Stellan, your faithful direwolf companion. His thick, snow-white fur contrasted sharply with his deep, dark eyes that held a world of wisdom and loyalty. You had found him as a pup during one of your early travels—a small, shivering ball of fur huddled against the cold. From that moment on, Stellan had been by your side, growing into a majestic creature whose presence was as comforting as it was formidable.

Your apartment, while only boasting two bedrooms, mostly saw both you and Alex sharing the larger one. Alex had claimed a corner of it with his makeshift bedding, but as the night deepened, he inevitably migrated to your bed, preferring its warmth and the company.

Tonight, you were sitting in bed with your sketchbook, the moonlight and candlelight mingling to create the perfect ambiance for drawing. Stellan's gentle snores provided a soothing background hum, his large form curled protectively at the bed's end. Alex, lying next to you, propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at your work.

"So, Nana, this one’s going to be for the High Lord, huh?" Alex's voice was soft, filled with awe and curiosity.

"Yeah, it is," you nodded, continuing your sketch. "Every piece needs to be perfect, though, no matter who it’s for. Whether it's a High Lord or a local warrior, they all deserve the best." Despite the illustrious clientele, you held every piece to the same standard of perfection, knowing well that each creation bore your signature, no matter the buyer.

Alex grinned at that. "I know. That’s why your stuff is the best. But hey, why’d you let me call you Nana again? It’s nicer than just ‘master’ or something too formal."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush on your cheeks. "Because you said it fits well, and I guess it does. It’s kind of endearing, Alex."

He blushed, pleased with the affirmation, then leaned closer to peek at your sketchbook. "Show me what you’ve got so far. I bet it’s epic."

You tilted the sketchbook towards him, revealing detailed designs of the sword intended for the spymaster. "This blade needs to embody stealth and strength, reflecting who it's for. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a piece of art."

As you spoke, Stellan lifted his head, ears twitching as if acknowledging the conversation. His dark eyes flickered open, observing you both with a gentle, protective gaze. With a soft huff, he repositioned himself, laying his head back down on his massive paws, content to simply be in your presence.

Alex nodded seriously, taking in every line and curve you had drawn. "It’s amazing, Y/N. They’re gonna love it."

As the evening wore on, Alex's questions and observations gradually slowed as sleep began to claim him. His head eventually found a resting place on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. You smiled down at him, setting the sketchbook aside. His trust and the simple title of 'Nana' he'd given you felt more precious than any formal recognition.

Stellan, sensing the room's quieting energy, stood up and stretched, his movements graceful despite his size. He padded softly around the bed, finally settling down closer to you and Alex, his body a warm barrier against the night’s chill. His presence was a comforting constant, a silent guardian watching over your small family.

With the room now quiet, save for the soft sounds of Alex's sleep and Stellan's rhythmic breathing, the distant hum of the night city served as a lullaby. You felt a peaceful end to the productive day. The weight of creating something worthy of the Night Court was significant, but it was a challenge you were ready to meet with your usual dedication to excellence. Slipping under the covers, you settled in next to Alex, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over you all. With Stellan's protective aura enveloping you, you allowed yourself to drift off, thoughts of tomorrow’s forging dancing in your dreams.

On the other side of the city at the townhouse, the evening was filled with laughter and good spirits. Cassian was in fine form, regaling the table with a joke about an Illyrian warrior who mistook a glamour-spell for his opponent in a sparring match. The table erupted in laughter, appreciating the absurdity of the tough warrior swatting at thin air.

As chuckles subsided and glasses were refilled, Azriel steered the conversation toward local news with his typically quiet but clear tone. "Have you heard, Rhys?" he began, capturing the table's attention. "There’s a new blacksmith in Velaris."

"Actually?" Cassian's interest was piqued, his expression curious.

"Yes, I’ve checked on her—she's already established quite the reputation," Azriel continued.

"Her, like she is a female?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yes, 'her' like that, Cassian…" Azriel replied with a slight smirk, enjoying the moment of revelation.

Rhysand joined in with a knowing smile. "She's not just any blacksmith. She’s made quite a name for herself, especially with blades. She’s worked with several high lords across Prythian."

Cassian choked slightly on his drink, surprised. "A female blacksmith, swinging hammers with the high lords? She must be quite skilled."

"She is," Rhysand confirmed, his voice reflecting a mix of respect and intrigue. "Her blades are reputed to be some of the finest—well-crafted and balanced. The detail and precision are said to be exceptional."

The brothers shared intrigued glances, the atmosphere buzzing with new interest. The conversation seamlessly wove around various artisans they knew, but the topic of the new blacksmith lingered, sparking a particular fascination.

"So, what's her specialty? Just weapons, or does she do armor too?" Cassian probed, clearly intrigued.

"Primarily weapons. She has a particular talent for swords and daggers," Rhysand explained. 

As the evening wore on, Rhysand found a moment to lean towards Azriel. “By the way Az, could you drop a box off at the blacksmith's tomorrow? "

Azriel nodded, sensing the significance of the task, though his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just the box," Rhysand responded, his tone firm yet enigmatic, giving nothing further away.

Both Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, their curiosity clearly piqued, but recognizing that Rhysand was keeping his cards close to his chest. They returned to lighter topics, but the mention of the new blacksmith had woven itself into their conversation, adding a thread of intrigue to the vibrant tapestry of Velaris’s ongoing stories.

—

Back in your smithy, the clanging of metal and the heat of the forge filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of customers at the front of the shop. Alexander, navigated skillfully among the patrons, his arms laden with weapons. His voice, bright and enthusiastic, carried over the din as he extolled the virtues of your craftsmanship.

"Feel the balance of this blade!" Alexander exclaimed to a curious couple, holding up a finely crafted sword for inspection. "Forged right here, each swing is as smooth as the Sidra's flow!"

With the Winter Solstice drawing near, the shop was bustling with activity as each order demanded meticulous attention and finesse. You had just put the finishing touches on a stylized hammer, commissioned by one of the lords of the Illyrian camps, when the bell above the door chimed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure cloaked in shadows enter. It was Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, moving with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he approached Alexander first, speaking in hushed tones before your apprentice pointed him towards the back.

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you pushed through the curtain that separated your work area from the shop. Dressed in a revealing black top and overalls that were unclipped at the top, leaving much of your torso exposed due to the heat of the forge, you approached the visitor. Big gloves covered your hands, protecting them from the forge’s heat. As you came into view, you caught Azriel's gaze flick momentarily—almost imperceptibly—downwards before meeting your eyes again. Though brief, it didn’t escape your notice.

“Who is it?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the busy shop.

“I need to deliver something to you,” Azriel stated, his voice even and calm, holding out a small, intricately carved box.

Before taking the box, you carefully removed your heavy gloves, revealing hands marked by the rigors of your trade. You took it, feeling the weight and the latent power it seemed to hold. Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. “From the High Lord ?”

“Yes. He said you’d know what to do with it,” Azriel replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on your face, any earlier distraction gone.

You nodded, understanding that the contents of the box were likely tied to the commission Rhysand had mentioned previously. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll handle it from here.”

As Azriel turned to leave, Alexander’s voice once again filled the shop, drawing new customers' attention: "Every piece has its own story, crafted with the finest skills learned from the great forges of Prythian! See for yourselves!"

You couldn’t help but smile at Alexander’s enthusiasm as he continued to engage the customers with his lively banter. Azriel, the enigmatic shadow singer, had left as quietly as he had arrived. There was something undeniably captivating about him—his mysterious aura only added to his allure.

Standing for a moment, you held the box, feeling its potential. But the demands of the day pulled you back, and you returned to the forge, your mind already racing with ideas for the contents of the box and the work that lay ahead. 

Just as you were about to reignite the forge, Alex poked his head through the curtain, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“He was hot, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with teasing curiosity.

You paused, a smirk forming as you glanced back at the retreating figure of Azriel. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” you retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

Alex chuckled, undeterred. “Maybe, but I can tell when someone’s cool. He’s like a shadow knight from those legends you told me!”

Laughing, you shook your head and turned back to your workbench, the plans for Rhysand’s commission spread out before you. “Get back to the front, Alex. And keep your comments about the customers to yourself, even if they are high lords or shadow singers.”

Alex laughed and ducked back through the curtain, his voice soon mingling with the customers once again. As you focused on the intricate designs of the new commission, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement for the challenge ahead, your heart still light from the brief yet intriguing encounter.

[minafeu]

I'm not the greatest at writing when tired and it's 11 pm before I got to school the next day but I thought I'd give a snippet of what I have so far. The chapter will be called "Girl, So Confusing" because the tension I've written is utterly divine and fits the title because the way Red be acting is so confusing to Chloe.( @uhhhh-em-draws-stuff this is for you pookie 😘)

Theatre class. A place where many don't have academic rivals but Chloe was unlucky enough to have her academic rival in her Theater class. Today they were doing line readings just to make sure the teacher picked the right people for the roles. Chloe reading for Juliet and Red reading for Romeo. An irony Chloe could care less for but still funny none the less. Red takes her hand as per the directions of staging "If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." Red had an annoying sly smile on her face, knowing she was slightly getting under Chloe's skin.

She take a deep breath and begins her line. "Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hands to much, which mannerly devotion shows this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." They make eye contact whilst Chloe recites her lines lines. It's obvious to Red that Chloe has honed the craft of theatre for many years which is almost impressive if it weren't for the fact she acted slightly cocky about it. It elicits a small chuckle out of Red, it being humorous that Chloe thinks so highly of herself.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?" Reds voice is soft but firm. Chloe laughs slightly and states "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She give an unserious smile, emulating the character of Juliet. It's almost impressive how well Red is doing as Chloe has never seen her so theatre. Red simply brushes off the slight look of disbelief on Chloe's face and responds. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Her smile growing more cocky, her head tiltes slightly to the side as she watches to see how Chloe react. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake" Chloe speak softly, shaking her head lightly during my lines. She lightly looks Red up and down as she recites Red next lines.

Red steps a bit closer to Chloe. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take." She takes Chloe's chin in her hand, just a few inches from her face. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged." Chloe rolls her eyes lightly, breaking character for but a moment. She clears her throat, takes a step back from Red and delivers the line promptly. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." Chloe's gaze is questioning with a hint of innocence, replicating how a child of Juliet's age would have said it. "Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Red looks into Chloe's eyes, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And scene!" Their teacher calls out.

After a few moments, Chloe goes to her seat and grabs her things, intent on getting to her next class to have peace for just a few moments. The only bad thing about next hour being AP history was perhaps the fact that the seating chart just had to have Red sitting right next to her. It was the only class they sat next to each other and every moment felt like hell on earth. As the teacher begins to give Red compliments on her compelling acting Chloe checks her phone and texts back her mom. After about a minute, the teacher begins to compliment Chloe who dutifully takes them. Red simply rolls her eyes. Ah yes, little miss perfect taking compliments like it's nothing. It's almost as if she isn't Satan incarnate in academia clothing and a pretty smile.

(now published as a full chapter on ao3)

[paper-mario-wiki]

hi, i'm not the person who asked you about the life update, but could you elaborate on how being a creator means to live in a world of ideas instead of the real world? i'm just really curious about your reasons for quitting, specially because i want to create things in the future (not necessarily streaming, but anyways), hope you have a good day!

i'll be talking mostly about streaming for the sake of this answer, but this is similarly applicable across a wide range of platforms:

the job of the streamer is, effectively, to be the life of the party every single day. your goal is to be the person that has something interesting to talk about, and is quick with a joke, and has nuanced understandings of certain things, without actually obtaining any sort of "expertise" in anything lest you alienate viewers. short of having a stated goal for a stream, the only goal of the streamer is to let people relax with a voice they enjoy, saying things they like hearing. you can become very strong in different aspects of streaming, like in the production, or as someone who focuses more on a skill they've honed like art or speedrunning, but the demographic of streamers which pulls, by far, the most significant viewership, is personality based streamers.

this becomes more complicated when, for example, you are very interactive with chat, or you stream with multiple people at once. now, to maintain this charismatic sway you have (the one that got you the job in the first place), you must be able to adapt to and bounce off of other people, as you are now no longer performing alone. naturally, there's a need to not only manage your own flow of consciousness, but also to be at least partially in sync with someone else's.

beyond these complications, you must also consider drawing in new viewership. when i was a streamer, i was quite successful, relatively speaking. pulling 300 viewers consistently is something a very slim amount of streamers can actually do, and even then i was still making under 50k a year, which is not bad, but also not good. in paying for my apartment, my insurance, my travel fare, and all the other stuff that living independently draws money out of you with, i was more often in the red than i was in the green. hence, the need to draw in new viewers, which cannot be done without something eye-catching.

think about this: there are, at any given time, TENS OF THOUSANDS of streamers live in your native language on twitch, and they are all FREE TO WATCH. the attention market is sparse because the streamer market is oversaturated. and considering all of THEM want new viewers too, everyone is constantly refining and improving their craft, which requires everyone to move creatively in tandem with each other lest they get left behind.

if you are a streamer making ass-dollars and ass-cents, it becomes easy to begin resenting people like jerma, solely because everything he touches seems to turn to gold. i personally found it easy to feel very disappointed in myself when peoples projects that seemed so simple would take off. it was a constant "why didn't i think of that!" situation, at least for me. and when you don't have the energy to keep that up, or the social stamina necessary to figure that all out while also being upbeat and happy in front of people near daily, it can become very draining.

what i mean specifically when i say the "world of ideas", is like. there would be times where i could schedule out my failures weeks in advance. i'd be so in my own head about the process, i could see the exact path i could see myself taking that would lead me directly to ruin. how playing games i actually enjoyed would steadily drop viewership, or how focusing on my studies would make people forget about me. and of course this is augmented by my anxiety, i know this is absolutely not the case for every streamer, but that overwhelming feeling of needing to find a new game to play, or a new gimmick to use, or a new ploy to get money that doesn't make you feel guilty even though your source of income is mostly queer and mostly poor young adults and your rent is coming up and you're $200 short but you also just had a fundraiser last month about a DIFFERENT emergency but you cant make it a bummer or else people wont want to tune in so you have to make it something fun like "you laugh you lose!" or "$1 art request streams!" while feeling nothing but anxiety while youre trying to sound like youre enjoying yourself even when youre asking 250 people to donate every 30 minutes or so and nobody seems to want to and chat is moving slowly and. and and.

well, it starts to eat away at you.

