#all of that fixation on weather patterns

[0ne-eyed-ghost]

I was wondering what to do as like an "Error" for day 9 ??? Decided it'd be something related to his voice module that bugged up really badly n took his voice, notched it up by like 1000 then blasted it back up through vibrations to his head [MASSIVE POUNDING HEADACHE TYPE SHIT!!!! NOT FUN] He's strongly associated with stormss for my design :] So . Hair gets all thunder-y n static-y ?? Typically also starts . creating actual turbulence and winds as storm clouds gather around his crown! I made a joke about his crown sun like. blowing up similar to a nuclear reactor n my friend said "IS MIND A BOMB NOW???" so hes a bomb now ! dont let bro have 2 many strong emotions it overloads ig ! COUGHS HEART TAKE BACK THE FUCKING EMOTIONAL CONTROL HERE MAN ITS GOING 2 LITERALLY BLOW UP !!! SMOKE IS POURING OUTTA THE MIND RN :sob:

[jargoteart]

Orpheus is probably the biggest Hades/Persephone shipper in Hadestown.

[p0orbaby]

Forgive Me, Father, for I Have Sinned

summary: two horny idiots risking eternal damnation for a quickie

warnings: SMUT 18+, sex in a church, yup, you read that right

a/n: loosely based on this request

word count: 2.6k

-

“This is so wrong,” you breathe, the words practically dissolving into Leah’s mouth as she presses you against the back wall of the church hall. The stone feels frigid through your dress, even in the sweltering summer heat; it’s that old kind of cold that sticks around in centuries-old buildings, regardless of what’s happening outside. The whole place smells faintly of damp wood and incense, a mix of candle wax and lingering prayers that seems completely at odds with what’s going on right now.

“Yeah?” Leah murmurs, with that infuriatingly calm tone, as though you’re having a conversation about the weather instead of whatever this is. Her hands are already hiking your dress up higher, bunching the fabric around your hips, her fingers deftly working with the same quiet confidence she shows in on the pitch—calculated, precise. “Seems like you’re coping just fine”

You catch yourself almost laughing, but it comes out as a choked breath instead. Somewhere in the background, the distant murmur of the christening service continues, the priest’s voice droning on in a sort of meditative monotone that feels strangely far away. It’s all “bless this child” and “holy sacrament,” while you’re up against the cold stone, your knickers soon to be halfway down your thighs. You think about how the acoustics in churches are supposed to be excellent, but all you can hear is the maddening thud of your pulse in your ears and the occasional scrape of Leah’s teeth grazing your neck.

It occurs to you that maybe you should care more about the fact that you’re technically still within earshot of Leah’s great-uncle reading from the New Testament, or that her mum is seated just a few rows away with her eyes shut in reverent concentration, her face an expression of serene grace. Leah’s brother is the godfather, you think, or at least, you’re pretty sure that’s what she said in the car on the way here, when you were barely listening because you’d just spotted a stray thread hanging from the cuff of her shirt and were fixated on the way it danced back and forth as she gestured.

Leah’s fingers hook under your jaw, pulling you back to her with just the right amount of force—gentle, but insistent, like she’s read your mind and knows you’re distracted. “You’re thinking,” she says, her voice barely a murmur against your lips. “Stop doing that”

You glance around, a half-hearted attempt at convincing yourself that no one’s actually going to walk in, that the ancient, creaking door isn’t about to swing open and reveal this scene to some poor, unsuspecting churchgoer who’d only stepped out for a breath of fresh air. The kind of person who’d probably drop dead on the spot just from the shock, like a character in one of those Victorian novels who faints whenever someone mentions anything vaguely improper. You almost want to giggle at the thought, but Leah’s hand slips lower and that faint urge is replaced by a much more urgent kind of distraction.

“I’m serious,” you whisper, though you’re not even sure why. It’s not like Leah doesn’t know the situation is mental—she’s the one who pulled you into this alcove in the first place, after all. You’re not entirely convinced it wasn’t premeditated, either. There’s a flicker of memory—Leah’s hand on your thigh during the ceremony, her fingers tracing idle patterns just above your knee as if to say, this isn’t the place, but let’s see how far we can push it. The way she’d glanced at you, eyes gleaming with a glint of amusement that suggested she was already considering how scandalised everyone would be if you just vanished for a few minutes.

“This is your cousin’s christening,” you hiss, as if stating the obvious is going to somehow ground the situation in reality. But Leah’s lips are on yours again, and you’re suddenly very aware of the way her hand slides down your back, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your knickers in a way that makes your knees wobble.

“Distant cousin,” she corrects, voice muffled against your neck. “Barely know him”

“It’s a baby,” you shoot back, though you’re already arching into her touch, your voice catching on the last word as her fingers find their mark. “Not sure how well anyone knows him”

“Exactly,” she says, like that settles it, as if committing some vaguely sacrilegious act in the back of a church is completely justified because the baby in question probably won’t remember this day beyond the dozens of poorly framed photos on the mantelpiece twenty years from now.

Your head falls back against the stone wall with a dull thud, the kind of sound that suggests ancient masonry, the type of historical significance that’s more suited to solemn reflection than whatever obscene thoughts are currently racing through your mind. You find yourself half-listening to the priest’s voice drifting in from the main hall, the rhythmic lilt of, “We commend this child to your care,” and you think about how ironic it would be if God really was watching right now. There’s a brief flash of Catholic guilt that flares up somewhere in your chest, though you aren’t even Catholic, and it’s quickly extinguished by the scrape of Leah’s teeth against your earlobe.

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that,” she whispers, her breath warm against your ear.

“I don’t,” you manage to reply, though your voice is strangled and you’re not entirely sure if you believe yourself. “It’s just… bad form, isn’t it?”

Leah lets out a quiet, breathy laugh—so close you can feel the vibration against your skin. “Well, you’ve never been big on good form,” she says, and it’s impossible to argue because she’s right and you both know it.

She’s always known how to push your buttons, ever since the night you first met—a benefit gala, of all places. You remember standing there in some ridiculously overpriced dress, holding a glass of champagne you didn’t really want, staring at a painting you didn’t really understand while Leah’s voice, smooth and confident, drifted over your shoulder with some cutting remark about modern art. “I’m pretty sure my dead nan could’ve done better than that,” she’d said, and you’d laughed, not because it was particularly funny, but because there was something about her nonchalance, the way she didn’t even pretend to be impressed, that made you feel instantly at ease.

The ease didn’t last, of course. There was that night in Paris—somewhere between the hotel bar and the Eiffel Tower, where you’d argued over directions and ended up wandering aimlessly along the Seine, half-drunk and clutching onto each other for warmth. You’d made up in a dark alleyway, pressed against a café’s shuttered doors, and you remember thinking then, as you do now, that Leah had a knack for getting you into situations that were entirely inappropriate and yet felt ridiculously right at the time.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath now, half in frustration, half in something else entirely, your fingers curling into the fabric of Leah’s half open shirt, tugging it harder as she shifts closer.

“That’s the spirit,” she murmurs back, and there’s that smirk again, the one that makes you want to throttle her and kiss her in equal measure.

For a split second, you wonder if anyone’s noticed your absence. The baby’s mother—Leah’s aunt, or second cousin, or something equally convoluted—had been so preoccupied making sure the godparents were holding the child correctly that you doubt she even noticed the two of you slip out. The priest’s voice carries on, something about being welcomed into the flock, and you’re almost tempted to peek around the corner to see if Leah’s mum has adopted that expression she gets when she’s half-listening to anything vaguely religious—eyes closed, hands clasped together in front of her, the picture of devout piety. You’ve only ever seen her like that at weddings, christenings, and funerals, and you briefly wonder if she’s ever actually questioned any of it, or if it’s just habit by now.

“What would your mum say if she knew?” you ask, though your voice is breathless, barely more than a murmur.

“Probably something about needing to go to confession,” Leah replies, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her fingers tightening around your thigh. “Or at least light a candle”

The laugh that escapes you is entirely involuntary, echoing faintly against the high ceiling, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes wide as though you’ve just been caught breaking some sacred vow. Leah’s grin widens as she leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, as though she’s branding you with it.

It’s insane, really. The whole situation is insane. There’s a plaque on the wall above you, some inscription dedicated to a saint you’ve never heard of, and you wonder if people are meant to kneel here to pray or if this spot is usually reserved for flower arrangements during weddings. You picture the church bustling with activity—weddings, funerals, christenings—the whole spectrum of life’s milestones, and here you are, using it as a makeshift boudoir. It’s enough to make you think about eternity and sin and all the other things people pretend not to care about but secretly obsess over in the middle of the night. You imagine explaining this to someone—anyone, really—and the look on their face. “We couldn’t help ourselves,” you’d say, as though that’s a reasonable excuse for dry-humping your girlfriend in the shadow of a marble saint.

Leah’s hand slips under the hem of your skirt, her touch gentle and yet completely assured, fingers tracing the line of your thigh with maddening deliberateness. Her fingertips are cool against your heated skin, and the contrast sends a jolt through you—a reminder that this is happening here, now, in a church where every whisper echoes like a confession. Her fingers slide higher, brushing against the damp lace of your knickers, and the way she smirks as she feels how wet you are only makes the whole thing more obscene.

The distant hum of the priest’s voice is a low murmur, as if he’s conducting a prayer in the background of your own private, silent worship. Leah’s touch is reverent in a different way—her fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing slow, teasing circles that make your hips twitch involuntarily. It’s a game she plays sometimes, just to see how far she can push you before you break; her thumb grazing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escapes you as her fingers dip lower, stroking along your slick folds with an infuriating patience. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispers, “We could get caught, you know.” There’s a wicked glint in her eye, like she’s daring you to care, like she wants you to make her stop just so she can ignore you and do it anyway.

The idea of someone stumbling across you both in this state—your skirt hiked up, knickers pulled aside, Leah’s fingers deep inside you—is scandalous in a way that only makes you wetter. You can’t help but glance towards the arched door, half-expecting to hear it creak open at any moment. But no one’s there, just the faint rustle of hymn books and the distant shuffle of feet, the sound of polite society carrying on obliviously while you’re being shamelessly fingered behind an ancient stone pillar.

Leah’s free hand grips your waist, pulling your hips towards her with a firmness that makes your breath hitch, as if she’s grounding you in this very moment—her fingers curling inside you, her thumb finally pressing against your clit in a rhythm that’s far too sinful for this setting. “Look at you,” she breathes, her voice a soft tease, as though she’s amused by just how quickly you’ve unravelled. “Anyone would think you’ve got no self-control”

You would glare at her if you weren’t already clutching her shoulders to steady yourself, your head tilting back against the wall as a quiet moan escapes you. The pressure builds with each deliberate thrust of her fingers, the slick heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to think about anything but the lewd wet sounds of her hand working you over. There’s a heat spreading through your chest, a kind of wild desperation that feels almost holy in its intensity. It’s like being on the edge of a fever dream, where nothing exists but the maddening insistence of her touch and the electric pull of release just out of reach.

“Shh,” Leah whispers, though her voice is laced with a kind of arrogant amusement, as if she knows full well you’re not capable of being quiet right now. “You’re going to give us away”

Your nails dig into the fabric of her dress as her thumb keeps circling your clit with a precise, unyielding pressure, and you swear you hear the creak of a pew somewhere in the background, the faint shift of footsteps as someone else moves within the church. The thought that anyone could be wandering towards the back at this very moment only makes your pulse quicken, your body tightening around Leah’s fingers as she pushes deeper, curling them in a way that makes your whole world collapse inward.

“Fuck—” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you’re not sure if it’s a prayer or a curse. Probably both. Your hips grind against her hand, chasing the friction, desperate to come undone in a way that feels almost defiant in this sacred space. Leah’s lips curve into a slow, smug grin against your skin, her breath hot and ragged as she watches you unravel beneath her touch.

“You’re close,” she murmurs, her voice low and throaty. “Aren’t you?”

You nod—there’s no point in pretending otherwise—your hands sliding up to bury themselves in her hair, tugging her closer until her lips are a breath away from yours. You kiss her then, hard and hungry, swallowing the sounds you can’t keep contained, your thighs trembling as she drives you closer to the edge. The faint taste of her lip balm lingers on your tongue, that familiar cherry sweetness that always reminds you of her bedroom, and the first time you kissed her, with one hand in her hair and the other fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

The climax hits you suddenly, like the shuddering crash of a hymn’s last note echoing through the church. Your whole body goes taut, your breath catching in your throat as Leah’s fingers work you through the wave of pleasure, coaxing out every last tremor as you gasp into her mouth. For a second, the world is nothing but a blur of sensation—hot and electric and thoroughly blasphemous.

Leah’s hand slows, her fingers slipping out of you with a final, lingering caress that feels like both an ending and a promise. You’re still catching your breath when she leans in close again, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, her lips curved in that maddeningly smug way.

“Still think this is wrong?” she asks, and there’s a softness in her eyes, an intimacy that lingers despite the scandal of it all.

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still tangled in her hair as you look up at her. “Completely,” you murmur, your voice breathless but certain, and you know she’s right when she smiles at you like that, because this might be wrong, but it’s the kind of wrong that feels so damn right.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Cuddling ✧

Plot: A comforting moment between Cloud and you after an exhausting mission.

The hazy tendrils of weariness tugged heavily at your eyelids as you finally allowed yourself to relax into the threadbare mattress.

Joints still thrumming with a dull ache from the day's grueling mission, you exhaled a deep, contented sigh nonetheless.

Here, nestled amidst the modest shelter of your shared quarters, the chaos of battle faded into a distant memory - at least temporarily.

