#and you can see when I changed how I draw them

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. ��. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here.

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

“Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten…eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

[gghostwriter]

Hi!! I saw your requests are open for fluff and I love your writing and have an idea currently plaguing my mind if you are interested (but no worries if not!) 🩵

There’s this girl on tiktok who does rejection therapy where she makes little requests to strangers with the expectation of being denied, but sometimes the outcome is super sweet. I think it would be cute for a kinda shy reader to be doing rejection therapy and ask Spencer (or any of the BAU) to like play rock paper scissors or hold their badge or something with the expectation of being rejected, only to be pleasantly surprised when she isn’t rejected

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Fluff! Just fluff w.c: 1.33k A/N: Slowly defrosting my request box purely for fluff. I do feel a bit rusty in writing again, it's a muscle I've forgotten to exercise on the daily. I am no chess player so I honestly don't know how to write a game. Anon, I hope this still lives up to your imagination! Main masterlist

Intermezzo. // Spencer Reid

Hushed adult chatter and boisterous children’s laughter filled the greening park, once cold and barren from the winter past. The sun, as if still shy to take center stage, peeked behind a cloud of white curtains. Vibrant hues of picnic blankets scattered all over the green grass, books and wicker baskets keeping them from going with the windy breeze. 

Over the past few weeks, you’ve gotten comfortable in the new city you now call home. Bringing the tumbler of coffee against your moistened lips, the corners of your mouth lifted to form a soft smile, marveling from how far you’ve come. This city now contained your coffee shop down the block, your bookstore tucked between alleyways, and your park nestled in the middle of the bustling city. 

Your therapist was excited for this new chapter of your life, coaxing you to take baby steps away from your cocoon and enjoy what it had to offer. Filled with slight trepidation a few weeks ago, you sat on the exact same bench, back rod straight and hands wringing from the unknown when a group of men, ages of all varying degrees, had caught your eye. They were gathered under the shade from two great trees, seated and hunched over, playing various states of chess.

Fascinating.

They kept to themselves, something you could relate to. As Saturdays and Sundays passed on, you found yourself wondering why there seemed to be no women or any newcomers, to be exact, that join in the fray. Do people not feel the draw? Is it only you who found them intriguing?

Movement caught the corner of your eye.

A new face walking towards the gaggle of men—or to be exact, hobbling towards with crutches under his armpits, to an unoccupied chess table. His eyes scanning along the throng of players before briefly looking down and tapping his uninjured foot to an inconspicuous beat.

You observed him with fascination and anticipation, wanting to see if any of the usual faces would join in on his table, allowing him to be absorbed into the otherwise impenetrable group.

Five minutes.

Then ten, the seat in front of him remained empty. 

You briefly wondered if you could do it—you weren’t after all bad at chess, being a past player in high school. Not that you won more than three competitions, joining the team was purely an excuse for extra credits and to get out of physical education. 

Could you do it?

Could you walk up to a complete male stranger and ask for a game?

Could you take the rejection that may come with it?

Gnawing on your lip, you found yourself moving closer and closer, steps quiet and hesitant but each shuffle ringing in your ear. His eyes, feeling the change in the wind and your upcoming presence, met yours—both wide-eyed and unsure.

He seemed to be just like you, a doe-eyed deer stepping out of their hiding for predators lying in the wait. A gust of breath escaped your lips, a measly amount of strength returning to your tightly strung body.

“H-hi,” you whispered. 

He blinked before clearing his throat. “Hi, how can I—” his gaze tracking the path of your gaze, the opposite black pieces on the chess board. “Do you, do you want to play?”

You timidly smiled. “If you’d have me, yes.” 

“Yes,” a smile forming on his face, hands fighting to push the wayward curls behind his pinking ears. “Of course, please.” 

Gingerly seating on the marbled seat, you muttered a ‘thank you’ under your breath, one you were sure he didn’t hear.

No words were exchanged further as he moved his white pieces with grace. It was a complete contrast to yours, rusty and unsure even to that moment as to what you were actually doing seating in front of a chess genius. That was who he was, you realized, as he ate another of your pawn. Perhaps this was why no one dared to occupy the seat. He was no outsider or meek prey, he was the king (or prince) and the predators of all chess enthusiasts in the group.

You could feel the heat from the gazes of the spectators, other tables long abandoned to view and scrutinize the eventual downfall of the challenger. Whispers of strategies under their breaths and shakes of their head as they predict the next thirty-seventh move. 