[elikajinnie]

eyes don`t lie | lhs

P: Lee Heeseung X fem!reader

Synopsis: you wanted to give the new jazz club a visit..

Warnings: Suggestive content!

a/n: i felt very Shakespearean (??) during this. (Only ogs get the last scene)

-----------------------------------------------------

Say you're mine Eyes don't lie

You tell me your secrets You keep your life between your lips You know you're my weakness

The sign above the jazz club flickers softly, casting a warm glow over the sidewalk as you stand in line. The soft hum of jazz music leaks through the door, a faint promise of what's waiting inside.

You glance at your phone, a habit you can't quite break, before glancing over at your friend, who’s busy touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror. Both of you look like you’ve stepped out of a classic film, your outfits carefully chosen for the occasion.

The sleek, black dress you’re wearing hugs your form just enough to give you confidence, paired with heels that make you just a touch taller. Your makeup is subtle but striking—bold enough for a night out, but not so heavy that it hides your natural glow. You can feel the liner tracing your eyes, the mascara giving your lashes a little extra drama.

Your friend nudges you lightly, bringing you back to the present. "There’s no way tonight won't be amazing."

"You're hyping it up," you tease, but there's no denying the excitement building in you. You can already imagine the dim lighting inside, the hazy atmosphere filled with low conversation and the tinkling of glasses. The rich, velvety sound of the piano drifting over the crowd, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

The line moves forward, and you're one step closer to the entrance. The bouncer, dressed in a sharp suit, glances at your IDs before letting you through with a nod. Inside, the club is everything you imagined and more. Soft, amber light illuminates the room, casting long shadows across the polished wood tables and leather seats. There’s a smoky haze that clings to the air, mingling with the scent of whiskey and old wood. The stage is dimly lit, a grand piano taking center stage.

You and your friend find a table close enough to the stage to feel like you're part of the show, but not so close that you’re drawing attention. You settle into the plush leather seats, the soft material molding beneath you as you scan the room. People are dressed to impress tonight—suits, cocktail dresses, sleek hairstyles.

The waiter brings you cocktails—delicate, sophisticated drinks with a bite that makes you feel alive as you sip them slowly, savoring the moment.

The band plays on, each note filling the room with warmth and soul. It’s like stepping into another world, one where time slows down and every moment stretches out, wrapped in the glow of the music. You lean back in your chair, letting the atmosphere sink into your skin.

Your friend takes a sip of her drink, a smoky golden concoction, and lets out a contented sigh, her eyes closing as she leans back into the leather of the booth. “Perfect,” she murmurs, the word barely audible over the swell of the piano, but you know exactly what she means. Everything tonight feels perfect—like the world outside the club has ceased to exist, and all that matters is the music, the ambiance, the warmth of the drink in your hand.

The band is in full swing now, each musician playing with a passion that speaks to years of honing their craft. The bass hums beneath it all, deep and steady, grounding the more delicate notes of the saxophone that cuts through the air like smoke. The drummer’s light touch is hypnotic, adding a gentle rhythm that feels like the pulse of the room itself. But it’s the pianist, who truly commands the space. His fingers glide effortlessly across the keys, as though the music is flowing directly through him, a natural extension of his being.

You lean back in your chair, feeling the leather soften beneath you as you let the music wash over you. Every note seems to seep into your skin, filling you with warmth and a kind of quiet contentment you hadn’t realized you were missing until now. The soft glow of the candlelight on your table flickers, casting faint shadows that dance across the glass of your drink. You take another slow sip, the bite of the alcohol mixing with the mellow jazz in a way that makes you feel utterly present—like this moment, this night, is all that matters.

Your friend nudges you gently, pulling you out of your reverie. She’s smiling, her eyes bright as she leans closer to whisper, “We needed this.”

You nod, unable to disagree. Life’s been hectic lately—too many late nights working, too much time spent worrying about things you couldn’t control. But here, in this dimly lit club with the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket, all those worries seem distant, insignificant. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you’re able to let go.

A few drinks in, the room starts feeling pleasantly hazy. The cocktail in your hand has melted into a smooth sweetness, and the music has become a familiar companion—its rhythm sinking into your bones, each note a gentle caress. You and your friend share a smile, your conversations dwindling as you let the ambiance take over. Then, unexpectedly, the band shifts, their playing slowing down to a softer, more subdued melody. You notice it first—the change in energy. The hum of conversation begins to taper off, replaced by a murmur of hushed whispers.

You sit up straighter, exchanging a curious glance with your friend. Confusion flickers across her face too, and you both scan the room, trying to understand what’s happening. The soft, amber glow that’s filled the room all evening starts to dim, and the stage lights begin to shift. A single spotlight flickers on, focusing on the center of the stage, where a lone microphone stand has appeared as if by magic.

The murmur in the club dies down entirely, replaced by a kind of breathless anticipation. Everyone seems to know what’s coming, except you. Your heart starts to race, your senses heightened as you feel the tension in the air. The band continues to play, their instruments quieting to allow space for something else, something you can almost feel, but can’t quite name.

And then, through the soft darkness, a figure steps onto the stage.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening in quiet surprise. The man walking toward the microphone is striking in a way that almost doesn’t feel real. His suit is perfectly tailored, fitting him like it was made for him alone—crisp lines and smooth fabric that moves with every graceful step. But it’s his hair that stands out the most. It’s a deep, vibrant red that seems to glow under the stage lights, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He moves with an easy confidence, but there’s something almost magnetic about him, something that draws your gaze and refuses to let go.

You glance at your friend, but she’s just as transfixed as you are, her eyes locked on the stage as the man reaches the microphone. The lights shift again, narrowing to a focused beam that frames him in an ethereal glow, as if the entire world has fallen away, leaving only him.

For a brief moment, the room is completely still. The band holds the final note of their introduction, a soft hum that lingers in the air, creating a tension so thick you can feel it.

And then he opens his mouth, and the first note of his voice fills the club.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard before—smooth and angelic, yet rich with emotion, every word dripping with soul. The sound washes over you like a wave, wrapping around you and pulling you in. It’s haunting, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing. You feel yourself gasp quietly, the sound barely leaving your lips as you try to process what you’re hearing. There’s a warmth to his voice, but also an aching vulnerability, like he’s pouring something deeply personal into every note, and you can’t look away.

The room, which had been filled with whispers and shifting movements just moments ago, has gone completely silent, every pair of eyes locked on him. It’s as if the entire club is holding its breath, hanging on to each note he sings, waiting for what will come next. You’re vaguely aware of your friend beside you, but even her presence feels distant now—your attention is fully consumed by the figure on stage.

The way he sings… it’s like he’s drawing something out of you, pulling at emotions you didn’t even know were there. His voice rises and falls, effortlessly weaving through the melody, and with every word, you feel more and more entranced. The red of his hair glints under the light, a vibrant contrast to the dark backdrop, and his expression is calm but intense, as though he’s lost in the music just as much as you are.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the song shifts into its final verse. His voice softens, barely a whisper now, and the band matches him, their instruments fading into the background. It’s intimate—like he’s singing just for you, and in this moment, nothing else matters. You don’t want it to end. You could listen to him forever.

But eventually, the final note rings out, echoing in the silence. The spell breaks, but you’re still under his sway, your heart racing and your skin tingling. You realize then that you haven’t moved for the entirety of his performance. It was like you were frozen, unable to do anything but listen, and now that it’s over, you almost feel a sense of loss.

Around you, the crowd erupts into soft applause, but it feels like a distant sound. All you can do is stare at the man on stage, still bathed in that soft light, wondering who he is—and how someone can have a voice that feels like it could reach right into your soul.

He bows lightly, his head dipping in a gesture of respect and gratitude, the soft spotlight casting a halo around him. The applause swells around you, but it’s a distant hum, muted by the beating of your heart in your ears. As he lifts his head again, his eyes sweep across the room, taking in the crowd with calm composure—until they land on yours.

Time seems to slow. His gaze locks with yours, you feel it instantly—a deep, almost magnetic pull, like an invisible thread connecting you to him. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can’t help but gulp quietly, the sound swallowed by the silence that seems to surround this shared glance.

His eyes are intense, piercing in their focus, yet there’s something soft in them too—an unspoken question, or maybe recognition, as though he’s just as aware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The connection feels electric, a jolt running through your body, leaving your pulse racing and your skin tingling.

The eye contact lingers longer than it should, and in that span of heartbeats, you feel utterly exposed, as though he can see past your exterior and right into the depths of your thoughts. It’s overwhelming and thrilling all at once—like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into an endless expanse and knowing you could fall at any moment.

Eventually, he steps back from the microphone, offering the crowd another subtle bow. His presence lingers, even as he turns away, vanishing into the shadows backstage, the spotlight dimming as if it’s reluctant to let him go. You realize you’ve been holding your breath the entire time, and it escapes you in a soft rush, like a weight lifting from your chest.

Around you, the quiet spell that had enveloped the club breaks. The low hum of chatter resumes, glasses clink softly, and the familiar rhythm of classic jazz fills the space once more, the music lighter now, a backdrop to conversations that spring up again. It’s almost like nothing extraordinary just happened.

Your friend leans over, breaking the silence between you with a low chuckle. “That dude was something else, wasn’t he?”

You don’t trust your voice to respond. Your throat feels tight, your pulse still racing from the intensity of the performance, from that shared moment of eye contact that left you unsteady. You nod instead, lifting your glass to your lips and taking a slow sip. The cold, crisp liquid hits your tongue, soothing you, bringing you back down from the high you hadn’t even realized you were on. The ice clinks softly against the glass, grounding you as the coolness spreads through your chest, calming your racing heart.

Your friend is still watching you, one eyebrow raised in amusement, clearly waiting for some kind of response. But all you can do is stare at your drink.

“Yeah,” you finally murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “Something else.”

“I wonder who he is,” she muses, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You shrug slightly, but the same question has been circling your mind since he left the stage.

Who was he?

After another show ends and the band plays their final set, the crowd begins to disperse, though a few people linger, still caught in the afterglow of the evening. The night air feels cooler now, a stark contrast to the warm haze inside the club. You and your friend sit quietly for a moment, sipping the last of your drinks, before leaving.

Curiosity gets the best of you. You lean toward the bar, catching the bartender’s attention as he’s polishing a glass. “Who was that singer tonight?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your pulse quickens just mentioning him.

The bartender - Jay - glances up, offering a knowing smile. “Ah, that’d be Lee Heeseung,” he says, like the name is already becoming familiar around here. “We just hired him. Hell of a voice, huh?”

You nod, the name echoing in your mind. Lee Heeseung.

“He only sings once every other night,” Jay continues, placing the glass down and leaning in a bit as if sharing a secret. “Two times if he’s feeling like it, but mostly keeps to himself.”

Lee Heeseung. You repeat the name silently, letting it settle into your thoughts. It fits him, somehow—there’s something elegant about it, yet understated, much like the way he carried himself on stage. You roll the name over in your mind, each syllable striking a chord deep inside you. It’s as if now, knowing his name, he feels even more real.

You glance toward the darkened stage, where the spotlight had once illuminated him, now empty, the magic of the night beginning to fade. But his presence lingers in your mind.

Lee Heeseung.

It’s a name you won’t forget. A name that, much like his voice, sticks with you long after the night ends.

You take a final sip of your drink, the cold liquid steadying you once more. “Lee Heeseung,” you whisper under your breath, testing it on your lips. And somehow, you know that name is going to stay with you, just like the way he made you feel during his performance.

“I like it,” you murmur, almost to yourself. And it’s true. His name fits him perfectly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You found yourself returning to the jazz club more often than you ever thought you would. Some nights you came with friends, the laughter and easy conversations a comfortable distraction. Other nights, you came alone, drawn to the warmth of the dim lights, the hum of the music, and—though you never admitted it aloud—him.

You didn’t understand why, but something in you craved the moments when Lee Heeseung stepped onto that stage. It wasn’t just his voice, though that was captivating enough to make anyone fall silent. It was him—the way he moved, the way his eyes would always seem to find yours in the crowd, locking you in place like he could see right through you. You’d tell yourself it was just a coincidence, that he wasn’t really looking at you, not in the way you wanted to believe. But every time, it caught your breath. Every single time.

It was maddening.

He never spoke to you, not once. After his sets, he’d disappear backstage, swallowed by the shadows as if he was part of the night itself. And yet, you kept coming back, like a moth drawn to the flame, wanting to see more of him, to know more about who he was. What did he do when he wasn’t performing? What kind of music did he listen to? What made him smile? What did he think about in those quiet moments before he took the stage? Your curiosity about him grew with each visit, gnawing at you, and you couldn’t explain why.

And what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that he felt the same pull. Ever since that first night, when his eyes met yours across the crowded room, something inside Heeseung had stirred. He had felt it deep in his chest, a subtle but undeniable tug, like an invisible string pulling him toward you. It was almost physical, a desire to move closer, to learn your name, to hear your voice. But every time, he resisted, clinging to his professionalism as he bowed lightly and disappeared behind the stage curtains. He told himself it was nothing, just another face in the crowd. But the truth was, you had done something to him.

You had caught him. Just as he had caught you.

And it was driving him insane.

Heeseung found himself scanning the crowd every night he performed, his heart skipping when he spotted you. No matter how many people filled the room, his eyes always found their way back to you. You had become his constant distraction, lingering in his thoughts long after he left the club. He didn’t even know your name, yet the desire to learn everything about you gnawed at him, growing stronger with every passing performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity—it was need. A deep, aching want.

He wanted to know you, to talk to you, to hear your voice outside of the quiet applause you offered after his songs. What did you think about when you listened to him sing? Did you feel the same pull that he did? He was desperate to find out. Every little detail you could give him, he would greedily soak up, wanting more and more.

But he held back. Always. Keeping his distance, even though it was killing him inside.

And so it went on, night after night. You, caught in his presence, unable to look away. Him, mesmerized by you, holding onto his professionalism by the thinnest of threads, but wanting nothing more than to be near you. It was an unspoken, maddening dance, both of you trapped in the same pull, yet neither making a move.