At your side, the solid warmth of Cloud's form radiated pure comfort and solace. He lay on his side facing you, those vivid blue eyes you adored already slipped shut in the first blissful throes of much-needed slumber.

One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm splaying against the dip of your back as he instinctively tucked himself closer.

His tousled spikeswayed with each slow, even exhale fanning across your collarbone.

It always amazed you how someone as formidable as Cloud Strife - AVALANCHE's most elite mercenary who routinely stared down bioengineered horrors without flinching - could appear so disarmingly boyish and vulnerable when he surrendered to sleep's embrace.

The harsh lines etched into his features by years of combat and deprivation eased, leaving his expression bizarrely serene and youthful.

Unable to resist indulging that private fixation, you lightly trailed your fingertips along the stark angles of his jaw, mapping each rugged contour.

From the aquiline slope of his nose to the faint cleft carving that perpetually intense look between his brows. Every stroke drank in the textures of taut, weathered skin over finely sculpted bone and sinew as intimately familiar yet endlessly captivating.

You traced higher along his hairline, earning a sleepy mumble from Cloud as the gentle caresses ghosted over the sensitive nape before coasting up into his mess of sunny spikes.

A barely audible rumble, deep and masculine, vibrated against your chest - not quite a purr, but certainly contented nonetheless.

One azure eye cracked open to regard you through thick lashes, radiating equal parts drowsy indulgence and curiosity.

"Sorry," you whispered without stilling your ministrations, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

The last thing you wanted was to rouse Cloud if he'd managed to find that elusive serenity amidst the violence and turmoil constantly shadowing you both.

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

With impressive effort, he mustered a lethargic shake of his head, still resting heavily atop your sternum.

"It's alright..." Cloud rasped, voice roughened by fatigue and thickly slurred as he nuzzled closer to your touch. "Keep goin'..."

A helpless swell of pure affection flooded your chest as you studied the man in your arms with ardent tenderness.

So powerful and courageous, commanding entire squads of dedicated warriors into hellish combat zones without ever batting an eye.

Yet it was these fleeting, unguarded moments stripped bare of his usual frosty stoicism that truly captivated you.

This was the real Cloud Strife - not the unflinching legend or ruthless juggernaut lauded and feared across the ranks of AVALANCHE.

Just a man baring his soul and all its myriad flaws and vulnerability for your eyes alone away from the puppeteering manipulations of Shinra and its cronies.

Even if he didn't vocalize those delicate emotions often, allowing you to soothe and shelter him in the sanctuary of your battered sanctuary spoke volumes.

The man you loved. Scars, shattered past, and all.

With a quiet hum of indulgence, you resumed languidly raking your nails along his sculpted scalp in lazy, soothing patterns.

Cloud melted bonelessly at your side with a ragged sigh, eyes slipping shut once more as the tension seeped from his muscles.

Plush lips parted on a final exhale before his breathing evened out, easing him back into the tranquil depths of slumber without conscious thought.

Admiring the finally serene picture he painted, you allowed yourself to savor the simple delight of observing your warrior finally at peace.

Who knew how many more reprieves like this lurked on the ever-darkening horizon before the next onslaught of nightmares and demons came howling?

No, right now you would cherish this quiet intimacy and the wholly trusting soul beside you.

With a last, lingering caress ghosting through those wild blond spikes, you settled more fully into the coverlet's tattered embrace and willed your own eyes to drift shut.

The final dregs of consciousness slipped away to the sound of Cloud's deep, steady breaths lulling you into blessed oblivion at long last.

[auggiethefool]

Hi! Could you do another Varian oneshot where the reader is the one flustering him instead? You can do whatever you want for it! I just like seeing him being flustered, thank you <33

Sure! i hope this is what you had in mind. if not, you can get a full refund lol.

Cuddled Up | Varian x GN!Reader | Oneshot

Varian was quietly enjoying a cup of hot cocoa on a cold winter day, reminiscing on old memories. 

The only source of light and the warmest spot in his home was the fireplace. So naturally he was huddled up to it, awaiting someone. 

Though it hurts to look back on the past, amidst all the trials and tribulations, he still finds all those little moments where things weren't so bad. Like the time cassandra saved his butt. or all those other times rapunzel saved his butt. 

Huh…

Now he was just thinking of the strange pattern of women in his life saving his ass. 

“Varian!” 

Oh wow, speaking of saving his ass! Y/N had just come at the right time. 

“Thank goodness, Y/N, did you manage to fetch all those ingredients I wrote down?” He had inquired, giving a gentle smile. 

“Unfortunately, no. Every place is closed due to the weather conditions.” 

Varians smile deflated. 

“I already told you, Varian. No place would be open by now.” They sighed, taking off their fluffy winter hat. “Not much we can do about it, but sit back and enjoy some hot drinks.” 

“Eh, I guess you're right. Want some hot cocoa?” 

“Oh, absolutely. I nearly freezed half to death out there.” they joked, and plopped themselves down next to Varian. 

As Y/N went in to drink their hot cocoa, they remembered something.

“Hey Varian, where's your dad? I didn't see him when I walked in.” 

they had asked him with their eyes fixated on the fire. Certain thoughts swirled in their head. 

“He said he was going to check something with the king. And if it started to snow heavily he would just stay in the castle.” 

He said pretty nonchalantly. As if it wasn't the first time he was left alone to take care of the house. 

“Hmm, so what you're saying is we have the house to ourselves?”

“Mhm.” 

And with that, a demon had been awoken from its slumber. Figuratively speaking of course. The demon was Y/N. 

“Oh~?” they purred as they started to wrap their arms around the alchemist, cuddling him. “How about we get a little more…comfortable, then?”

He shivered at the sudden contact. And Varian’s face began to redden. His only response was a confused nervous giggle. His eyes stayed glued to Y/N, his mind running wild.

Y/N just loved seeing him so flustered. Unable to stop themselves from messing with him, Y/N decided to take it one step further.

“Awh, you’re shivering.” They put one hand on his cheek and leaned into his ear, whispering “don’t worry, I’ll make you feel warm.” 

They then pressed their chest against his, and sat on his lap. Their faces now mere inches away from each other.

“Wait Y/N, I-“ his voice cracked

“You’re what? You’re still cold?” They asked with a smile creeping on their face. 

He thought for a moment, then very bashfully said “M-maybe.”

Y/N started laughing, And Varians expression dropped for a second time today. 

“You shoulda seen your face! Haha, god you’re so precious.” They pushed him away whilst cackling. “Oh~ Y/N~ kiss me Y/N! Hold me Y/N-“ before they could finish mocking him, he interjects.

“Stooop!” Varian threw a couch pillow at them. “For god's sake, why do you always mess with my head!”

“Cuz you’re cute, duh.” Y/N giggled and threw the pillow back. 

“I think you’re cute too, but I never mess with you!” He tossed it again at them

“Say that again-“ 

“NO.”

“C’mon you love me.” They pecked his cheek. 

“Ugh.” Varian smiled begrudgingly. A tint of red traced his cheeks ever so slightly. 

They then eased themselves back into cuddling once more. With the occasional banter here and there.

Authors note: (Again, hopefully this is what you wanted, I tried something new with making the reader more of a lil shit lol. Also if you want more flustered Varian lmk)

[prettyundeadgirl]

For All Eternity

Summary: Severus takes you on a date to a cemetery.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Tags: Fluff

A/N: This may or may not have been inspired by Morticia and Gomez Addams

AO3 Link

Walking atop the flat cobblestone walls fenced around the cemetery, you held hands with your stoic lover, who stepped alongside you on the sidewalk.

The crisp air exuded an intense petrichor and the fragrance of resilient and unbidden wildflowers that had sprouted in the crevices of the masonry and grew among the freshly cut wands of grass dappled with dew. At your unforeseen approach, a startled squirrel dropped its acorn and latched onto the tree's fissured bark, scurrying up into the unfurled russet leaves. You observed the sacred grounds comprised of the deceased and the still trees that formed a cathedral-like canopy overhead and, in the past, witnessed a plethora of tears and interments.

Though an unconventional choice for a date and what most would find creepy or macabre, you deemed it hauntingly beautiful and… very Severus.

He glanced over at your figure, and nature faded into an insignificant blur as he traced the contours of your face in deep reverence. He struggled to fathom your arrant devotion to him and often pondered whether it was a trick or a long dream. But your undying love proved his moronic beliefs to be entirely false, and a small half-smile formed as his compelled gaze traveled over your physique and gradually made its way to your legs, watching your careful steps and savoring every detail of your exterior like a captivating painting one viewed in a museum.

If not for reaching the iron gate embellished with ornate patterns and remnants of patina from exposure, his eyes would have remained fixated on you, lost in complete admiration.

Severus, hands placed at either side of your waist, helped you down, and the dead leaves scattered asunder crinkled at your light contact. Smiling, you interlocked your arm with his, letting your fingertips brush against his coal-black sleeve.

You both furthered into the sepulchral realm, where between the rows of stone memories and desires reposed. You viewed the sun-blanched gravestones, some standing tall, adorned with intricate carvings and beautiful angelic sculptures—sullenness chiseled on their expressions forever, and marble cracked by the dejection burdened upon them. Other gravestones leaned precariously, their inscriptions weathered into obscurity by countless detrimental precipitations.

There was a strange sense of peace within the center of the cemetery—a place where the living and the dead coexisted and the delicate veil between worlds grew thin. Each crunch of gravel underfoot echoed and broke the palpable silence, along with the transient caws of ravens resting on jagged branches, some taking off to begin or continue their adventures. As the warm sunlight lifted the thin layer of fog hovering over the ground, the early autumn leaves broke off and fluttered gracefully to the ground, ready to rest and decay like the dead beneath.

You each took turns guessing the lives of each person and their ultimate tragic demise. Of course, his were far more detailed and structured with copious amounts of emotion, as if the stories had been his own experiences. You found yourself unable to resist the allure of his low, vibrating tones falling from his lips as he shared his conjectures. His voice was woven with threads of raw authenticity, seamlessly blending each word with passion, and you were in love with and drawn to it.

After some tales, trodding the endless path as graves whispered of love, loss, and sorrow throughout, you skimmed the engraved names and dates, some years being unfortunately close to one another. Suddenly, a particular headstone caught your eye. One grave. Two names. Lovers. Died on the same day. You imagined yourself and Severus with the same end: to never even let death do you part and lay tenderly beneath the dirt, side by side, rotting away together for all eternity. And even after all of the stages of decomposition, your love remained transcendent, as it did when life still coursed through your veins.

“There isn’t anything I’d want more.” He mused softly, his hand reaching to the small of your back. You smiled and scoffed playfully at his sudden use of legilimency. That was how he initially discovered you took a liking to him, and he found it somewhat amusing when you’d act calm and collected, destined to keep your feelings sealed away in the chambers of your love-filled heart. But the inside of your mind betrayed your guise, and it didn’t take long for you to confess.

Your face soon fell flat, and an unintentional seriousness enveloped your voice. “Do you swear it?” You awaited his answer, to which he replied with a slight raise of his brow.

“That you won’t ever leave my side?”

The question hung for nothing more than a moment between the two of you, and then he began with your name like a prayer beneath his breath.

“If you were to die,” his hands rose, cupping your face as his unwavering eyes stared deep into your glossy-coated ones. His touch, gentle and sure, allayed your foolish worries. “I would not spend another second on this miserable earth. The only reason I still tolerate it is because you make life worth living.”

Although you hadn’t replied, your look said it all, and for a moment, you both shared an intense gaze, exchanging sentiments that could not be expressed with words. The close contact never failed to send a swarm of butterflies inside you, and you reminisced on every moment that caused it. 

His eyes soon broke contact to flicker elsewhere, and without hesitation, he connected his lips to yours. The earth felt as if it had paused, granting you a moment beyond the constraints of time. Shared desire drew both of you closer, and the space gradually disappeared. Your hands traveled to the nape of his neck, and he angled his head to deepen the kiss. This action alone ignited a spark within you, setting your heart ablaze at the intensity of his affection.

And when you pulled away, something neither of you truly wanted to do, your breaths mingled, leaving an imprint of your profound endearment on the land. As contradictory as it seemed, the graveyard teemed with life, and you spent the rest of your date conversing with one another, relishing in each other’s company.

The cemetery, once a symbol of endings, became a place of beginnings for the both of you, and it was an enchanted time that you would forever cherish and take with you to your grave.

[creativesplat]

💘, 🐳, ⛩️, 🙊?

💘, 🐳, ⛩️, 🙊

💘 MIPHLINK!!! Do I have to say it? Absolutely 110% Miphlink. Honestly they are a pairing that I love more than all the other ships I have ever shipped, and I come back to them whenever other hyper fixations fizzle out or I want something comforting. I love them both so much. AoC is one of my favourite zelda games for that reason. (BoTW too, but the tragic lovers vibe is so sad)

Skyward Sword Zelink, a little bit, I wasn’t head over heals for them, but SS Zelda reminded me a fair bit of Mipha (if Mipha had been brought up in a less dangerous time and with less royal duties they would have probably been more similar), so that was that! 

I really wish I shipped Revali with someone, because I love the birb because he is stupid and fun to draw, initially I was a pining Miphvali shipper, but like, I wasn’t a massive fan of that, so maybe ZelVali? Some people ship that, and I’ve got to say the Revali and Zelda talking scene is one of my favourite cutscenes in BoTW, not to mention Zelda’s dialogue to Revali; If not romantic, definitely platonic. 

Teba and Saki are the adorable birb parents so I quite like their couple dynamic? Im not really the biggest shipper outside of Miphlink tbh.  

🐳

I honestly have no idea? Probably a Hylian (boring answer sorry!), but maybe a Rito. I love the decoration styles, and bright colours, and also they live in a cool climate and I do not like hot weather. So maybe a rito. 

