#It's not just this is art: it's that it occupies a specific place as an artform

[bijoumikhawal]

Thinking about tattoos again

[bayjaruchel]

Never Too Much

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Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: There are certain things that your boyfriend really likes to do. (2.2k, mostly cunnilingus | originally posted on ao3) | Masterlist )

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Mike takes his time with you, when he can. 

He likes being able to pace himself. By now, he knows your body very well; every curve and harsh edge, every single little detail. He's traced up your contours with his fingertips and kissed all the way back down again. Even though he's generally not the best at keeping calm, he's a very patient lover when given the chance to be. After your first few— and frantic — times together, he's slowed down considerably. 

However, there are still exceptions to that pattern.

Like when you don't have the time for anything slow; such as the minutes before he has to get ready for work. When you're both still a little groggy, but still need each other. Or when he knows he won't be free for most of the day, and you want to make it up to him. You fumble for each other, a determined clash of hands and lips and warm skin, both desperate to make the other person finish first. The sheets get twisted awkwardly around his legs— the hardwood floor makes your knees sore— but it's completely and utterly worth it. For every time you can't properly make love— in the purest definition of the phrase— there's always going to be a time when you leave each other completely breathless and spent afterward. No matter the technique, he's mastered the art of thoroughly taking you apart. 

There is one specific thing that Mike just can't be patient with, though. 

"Shit—" 

He's always been eager to eat you out. 

No matter the time or place. It could be during one of those brief periods, or during the long hours of the night where you have all the time in the world. He just can't wait. And he isn't waiting right now, even redoubling his efforts when you tighten your grip in his hair. His head bobs, slightly, as he drags his tongue through your gathering wetness, up towards the aching apex of your pleasure. 

A gasp is punched from your lungs when Mike closes his lips around your clit and sucks, for just a moment, before returning to your cunt. He shifts forward to get even deeper than before, lapping at you in broad strokes, equally calculated and clumsy. His enthusiasm is palpable, as usual. The sounds he's making— almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then that send pleasant vibrations through you— they fill the air, easily overpowering everything else. His eyelashes flutter now and then, but occasionally he looks up at you, taking you in. You know how you look: nearly as disheveled as him. 

Your thighs twitch as he continues to savor you. Whenever he moves back up to gently flick your clit with his tongue, his breath comes in hot puffs through his nostrils. He always takes a deep inhale before diving back in, totally uncaring towards the way his spit and your slick must be dripping down his chin. He's not afraid to get messy. In fact, you think he likes it— he likes the evidence of your arousal clinging to your stubble, the knowledge of what he does to you. The knowledge of what he can do to you.  "Mike," you gasp again, "oh, fuck. That's— that's so good— " 

His mouth is still occupied, but he hums, muffled into your cunt. The praise has always done something for him. But you don't just say it because he likes it— you say it because you mean it, truly. The fact that you can see his hips shift a little at your words is just an added bonus. He hasn't even attempted to reach down to touch himself yet, even though you know he must be tenting his boxers. Even though you know that by the time you get close, there'll be a wet spot in the fabric.  

"You don't even have to beg for it anymore," you tease, even though you're too breathless for it to really land, "you know I'll let you do this again and again, even if I'm supposed to be doing something else." You're a sucker for him, and he knows it. Biting your lower lip, you use the hand in his curls to tug him closer. He's just like putty in your hands. "Maybe you like to beg a little, huh? Is that right?" 

You decide to take his answering moan as a yes. Mike looks up at you with heavy hazel eyes— pleading, again— wanting to tell you what he wants, but he also doesn't want to stray from his task at hand. Sometimes you wonder what you did to earn this. It's practically worship, at this point. You make a hasty mental note to repay him later, but it's hard to concentrate when he's putting all of his effort into pushing you towards your orgasm. You can feel your muscles tensing, the heat in your abdomen building—   

He's gradually focusing more and more of his attention on your clit now. But he's still dragging his tongue through your cunt, tasting you, collecting what's accumulating there. You jolt when his nose bumps against your sensitive nub, providing much-needed friction in the absence of his tongue. Although you definitely aren't the first person that he's done this to, you know for a fact that you're the person he's done this the most to. How do you know? He's told you himself. 

Cuntdrunk is a good word to describe him. If he could, he'd live between your thighs forever. 

You choke on a whimper. Mike takes in that sound— greedily, needily, he needs more. Scrambling to get a grip on one of your knees, he squeezes it once, pulling it closer to his head. And you understand the signal immediately. You close your thighs around his head, essentially trapping him where he is. Forcing him deeper. His brow furrows, nose pressed against your clit. The first time he wanted you to do this, you were afraid that he'd suffocate; that you'd hurt him. But by now, you're well aware that it won't happen, as long as you're careful not to push him down too much. 

He really likes being pushed like this, though. It empties his head, he says. Yours is pretty empty at the moment, too. You're blissfully absent, hardly tethered to Earth. You only really register the feeling of his hair tickling your thighs and shins, from where you've got them positioned— the pillow underneath your hips— his tongue. The pace he's keeping now is almost feverish— 

— minutes pass, and you're so, so, close. You can feel it, toes curling when he sucks on your clit again. You can't bite back the sounds that you're making anymore, your mouth falling open as your breathing grows more uneven the closer you get. Your thighs tighten an increment, your heart pumping furiously. The sensations are nearly overwhelming, but you can do little except take what he's giving you. "Just like that— mmhn — keep going, that's perfect—" 

You're teetering on the edge for a split second, but what finally pushes you over is another glance downward. Mike is— to put it simply — ruined. 

His hair's all messy from when you'd been tugging at it earlier, his cheeks a brilliant red. Almost the entire lower half of his face proudly displays the confirmation of what he's been doing this entire time. If his eyes weren't shut, you know they would be hazy, glazed-over— you haven't even touched him yet, disregarding a few kisses— and he's already fucked-out. All because of you. 

"Mike!" You squirm, eyes squeezing shut, "Mike, I'm—" 

He groans into your pussy when you cum, eagerly licking up all the remnants of your orgasm. The coil unwinds in waves, which crash through your lower body. 

He works at you until the abrupt heat in your gut fades away, replaced by a relaxed warmth, and you start shuddering with oversensitivity. 

You could let him continue— he'd keep going for as long as he possibly could. He'd make you cum as many times as humanly possible if you let him. However, you release his head from between your thighs instead, letting your legs slip down to lay on his shoulders. As soon as he's free, he starts taking deep lungfuls of air, catching his breath. Just like you. Which is sort of ironic, since he was the one doing all the work. 

He rests his cheek on your inner thigh, leaving a wet smear there. You can't really bring yourself to care, though. 

Mike looks at you, still bleary-eyed. 

" 'S good?" He asks, hoarsely. 

You know you're not done with him yet. 

"Yeah." Fondly, you smile down at him. He easily returns it. When you scooch back to sit up against the headboard, he instinctively shuffles forward to fill the newly created space. Your eyes flick downward when he goes to sit up, too, finally exposing his lap— 

"Uh." Mike clears his throat. 

"Could you … " He trails off, but you doubt it's entirely because of embarrassment. 

"I was already planning on it," you reply lightly, already going to place one hand on the back of his neck to tug him closer. He goes, and positions himself so he's hovering over you; spreading his knees just so, he's still looking at you reverently. 

"That's good," he breathes. 

"You want me to suck you off or something?" The suggestion is extremely casual, like always. But his breath still audibly hitches, and he swallows.  

"... You want me to blow in five seconds?" 

Snorting, you thumb over his cheek. He leans into your touch, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "I'm serious," he insists, voice low. "It'd be really terrible. You don't want that, right?" 

"I don't know." You shrug as best you can. "It's kind of hot, knowing that you got that worked up from just eating me out." 

He contemplates this for a second. 

"Fair enough." 

But then, he drops his tone and murmurs, "I still don't want it to end that quickly." 

"You don't?" 

"I don't." 

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, and pretend to ignore the snicker it elicits from him. 

"But I was looking forward to returning the favor." 

It's Mike's turn to shrug. "Plenty of other opportunities for that later, y'know." 

Admitting defeat is the worst thing ever. 

"I guess you're right," you concede. "Fine." 

"I guess I'm— " he starts to mimic under his breath, but the rest of his words are expelled in a single whoosh when you squeeze him through his boxers. "— fuck." 

A crease forms between his eyebrows again as you continue to feel him out. You were right. Near where his tip was resting, you can feel a small, slightly damp spot. It's enough to make you throb, once— no matter how many times this happens, you'll never get used to this. Your patience is quickly failing, like his.

"You were saying?" You ask innocently, while hooking your fingers in his waistband. 

Mike quickly shifts from his previous snark, right back to need. 

"I was— I was saying—" His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, "— how much I need you to touch me right now. " The last part of his sentence is barely a whisper. "Please."   

And there it is, you want to quip, but you think you've done enough for now. His boxers come off easily, and you unceremoniously wrap your hand around his cock. That's enough to make him shudder, a small noise escaping his parted lips. There's no need for build-up anymore, so you just start pumping him. He quakes, and then leans in, nudging your nose with his. Wordlessly asking permission. 

You can still taste a little of yourself on his tongue when you kiss him, leisurely. You drink in what was previously muffled by your cunt. He twitches in your palm, lips pliant and tender against yours, but still a discernible force. A comfortable presence, sharing the same breaths as you. He kisses you again and again until he has to draw back for air. 

Mike breathes your name, high-pitched and trembling, as warmth shoots into your hand a few minutes later. 

"That's it," you murmur, coaxing the rest of it out of him, "that's it. There you go." 

You both just lay there for a couple of long moments. It feels like raw electricity wherever your bare skin is touching his. It's like a current, of sorts. He's still shaking, faintly, either from the exertion or the fact that he's most likely still a little oxygen-deprived. It's probably a nice mix of both. But when that subsides, you both reluctantly roll off the bed, clumsily plodding to the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

The tile is cool underneath your bare feet. He stands nice and still as you clean your dried cum off his face. You stay nice and still while he cleans you up, too.

When you're throwing the used towel in the laundry bin, he speaks up. Now that the residual heat has faded, you can feel goosebumps starting to prickle across your skin. 

"I love you," he says. 

You are both naked, a little damp, and standing in the bathroom. 

But somehow, it all fits together. It makes sense. 

You turn to face him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his hands automatically land on your hips. Mike watches you, obvious worry glimmering in his eyes. He's unsure if that was the right thing to say. 

Then: 

"I love you," you conclude. 

The tension all but melts from his shoulders. 

[6ronze]

DEJA VU

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ — l&ds characters : sylus. zayne. rafayel. fem!reader format : short stories/HCs warnings : fluff. angst. sfw. unelaborated suggestive scenes in sylus’s part long story short : when they fall in love with you, but you never existed in the first place notes : inspired by zayne’s alternate universe where he fell in love w mc in his dreams but written my way + i haven't written in a whilleeee

ZAYNE

Zayne knew lack of sleep could cause hallucinations and make someone have their eyes playing tricks on them. What Zayne didn’t know was that he could fall victim to those conditions.

He was disciplined despite his busy schedule as a cardiac surgeon. Zayne made sure he took sufficient naps to make up for the sleep he lost the night before and went straight to bed after finishing his work. He’s maintained this same routine for years yet somehow, he still ends up hallucinating about the same woman he’s seen since childhood.

He was 11 years old when he started seeing this woman around. Zayne as a child thought she was kind, someone he felt awfully fond of. When he wanted to ask his parents if she was a family friend, they merely cocked their heads to the side in confusion asking ‘Who?’. The older he got, the more he was convinced she was just an imaginary friend that children naturally have. But was she really imaginary when he kept showing up in his slumber, his dreams, and even in his conscious mind?

Zayne is 27 years old now. And he’s more convinced than ever that her appearance in his head when he hasn’t even seen her, nor anyone looking remotely similar to her in Linkon City, was connected to his evol.

He’s long accepted that hypothesis of his for the past years was true. Since it was only proven right with the small snowmen he made during every winter. How fond he was of creating ice figures of the plushies he saw when walking past claw machines at festivals.

Zayne often stared at his creations and caressed the snow with the pads of his fingers. He always looked at them with care, feeling the inexplainable need to preserve it—to preserve her. Even if they were just fleeting memories.

RAFAYEL

An artist in Linkon City, Rayafel. His works were as known as his name. Most people were curious about the rarely seen artist, questions about him arising. The journalists that were lucky enough to get to chat with him for a few minutes finally asked —who or what was his muse?

Muse. An inspiration, a devotion—the true cause of his masterpieces that were both stunning, and heart-wrenching.

“My muse.. is a ‘who’. And before you start bombarding me with questions about the specifics—’ *Rafayel answered, taking his time before parting his lips to offer an answer. His eyes flickered over to face the journalist ahead of him, Rafayel’s lips pursed to straight line that wasn’t often seen from the expressive and blunt man.*

“Let’s just say she’s out of your camera’s reach,” The purpled haired man continued, his brows subtly furrowing as he stared into the eyes of the stunned journalist. Rafayel’s answer made room for assumptions, the implication of his muse being out of reach sparking media attention and theories.