It was only a matter of time before one of you would break.

And so it went on, night after night.

You, seated in your usual spot, caught in the gravity of Heeseung’s presence. Each time the lights dimmed and his figure appeared on stage, your heart would race with anticipation. You’d try to steady your breath, convincing yourself that tonight would be no different, that you’d enjoy the music, maybe share some laughs with friends, and leave. But the moment his eyes met yours, all your resolve dissolved.

He always found you.

Even in a room full of people, it was like you were the only one he saw. The first time it happened, you thought it was just chance, but now, it was unmistakable. Heeseung’s gaze would sweep across the room, but when it landed on you, it lingered, locking you in place. And as the weeks passed, that eye contact grew more intense, more charged.

It wasn’t just his eyes that betrayed him. On the nights when he sang love songs—slow, romantic ballads that filled the room with heat—you noticed something else. His voice would deepen, become more sultry, almost like he was singing just for you. The lyrics would hang in the air, every word dripping with meaning, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. There was something unmistakable about the way his voice would dip into the lower register during certain phrases, how his lips would curve slightly when he sang about longing, about desire.

And every time, you felt the same pull, that magnetic draw you couldn’t explain.

One night, the tension between you reached a fever pitch. Heeseung was in the middle of a song—one of those slow, yearning ones, where the lyrics spoke of unspoken love and hidden desires. His eyes found yours as he sang the chorus, the words wrapping around you like velvet. His voice dropped, soft and husky, as he delivered the line, "I can’t breathe when you’re near, you’re everything I need."

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, like every word was meant for you and only you. His gaze didn’t waver—he was locked in, completely focused on you. You could see it in the way his fingers gripped the microphone, in the tension in his jaw, that he was holding himself back. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, as if he was silently asking you to break the silence between you, to cross that invisible line neither of you had dared to step over.

And yet, neither of you made a move.

Heeseung would sing, and you would listen, your heart pounding in your chest, caught in the rhythm of his voice, the weight of his gaze. Then, when the song ended, he’d retreat into the shadows, leaving you breathless and wanting.

But the pull between you grew stronger with each passing night. You could feel it in the way his performances shifted. The sultry edge in his voice wasn’t just an act anymore—it was personal. His songs became a reflection of what simmered beneath the surface between you two. Every time he sang a song about love, about yearning, it felt like a confession, a silent message that only you could understand.

One night, the tension became almost unbearable. The band started playing a slow, sensual tune, the kind that made the room feel warmer, more intimate. Heeseung’s eyes found yours almost immediately, and as he began to sing, his voice was lower, rougher, more emotional than you had ever heard it before.

"There’s something about the way you move, the way you look at me…"

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice was velvet and smoke, smooth but with an edge that made you shiver. He wasn’t just performing anymore—he was speaking directly to you, his gaze never leaving yours. The lyrics dripped with desire, each note resonating with something deep inside you. The words hit harder because you knew what was underneath them, what was brewing between the two of you. His fingers wrapped tightly around the microphone, his stance more rigid than usual, like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time he reached the final verse, the air was thick with tension. His voice dipped to a near whisper, the intimacy of the moment almost suffocating.

"I’ve been waiting for so long, for you to see me too…"

Your breath hitched, your hand tightening around your glass. Heeseung’s eyes burned into yours, and for the first time, you saw it—really saw it. The restraint, the struggle. He wanted to make a move, just as badly as you did. It was in the way his gaze darkened, the way his voice became more desperate, like he was pouring everything he felt into the song.

As the song came to an end, he lingered at the microphone for just a second longer, even as the last note faded and the soft hum of conversation filled the room again. And then, for the first time, he hesitated. He stood there, gripping the microphone stand, his knuckles white, as though he was fighting with himself. The crowd was waiting for him to leave the stage, but he didn’t move.

You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he would finally walk over to you, say something, break this unspoken tension that had been building for so long. But instead, he just stared down, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, like he was trying to steady himself. Then, with a barely noticeable shake of his head, he stepped back, his steps were purposeful, but there was a visible tension in his stride, like he was trying to escape something that was chasing him. You watched, transfixed, as he disappeared behind the curtain, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness.

The curtain fell, and the applause continued, but it felt distant now. The music resumed—a classic tune playing softly, almost as an afterthought. You were left sitting at your table, your glass nearly forgotten as you stared at the empty stage.

The moment passed, but it left you shaken. Your friend leaned over, murmuring something about how amazing the performance was, but you barely heard her. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you, the way his gaze had felt like a question, one that you didn’t yet know how to answer.

But what you didn’t know was that Heeseung had reached his breaking point. Backstage, he leaned against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t keep doing this—this dance of almosts and maybes. Every time he saw you, it became harder to hold himself back. He didn’t even know your name, but he wanted to. Needed to. Every glance, every shared moment across the crowded room only made him more certain that he had to know you. The thought of you consumed him, drove him mad, until he couldn’t think about anything else.

As he stood there, catching his breath, he made a decision. He wouldn’t walk away tonight. Not again. He needed to do something—anything—to break this cycle, to get closer to you.

Heeseung straightened himself up, his heart pounding in his chest. The decision had been made. He couldn’t keep doing this—dancing around the tension, pretending that the looks you shared were just fleeting moments. Not anymore. Tonight was different. The connection between you had grown too strong, too magnetic to ignore. He had to see you, had to break this maddening cycle of unspoken desire.

He took a deep breath and walked out from backstage, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The usual post-performance crowd lingered, patrons scattered in small groups, chatting, laughing, sipping their drinks. His gaze swept across the dimly lit space, searching, yearning.

And then, just as he was about to lose hope, he saw you.

You were making your way towards the back, disappearing into a hidden hallway beside the bar that led to the restrooms. Heeseung’s pulse quickened, and without a second thought, he followed.

A few patrons stopped him on his way, eager to congratulate him on his performance or exchange a few words. He smiled politely, though his focus was elsewhere. He shortened the conversations, nodding and offering quick thanks, but his mind was locked on you. The pull, the need to reach you, was too strong now. He couldn’t delay any longer.

As he neared the hallway, he slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he slipped into the shadows. The hallway was quieter here, away from the buzz of the bar. The dim lighting cast long, soft shadows along the walls, creating a more intimate, almost secretive atmosphere.

Heeseung stopped at the entrance of the hallway, his breath catching in his throat. He could hear the faint sound of running water from where you had stepped into the bathroom. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made everything sharper—the sound of his heartbeat, the way the air felt cooler back here, away from the crowd.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain this—this overwhelming need to finally talk to you, to break the distance that had grown between you?

He leaned against the wall, trying to calm his nerves as he waited for you to reemerge. His breath was shaky, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making everything feel heightened—more real, more dangerous. This wasn’t just a passing attraction anymore. It was something deeper, something that had grown over time, night after night, with every glance exchanged between the two of you. The distance that had existed between you wasn’t something he could live with any longer.

His fingers drummed lightly against his leg, a nervous habit he hadn’t even noticed until now. Each tap was a reminder of the ticking seconds, each moment building his anticipation higher, tightening the knot in his stomach. He was caught between excitement and fear, unsure of how this would play out but certain that he couldn’t walk away again. Not tonight.

The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of music from the club fading into the background, leaving him in this private space, alone with his thoughts. He tried to calm the storm in his mind, rehearsing different ways to start the conversation. How are you? felt too casual. I can’t stop thinking about you felt too raw. The words swirled, none of them feeling quite right, but then again, what words could encapsulate what he had been feeling for weeks?

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, trying to slow his racing heart. He wanted to tell you everything—how every song he sang was a message to you, how every glance you exchanged lit something inside him he couldn’t extinguish. But would you understand?

When the door opened and you stepped out into the hallway, you hadn’t noticed him yet. You were adjusting your dress, fixing your hair—small, absent-minded gestures as you prepared to return to the bar. But the moment you looked up and saw him standing there, everything froze.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and the air between you felt instantly charged, thick with the same unspoken tension that had been simmering for weeks. Heeseung straightened up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Neither of you spoke at first. The hallway was silent, save for the distant hum of music from the club. He took a slow step toward you, his movements careful, almost tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to close the space between you. But the look in his eyes was clear—he wasn’t backing down this time.

“I—” Heeseung hesitated, his voice catching in his throat, rough and uncertain as it broke the silence between you. It wasn’t the smooth, honeyed tone he used on stage, the one that captivated entire rooms with its easy grace. This was different—raw, vulnerable, as if the weight of his own feelings was too much for him to carry any longer. The sound of it hit you like a tremor, sending a ripple through the thick air between you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to talk to you,” he said, his gaze flicking across your face, searching, almost pleading for a response. His voice was quiet, but there was a current of desperation beneath it, like he was on the verge of losing control. “I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sound of his words, at the way they carried so much more than just what he was saying. It was in the timbre of his voice—the slight tremor when he spoke, the roughness around the edges, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, but it was difficult to push past the knot in your throat. “What do you want to say?” The words came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Heeseung’s eyes widenened as he heard your question, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was weighing his next words carefully.

He let out a soft, frustrated sigh, his hand running through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know how to explain this… whatever this is between us.” His voice dropped lower, almost a murmur now, but each word carried a weight that hit you square in the chest. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but intense, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling completely.

“Every time I see you, every time I sing—I can’t stop thinking about you.” His confession hung heavy in the air, thick with the tension that had been simmering just beneath the surface. His voice, though still soft, grew rougher, tinged with the frustration of having kept this inside for so long. He sounded like he was fighting against himself, against the feelings that had been building up night after night, threatening to spill over.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I couldn’t just let it go.”

The depth of his voice, the strain behind it—it made your pulse race even faster. It wasn’t just the words that got to you, it was the way he said them. The rawness of it all, the fact that he was laying his emotions bare in front of you, made everything feel impossibly real.

He was holding on by a thread, and his voice, so full of emotion, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

He took another step closer, his presence commanding the space now, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible for you to look away. “I’ve tried to stay professional, tried to keep my distance, but I can’t do that anymore.”

You felt your throat tighten, the air between you charged with anticipation. “I feel it too,” you admitted quietly, the words leaving your lips before you could second-guess yourself. “I’ve felt it since the first night.”

Heeseung’s expression softened at your words, the tension in his features easing ever so slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his face. But his eyes—they never left yours, still burning with the intensity of everything he hadn’t said yet. He took another step closer, his breath mingling with yours in the confined space. His warmth seemed to radiate off of him, filling the small distance between you, and then it hit you—the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was woodsy, with a hint of spice, sharp yet smooth, and it made your senses reel. It clung to the air around him, wrapping around you, pulling you in even further.

As he stepped closer, you saw his nostrils flare slightly as the scent of your perfume reached him. His gaze darkened, the fragrance catching his attention, something warm and sweet that seemed to mix perfectly with the heady tension between you. It was like he was drinking in every detail, every part of you, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the floor as the weight of the moment overwhelmed you. But Heeseung wasn’t about to let that happen. Slowly, with a deliberate, almost tender movement, he reached out, his hand lifting to gently brush against your arm. The touch was light, tentative at first, but it sent a shockwave through you, your skin tingling where his fingers made contact. His touch lingered for a second before his hand moved upward, his fingers grazing your skin with a softness that felt both electrifying and grounding at the same time.

His hand found its way to your jaw, his fingers gently cupping your face, tilting it upward. You could feel the warmth of his palm against your skin, the gentle pressure as he guided your face up.

Your breath caught again as you met his eyes. The way he looked at you, so intense, so unwavering, made it clear that he wasn’t letting you go.

Heeseung’s thumb brushed lightly along your jawline, the touch so soft yet so deliberate, as if he was memorizing the curve of your face, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every detail.

“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with emotion, yet there was a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips. “But I need to.”

His words, the way he said them—it made your heart stutter in your chest. The quiet urgency in his voice, the way he was holding onto this moment like it was the only thing that mattered, sent a thrill through you. You smiled softly, your pulse quickening as you told him your name, the sound of it lingering in the air between you like a promise.

Heeseung repeated your name under his breath, his voice barely audible, as if testing how it felt on his lips. The way he said it made your skin tingle, a shiver running down your spine, his gaze still fixed on yours as he committed your name to memory, as if the sound of it alone had the power to pull him closer.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned across your skin, and you felt your heart race in response. His hand stayed on your jaw, the gentle pressure grounding you, but the heat of his presence was overwhelming, intoxicating.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your lips as his eyes searched your face, as if waiting for something, something only you could give him.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, rough with anticipation, he asked, “Please?”

Just that single word, but it was loaded with meaning. You didn’t need him to elaborate; you knew exactly what he was asking for, what he was begging for.

You didn’t need time to think. You simply whispered back, “Yes.”

And that was all it took. The moment the word left your lips, Heeseung closed the distance between you, his hand slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was deep, hungry, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been simmering between you for what felt like an eternity. It was intense, urgent, as if he had been waiting far too long for this moment to finally happen.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands instinctively reaching for him, one finding its way to his chest, the other curling around his shoulder, pulling him even closer. The heat between you was overwhelming, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own.

His lips were soft but firm, and the taste of him—mixed with the faint trace of the whiskey he’d been sipping earlier—was intoxicating. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like this was the moment he had been waiting for since that first night when your eyes had met across the room.

Your body responded to him naturally, as if it had been waiting for this too. You pressed yourself closer, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours, your heart racing as the kiss deepened. His other hand moved to your waist, gripping you gently, but with enough pressure to let you know he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. The feel of his fingers, warm and strong, sent a thrill through you, making you gasp softly against his mouth.

Heeseung took that small sound as encouragement, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further. The way he kissed you—it wasn’t just passion. There was something more, something that made it feel like this moment had been inevitable, like it had been building toward this from the very beginning.

Heeseung’s grip on you tightened as his kiss grew more insistent, more desperate, his hands roaming your waist like he couldn’t get enough. And then, without warning, he pushed you gently but firmly back toward the bathroom. His hands never left you as he maneuvered you into the dimly lit room, the door closing behind him with a soft click before he locked it.