Briefly you wondered if you should just call it quits, wanting to hide from the pressure. But isn’t this a prime opportunity to take further steps away from your comfort zone? Isn’t that was your therapist would have wanted? Perhaps, you were expecting rejection in the beginning and now that you were in the thick of it, you wished that it had come instead. The sweet ‘no’ from his handsome stranger’s lips rather than feeling your nerves fray from the trap laid in front of you—a pawn in perfect position to take his queen on c1. 

“Would you like to take a break?” he asked, expecting his voice to be filled with mockery and superiority, but rather was coated with the sweet, worrying tone you’d expect from a doting grandmother. 

Shaking your head no, moving your king away from endangerment—g8 to h7. 

Your opponent smiled before quickly taking his turn with a pawn. 

The game continued on in such manner, give and take, between two strangers turned opponents. You could feel the end coming as his moves further stalled, now requiring the handsome stranger to assess the remaining pieces on the board to his gain. In turn, you studied him. 

The ends of his hair brushing against the middle of his long neck. Its’ roots sticking to his forehead, shiny from perspiration. Sleeves of his button down haphazardly folded to expose his forearm and one subtle vein that disappears and appears as he moves. You doubted he was any older but the underlying confidence brimming underneath his humility made you think he’d been exposed to the underbelly of the world, long before you did. 

Seven moves later, he flashed you another smile—bigger and more joyous than you’ve seen. “Draw.”

The spectators stilled into silence. A rarity, one of the older gentlemen whispered under their breath before everyone brought into an applause. 

It happened in a flash causing breath to be caught in your throat. You’ve done it. The game was over. You’ve gone above and beyond from what your therapist had asked you to do—her “rejection therapy” leading you to an unknown you couldn’t wait to explain.

“Good game,” he breathed out.

You nodded, watching as his right hand reached out in between, casting a shadow on his knocked over king. “Oh—” lifting your hands in front of you to act as a barrier. “I’m not much of a—the number of pathogens passed during a handshake—”

“Is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss,” he continued on before chuckling to himself, hand still extended out regardless of the trivia being shared between you two. “Not that I’m saying we should but yeah, I’m not much of a ‘handshake-r’ myself.” 

Giggling, you slowly reached for his awaiting hand, giving him a way out before both palms met and fingers locked around it. 

It was warm, like the sun that was no longer hiding behind the curtain of clouds, like a tumbler of freshly brewed coffee made by your favorite barista. 

“I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

Your cheeks heated. “Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. I’m Y/N.”

Hands still firmly connected across the chess game long forgotten, both of you seemingly unwilling to let go of the physical connection.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like to play again sometime?”

“If you’d have me again, yes.” Briefly biting your lip before taking another brave step, creating another ‘rejection therapy’ moment. “Or we could have coffee or tea sometime?”

You waited with bated breath. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled and another breathtaking smile painted his face.

“I’d like that. I’d really like that.” 

Comments & reblogs are highly appreciated!

[hexhomos]

Maybe I’m that one oomf that’s too woke, but I have a feeling that people being weird about jayvik is a sign of Bad Things on the rise =/ I’m old as balls and I’ve been in fandom spaces since late 2000s, and I’ve never seen people act so hostile towards a fanon mlm ship. I mean precisely in women and queer dominated fandom spaces, dudebros never change, whatever. And of course there were always ship wars. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen people act so oppressed over being into het ships, crash out over their ships not being endgame and demand from fandom content creators to accommodate them. What is happening.

I think this started happening around 2023~ to be more precise bc that's when i started getting weird ass entitled comments on OTHER gay ships. IMHO the real issue here is that we are going through fandom clash with a newgen that did not experience early internet and they take the gayness in fandom spaces completely for granted. As in, they think these little niche holes we've built are the de facto 'effortless norm' and minimize the work that's been done to create these safe spaces. This is the kind of rhetoric i keep seeing pop up:

Many of them have also grown up almost exclusively interacting with art created by old fandom graduates where queerness is presented casually. They're not watching shit from the 90's or 00's. They're not adults, so they don't have a personal contrast experience seeing that 'rep' dwindling consistently over the years. They don't remember a time before this and don't know how bad it was.