⛩️

I think my favourite dungeon would have to be the Ancient Cystern in SS, I just love how beautiful the whole thing is, with all the lotus-y patterns and the pinks and turquoises and the flowers and stuff. ITs just so dang beautiful!! I also really loved the Sandship Dungeon. I think in terms of play through that was my favourite from start to finish. Location is SO much harder. Aesthetically Satori Mountain, and Rito village, story-wise and where I spend my most time in BoTW Zora’s domain, I also Love the Zora’s domain and Rito Village music. Also sweet cozy little skyloft is so nice and permanent and homely. The great plateau is so nostalgic and I love that too… AAA I don’t think I can pick! In AoC it has to be Scero’s Supplies, I know you can’t really go there, but the merging of Zora and Hateno architecture is just so beautiful and I LOVE IT SO MUCH! 

🙊

Ohhh… Unpopular Zelda opinions… I have quite a few of those. Ok. Here we go. 

ToTK is AWUFUL. Hot dang it is the worst thing ever. It wasn’t even the story that made me stop playing. It was one line from an NPC in Rito Village. Molli wants to make elemental arrows, and has an idea for arrow inventions, that can freeze enemies! No way that’s so cool, except… that is literally one of the main things in the last game. You can buy elemental arrows from the shops. Like what the heck? At least explain to me why a very common commodity that EVERYONE but Particularly the people who’s job it is to look after Bows (Harth and Moli) know about and have access to is somethign they want to invent now. I hate is. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I ha- anyway. I despise whatever Lazy idiot decided that was the way to go. Who cares about lore? Not us apparently. I also have a massive problem with the imperialist mass-destruction weapon wearing zonai as well. And as a historian I just love BoTW so much better than ToTK. It treats its history with respect, and nuance, and good golly thats not how ruins from 10,000 years ago would work and o my word stop suspending my disbelief!?! 

Anyway. I could rant for far longer about far more things, but I’ll leave it at that. 

Way more unpopular, and Zelink shippers please ignore this: I think BoTW Zelink is creepy. The power dynamic is insanely bad (princess and her servant who literally cannot disobey her father), and the age gap is also awful (16 turned 17 for one day and “20 something” from the BoTW art book). 

Also, the women deserve better from that fandom. But that’s not news.

Thank you so much for the ask Stars!

[liberalk1tsch]

10 first lines

rules: share the first line(s) of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

ty @adsosfraser for the tag lol

seeing as many of my published fics have been scrubbed from the internet due to my mother stumbling across my wattpad in 2014 and forcing me to deactivate my account (i can’t blame her — i was 12 and hoping i’d get sold to one direction), i don’t have many that are actually public🫣🤗

so here’s a few published mixed in with unpublished/wips

1. Sparks Fly: (everlark, published, finished)

The frosty air around me has long since stolen the warmth from my hands and the once-steamy flask of tea they grip tight. My body is stiff all over, as if my muscles themselves have frozen in the harsh January weather. If a predator were to attack me now, the odds of me walking away unscathed are miniscule. I should get up, get the blood flowing through my veins. I should do so many things. Say so many things . . . But instead I sit, still and silent as the first rays of dawn begin to break over the horizon and the calls of birds begin to split through the trees.

2. Made of Ashes: (everlark, published, wip)

I slide a hand down to my swollen belly and stare at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on the worn leather of my boots. A few yards away is where the bed I shared with my sister, Prim, stood. Over there was the kitchen table. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed in a charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest of the house. How else could I orient myself in this sea of gray?

3. Cruel Summer: (everlark, published, wip)

I try to scream, but no sound escapes my throat as my head is shoved under the surface of the slimy, foul-smelling water of the Capitol’s underground tunnels. I thrash against the two sets of hands holding me down, but it’s no use as the eerie, smiling faces of Coin and Snow swim into my vision.

4. The Loneliest: (everlark, temporarily re-unpublished, needs reworking and planning)

I grip my father’s hand tightly, dreading the moment I know he’s going to let go and push me towards the line of all the other 5-year-olds already forming outside the classroom door. It’s my first day of school, and I know I should be excited, but all I feel is an anxious pit in my stomach.

5. Exuent: (mrs. everdeen x mr. everdeen origin, unpublished)

I slump my head in my hands, the scorching summer heat starting to get the better of me as I shift uncomfortably in the apothecary stall. I hate summer. Really, truly hate summer.

6. untitled gtb (unpublished, NOT sparks fly related, peeta’s pov)

I find her laying on the sofa for the fourth morning in a row. Not eating. Not sleeping. Just . . . staring. At what, I have no idea. But her gaze is fixed on something outside the window.

7. untitled victory tour wip (playing with calling it temporary fix) (yes i have a fixation on them getting caught sneaking away and the whole «nights on the train» thing, idc) (unpublished, peeta’s pov)

“You wanna get away for a bit?” I whisper softly into her ear as the song we’ve been dancing to fades into another. She has that artificial, inauthentic smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. The same one she always uses whenever we have an audience. The same one that’s fallen ever so slightly with each question she’s had to respond to, every congratulating compliment she’s unwittingly received.

8. untitled random wip i started and never finished for my friends: (everlark, smut)

I wake with a start, but it's not the usual nightmares plaguing me tonight. The symptoms of a nightmare are all there — my thundering heart, my body breaking out in a sweat, shaking uncontrollably, my throat hoarse from crying out. But then there's the heat in my stomach I connect only with those kisses with Peeta in the cave.

9 and 10 are 5sos and 1d fics that somehow survived the wattpad purge by hiding in my google docs but will be remaining nameless and sentence-less bc i should not have been writing those things as a 12 y/o💀

anyways, they’re unnecessary — the common denominator is that i’m a Certified Yapper who might enjoy narrating a little too much

tagging: literally anyone who feels like it😅 i’m tired and can’t think of anyone rn

[shadowqnights]

hello there! i’m perpetually in awe of the scope of what you attempt w your mcd fics!!! i’m not sure if you’ve answered this already, but do you have any advice for writing Diaries fic? most writing advice is the same, but have you found anything particularly helpful to keep in mind when writing fanfic for MCD specifically???

hiii this has been sitting in my inbox for like a month and i could Not figure out how to answer this i am soo sorry. mostly because i get what you mean about most writing advice being the same and i've been struggling to think of how i would differentiate writing for mcd. sorry in advance since i know i yap a lot here and i'm not sure if this is specifically what you were looking for but ummm i'm just gonna list all of the things i keep in mind/like doing and if any of that resonates with you then its a win. i'm also really tired its like 2am but i felt like doing this Right Now for some reason.

[also i may be the wrong person to ask this because i'm a little bit insane and my mcd rewrite worldbuilding is about 10k in my notion now and i'm barely 1/4 of the way through so i don't really know when to Stop with my mcd scope HAHA. plus loverman alone being 500k. i tend to go all-in when it comes to the scope of my fics you mentioned haha so i'm wondering like. what specific parts of the scope you're interested in. if i answer this all wrong by all means please send another ask correcting me and i can try again!!!]

honestly i think my first thing does blend with generic writing advice I'M SORRYYYY. but truly it is just to read more. i was writing fantasy books before mcd fanfiction + i was reading a lot of fantasy books during my mcd fixation [yeah i know its lasted since 2016 shut up]. i really do think that reading and writing go hand in hand, whether fantasy novels or just browsing ao3, reading other people's work is an important part of my writing process. not only is reading a learning opportunity to get to know your own tastes and wants [and the things you might want to avoid in your own writing] but at least for me i get suuuper inspired reading other mcd fics. i may be picky with my tastes but also when i get inspired i get inspired HARD. too tired to link my fav mcd fics just pretend they're here and ask me later for them. when we're writing for mcd we already have to take a bunch of creative liberty and put the work in to fill in the gaps that minecraft can't offer, and the combination of mcd + fantasy world tends to have a lot of gaps. so reading more might give you some inspiration on how to fill those gaps.

-> by gaps, i personally like to think about things that couldn't be communicated as well in minecraft media but you now get to elaborate on in writing! your hands have this awesome gift of being able to fix the stuff you don't like about mcd and elaborate on the stuff you do like. you get to extend what mcd established in cool words and longer words! mcd fanfiction to me is a really [figuratively] sexy pitch of a show that you might struggle to otherwise recommend to someone in its original form, but trust me its good and the fic makes it sound good. so i guess this list is going to be things that i like to think about that make mcd sound good and appealing that flesh it out compared to writing something like mystreet. all of this depends on how far you are willing to stray from canon, whether you're diving into rewrite or just writing canon-adjacent fic, but in terms of fantasy worldbuilding to chuck into mcd, you can think about:

environment, how you would describe the landscape + even things as simple as weather patterns from region to region. get immersed in the world and use it to affect the characters. everyone's got different preferences when it comes to setting / environment description, and since i prefer character driven writing i do personally find it hard to talk about environment but that's definitely something that reading has helped. i'm also throwing generic worldbuilding in here ermmm fantasy novels love worldbuilding. you will love worldbuilding just like me [hypnotising you]. reading fantasy and getting immersed in Other worlds and taking note of the things you like about them might help you. we are going back to english class and we are going to figure out what the author is telling us here and maybe as a fellow author you like it and go hmmm i want to tell my readers something like that too. there are soooo many ways to get immersed into worldbuilding that like i would want to make an entire other post but errmmmm off the top of my head i like thinking about...

architecture! what does each town look like! whats its design and colour palette and how can you incorporate that into your descriptions [since colour will help you set a mood, establish time and just be a general vibe checker]. food! what are these guys eating in a fantasy world! and if you wanna go deeper every character is going to have a personal taste and even if that's not relevant for the fic you're writing right now the little things are still fun to think about because you can always bring it back around to character building. garroth's plain food tastes and total inability to cook for himself come from his upbringing in o'khasis vs laurance's love of food rich with spice and flavour because of joh's home cooking. dante spent a lot of time without a stable home and thus had to become opportunistic and abandon his previous pickiness. etc. etc. there are soo many ways to differentiate fantasy worldbuilding for a mcd fic to make it feel more well-rounded. also things like clothing choices, accessories/bags/inventory [think about if you could see every character's minecraft inventory - what are they carrying around?]. even just simply what the land looks like from place to place? what is the terrain? what minecraft biome are we in right now and how does that affect things like temperature/weather/appearance? is garroth ro'meave pissed because its hot as fuck climbing this mountain on the journey to find aph? you bet ur ass he is. make him suffer. umm you can also think about small-scale threats like minecraft monsters. you gotta have your small guys. highly recommend worldbuilding the nether too because like. the shadow knights are so cool. ermm. ok sorry i talk too much on with more stuff.

weapons, you're in a fantasy world and you can throw in some variety in weaponry that goes beyond basic sword and also bow and arrow if ur vylad. and also giant broadsword if ur aaron. also a good way to get into characterisation from character to character: thinking about how they fight. what kind of weapon do they have? what's their fighting style? you don't Have to give everyone just a plain old sword if you don't really want to. i'm guilty of not doing enough research on swordfighting before i write fight scenes but i also do looove to make fight scenes messy. some of these characters are trained to fight in a certain way and i hate writing their fancy feet but also some characters will not automatically know how to fight and if they get into a scuffle it might be a bit of a panicked mess! i think (hope) that my writing style tends to help with the frenzied kind of brawls that some characters might get into and how when some characters are threatened they might just blindly kick and claw and struggle. and others might just freeze up and some fights might just involve blind punching and clawing and rolling around because [i like it] i like the idea that even in mcd not everyone is cool and collected when confronted with physical altercation. even trained characters might panic a little and get a little bit sloppy and messy with their technique. others might lock tf in. i promise sometimes i just make things up and also i encourage making shit up sometimes when it comes to stuff like that. because there will be a point where you drive yourself insane trying to research a certain fighting style and if its draining your joy and whimsy and passion for the thing you want to write then take a step back. for things like that you can spare yourself some pain. on the opposite end of the spectrum some things Will require putting in the appropriate effort to research and learn about before you write & put your listening learning ears on if you're approached and told that you've written something harmful.

time, time passes a lot faster in minecraft but in fics you can afford to write time going slower and use it to your advantage. i'm trying to think of examples ummm making travelling seem more exhausting, injuries healing realistically, even mentioning things like seasons and weather and time of day to show the passage of time as a tangible thing rather than the fic being a tiny little character-driven bubble. mcd has a lot of stuff to do with time, eg. the irene dimension skip, but you can also think about character ages and how time passes through each season. minecraft logic has babies grow up in like 5 episodes and speeds things up for the sake of plot but when you're writing you can afford to be more grounded. if you want to apply exact logic levin would be at least around 3+ by the time aph and the gang enter the irene dimension. characters feel way more relatable when you think about mcd taking place over years + the 15 year time skip, even if you don't write that Directly into a fic, its a helpful gap to fill. i like to mention certain events happening over a matter of weeks or months to keep the reader aware of the passage of time and also put certain things into perspective.

injuries, things are gonna hurt. a lot. these guys are fighting insane style with insane weapons. obviously this one isn't for everyone, but i personally do like battering the mcd characters around a lot more because they're fighting with big boy weapons and, if its your thing, a fic can turn a minecraft slapfight real serious and mature real quick. i like writing gore and angst and that's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but if its yours you can definitely think about injuries. put some research into how those injuries actually occur and how they work in the body + healing times! research how scars look and how they heal as well as long-term injuries. my mcd fics tend to play with body horror and gore and those help add to stuff like shadow knight freakiness and up the stakes when it comes to fight scenes and weapons because it feels like there is a real threat. that's an entirely personal thing for me because that looming major character death tag is Right There and i do kind of enjoy keeping up a constant state of fear. its good to feel like the world has stakes and consequences. and also i like making mcd bloody and a leetle bit darker which does kind of come into play with my worldbuilding so i thought id mention it.