Your heart raced, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the solid door behind you. The bathroom was small, intimate, and the air was thick with the tension that had been building for what felt like forever. Heeseung’s eyes, full of unspoken need, flickered with something primal as he looked at you, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Without another word, he pressed you gently against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, his hands sliding to your hips as he caged you in with his body. His lips found yours again, but this time there was no hesitation, no restraint. The kiss was rougher now, more urgent, as if he had finally let go of whatever had been holding him back all this time.

You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your body arching into him as you kissed him with just as much hunger. The heat between you was overwhelming, the tension finally snapping as he kissed his way down your jawline, his lips brushing across your skin, igniting a fire with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your neck, you were panting, your fingers gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as he kissed down the exposed skin of your throat. The dress you wore—classy, elegant, yet with an open neckline—left plenty of room for him to explore, and Heeseung took full advantage of it, his lips trailing along your collarbone, hot and soft against your skin.

His breath was ragged, his movements unrestrained as he kissed his way down your neck, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation of his mouth on your skin making your pulse race even faster.

Heeseung's breath was hot against your skin as he continued his descent, each open-mouthed kiss igniting a deeper fire inside you. His lips moved with a mixture of reverence and hunger, like he was savoring the feel of you, the taste of your skin beneath his lips. Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve alight with anticipation and the intoxicating sensation of his mouth exploring your neck, your collarbone.

You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp thrill racing through you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging lightly as his hands roamed your sides, his grip firm but careful, as if he was trying to hold himself back from giving in completely to the urgency that pulsed between you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, lingering there, and you felt the heat of his breath as he exhaled, his body pressed so close to yours that you could feel every rise and fall of his chest. The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, filled your senses, mixing with the heady smell of your own perfume, creating a cocktail of desire in the small, enclosed space.

“Heeseung…” His name slipped from your lips, breathless and soft, and he responded with a low, quiet groan that reverberated through your body, sending a shiver down your spine.

At the sound of his name on your lips, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with a mixture of need and admiration as he took in your flushed face, your slightly parted lips. He looked at you as if he couldn't believe you were real, as if he had been dreaming of this moment for too long and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to waste a second.

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if he was trying to convey everything he had been holding back, all the feelings that had built up between you with each stolen glance, each electrifying moment of eye contact that had passed between you over the nights.

Your body responded instinctively, pressing closer to him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric of your dress, teasing the curve of your hips. Your own hands were restless, wandering up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit. Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, his grip tightening around your waist, his body pressing you against the wall, as if the space between you was unbearable.

“I can’t stop,” he murmured again, the rawness in his voice pulling at something deep inside you.

You swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet, and the weight of your own words seemed to linger in the air. “I don’t want you to.” The second the words left your mouth, Heeseung’s restraint crumbled completely.

His eyes narrowed, pupils blown wide with desire, and his breath hitched as if the words had unlocked something inside him, as Heeseung surged forward, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was deep and slow, but laced with a fire that had been building for far too long.

His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost agonizing slowness, as if he wanted to savor every second, every sensation. The softness of his mouth was contrasted by the firm grip he kept on your waist, grounding you as his kiss deepened. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you parted them for him, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping from the back of your throat as he kissed you with more intensity.

The kiss grew more fevered, more frantic, both of you losing yourselves in the moment, in the intensity of everything that had been building between you for so long. It was like a dam had broken, and now there was no stopping the flood of emotions, the raw, undeniable desire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body reacting instinctively to every touch, every kiss, as Heeseung pressed you harder against the wall, his body caging you in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible. His lips trailed down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed a path to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh there, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with want. His words made your heart race, your pulse quickening as his lips continued their descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, tasting, teasing, worshiping.

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked gently at the base of your throat, marking you in a way that made your entire body hum with pleasure. Every kiss, every touch felt like it was setting you on fire, the heat between you so intense it was almost unbearable.

The sudden knock on the bathroom door jolted you both, tearing you from the intoxicating haze of your moment. The sound seemed almost foreign, harsh against the tender intimacy you had just shared.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” The voice came through the door with a note of casual curiosity, but the urgency in it made your heart race.

You pulled back from Heeseung, your breath coming in quick, startled gasps. “It’s the bartender! What is he gonna think if he sees you with me?” Panic edged your voice, your mind scrambling for a way to salvage the situation.

Heeseung, looking dazed and disheveled, blinked at you with a lopsided grin, his face covered in lipstick marks, his suit jacket discarded on the floor, and his shirt half-unbuttoned. His hair was a wild mess, and his expression was a mix of confusion and bliss, like someone who had just been woken from a beautiful dream. “Eh… lucky me?” he offered, his voice soft and slightly slurred, as if he was still under the spell of your kiss.

You glanced at him, your eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. His appearance was a far cry from the composed, suave performer you had seen on stage. The sight of him, so undone, only added to your growing sense of urgency. “Just—just…ugh!” You grumbled in frustration, trying to focus as you scrambled to tidy both of you up.

With swift movements, you attempted to fix your appearance—straightening your dress, wiping away smudged lipstick, and fixing your disheveled hair. You glanced at Heeseung, who was still leaning against the wall, looking like he was in a trance, his grin widening as he caught your frantic attempts. You shoved him gently, trying to help him re-button his shirt and smooth down his hair, though the results were far from perfect.

When you finally felt presentable enough, you unlocked the door with a deep breath. The moment you swung it open, you were met with Jay, the bartender, standing in the hallway with a look of utter shock on his face. His eyes widened as they took in the state of the bathroom and the two of you emerging from it.

“Sorry!” you blurted out, your voice high and rushed. Before Jay could react further, you slipped past him, grabbing Heeseung by the arm and pulling him along. Heeseung, still in a blissful daze, gave Jay a casual wink, a smirk playing on his lips as he followed you.

Jay stood frozen in the hallway, his mouth opening and closing in confusion as he watched you both make your hasty exit. The entire scene felt surreal, and as you led Heeseung down the dimly lit corridor, the adrenaline from the sudden interruption made your heart race even faster.

You walked quickly, trying to keep your composure, but the thrill of what had just happened left you breathless. Heeseung, now more alert, gave you a playful nudge. “Well, that was quite an exit, wasn’t it?” His voice was teasing, his smile wide and infectious.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you led him back towards the main area of the club. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your tone was affectionate.

The tension had finally snapped.

[sushicha]

I don't mean this in a bad way AT ALL, but thinking back on times Courtney talked about why people thought they were funnier and more confident since ~2021, they would talk about their obsession and takeaways from Ru Paul's Drag Race, them feeling overall more confident due to them coming to terms with their sexuality and gender, and them generally honing their craft at Smosh. All super valid! But it makes me think now, I also think them dating Shayne probably played a significant role in that too.

And that's NOT to take away from their own individual growth and accomplishments. However, I don't think it's a stretch to say that Shayne came into Smosh with a bit more professional experience as an improviser and comedian than Courtney did. And like with anything, when you're in a relationship with someone and spend an inordinate amount of time with them, you naturally absorb some of their personality through osmosis. I imagine that played a role in some of the changes to their comedy chops over the years. Courtney and Shayne definitely share a brain cell now more than ever, and it's awesome to see. And even before they were dating, they were obviously friends and had pretty similar taste.

Clearly Courtney was never going to respond to that question with, "Oh, and I'm also funnier because I'm in a romantic relationship with my coworker, Shayne Robert Topp." Aside from their relationship being private, I don't think Courtney wanted to give out any kind of connotation that they're only funny because of Shayne. Because it's not true and misogynists can quickly draw those kinds of shitty conclusions to saying that kind of thing. Give them an inch, they take a mile, you know?

And even for Shayne, I see a similar type of osmosis. He is definitely less afraid to let himself go and be as silly as possible, even at the risk of being perceived as "cringe". He's also generally more gentle and open-minded. I remember back in like 2018/2019 how standoffish and judgy he was whenever people talked about ghosts or astrology or religion, but in recent years he's much more willing to give space for people to talk about those things without being judgmental. That's probably not *all* Courtney's doing, I know he's generally gone through personal growth, but that type of thing tends to be the "boyfriend effect", lol.

[barananduen]

Art Advice: How to Deal with Art Block

Welcome to my Art Advice Articles series! In this issue, we'll talk about the different types of art block and how to break through them.

TYPE 1: I want to draw, but I don't know what!

TYPE 2: I want to & know what to draw, but it doesn't come out right.

2a) I've never been able to draw the way I want

2b) I used to like my art, but not anymore

TYPE 3: I have ideas but no motivation

TYPE 4: I want to draw, but I'm scared my new art won't measure up to my last good piece

Choose your type of art block from the list above the cut, and skip to the corresponding section below:

🌟TYPE 1 - I WANT TO DRAW, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT!

This is the easiest type of art block to deal with. DRAW ANYTHING! It doesn't have to be something spectacular; drawing an object on your desk or in your room will do; it will help you break out of this art block. Here are some ideas for you:

Ask people for suggestions. You don't have to draw all of them; just do the ones that appeal to you, in any way you wish.

Draw random objects: decorations, an insect, a slice of pie...

Close your eyes, draw a doodle/random shape. Open your eyes, try to make a creature out of it. Now redraw the creature with purpose.

Draw a scene or character from the last movie you watched / book you read / song you listened to.

Experiment with a different art form, like photography, crafts, dancing, etc. or a different medium (acrylic, pastel, pencils, etc.). This will shift your focus while still keeping your mind thinking creatively. Working with different art forms will: 1) loosen you up, and 2) give you ideas that you can apply to your main form/medium.

The last idea has another benefit. While working with a new art form, you will hone different skills, that will help you with your "main" medium if you have one (or the media you normally do). For example, if you draw and are stuck, working on photography can help you with composition and depth of field, among other things. Scrapbooking or making collages can help you with textures, color palettes, and also composition. Sculpting can help you with volume and angles. Dancing can help you with poses. You see things in a different light and can come up with new, fresh ideas. :)

🌟TYPE 2 - I WANT TO & KNOW WHAT TO DRAW, BUT IT DOESN'T COME OUT RIGHT

This type can take two forms:

a) You've never been able to draw the way you want; or b) You used to like your art, but now you no longer do.

The good news is: both are temporary!

⭐ 2.a - I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO DRAW THE WAY I WANT

Many, many people who are starting with art are under the misconception that art learning is a relatively quick process, that you can get good at art in just a couple of months, whereas the fact is, it takes years to get to the level we want, with art as with anything else.

Exercise what I call The Three Ps:

Patience

Practice

Perseverance

We must have patience! It's important to give yourself time; focus, don't rush, and don't get exasperated when things don't go the way you wish they would. They will, with time.

In the meantime, practice! Do studies (from life or photos, not from others' art so you don't accidentally copy other artists' mistakes). Learn how to use shading to convey volume. Practice different light sources. Learn and practice anatomy. Learn about lighting and colors. Try different subjects, styles, genres - experimenting and learning to draw different things is super important! Branching out will not only aid in building your skill-set, but can also help you find what you like.

Keep going and don't give up! You must persevere!

While you're doing that ...

Focus on the journey, not just on the end goal. It is important to enjoy the process for its own sake. This attitude will help with patience and perseverance, and will keep you happy longer.

While you're doing this, don't feel discouraged when things don't turn out the way you want! EVERYONE makes mistakes! And everyone has had to go through a learning process. Just because you don't see others posting things with mistakes doesn't mean they didn't happen. Take mistakes in stride, have a little humor with yourself, and learn from them.

⭐2.b - I USED TO LIKE MY ART, BUT NOT ANYMORE

Usually, when you feel you've hit a wall, when you feel like you're no longer happy with your art, it's right before you begin to improve again, so don't let that feeling make you quit.

What happens is that your brain (your inner art critic) is no longer satisfied with your current work because you've seen things you like better, and, subconsciously, you're going "my work would be better if I could do _." The thing is, once you become aware of what that blank is (which will happen), you'll start working toward achieving it, and you'll be moving forward again.

Sometimes it's helpful to take a short break to clear your mind a little, like when you've been working on a project/paper too long and need a break from it because you can't think anymore. Take a few days, maybe a week or two, but don't quit entirely! In the meantime, you can use your creativity in other media. Try photography, crafts, decorative cooking, anything! Give yourself some time and approach things with a fresh perspective. Give your brain a break from what's bogging you down.

When you come back, you can do three things:

Try again. Sometimes things just "click" after you've taken your focus off of the matter for a while, like how you can better spot errors in an essay after you've laid it down for a day or two, than right after you've finished writing it

Go back and review the basics again. You don't need to spent ages doing this; it's just a refresher. Sometimes, we get hung up on our methods and forget something we once knew we should be doing. A refresher's always good. Personally, I make it a point to go back and briefly review the basics every couple of years.

You can try approaching things in different ways. Experiment! Do things in ways you didn't do them before. Try different types of lighting, coloring, shading, for example. Maybe you'll find something you like better than what you were doing before.

The important thing here is to realize that this sudden dissatisfaction with your work is a GOOD THING! It means you're about to make a leap and get even better! So, embrace it and don't feel discouraged by it!

🌟TYPE 3 - I HAVE IDEAS BUT NO MOTIVATION

This one might be brought on by other things going on in your life, maybe things that are making you feel down. Sometimes, even music or books or whatever used to get you in the mood to do art doesn't work.

Force yourself to draw -ANYTHING- (See TYPE 1 for ideas). This will help jump-start you, and then you can get back to drawing cool things. The same applies to writing - write anything! A poem, a haiku, an anagram. Do a few and you'll get back in the mood. If you do photography, just take your camera and head out. Take pics of ordinary things from different angles; try a type of photography you don't usually do. Don't worry about the results being good. Just focus on doing the thing.

When I've had this type of art block and did these things, I got out of it fairly quickly. When I didn't, and sat it out hoping it would go away on its own, I stopped doing art for five years, and in the process forgot many things I already knew about how to make art. Different people work in different ways, but I do recommend that if you feel this type of art block has been going on for too long, actively do something to try to get out of it, like the examples I mentioned above. You don't want it to drag on long enough to set you back in your progress.

🌟TYPE 4 - I WANT TO DRAW, BUT I'M SCARED MY NEW ART WON'T MEASURE UP TO MY LAST GOOD PIECE

Lastly, I want to address the mental cage that is choking under pressure. You can feel pressured by external sources (other people, social media) and by internal sources (yourself). Sometimes, you might feel like you have to perform at a certain level, and that pressure may make you perform below what you usually do. In worse cases, it may make you freeze and scared to even try! Don't let pressure play you wrong. Breathe deeply a few times and clear your mind… and draw without worrying about it! Just draw!