OFC there are always old ass conservative weirdos riding on this wave to be even more annoying (certain infamous viktor stan accs... lol!) but #backtotradition rightwing bullshit has been on the rise worldwide, and so are the viral tiktok tradwife alphamale detransition white supremacy grifters. Its a larger cultural problem feeding into the micro stuff we see daily and it's terrible. It's also why I tune this shit out and I stand my ground. I'll draw what I WANT to draw and I'm not going to be twisting myself into pretzel shapes to appeal to anyone and everyone; go get YOUR shit elsewhere!

I *do* think people have been getting way more entitled towards fanworks, and that comes with a heightened level of apathy. You can notice this on the decreased number and quality of feedback across twitter, as an example (seeing as that place has been consumed by the conservative grifter wave) but it's also been reported by every fic writer who's consistently used AO3 for years. Tags on tumblr aren't as widely used. The focus on 'community' has been replaced by 'DOES THIS MAXIMIZE ENGAGEMENT?'. I know from personal experience that there is this one specific asshole who, for almost a year now, has been trawling the trans viktor tag and leaving insanely long transphobic critique comments on works of newer writers to discourage them from writing. (They are always on the cusp of open violent transphobia, but shittily cloaked as 'debates' on ~natural biology~ and fantasy logic so they don't get banned. If you've seen the ao3 pfp of a smirking white haired woman before you know who im talking about.)

Things have been Bad and on the Rise for a while now. Look at the current shit on the news. Look at the presidencies around the world. And it's going to get worse before it gets better, because it always does; that's what forces people to wake up. Be annoying. Be watchful. Don't waste your time platforming or debating weirdos that should be left to die on obscurity - this is how trump got a memeable platform, and look at where we are now. Protect your peace.

[silcoitus]

I love all your fics sm, could you possibly write reader comforting silco after his lil breakdown in s1ep6?

ngl i feel like I'm Silco in this one and I need a reader to fix me

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Broken

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader; angst; hurt/comfort; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship

Word count: 1.1k

Betas: @medic-simp @juniper-sunny

He told you not to come with him. To stay behind in case Jinx returned. 

You didn't like what you were seeing—the way he was starting to unravel at the ends, his perfectly manicured facade crumbling with each hour his daughter was missing. You had this feeling in your gut that it was all about to go sideways, that something awful was going to happen.

But you couldn't stop him.

So you stayed in his office, sitting in his chair and staring out the large circular window. Watching his figure striding with purpose on the streets below to disappear from your view.

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he would find her and bring her back home.

Maybe everything was going to be okay.

But you couldn't shake the feeling.

That this was the beginning of the end.

There's a steady thumping sound as your heel taps along the hardwood, knee bouncing erratically as you wait.

Sure, you have things you could be tending to, but your mind is elsewhere—it’s with Silco.

Will he find her?

What will happen if he does?

You could tell by how he had spoken of her recently that his grasp on her was slipping away, her attention instead on the sister she thought dead for years. Despite raising Jinx as his own, Silco could not fight the bond shared by blood—and it was driving him mad.

You don't move from your perch for a full hour. And even then, you only rise to your feet to pace the empty office, one arm barred across your stomach as the other crosses your chest, your front teeth making short, quick clicking sounds against the tip of your thumbnail. 

A nervous habit.

One Silco hated.

But he's not here to tell you to stop.

So you keep doing it.

Waiting.

Mealtime comes and goes without any change. Your stomach protests, but you ignore it. You've taken to searching Silco's desk, hands frantically rummaging through his things to see if there could be any clue as to where his daughter had disappeared to.

None of her old drawings give you any answers, a tidy pile of them in his bottommost desk drawer. And no amount of rifling through the contents of the safe (the one hidden behind the painting whose sole keepers are Silco and you) lead to any revelations.

You’re moments away from leaving to check Jinx’s workshop when the door to the office opens. Not with a bang, but with a slow, drawn-out creak.

You have one sleeve of your coat on when you look up to see Silco's figure standing in the doorway. His hair is a matted mess against his forehead, his makeup smeared with sweat, revealing the decaying, grey skin around his corrupted eye. There's dust and grime all along his coat, vest, and pants, and blood on his gold-toed boots.

“What happened?” you gasp, ditching your coat to the couchback in favor of running toward him. “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, shuffling past you. When he flops himself onto the red velvet cushions, puffs of dirt dance in the air to settle around him. Staring ahead of him, he seems devoid of light; you could almost swear that the glow of his volcanic orange eye seems dimmer.

“Silco…” you whisper, crouching to get eye-level with him.

He looks through you, the iris of his ruined eye drifting almost lazily, with none of the vigor you've come to know. 