In Rafayel’s mind after that interview were only filled with thoughts on how to bring her to life in this world. He had to be careful with his words—the execution. Rafayel wanted a piece of his muse to be shared, a mark, a small hint to others of who truly occupied in his mind when he made his art pieces.

Rafayel started seeing her in a nightmare. It was the same nightmare that reoccured even in the most comfortable nights like a reminder. The thing is—he didn’t know a reminder for what exactly. He’s never seen her, never met her, nor does he heard her name anywhere in Linkon City despite his efforts to search for her. She didn’t exist. Yet that never stopped him from feeling so familiar, so intimate with her, like she meant the world to him once—no, it felt like she still does.

SYLUS

Sylus has been the leader of Onychinus in N109 zone for as long as he can remember in this world. He’s had his fair share of blood and immoralities that came with the job but at least it made sense. At least, it was rational. For survival, animal instinct of a human, pleasure—he could find the cause for it even if it was twisted. But this. This wasn't something he could make sense out of no matter how much he twisted his mind to find the root for it.

He has a girlfriend. Someone he’s decided to pursue after years of merely picking and dropping gems of women he found attractive in the clubs he frequented. This woman matched him—he thought. This would work—he hoped. He just needed something. Anything. To get the woman he kept seeing in his mind off his thoughts.

One would have thought the mysterious girl sylus that plagues his mind was someone he knew. A past relationship, an acquaintance, maybe even a fling. Yet it was neither of those. He doesn’t know her. He’s never seen her in his life. He shouldn’t be thinking about her—fuck, how does he even how she looks like? No matter how much time he spent pondering, recalling, digging information about someone who looked like her, he found nothing. The only conclusion he came to make was that she doesn’t exist.

And maybe someone else might have thought she would appear in his mind in his dreams—but no. It was the darker moments. The near death experiences, the life-risking gambles he took with every decision he made. It was the moments where his eyes would flicker, and his vision would slowly swim into a haze, would she appear. He didn’t like it. Never liked how the sight of her during those moments actually soothed him in ways nothing else could. Her lips that he stared into almost coaxing him to go with her to other side where they could finally meet.

Sylus couldn’t lie—he was truly tempted to accept.

The brows of the white haired man furrowed deeply in the dead of the night of his quarters, glass of wine in hand. He stared out the view out the large windows ahead of him, his free hand lifting to run through his in a rough tug.

His frown never seemed to leave him. Not even after spending a sweet night with his current beloved. He could still see it. The distinct features of that gorgeous woman in the back of his mind.

Sylus gripped his glass tighter, internally scolding himself for thinking about another when his woman was right behind him, comfortably sleeping in his bed, under his covers. He grunted, laying his head back against the headrest of the armchair.

He was frustrated, curious, and all of the above. Feeling his jaw clench at the thoughts that swarmed his mind, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and got from his seat. He walked around his bed to the nightstand, placing his glass down.

His crimson eyes landed on his lover that slept in his bed, her bare body covered by the blanket. Sylus felt his frown begin to relax, a soft breath leaving his lips. He took a step closer to the bed, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from her face. His neutral expression turned to one of longing the more his fingers lingered on her skin.

He wanted to find her so badly. Sylus wanted to face her and demand she answer his questions. Although he knows that won’t be possible.

[megistusdiary]

i feel like patrick from the episode where they go to sandy's house as i climb out of the trenches back to tumblr...send asks/thoughts

no notice, no "i'm back" post, just me returning and bringing you arlecchino thoughts 😻 need her so bad tbh. i can't fix her, but she could make me worse

there has not been nearly enough content for her or the other genshin girls... someone's gotta do it

also, i'm back on genshin (american server, ar 56) if anyone wants to play :]

mirror sex with arlecchino

dom!arlecchino x sub!fem (anatomy/pronouns) reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw pairing, fingering (sub receiving), clothed dom/naked sub, mirror sex, praise ♡, use of 'girl' in pet names, permission to finish

"such a good girl for me, aren't you?" she coos as you slowly sit down in front of her, your back to her chest.

a sharp nail traces itself across your jaw, tilting your head up and back over your shoulder to properly kiss her.

your own eyelids flutter shut, though hers stay open to admire the sight of the two of you in her ornate full-length mirror; courtesy of pantalone.

she steals your breath away as she uses her hand to squeeze your jaw open gently, opening your lips for her tongue to slide against yours. the sounds you make are muffled by her mouth as she smiles against your lips.

arlecchino only pulls away when you're out of breath and panting, and she releases your jaw to let your head hang forward, facing the mirror.

"ah ah, look up." she tuts, lifting your chin to face yourself in the mirror. she can feel the heat of embarrassment radiating from your skin as she has you gaze upon yourself, devoid of clothes as you sit between her spread thighs. the material of her jacket presses into your skin, cold clasps making you arch up a little.

she sighs, letting go of your jaw, expecting you to simply keep watching of your own accord. her hand traces down your neck, past your collarbones, over your chest, gently brushing over your nipples, lips quirking up when you practically keen at the feather-light sensation.

her nails rake down your stomach, resting on your hips before sliding to your thighs and patting one of them. "open," is all she needs to say to have you spreading your thighs over hers.

the image of the two of you together is art in her eyes, and she wishes she could have it framed...

she places two fingers against your glossy lips, fingernails you note have been cut short for this specific purpose. your lips slowly part as she eases them onto your tongue.

her fingers gently press against your tongue, rubbing lightly and pressing further every so often just to hear you gag. she delights in your little struggle as your hand comes up to grip her wrist, head tilting back slightly to look at her. after all, it only gives her easier access to tease your gag reflex.

few words are exchanged here, seeing as she's rather focused on watching you, and your mouth is, well, occupied.

she uses the pressure of her fingers on your tongue to push your head back down to watch in the mirror. once your eyes are refocused, she murmurs little praises into your ears, going right between your thighs as you whine softly.

she pulls her fingers from your lips, marveling at the strands of spit connecting to your lips before they snap. she guides them back between your legs, swiping them across your outer lips as you bite the inside of your cheek, watching her every movement in your reflection.

you gasp when she lightly taps at your clit, eyes narrowing slightly at your reactions she'd classify as rather endearing. you let go of her wrist awhile ago in favor of gripping the fabric of her pants instead.

arlecchino toys with your clit for a bit, seeing you squirm on her lap as you fight the urge to jump up with the intentions to sit and stay like a good girl for her.

she rewards you by pressing more firmly, rubbing tighter circles as she leans her head down, chin pressing against your shoulder as her lips graze the shell of your ear.

your eyes want to close so badly from the stimulation but you force them open, watching as she instead moves her thumb to your clit while her other fingers dip lower, collecting the slick gathering there.

"excited, aren't we?" she finally breaks her silence, smiling softly as she pulls her fingers up to show you just how 'excited' you are. it has you averting your eyes before she tuts, reminding you again to keep watching as she replaces her hand between your thighs, this time gently pressing in, teasing your clit to keep you relaxed.

she always starts with just one; unless you've done something to piss her off. then, of course, it's dealer's choice.

she lets you relax before she moves her finger, crooking it slightly before adding another, giving you time to adjust.

you've let go of her pants in favor of holding her wrist again. she almost wants to chastise you for it, but she can't bring herself to with all the cute little noises spilling from your lips. she simply continues to play with you, angling her fingers just so into that spot she knows you like.

your hearing is fuzzy as she praises you, soft little whispers of her voice in your ears as you arch further up, her jacket rubbing against you as you pant.

"close, close-" you warn her, though it's really just your fuzzy-brained way of asking her for permission.

"it's alright, come for me." she tells you softly. tears prick your eyes as she continues to press accurately into you, flicking and rubbing your clit with her thumb as she watches you in the mirror. at some point, your eyes have indeed fluttered shut, and she says nothing. she wonders briefly if she's gone soft, letting you ignore her directions and rules. oh, how she has spoiled you...

[puffcap-factory]

Of Vines and Grapes (Diluc x Reader)

Diluc x fem!reader; fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, established relationship (marriage), heartwarming. Diluc is a gentle sunlight.

You had small arguments this past few days with Diluc, and since he was busy with work and hadn’t got the time to sort it out, you planned on giving a little gift for him to lift his mood.

Kaeya appeared as a cameo btw

Words: 2.6k

Notes: 

It’s been a while! The draft of this fic had been resting since like a week ago, but yesterday I decided to continue it, only to realize that April 30th would be his birthday lol. And the funny thing is his birthday art somehow falls perfectly to the setting of this story purely by coincidence xD

Anyways, enjoy the story! :D

•~•~•~•

You twirled your cup with one hand, the sweet aroma of grape juice filling your senses as your eyes shone towards the purple liquid. You could tell the freshness and the sweet scent emanating from your glass, a freshly handpicked grape juice.

“No wonder Diluc dotes on you so much, huh…”

You looked up at Kaeya, who was sitting casually in front of you, one hand supporting his chin as he smiled at you.

“Well, it’s just pure coincidence that I prefer grape juice rather than wine.”

“That’s not my point…,” he exhaled amusedly. “How unfortunate that you miss out on the fun in wine tasting, though.”

You were never a fan of wine in the first place, as you had always preferred something sweeter – like fruit juice. Although Kaeya sometimes teased you about your childish preferences, you were really keen on these drinks. 

This wasn't the reason you initially grew close to Diluc, though. However, upon discovering your likings towards grape juice, he granted you the liberty to manage your own section of the vineyard, specifically cultivated for grape juice rather than wine. You took the opportunity to try experimenting with different soils and fertilizers – much to your own curiosity, hoping to yield a slightly different taste with each attempt.

And now, one of the freshly picked grapes rested in your hand—sweet, velvety, with a hint of sourness, just as how you liked it.

“Mm, I'm sure I'm not missing out on anything,” you smiled as you stood up from your seat. Kaeya shrugged playfully in response.

You had been working as a librarian alongside Lisa in the Favonius Library, although you were not a member of the Knights of Favonius yourself. Though your works – well, practically circulating among them. Just like this evening, you were seated in Angel's Share, as Kaeya had requested some documents from you.

Business matters aside, you lingered a bit longer, planning to craft your own drink from the new batch of grapes you had brought to the tavern, intending it as a gift for your beloved.

You went up to the counter, where Charles had allowed you to enter. Kaeya followed you and sat across you on the counter seat. 

“So, how have things been lately?” Kaeya mused, observing as you gathered your mixtures.

You sighed at his question, shifting your gaze from Kaeya to the table. Truth be told, it had been somewhat tense these past few days. Diluc had been occupied with his immense work, and you two did have some petty arguments – mainly fueled from the work stress. While most of them ended with either of you giving up on the argument, you hadn’t had a proper talk with him.

“Well, it’s... alright, I suppose,” you attempted to downplay it.

Kaeya raised an eyebrow, sensing your change in demeanor. “Your expression suggests otherwise.”

Ah, right, he was good at reading people. 

“…I mean, he’s pretty busy lately, and we had few disagreements in these past few days, so…,” you reluctantly admitted, lowering your voice as you added fresh mint leaves into the glass as a finishing touch. “That’s why I’m preparing this drink for him as a small gift. There’s a new batch of freshly picked grapes this morning. I hope he’ll like it.”

You then handed the mixture of drink you had mixed to him – a fizzy, sparkling grape juice. “Try.”

Kaeya’s gaze lingered on your face for a moment, before taking the glass and took a sip of it. A playful smile appeared on his face as he set the glass down. 

“Too sweet for my liking.”

You shot him a sulking glare, which he returned with a grin.

“…But, I’m sure he’ll love it,” he reassured, his tone lower than usual. “He can be a bit of a pain in the ass at times, I know, but he’ll definitely appreciate your effort. I know his taste.” He winked playfully at you. 

You let out a small laugh at him. “Okay, I’ll believe you this time, Kaeya.”

•~•~•~•

You made your way back, carrying a selection of ingredients from Angel's Share, having obtained Charles' permission beforehand. Upon entering the manor, Adelinde greeted you with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, my lady,” she said warmly, helping you with some of the items you had brought. “Oh, and what’s this?”

“Some ingredients for a grape juice mix,” you explained, removing your jacket and hanging it on the rack. “Diluc’s been pretty occupied lately, so I thought making him a drink might give him a little boost.” You grinned sheepishly.

“How thoughtful of you,” Adelinde smiled, though her expression faltered momentarily. “…Unfortunately, the young master will be home pretty late today, as far as I know.”

“Oh,” you replied, unsurprised. It wasn’t uncommon for him to return home late or become absorbed in his work until the late hours in his study. “That’s alright, I’ll just prepare it when he’s back.” 

“Of course, please feel free to come to the kitchen anytime,” Adelinde bowed before excusing herself. After dinner, you made your way up to your shared bedroom. 

As you showered, your mind drifted back to the events of the past few days. The arguments you had few days ago was pretty trivial, honestly, with the recent one being two days back. Yet, as you attempted to assert your point, Diluc’s cold dismissal of your concerns stung. The tension that followed had left you feeling upset, but you chose to let it go rather than push the issue further.