ummm and finally speech/dialogue i think is the biggest one i keep in mind and its a big difference between my mcd and mys fics. i tend to write a lot more flowery (i don't know the right word) for mcd . mcd leans more into the fantasy genre and so i write mcd with a greater focus on world rather than character [i know i said that i prefer character writing before so just hear me out here]. when writing mcd i am far more aware of the greater world that surrounds the characters and even when its not explicitly mentioned i am Thinking about that worldbuilding. whereas when i write mystreet i am in a very character-driven hole and the greater world is not quite as on my mind. even canon mcd assists with this because the world is far more expansive and involves the divine warriors + mystreet doesn't incorporate that world until far later in the seasons and only really vaguely refers to irene as a swear rather than the distinct religious practices present in mcd. comparatively irene has a very constant presence throughout the mcd narrative from season 1 even when her lore was being retconned all over the place. beyond that Awareness of the expansive mcd world, i mention environment far more in mcd fics compared to mys fics. i set scenes way more slowly and take the time to ground the characters in the world and talk about the landscapes/weather/sky a lot oops and it really is because mcd has more of the natural world involved as well as very different architecture. i always like having the environment in mind when i write mcd. and dialogue i write very specifically far more old fashioned and lately i've been trying to make my mcd dialogue feel a lot more traditional. characters obviously are going to speak a lot formally and less casually than their mys counterparts, but i play that up for characters like garroth and zane [zane hasn't been back in a hot minute but when he is back this will come into effect] who don't tend to use contractions as much as ones like laur, for example. i've started drawing out their sentences a bit more, and i also tend to read dialogue aloud to myself a lot to sound it out, see how it feels. even in a fantasy world, realistically characters are going to have vocal quirks, going to stammer on certain words or stumble over their sentences sometimes. i find it adds a sort of realism to their speech to sound out dialogue to yourself to feel how it sounds to say. that's something relevant for mystreet too but still. [and you might have noticed already that my casual typing style tries to mimic where i would usually stumble my words irl or pause for breath or to think HAHA i'm trying to stop it to make my sentences clearer and far more readable since not everyone reads the way that i interpret my own speech into text].

ok sorry i talked so much its 2am here and im literally about to crash so if something in here doesn't make sense its definitely because i'm tired as fuck and about to pass out. that last paragraph was nonsensical im so aware but i hoped at least a little bit of this answered your question. just yell in my asks if i didn't fully answer the question or if you want me to elaborate on anything okay thank youuuu yippeee yipeyipye sorry for yapping bai

[silverjurors]

Answering questions about O'Khasian culture in my rewrite from @zenixromeave (ty so much)

1. what kind of clothes do people wear? what is the weather like and how does this affect clothing? are there any patterns or motifs often used to decorate clothing?

O'Khasian clothing trends depend on who is in power at the time, however, I will answer based on what is popular during the MCD time period

The weather in O'Khasis is fairly temperate (think like the UK's kind of weather), which means it rains quite a lot, it hardly ever snows, and when it's hot, it's BOILING. This doesn't affect the populations clothing styles as much as it could, as the working classes are more inclined to wear more layers of clothing anyway, and it really only influences the upper classes when they want to travel

Many working class people in O'Khasis tend to wear blue, if they can afford it. A popular form of clothing style is a hooded capelet worn over the shoulders (similar to a cloak but not the same). Blue is a very popular color in O'Khasis, especially amongst those who can't afford to buy or maintain white fabric. Other clothing trends among the working class include but are not limited to

Both men and women tend to wear trousers, mostly for mobility in work settings.

For formal events like going to church, losely fitted fabrics are popular, as they were popular in Irene's time and people tend to imitate her clothing styles when in prayer

Many working class men specifically tend to obscure their face in public or religious settings (inspired by the High Priest)

Wearing teal and green during festivals, holidays and celebrations

It's a bit different for the upper-classes, as they can afford to maintain white fabrics and more 'fancy' things. As such, O'Khasian nobility dresses in a more 'traditional' way, but there are some notable differences, such as

Married men wear their hair in 'wedding braids' at almost all times, and if they are wealthy, these braids are decorated with fine jewelry and silver

Wealthy women wearing less layers of clothing than working class women, although it often looks the other way around due to some elaborate draping and pinning going on

Many upper class citizens of O'Khasis have the symbols of Irene stitched into their clothing, usually a flower that looks similar to our chrysanthemum, and almost always in gold (on blue fabric), or blue (on white fabric)

Other symbols that are popular in O'Khasis' upper classes clothing include - the moon (Eamonn), a rune of Enki, and occasionally numbers corresponding to a specific verse of their religious text

Only those highly affiliated with the church/the Jury wear symbols associated with Xavier, as it's seen as a sign of a warrior and/or someone who can be incredibly violent for a religious cause

(I could keep going but I fear I have rambled too much)

2. is there any distinct architectural style? what materials are commonly used?

My mental vision of O'Khasis pulls from a number of sources, but the best I can describe it would probably be a combination of Ancient Roman and Perpendicular Gothic architecture. Lots of mosaics, fancy stained glass windows, arched tall buildings, beautiful sculptures coming off of houses and churches, that sort of thing.

The most commonly used material in O'Khasian architecture is concrete, brick, and wood. However, to be more specific, more fancy and elaborate churches tend to have marble and handcrafted wood interiors, whereas the churches used by the working classes usually just have regular floor tiles. The wealthiest families and most expensive houses have andesite in them as either flooring or statues, as andesite has to be imported, making it just as expensive as marble in O'Khasis.

Aaand that's all I got for architecture so far, idk why I fixated on flooring but there we go

[superworldunkown]

Comfort Dating Headcannons

AN: Needed a break from a larger fic I am writing and I wanted some comfort/fluff. Like, Reblog, and enjoy!

Todoroki:

He messages you the morning of your date saying he was en route to the hospital and had to cancel. Upon getting curious and genuinely checking in for his health, he responds with “I wasn’t feeling well this morning and Denki said I had butterflies in my stomach. I dont know when that could have happened but I think its important that I head to the hospital and get them taken out.” After several message exchanges and a 5 minute phone call, you two do end up going on your date and Todoroki learns another important message in the value of expressions

Everything you say or recommend is the word of the gods to him. You casually mentioned that you just read a really good book from your favorite author that he may also like and two weeks later he comes up to you saying that he finished the book and did indeed like it (although he has several questions about character growth and decisions he must ask you). When you are shocked he took your recommendation he responds with “I take all of your recommendations seriously. I like knowing what you like and why”

It’ll be work but MARRY THIS MAN

Bakugou:

I value everyone’s opinion but I am still convinced with my whole heart that despite this man looking and almost acting exactly like his mother, I think he takes after his father’s side when it comes to interpersonal relationships, and dating in general. Sure, he’s determined and a get-it-done type of person, much like Mitsuki. However he gets so fixated on getting it perfect and right that he ends up stalemating himself when it comes to asking you out. This time he was going to do it. He plotted the perfect date, down to the weather patterns. And after screaming “Just do it, Nerd!” To himself in his head he launch himself off the couch and stalks over to your direction at the table. However, panic strikes again when you lift your eyes from your laptop and pierce him right in the heart. The ‘perfect proposal’ ends up being a jumbled mess of “Hey, Y/N! Do you want to…fuck - no not that I mean- shit, what I’m trying to say is…DAMNIT NEVERMIND!” And a small explosion just because its him and he storms off. You end up texting him and after careful and dedicating prodding to not further bruise his already tainted ego he does ‘kinda’ get it out that he wants to spend time with you outside of the normal circumstances. And yes, the weather was absolutely perfect when you two did go out together

Much like his father to his mother, to him, you are the sun. He’s just the lucky planet that gets to revolve around you. He spent most of his life only focusing on being the number one hero and nothing else. When that shifts to ‘be Y/Ns number one’, ho-my, be ready. It’s about to be the most chaotic but best ride of your life!

His love for you is somewhat disjointed. While he has the best intentions to adore and love you, his past trauma and old habits sometimes make their way into your relationship.

Midoriya

Would 100% bring his notebook to your first date and try to secretly jot down things he hears about what you like doing or how bits about you so he can remember them for future dates and presents. Of course you catch him and while at first its absolutely creeps you out, you realize that he has a notebook for all his friends with all the stuff they like doing or cool things about them. It’s pure

He is the absolute best person to come to when you are sad or in need of support. He’s patient and he’s such a good listener.

He’s awkward AF and swings passionately through emotions, however he will casually drop the best one liner affirmations or compliments. Like bro, you’re nervous to hold Y/Ns hand but then you just randomly say “Don’t be nervous Y/N, I believe with my whole heart you’ll do your best and everyone will see what a star you are.”

That’s all for now. Let me know if you want more.

[eurydicesdisciple]

Clipboard History

// Hi !! This is my first time posting in a very long time (on any platform). I hope you guys find some sort of joy in my writing. This has nothing to do with a clipboard history. I had nothing better to name it. Enjoy !

Word count:1242

“Satoru, should we move?” Geto awkwardly leaned down, his arm wrapped around a slumped Gojo. Gojo’s eyes had been fixated on a small boy who had emerged from a bush near them. The child couldn’t have been any older than five.

“Do you think he wants to fight?” Gojo whispered, looking back at Geto’s now worried expression. The child stood timidly under the sunlight, eyes darting between the two men.

“I doubt he’s even grown conscious, Satoru,” Geto remarked, turning his head back to the pond that lay in front of them. Geto paid no more mind to the child, hoping an adult would come whisk the child away back to safety.

“Look, there he goes,” Gojo pointed at the child, now running away frantically to his mother. Geto’s eyes followed the child, quickly flashing a smile to the child's mother, who smiled back in return.

The tranquil silence returned. Gojo’s back ached from the weathered wooden bench under him, with his legs awkwardly sprawled over it. He wouldn’t dare move. Geto’s arm still lingered over his shoulder, fingers tracing delicate patterns over his shirt.

Gojo knew not to ask Geto. Not that he knew what to ask for; all he knew was that the second he opened his mouth, it would all be over. The secret meetings, the banter, the countless nights spent just like this.

Gojo wouldn't admit the shame he felt whenever he wanted more than the lingering touches. Geto surely must’ve known; after all, he saw how Gojo’s eyes softened as he gave in to Geto’s touch. He must’ve heard Gojo’s heart pounding against his chest.

But Gojo would have to give in to secrecy, allowing intimate touches to stay hidden, allowing himself to stay hidden. He couldn't recall when he last asked himself if he was okay with this, if he was okay not knowing where this may lead. Did the prospect of it going nowhere haunt him? And could he bear the weight of never speaking of it again, of burying it deep within, where only shadows dared to tread?

He couldn’t ask to name what was happening, not without having to explain how easily he let his best friend kiss him, how he craved more but feared the inevitable end of their clandestine moments. The burden of silence, the ache of unspoken words, and the weight of hidden desires gnawed at him, yet he remained silent, trapped in his own unvoiced longing.

“Satoru.” Geto looked down at Gojo, finally pulling his arm back to his side. Geto didn’t need to say anything else; he knew it was time to go.

“Well, come on, man!” Gojo hurriedly got up from the bench, stretching to avoid Geto noticing the pained look on his face.

“We aren’t leaving yet.” Geto gently chuckled at Gojo’s antics. It was barely spring, yet there was something about the illusioned summer heat that made Geto’s interest in Gojo peak. He was sure he just liked the way Gojo’s white hair shimmered in the blazing sun; it was more enthralling to watch than the fish that swam in the pond.

Geto stood from the bench, dusting himself off before walking away from Gojo, signaling for him to follow. “I figured we should sit in the sun; we haven’t gotten much of that lately,” Geto explained as he led Gojo down the dirt path.

Gojo couldn’t remember how or when they found this park. All he knew was that it was the place where Geto and Gojo could share each other’s embrace without needing to hide. There was no one who could make him feel shame quite like Suguru Geto. Geto could convince Gojo that all they were doing was in friendly spirit, and if Gojo pushed, Geto could convince him it was just to let off steam.

As they walked, Gojo wished he could reach out and hold Geto's hand openly, without the fear of breaking their fragile balance. For now, he would settle for the fleeting moments, the secret smiles, and the silent understanding that, at least in this park, they were free to be themselves.

“This look good?” Geto stopped in his tracks, pointing to a hill a few steps ahead.

“Looks perfect to me,” Gojo shrugged, walking to the spot Geto had pointed out. Gojo waited for Geto to sit down first; he was too nervous to take the lead, even if that meant being the first to sit.

Geto laid against the ground, arms behind his head for support, his gaze fixed on the sky as he waited for Gojo to join him. Yet Gojo stood in place, unsure where he belonged on the ground. Geto turned his head slightly and smiled at Gojo, hoping he would get the hint.

Hurriedly, Gojo pressed himself against Geto's side, clinging as if it were his first time. Geto wrapped his arm around Gojo, pulling him closer. The warmth of Geto's body against his own brought a sense of comfort and security that Gojo rarely felt.

The sky above was a canvas of blue, with occasional clouds drifting lazily by. The sun cast a gentle glow, warming their faces. Gojo could feel the rhythm of Geto's heartbeat, steady and calming, as he rested his head on Geto's chest. It was in moments like these that Gojo allowed himself to dream of a future where they could lay openly like this as often as he’d like.

For now, they basked in the serenity of the moment, the world around them fading into the background. Here, in this secluded part of the park, they found solace in each other's presence, their unspoken bond stronger than any words could convey.