You take both of his hands in yours, resting them on his lap as you study him. There's a tapestry of textures along his skin, dirt and grime and shimmer and blood. You squeeze his hands as your lips press together, waiting.

You never know what Silco you're going to get: the loud, snarling, erratic beast, all roars and teeth; or the silent, fuming, cold statue, impossible to read and even more impossible to crack. You've seen every side of this man, every emotion, every reaction. 

But still, sometimes, you struggle to know how to handle him. How to help him. 

It took you many years and many fights to realize that, most times, he simply wants you to listen.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your knees are sore from where they dig into the rug, both your feet fallen asleep long ago. But you stay rooted to the spot, resolutely, dutifully holding his hands as he stares straight ahead. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in that head of his, what calculations he's running, what strategies he's testing and retesting. 

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“She's gone.”

You bite your tongue, allowing him to talk.

“I've lost her.” His voice feels so far away despite being right in front of you. A ghost of a whisper. A light, almost imperceptible breeze. “And I don't know if I can get her back.”

At last, his eyes move. They almost seem to stutter as they cast slowly—so slowly—down to meet your gaze. And when they lock with your eyes, you have to hold back a small whimper from escaping your lips.

Broken.

He looks so broken.

You've never seen him this bad before. In all your years—first under his employ, then as his partner—he’s never been this far gone. You could always count on a small, stubborn spark behind his eyes.

But that little flame is gone.

Replaced with deep obsidian, heavy and impenetrable.

“Oh, Silco…” you whisper, bringing one hand up to cradle his scarred cheek. 

Your touch breaks him further, cracking the dam of his resolve.

His good eye squeezes shut and his hands come up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he doubles over. 

He doesn't cry—you’ve never seen him cry. Instead, he tugs at his hair, his hands shaking and his breath quickening. His whole torso seems to almost vibrate with how he shakes under the massive weight of his grief.

You rise to your feet, a soft reassuring hum at your throat as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him toward yourself. The crown of his head presses to your stomach and he feels stiff in your arms, awkward and unresponsive. Rubbing circles into his back, you make soft cooing sounds as you try to calm him down, feeling so helpless.

“It's okay,” you whisper. “I've got you.”

Finally, he releases his hold on the graying tendrils of hair, his head pressing against you earnestly as he wraps both arms around your middle tightly. You return the embrace, your eyes squeezing shut as a tear escapes them. 

How you wish you could take this grief from him, endure it for him. You would suffer this pain tenfold if it meant he didn't have to.

But as you hold him in your arms, you know this is something he must overcome himself.

And when you feel warmth against your stomach—a faint dampness to the fabric of your shirt—you wonder if you'll ever be able to bring back that spark. 

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

[bvidzsoo]

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

            Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

            The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

            You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

            It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

            Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

੭ Masterlist ੭

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[newtonsheffield]

You've been kind enough to give a lot of Kate's coworkers' POV on the new addition to Kate and Neddy's family. What about Anthony's employees? What about Debbie? How is she adjusting to the changes she sees in her boss?

No but imagine being Debbie and watching this all unfold. One day out of the blue a gorgeous woman shows up and asks to see your boss. You tell her very politely that you can’t just allow anyone in to see the Viscount but the man himself appears and he knows this woman. Sometime later they emerge from the office and go to lunch. Your boss seems shaken when he calls and says he won’t be coming back to the office but you think “score, early start to the weekend.”

A week later you’re called into his office, and the man is placing what appears to be a drawing from a very young child in a frame.

“I’m just going to skip right to the point here, Debbie. Last week a woman came to see me-“

“Kate Sharma.” You finish for him. “Gorgeous, dark curly hair, I’d put her at about 5ft 9?”

He blinked, “You’re incredibly observant. Yes, that’s the one.” He sighed. “Well Kate and I are former…?”

“Please spare us both from using the word lovers.”

“I won’t say it then.” He said a little gratefully. “I’m telling you this because it’s very likely she’ll be around more. Kate and I have a son together.”

This doesn’t really surprise you. There are very few things that usually happen when a beautiful woman shows up out of nowhere. Privately you think he should be thankful it’s a kid and not syphilis. And syphilis doesn’t usually do drawings for you.

“Congratulations.” You genuinely mean it as he gets out his phone. A proud smile on his face.

“This is my boy, this is Neddy.”