Yesterday, you didn’t have the chance to talk through about it as the interactions were limited to brief exchanges of good mornings and goodbyes, leaving the unresolved tension to linger. By the time he returned home, you were already fast asleep. 

Though you were no longer upset now, you wanted to clear the tension between you and him. Hence, you had prepared a small surprise for him today: your original crafted grape juice drink. With the start of the grape harvest season yesterday, you wanted him to try the grapes that you had tended yourself. 

Settling comfortably onto the bed, you took out a book you had been reading, waiting for Diluc's return. Around 11 pm, you heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. The bedroom door creaked open as Diluc entered.

"I'm back."

"Welcome home," you replied, remaining seated on the bed as he went changing clothes near the closet and then heading to the bathroom.

"I'll be continuing my work in the study after this. It might get late, so you can go ahead and sleep," he informed you before disappearing into the bathroom for a shower.

As expected, he still had work to attend to. Seizing the opportunity, you swiftly made your way to the kitchen to prepare the drink. It didn’t take much time as you had prepared it previously at Angel’s Share. 

You went back up to his study, placing the drink on the side table near his work area carefully, before another idea struck you. Instead of interrupting him mid-work, why not leave a note for him to read anytime?

Grabbing a piece of paper, you quickly penned a brief message:

“Here’s a drink for you, made with freshly picked grapes! I know you have been busy lately, and I’m sorry about the day before. Hope this can get you a little boost for your work :) Love, y/n”

Neatly folding the paper, you placed it beside the glass before slipping out of the room. Walking on the hallway, you glanced downstairs from the second floor and saw Diluc – already out of the shower, talking with Adelinde. Good, he didn’t seem to notice your presence in the study. With a sense of relief, you returned to the shared room to continue reading your book, before falling asleep not long after. 

•~•~•~•

The next morning, you stirred awake to the gentle sunlight filtering through the curtains, warming your face. With a soft groan, you shifted toward Diluc's side of the bed, only to find it empty. Your heart sank momentarily, assuming he had already left for work, but then you heard the sound of him emerging from the bathroom. Moments later, Diluc appeared, his eyes immediately finding yours as he noticed you had awoken up. He approached the edge of your side of the bed and sat on the side.

“Good morning,” he greeted you with a tender smile, settling beside you.

“Morning,” you replied, still groggy from sleep. “Did you even get any sleep?”

“I did. Don’t worry, love.”

Love. The word, spoken after a period of tension, reassured you, melting away the lingering tension. It seemed he had read your message, after all.

His hand reached out to caress your head, and you leaned into his gentle gesture, a smile gracing your lips. His smile was tender and warm like the sun, a sight you had missed dearly.

Not long after, he withdrew his hand and spoke softly. “I wanted to apologize for the previous day. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Oh, um... I'm sorry too, Diluc. I let my frustration get the best of me.” 

“But that doesn't excuse my behavior. I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but my work wasn't finished, and I thought it was already late night. I made you wait... I'm sorry,” he confessed, his expression weighted with guilt.

Diluc was never an expressive person, though he had opened a lot more since you two became a couple. By nature, he was private, and a rather prideful man, too – but you knew his intentions were always genuine. Sometimes, in moments of disagreement, patience was key; he, too, was striving to find common ground. After all, that was what partners should do, and despite his reserved nature, your love for him remained unchanged.

You took a moment to see his face from the side, before you reached out to cup his cheek gently, meeting his eyes with understanding. “Oh, Diluc, it's alright, love.”

His eyes closed briefly, feeling the warmth of your touch. With the sunlight casting a golden glow on his figure, highlighting the contours of his face and the soft strands of his still untied velvet hair, you couldn't help but marvel at his beauty.

Without realizing, you found yourself momentarily speechless, mouth slightly agape, as you admired the scene before you. Diluc noticed your reverie and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Hm?” he inquired, his expression puzzled.

“Oh—” you chuckled shyly, realizing you had been caught in a moment of awe, “you’re just too beautiful.”

He was a bit taken aback by the sudden compliment and let out a low chuckle. He then shifted slowly to join you on the bed, resting behind you.

“I love you.”

He murmured as he hugged you from behind, his head nuzzling behind your neck.

A warmth spread through your body as his breath tickled your skin. Like the comforting rays of the sun during the day, his displays of affection always had a way of melting your heart, even after all this time.

“I love you too, Diluc,” you whispered softly, gently holding onto his arm and closing your eyes, savoring the moment.

Before long, Diluc, still nestled behind you, spoke up. “The fruit juice was really delicious. I liked it very much. Thank you.”

“Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it. We can make more together,” you suggested. “…if you're free today, of course.”

“I’m free throughout the day. I've delegated the work to Elzer and the others.”

“Really?” You turned to face him in surprise. It had been weeks since you spent the day together, and you practically couldn’t hide your excitement anymore. Diluc had known that it was a day off for you today, and maybe he had planned this all along.

He nodded, returning your excitement with a smile of his own. “It's a beautiful day. We can pick some grapes if you'd like.”

“Absolutely! And we could have a picnic outside too!”

“Sounds wonderful,” Diluc chuckled, amused by your sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Let’s have breakfast outside, then.”

•~•~•~•

Under the shade of a tree, the picnic sheet was laid out, sunlight warming your feet near the section of the vineyard you tended. A basket overflowed with freshly picked grapes was placed on the mat. Beside it, your much-loved grape-jam pie which Adelinde had brought – apparently it was requested by Diluc yesterday night, according to Adelinde herself – rested atop a small foldable table, accompanied by cups of tea.

You plucked a grape and tasted its sweetness. “Sweet and fresh, just perfect! But this one…” You fed Diluc another grape. “A bit more sour, isn’t it? I had used another fertilizer for this one.”

“Mhm,” Diluc agreed, his gaze filled with adoration as he accepted the grape from your hand.

“Perhaps the sour ones would be better suited for a different type of drink,” you mused as you thought to yourself.

“I’d happily try any creations you come up with,” Diluc remarked as he shifted to the back, leaning back comfortably against the tree trunk, inviting you to rest your head in his lap. “Come here, love.”

You beamed a smile at him before settling onto his lap, his hand moved to cup your cheeks, caressing it gently. 

“Hmm, I could easily fall asleep like this…”

“Then maybe you should,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. “You don’t get many chances to sleep peacefully outside.”

“But you’ve slept less than me for sure, you should rest too, you know?”

He met your gaze with a gentle smile. “I will, I will.”

As the wind whispered through the leaves and Diluc’s caress lulled you into a drowsy state, you closed your eyes. Just for five minutes, just five–

–Huh.

You opened your eyes, only to realize that you had indeed fallen asleep. It hadn’t seemed too long, though, but you were not sure. You carefully gazed upwards, only to find Diluc sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady as he slept against the tree.

Smiling at the serene sight, you decided to stay still, not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber. Your gaze drifted to the trees and skies above, and before you knew it, you shifted your head to the side, inadvertently waking Diluc up. He was always a light sleeper, wasn’t he?

Stretching his body with a yawn, Diluc checked his wristwatch. "One hour. That was a nice nap."

"An hour??" You sat up, surprised by the length of your unintended rest, while Diluc smiled lazily.

You wanted him to rest more, but spending the entire day sleeping outside wasn't exactly what you had in mind.

“I had a nice nap, thanks to you.” 

"Anytime for you," you replied happily, moving to sit next to him and facing him. A gentle breeze played around you, and you reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Diluc tenderly took your hand and pressed a kiss to it, earning a shy smile from you before his hand moved to gently cup your chin, locking eyes with you.

You recognized the familiar longing in his gaze and leaned in, closing the gap between you until your lips met in a tender, blissful kiss.

“I’d love to get more of these from you from time to time,” he murmured softly against your lips.

“The picnic or the kiss?” You teased, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Both.” 

“Maybe you should try delegating your works more,” you joked.

“Well, that’s been on my mind, for sure,” Diluc replied, his tone thoughtful.

You didn’t expect him to take your joke seriously and frantically explained that he didn't have to do that.

But Diluc laughed tenderly, knowing that the time you spent together was far too precious to skip. 

[yikes-kachowski]

A piggy back off your last ask! Your AU has me all excited. I'm curious about Zuko and Katara's tenure as monarchs? How did the people receive her as their fire lady?

Also your art is amazing!! Can't wait to see more 🥰❤️

This au is very detailed lol, so if you have questions feel free to ask. Just understand that @shalheretical and I have named lots of places in the atla world.

We’re going to break this into three parts: one on notable events in Zuko’s tenure as Fire Lord; one on Katara’s accomplishments that relate specifically to duties she performed in relation to being the Fire Lady (she did other things outside of it); and a final note on the reception of an outside minority woman as the Fire Lady.

PART I

Immediately after the complete and unconditional surrender of the Fire Nation, all military personnel who are not directly involved in civil administration are recalled back to the Fire Nation—though they must find suitable local replacements and return as soon as possible. The Gaoling Agreement of 101 AG saw the repatriation of 1.3m Fire Nation occupiers from everywhere in the Earth Kingdom but the northwestern Gansai region. Because of this, and a late Azulon policy of Development First, Industry Now, which had 75% of all Fire Nation agriculture halted in favor of industrial development and had most food being imported by way of colonial extraction, the sudden population growth and the fact that they had to move factories and warehouses to start farming again, saw that 53 percent of the Fire Nation was experiencing starvation, and that 16 percent was experiencing acute starvation—5 percent experienced famine. This would be at its worst for the first four years of Zuko’s reign—known as the Rice-Rations Years—but it would only truly stabilize in 110 AG.

A near-complete shutdown of the archipelago’s ports until 103 AG exacerbated this problem. However, this was to prevent, as much as possible, the 3.5m individuals identified as war criminals/accomplices to war crimes from escaping to “safe havens” such as Jinyala, the Si Wong, or Whale Tale Island. No one was allowed to leave the ports without a written order by the Fire Lord. The nascent Earth Kingdom Navy helped patrol Fire Nation waters; these sailors, along with some Kyoshi Warriors, also helped inspect ships leaving Fire Nation docks for potential stowaways. The Earth Navy would stay until 104 AG.

The Boiling Rock was used to hold Tier 1 and 2 war criminals until the Omashu Trials began. After this, the Boiling Rock would be shut down. Non-political Fire Nation prisoners would be moved to more humane prisons; non Fire Nationals would be extradited back to their home nations. Captives—such as Hama, Tyro or the Boulder—were repatriated from the work camps they were imprisoned in.

Shrine consolidation was a Sozin policy of putting all shrines under direct monarchical control and turned over for use of the state religion—Agniyo, the religion of the ethnic majority (Shiboshi) Fire Nationals. Zuko begins a policy of Great Reversal, where these shrines are returned to their traditional stewards. The Intranational Sovereign Rights policies is the parent policy of the Great Reversal. The Fire Nation is home to 98 ethnic minority/indigenous groups (including the Sun Warriors and the Bhanti), with 106 recognized languages and dialects apart from Hokugo (the state language). These are all put under Special Status, where extra government protections and provisions are made to protect traditional Fire Nation diversity. Specifically, local councils are approved to use state funds to protect Status minority religions, languages, ecology/land, food, dance, and arts. The Sun Warriors in particular are given greater autonomy and sovereignty over their ancestral lands.

In 107 AG Zuko made an official declaration to renounce the millenia-old belief that the Liufeng dynasty is in any way divine, or descended from Agni. In apology for these centuries of disrespect towards Mother Agni, a new shrine in the capital of Kazanshi is announced; it is officially completed in 125 AG, and dedicated in 126.

Zaibatsu, vertically integrated business conglomerates, are dissolved; the businesses are put under monarchical control, and their assets are partially used for reparations paid towards the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom. (Aang turned down reparations outside of help rebuilding Air Temples/shrines, and protections on sacred Air Nomad land, such as areas in Gansai and Whale Tale Island.) Land was seized from landlords and nobles, and sold to their serfs and tenets for extremely cheap prices. This is open to anyway once all serfs and tenant farmers have their share, which leads to some immigration from especially the southern Earth Kingdom.

Starting in 103, all war criminals are prosecuted under Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe officials at Omashu, which only ends in 119 AG, due to the thoroughness of the prosecution. Some critics from the Fire Nation claim that no Fire Nation representatives presented an unfair bias, and Why can’t it be held in the Royal High Courts? Zuko maintains that the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribe are a lot more merciful than he would be. Note: Iroh volunteered to be tried for the Siege of Ba Sing Se and his March on the Si Wong, even though King Kuei offered him immunity. He was given a postponed sentence of ten years; during this time, he would stay in his tea shop, and most of the money he made would go to helping Go Shi Wai, one of the worst-affected places of the war.