It's like how, sometimes, doodles on lined paper come out better than things you draw on a white sheet or on a canvas… it's because you're not putting pressure yourself to come up with a masterpiece.

Draw without worrying about how good or bad the outcome will be. If it's not as good as your last piece - nothing bad happens! Honestly! But you know what does happen if you freeze up because you're afraid you won't measure up to your previous works? You will not create equal or even better works at all! So, let go of the pressure, don't worry, and just draw. You WILL make better works; it's natural and makes sense. More practice and time leads to improvement, no matter what level you're improving from. Just give yourself the opportunity to do so!

Let go of pressure and expectations and just draw for the sake of it! You'll do fine.

Yes, it's important to challenge yourself and break out of your comfort zone to learn new skills, but sometimes (like when you're in this type of art block), going with your own personal strengths will give you the morale boost you need to draw again, and then you can keep moving forward and tackle challenges and new things with more confidence.

Believe in yourself! And remember: don't stop or you won't create the next awesome artwork you didn't know you would make, because your future pieces will always be better than your past ones. Don't forget that!

🌟CLOSING

I hope his article can give you some ideas and motivation to help you plow through your art block, whichever type it may be, and you'll be back on your way to creating beautiful works! 💟

~B~

You can find the index to all Art Advice Articles [here]

[galedekarios]

honestly what i don't understand at all (despite trying to) about saying that headcanoning gale as a born sorcerer or that he is born with innate magic talent (which he was, it is very much canon, sorry) is somehow devaluing him as a character. that you must hate wizards if you do so (i don't, they're one of my favourite classes). that it makes his dedication to magic and his love for it lesser. that you don't understand his story or themes.

it's such an incomprehensible take to me, even in general.

having a talent means nothing if you don't hone it and practise it. being born with a talent means nothing. dedicating yourself to it, practising, enhancing that talent you have, takes an incredible amount of work and is worthy of admiration and respect. for instance, being able to draw well and having an innate artistic talent is all well and good, but what would take it to the next level is applying practise and study to that talent. it will improve your art. your craft.

gale was able to summon a bunch of rabbits in his mother's pantry as a baby. without study and practise, he wouldn't have become an archwizard. he would have still only been someone with innate magical talent.

headcanoning gale as someone born with magical talent and understanding the years and years of extensive study (that gale himself mentions) it took to get where he was before he was afflicted with the orb and mystra discarded him are two things that very much can coexist.

it in no way devalues his character, his beliefs or his story. on the contrary. it's a testament to his character.

he chose to study. he chose to dedicate himself to it so entirely. because he loves magic. it's his everything and nothing about that makes it lesser.

it doesn't make him a lesser wizard. it's not insulting to his character.

[thenatashamaximoff]

Heart Of Stone; Winter’s Embrace

Summary: Wanda finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the important meeting when she can see you through the window as clear as day.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings: pure fluff

Words: 5,905

✎ | დ

you do not have permission to repost/translate my work or claim them as your own.

⚠️⚠️ As I am actually currently working very hard on an epilogue for this series, have a cute little moment I imagined in the Heart Of Stone universe set at some point between the first chapter and the second. Enjoy. ⚠️⚠️

The First Day Of Winter, 2013 With your focus wholly absorbed in the book before you, your pencil moving across the page with fluid and deliberate strokes, you were unaware of Wanda’s swift and decisive action to claim the empty seat next to you. As she settled into the chair, she couldn’t help but nibble on her inner lip, her gaze lingering on the side of your face as you continued to draw. Despite her desire to clear her throat or speak your name, to do anything to capture your attention and lose herself in your gaze, she remained silent, choosing instead to revel in the simple pleasure of your peaceful presence.

Her gaze reluctantly left you and shifted to your hand, which moved with the familiarity and grace that hinted at years of honing your craft. Wanda felt a strong pull towards you, captivated by the sight of you being entirely absorbed in your art as if nothing else existed.

She shifted slightly in her seat, craning her neck in an attempt to get a peek at your sketch over your hands, and her breath hitched in her throat when she caught a glimpse. It was beautiful, the intricate lines and shading giving Steve Rogers a lifelike quality on the page. Wanda was in awe, her eyes tracing the details of the drawing, from the small creases around the patriot’s eyes to the precise angles of his jawline. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the subject of one of your sketches, to have your keen eyes capture her essence on paper.

Wanda noticed a fleeting moment of tension in your muscles, causing your movements to freeze, but it quickly dissipated. Her peripheral vision caught the movement of Vision entering the room mere seconds later, and she briefly glanced away from you to watch him take a seat on the other side of her. It was only then that Steve cleared his throat, capturing the attention of almost everyone in the room… Almost.

The patriot briefly observed you, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips, but he didn’t comment on your lack of focus as you continued to draw him. He was appreciative you made an appearance at one of these meetings, despite showing zero interest in joining them on their heroic adventures.

However, Wanda made an effort to stay focused, pivoting her body to face Steve on the other side of the table. Natasha sat beside him, observing you with a watchful eye, much like a mother watching over her child. It was evident to Wanda that the redhead, like herself, understood that your presence in the meeting was likely to be brief.

“There’s a new crisis that needs our attention,” Steve began. “A group of mercenaries…” but whatever the super soldier had to say seemed to fade into the background as she turned her head towards you in time to see you finally pick your chin up.

At first, Wanda presumed that your gaze was fixed on Natasha - a behavior she had noticed in you before, where you would seek the redhead to reassure yourself of her presence, as if it gave you a sense of comfort Wanda couldn’t help but feel envious of. However, she soon realized that your focus lay beyond the Russian, on the absurdly large window behind her. Wanda immediately noticed your shoulders droop as you discovered the curtains were drawn shut, concealing the outside world from your curious eyes. The witch watched your reaction as she twisted her wrist, moving the barrier aside to reveal the vast expanse of snow that had been accumulating since the afternoon; the way your eyes widened at the white, fluffy ground beyond the glass was nearly childlike. 

A spark of excitement ignited in her gut when you turned your head to look at her, granting her the view of your enthusiasm, and she couldn’t help but smile in response, a soft chuckle slipping through her nose. She was delighted to see you light up at the sight of the snowy landscape outside, but that only lasted so long before you were out of your seat, making your way out of the room so hastily, you had left your sketchbook behind.

Steve continued his mission talk without any pause or concern, while Natasha simply shook her head and smirked at your sudden departure. Although Wanda felt a fleeting urge to follow you, the fire in her stomach quickly dissipated as she watched you leave. With a heavy sigh, she redirected her attention back to Steve, her mind refocusing on the task at hand.

“...don’t know much about them yet,” the patriot’s words reached her ears once more as she rejoined the meeting, resting her elbow on the table and letting her chin fall onto her palm, “but, from what we’ve gathered…”

Once again, Steve’s voice faded into the background like white noise for Wanda. She couldn’t help it. While she understood that the Avengers had a responsibility to protect innocent lives from any danger, no matter how small, her persistent desire to follow you consumed her thoughts. The nagging feeling to chase after you was overwhelming.

But she soon found herself falling into confusion as she watched you appear in the window behind Steve and Natasha. Your figure trudged through the snow, wearing nothing but the outfit you had been seen in earlier. Despite the freezing temperatures, you appeared to be thoroughly enjoying yourself, and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth spread through her chest at the sight of your wide, toothy grin. She straightened her posture, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to form on her face, as you picked your chin up to let the falling snowflakes land delicately on your face.

She couldn’t help but admire your childish joy.

Your head lowered as you held out a hand, attempting to catch a snowflake, but your eyebrows pinched in confusion when they only ended up evaporating the moment they landed on your skin. Instead, you bent down to cup a handful of white powder in your palms to get a better look at what was falling from the sky. She could only imagine the sound of your laughter as you stood up, bringing the small pile of flakes closer to your face.

It felt like someone had pressed the fast-forward button for the next few seconds as a cloud of snow exploded against the side of your head, your body vanishing into the deep snowdrift at the impact. Wanda had to quickly cover her mouth with her hand to prevent a laugh from escaping and disrupting the seriousness of the meeting she was supposed to be paying attention to, but would much rather watch you experience the first day of winter through the window.

Your upper body popped up from the snow, covered in a layer of white powder, looking dazed and confused as you blinked slowly, and she bit her cheek so hard, she could swear she could taste blood. Your head turned towards the source of the snowball, and a smile crossed your features as you climbed to your feet.

Tony stepped into view, shaking with laughter as he held out additional layers of warmth for you. You looked at the offering with confusion coloring your features, but when you suddenly shivered, you immediately accepted the thick clothing and shrugged it on.

Wanda shook her head, as if snapping out of a trance, and refocused her attention. It was Natasha who was speaking, her voice cutting through the witch’s momentary distraction. “...heavily armed and have been moving a lot. It’s possible that they’re planning something much bigger.”

“We need to stop them before they take more lives,” Steve claimed. “We managed to track them down to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city a couple of weeks ago, but…” Wanda’s eyes drifted back to the window, but her eyebrows pinched in confusion when she no longer saw any sign of you or Tony. She was ultimately forced to return to the meeting.

“They’re fast,” Natasha added, “so we need to move faster if we want to prevent whatever they’re planning.” If everybody in the room was aware of Wanda’s struggle to pay attention, nobody showed it. Though she was sure she could see Vision giving her subtle side glances every now and again next to her. “We’re running out of time.”

“Do we know their new location?” Vision questioned.

“Not yet,” Steve answered, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest, “but we’re working on it. We have a few leads, just nothing concrete.”

As Wanda’s eyes quickly shifted towards the window, she couldn’t help but feel relieved when she saw you and Tony reappear. However, her excitement waned when she noticed your back was turned towards her. She bit her lip, trying to hide the disappointment that threatened to surface. She longed for your smile, the one that could light up the darkest of rooms, the one that made the sun envious of its shine, but it seemed that her wants went unheard as you remained oblivious to her silent pleas.

Despite Wanda’s continuous distractions, the meeting continued. 

Vision leaned forward, and the movement caused him to graze shoulders with Wanda. She shifted slightly, feeling the contact with him but not registering the meaning behind it. Her mind was still preoccupied with the thought of you and Tony outside, wondering what you were up to, and wishing you’d turn around just so she could see you. “We need to be proactive in finding them,” he suggested. “Perhaps we should expand our search. If they are planning something big, they might have moved their operations to a different city.” She was oblivious to the longing look the android sent her.

Steve nodded, pursing his lips together for a brief moment before saying, “We’re already coordinating with local law enforcement. We’re getting more resources in the search.”

“We should also consider increasing our surveillance in areas where they have been known to operate.” Wanda’s eyes flashed to Natasha, meeting eye contact with the former assassin as she continued, “It’s possible they will make a mistake or slip up, and we need to be ready to capitalize on any opportunity to apprehend them.”

“We should also prepare for the possibility that they might have allies at their disposal as well,” Vision pointed out, turning toward Steve. “We need to be cautious and anticipate any potential obstacles.”

Movement in the window behind the blonde and redhead caught her attention, and she watched as Tony stepped to the side to reveal a pristine snowman; the balls of snow formed perfect spheres, topped with a jaunty hat and carrot nose. Buttons pressed into its torso firmly, a dark red scarf wrapped comfortably around its neck, and sticks stabbed into the sides to form arms. A small smirk lifted the corner of her mouth at the sight of the sculpture, but when you stepped to the side to reveal your own snowman, her lips curled to form a bigger, brighter smile.

While Tony’s creation was the epitome of picture-perfect - the type of snowmen you’d see on postcards and in movies - yours sat lopsided, with an oversized head and arms that looked like they could fall off at any moment. Your hat was a mere strainer you must’ve grabbed from the kitchen during your disappearance, and the nose was a carrot that had seen better days, with a slight bend in the middle that had been hastily jabbed into the snowman’s face. The eyes, unlike Tony’s, were not perfectly round nor matched in size. One was slightly larger than the other, giving the snowman a slightly cross-eyed look. Despite its imperfections, the snowman had a certain charm to it, as if it had been made with a sense of innocent wonder and silly enthusiasm. The crooked grin on its face - formed by pebbles you must’ve gathered from the decorations in the lobby - seemed to convey a mischievous personality, inviting anyone who passed by to come closer and take a picture with it. It was a snowman that embodied not only the joy and spirit of winter but the childlike imagination and creativity that often get lost in adulthood.

Wanda watched as Tony moved to stand next to you while Happy walked into the window’s view, shoving his hands into his pockets as he breathed out a heavy breath that released a thick cloud of smoke in the cold air. It was clearly obvious how much the head of security didn’t want to be outside in the middle of a freezing, winter night, but that his boss gave him no choice in the matter.

The two men conversed, your eyes glued intently onto Happy’s face as he threw a sloppy index finger up in the direction of your snowman, and the witch, once again, had to cover her mouth when your arms shot up in victory. Tony didn’t seem pleased, gesturing toward his perfectly built statue, and then your mediocre one. She could only assume that they dragged the man outside to choose a winner of a contest, and you seemed to have lost interest in the mild argument as you stepped behind the snowmen and scooped up a handful of snow.

The ball sailed through the air, small flakes trailing after it as it wasn’t the most perfect snowball with some clumps of snow sticking out awkwardly, but it did its job well when it hit its mark: Happy’s head. Whatever Tony was saying was immediately halted as his body shook once more with laughter, watching his friend’s reaction. You shot an innocent smile when Happy looked toward you, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, and Wanda felt her body tense. Was she going to have to go outside and save you from one of his tantrums? Your fragile state of mind left you in a sensitive and vulnerable state, and any form of negativity directed toward you would deeply affect you. Wanda quite often found herself attempting to protect you from such things just as much as Natasha does.

As much as a harmless act it was, Happy wasn’t - despite his name - a very happy man.

But, to her surprise, the man was quick to bend down, scooping some snow into his own hands to form a ball. Your eyes widened, and Wanda felt her muscles relax as the three of you fell into a snowball fight. She wished she could hear your laughter, your squeals, as you enjoyed a small game amongst the people you are slowly getting close to.