He’s a cute little thing, Anthony’s eyes and ears and nose with his mother’s shock of curly hair as he grins at the camera with a tiny gap between his front teeth.

“Oh, he’s adorable. What a sweetheart.”

“He’s great.” Anthony says softly, smiling at the photo. “Anyway, he and his Mum will probably be around a lot from now on.”

“Family rules for him and his Mum when they call?”

“Absolutely. And ah her mum and sister as well. And he has a Nanny, I’ll get their names for you.”

“I’m happy for you. This is good for you.”

You’ve worked with him a long time, and his father for a few months before that. You’ve seen how lonely he became the last few years and he’s good to work for. He always has been. Some of your friends who work for politicians and minor aristocracy are treated very differently than you are but Anthony’s always been kind and generous. You thought he’d made a mistake with how many zeroes he’d put through on your Christmas bonus.

“Should I order some more?”

Anthony blinked. “More?”

“Frames? For Neddy’s pictures? And I’ll organise someone to come in and hang them? You want them to go on the wall right?”

The smile that crosses his face is sweet. “Yeah, yes. If they could go on the wall that’d be great.”

“Not a problem.”

He’s different, after that. You can see the change in him, when he walks out of his office whistling.

“Why don’t you take off early, Debbie? I’m going to swimming!”

He closes the office for three days so he can away for his son’s birthday and you get paid, none of your leave used up.

He stops you in the kitchen and shows you pictures of him and his son and what’s clearly a relationship between him and Kate who drops by from time to time herself. The way he talks about them makes your chest ache a little, honestly. But if it happened for him it’ll happen for you too. He’s honestly made you believe that.

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summary: You finally arrive in Rome and it's more than you could have ever imagined...

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

Word Count: 5,266

Chapter 5 New beginnings

The next morning you had passed through Reschen Pass and began making your way south to Rome. Only two more days and your life will change forever. The thought both thrills and scares you. Despite your heated words last night, you still preferred to ride beside Marcus, only feeling safe by his side. Thankfully the three men from last night were riding at the very back of the group, so you didn't even have to look at them. "Not long now," Marcus said softly, almost like a peace offering. When you looked at him, you saw the softness of his voice reflecting in his eyes. You realise this is his way of extending the olive branch, and for some reason it instantly made you feel lighter, more at ease.

You smile, a genuine and appreciative one in return to his gesture. "I'm sure your people will be overjoyed to see their General returned to them alive and well." "They will be," Marcus acknowledged, "and they will also know it's all because of you." "Oh, that's not necessary," you spluttered, the thought of drawing attention to yourself making you feel jittery. You'd much rather just blend into the background. "Too late," Marcus shrugged, the phantom of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. "A carrier pigeon has been sent, informing the Emperors and the Senate of when they can expect our arrival and of your bravery and desire to start anew in Rome. Your name will be on everyone's lips by the time we arrive."

You're not sure how you feel about that. Would it work in your favour and make the adjustment in Rome a little easier? The idea of being under everyone's scrutiny makes you nervous, but at least the Roman people won't view you as yours did. "I think you pay me too much mind. I'm nothing special," you say, hoping to the god's that Marcus is exaggerating. "I'm an outsider, insignificant. Now one will concern themselves with the likes of me." At least that's what you hope. Marcus hums in agreement but the look he's giving you suggests otherwise. The day continues with you and Marcus making civil and lighthearted conversation, neither of you mentioning the night before. Back at the Castrum you'd both had very little time to talk in the days. Even though he was injured and recovering, he's still the General and carried out his duties of overseeing all.

This journey has given you both nothing but time and even though neither of you spoke much at the start of it, you've become more comfortable talking to him. He must be feeling more at ease with you too, because today you've managed to draw out a few laughs from him; deep genuine rumbles that bring a warmth to your core and a smile to your face. He should definitely laugh more, you muse, especially when it lightens his face and softens his usual stoic facade. You find yourself hoping to see more of it over the next couple of days. By the end of the day, your party had completed the route through the valleys of the Alps; a spectacle of nature you'll never forget with its pure white, snow capped jagged peaks giving way to vibrant greenery and large pockets of trees further down the steep vallleys, and crystal lakes so dazzlingly blue and clear that they hold the world around them on their surfaces.