Gansai, later the United Republic, holds the largest number of Fire Nation settlers. This is due to an early Azulon resettlement policy, wherein ethnic minorities in the Fire Nation were resettled in Gansai and away from the imperial core, for Azulon’s All-Shiboshi Empire dream (the officials that ruled them were still Shiboshi, though). There are nearly 4m settlers living there; and since they’ve been outside of the Fire Nation for at least a generation, they are the least willing to move. Gansai was made independent in 115 AG through a referendum that went through every village, town, city, settlement in the region. Many Earth Kingdom citizens still consider this a humiliating capitulation to the Fire Nation, and resent King Kuei for allowing this.

Serfdom and slavery were abolished in the Fire Nation by 105 AG. Looted wealth is confiscated from the noble class, and repatriated to their home countries. The royal coffers do the same. Since the power of the noble class was severely weakened by these moves—and the removal of the zaibatsu system—many enraged nobles would attempt government takeovers—whether through the legals means of an Agni Kai, or through nine different assassination attempts from 105 AG to 127 AG. These, by the way, would only lead to legislation that weakened the noble class even more.

The Fire Nation educational system was technically reformed, though specifically. Zuko was looking to return the institution to its prewar systems, with some amendments. He took a lot of care for educational reforms, because he considered it ground zero for deradicalization policies. Teachers were screened and replaced when necessary; there was a national recall on textbooks, and Zuko commissioned a completely new curriculum. The military education of children from 11 to 16 stayed in place. The national examinations that gave people opportunities to work in government positions were opened up to the merchant and former self classes.

Protections and rights for same-sex couples are restored. Abortion is made legal. Funding goes back to the arts. Overall, Zuko’s policies mark a return to the cultural pursuits from before the war—especially in the arts, education and religion.

PART II

Once again: these are her activities that relate to her acting (somewhat) in capacity to traditional Fire Lady duties. However, a lot of her actions—even when acting as Fire Lady—are outside of traditional royal involvement, which is noteworthy. It should also be noted that she is not a part of the legislative body of the Fire Nation in any capacity, nor is she in any way given any sort of powers of making policies at an official capacity. To me, this doesn’t really matter, because I personally don’t think she’d be incredibly interested in dealing with Fire Nation legislative proceedings anyway, and it’s way more straight forward for her to just tell Zuko what she thinks would be a good idea since he can just enact it immediately. Not that she never influences policies through cooperation with Parliament, just that she normally chooses not to.

She specifically is known for her deep involvement with charity and patronages. She tends to focus on issues involving the homeless, youth, drug addictions, the elderly, environmental protections, illness and minority rights advocacy. It’s due to her nearly weekly visits to hospitals and health clinics across the Fire Nation (and sometimes abroad) that Katara gets very specifically interested in serious and terminal illnesses—the care of their patients, prevention and destigmatization. She’s especially famous for initiating physical contact towards patients with leprosy, to prove that leprosy could not be easily transmitted through casual touch—such as hugs and handholding.

She is president of the Taiyang-jie Childrens’ Clinic in the capital. She is a patroness of the Natural & Geologic Historical Society in Lopyang. She is president of the Royal Academies of Healthcare, Sociology & Philosophy, and Music & Theatre. She is president of the Gojiki Child Association, a charity to care for vulnerable tribal youth. She also works with the National Leprosy Trust, the Fire Nation Centre of Minority Dance and Theatre, and the Imperial Phoenix Hospital.

She was integral to the founding of Taqqittiavak, an international medical association, inspired by witnessing the calamity of war, and how there’s often not enough medics for the wounded, who are often left to suffer and die. She is a patron of the Three Nations’ Doctors League, a similar organization, though Taqqitiavak works in conflict zones, and 3ND in humanitarian crisis zones. She specifically works with them in an anti personnel landmine campaign. Her work directly leads to the signing of the Qiue Treaty to create an international ban on the use of landmines.

She makes regular lengthy visits to the Ruzuro-yeiji Hospital in Kemkami, where she specifically helps in the care and comfort for patients who are seriously or terminally ill—something royalty had never done before. She is a patronesses to the Imrani Cancer Fund, an international charity dedicated to cancer research.

She is the founder of Tunnganiq, an association dedicated to research and care for mental disabilities, especially those acquired in war or in accidents. She regularly supports efforts in the advancement of mental healthcare, institutional reform, and the stigmatization of all psychotic and neurotic disorders. She (and Toph) opened the Centre for Disability and the Arts in Republic City.

She is the patron of the Fire Nation branch of the Nutaraq Appeal, an international organization dedicated to helping pregnant women and new mothers in need around the world.

Katara (and Sokka) launch the International Child Bereavement charity, which seeks to support the children of: military families, children orphaned by war and conflict, children of suicide victims and children of the terminally ill. She and Sokka are also patrons of the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center in Republic City.

She supports the Laiyi Fund, which is a parent fund to several smaller charity organizations that give accommodations and social assistance to the homeless, and campaigns to destigmatize homelessness worldwide. In general, Katara is very vocal and active in her support of homeless populations, and to end the conception of homelessness being a moral failing in the Fire Nation, especially by regularly working with the homeless directly, without any official means of protection. She supports the Just Homes Initiative in the United Republic, which seeks to “just house them” with no strings attached.

She was awarded the Freedom of Omashu Award, the highest honor in the Southern Earth Kingdom for her humanitarian efforts—as well as the Ba Sing Se Citizens’ Award and being awarded a gold medal in a healthcare conference in Piriyakheri.

PART III

To be honest, her marriage to Zuko really wasn’t a huge deal to most peasants in the Fire Nation—they were so far removed from royal life, that who the current Fire Lord is hardly mattered, let alone who the Fire Lady is. The middle class, especially in major cities like Kazanshi, Kenkami, Lopyang and Kimosaki, and the noble class (especially, much to her embarrassment, Mai’s family, the Keohsos—where the brides for the Fire Lord are traditionally found) were the most vocal in their disapproval of the idea of there being a foreign bride. What if the Fire Lord abandons them (a population that’s starving and struggling) for the South Pole? What if she roadblocks courtly promotions only to Water Tribe immigrants that will surely be used to replace the ethnic Fire Nation population? What if their heir is a waterbender, of all things? Most ire was reserved for Zuko, either way. The Fire Lady is hardly a consideration, at this point in time—the role is prestigious solely because she is the wife of the Fire Lord, who actually matters. Katara is who gives the position prestige and reverence beyond that, through her compassion, altruism and humanitarian efforts, which kind of gave the role of Fire Lady an entirely new role in greater Fire Nation society, outside of just running the household and being the head of the royal family, which doesn’t really affect regular citizens.

Besides, nobles who didn’t know better than to keep it to themselves were pretty readily dismissed from the court and removed from the Caldera—a hugely humiliating experience.

Their wedding is a big deal. Some agitators try to say that they’re wedding, in 106, is a flagrant extravagance when the whole nation is suffering—this is still more of an attack on Zuko, than Katara. The wedding, though a big royal wedding, is mostly used to help lighten the air for the population—it’s an excuse to be off of work for a week, to have fun celebrations, to be with family, to keep up with royal fashion, etc. It’s a reprivement.

Katara becomes somewhat of a fashion icon—not the biggest, by far, but especially her jewelry, accessories and hairstyles take the country by storm. It’s big enough that she’s able to auction off her old clothing and her own beadwork projects for thousands, which she would then donate to places she felt needed the most help. She alone is responsible for making smiling—especially smiling with your teeth—popular in the Fire Nation.

A lot of people really idealized her as a mother, with the way she was regularly seen walking her kids to and from school, and around the capital. She would participate in parent-student events in school, and was known to very rarely use nannies. Unlike other Fire Nation noblewomen, she never once used a nursemaid. She very regularly took her kids on holidays to the Southern Water Tribe. Non-racists in the Fire Nation really admire her dedication and loyalty to her origins and native land/practices. Racists thought she would teach her kids to look down on the Fire Nation and only care for the preservation of her homeland and culture.

A lot of people—especially older, more traditional folks—also thought she acted unbecomingly for a Fire Lady. She dresses casually in deels when not working in an official capacity, regularly goes off to do things without following royal protocol, smiles and waves to crowds and in photos. A lot of people criticize her speeches as being emotional and, occasionally, even hysterical. Her willingness to act outside of capacity and to do things that should be beneath her—in public—was especially condemned.

But overall, she’s been pretty popular from the beginning, and definitely went down as at least one of the most beloved Fire Ladies in history. If not the most.

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 6

Contents: pre-relationship, establishing feelings, slow burn, dinner dates, slow romance, first kisses.

When Kento said that he wanted to do things the right way, he was being very serious. You received more phone calls from him on each day of the week, at exactly the same time. He would call even if he'd seen you at work, albeit briefly, during the course of the day. He always made sure to first ask if you were occupied with anything else.

Each time you spoke was like filling in a new blank space on a crossword. A cryptic crossword, to be more precise. Everything you learned about him was either slipped like a knife between the rich layers of your conversations or hard won through every verbal sparring match you engaged in. It wasn't as if your interaction with him had become more complicated. The flow of thoughts and their exchange was still the most natural thing you both had engaged in.

There was so much more now, though, so much that hinged on Kento being comfortable enough to show you the parts of himself reserved for his leisure time. This was the self that manifested when he was truly off the clock and the rigid persona that inhabited his daylight hours could be shelved in favour of the man who simmered like a delightful burst of flavour, hidden just beneath the surface.

Kento was sensitive to the feelings of others. He was far less self-reliant than he thought (as responsible as the man was, he had terrible sleeping habits and ran through suits horrendously fast considering the nature of his work). He bought lots of books that he hadn't yet read, told his protégés numerous times not to look to him as an example, and then acted as exactly that, secretly indulged in romantic serials and b-grade martial arts films, ate fried chicken with beer every Tuesday and liked to visit the aquarium on his down time because watching the fish relaxed him. He always ended those aquarium trips by eating a sushi meal set, something you told him was decidedly morbid.

As someone who had spent years feeling drained by the many social interactions that came with any working day, speaking to Kento was a refreshing change, and not just because he was the man you had rapidly deepening feelings for. There was something about talking to him that left you feeling a little more enriched each time, as if some mischievous spirit, leashed by the strings that left lovers hopelessly entangled, danced with a loaded paint brush through your life, esoteric colours in unheard-of shades splashing against the placid walls.

Kento was a hopelessly beautiful mess of contradictions. Solid, yet vulnerable. Dependable, yet never disguising his yearning to live for something more. Practical and no-nonsense, yet a dreamer and an idealist. A man who gave himself no excuses, nor shirked responsibility, but made no secret of his desire for a soft life on a sunny beach.

You would not exchange him for anyone else in the world.

The second time you go out together, he calls it a date. He is completely unabashed in his approach. He sees no need to conceal what you both know to be the truth, now that it has been acknowledged. It's something you have keen appreciation for. He doesn't message you the details, instead asking you outright in the break room, where you meet regularly for lunch.

He wants to go to a specific seafood place that he feels you will enjoy. When you cheerfully agree, he touches you with intention for the first time.  It is only momentary, as if he can't contain the desire to do so. He reaches across the table and gently brushes his fingers over your wrist before that same hand smoothly unwraps the packaging on his lunch. You think that it's almost unfair, the effect that this small contact has on you, but then you see that his hands fumble with the chopsticks slightly.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before the conversation that is completely necessary takes place. You didn't know when it would occur, but the second time you go out together turns out to be the occasion.

He waits for you in the garden after work, as he did the last time. You're starting to learn how important routine in small matters is to him. You take your stroll through the school grounds, lingering in the familiar spaces that now feel new, due to the person beside you.

Kento is amused by the turn your conversation has taken.

"So, you've never learned how to swim?"

"Never. Even though I lived fairly near the ocean when I was younger."

"But what was it about the water that scared you?"

"Do I really have to tell you?"

"Yes."

"Is that an order?"

"More like a strong suggestion."

"How considerate of you, sir."

Kento clears his throat, and you glance sideways at him. Smiling, you continue.

"It wasn't the water itself. It was more the idea of what was beneath it. It's wasn't about what I could see, rather what I imagined was there."

"And what did you imagine?"

"Sharks."

"There were sharks near where you grew up?"

"Very rarely. But I thought of them anyway."

"Did you, perhaps, watch - "

You laugh and shake your head.

"Jaws? No, so that wasn't the reason."

He hums thoughtfully.

"All human fear has its root in a primal cause. It's our desire for survival, our learned fear. But not all fear is learned. Sometimes, we fear things that we can't quite put a name to."

This time, you're the one that can't hold back. You reach for him, the back of your hand brushing his.

"What are you afraid of, Kento?"

He pauses, before gently entangling your fingers. The simplicity of the gesture, along with its weight, steals your breath momentarily. He seems similarly lost for the appropriate words, the contact of your skin and his forming all the communication you are both capable of in that moment. Eventually, when the car draws up alongside, he has an answer for you.

"I'm afraid of many things. And my list grows longer every day."

The place he has chosen, ironically, is a quaint seaside cafe, a fair distance from Jujutsu Tech. This was why he had asked to leave earlier today. The place is situated on a high ridge overlooking a long, winding staircase that leads to a faint strip of shingle below. The sea looks rough, the weather grey and uninviting, which makes the atmosphere within the cafe seem cosier by comparison. The table he chooses is private, and this time you are seated closer to him, the setting more intimate.