Geto and Gojo lay side by side, basking in the warm sunlight. The world seemed to stand still as they enjoyed their stolen moments of tranquility.

Geto sat up, a sudden idea crossing his mind. He got up too quickly, causing him to lose his balance on the grassy slope. With a yelp, he began to tumble down the hill, arms flailing as he rolled uncontrollably.

Gojo, startled by Geto's sudden movement, tried to grab him but lost his own balance in the process. He felt himself being pulled down the hill, rolling head over heels, grass and dirt flying around him. The sensation of tumbling was both disorienting and exhilarating, the world a blur of green and blue.

They bumped into each other multiple times as they rolled, their laughter ringing out despite the unexpected fall. The hill seemed to stretch on forever, each bump and dip sending them into fits of giggles, unable to stop the momentum.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the hill, coming to a halt in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter. Gojo was sprawled on his back, his chest heaving with breathless amusement, while Geto sat over him, his own laughter uncontrollable. 

Grass and dirt clung to their clothes and hair, and the sun cast a warm glow over their flushed faces. Gojo glanced at Geto, whose face was now closer than ever.

Without skipping a beat, Geto leaned in to place a soft peck on Gojo’s lips. Their laughter resumed, bubbling up between them. Gojo's arms wrapped around Geto, pulling him closer as he gently rocked them back and forth. 

This was the first time that Gojo could say he wholeheartedly had Suguru Geto, even if just for an evening, even if it never happened again.

[faulty-writes]

Hello, fans and or followers. I decided to create part two for my Taishiro Toyomitsu AKA Fat Gum Model AU story. I hope you enjoy it. The first part can be located here.

[ A week after meeting Taishiro, Madam President gives you another order and despite wanting to spend more time with him, you find yourself questioning your feelings again. This only escalates when you find out Keigo plans to meet with Taishiro too. ]

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the subtle hint of cinnamon and pastries accompanied it. Outside the charming little shop, Katz Caffeine Coffee Café, in the heart of Esuha City an arrangement of tables and chairs were aligned in neat rows on the cobblestone surface.

The furniture added a calming atmosphere to the shop as it was crafted from rich, dark wood, and each table was topped with a crisp white tablecloth embroidered with delicate floral patterns that only enhanced the beauty of the nearby cherry blossom trees that swayed gently in the breeze.

Their small pink petals floated through the air which was alive with the gentle melody of birds chirping. Patrons sat comfortably in their seats, enjoying the warm weather and the gentle golden rays of the sun beating down on them as they sipped away at their cups of coffee or tea.

The subtle crunch of them biting into their selected treats and the gentle murmur of conversation made you smile as you took a sip of your coffee and gently placed it back onto the provided saucer. A soft clink sounded, and you propped your elbows on the table, folding your fingers together to rest your chin on top of them.

Across from you sat Taishiro. Unlike the last time you met, he was wearing a casual outfit that consisted of a bright orange shirt with white letters across it. The top left side had an “F” on it, while the bottom right side had a “G.”

In addition, he was wearing a sleek black short-sleeved jacket over the shirt, with his agency’s logo on the right side of it. He was also wearing dark green cargo shorts with black sneakers. His bright blond hair, though somewhat messy, swayed gently in the faint breeze and a few strands gently touched the base of his forehead.

His eyes matched the color of his hair and beamed with happiness as he fixated on you. Granted you were used to people staring at you as it was a normal phenomenon when you were a model and while anyone else would be flattered knowing they were attractive, too many eyes made you feel like a piece of meat being gawked at.

However, unlike you, Taishiro received judgmental glances and you had witnessed them firsthand when the two of you were standing in line earlier and the few stares that were directed your way because you were with him. It’s like they expected you to be with ‘another beautiful person’ not someone of Taishiro’s structure.

It was all so stupid in your opinion. Why did beauty even matter? Taishiro was a model all the same, be it in his own division, and one who sought to make a difference and someone who on top of everything else, had a kind heart.

As cheesy as it sounded, that’s what made him beautiful. Luckily you weren’t going to say any of that out loud and he had already proved he could handle stares, even the hateful kind, although you couldn’t imagine having to deal with it daily.

Of course, this only served as a reminder to you how biased the world was, and how models were seen as Gods or Goddesses when they were just normal people. Flesh and blood like everyone else. Then again, some of them were more deceitful than others.

And deceit was why you had asked Taishiro to meet you at the coffee shop. Despite Madam President having ordered you to, she didn’t necessarily influence your decision, you had wanted to see him again regardless. Of course, you didn’t expect it to be so soon after the party.

‘That party was about a week ago, wasn’t it?’ Well, it didn’t matter. ‘Now that we’re certain Toyomitsu is going to cooperate, The Public Modeling Commission has a date set for the launch of the plus-size modeling division.’ Right…that information was yet public, the only people who knew of it were those working in the modeling industry.

Madam President was planning to use her models and other models that agreed such as Enji Todoroki in a fashion show. Walking in a fashion show was a dream held by most models when they got into the industry, and depending on the company and potential a model had they could make this dream a reality.

Participating in a fashion show required a tremendous amount of practice. You’d have to spend months, maybe even years forming the perfect walk, the ideal strut, the perfect movement on just about any small surface that would utterly prepare you for that runway.

This was because, in addition to the normal stress that came with modeling, the company’s reputation often relied on how well its models performed. If they tripped, misplaced their footing, or fell, it was likely to reflect badly on the company.

In other words, a model’s mistakes are also the company’s mistakes and a sure-fire way to end your modeling career altogether. Of course, as hard as it was to believe, you were once a new model under The Public Modeling Commission and had spent countless useless hours practicing your walking.

Again, that was the reality of the industry. It’d eat you alive, so you had to adapt, grow thicker skin, and do whatever you needed to keep your career alive. These stakes were doubled when you were under the watchful eye of Madam President.

Oh, but let’s not forget one crucial little detail. The fashion show was under false pretenses. It wasn’t just to show off the latest fashion trends, it was to reveal the newly made plus-sized modeling division The Public Modeling Commission would now have.

You couldn’t say if the best or worst part about the upcoming debut was that Taishiro would be the first plus-sized model to walk down the aisle and would be the one to reveal the plus-sized modeling division. You shuddered to think how the audience would react to him, let alone the big news.

Still, if The Public Modeling Commission wanted to keep up with the changing times, it was necessary to begin employing plus-sized models. ‘We’ve organized a schedule for him. Until then, ensure he follows it and teach him what he needs to know.’

The stone-cold look in her eyes never bothered you until that moment, but you knew better than to disobey, so you agreed to follow through with your orders. “I’m mighty glad ya asked me to come here,” Taishiro said with a bright smile.

“After last time, I was worryin’ that I might’ve rubbed ya the wrong way,” he admitted, chuckling nervously and your heart fluttered. However, Madam President’s words echoed in your head, ceasing the smile from coming to your face.

‘And Y/n don’t disappoint me. Personal feelings do not matter in this industry.’ Your chest suddenly felt heavy, and painful, as if someone stabbed you through the heart. ‘Right…I have to follow orders…’ you thought, noticing that Taishiro’s eyebrows were knitted, and a look of concern and care shone in his eyes.

‘But what good is that if you lose out on the chance to...’ You grumbled and glanced away. ‘No, I can’t think about that.’ He leaned over the table, “Are ya alright?” He asked. “Uh,” you panicked, for a short moment, before shaking your head. “Oh, y-yeah I just…have some things on my mind,” you replied, hoping he’d buy that excuse.

“Hm…” his eyelids lowered, and his gaze shifted to the table where your hand rested. “I just…” Around a pretty lil’ thing like you, he wasn’t sure if he could get away with this, but hell…anything is worth a try. He took a breath, despite the butterflies squirming in his stomach.

He lifted his hand from the table, his fingers trembling as he slowly hovered them over your hand. “I was worried about ya,” he said, although his tone was a bit shaky. Regardless, he placed his hand over yours. Slowly, as if not to scare you. “Hm!?” Your eyes widened, his hand was so warm and rather large.

‘He could easily crush a skull if he wanted to,’ you thought. While you wanted to pull your hand away, you instead forced a smile on your face. You needed to get his cooperation again, especially if you were informing him about the schedule Madam President made.

The Public Modeling Commission tended to do things differently than most modeling agencies. “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about I jus-” you paused when you noticed his eyebrows slanting and a hint of anger flash in his eyes. ‘That’s surprising,’ you thought before glancing away.

He wasn’t actually angry with you, but just like last time, he noticed you were faking happiness. That smile of yours wasn’t genuine, and yet again, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly made you put up such a façade but how could he ask that without insulting you? He tapped his foot against the ground, contemplating.

His gaze remained on you, the fact that you were refusing to look at him now made him a little sad. “Hey,” he said, his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. You frowned, knowing you couldn’t ignore him and so you turned your glance back on him.

Once he was sure he had your attention, he tried offering you a smile. “Are ya happy?” You knit your eyebrows in response, what was he trying to get at? Your opposite hand curled into a fist which rested on top of your thigh. ‘Is he referring to the expression I was wearing just now or something else?’

Honestly, in situations like this, one had to be careful just like when modeling. One wrong move and everything could collapse. ‘Maybe it was my smile, was it not perfect?’ you shuddered to think all your years of training were going to waste in a matter of minutes in Taishiro’s presence.

‘Then again, he knows the modeling industry, he must recognize the faces we have to put on sometimes.’ Damn, this was getting complicated. But from the beginning, you were always putting on a façade, and that feeling only increased over the years.

‘But if it weren’t for Madam President’s involvement, I would still be modeling for scumbags that offered me whatever amount of money they deemed appropriate,’ your throat tightened. Still, you knew you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.

Because of that Madam President saw potential in you, even if the circumstances of her finding you were beyond human reasoning. Still, that beckoned whether you were willing to give it all up one day but that day wasn’t anytime soon.

‘Sorry Toyomitsu, I know you’re an honest guy but…’ you tilted your head, forcing your eyes to soften and your cheeks to relax. ‘I’m not that honest,’ a giggle passed your lips. “Yeah,” you replied, absolutely beaming with a sudden wave of happiness as if the sun had blessed you with the ability to shine as bright as it.

“When I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve been,” why those set of words left your mouth wasn’t known to you now. ‘That’s the reaction most models who actually eat and are friendly get. We break the illusion society holds over us. That we’re perfect little porcelain dolls.’

You reached over, placing your opposite hand on top of his. ‘Some of us are lucky enough to be broken porcelain dolls.’ You never really thought of yourself as being broken, if anything you had fixed the parts of you that were. But still, the easiest way to distract someone was to compliment them.

Granted, Taishiro wasn’t conceited, but he was still a human being, and buttering him up had already proven effective. His eyes widened, and his heart skyrocketed, pounding fiercely. Your touch sent tingles through his body and like you predicted, his question was forgotten.

Instead, he was now excited and optimistic that he was getting closer to you. Yeah, maybe it was still silly for a big fella like him to think he could catch the interest of a beautiful person like you, but still, he’d follow the feeling for as long as it carried him.

“But I’d like to discuss business if that’s alright with you.” Mostly you just wanted to get it over with. “Huh?” He blinked and leaned back, looking confused before he chuckled. “I was also figurin’ that’s why ya asked me to meet ya here.”

Although, he couldn’t be that disappointed. Any excuse to spend time with you was worth it. “Well, I did want to see you again,” you replied, he had to know that. Even if he had left you confused about your feelings before you had your priorities straight today or so you hoped.

“But unfortunately, I’m also on Madam President’s orders,” you said, pulling your hand from underneath his. “In fact,” you said while reaching for your phone, “she has some suggestions that might help you better prepare for the upcoming debut.”

Unlocking your phone, you carefully navigated to your files and opened a document. “Madam President, I’m sure you’ve heard, is very particular and has suggested a few things for you to do,” you explained. “Heh,” Taishiro chuckled, “is that right? Well, I’d sure be glad to do what I can to help,” he replied with a smile.

“That’s good to hear, but I’m not sure you’ll entirely like the first suggestion,” you stated, leaning your elbow on the table, and resting your cheek against your hand. “Oh?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah, apparently she wants you to either follow a certain diet,” you resist the urge to gag.

This was yet another example of how stupid the modeling business was. “Or join one of the models under The Public Modeling Commission for required gym sessions,” you stated, shifting your attention from your phone to him. “Sorry, I know it’s kind of stupid.” What would a plus-sized model need to follow a diet or exercise for?

Well besides their health if they choose. Either way, you didn’t judge. In fact, you and Keigo tried to skip most of the assigned exercises or training sessions that Madam President required all her models to go to. “Exercise, huh?” Taishiro said although he didn’t sound all too thrilled.

“Yeah,” you replied with a snicker, “maybe you can even join me for an exercise session.” Of course, you were only joking but you should have known better. The idea of spending more time with you must have fascinated Taishiro because he smiled and leaned over the table again. 

“I’d love to.” You froze, wait…what did he just say? “Um…excuse me?” you asked, giving an awkward chuckle as you waited for him to say he was just kidding. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. “I said I’d love to join ya at the gym,” he stated before patting his stomach.

“Although I’m afraid I can’t go promisin’ I’ll be able to keep up with ya,” he laughed. “But I’d sure be delighted to see what ya can do, and of course to spend more time with ya would be a pleasure.” Seriously what is with this guy!?

“Uh, okay,” you replied, placing your phone on the table. The likelihood that he’d be able to put aside an hour or two for a gym session was unlikely today as you were more than certain that Taishiro had a busy schedule. Not to mention he had three interns to tend to at his agency.

The Public Modeling Commission, however, had a provided gym on site that the models could use at their discretion and you could always schedule a gym session with Taishiro later. ‘Hm, that might work,’ you thought before shrugging. “Alright,” you said, once again trying to put on your best smile.