A part of you regrets leaving the magnificence of it all behind, certain you'll never see such natural artistry again. The Next day is spent travelling farther south, the air becoming warmer as you continue. The landscape of Italia (Italy) is so alien to you. Over the hours, rolling hills become gentle slopes of lush green fields, some with strange, long formations that stretch for miles. After asking Marcus what they are he'd told you they are vineyards, where rows and rows of grapes are grown to be pressed into wine. The further south you go the greenery becomes patchy, with dried, yellowing grass and rocky, sunbaked ground. The temperature has increased significantly with a constant humidity hanging heavily in the air. The sun has never been so unforgiving. Of course, in Germania the summers were hot but this is something else, and it's only early spring.

Even the trees looked odd to you. Tall, thin trees called Cypress trees - according to Marcus - seemed to grow in abundance along with thick, gnarley looking trees that produced green and purple fruits called Olives and the most unusual kind called Strawberry trees. Marcus had picked some of the round, prickly looking red fruit for you to try, the mix of sweet and sour flavours and it's soft grainy texture pleasantly surprising you. Every now and then you'd pass farmhouses and nearby villages on your way, the buildings' whitewashed walls glinting in the sun. From what you could see of the buildings, they're entirely unlike any you've ever seen before. Marcus watched as you took in your new surroundings with childlike awe. He's wasn't sure what lit up your face more; the sunlight - which he'd now noticed gave your dark brown, braided hair a glossy shine - or the wonderment of discovering so many new things.

He found indulging your questions and your growing enthusiasm quite endearing, even if some of the men muttered annoyances under their breath. As long as you dont hear them, he'll let it side for the sake of harmony, even if it vexes him. Returning his focus to you, Marcus smiled, "If you're impressed now, wait until we reach Rome." "What do you mean?" you asked, unable to suppress your intrigued smile. "You'll see..." he chuckled, turning to look over his horse's head. Maybe it's because the journey is almost over and the reassurance of safety that comes with it, but you've not seen Marcus look so at ease. There appeared to be a lightness to him now that wasn't there before (or he just hid it well) and you found yourself enjoying this version of him. It's like looking at a different person.

And it's only now that you realise just how striking he appears from the side as your eyes slowly trace the curve of his prominent nose and line of his jaw (which is still noticable, even through his slightly longer scruff). You were unaware your eyes had been lingering until Marcus looked your way, breaking you out of the little trance you'd slipped into. You quickly turn your focus back to your horse, cheeks heating with a pink blush. What you didn't notice was the barely there smirk, hiding in the corner of his mouth at your obvious bashfulness.

By the early evening you had arrived at Tuscia (Tuscany) and kept going until sunset. This will be the last stop for your group. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits tonight, the men chatting amongst themselves, some expressing their eagerness to see their loved ones during the weeks' rest they'll get before making the journey back to Germania (Germany). Some of them even spoke to you this time - like you're an actual human being and not lower than the dirt they walk on. It felt strange to be viewed in such a way, and even though you still felt uncomfortable amongst them, you made every effort to tamp down your anxiety and engage in the conversations. As the night stretched on, the conversations inevitably wound down, until everyone - except the watchmen - was asleep; well, everyone except you. Your mind is awash with anticipation, for tomorrow you'll arrive in Rome and begin the next chapter of your life.

Even though Marcus had already told you so much about the city and what to expect in terms of societal expectations, customs, traditions and laws, you still feel as though you're going in blind and unprepared. That uncertainty leaves you with a knot in your stomach but at the same time there's also a tinge of excitement about the possibilities that await you. For the first time ever, you'll be in control of your own destiny. Maybe you could find employment (if you remember the word correctly) and never have to scrape your way through life again. The concept of employment is a strange one to you. Back in the village everyone pitched in and contributed to the community in some way. There was no such thing as working for currency. The idea of being able to look after yourself just seems too good to be true. The more you dwelt on it all, the more restless you became.

Laying on your back, you gaze up at the twinkling heavens, searching for the constellations you know well, while the fire crackles comfortingly and soft snores echo around you. The night sky always provided comfort for you when you were anxious or lonely and you sigh gently as you feel yourself begin to relax under it's glittering canopy. "Can't sleep?" Marcus' low whisper catches you off guard. "Just a bit nervous for tomorrow," you reply after a moment, turning onto your side to face him. Marcus nods. "Many things will change for you tomorrow," he surmised, "but you won't be alone. I'll make sure you get the best start possible." You mimic Marcus' posture by propping up on your elbow, resting the back of your head in your hand, regarding him with a deep gratitude you can never truly express. "Thank you, Marcus..." you smile, looking deeply into his eyes in the hope that your own eyes can convey how much you appreciate him, "for everything. You've done so much for me." Marcus smiles, shaking his head in dismissal, "It's no more than you've done for me."