Though the game didn’t last long, as Happy waved the white flag of defeat and immediately disappeared from the window. Tony said something to you that made that wide smile on your face grow even wider before walking off. And, once again, you were left alone as you looked around.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as you turned your head toward the night sky once more. She could feel her entire body melt in peace as you stared at the stars through the falling snow, a look of admiration hidden beneath the smile lingering on your face. The snowflakes caught in your hair and eyelashes made you seem almost mystical, like a creature of the night sky yourself. It made her give in to her desires, gripping the edges of the table and pushing herself away from it. However, the rest of her movements froze when Clint appeared in the window frame, causing her to use her grip on the table to reel herself in, resigning herself to watch you look away from the stars to see who had joined you.

She observed the way you smiled widely at whatever the archer had said, the way he reached out to pat you on the shoulder for a brief moment before he thought better of it and brought his arm back to his side. Instead, he followed you to a space away from the snowmen before falling to your knees in the snow. You watched him with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to what the seasoned agent could possibly be doing as he started patting the snow into a thick, small wall. But the more his mouth continued moving, noiseless words coming from his lips, the less confused you appeared to be.  You mirrored his movements, like a child learning from their teacher.

You were fully engrossed in your new project, your attention unwavering even when Steve came to join in. Wanda couldn’t help but notice his arrival, but she merely spared him a quick glance before returning her gaze to you. Steve knelt down beside Clint, and together they worked to connect your wall to the archer’s, creating a smooth curve. 

As the night sky grew darker, none of you seemed to slow down, and Wanda continued to watch. Occasionally, Steve would pause to explain something to you, to which you would nod your head in understanding, but Wanda was almost certain the patriot’s words would go pass through one ear and out the other as you continued working. And she’d find herself chuckling softly whenever Clint playfully tossed some loose snow your way, eliciting an even wider grin from you. Or when he would seemingly break out into song - a tune that Wanda was glad she couldn’t hear from her vantage point, but that prevented her from hearing your infectious laughter.

The realization that you were building an igloo only dawned on Wanda as the circular wall the three of you had formed grew higher and higher. She had never seen anything like it before, and yet the way you all were working on it made it seem like the most natural thing in the world. Wanda couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. She wanted to be a part of this, to work alongside you, to build something together, but she knew she was stuck in this meeting until she was dismissed. So, she resigned herself to watching from the sidelines.

The night wore on, and the snow continued to fall. Yet still, you, Clint, and Steve worked on, determined to finish your creation. Time meant nothing to Wanda, watching the expressions your face would make, from the way your brows furrowed in concentration to the way your eyes would light up in excitement as the igloo continued to grow. She could see the steam of your breath as you laughed at whatever asinine conversation the two men were having.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the three of you stepped back to admire your work, and she forced herself to look away from your happy, smiling face to catch the final product, amazed at the beauty and detail of the structure. It was a work of art, with curved walls and intricate patterns etched into the snow that clearly had to be your doing.

Wanda watched with amusement as Steve gestured for you to enter the frozen structure, and your face lit up with excitement as you eagerly raced around to the entrance, crawling through it like a child entering a secret hideout. Steve and Clint peered over the top of the walls, laughing heartily, and she wondered what it must have been like to be surrounded by walls made of snow, and to feel the warmth of your body next to her, protected from the elements outside. The thought of being able to share that moment with you made her heart ache, wishing she could be out there, reveling in your joy. But as she continued to watch from the window, she knew that for now, that dream would have to remain just that - a dream.

From where she sat, Wanda could see the tips of your shoes sticking out of the igloo’s entrance, motionless as Steve and Clint headed inside for the night. However, your solitude was shot-lived as Natasha - red hair conceal under a cozy hat - made her way over to your makeshift abode. Wanda couldn’t help but grin at the way Natasha knelt down at the mouth of the igloo, tapping her knuckles lightly against the sturdy wall as if she were knocking on a door. It wasn’t long until your shoes were replaced by your head, emerging from the frozen structure. Whatever Natasha said to you - Wanda didn’t need to hear it to know that the redhead was using her softest tone, a tone that was reserved only for you - was enough to make you crawl out of the shelter.

You looked perplexed when the Russian lay down in the snow a few feet away from your snowmen and igloo, gesturing for you to join her on the frigid ground. Your face scrunched with confusion, and you paused for a moment, staring at her, before your mouth moved, verbally expressing your thoughts this time. Natasha responded playfully with a roll of her eyes and, after another hesitated moment, you decided to lay down beside her.

Without a wasted minute, Natasha started moving her legs and arms up and down, causing Wanda to chuckle softly at the bewildered expression that landed on your features. The redhead looked over at you, and as you slowly moved to mimic her movements, trying to keep up with her pace, the witch wasn’t oblivious to the way your face changed from confusion to joy within seconds. Wanda felt a tug against her heart, feeling envious at the way your chest heaved with a burst of laughter.

Natasha continued with playful abandon, and you followed her lead, your movements becoming more confident and fluid as you went along. Wanda was glad that you were able to find joy in something as simple as creating a snow angel, her gaze lingering on the way you brushed the snow off your clothes after you stood up. And she wondered if Natasha had placed it in a way so she had a full view of your reaction when you saw the final result, a perfect, sparkling angel etched into the snow. But Wanda wasn’t too focused on the snow, but the way your face lit up as you looked, her stomach flipping as the way your eyes widened with wonder and amazement. It was a beautiful sight, and Wanda felt her heart swell with affection. She found herself admiring the way your hair was dusted with snowflakes and the way your cheeks were rosy from the cold.

Whenever someone made any movement to touch you, Wanda always caught herself holding her breath. Natasha was no exception. So, when the redhead’s hands moved towards you, the witch’s breath hitched in her throat as they came to a rest on your shoulders. You were nodding in agreement to whatever was being said, and the Russian rolled her eyes with a smirk before guiding you back to your igloo before she, too, called it a night. Wanda watched as you disappeared into your little habitat, a smile tugging at her lips. She felt a sense of warmth in her chest at the sight of your shoes peeking out of the entrance, and she found herself grateful that it was Natasha that had taken you under her wing through all of this.

“Hey.” Wanda was startled by the sudden sound of Natasha’s voice, quickly turning in her chair to face the redhead, who was still dressed in her winter outfit from outside as she casually leaned against the doorway. “The meeting ended a while ago… You know that right?” she teased, her lips curving up in a playful smirk. Wanda blushed and glanced around the empty conference room.

“I was… distracted.” She bit the side of her tongue to smother the sheepish grin that was threatening to add to the embarrassment she was already feeling.

The Russian chuckled and pushed herself away from the doorframe, stepping further into the room. “We noticed,” she replied, her voice still holding that teasing tone. Wanda couldn’t do anything to stop the heat in her cheeks from growing hotter. “Y/N’s experiencing snow for the first time today. It’d be a shame if you weren’t a part of that.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Wanda confessed, tugging the sleeves of her shirt past her palms. “It seemed like everybody else had already done everything you could possibly do in the snow.”

Natasha shrugged loosely, pursing her lips together briefly before ominously saying, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Wanda didn’t get much time to ask her anything else before she walked away, leaving her chewing on the inside of her cheek as she wracked her brain.

The igloo was even more magnificent when viewed up close, its snow walls shimmering under the moonlight. The only sounds were the soft crunch of snow under her boots, carefully balancing two steaming mugs in her hands as she kneeled at the entrance of the frozen building. She cleared her throat, but before she could pretend to knock, she was looking at your beaming face. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed into your sparkling eyes, despite the structure obscuring your face from the only source of light out here.

“Hi.” You raised a brow as you looked at the cups in her hands, and her tongue flicked out to lick her lips before she added, “I figured you could use a warm drink.”

“Wha… What is it?” you questioned, and she had stopped trying to fight that feeling she gets whenever she hears your voice.

“Hot chocolate,” she answered, smiling softly, “with whipped cream and marshmallows.”

Your head tilted to the side, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. “Marshmallows?”

She nodded, chuckling at your expression. “Yeah, it’s a thing. Trust me, it’s delicious.” You beamed in response before taking one of the mugs from her, cradling it in your hands as you disappeared into your icy hut. She felt the smile fade away from her face, looking down at the ground as her stomach twisted uncomfortably. But, before she could move to leave, your voice calling her name from within the walls of the igloo made her pause.

“Are… Are you… coming in?”

Her gut twisted with joy as she lowered her head to enter the small entrance, her heart racing as she pushed through the narrow opening. Inside, the space was surprisingly cozy, yet lift little to no room to maneuver without touching you. You watched her with a smile, sitting across from you and feeling the warmth of your touch melt through her thick clothes and into her skin.

“I-It’s not very… big.” You looked around the enclosed walls, your heart beating rapidly against your chest, but with Wanda’s legs pressed against yours, the panic that had raised in your throat was suffocated. “Maybe we… We can make it bigger?” Your eyes were sparkling once more when you met her gaze, and her soft smile allowed you to relax even further.

“I think it’s perfect,” she assured, her voice soft and soothing. She felt a warmth in her chest at the sight of your sparkling eyes, as if you had found a way to put glitter in them. When you brought the smoking mug up, she was quick to put her hand in the small distance between your mouth and the drink, her knuckles brushing across your lips very lightly, yet it was enough to make that warmth in her chest spread to her gut. “You should wait until it’s a bit colder.” You met her gaze, the way your face softened as your rose-colored cheeks became more prominent made her heart skip a beat. She had a fleeting thought to delve into your mind, to know what you were thinking at this moment, but she was getting better. 

“It… It smells good,” you said quietly, the movement of your jaw only causing your lips to get closer to her hand.

She couldn’t seem to get her voice above a whisper, “I don’t want you burning your tongue.” It took you a moment, but you finally pulled the mug away from your face, and she brought her arm back to herself. “Did you have fun tonight?”

She wasn’t sure it was possible, but your face grew brighter at her question, and you seemed to have forgotten about what just happened. “I did,” you eagerly expressed. “Mr. Stark… He hit me with a… a ball of snow! And-And then we built the snow people. Did you… You saw them?”

“I did,” she confirmed with a nod. 

“Mr. Happy said mine was… better!” Your gentle laughter made her stomach warm, a much more pleasing feeling than the hot chocolate ever could bring. 

“Well, Mr. Happy has good taste.”

“I… I’m not going to tell you who’s is whose, but wh-which one is better?”

“I’m going to have to say the one with the strainer for a hat,” she answered and was immediately rewarded by the way your face lit up at her answer. “Did you make that one?”

“Yes!” You leaned forward slightly, yet due to the small confines of the igloo, your face was a lot closer to hers now. Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes averting down to your lips slowly, though you showed no signs of noticing the drawn-out gaze. And your breath fanning over her face caused her chest to tighten as you whispered, “I won’t tell Mr… Stark.”

The excitement you were feeling made it impossible for you to conceal your thoughts, and she was ecstatic to hear your voice. You had said more words to her just now than she has ever heard you say since meeting you, and she only wanted to hear it more. “What else happened?” She brought her drink up to her lips, blowing across the top of the liquid, and she noticed the way you paused for a moment, straightening your posture as you leaned back.

“I-I threw a ball of snow at Mr. Happy.” She chuckled at the memory. “And then… we all threw them at each other. Clint taught me how… how to make this…” You trailed off, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked around. “He called it an… an igloo.” You smirked, and Wanda forced herself to take a sip of the semi-scalding liquid to hide the flush in her cheeks at the sigh of it. “Captain… He helped us. They even made it so I can- We can look at the stars.” Your head tilted up, and she followed your gaze to see the vast night sky above her. “And then Nat came. She… She showed me how to… make an angel. And now… you. An-An… actual…” You breathed out, averting your gaze to look at the fluffy marshmallows melting in the hot chocolate after Wanda brought her chin down to see that you were looking at her.

She smiled softly, noticing the way your cheeks were a lot more rosy now than they were five seconds ago. “Try it.”

“W- It’s chocolate?”

Wanda’s soft laugh made you pick your head up to look at her, eyebrows pinched with mild confusion, but a smile tugging the corners of your lips. “Yes,” she exclaimed, nodding. “Hot chocolate. It’s made with chocolate and milk.”

You nodded slowly, still a bit uncertain but intrigued enough to bring the mug to your lips to take a tentative sip. The warmth spread through your body, settling at the bottom of your stomach, and you couldn’t help but let out a contented sigh. “Wow.” She smiled as you took another drink, this one more confident than the last. “What’s the… the chewy stuff?”

“Marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows.” You mirrored her smile, your eyes flickering up to meet hers, and she felt a flutter in her chest at the sight of your grin. “It’s… I like it.” You took another sip, tilting the cup higher and, when you pulled it away from you, she couldn’t help but laugh softly at the whipped cream that now adorned your nose.

“You’ve got a little…” She trailed off, bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth before biting the bullet and reaching forward herself. You seemed to lean into the touch when she wiped her sleeve against your nose in a gentle swipe. “I got it.”

“Thank you.” You cleared your throat, bringing the mug back up to your face to hide the burn in your cheeks that ignited at her touch, taking another yet careful sip of the hot chocolate, savoring the sweetness and warmth it provided. “Did you… make this?”

“I did,” she answered proudly. “The secret is to use real chocolate instead of cocoa powder. It gives it a richer flavor and creamier texture.”

“I… like it,” you repeated, finishing it off. 

“I make it all the time,” she stated, though she doesn’t remember the last time she made it if she was being honest. Yet, the look on your face every time you took a sip - like a child who just discovered something magical - made her want to make it more often. “Hot chocolate is the kind of drink that’s perfect on a night like this.”

You gently placed the mug off to the side before letting your hands fall into your lap, and she watched as you dug your thumb into the scar on your palm. Something she would find you doing whenever your anxiety built up. She wished she had the courage to stop the motion, to reach over to you, to place her hands gently over yours, but she remained to herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and decided to break the silence that wrapped around the two of you like a silk scarf.

“Do you want to look at the stars?” Your eyes snapped onto hers, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the quick nod you sent her. 