“I wouldn’t mind that, I’m not sure if you’re aware but The Public Modeling Commission has a gym on-site,” you explained, “although it’s strictly for the models belonging to The Public Modeling Commission, I’m sure you’ll be considered an honorable guest,” you concluded.

“Well,” he chuckled softly, “that would be a downright honor,” he smiled, and you couldn’t help but faintly smile in return. Granted seeing others happy always puts you at ease, it seemed to have a slightly different effect with Taishiro. “Great,” you said, glancing back at your phone.

Your only obligation today was a scheduled photo shoot with Keigo which was good considering that once it was over you would be exhausted. Although you were supposed to report back to Madam President once this was over, you had your suspicions that Keigo would ask you about it during the photo shoot and inform her as well.

In a way, you were happy about that considering you weren’t sure how long the photo shoot would take or if you had the patience for her today. “We can start tomorrow if you’d like, or uh if you’re free.” He nodded. “That sounds lovely, I have a meetin’ with Takami anyway,” your body tensed up and you almost dropped your phone.

“Ah!” Quickly grabbing it, you pinned it against the table with the palm of your hand. “Uh…” you swallowed before looking at Taishiro whose eyes were wide with concern. “Are ya alright?” He asked, and you nodded frantically in response.

“Y-yeah, heh, just surprised,” you said chuckling. “Didn’t know you knew Takami…” you tried to keep a respectful tone, but in the back of your head you couldn’t help but wonder ‘Did Madam President give him the order to do that? Just who is she trying to get closer to Taishiro, me or him!?’

It didn’t sit right with you, and once again you were reminded that in this business, you needed to watch your back but those who were kind enough protected others as well. In that way, it made sense that Keigo wanted to meet with Taishiro, or rather that he was ordered to.

Much to everyone’s disbelief, although he worked directly under Madam President, he had a soft spot for protecting others even if certain orders were unethical or against common morality. That’s why he always put himself on the line and was the first to carry out her orders unless she had someone else in mind, like you.

You didn’t feel sore that Keigo was more favored by Madam President, even if the two of you began your modeling careers around the same time. It was almost funny thinking you had known him since the two of you were little, but that didn’t stop the strange churning in your stomach thinking about his meeting with Taishiro.

“Heh, heh, yeah,” he said, breaking your paranoid thoughts. “Hm?” You looked at him and briefly wondered how he could be so cheerful all the time. “Madam President insisted on meetin’ him and well, I just can’t say no,” he explained.

“Y’all have been kind to me so far.” You nodded, briefly wondering how many other models he had met under The Public Modeling Commission. More than likely he had heard of most of them, and Madam President could be slowly introducing everyone to him to help increase the expectations she wanted of him.

Yeah, that made sense because she was a sneaky bitch that way. “Mmhm,” you replied, trying to mask the frown on your face although you knew that wasn’t wise. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You asked, standing up from your seat suddenly.

Taishiro smiled, although he was a little disappointed that this morning’s pleasant breakfast had to end, he did have an agency to run, and three of the best interns to help. A soft chuckle passed his lips before he grasped the arms of the chair and grunted as he stood up.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I gotta get back to my agency anyway, but it was still a pleasure havin’ breakfast with ya, and I hope to see ya again real soon, ya hear?” A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you sank your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to prevent it from growing.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat. “Y-yeah, I…I’ll see you later,” you said, somewhat ashamed that you hesitated with your words. You tried to play it off, and quickly swallowed down the rest of your coffee, placing the empty cup back onto the saucer before you swung your bag over your shoulder, and waved him goodbye as you walked away.

However, you couldn’t help but notice the heavy feeling in your chest, almost as if an anchor was attached to your heart, pulling it down to the depths. You slapped the sides of your face. ‘Stop it,’ you reminded yourself, ‘ and focus on the mission or you’ll never hear the end of it from Madam President.’

You lowered your hands and took a deep breath to regain your composure. You stiffened your shoulders, like someone preparing to venture into war. Turning, you lifted your arm and waved Taishiro goodbye again. “See you later!” you called before continuing down the sidewalk, trying to ignore the fast pace of your heart.

Why were you feeling nervous now, and what was this warm sensation coursing through your cheeks? You sighed and threaded your fingers through your hair, hanging your head low. “Urg,” you said, watching your feet step along the sidewalk. “I really need help.”

Frowning, you lowered your hand from your hair and walked to a black car parked on the side of the road. As usual, Untenmaru stepped out and opened the door for you, “Hello, Y/n!” he shouted. Like always he was dressed in a black shirt and white tie, with a vest that hugged his figure and white gloves covering his hands.

“Hi,” you half-heartedly greeted before climbing into the car. Your lackluster reaction made him raise an eyebrow, and while he was tempted to ask what was wrong, he shut the door and shook his head. You had requested him to escort you to breakfast with Taishiro, the same fella you were worrying about before.

But from what he knew, the collaboration was agreed upon and a fashion show was in the works. Then again, he also recalled from your last conversation that you were worried about your career and the success the collaboration would bring or so he assumed.

“Young people and their problems!” He huffed before walking to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life as he pressed the button located near the steering wheel and a soft clicking echoed as he engaged the turn signal. He adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of you slumped in the backseat.

He knit his eyebrows, noticing your frown and clenched jaw. Not to mention your eyes appeared dull, filled with a distant look. Just what the hell happened? He grumbled before checking the sideview mirror and pulling into the street.

Propping your elbow against the inside of the door, you cradled your cheek in the palm of your hand and sighed as you looked out the window. That frown was still evident on your lips and the source was the unfamiliar, light, and bubbly feeling that lingered in your chest yet you also felt angry and the source of this anger was Taishiro.

‘What is it about him that…’ You grit your teeth, and sigh again, pinching the bridge of your nose. Maybe it was because he was sweet, and kind like an innocent child even when he knew the horrors of the modeling industry. Hell, the modeling industry initially destroyed his career when he was younger.

‘After a while though, fame, and fortune don’t mean much if people only come to ya ‘cause you’re pleasin’ to the eye.’ Those were his exact words. He got so sick of being popular and desired by his fans and admirers because of his physical appearance that he turned to food as an escape.

Even after he was publically shamed because of his weight gain, lost most of the said fans and admirers, and was effectively roasted by every social media app, site, and news channel possible he still rose above the challenges of the modeling world.

He dared to show the world that plus-sized models were just as, if not more beautiful and successful than average-sized models. Of course, this might be why The Public Modeling Commission was interested in him as they only had one other model that was truly unique.

Although people continued to disrespect Taishiro because of his size which still pissed you off. You growled softly and placed your hands in your lap. ‘How can he still see the bright side to this career after all that?’ Your fingers curled inward, and you felt the pressure of your nails digging into the palms of your hands.

You recalled the way he looked at you, with such happiness and it only raised the question of, ‘How can he see me in such light?’ If he knew about your past, that would change in a hurry. Of course, you always refused to answer questions about family when doing interviews and only a few models you worked closely with knew why.

Then again, it was more likely that he’d find out you were only acting in a certain way with him to gain his favor because of Madam President’s orders first. Then after that, he’d resent you. If you were being honest, that wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

You grunted, and leaned over, threading your fingers through your hair. ‘Damn it, why am I thinking so much!?’ This never happened before! Your frustration must have been evident because “What’s going on back there!?” Untenmaru exclaimed, making your head snap up in shock.

You blinked and your lips were parted as you stared at him. Dumbfounded wasn’t the ideal look for a model. He slanted his eyebrows, letting his gaze linger on you for a few seconds before shifting his eyes to the road.

He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel and pulled the corner of his lip up, snarling. “You’ve been frowning and sulking since your meeting with Toyomitsu!” Your heart fluttered at the sound of his name and once again, your cheeks rose in temperature.

Your hand pressed against your chest. ‘What the hell is this feeling even?’ you wondered, and even if you knew the answer, you shook your head and tried to come up with another explanation. “I…I just…” He scoffed, “What happened between you two, huh!?” he demanded.

“N-nothin-” you tried to lie, but your façade wasn’t going to trick Untenmaru who snapped back, “Don’t say nothing when it’s clear on your face!” He huffed, “You kids really can’t admit when you’re feeling down, huh?” Your eyes widened, and a lightning bolt-like sensation coursed through your body.

Your heart felt like it was being weighed down by the sensation of burning hate, no…was it hate? You knitted your eyebrows and glanced at your lap. Your fingers dug into the front of your shirt, and the hand resting on your thigh curled into a fist.

Despite your throat tightening, you parted your lips and before you could register your words, you snapped, “I’m not feeling down!” Your eyes widened again, and you clasped your hand over your mouth. You could only imagine the look on Untenmaru’s face and swallowed thickly before lowering your hand.

“I…I mean…” you inhaled, letting out a long sigh. What were you even feeling? “I just…” you clenched your jaw; Taishiro didn’t make you feel down. Maybe…conflicted. He was a nice guy, but you had your orders, and you knew better than to disobey them.

But were your personal feelings getting in the way and was that acceptable? Were you willing to let those feelings ruin the success you had clawed your way out of hell for? You closed your eyes, knowing that getting your thoughts jumbled up wasn’t ideal. “Just what?” He replied as you let out another breath.

Your stomach churned, and the strange sensation of butterflies lightly fluttered as you looked at Untenmaru. Your lips pressed out into a thin line and your eyebrows slanted. “What…” you could hardly believe you were going to ask this, but he had given you wise advise before.

“What would you do if…if you had to choose between your career and your f-feelings?” Your question surprised him because he wasn’t expecting that to come from you. Then again since meeting Taishiro, something was off about you. Maybe you didn’t realize it yet, but even he could see something was brewing.

His eyes shifted to you again, taking note of your almost desperate and confused expression, like a child contemplating their first crush. His glance shifted back to the road, and to the large building coming up. He needed to do this quickly.

“You kids really only care about success, don’t you?” He asked, his voice somewhat cold and it caught your attention. “Huh?” You replied, raising your eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You demanded, crossing your arms.

“Everyone has their own reasons for doing what they do, you can’t possibly understand what it means to-” he slammed on the brake, making you grunt, and frantically press your hand against the back of the passenger seat to prevent yourself from completely falling off onto the floor.

Once you regained your composure, you growled and lifted your head, glaring at him. “What the hell!?” You screamed, your face twisting with a snarl, although he was unaffected by this and narrowed his eyes as he stared at your reflection in the rearview mirror.

“There’s more to life than success!” he shouted; his voice eerily echoed in the confines of the car. Your face softened, and you raised your eyebrows, in shock at his words. He sighed, and quickly turned the steering wheel, guiding the car to the side of the road where he shifted it into park.

Then he turned, looking at you and finding some amusement in your strange expression. Sometimes all it took for him to get through to someone was to dose them with a shot of reality. It was an effective method, especially for the younger folk like certain hot-headed blonde modeling interns who worked under Enji’s agency.

Though he didn’t know exactly what your problem was, he knew enough to assume that it related to Taishiro and how you felt about him versus your career. He had always known you to be level-headed. Yet there was a hint of defiance, like Keigo you tended to break the rules or bend them to your liking.

Yet, since meeting Taishiro, a certain light shined in your eye that wasn’t there before. Then again, he could be completely wrong. Either way, he was going to say what he wanted to and what he assumed you needed to hear.

“Feelings are a part of our existence, and go beyond careers,” he stated. “Guess that might not matter to a kid like you. Your career is all about you and appearances, isn’t it?” Your eyes widened, and a strange absence filled your heart.

Your lip quivered, and you sank your teeth into it before pulling it into your mouth. That heavy feeling in your chest slowly turned to anger. Maybe he has a point. Modeling was all about one’s appearance. But…you never thought beauty necessarily mattered.

A growl rumbled in your throat as you lowered your head and your hands curled into fists. ‘That’s right…’ you thought, ‘Taishiro is a model all the same. He’s someone so different that it’s beautiful.’ You weren’t sure if you could say the same about yourself, maybe being deceitful made you ugly.

Regardless you weren’t going to be labeled as something you weren’t. “T-that’s not true,” you said, anger clear in your tone despite your stutter. He lifted his head, and his eyebrow raised as if he were skeptical of your response.

You noticed his expression and swallowed, attempting to force yourself to continue speaking. “I…never thought beauty mattered,” you replied. “Is that right?” He narrowed his eyes at you, “Then why are you acting this way after you see Toyomitsu?”

His question made your heart race, but the last thing you needed was for him to know how much the question affected you. You hoped your demeanor remained unchanged as you said, “He’s…made a difference, and above everything else, he has a kind heart.”

Your fingers dig into the soft texture of the car seat. “No matter what happens to him, he just…keeps smiling,” you pressed your teeth together, a certain coldness in your eyes as you kept looking at Untenmaru. “So…that’s your opinion on him?” He asked, his head tilting to one side.

Your eyes widened, ‘Shit.’ You pressed two fingers to your mouth, ‘I didn’t completely think that through when I said it.’ But it didn’t make it any less true. You grumbled and lowered your fingers, again shifting your attention to Untenmaru. The silence between the two of you was suffocating.

Your lips trembled and didn’t respond when you tried parting them. Instead, you nodded and shifted uncomfortably. “Then embrace your emotions,” he replied. ‘Embrace my…’ like a puppy dog being given instructions, you tilted your head to the side. “Uh…what?” you asked, only to receive silence in response.

The soft melody of birds echoed among the gentle snapping of the car door when Untenmaru waved you goodbye. “Uh, heh…” you looked at him from over your shoulder, returning the gesture half-heartedly before turning to the large building in front of you.