You nod, keeping eye contact and for the first time you don't feel uncomfortable; in fact, the smile Marcus is giving you stirs a little flutter in your stomach. "You know... maybe I was wrong about Romans," you begin, "you're not... all bad people." Marcus chuckles, softly. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Despite your efforts to keep your amusement at bay, your mouth betrays you, breaking out into a slightly bashful smirk. "Yeah, well don't let it get to your head, General. Your helmet won't fit." "Noted," Marcus laughs, quietly, drawing one from you in return. Nearby, a sleeping soldier stirs, catching both of your attention and you stifle your laughter behind your hand to not wake him. "We should try and get some sleep," Marcus whispers, even more quietly now. "We've got a big day tomorrow." With amusement still on your face you bid marcus a goodnight and he in return, both of you settling down for the night.

Just after dawn broke, your group prepared for the last leg of your journey. It almost felt like this day would never come, yet here you are, only a few hours from Rome. The closer you get, the more farms you pass, some small and humble looking and others with large houses - or villas as you'd come to learn - a clear sign of wealth. When you were only an hours' ride away, Marcus sent several of his men ahead to inform the Emperors and the Senate of your imminent arrival. A little while later, the horizon began to shimmer in the bright sunlight, a mixture of white and grey becoming larger as you drew closer. Soon the colours became shapes and your breath caught in your chest and eyes widened as it became clear you were looking at buildings. Buildings so large and numerous, they seemed to never end. Marcus, hearing the small gasp escaping you, turned to observe the look of amazement on your face. His mouth quirked up on one side as you looked at him in disbelief. "There she is..." he said, with pride in his voice. "Welcome to Rome."

*****

Have you entered another reality, another realm?! Maybe you've hit your head or had gotten injured on the journey and slipped into a fever dream because this can't be real; it's impossible! No man is capable of such creations. Everywhere you look, there are imposing buildings of various shapes and sizes, some brilliant white, some grey and beige with orange rooftops and gigantic columns that stretch the length of the facade, holding up triangular structures. Many of these constructions host an array of colourful and symmetrical patterns and shapes carved into the stonework and smooth material too polished and grand to have occurred naturally. Large archways with golden coated depictions of beings with wings, carved floral images and even painted scenes of possible important events or stories tower over you as you ride, entranced, through the bustling streets; even the ground is paved with large neutral slabs.

Large sculptures of people and animals stand proud, surrounded by water inside what you can only describe as a huge stone basin (fountains, Marcus had informed you). People - too numerous to count - give you curious eyes as your group passes by and you try your best to ignore them while absorbing everything around you. You're at a complete loss for words. You had expected improved living conditions in Rome, but nothing could have prepared you for such... outrageous extravagance. But of all the buildings to amaze you, none did quite as much as the soaring, circular construction that seemed to dominate it's surroundings, with it's continuous arches, piled on top of each other three stories high, another level of solid wall above and rows and rows of wooden beams at the very top.

Marcus watched you face flit through a dozen emotions at once as you took in the sights; shock, awe, excitement, happiness, disbelief, eagerness, he could write an epic poem to describe your reaction right now. "What is that?" you gasped, seemingly unable to tear your gaze away from what has captured you. "That's the Coliseum, used for Gladitorial games." "It's magnificent!" you gush, craning your neck back to look up as you ride alongside it. "I never knew such things could exist." Marcus' mouth ticked upwards. He enjoyed observing you as much as you did your new home. He chuckled to himself as he likened you to an owl; eyes round as saucers and head swiveling in all directions. "What are those?" you point to odd open sided boxes, lined with thin veils and people laying inside, being hoisted by other people. They appear to be quite popular.

Marcus looked to where you are pointing. "They're called Litters. Some wealthy people travel around the city in them." That is the most ridiculous and lazy thing you've ever seen. These people have legs, don't they! Despite your initial judgment, you decide it's best not to voice your opinion. The last thing you want is to cause offence. As if Marcus could read your mind - or maybe it was the expression on your face - he leaned closer and with a snicker, he whispered. "I know, they seem rather fatuous." "Yeah," you couldn't help but laugh in return. "So... where exactly are we going?" you ask after a moment. "The Forum of Augustus. The Emperors and the Senate are awaiting our arrival there at the Temple of Mars." "Our...?" you whip your head back to Marcus, voice a little shaky. Hopefully it'll be put down to being jostled on the horse and not nerves.