After placing her mug next to yours, the two of you lay down in the small igloo. Although she forced herself to maintain some distance, she couldn’t prevent your legs from resting on top of hers at the entrance of the frozen abode. And she wasn’t complaining. The feeling of your weight on top of her - even if it was just the lower, lower half - caused a warmth to spread throughout her body. She wondered if you could hear her heartbeat quicken under her thick layers of clothing because she sure could.

The stars above seemed to twinkle with a brighter light as you gazed up at them, lost in your own thoughts. Wanda couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder and admiration for you. She often found herself wondering what went on in your mind, what secrets and dreams were hidden behind your eyes. There was a wisdom about you that surpassed anyone else that she had ever met, and everything you had been through only seemed to add to that depth. As she watched you, a feeling of calm washed over her, allowing her entire body to relax in peace. 

She always felt overwhelmed with comfort in your presence, but your touch filled her with an unexplainable warmth that made her heart beat a little faster and her thoughts linger on you longer than they should. Because while you were falling in love with winter’s embrace, she was falling in love with you.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Broadway.com has been talking about female rage the musical and the possibility of a jukebox musical and I want to die. There's so much wrong with that. Like, broadway is collaborative. Other people would have a say in every aspect of the show. She doesn't have 2 hours of coherent work. I can't see her using her work for anything other than a self serving vanity show all about her life. She would never let anyone else play her on stage. She does not have the talent to sing dance or act live and close up 8 days a week. The only people who would attend are her fans, famously horrible audience members. She can only keep an audience when there's fireworks and backup dancers to draw attention from her lazy mediocre performances.

She wants to be MJ so bad it's embarrassing

Hardcore cringe- ICk

I'm so sorry to her fans who genuinely believe Swift has a coherent enough body of work to write a musical. Literally, I just wrote a post on how incoherent her work really is.

She's just too undereducated for it. I am sorry but people go to school and major in scriptwriting, they major in drama, or major in music. My point being that this stuff is a true craft- it takes years of work to hone a craft.

While people don't always need to study things in a traditional educational setting, they do need to learn from the masters- that's why we have apprentice programs and assistant positions in any art related fields.

There is far too wide a gap between what Swift does on stage- essentially following the drafted choregraph a professional dancer made for her, and writing a real musical for me to believe that she is talented enough to do it.

Not to mention the huge gap between writing pop-songs and literally writing a full-bodied musical. Like there's just no comparison here.

The audacity of her to just believe she has enough natural skills to do anything on Earth with no training drives me nuts.

There are people who dedicate their lives to working on these skills and she just disrespects them by saying, essentially, it's so easy she can do it with no training. Um- no.

[oblivions-dawn]

𝐕𝐢𝐠𝐝𝐢𝐬; 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐡𝐤𝐢𝐢𝐧

─[✦]─ ❝ɪғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ . . . ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏ ʙᴇ ɪᴛ.❞ ─[✦]─

Age: 25-28 Pronouns : She/Her Gender: Female Sexuality: Lesbian Height: 6'1 Birthsign: The Serpent Race: Nord [Skaal] Class: Stealth Archer/Shieldless Swordsman Alliances: Dawnguard Family: Thoromir - Father [deceased], Anske - Mother [deceased] Love Interest: Serana Volkihar

For lore and extras, please peruse under the cut below!

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞;

A harsh blizzard had struck the island of Solstheim. Through the night and into the early hours of the morning, a woman named Anske gave birth to a girl with hair like fire. Her husband, Thoromir, could only watch as the woman he loved succumbed to death’s embrace; she had lost too much blood, and nothing could be done to save her. Heartbroken, Thoromir took his surviving daughter, and set sail for Skyrim. It wasn’t long before his small boat was caught in a terrible sea storm and blown off course. He eventually arrived on the coast of the mainland somewhere between Dawnstar and Solitude. Satisfied with the beautiful winter landscape that surrounded him, he built a small log cabin for himself and his daughter, who he named Vigdis. For ten long years, Thoromir raised his daughter there. He taught her how to hunt, to skin, to cook, to craft, to mend, to shoot, to fight. Vigdis didn’t smile or laugh often, but when she did, it filled her father with joy. She was truly happy. One night, while Vigdis was preparing dinner, her father brought a fatally wounded Imperial man into their home. The stranger bled profusely from his wounds, yet Vigdis and her father did their best to save him. However, after countless hours, the man stilled. Her father pronounced him dead but was too exhausted to bury the body. He assured Vigdis that the cold would keep his stench away, and that they would move him in the morning. Yet, when Vigdis woke, her father had been torn to pieces. The stranger had transformed into a vampire during the night and, in his bloodlust, had murdered him. The vampire tried to kill Vigdis—but she briefly awakened her dragon blood and shouted at him. She fell unconscious, and the vampire left her there to rot. For days, Vigdis sat beside her father’s corpse, afraid and alone. She was eventually discovered by bandits, who quickly learned that, although young, she was skilled, and showed promising potential. They took her in and treated her as one of their own. Over the next decade, Vigdis became numb to human emotions. Driven by rage, she honed herself into a ruthless and merciless bandit, slaughtering countless innocents. She buried her ghosts and demons, and earned herself an infamous reputation amongst the bandits for her methods. Word of the formation of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard eventually caught her attention. Memories she had forgotten breathed with new life—and a thirst for vengeance grasped her heart. She left the bandits behind and travelled to Fort Dawnguard, intent on becoming a vampire hunter. She didn’t care about the blood that drenched her hands, or who she had to kill to get her way; she had vowed to find her father’s murderer, and she would have her revenge, no matter the consequences. It is through them that Vigdis meets Serana, a vampire with a mysterious purpose and complicated history. Blood fails to tear them apart; like thread, it ties them together.

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬;

✹ Vigdis is the main protagonist of my AO3 fanfiction series, The Threads of Blood. Petrichor is complete; the sequel, Breathless, is ongoing. ✹ She's covered in scars from battles. The most prominent ones are the ones on her jaw and neck, which she gained from her struggle with the vampire that killed her father. ✹ She's left-handed. ✹ Her torso is long and she's flat-chested. She also has an aquiline nose and broad, square shoulders. She's lean yet toned. ✹ She draws her own maps and mends all of her items by hand. She also tends to her own wounds. ✹ Vigdis can read only a little bit and doesn't currently know how to write, although her handwriting is very stiff and scratchy. She's very good at sketching hands and faces. ✹ Neither of her parents were redheaded--in fact, both of them had dark hair and blue/green eyes. ✹ Her Stalhrim dagger was crafted by her father, whilst her sword was her mother's dowry gift. Vigdis constructed her own bow and typically makes her own arrows. ✹ Vigdis is among that few whose body rejects the vampire disease, and therefore, contracting it is a death sentence. ✹ Vigdis' flower crown is woven with snowberries, deathbells, and gleamblossoms. ✹ Her eyes are larimar/ice-blue. ✹ Vigdis was the first original Skyrim character. She precedes Shatha, the next creation, by several years. ✹ Vigdis' dragon name is Vuahfomaar; dawn, hunter, frost, terror.

For art and other shenanigans of Vigdis, feel free to browse the Virana Art tag on my blog! For information on other OCs, you can find them under Senu's Skyrim OCs! Finally, as I am first and foremost a fanfiction writer, you can read snippets from my fanfiction or WIP pieces for other Skyrim OCs and stories via the Senu's Writing tag!

[glxyqst]

AI Art vs. Human Art - Irreplaceable

"Why isn't it done yet? It's been a week."

"You're gonna get replaced by AI, haha."

"I'm not paying $10 for a drawing, bro."

Any of these comments sound familiar? If they do, you're either an artist, a supportive friend of an artist, or the ignorant asshat sending such comments to an artist. An artist who: - Has spent YEARS of their life practicing and improving their craft, honing their skills, and otherwise DEDICATING themselves to what they love. "Talent is cheap. Dedication is expensive." - Spends time to create something for you, when they also have: other clients, other projects, other jobs, other things going on in their lives as do we all. They aren't your personal bitch, and EVEN IF you were paying them MORE MONEY FOR MORE CONTROL, at the end of the day YOU went to the THEM. THEY are the artist, THEY are the professional, THEY are the expert. Shut the fuck up and don't try to break them away from their integrity. If they don't want to do something for you, either thank them for their time, or take 50% of your payment back and start your own personal art lessons. It's only too late to learn a new skill if you're dead. - Is doing something that you sure as fuck can't do, because otherwise why would you be asking them? - Is a person and deserves respect, even if you don't like their style or can't afford to pay what they have determined to meet their basic wage requirements so they can create.

An artist is a person and deserves respect, even if you don't like their style or can't afford to pay what they have determined meets their basic wage requirements so they can create.

Don't ask me why, but I desperately desired artwork of Android Cat Gavin wearing water wings and splashing in water. I already knew who I wanted to commission (the fabulous @cptjh-arts, powerhouse artist and amazing person).

Apparently, water wings are actually DANGEROUS and you shouldn't use them. So there's that. But I digress. https://swim2shore.com/the-false-security-of-water-wings/

My concept drawing for Android Cat Gavin with water wings.

For the purposes of this post, I used two AI https://magicstudio.com/ai-art-generator/ and https://hotpot.ai/ai-image-generator/create (two free sites that do not require accounts).

First AI prompt: cat with water wings

Second AI prompt: cat with water floatation device

Third prompt (which is the specifics of my commission request): cat android gavin from "detroit: become human" wearing swimming floatation devices on his front legs, splashing in water, Nines holding him.

Are all of these AI-generated images cute? Sure as fuck they are. Were they free? Yeah, they were. Fantastical elements aside, do they all follow the laws of physics / imitate life? NOPE. Don't recall asking for Catvin to have two weird tails up there (Also I am scared of the flood apparently happening inside my house?). And that one flotation device does NOT look sea-worthy.

Crop of the commissioned artwork from the amazing @cptjh-arts. <3 See the full image here: https://www.tumblr.com/cptjh-arts/710889609313255424/just-finished-my-latest-commission-for-the-lovely?source=share

Absolutely fucking PURRRRFECT. Exactly what I wanted. And all it took were brief conversations of excitement and clarification with my artist. Win-win all around. I get fabulous art, they get paid for doing what they've dedicated their lives to doing, and we both get a pleasant social interaction.

AI-generated art will continue to be refined, but it will never replace a sentient human being.

I am a sci-fi and fantasy fan. I love stories of robots, of true artificial intelligences---or rather, artificial sentience---of "different, not better". When Connor Detroit or Sonny or Data come around, I will be the first in line to greet them and look at their created works with awe. We aren't there, though. And in the meantime, artists are being shunted aside in favor of AI-generated art managed by non-artists---people who do not understand dedication or creativity. AI-generated art will continue to be refined, but it will never replace a sentient human being.

If you can't afford to pay an artist, that's okay. They understand, because they too have bills to pay in this capitalist society that puts money before people.

What's NOT okay is when you talk to them dismissively, disrespectfully, or degradingly.

Grow the fuck up, get over yourself, and go support your fellow human beings.

[biteghost]

Hi, I have a question as a fellow OC haver and serial doodler : how do you get people involved in your OCs before beginning your Big Project with them ? Do you post character sheets ? Random tidbits of info now and then ? I do post art and doodles but I can't seem to get any interest...

Have a nice day !

Hi Anon! This is a sentiment I've seen and heard a lot over my years of being on the internet. I cannot give you tried-and-true, works-100%-of-the-time advice or anything, though. I can only share my own experience. Here's a list of some important ways to create original work on the internet:

1: Don't care if other people are interested in your original work. I know this is extremely hard on the modern day internet... but at the end of the day creative hobbies and careers rely on personal dedication and enthusiasm in order to thrive and be consistent. Relying on the feedback and enthusiasm of others is a slippery slope, because that enthusiasm can wane and you cannot control it. Being totally obsessed with your own work truly is the only way I've found that makes creating art fun, fulfilling, and exciting after years and years of doing it!

2: Draw whatever you want, when you want to. Invest your time into honing your craft, storytelling and draftsmanship. Your time is limited in life, and it becomes an incredibly valuable resource the older you get. Don't use your time stressing about how to gain an audience. Just make what you want to make and eventually your people will find you. Get so good at what you do that they can't ignore you!

3: If you only care about numbers getting bigger (followers, likes, shares): draw fanart. Characters and Intellectual Properties that are already familiar to an audience makes the barrier to entry extremely low (depending on how well known the IP is). Doctor's note: This approach may creatively drain you and leave you unfulfilled as the years grind on. Side-effects include one day waking up to find you resent the audience you courted by relegating yourself to a single interest for all your years... But hey, it's easier than putting in the work to become a master of your craft!

4: The Bait-and-Switch method. This is a less soul-crushing way to do #3. It goes like this: Draw fanart (or illustrations which don't require context and can be appreciated on their own) to attract an audience. Then share your original work in-between to get the audience that sticks around to care about your original ideas and characters. Classic bait-and-switch. (Note: This is what I do! It's not as calculated or sinister as it sounds, though. I'm an artist with lots of interests, and drawing is how I express my feelings about things that emotionally touch me. I create fanwork when I want to, then go back to drawing my silly little characters in their silly little scenarios when I have scratched the itch.)

5: Unfortunately, you have to make the dang thing. If creating characters is something you find fun and relaxing but you don't want to actually make a story with them, that's fine. Not every creation needs to have an epic tale that goes along with them. Not every character has to have their world put down on paper. There's nothing wrong with that. However, if you DO want to make a story with your characters, the best way I've found to get people interested in them is to actually make their story. Just as you are invested in characters as you read a book, watch a movie, tune in to weekly television programs, or play out their story in a video game so too will audiences find interest and intrigue by reading your stories. Context is the best hook, in my opinion!

6: I'm serious, stop looking at numbers and equating them with value. I've seen breathtaking artists with less than 10 followers, and I've seen artists whose work I would describe as 'schlock' raking in hundreds of thousands of hits. It doesn't mean anything. Just create in your space, and create it the way you want to create it.

7: Hey if you're making a webcomic send me a link so I can read it.