"How did you find this place?"

"I was on a solo mission in the area for a few days. Got caught in a storm and found my way in here."

"Lucky coincidence. I like this place a lot. It's warm."

Your eyes travel across to Kento whose posture is a tad stiff. You realise that because he had come here alone on the previous occasion, he hadn't accounted for how small the seating space at each booth was with two people present. The leather couches formed an 'L' which left your shins pressed against the backs of his very long legs. You never were good at disguising your amusement and Kento watches you with narrowed eyes as you peruse the menu and wiggle your toes slightly. He clears his throat and taps his fingers along the edge of his drinks list.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Very."

"Hmm."

"Why, aren't you?"

"I mean to say, does this seating arrangement make you wish for more space?"

"No. It's cosy."

He goes back to reading the drinks list and remains noticeably rigid, as if he is doing everything in his power to keep from making you uncomfortable. It's not long before he asks again.

"Are you sure that you don't want to move?"

"Oh no. Not at all."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Is this my first personal encounter with your stubborn streak?"

"Perhaps it is."

You look up and can't help the laugh that escapes you at his put-out expression. You move your legs further along until they rest beneath his ankles, a far more comfortable position for both of you.

"Better, my good sir?"

The corners of his mouth curve upward, as if against his will and he relaxes, leaning back in his seat.

"Better."

The appetisers arrive, soft shell crab thermidor for him and sake-steamed abalone for you. He insists that you taste some of his food and you manage to sneak a small sample of yours onto his plate. As you wait for the entrée, sipping on the piping hot tea served in a beautiful earthenware pot, your gaze is caught by the turbulent sea, the distant waves breaking against the shoreline with a muffled roar.

"What are you thinking about now?"

Kento is watching you when you turn back to him. His voice is soft, carrying that gentle undertone that you'd never thought you'd be fortunate enough to hear, let alone have directed at you. You close your eyes momentarily before swirling the tea in your cup, stalling for time.

"I was thinking about how happy I am right now."

"You are?"

"Yes."

There is something in his glance now, something so warm, but so heavy. Your meals arrive and there is no opportunity for you to address it. Kento tucks into his food with relish. It seems that colder weather increases his appetite and, you have to admit, you're very much the same.

He returns to the earlier conversation you'd been having. This was one of the things you appreciated most about speaking to him. You both instantly knew what the other was referring to, even if time and other topics had passed in the interim.

"Would you be open to learning how to swim?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I've made resolutions to learn at the gym many times. But I'm not sure ... I've always ended up postponing it."

"Why?"

"Things become busy. I forget."

"Sounds like there's a deeper issue here."

"Do you plan to do something about it, then?"

"Possibly."

"Don't tell me that you were one of those kids who stood behind the scared ones at swimming lessons and pushed them into the pool."

"Do you really think I'd do that?"

"No. But how else would you get me into the water?"

"I'd provide an incentive."

"You'd feed me?"

"Just how one-track minded are you?"

"I can't think of a single other reason to get motivated."

"Maybe I'd get in first."

You almost choke on your miso cod.

"Hmm. That may work. Nanami Kento, grade one sorcerer and swimming pool siren. Has a nice ring to it."

"This conversation will never be repeated to another soul."

After supper, Kento does not call the car. There is an enclosed nook outside the restaurant, sheltered from the worst of the wind, where you both stand, his upper arm pressed against yours. It seems that many physical barriers are coming down today, something you're definitely not complaining about. There is something about the sheer strength of the man standing so close to you that is both intimidating and intoxicating. In this moment, you feel that you can say anything to him.

And, possibly, he feels the same, because his next question opens the topic you weren't able to broach earlier. The one that darkens the already narrowing spaces between your life and his.

"You said earlier that you felt happy."

"I did."

"Just for that moment in time?"

"No. Being here makes me happy. And talking to you on the phone does too."

"I'd hoped I wasn't bothering you."

"Your calls are never a bother."

That keen sweetness, the unspoken tension that always hovered so close to your tongues was thickening the air once more. Kento looked down at his hands, fists closed over the railing.

"Are you saying that I make you happy?"

"Yes, Kento."

"What if that isn't always the case?"

"Are you talking about your work as a sorcerer?"

"Yes, and ... other possibilities. If this goes any further, I need to know that you will be safe and have peace of mind. If it means me sacrificing my own happiness, and yours, temporarily, I won't hesitate to do what's necessary. I don't want to see you hurt."

You let out a soft sigh and meet his gaze. It was vital that you address this now. He was not the sort of person who would leave an issue like this hanging tentatively between you two. You cannot mince your words either, because to do so would be an injustice to someone as principled and straightforward as the man standing beside you. You realise that in this moment, there is a different type of courage surfacing inside you, one you didn't know you possessed until you met him.

"Kento, I'll be frank. If anything happened to you, I'd be hurt beyond measure. With, or without us ... progressing further than this. I can't help how I feel. It's too far beyond my control. No, I'm not ashamed to tell you so. Nor am I embarrassed. I want you to know that I will miss you when we can't spend time together. That I will worry for you when you're out in the field. That I will wait for your call and feel relief when I hear your voice. That whenever a fatality is reported, I will feel sick to my stomach and never cease looking for you until I know that you're safe."

You pause and collect yourself. It's too late now, too late to cram the words back into your mouth. Secrets like this can never be swallowed. In this business, words like these birth curses. But they also birth wondrous things, feelings you know you can no longer live without.

"I want you to know that all these things are true, but they don't make other truths lesser, simply because they exist. Knowing that I will miss you doesn't take away from the fact that I cherish the time I spend in your company. When I worry for you, it's only natural. You worry for people you care about whether they're near you or not. You can choose to do whatever you want, Kento, now or in the future. But your actions can't change the way I feel. Not now. Not ever. You can save many people, multiple times, as a sorcerer. But you can't save me from myself."

The laugh that escapes you then is a little wild, a reckless sound that you wish you hadn't uttered, but it's another on the long list of things you can't pull back into yourself.

Kento is watching you as if you've transformed before his eyes, spurred on by the treacherous ocean behind you, into some kind of weapon that holds him in thrall, as if you've dealt him some grievous wound that, somehow, births more pleasure than agony.

He doesn't speak, but his hand comes up, the broad palm unspeakably warm and heavy against the side of your face. His fingers are rough in certain places, strong and capable as they trail down your cheek, pausing intimately at the corner of your mouth, before they move down to enclose the side of your neck, thumb resting beneath your chin.

Your face turns to him, a hapless sunflower towards a solar flare that arcs across space to unfold and destroy it. Your mouth opens under his, readily, and his warm, slightly chapped lips cover yours with that gentle firmness, so characteristic of everything he does. Your head is pushed to the side, tilting as he leans into you, something desperate under the staidness of his kiss, as if he is the one who has swallowed all the words you've spoken and is attempting to breathe his own intent back into you.

Your head tilts even further, as the kiss becomes less chaste, as his lips move with greater firmness against yours. He steals every breath you attempt to take and repays it with molten honey that threatens to drown you. His fingers are now tangled in your hair and yours are clenched in the fabric of his coat.

When you separate, a necessity to keep you both from suffocating, his eyes are shut tightly, the bridge of his nose slightly creased, as if he is in pain. You don't think you've ever seen a more beautiful sight.

You echo his movement, gently cupping his cheek with your palm and guiding his face back towards yours. Not for another kiss, no. Not now. There'll be plenty of time for that later. For now, you rest his forehead against yours and close your own eyes in turn.

Something about the sigh that escapes him, the solid weight of his head against yours, the soft fall of his hair against your brow, reminds you of an illustration you've seen in one of the many storybooks you've read as a child.

A weary knight finds a safe haven in a perilous forest, his back against an old, gnarled tree, sword shoved upright into the earth before him. You are willing to be the sword, no matter how thin your edges are worn. You are willing to be the tree, no matter how scarred time makes you. You want to stand by his side, for as long as you are permitted, holding off the beasts of the forest until dawn arrives.

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan

[helioscopepdx]

The Schweizer Guide to Spotting Tangents

A fantastic resource from friend-of-the-studio @schweizercomics, who wrote this guide back in 2011. Read on for a goldmine of information (and visual examples) about avoiding tangents in your work!

Comic art is, as a general rule, a line-based medium. I know, I know, there are plenty of artists whose work is painted, or who depict their subject in ink using solely light and shadow. But these folks are unquestioningly in the minority, as the history of printing technology originally dictated the use of line to depict form in the early days of comics. This became a stylistic expectation, and it’s an expectation that I enthusiastically embrace, as have many others. But using line to draw the world invites chances for that cardinal sin of composition: the tangent. 

A tangent is when two or more lines interact in a way that insinuates a relationship between them that the artist did not intend. It can create confusion on the part of the audience as to what it is that they’re looking at. It can cause the spatial depth that one attempts to cultivate through the use of planes to become flattened. Most of all, it creates a decidedly unwelcome aesthetic response: tangents are just plain ugly. There are a lot of different types of tangents, as least according to the way I define them. In order to make it easier on my students when giving critiques, I’ve categorized them and named them. This may have been done before, but I’ve not encountered it. My hope is that, by making this “spot-the-enemy” guide, fewer artists will fall into the tangent trap by knowing what to look for.   

1. The Long Line

The long line is when a line from one object runs directly into the line of another. This is the tangent that everybody knows. The one that’s easiest to spot, easiest to avoid.  For a lot of folks, this is the only thing meant when one refers to a “tangent.” Even in the work of the very best comic artists, a vigilant eye can find the occasional tangent.  Even when a cartoonist is constantly on the lookout, a tangent can slip through.  But, as each of strive to better ourselves and the quality of our work and our medium, 

2. The Parallel

The parallel tangent is when the containing lines of two objects run alongside each other.  This causes one of two negative outcomes.  Either one object becomes “lost,” as the other overpowers it (figure 1), or one object feels strangely contained by another (figure 2). This can be avoided by ensuring that any object that COULD run alongside another is angled at least 45 degrees from the first. The next two are REALLY tough to spot, and most artists have fallen victim to them before.   

3. The Corner

The corner tangent is when two lines in an object meet in a way intended by the artist, but another (accidental) line runs directly into the place where they meet.   

4. The Bump-Up

A bump-up tangent is when the containing line of one object “bumps up” against the containing line of another object.   When these two lines touch, it creates a bump-up tangent (and even when they don’t technically touch, if it’s close enough to raise eyebrows, they might as well).  The bump-up gives the impression of containment.  In figure 1, it seems as though her ponytail is physically unable to enter the space occupied by the pole.  In figure 2, it feels as though her elbow is unable to LEAVE that space.

Also, be careful not to let elements of the drawing bump up against your panel borders!  Either give them room to breathe or decisively crop them.   

5. The Directional

A directional tangent is basically just a long-line tangent that’s been broken by empty space.  Now, this one isn’t always bad – it can, on occasion, be used to draw the reader’s eye through the image on a specifically determined path.

6. The Panel-to-Panel

This one is exactly the same thing as the directional (in fact, I shouldn’t even classify it as its own thing), save that instead of empty space dividing a long-line it’s a panel gutter. My gutters are crazy wide, but with normal-sized gutters this can be a real problem.   One more thing… This ain’t a tangent, but it is a compositional no-no. 

Fake Panels

Comics generally have panel borders, so readers are used to having images contained by straight lines.  Some artists don’t allow gutters between their borders.  Though I believe that, as a rule, this can make it harder for new comics readers to follow the story (and new readers are always important), it’s done with enough regularity that we must expect the audience to feel comfortable with gutterless pages.  What does this mean?  It means that we can’t draw a straight line in any panel, either vertical or horizontal, without having some object overlap it.  If we do, readers may think that it is a panel border, incorrectly breaking one moment into two.

See how the overlap of the elbow causes there to be no question?

That's it for Lesson #1!