It stood tall among the trees, and its glass panels reflected the sun. Large revolving doors made up the entrance, and the columns enhanced the sense of sophistication that was associated with the modeling industry. On the very top of the building was a sign that read ‘Public Modeling Co.’

As one can imagine, The Public Modeling Commission was wealthy, and as such they had buildings scattered around Japan, and each building had a certain purpose. This building was used for summer or spring photo shoots and was located just on the outskirts of the city to prevent any trouble from the media or paparazzi.

It was a little ridiculous, in your opinion, but you supposed those who had all the power in the world could do as they pleased. You looked over your shoulder again when you heard the car pull away from the sidewalk. A frown painted your features as you turned back to the building.

‘Your emotions guide you to your connections.’ Your gaze shifted to the ground and traced the cracks in the pavement. ‘If you focus on that more than your career, you’ll feel true fulfillment.’ You latched onto your lip. Why were you even thinking about his words?

What did he know about feelings? About how it was so difficult to not fall under their spell, lest you ruin your career or anger a certain woman who could ruin your life with the mere snap of her fingers if she so pleased? The image of Taishiro came to your mind, and a soft hitch of breath escaped you.

Your tense shoulders suddenly dropped, and your heart pounded in your chest like the moment after a scare. You grumbled and curled your fingers into the front of your shirt. ‘What is going on?’ You swallowed heavily and shook your head.

“Maybe I…” you lifted your hand, threading it through your hair. “I just need to focus on work…” you concluded before once again looking at the building. “Yup...okay,” you said, as though you were giving yourself a pep talk. This was the only thing you needed to do today and after, you could do whatever you pleased.

As the sudden burst of light fades, you blink your eyes rapidly. Although after years of modeling, this was something you were used to. The room was bathed in a soft glowing light, heightening the already bright hues of the summer pool photo shoot you had agreed to partake in with Keigo.

There’s a slight hint of excitement in the air, but you didn’t share such enthusiasm. Rather you were only interested in gathering more information from Keigo who was currently wearing his famous smirk. His chest was bare, revealing his sculpted physique and his unruly, feather-like hair had a windswept style.

In addition, he was wearing a pair of black swim trunks, with golden patterns along the sides. “Alright, set up for the next shot!” The photographer shouted. Typically, in the modeling industry, one wasn’t afraid to show their body or to get up, close, and personal with another model.

You supposed it helped having known Keigo for years, but something made you a little uneasy when you stood in front of him. He smiled and leaned over, whispering “Hey there,” into your ear. You knew he was just teasing you, and unlike most, you didn’t squeal in happiness when in his presence.

Rather you rolled your eyes, trying your best to ignore the growing knots in your stomach. However, when his fingertips grazed along your sides, you recoiled slightly. “Hm?” He paused, lifting his eyebrow with a suspicious glint in his eye.

While you could sense the growing tension in the air, you tried to ignore it. “Come on, get into position!” The photographer exclaimed, growing more impatient by the second. Keigo looked at him, his eyes holding a cold expression before his fingers grazed your sides again.

Unlike before, you didn’t tremble at his touch and so he continued. Allowing his left hand to slide along your left hip, and his other gently took hold of your right hand. However, he paused when he heard your breath hitch and yet again, raised his eyebrow.

The two of you had done countless photo shoots before, and he could only conclude that something was wrong. He leaned to the side, gazing at your face. Your eyes were wide, your lips pressed out into a thin line, and your stare fixated on his hand which continued to cradle yours.

“Y/n?” he asked, hoping that you would respond. Instead, the photographer shouted, “I said hurry up and get into position!” making Keigo turn his head. “Yeah, hold on a second,” he replied, waving them off before refocusing his attention on you.

However, it appeared you were still fixated on his hand. “Hm,” he hummed to himself and noticed the distant look in your eye. It was like you were remembering something, but what? What could you possibly be thinking about when you held his hand?

He moved closer to you. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep and slightly raised. You remained unresponsive. He tightened his grip on your hand and tugged it forward while exclaiming, “Y/N!” He felt some satisfaction when you jumped and looked at him in shock.

A few seconds passed before you blinked, and your eyebrows slanted. “What was that for?” You demanded, stomping your foot against the floor. “So, I have your attention now, eh?” He replied, his tone slightly higher and it was clear he was teasing you again.

“H-have my attention, what are you-” Your graze shifted to your conjoined hands, and you snarled. ‘Damn it,’ a small feeling of embarrassment washed over you, and your cheeks felt the slightest bit warm and painted the skin of your face a light pink.

Your throat tightened when you realized that holding Keigo’s hand brought the memory of Taishiro placing his hand over yours just a few hours ago. Your lips pressed together, and you clenched your jaw. ‘But why…’ you thought, your gaze now shifting toward the floor. ‘Why am I thinking about him?’ It made no sense.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Your emotions guide you to your connections.’ You frowned and exhaled. Your gaze focused on Keigo before shifting the photographer impatiently tapping his foot against the floor. “Mm…” you latched onto your lip.

‘If my emotions are guiding me to my connections then…’ you turned back to Keigo. ‘Does that mean I want Taishiro to be part of those connections?’ It was hard to say, but you couldn’t worry about it now. ‘Right…focus on work.’ Once again you forced yourself to smile.

Only this time, you felt a subtle pain almost as if your skin was getting tired of being shaped and molded into that common façade you put on. Despite this, you gave an awkward chuckle. “Sorry, I was lost there for a moment,” you half lied, “let’s continue.”

You sighed and pulled the edges of the bathrobe closer to your chest, happy to be covering the awkward bathing suit you were required to wear for the photo shoot. You turned around a corner, eager to head to your dressing room and change into some real clothes.

There were various photos framed on the walls that made up the short hallway. Most of them were of older models who have since retired, like Toshinori Yagi, others depicted models when they first started out their careers, yet one made you stop in your tracks.

Your eyes widened and a shiver coursed down your spine. You pressed your lips together, glancing over your shoulder. The distant sound of chatter and the metallic clinks of equipment being moved were heard, but nobody appeared to be following you.

You turned your head back to the wall, and the large photograph that depicted two smiling children. Butterflies began to form in your stomach the closer you stepped toward it and the children’s faces came into focus. Apart from the smiles, a church was behind them.

Its white coloring made it stand out among the various hues of confetti that floated through the air as if some sort of celebration was taking place. The lighting in the photo was slightly off but added to the overall happy atmosphere that one got when looking at it.

The young boy in the photo had ash blond hair and his eyes were closed. He was wearing a black suit and tie and was holding onto the other child who was cradling a bouquet of flowers and had white ribbons in their hair.

Your heart raced as the memory came flooding back to you, and despite your shaky hand, you gently brushed your fingertips over your younger self. ‘This was one of the first photo shoots I did after Madam President took me under her wing.’ You glanced at the younger face of Keigo.

This was also around the time you first met him, and although there were moments you couldn’t stand him, even back then, he seemed to be considerate of your feelings much like he was today. A gasp came when a hand pressed over yours, causing you to jump.

“Something on your mind there?” A familiar voice said, and you growled. That feeling of nostalgia and wonder was replaced by annoyance when you turned to Keigo. His golden eyes seemed to be looking straight through to your soul and unlike you, he didn’t feel the need to put a bathrobe on, not that you cared.

Despite attempting to jerk your hand away, he applied just enough force to keep it pressed against the oversized photo. Then, he turned his head, taking in the younger faces of the two of you. A soft inhale of breath came before a light chuckle filled the air.

“This was shortly after we met, yeah?” he asked, ignoring your glare. “To think all of that would lead up to this,” he said, although you caught the subtle sadness in his tone and knitted your eyebrows. “Yeah well, speaking of...” you replied, extending one of your legs and forcefully pulling your hand back.

Keigo read your movements and stepped away with exceptional speed, allowing his hands to hang by his sides. “Why did she assign you to have a meeting with Toyomitsu?” the question left your lips before you could stop yourself and the feeling of regret came seconds later.

Pressing your fingers to your lips, you closed your eyes briefly. Why the hell did you go and say that? You certainly weren’t possessive of Taishiro; you hardly knew the guy. But that didn’t change that Madam President ordered you to get closer to him first, and you had done that.

You had also gotten him to agree to contribute to the collaboration and launch of the plus-size modeling division. The latest order from Madam President was for you to convince him to partake in the recommended exercise routine and you had done that too.

So, did you feel superseded? Why would he have a meeting with Keigo? Why would she even order Keigo to speak to him when you already had him hook, line, and sinker? You grumbled, and curled your fingers inward, feeling the slight tickle of your nails pressing against your palms.

You exhaled and stepped closer to Keigo who was surprisingly quiet. Locking eyes with him, you asked, “What is she planning to have you do to him?” One reason you were happy you had gotten assigned to gain Taishiro’s favor was that you weren’t looking to hurt or harm him.

Granted that would be the initial ending to your story with him or so you assumed. While you knew Keigo wouldn’t attempt to harm him either, the question remained as to why Madam President hadn’t entrusted you to be the one to teach Taishiro the ropes?

He blinked in response, and for a moment, you wondered if you had stumped him. But his laughter indicated you had not, and he stepped closer to you, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Aw,” he said, leaning closer, “are you jealous?” You growled, and grabbed his hand, throwing it off your shoulder.

“Okay fine,” you said, turning your back to him. If he wasn’t going to give you a clear answer then, “I’ll figure it out on my own,” you replied and resumed walking down the hallway. Keigo shook his head before tapping his chin. He would have told you, but the answer was obvious.

He was ordered by Madam President to meet with Taishiro, and whether you liked it or not wasn’t going to change that. Although his meeting was only going to involve giving details about what to expect on the day of the debut, maybe organizing a meet and greet with the other models. It didn’t matter.

And as you’d come to find out, he’d be acting supervisor to Taishiro to ensure he was completely ready on the day of the big debut. “Mm…” there was still something bothering him, and it was the same feeling he had gotten the night you first met Taishiro.

If his intuition was correct, he hoped you’d have the strength to handle the consequences. “Hey!” A loud and feminine voice shouted, and seconds later he felt a hand grab his shoulder. “What’s up?! Haven’t seen ya in a while!” He turned, seeing the bright and slightly intimidating face of Rumi Usagiyama.

She was the 5th most popular model in Japan, and like Enji Todoroki, had her own agency but worked with The Public Modeling Commission on a contract basis. It was easy to see why she was so popular in the modeling business given her tan skin and memorizing red eyes with long eyelashes.

Her hair was the color of freshly fallen snow, and she had a slender but well-defined body. However, there was something that set her apart from the other models. This was because she had a prosthetic left forearm and right leg which made her a famous worldwide icon for the amputee population.

It was almost frightening to know that she had lost her limbs during a violent raid that broke out during a fashion show runway a few years back. It was even more frightening to know that it was planned by a group of criminals who had something against The Public Modeling Commission.

Since then, there have been more security measures taken and extra members of the police force were required to attend such events. Still, it made him wonder what would occur on the day of the plus-sized modeling debut. But there was no use worrying over something that had yet to happen.

“Good to see you too, Rumi,” he greeted cheerfully. “Heh,” she smirked and lowered her hand to her side. “Heard ya finally got that big boy on your side for the new modeling division,” she commented. “Yeah, well Y/n was the one that convinced him,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, pretty face convinced him, huh?” She replied, chuckling. “They always did have that kind of talent,” she commented before looking back and forth. “Where are they anyway?” He gestured toward the hallway with his head, “Just finished a photo shoot together, and they hurried back to their dressing room,” he explained.

“Ah,” she shrugged before turning around. “Maybe I’ll talk to them next time,” she smiled, “I just wanna know more about that big boy, heard he was pretty famous a few years ago!” She chuckled and waved Keigo goodbye.

“See ya later!” She exclaimed, and he nodded in reply. “Yeah, see you later,” he replied, giving her a half-hearted smile before looking toward the hallway. He took a step forward, intending to go to your dressing room and make sure you were okay.

However, a subtle vibration made him halt and he looked down, sighing softly. Reaching into the pocket of his swimming trunks, he pulled out his phone. He didn’t bother to see who was calling because it was obvious, at least to him.

“Hey,” he answered, his tone lackluster. “Yeah, mmhm. We just finished the photo shoot,” he slipped his opposite hand into his pocket and glanced down the hallway one more time before walking away. He could always catch up with you later, the two of you were never too far apart from each other anyway.

“Don’t worry, everything’s going according to plan,” he said, passing by several photographers and props that were being used to set up the next photo session. “There was no trouble at all,” He stated, pushing open the front doors before stepping outside.

He glanced around, taking in the serene surroundings despite Madam President’s voice echoing in his ear. “Yeah, understood. Bye,” he said before hanging up. Sometimes she was a little too much, you’d think after all his years of dedicated service she’d learn to trust him.

Yeah, yeah, maybe he did things a little differently but the assignments she gave him were always completed. Still, he knew he needed to make sure everything went smoothly with Taishiro tomorrow before he handed him off to you.

Previous Chapter <- | All Chapters

[goblinsofdiscord]

👹 😤 Enneagram Frustration Types (Types 1, 4 and 7) 😮‍💨🥀

written by Larissa

WHAT IS FRUSTRATION IN ENNEAGRAM TERMS?

Frustration is a universal human experience, but it’s also a personality’s ego fixation in the enneagram system relating to “object relations” which is how we interact with the world around us is supposed to relate to our parental dynamics and wounds. It’s the over-fixation on the ideal - what could be and what isn’t. What’s desired and what’s missing. And frustration types (1, 4, 7) can go hard in one direction and then hard in the other direction. They can become fixated on what’s wrong, what’s missing, the disappointment, the lament of what was and no longer is, what could be altered, beautified, made more interesting, more personal, more perfect.