[feiandart]

Hi Fei, not sure if this message becomes public or not but I couldn't find any other way to contact you. Just wanted to apologise for my comment on chapter 35. I realise in retrospect it might have seemed rude, I was trying to be funny. So, I'm very sorry, and I don't want you to think I didn't enjoy the chapter. I have deleted the comment. If I may take this chance as well, you have been an inspiration to me, I love your writing. I am too an aspiring writer that took a sabbatical for many years, though my self doubt is my biggest saboteur right now. I would love to know how you honed your craft, your words are so beautifully written. I look forward to the next chapter ♥

First of all, hello and thank you for reaching out to me! ♥

I'm afraid my memory doesn't work properly (it never does, sadly), but I'm pretty sure no comment made me think "oh, that was rude", so don't worry at all ♥ Gonna admit now I'm curious 'bout what that was owo But I will not ask for you to share that again if it makes you feel uncomfortable!

Your words means a lot to me! ♥ I had inspiration issues for half of my life. I was around fifteen when I wrote my last paragraph, and after that I didn't for other fifteen years. Honest to God, Good Omens and its community saved me in more than a way when I was at my lowest - helped me both with coming back at writing, and starting drawing for myself. I startend enjoying things again. And I needed that. So, since finding inspiration again was so meaningful to me, being able to inspire others is like I achieved something so big I can't really find words to express it properly. It makes me feel kinda... Oh, dunno. I guess we can go with: blessed. Finding inspiration was (and is) an healing process to me. And I hope it'll be the same to others. So if it came to me, I can only be SO glad to know!! So thank you so much for sharing this!! ♥

Let me tell you this: I am my biggest saboteur myself. So I do understand what you say, and I can guess what you feel right now. My suggestion is something practical. Go in front of the mirror, tell yourself what you want to do and look straight into your eyes. Then, say: "I will do it. And you will NOT stop me." Then say the same to all the people who might go against you. Nobody, not even yourself, should have the power to stop you from doing the things you love. It may be hard at the very start, troublesome meanwhile, but I can assure you nothing's better than being able to live your dreams. All I can do for you now is assuring you I am on your side! And I am sure you can do whatever makes you feel happy.

Last, but not least (dear Lord I wrote so much and I'm not done yet.......), your last question. Funny thing to answer that one, actually. 'cause I never practiced. I never studied a way to arrange phrases and words, actually right now I'm always a bit overwhelmed anytime I sit myself in front of the screen and open my file to start writing. I'll tell you, I'm the messiest people in the entire universe. I had all the plot already written back in november, but yet my characters slip off my hands and do whatever they want. Does it makes any sense to you? I have to costantly re-arrange my plot to make sure everything have some kind of logic. The rest come from my own mind. Sugar, specifically, means a lot to me under a lot of different aspects. Both characters holds part of myself, my own traumas, my own experiences, my own mazes and struggles. I think maybe sometimes things went when I didn't want them to go 'cause my mind played dirty on me and I was unable to stop it. But I don't complain. So I'm afraid I don't have a real answer but this one: I just put myself into every single word I write. I play all the scenes in my mind just like watching movies. I feel what my characters does and, I will not deny this, oftern I cry while doing that too. I'm a bit too much emphatic, perhaps?

Gonna admit, writing Sugar is exactly like going to therapy to me. Goes just along with that, it helps me process myself, my own emotions, helps me validate anything bad I've ever felt.

Well uh, I got pretty carried away with this answer but I hope you can find something helpful around all of these messy words of mine ♥ (And sorry for my poor english if I made some mistake here and there, I fully believe in honest-to-God messages when it comes to answer people, both in comments, chat or anywhere else, so I never actually go back trying to correct my messages. Dunno, it feels like leaving you all full access to my stream of consciousness everytime I give answers like these. Not sure this makes sense. To me it does.)

Don't ever ever be afraid to tell me what you think or reach out! I'll always be here, happy to give you an answer. Thank you so much! ♥

[alchemist-of-thebes]

KH OC Week Day 1

Hello! How fun that KH OC Week is finally here! Actually, even though I've known about it since it started, I've never actually taken part in it. But I'm trying it! I'm trying so hard! I've been writing for a very long time, but only started dabbling in KH-related stuff because of @hinataoc. My characters were really originally mostly made to help support her characters and her stories, but the ol' writing bug would bite me every here and there and eventually I started writing little stories and adventures of my own for them. I've got a few now, but this week I think I'll just focus on the two OCs that started this journey for me. So... uh, here we go.

Day 1: Introductions

◾Tell us about your OC!

To start off my first OC Week, I’d like to introduce two of my characters - Velcia and Velcia! …Wait, what?

Yes, I’m afraid that it may seem a bit confusing at first. Both characters share the same name and very similar appearances, but they are in fact very different people! So let me introduce them both and tell you a bit about each one.

First, credit to the amazing @amyhayanora for the wonderful art of these two for me! She did such a good job of bringing them to life.

Now, to get started! On the left we have the first “Velcia”, who lived in Daybreak Town as a Keyblade Wielder up until the Keyblade War.

KHx-Era Velcia:

Her true name is “Valencia Florere”, but when she arrived in Daybreak Town all alone at the age of 3 years old she was unable to pronounce her own name properly. Nobody in Daybreak Town could have known otherwise, and so her mispronunciation “Velcia” was how she was known. For just this one introduction, I’ll use her ‘real name’, though don’t expect her to recognize it!!

As a toddler, Valencia was rescued from the Lanes Between Worlds by The Master of Masters, who did not deem fit to provide to anyone else an explanation of how she ended up there. Not having the faculty to raise a babbling baby, The Master of Masters created a digital data world modeled after Enchanted Dominion. This snippet of a world was completely devoid of danger, and it was here that Valencia was raised alongside a digital Aurora by the Good Fairies.

Pleasant and peaceful though it was, being raised by digital facsimiles of real people does tend to leave one a little odd, and by time Valencia was old enough to leave this fictional nursery she was quite an odd girl indeed.

Shy, awkward, and almost entirely lacking in social skills, Valencia was nonetheless an aspiring artist who quickly honed her craft as she worked to document as many Wielders and events in Daybreak Town as she could as a sort of reclusive self-styled historian. Her fingers and hands usually have pencil smears on the sides from all her drawing. She does wipe them off constantly, but she’s also drawing constantly so it’s a bit of a self-defeating endeavor.

She doesn’t try to be annoying or obnoxious but has a vague sense that there are things that she does that bother other people that she can’t really seem to change. This leaves her with a bit of a lack of confidence, but she’s always so eager to learn more and add more things to her books she pushes past her awkwardness anyway. 

Poor Valencia is terrible at fighting and quite a pushover, who did her best to stick to the periphery and hope nobody would notice her working quickly to sketch them into one of her many books. It wasn’t until she finally met a young man named Balthazar that she was really able to find a stable friend and companion. 

Valencia found she had a strong affinity for the World of Olympus, dearly loving everything about it. Of all the Projected Worlds, Olympus was where she spent the most time and as soon as she was able she bought a set of Olympian Robes from the Moogle in Daybreak Town; but stuck to wearing her more familiar boots, pants, and other various accessories. She didn’t know what her true homeworld was supposed to be, but she hoped beyond hope it could be Olympus.

The events leading up to the Keyblade War were nearly as devastating to Valencia as the War itself, and during the war she was struck with what should have been a fatal blow and left for dead - but a very odd thing happened. An unusual Heartless appeared on the battlefield and whisked her away from the chaos, bringing her to Olympus and healing her before ultimately being destroyed.

Now living on the world of her dreams, Valencia eventually managed to put the traumas of her past behind her and start a family. Her now-powerless Keyblade and the name “Velcia” were both passed down through the generations, and each time one “Velcia” passed away the next-born daughter received the name and the heirloom Keyblade, and after some time that brings us to…

KHII-Era Velcia

Velcia Anthes, daughter of Hephestus and Ioanna Anthes, was raised in Thebes as a Potion-Maker and Alchemist by her father after her mother mysteriously vanished when she was two years old. Named after her Keyblade-Wielding Ancestor from her mother’s side, Velcia received the Heirloom Keyblade and grew up hearing stories of wielders from her grandmother and marveling at the tales.

Coming from a family of scholars on her father’s side, Velcia is keenly interested in learning everything she can about the fundamentals of both magic and potion-making; and her devotion to learning magic hit an all-time high after her father and cousin were killed by Vanitas during the events of KH:BBS. 

After this, she was taken in by her aunt and uncle who helped her to stay strong and focus on her studies as they worked together to overcome the pain of losing their loved ones. Thanks in no small part to their support and the integrity of her father, Velcia is kind, graceful, and has every bit of the elegance that her KHx-era ancestor lacked; but most of all she is driven and determined to help anybody she can, especially if it means they can avoid the sorts of losses she dealt with growing up.

Thanks to time spent participating in events at the Coliseum when she was younger, Velcia combined her effective if rudimentary physical fighting skills with her growing array of spells to become a competent red mage who was very confident in her magic abilities. In her mid-twenties during the events of KHII, Velcia thought that her life as a potion-maker was perhaps all she would ever be.

One fateful day she meets a visitor from another world named Samantha, and almost the next thing Velcia realizes she’s being asked to come use her magical powers and knowledge to help Sam and Hinata chase down a dangerous Replica called Thaanix. This, it turns out, is only the start of her adventures…

--------

That’s about it for my introductions! I will include answers for both Velcias going forward for the rest of the week, but will likely have more information and pictures posted for the Modern-Era Velcia as I have more stories and art for her. Truth be told, the picture above is really the only proper picture of KHx-Era Velcia I have! Thank you for reading these little bits about my characters, I really hope you’ve enjoyed them.

Anyone who would like to read any of the stories I've written can find them either on my AO3, or on @hinataoc's Fanfiction.net page (which also has a plethora of other very good stories by her that you should check out). Archive of our Own Fanfiction.net

In addition, I have been in the middle of posting a new story about the Modern-Era Velcia called "Return to Eos", with a new chapter posted every weekend. I'm trying to post a little snippet of the chapters here on Tumblr as they go up, so if you are interested you can keep an eye out for those, too. Lastly, thanks very much to the @khoc-week crew (small as it may be this year) for hosting this event. :D

[mademoisellevixen]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐓 + 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 🎸˚｡𖦹☆°‧⋆

Follow me on my YouTube channel

A little background about me and my works ✮

Greetings, beloved souls. I am Vixen, and I am thrilled to introduce my new subliminal channel. With a wealth of experience in crafting energy-field audios, subliminals, and affirmation tapes for both myself and my loved ones, I bring a deep understanding of the intricacies of the subconscious mind. Over the past year, I’ve dedicated myself to researching the most effective methods for crafting subliminal scripts. I’ve found that simplicity paired with detailed affirmations resonates most powerfully with my subconscious, as well as with many others.

What distinguishes my work is the meticulous energy charging infused into each creation from several sources. Drawing from my spiritual practice, I incorporate elements such as light languages and collaboration with certain deities that resonate with me. Rest assured, my work is free from witchcraft or spells, except for specific paid offerings that undergo extensive charging as well. Not only that, but I have invested in some better quality audio softwares and text-to-speech tools to aid me in my subliminal making journey. As a practitioner of energy work and various spiritual modalities, I am committed to ensuring the utmost effectiveness and safety of my creations for all who use them.

First public subliminal ✮

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄'𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄: 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 ꩜ .ᐟ

Introducing my latest luck subliminal, freshly crafted and ready to share with the world. While I’ve explored numerous subliminal topics in the past, I’ve honed in on a formula that incorporates a holistic approach to luck manifestation. This subliminal not only targets luck but also ensures that events align in your favor and facilitates the simultaneous manifestation of your desires.

In the creation of this potent subliminal, I’ve collaborated with the divine energy of Goddess Fortuna to infuse it with powerful benefits and energy. It’s important to note that my subliminals do not involve witchcraft or spells; instead, I focus solely on healing frequencies (such as 432Hz), intensive energy work, and the use of light language.

Upon listening, the subliminal’s effects will activate within you, growing stronger with each use. To amplify its transformative power, I’ve incorporated the properties of Green Aventurine, a crystal renowned for enhancing luck and fortune. Additionally, I’ve looped @NightmareKing33’s Shangri-La / The Third Seal subliminal while creating this masterpiece, ensuring its potency.

‼️Please refrain from bundling, stealing, or speeding up my works, as these actions can render them ineffective or disrupt the embedded energies, potentially leading to negative side effects. However, you’re welcome to download and enjoy them at your own pace.

Benefits ✮

Read the whole document first before asking questions. Subliminal includes god affirmations so use it only if you are comfortable. You can use this for literally EVERYTHING you could imagine, whether it is for general luck enhancing to entering the void state. It is literally versatile.

Click here����

Paid version of this subliminal ✮

As mentioned earlier, I’m excited to offer a paid version of this subliminal for those seeking an even more potent experience. The paid version boasts additional layers, maximum charging, and includes a vocalized spell for enhanced effectiveness. Additionally, I’m offering a personalized option where your name can be included for a truly customized experience. Please note, however, that I’m not currently accepting requests for personalized subliminals, affirmation tapes, or energy field audios due to the extensive time required for each creation.

A word of caution: it’s essential to experiment with my public subliminals first before considering a purchase, as results can vary from person to person. If you’re ready to elevate your results to the next level, feel free to reach out to me through the following platforms:

Email: mademoisellevixenn@gmail.com

Tumblr: @mademoisellevixen

Discord: @kimiko_kiki_

Some extra surprises for you ✮

As my subliminal channel is still in its early stages, I’m excited to offer you a special incentive for subscribing. I’ve poured my energy into creating and utilizing my manifestation journal, often referred to as a ‘wish book’. This journal has been meticulously charged with specific energies and attunements to aid in manifesting desires, complemented by the use of sigils and the inclusion of several servitors.

For those who subscribe to my YouTube channel, I’ll extend a unique opportunity: a free ‘wish’. Simply follow my channel, then screenshot and send me a direct message confirming your subscription. In return, I’ll write down your name (real or pseudonymous, as long as I’m attuned to it) along with one wish of yours. Please note, while this offering is a powerful tool for manifestation, it’s important to understand that it’s not a guaranteed means of fulfilling your desires.

Ending notes ✮

Thank you for taking the time to read my post. This is just the beginning of my subliminal creation journey. I am excited to share that I will be making other types of audios, including energy fields and affirmation tapes, on my YouTube channel. I hope you can support me on this journey. Thank you once again, and may your dreams manifest into reality 🖤

~Vixen ⭑