[quagswagon]

Feel free to download this artwork here. I'm trying to get the ball rolling on my art shops, so downloads would help me a lot!

today, I have had the rare privilege of observing a creature soaring above the rocky cliffs

the creature has body covered in a thick coat of fur. The fur is predominantly a soft white with hints of blues that shimmer under sunlight. Two prominent horns extend from its head. The tail is bushy, ending in a tuft, further enhancing its aerial camouflage

the creature is active during the day. It seems to float rather than walk, hovering just above the ground, which might be facilitated by some form of innate anti-gravitational ability.  Its movement consists of a series of light, springy jumps, with the fur around its body rippling as if it were gliding on invisible currents. Feeding habits suggest a diet consisting mainly of high-altitude grasses and hardy shrubs; I observed it delicately plucking at vegetation with a surprising nimbleness

at dawn, the creature emerges from small caves where it likely rests through the night. It spends a considerable portion of the day grazing with periods of rest atop elevated rocks or ledges. During these times, it engages in what appears to be a form of sunbathing, lying belly-up to the sky, possibly absorbing warmth or utilizing sunlight in some metabolic process. As dusk approaches, the creature retreats to its resting place, often accompanied by a low, melodic humming sound that reverberates through the rocks—a behavior whose purpose remains unclear

the creature is largely solitary; however, it occasionally interacts briefly with others of its kind. These interactions are somewhat awkward, marked by a series of intricate head tilts and tail flicks, which might be a form of non-verbal communication or a basic greeting. There doesn’t seem to be any clear social hierarchy or territorial disputes—each individual seems satisfied within its own space, coexisting with minimal conflict

given its herbivorous diet and gentle nature, the creature seems to occupy a niche as a low-level consumer, contributing to the control of mountain vegetation. Its droppings, which are rich in partially digested plant matter, may also play a crucial role in fertilization of high-altitude plants, which normally don’t have enough nutrients to sustain themselves

locals regard the creature with a mix of reverence and caution. It is believed to bring good fortune to those who witness its fog dance but is also thought to be a harbinger of storms when sighted in groups. Locals embellish these creatures with amber and amethyst. They believe this to be a way of gaining favor with the wind and sky gods. The creatures don’t seem to care

in addition to its apparent ability to hover, the creature exhibits a form of rudimentary telekinesis, capable of manipulating small objects or moving pebbles, possibly to access roots or disturb insects for feeding. This ability is subtle and seems to be used sparingly, suggesting it is either energetically taxing or reserved for specific needs

the thick, insulating fur protects the creature from the harsh mountain winds. Its unique ability to float likely evolved to navigate the treacherous terrain without expending the energy required for more conventional forms of locomotion

End of entry.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fraturday

It's November! Hope everyone had an amazing Halloween. NGL October lasted approximately 84 years, and I am so so sleepy, but nevertheless I'm back with a fortnight of fic that I've read and loved recently. As always you can find previous rec lists here. Some light spoilers for the season.

2 November 2024

Buck, naked by @starlingbite has Eddie taking an art class on advice of Frank, but the only class left is a life drawing class. That wouldn't be a problem...except you'll never guess who the model turns out to be! Once again obsessed with the idea of Eddie picking up an artistic hobby, and I loved the both the artistry and the physicality of this fic.

You Can Leave It Late With Me by @ponyregrets oh this concept was delightful! In which Maddie becomes a firefighter and Buck becomes a librarian, running a book club for kids. Eddie, in need of more after school childcare support, enrols Christopher. Sweet and such a lovely character exploration. I loved this AU!

drench yourself in words unspoken by @eddiediazes one from 2022, this has Eddie keeping the fact that he's secretly a famous but anonymous romance novelist a secret from the rest of the 118, but when Buck finds copies of his books hidden in the closet, his secret soon comes out. I loved the way this fic showed Eddie processing his emotions and slowly embracing his sexuality through his fiction.

teach me how to love, and how to stay by @sharpbutsoft the sequel to a previously recc'd fave, aka the Chris finds out about the will fic. This is from Chris' POV and deals with the aftermath. His voice is so strong in this, I love his sarcastic teen thoughts that sometimes sway uncharitably into judgey Diaz mode, but are really his shield from the soft underbelly of wanting his Dad and Buck to be happy and his family and not leave him. He truly gets to say his piece here, whilst still ultimately giving Eddie grace and listening to him, and it's very cathartic.

With Eyes on the Stars and Hands in the Earth by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels been working my way through all of Lincoln's Halloween fics (read the ghosthunters, were!Buck and were!Eddie fics next!) but this one had me gripped earlier this week. Buck has plant magic, an unusual set of skills that set him apart from most of the natural witches he knows. Eddie is from a long line of witches but doesn't demonstrate magic of his own...but perhaps he's repressing more than just his emotions. Romantic, full of twists, and truly magical.

the kiss that lingers by @greenbergsays 5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark and 1 time he doesn't fic! What I really loved about this one is the way Buck's sense of home in his own body grows with the ever evolving romantic butterflies of Eddie showing him such specific affection.

There’s No Place Like Home-Spun by icewhisper ahhh undiagnosed adhd!Buck being offered learning accommodations by his high school teacher who helps him learn to crochet to keep his hands occupied whilst his mind focuses. Traverses through his personal growth until he ends up at the 118, gifting his creations along the way. But no one exactly realises he's making these himself.

a world to rediscover by @itsactuallycorrine the 'what if Chris DOESN'T come home' fic. In which Chris is a young man, settled and about to get married. Eddie followed him to El Paso to repair their relationship and stayed. They're back on somewhat steady ground, when Chris learns the truth about why Buck is no longer in their lives. His fiance plots with him on how they can fix it. Lovely and complicated and ultimately uplifting despite the premise that initially made my heart go oh no! Worth it.

been broken one too many times by @glorious-spoon an episode coda to 8x05, in which Eddie is struck by the realisation that yes he absolutely *would* kiss Buck if he weren't covered in boils.

That's it for now! Bring on the Eddie-sode.

[martyfive]

i lay in bed sick for two weeks straight. first there’s body temperature i never knew was possible for a human to have, then there are coughs that feel like they may be the last ones i could ever have in my life, then there’s weakness, then my five year old phone falls down from the bed ending up completely broken, then the bed sheets become something i couldn’t bear to see anymore. then i get up, go outside and unexpectedly find myself at the offer of a somewhat steady part job at this small italian restaurant we’ve been visiting every sunday sharp for the last year and a half except for these two weeks i spent lying sick in bed. we are leaving the bar for the night when R. asks me if i’d like to help her at the bar a couple hours a week.

“i have no experience or anything,” i say, feeling extremely daft. “i’m not even sure i can talk to people properly. i never really could.”

“it’s okay,” she says. “you’ll be polishing the glasses. it’s not hard. i’ll teach you everything.”

on our way home A. says, “it could be good for you, you know. being among people and trying something new,” and i feel like he’s right.

at this point this small restaurant already feels like another home i want to belong to. going there every sunday for so long totally helped with that. they have one of my works i gave them as a present for christmas on the wall. it hangs up above the table me and A. occupied the first time we ever came to eat there. the frame contains pages from a sketchbook i used to draw in while visiting italy five years ago. it feels too personal, but also somehow on it’s place. i hate to hoard the stuff i create. i want to be bolder.

regretting my life choices, i spend all what’s left from my last year’s salary on a new phone. it’s a first phone i bought without anyone’s help. it costs more than i deserve.

i can’t find any will to start drawing again after being sick for two weeks.

a couple days later i go to the restaurant to ask R. about the time i can get to work. she says, “this thursday, 6:30 pm,” and then adds, tugging on my star wars hoodie, “and put on a black shirt, if you have one”.

so i find one that looks like A. has been wearing it during his teenage years when he looked more like a stick than a human and i go for the job that for the first time in my life has nothing to do with any kind of art except the art of making cocktails i still keep messing up. a couple hours a week somehow soon turns into ten as normally as “polishing glasses” turns into “doing everything there is possible to do as quickly as possible”.

“would you like to do thirty hours a week?” R. asks one day looking hopeful as if i hadn’t broken ten of their glasses in the first five days of work.

“my back is gonna die sooner than you expect it to if i agree to that,” i answer. and it really is the only reason i don’t say yes.

i soon notice there is no time to think of anything else except the work to be done while i am behind the bar once again forgetting the difference between prosecco and chardonnay or picking the ice from the ice machine or freezing in the giant fridge while looking for the specific crate of beer everyone in this town drinks more often than water. the countless amount of crates are brought from and to the back room. the ten glasses are crushed, four of them in my own hands just from squeezing too hard on them. i cringe about every single one of them before falling asleep after coming home around midnight with my aching back and more money than i ever earned drawing pictures. i think about that one time my friend told me that once you start working in catering, there’s no way back. i haven’t talked to her in a while and i can’t ask her if she still thinks it’s true.

i still can’t draw. i guess it will pass. i still cough although i’m trying not to be loud when i’m behind the bar.

“you smoke?” R. asks. “i do. i just don’t have time.”

“i’ve been smoking since i was sixteen. but not anymore really,” i say to that. “when my mother calls me, then i smoke. but that doesn’t happen very often.”

M. laughs at that as if he understands what i’m talking about and says, “with this job, i either smoke a cigarette or kill somebody,” and i laugh with him.

M. is the chef and the restaurant is named after him. he cooks so good there is surely nothing better i’ve ever eaten in my entire life. i hear all about it from guests while picking the dishes from the tables, smiling and pretending my hands are not shaking. he and R. speak to each other in loud italian and i like how they sound even if i only understand a couple words from their dialogues.

“what’s allora?” i ask one time.

R. looks at me like i’m the only one who ever asked her a silly question like that, “huh,” she says, “i don’t know. it’s like here we go or something like that,” and she smiles.

i like talking to her. for some reason i like asking her questions and seeing the surprise on her face. she’s five years older than me but i feel like a child around her. she also has her birthday in november.

“all my family are scorpions,” she says after revealing the fact that there’s ten days between our birthdays. she names at least ten of the members of her family and all their november birthday dates in a row.

i say, “the parties must be hilarious when you all gather together.”

more often i feel like she’s my serious boss i keep disappointing with my every move but at the end of the shifts she turns into what feels more like a friend. i secretly hope i can be her friend one day even though it seems like she knows the name of every human being in this town and even some other nearby towns and doesn’t really need any more friends than she already has. but after all, i’m a part of this town now, too.

“what is your favourite thing to do here here at the bar?” i ask the other day.

she looks puzzled for a second, “maybe serving fish,” she says and this time it’s my turn to feel surprised. i saw how it’s done, and i don’t really know what she means.

“i thought it’s talking to people or something,” i say.

“nah,” she waves her hand, “it’s just my job, you know.”

i regret entering this territory but i still ask, “would you better like to do something else? some other job?”

“nah,” she says again, smiling, “i like it.”

and i like it too. horrifyingly, i like it too much. thinking about sitting at home and drawing stuff like i used to do all my life feels like a torture. it surely is one when i pick up my tablet and pencil and stare at the white canvas not knowing who i am anymore. there is nothing in my head i want to say. there is nothing my hands can do. i have no idea why. i want to go back behind the bar and ask R. what her favourite colour is.

“i’m proud of you,” A. says one night while we’re going back home from the restaurant where he got his two beers and one glass of whiskey i poured for him myself. he spent two hours sitting at the bar not far from these three teenage boys who have been drinking an enormous amount of beer and playing cards and then trying to guess where i come from according to my accent. “i’m proud that you’re doing good and you found something that you like so much.”

i buy two black shirts and jeans. i take my old black coat out of the wardrobe. i walk for two minutes from home to the bar and back looking fancier than ever. i feel happier than ever. i don’t look at my social media. i feel like this rotten sadness and loneliness that occupied my head for so long has nothing to do with my life now. i wonder if it’s just a phase. i consider finding a new therapist just to ask them if it’s okay to feel this good or i should be medicated before it’s too late. i want to go to bed at proper hour, wake up earlier, spend the day feeling good and then go to the bar and ask R. stupid questions and be stressed about the things i can control. i look at my workplace at home, at the white canvas that reflects nothingness in my head, at everything i have ever known, and i don’t know what to do.

i go back to work.

“you like it here?” M. asks almost every time. “is everything okay?”

“everything’s okay,” i say, smiling. and i mean it.

someone’s ordering an espresso at 11 pm. R. says, “tell them the coffee machine is already off,” turning it off while saying it. i laugh. i feel happy. i go home knowing there’s gonna be more work to be done tomorrow. i miss drawing stuff. i have nothing to say. i fall asleep thinking of the ten glasses i broke. in the morning, i can’t draw. i used to draw most of my stuff at the evenings and during the nights. now they are full of beer glasses and beer crates and adhd people who want an espresso before bed.

i ask myself if that really is how growing up feels like. i ask myself what i am going to do if i will not be able to draw a single piece of art ever again. i read the email of the person who wants me to draw an artwork for them. i wonder if they should know i’m an imposter who can’t draw anymore. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i go to work.

there’s a wedding at the restaurant. i once again bring what feels like an endless amount of bottle crates from the back room to the bar. i smile. i talk to people. i wipe the tables. i polish the glasses. i pour beer into them.

“my back hurts,” R. says.

“willkommen to the club,” i tell her, although for some reason my back doesn’t really hurt.

someone orders a beer and then changes their mind after the bottle was already opened.

“it’s yours if you want it,” R. says. “your shift is over anyway.”

and i stay. i sit at the bar as if i don’t really work there. i drink my beer, i talk to R. while she puts the new napkins on tables, makes sure everyone from the wedding paid what they had to and lets me ask her my questions. i pay for another beer, taking money from my fresh salary. R. rolls her eyes at that but allows me to pay anyway. she’s not a boss anymore. just… a friend. i tell her i don’t wanna go home.

“i can see that,” she laughs. “do you have friends here in town?” she asks.

i look at the bottom of my glass.

“no,” i say. there’s a lady on our street i sometimes walk our dogs together with. she’s as old as my mother. i always forget the names of her three kids although they’re all around my age. i wonder if i should mention her. “i have friends in other places. you know. not here.”

“i can be your friend here,” she says, smiling.

i feel like it’s the happiest day of my life. i’m also a little drunk on schwarzbier. even if my back would hurt i wouldn’t have noticed.