Frustration is essentially being in a constant state of WITHOUT instead of WITH. There is always something not quite right. Something annoying. Out of kilter. Not me enough. Not perfect. Not interesting. Boring. Common. Shallow. Disgusting. The pursuit of experiencing satisfaction is what they’re doing, not achieving satisfaction itself. And once they do achieve satisfaction, it’s often short-lived or disappointing. And the cycle repeats itself. And they may even edge, if they start feeling close to that one moment (getting what they want) - knowing it won’t live up to the ideal, or not wanting the fantasy to end.

This can show up as a grandiose fantasies of their version of the ideal - whether that’s in themselves - and their self-concept and what’s possible for them, in their art, in their partner, children, friends, business, the entire world, their house, their clothing and adornments, the weather, their bodies, the sex, the juice, the energy. Frustration makes itself home in enneagram type 1’s, 4’s and 7’s. It also shows up as an influence when you have a wing which is 1, 4, 7 or a fix. And the frustration is amplified when you have it 2 or 3 of your centers. 

The kicker about frustration and all of the types is that you are creating the pattern that fucks you over (your personality trap). Your vibe attracts your tribe. Meaning if you are constantly frustrated, you will attract people, situations, issues that amplify and feed that belief and energy.

What’s positive about frustration types is that because they are so obsessively trying to capture, create, chase the ideal they can funnel that obsessive, unsettled energy into creating change in the world, the arts, innovation, social structures/culture, etc. Their dissatisfaction becomes a catalyst for change, although it may cause personal ruin the process.

Prefer to watch it instead of read it? 👇 (A lot more sidenotes in the video, because I go off-script auto-reflexively.)

ENNEAGRAM ONE

Enneagram 1's are frustrated in the gut center, giving them a God complex. They seek to exist in a way that is right, perfect and unadulterated by whatever their internal compass tells them is corrupt, bad, dirty and wrong. So this frustration is seen and felt primarily in the torso, the body. That’s why 1’s are often rigid looking, they look like they’ve got knuckle-crushing buttholes and are in a perpetual state of disapproval. They’re constantly churning the need to perfect, do, whittle, clean, wipe, purify, burn, pick at and that oozes out of their very being. They have incredibly high standards which can be centered around efficiency, competency, what’s right, pure, perfect, good, clean aesthetic, properness, manners, etc.

Their frustration object is something they need to FIX, perfect, eradicate, correct. They’re fixating this energy inwards, at themselves as well as outwards. They’re often seen as critical towards others, especially if they have a 6 fix and social instinct, but that’s just their baseline. That’s the world they live in.

They are already doing this to themselves and they project it onto whatever shows up around them, likely fixated more in their dominant instinct. SO this can be their partner or sexual fixation, their loved ones, coworkers, the outer world, their environment, home, art, craft, job. And when after many times trying to clean up the mess if they cannot fix the person, situation, environment they may feel the urge to replace it with a new frustration object or a new fixation. Although you may never be able to fully move on from the frustration object if it still exists.

ENNEAGRAM FOUR

Enneagram 4’s are frustrated in the heart center. Meaning the image they are projecting from inside of themselves is constantly at odds with the world around it. They’re out of congruence with their environment, people, etc, and it cannot be fixed. They don’t know how to exist in such a shallow, disgusting, empty reality. They’re both frustrated by it and fed by it. If they get what they want, they’ll find a way to ruin it because getting it might signal to the ego that they are now part of superficial, shiny reality. This is not to be confused with 6 head griping which is more associated with outsourcing their power or being angry at some kind of authority figure or system. 4’s are positively identified with “negativity.” Being different in a way that is not relatable or accessible can seem from the outside as someone who won’t play ball, is moody, hateful, an asshole.

But they’re also deep poets and lone wolves - or like to tell themselves they are. Separate. Superior and inferior. Tragic and fascinating. According to them they don’t suffer like a 6 or a 9, their concerns are not relatable and you wouldn’t understand. They’re not inviting you to understand either. That’s attachment territory. If you did get a whiff of understanding, it would mean that “thing” was now cheap, common, not good enough for the 4 to ruminate and fixate and chew on and will be either discarded or further personalized and transformed to feel like it’s more personal and specific to them. It’s not special when it’s everyone else’s thing. Ptooey. And again, this is not to be confused with the 6 urge to be an emo shit-poster edgelord with eyeliner and black hair. That’s not different. That’s a subculture. 

This frustrated, separated self-concept oozes dramatically and broodingly out of their countenance, their faces, their visages, the window to their soul. They are the unwilling cover model who wants you to know they don’t like posing but also wants you to see how deep they are. And have no comment on it.

4’s are first and foremost their own primary frustration object, unconsciously deepening their experience of themselves, and creating a continuous narrative around how deep, profound, separate, and beautifully broken they are. They’re unreachable unless they grant you the key, and that key is likely conditional and not permanent. This can be flavoured by their fixes - with 6 there is an amplification of self-loathing and the inescapability of the horror of self, with 1 there is an amplification of snootiness and disgust, with 7 there is an amplification of melodrama and self-fixation, swinging between self-loathing and self-aggrandizing, 4 with 5 is more prone to reactive nihilism (not to be confused with 9’s apathy and numbing), etc.

But this frustration will also show up in relationships, objects, art, their environment that they seek to make more deep, meaningful, mysterious, and personal to their specific tastes and internal narratives of who they are. It will be more noticeable in their dominant instinct - whether that’s social, sexual or self-pres. And yes, that can mean trying to impose this frustration narrative onto someone they’re in a relationship with to personalize them to their own desires.  Unconsciously trying to push them into being (or gaslight themselves into thinking they’re) more deep, unique or interesting than they actually are, or that their connection is somehow special and beyond the realm of mere mortals. And when something feels less than special or won’t reach that ideal, it can become devalued in the 4’s eyes.

ENNEAGRAM SEVEN

7’s are frustrated in the head center. Meaning they want to be tantalized, obsessed, excited, turned on, lit up, distracted from the mundane, aroused by whatever their frustration objects are. And because there are likely to be many they can become spread across many frustration delights, never experiencing true satisfaction which also leads to them not finishing projects, not committing to anything, always having a plan B, C, D… They might be simultaneously existing in multiple realities hedging their bets for the most satisfying and ideal option - however because they do this, they never get satisfaction. 

Type 7’s frustration objects will be something they want - a possibility - something they feel that they NEED - to taste, experience, milk, lose themselves in. Something shiny. New. Intriguing. Sexy. Hot. Novel. Never conquered. Never tasted. 7’s can enter a total state of fantastical mania when they’re stressed out with reality or bored as fuck with their life, creating alternate realities to exist in, that expand these fantasies they have for their life, themselves, their relationships, their art… it’s all about possibilities.

Ideas, creations, booze or drugs, people, their partner, experiences, partying, places, food, interests, hobbies. Once this thing dries of its juicy nectar, the 7 is likely to lose interest and find another sparkly object. Although they may remain with one pinky toe still in it, in case that nectar returns or it becomes exciting to them again by some other means. They try and create this feeling of juiciness around them as they can grow bored easily in stagnant, repetitive and dull environments. 

They can get bored with situations, commitments, people, relationships, jobs, projects very easily as soon as they start to slip into the inevitable frustration pattern backslide. Disappointment. Time-sucking. Feeling like an obligation. Not being fun anymore. Not being interesting anymore. And this can show up when shit gets real - your partner is depressed or unwell, you’re having to work more hours at the job, the dream art career wasn’t as exciting and razzle dazzle. 7’s can focus when they really want something but it can be horrendously taxing to remain invested in something that no longer feels juicy.

WHAT TO DO WITH IT?

The antidote to frustration is gratitude for what is and not for what could be.

Presence without conditions (just ALLOWING the situation/person to be as it is).

Realizing that you’re not SETTLING by just being content. You’re not giving up, or becoming part of the mundane reality that you despise. You’re simply allowing yourself grace, some level of comfort, peace, abundance, joy, appreciation. Which is the energy in which you can actually align yourself to what you desire on a soul level. And you can begin to create that from the inside, which will inevitably, and easily create it for you on the outside. 

Watch the video linked above to go through a short exercise.

More on Enneagram 7 (and personal experiences with “frustration)….

[radio-ghost-cooks]

Hi beastie! Hope you like ask game spam :P

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

19. sleeping position?

21. obsession from childhood?

23. strange habits?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

56. favorite tradition?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

OMGS IM THE BEASTIE!!!!! I LOVE BEING A BEASTIE

okay okay (1) coffee mugs :] they r so goofy sometimes. i saw one patterned with dicks and i want it so bad

(5) when i can get my hands on it the answer is glass bottles but since they're kinda rare where i live i normally go for the can

(12) "oh gods im going to college"

(13) keyring. i've essetially created a flogging whip out of keychains atp 💀

(17) all black low rise vans. skate shoes my beloveds

(19) i always fall asleep easiest curled up on my left side but i normally wake up starfished on the bed

(21) tie between Ever After High and Wild Kratts. baby i own the fucking Wild Kratts MOVIE

(23) i have a pretty bad picking stim and the skin between my fingers is basically fucking gone 💀 and i have to move around for my brain to function when i'm fixating on something so i sway in place a lot

(27) stay indoors. make cocoa or chai. i can't do the cold (<- is from ny)

(40) random waves of clapping sweeping through the cafeteria. also that time i made friends with the school weed dealer. Musky wherever you are i hope ur doing well

(43) nostalgia says bomber but heart says hoodie

(56) making oliebollen every new year's morning :]

(76) i'm about to sound like the spiderman collab poptarts guy but. the sour cream and onion spiralized potato they served at Universal Mardi Gras last year in Orlando. it was like one massive curly fry withour the weird batter

[wodania]

A series of notes on my cultural/fashion inspiration for some miscellaneous houses and regions within ASOIAF! Unfinished bc I can only fixate on so many families. A basic rule of thumb is that fashion may overlap closer to borders or with characters who have a close connection to a region outside of their native one. Not tagging this bc it’s a commentary to go with my own art and not an analysis of actual inspirations for Westerosi cultures. Like at all.

The Northmen (-Iron Islands) : the main inspirations I’ve always come back to for the North is Indigenous and Slavic inspirations. I use First Nations, Inuit, and Métis fashion influences alongside Slavic fashion as well. In terms of ethnicity it’s a mixed bag as well. The Starks, minus the inclusion of Cat, in particular I’ve always seen as Algonquin, based on the irl region of these people spanning north in wooded regions. Ukrainian fashion specifically comes to mind as an inspiration for many of my pieces, including those I’ve yet to post.

The Iron Islands: Scandinavian 100%. I do imagine a lot of overlap from the mainland indigenous-inspired population, which also has irl historical merit, fun fact (Erikson’s expedition circa 1000). Major Viking vibes with the islands, as GRRM intended. I also like to include “foreign” jewelry, fashion, and accessory styles with Ironborn designs due to the Iron Price, as well as their trading with foreign merchants.

The Free Folk: Iron Islands/Northmen love child. Scandinavian and Indigenous inspirations, though the Slavic has fallen out at this point. More Inuit inspired fashion starts appearing in my inspo list at this point.

Riverlands: Ireland. House Tully especially. Those girls are Irish. Plaids are common fashion, which overlaps into the Stormlands (see Stormlander category). Flowing fabrics and leather armour alongside the more modern chainmail. Knotted pattern embroideries. This would make the Stark kids, minus Jon, Indigenous-Irish inspired, though most take after their mother over their father.

Stormlands: Scottish icons. Especially House Baratheon and House Connington. Like the Tullys, plaid is a common fashion. Tight hairstyles or head coverings for women for efficiency against the wind. Differs for formal wear where weather is not an issue. Paler features due to lack of sun, rather weather beaten depending on the occupation and habits of the person (do they sail often, do they hunt despite the weather, etc). Thick Scottish accents because there’s no way Robert and Jon don’t have a Scottish accent, I don’t buy them being British one bit. Kilts would be pretty cool too. Generic historical drama chainmail with a hint of kilts or plaids depending on the person in question.

The Reach: Mediterranean Europe is my go to for the Reach. Dark hair, tan skin, artistic clothing. A huge focus on art and renaissance, with fashion and accessory inspirations coming in from Dorne in the south. Italian renaissance, with a hint of Tudor England in the fashion. The wealth of the region is evident in the higher class’ fashion sense. Nice jewelry, embroidery, and fabrics. Even prettier armour.

The Westerlands : to be determined. I’ve been playing with a bunch of different fashion eras and have settled on Tudor as a default, but this may change. I’ve been debating playing around with French and German fashion in the future.

Dorne: I read somewhere that Dorne was inspired by Palestine, “Moorish” or Islamic Spain, and Wales (?) and the first two stuck with me. Don’t know where the third one came from but ok. North African/European/West Asian cultural overlap. Islamic European fashion and architecture is a new endeavour of mine so I’m still playing around with combinations and stuff but I have the vibe figured out. Ethnically, North African and West Asian inspired peoples with more European overlap or even complete European the further north. Different houses/regions have different irl inspirations but that’s too deep for me to dig into at the moment.

The Targaryens : BYZANTINE!!! The oldest Targaryens of old Valyria were Byzantinian, yet the fashion and culture began drifting away and is only present in small forms by the time Rhaegar and Viserys come into the picture. Now the fashion inspiration for the Targs is often imitations of fashion from different kingdoms within the Targ empire. Ie Rhaegar was probably a Reach fashion kinda guy.

The Vale: I’m gonna be honest with you I often forget these guys exist and have put almost zero thought into them. English? I have no idea.

Dothraki: Mongolian. Not gonna go much deeper as I’ve yet to explore Essosi inspo.