“if you need someone as me as a friend,” i say, “then. yeah. sure. uh. why not.”

we talk some more. the beer tests my language skills. i tell her i want a new tattoo. she says she got the first one when she was sixteen and it was a horrible butterfly.

“what is your favourite colour?” i finally ask.

she looks really baffled at that, then pulls out her phone. “i guess it’s red,” she says, showing me some of photos from her instagram where she’s younger than me now and is dressed up in red. “see, it looks good on me,” and she’s right. “but white is also good. and pink. and maybe purple. not black though. with my black hair, it doesn’t look good at all.”

we’re both dressed in black for work.

i come to the conclusion that colours are the least important thing in the world to her. that’s okay. i think about all the years i spent trying to make colours work. i wanna say something, but end up saying nothing.

she turns the lights off and locks the restaurant up. we spend a couple minutes walking in the same direction to our houses. i tell her about the name my friends from other places are calling me. i don’t tell her why it’s different from the one she saw on my id card. i’m not that drunk. she says she’s gonna use it from now on. she kisses my cheek before we part. i was at school the last time someone did that.

i go home. i sit at my workplace. i answer to the email of the person that wants me to draw an artwork for them from a new phone i spent enormous amount of money on. for a second i wonder if i should still tell them i’m an imposter and my career will be over by the morning when i wake up sober.

i think about the ten glasses i broke, then let myself forget about them. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i draw.

29/02/2024

[artdcnaldson]

ughhhuhhh

patrick gifting puppy art a realistic pocket pussy to fuck into when he’s alone and in a subspace

you and patrick make him use it in front of you guys though

poor bby is crying for mommy’s pussy and daddy’s cock to be on/in himmmm

ooouuuughhhh <3

Patrick specifically buys a clear one so Art can see his cock through it, see how pretty he is when he's stuffing something full of his dick <3 It's perfect for him, for those moments when he's all alone and desperate and you or Patrick can't be there to take care of him.

He's awkward about it when Patrick first gives it to him— all blushy and weird. But the first time he uses it, he cums so hard he sees god. Doesn't stop after just one, keeps going until the toy is leaking cum around his cock, dripping down his balls— until he's a fucking mess.

He's shy when you and Patrick ask to watch him play with it. You're both not up for it— you won't help him tonight, but you can watch him play alone, right? He can be a good puppy and show how he plays with his toys!

"I don't..." He trails off, cheeks pretty pink. "It's embarrassing." He doesn't finish that sentence, but you know. It's embarrassing how much he likes it. Still, his cock is hard and straining against his workout shorts, and you and Patrick really aren't feeling up for anything physical.

The first thing you notice is how wet it sounds. The slick squelch of the toy as it glides up and down his cock. He uses so much lube it's obscene. "Want it wet— like you—" he pants, canting his hips up into it so the head of his cock peeks out the other end.

He moves it so fast, humping up into it with a feral desperation. All whines and moans and ah ah ah ah!s. He drizzles more lube over his cock— it drips messy until the downy hair at the base of his cock is matted with it.

His desperation is delicious. He gets desperate— holds the toy in place and fucks it like he's in heat. Wet, obscene, sloppy.

"Please fuck me," he whines. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—" Mindless, repeated over and over. He could be talking to either of you at that point— there's no real way of knowing whether he wants your pussy or Patrick's cock— probably both, knowing how needy your sweet puppy is.

"You cum without us all the time," Patrick says. He's leaned back against the headboard, visibly hard, but doing nothing about it. "I thought puppies like toys."

He groans in frustration, arousal— tough to say. "I do—"

"Show us then, baby," you coo, reaching out to pet his hair. "Be a good puppy for us, show us how much you love your toys."

Art's so pretty when he cums. But there's something prettier about seeing it through the clear silicon— how his cock pulses within, his cum painting the walls and flooding the tight channel. His balls draw up, releasing the pent up load inside.

When he slips the toy off, a mess of cum drips from within, spilling over his spent cock. Because he's your good boy, you lick him clean while Patrick gives him something to occupy his needy mouth.

[moonbaby26]

Anyone else get abnormally freaked out about making some canon non-compliant mistake while writing One Piece fan fiction? There’s so many characters, so many details. Literally nearly THIRTY YEARS of content about these psychos out there at present. It’s daunting. 😭

If you don’t know what I mean about this very specific/stupid anxiety, imagine you just got into the fandom yourself. Maybe you’ve seen Law fanart and think he’s neat. You learn his backstory off wiki summaries and reels or whatever and then think he’s tragic. So you fall in love. You decide you’d be safe plopping him into a modern!au while you’re still trying to work through the manga or anime as you can.

You get a cute, fluffy idea of Law trying to propose to reader at a fancy restaurant. Cora is there for support. He’s supposed to film the proposal from another table that he and Doffy are at. Doffy is being a menace, Cora is being a klutz. It’s sitcom level comedy of errors. It’s so fun. BUT you have this whole section in there about how good the bread is at this specific restaurant. They talk about goddamn garlic bread like it was fine art because they’re both super nervous as reader already has an inkling of what is really going on.

But…LAW HATES BREAD. Yes, it’d be hilarious that he spent so much time talking about it anyway because he was that flustered. But you as the author really didn’t know. You didn’t know! Because you have a real life, and a real job, and you didn’t see the memes yet. You didn’t see that scene yet!

Now, does it matter? No, of course it doesn’t! It’s fan fiction. It’s fun and it’s free. But you, as the sensitive author you are will always remember that as the day Law accidentally liked the garlic bread. Because you were still a newcomer to this insane asylum of neurotic pirate lore.

It’s like that. My brain is dumb. Just slap a “may not be canon compliant” warning on everything and call it a day I know.

But I can’t, and it’s always in the back of my mind. Did I just screw up royally? Did I miss that one SBS about character X and how they absolutely wouldn’t ever do what I just said they did?

(P.S. Kuma shouldn’t have been in chapter 1 of my Doflamingo long fic. He didn’t become a warlord until four years after the fic’s current place in the timeline. I’m probably leaving it alone. That fic started as a one shot without a hard place in the timeline. But…I will still be thinking of it. It is now occupying brain space. Wtf. Why!? 🤣)

[blackpearlblast]

hey, if my ask is insensitive or simply too much work/you dont want to give your opinion/energy thats ok, and im sorry for bothering you if it is. ive seen many jewish people say "from the river to the sea" is a dogwhistle/generally antisemitic phrase to use, but you used it in your golem art's text part(incredibly moving text btw.) im asking you bc you mentioned youre jewish and i thought you might have insight or thoughts to give on why you use it/what you think about the first statement about the phrase?

hi, yes, i would be glad to talk about my perspective on this! first of all, i do want to say that i think a lot of palestinian bloggers have already talked about this and their voices will always be what you want to seek out first when educating yourself. however, i do know the crowd of people claiming that "from the river to the sea" is antisemitic/genocidal has been very loud so i understand why you would want to hear a jewish perspective on it too. second, in order to explain why i think "from the river to the sea" is not antisemitic will involve me comparing it to actual antisemitic, nazi slogans and dogwhistles and talking about what they mean. so just a heads up for that before it comes up.

the full phrase is "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free!" i think a lot of times in accusations of antisemitism people leave off the second half of the phrase in order to claim it is calling for something else to happen from river to sea (like the expulsion or execution of all jews.) but that's just like, not, ever, a thing? that is said? you can tell the pieces of the phrase go together because they rhyme and also are said together by palestinians and allies near constantly. it's "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free." and i think all of the fearmongering relies on a good bit of ambiguity beyond that too. "what does a 'free palestine' mean? could it meant they want to throw all the jews into the sea?" - some zionist when i tried to look up the origin of the phrase in case there was anything really important i was missing that i should cover in this. there's like this idea that they can't really be asking for a free palestine, there has to be some kind of catch.

i think it's also important to look at the circumstances that this slogan was born under. the thing about modern day palestine and occupied palestine, on which israel tries to build itself, is that even though spatially the land stretches from river to sea, the people's experience of it does not. because of the apartheid system of checkpoints, ID-based restriction of movement, and blockades (in the case of gaza), there exist great gulfs in the land that are impossible or near impossible for people to cross. there can be a place a couple miles away, that due to lacking the "proper credentials", is more distant for palestinians living under apartheid than perhaps a destination a cross-country trip away would be for you. so i see the call for a free palestine specifically "from river to sea" to remove those gulfs and allow freedom of movement for everyone. i find very little of this has to do with jews, personally. the only connection is that the people who set up and maintain this system of apartheid happened to be jewish. and i hope that we would all agree that resisting one's oppressors- even if those oppressors are also marginalized and oppressed in other ways- is not a bad thing.

but it is true that many white supremacist/antisemitic slogans may focus more on the creation of a (white) nation than actually the jews themselves, since they have already established among themselves that a white nation has to mean no jews. so let's look at some of the more famous nazi rallying cries and how different they are from "from the river to the sea."

the fourteen words are most primarily known to be "we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children." wow! i guess we could find some superficial similarities between this and river and the sea, like if we really wanted to stretch it. but personally, there's a ton of alarm bells in my head that this phrase sets off while river to the sea doesn't. the emphasis of "we" and "our" when used in this way really implies an us versus them narrative. and here the ambiguity really is present and malevolent! a "free palestine" is a palestine unrestricted by apartheid and colonialism. a "secure existence" and "future for white children" is uhhh, what does that Mean. like, we Know what that means right. but they aren't saying it. we can very easily find people saying what a free palestine means if we listen to palestinians. please, please listen to palestinians. there are so many people talking about what their idea of a decolonized palestine looks like, but the basics are generally one state, for all people, with equal rights for all, and the ability for those who were expelled from their homes in the nakba and all of the many long years following it, to return.

"blood and soil" is even vaguer. but thankfully(?), nazis were very enthusiastic about explaining what the phrase meant to them. "blood" is the superior aryan bloodlines and eugenic values that they wished to propagate and the "soil" represents the land of germany and the desire to "reject modernity and embrace tradition" by leaving urban life behind and living in the idealized countryside. (see we got a twofer here!) the only possible connection i could make to from the river to the sea here is the emphasis on the land but that on its own doesn't feel significant to me. land and the place where you live is very important to all kinds of humans all over the world. and i think another particular aspect of "blood and soil" is the emphasis of how you are living on the land. it's not just enough to be able to live in your homeland with freedom of movement and the ability not to be killed with impunity by occupying soldiers (lucky you!), you want to live there in a state of racial purity exemplified by eugenic values. in general, in nazi slogans, there is a particular fixation with a society shaped to represent these specific values. the call is not for freedom from repression, from an actual occupying colony, but instead from the considered bad actors and impure values coming from within their society. freedom from having degenerates sullying their perfect aryan nation. there is a plea to be able to get rid of those who do not match their view of a perfect society. the plea for a free palestine is, so much, a plea to be able to keep their family members, their friends, the friendly stranger down the block. that is not a fascist ideology, that is the will to live. and though i am referring to the ideology surrounding "blood and soil" in past tense because i am referencing the coining of the phase, these sentiments and slogans are obviously (and unfortunately) alive and well today. though, there is a particular irony to white american neo-nazis chanting it on stolen land.

"they will not replace us"/"jews will not replace us" refers to the "great replacement" theory, that jews are orchestrating a mass replacement of white people with immigrants (specifically non-white, often muslim immigrants.) i do not think this slogan has even any superficial similarities to from the river to the sea. you could definitely compare this sentiment to israel's attempts to maintain an artificial ethnic majority, since in many ways the potential "solution" to the "great replacement" would also need to involve creating/maintaining an artificial ethnic majority. (this is obviously not saying that israel subscribes to the great replacement theory, but that the tactic of maintaining artificial ethnic majorities is shared between zionism and great replacement theorists, since both ideologies rely on a specific ethnicity being the majority in their country.)

dogwhistles like 88, triple parenthesis, etc. rely on being vague symbols so that only those who know what the symbols stand for know what they mean. (88=HH=heil hitler, the triple parentheses representing the supposed (((echoes))) of jewish influence throughout history.) "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free" is a complete phrase that directly names its cause. people who say "free palestine" want you to know they stand with palestine. i guess if you wanted to be going for the most bad faith reading possible you could say "free palestine from what?", to which every palestinian and everyone who has been remotely paying attention to what palestinians are saying would shout: "from apartheid, colonialism, ethnic cleansing, and currently, very open and deliberate genocide!" like, it is true that if you felt you did not glean every aspect and detail of what the people in the occupied territories are calling for, you would be correct! but they are answering this. they want to talk about it. the reason i do not believe from the river to the sea is genocidal or antisemitic is because i have been reading and listening to what palestinians are saying and none of them have said they want to kill all jews. they do not want genocide, they want to go home! they just want to go home. i don't know most of this was written pretty tongue in cheek because i was talking about nazi slogans and nazis are pathetic and even more pathetic when held up against a movement of people who are legitimately trying to fight against a great wrong that was committed against them, but i just get so sad saying this. they just want to go home. haven't you ever felt that way before?

in the end, words mean things, and even more importantly, the contexts they're said in mean things. and while it's true that antisemites do hide behind dogwhistles and vague statements for plausible deniability, the alternative meaning does have to actually be established somewhere for them to be effective. from the river to the sea lacks an established alternative meaning. fearmongering from people who refuse to listen to what palestinians are actually saying does not make sense to me as legitimate definitions of the phrase.

also!!!! i'm sorry this got so Fucking long, thank you if you actually made it this far! i intentionally used "from the river to the sea" in my artists statement because it frustrates and upsets me so much to see people making such a big fuss about it when actual antisemitism goes unpunished. like a lot of the phrases i talk about here were chanted at the charlottesville neo-nazi march in 2017 and while many people were deeply upset and angry at what happened, the jewish community was not rallied around even Close to as much as it right now. and with joe biden saying "if it weren't for israel, not a single jew in the world would be safe" at a fucking hanukkah celebration i just. i don't know. the push back against "from the river to the sea" has so much to do with backing colonial and imperial interests and so so little to do with our actual safety. the concept of our identities and safety is being weaponized against palestinians, and at the same time makes it harder to identify actual antisemitism. and that hurts.

[waitmyturtles]

Love In The Big City: An Homage to the Best Queer Show I Watched This Year*

(*that actually aired this year, because I watch a lot of old shows.)

(TW: suicide attempt)

The time I spent reading the novel and watching the television drama series of Love In The Big City by Park Sang-Young was some of the very best time I invested in art this year.

(credit: @/khunkinn)

I wanted to try to keep up with the amazing LITBC Book Club (click the tag below to see all the club's meta!) earlier this year, but I couldn't on my mom schedule. So here's a wrap-up homage to my overall thoughts about this amazing book and its equally amazing drama adaptation, and hopefully I won't repeat anyone's points from earlier meta.

Earlier this fall season, as the drama was just released, I noted my overall thoughts on Park Sang-Young's 2021 novel. What's so great about the moment in time when a book and its drama adaptation meet the same levels of excellence in art, is that you get to see what each artistic medium can really offer by way of its specific ability to penetrate and dissect certain emotional states. With the drama adaptation, we got a more in-depth sense of the visual and behavioral whimsy of Go Young's T-aras friend group. We got a living, breathing sense of the simultaneous quiet and frantic pulse of the Seoul that Young occupied. We could almost taste and smell the sweat, the tequila, the apple martinis of the nightclubs that Young danced in at all hours.

I happened to love the novel, as I wrote in my previous piece linked above, because I love to cringe at really well-written, pathetic narrators. Like Proust's narrator, like Karl Ove Knausgard in his hefty autobiographical series, "My Struggle," you can read the internal musings of these narrators, and you squirm and cringe, being all like.... "really, bro? I know I have trouble getting it together -- emotionally, physically, sexually, everything -- but, dude, YOU are taking the CAKE."

The reason for the squirm is because excellently-written narrators like Proust's narrator, like Knausgard himself (okay, we can argue about "excellently written," but that's for another piece), are emotional pathologists, dissecting every minute whim of a feeling into words, cutting words that account for every last iota of mental anguish that these narrators feel at every given moment.

It's a brutal accountability test for us readers to weather. And, of course, as the very best art does -- it forces us, the readers, to face our own recognition of the kinds of emotions these narrators are detailing, and asks us to relate to them, vis à vis how we ourselves understand these emotions. Thus, a resulting squirm and cringe, as we reckon with our own emotional accountability in that very moment.

I had so many of these wonderful moments when I was reading the novel version of Love In The Big City. Go Young was so cringe. So pathetic.

(credit: @/my-rose-tinted-glasses)

And while the novel delved brutally into the reasons WHY Go Young was so pathetic and cringe, I enjoyed the drama's ability to sensually and holistically take me into that WHY place as well.

For me, Go Young's journey into the adulthood he ends up in begins with the intergenerational trauma and the avoidant attachment he must have with his mother. I say "must" because he's all she's got, and Go Young, to his misfortune, knows this, and must deal with it, and with her.

This is despite her utterly rejecting his identity, his sexuality, and forcing him at a young age to face conversion therapy in as abusive a situation as possible, literally being kidnapped into the therapy. We know from the novel that his therapists end up realizing that his sexuality is not his "issue," and that the "issue" is his actually deranged, Christian-devoted mother.

The drama doesn't get into that level of details. I will absolutely estimate that it COULDN'T get into that level of detail due to potential censorship, and the portrayed meaning of such a comparison as to show a devout Christian mother as a neglectful, bigoted mother.

But what the drama showed me, in real time, were the spontaneous movements and moments that punctuated Young's life, that were totally derived from the low self-esteem, the lack of internal love and respect he had for himself for most of the series. The emptiness, the lack of BELIEF that he had in himself, that stemmed from the refusal of his mother to accept him lovingly and holistically. I'd recommend LITBC to any potential parent as a guide on how to NOT parent your kid.

As someone trained in the social services, and as a steadfast lover of intergenerational trauma in shows -- and how dramas demonstrate the long-term impact of intergeneration trauma unto their characters -- Love In The Big City is utterly SUPERLATIVE in this category.

And this kind of neglect that young queer people so very often face in their families NEEDS to be depicted in art, so that we can see the risks of what these young people could, and will, grow up to be, without nurturing love in their life.

So. Man. Go Young goes fucking ham on fucking hipster doofus Yeong Su in a restaurant. Yeong Su, who himself deals with a kind of internalized homophobia that results in him producing bigoted "research" on homosexuality. And Go Young, unconsciously hoping that he could find love with a most unlovable man, subsequently attempts suicide.

Go Young breaks up with Gyu Ho minutes before Gyu Ho is to depart to China. I saw that moment as Go Young "releasing" Gyu Ho from the burden that Go Young assumes himself to be -- emotional baggage, Kylie, and all.

Go Young cavorts with Habibi, a man escaping just about everything by way of luxury hotels and unfulfilling work. After his real relationship with Gyu Ho, Go Young follows Habibi on Habibi's orders, having little to no agency in the coupling until the absolute end, as he leaves Habibi with a note. Habibi, who himself is also a subject of clear internalized homophobia, another example of the absolute wrath that social bigotry can lay waste on a queer individual.

Love In The Big City balanced these brutal moments of internalized trauma, bigotry, and homophobia with LIFE as it could be lived: life spent working, writing, drinking, partying, sucking dick and moving mattresses, catching up with old friends, supporting engagements, comforting friends after break-ups, BEING PRESENT for yourself and your family and your friends.

There was a shift of growth and responsibility in Go Young's life when his cancer-addled mother sank her head down on his lap in the sunlight of a park at the end of the second chapter of the drama. But what was so OUTSTANDING about the drama version of Love In The Big City, is that the drama didn't assume that that shift would be a great dramatic moment. Go Young certainly got into a relationship with Gyu Ho afterwards.... but he damn fucked it up at the end.

AND IT WAS OKAY. Even though we viewers were fucking heartbroken, IT WAS OKAY....

... because I believe Love In The Big City was communicating to us that it's perfectly okay to stumble in one's continued growth, in the movement forward of one's life. Go Young gets a new apartment, new light in his windows and his life, and celebrates the move (and the end of Eun Su's engagement) on his rooftop with his besties.

The novel ends a bit more brutally than the drama. In the drama, we do very much get to see Go Young doing a moving-forward thing. I was screaming and pacing at @lurkingshan when I finished the novel, and I felt slightly more uplifted when I watched the drama.

I love that I felt those two ways about my experience with each medium. Again, it shows what I GOT from the experience of reading and watching this story separately. And the drama very much played up the T-aras group more for kicks and lights (especially in the hospital), but I still got such a brutal sense of Go Young's internal mishegoss, that maybe I needed those gworls, too, the way Go Young always did.

The other best queer show that I watched this year did not actually air this year. That one is 2022's The Miracle of Teddy Bear from Thailand, which I will review soon for my Thai QL Old GMMTV Challenge project. The Miracle of Teddy Bear was rooted in anger and accountability against parents, adults, and society, for the wreckage that bigotry and abuse can render, internally and externally, on the bodies and minds of young queer people. It was an utterly exacting exercise in a brutal breakdown of queer pain.

Love In The Big City, in comparison, was a visual meditation on the mundanity of an individual's life -- depicting all the cringe and the pain associated with it -- vis à vis broken and incomplete love from family and lovers. But Love In The Big City also had LIFE, LIFE LIVED, woven through it all. Go Young kept clubbing with his friends, because he needed it, because he needed his friends, because his FRIENDS needed the club, and because his friends needed HIM.

While I felt a broken heart for his relationship with Gyu Ho at the end of the drama, what I had for Go Young was hope -- a hope that, while I knew the man, in fiction, would still experience hurt while moving forward, would still very much move forward nonetheless, on his own accord.

(credit: @/khunkinn)

(tagging @neuroticbookworm for awareness <3)

[river-mort]

Hi I love your mohg/rhadan art very much it’s my favorite thing. I also love your Morgott art a LOT. I love your more serious style and it brings such joy to my heart to see your art of the twins and little things about their relationship dynamic, that’s one thing that kills me about the game is we never get to see mohg & Morgott interact.

If you have any silly/angsty headcanons for rhadan/mohg I’d love to hear them. Or ones for the twins too for that matter.

i wish i drew more serious art it's just too much silly ideas occupied my head. I hate being the clown all the time it's my curse - being funny.

And thank you to ask question about some stuff I hc or draw. Last time I received such question was....years ago I feel

I'm also glad to intoxicate people into radmohg its such a funny and sweet ship. It's so sweet that I can't even come with any angst for it. They both might have their own sad stories they deal with (sometimes together) but something rough between them? They two has their own worldview and plans but they never confront each other. If someone disagree they just..... Don't talk about it? So You're a blood cultists? Okay just leave my army alone ok? They make some agreements and keep living. In fact I think it's impossible to make Radahn feel strong emotions - hate, anger anything. He is a big man of accepting and compromise when it's about relationship (not only romantic). He might be emotional on the battlefield and it's the only place when he can be rough but when it's a calm life he is as calm as capibara. He is a simple positive man. He is such a Kronk coded character to me lol, even if you throw a table at you it will just break and he will be like you okay? You seem sad :( . On mohg side, even being quite a self centered man, he somehow respect Radahn's personal space and decisions. He doesn't force him to follow his lead or do as be say - unless it's something small like carrying him in the top of the tower. But with Radahn everything is new to mohg - before he would never care about anyone in any way. He doesn't care for others opinions, decisions and desires. With Radahn he is unbelievably tolerant and sweet. From other side it actually looks like pretending and Morgott was absolutely sure that Mohg is up to something. Even Mohg himself thought he was up to something - he just didn't know what exactly he would possibly need from this man. During first period mohg acted so fun while pretending he doesn't care for Radahn and just want to use him for SOMETHING while actually he was simply interested in him. That's all. He was like no I don't care that he doesn't answer my letter for second day already and u walk around this room nervously because I think about other matters and definitely not because of that one specific. I don't care for him. At all. And morgott is like okay but I didn't ask?

With mohg and morgott on the other hand there's pretty much angst. And I'm not even talking about their different worldview and religions - that's quite obvious. Saying about headcanons I like to think that mohg has soft spot for his brother - too soft I would say. Being ruthless and cunning, he could've already get the leyndell throne even without killing his brother (which he always say he CAN do but no. He can't), but instead he actively helps Morgott rule, in mimic veil au he even becomes his advisor but basically he's a nanny - he forces him to wake up, to go on meetings, to do his duties which morgott due his strong, I mean strong, depression doesn't want to do at all. He didn't ask mohg to help and sometimes he doesn't even like mohg being around but mohg still do it - which probably makes some of his followers question his decisions and his promises. But mohg can'thelp himself. When he knows morgott will have some meetings HE is nervous because he knows how hard it for his brother.

Talking about angst I also like the idea based on my personal experience - some people can't be your therapists. They shouldn't at all but if they will they can't help you on a professional level which is what happened between these two - mohg has NO idea how to help his brother who is drowning in self hate. He is here in the time of need but he can't offer anything special. And in morgott case some simple support words and presence is barely enough to survive through some of his states of mind. I think sometimes mohg is exhausted. Based on my experience when some person you talk to is ALWAYS depressed and self hating unstoppable you just.... Give up at some point. And I think sometimes mohg is quite close to this. Of course he won't but it feels like you hitting a wall with your head constantly. Pointless

But talking about positive hc I think instead of open conflict they just tend to make fun on each other. You know, all these cocky comments ir sarcasm with all this "at least I don't serve some his ass tree that doesn't even answer" And they start fighting. Just two stupid boys. I don't have siblings but I think lots of memes about siblings relationship would suit them

Also Morgott and Radahn will find a way to communicate. I think Radahn is actually respect morgott for his skills at fighting and for morgott Radahn is just.... An okay guy. He doesn't try to take the throne or destroy city. I think they would even become sports companions because I think that morgott likes doing sports. It's his only hobby