"That's right. They'll want to meet you." Subconciously, you grip the reins of the horse tighter, as if you could transfer the rising tension from your body into the leather straps. "Surely not, I'm nobody," you try to reason. The idea of meeting such important people has your stomach churning. "It'll be okay," Marcus smiled, reassuringly. "All you have to do is bow, address the Emperors as Your Majesty when they speak to you, and under no circumstances do you ever turn your back to them." "Why? you ask, perplexed. " Are they dangerous? Can I not trust them?" Marcus chuckled, softly. "You misunderstand my meaning." Actually, yes they are dangerous and you can't trust them, his inner voice whispered. "It's a sign of disrespect to show them your back."

"Oh..." you nod, thoughtfully. "It seems I have a lot to learn." "Lucky for you I'm a patient teacher," Marcus smiled, a hint of a tease in his tone. "I think you've got your work cut out for you," you warn in jest. As you, Marcus and your entourage press on you begin to hear Marcus' name being murmured amongst nearby people and before you know it, crowds have gathered, all chanting "Acacius! Acacius" over and over. Strange how they're all calling him by his second name. Is that how people address one another in Rome? Waves and cheers now fill the streets as all attention is on the General. It amazes you how he seems completely unperturbed by the growing hysteria, waving back at the exuberant masses. So many people love him; first, at the Castrum, now this.

At this moment in time he has become a god amongst men, sitting tall and proud upon his horse, red cape trailing behind him, splayed out over the steed's back. The sun hits his salt and pepper curls just right, and his skin seems to glow golden in the warm rays. He has never looked so handsome. All at once your lower stomach floods with warmth and a feeling you haven't had in years. You shift in your saddle, trying to take the pressure away from the ache between your legs. What the hell is wrong with you?! Shame has now replaced the sensation and you refuse to give... whatever that was any more attention. You put it down to being caught up in the moment. Everyone around is in awe of Marcus, so it's impossible to not get swept up in the atmosphere and admire him too. Yep, that's what it is.

Upon arriving at the Forum of Augustus, you're taken aback, yet again. The city's numerous wonders are never ending! The entire courtyard gleams shockingly white in the afternoon sun, reminding you of deep blankets of pristine snow back in Germania. On either side of you, rows of colourful columns line sheltered walkways with patterned floors, the gaps between each column sporting various bronze and marble statues. In the centre of the courtyard stands an impressive bronze sculpture of a man driving a four horse chariot and at the very end of the area stands, what you assume, the Temple of Mars. A grandiose building if ever you've seen one. More expertly crafted columns adorn the front, statues of more winged people in flowing robes perch on both corners of the roof and in the triangular section beneath them, are more carvings of people in various poses. Fires burn in braziers on both sides of the stairway and the smell of oils and incense waft on the light breeze.

A large group of men, dressed in fine white togas wait at the top of the steps. In front of them, stand two young men - one dressed in vibrant red and gold attire and a cloak wrapped around his body from shoulder to hip, and the other in dark blue and gold with a floor length cloak. Both men wear crowns of golden laurels that glint in the sunshine. Just before reaching the steps, Marcus raised his fist; an order for everyone to stop. Turning his horse to face his men, he begins, "Brothers, I cannot express the depth of my gratitude for your loyalty and dedication. It has been a long and tiring journey and I'm sure you are eager to rest. For those of you who can, return to your families, for everyone else: return to the barracks. Eat and rest before your journey back to Germania. May the gods go with you." Marcus crossed his arm over his chest and bowed his head. Every man mimicked his gesture all wishing farewell to their General.

Some of them even nodded to you before turning their horses about and riding out of the Forum. You can't help but imagine the joyful reunions some of these men will have with their families. It brings warmth to your heart. Marcus dismounted his horse and walked over to you. "Come." He held his hands out to you. Carefully, you lean towards him, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders, while his hands hold you firmly around the hips. He picked you down off the horse as if you weighed nothing and you hope he didn't just notice the small blush coating your cheeks at the intimacy of his hold. "Thank you," you mumble unable to look him in the eye. You don't know what has gotten into you; first the 'incident' while he was greeting the crowd, and now just because he helped you dismount. It's just the heat and fatigue, you tell yourself.

"Follow me," Marcus said. You swear you just saw his lip tick up on one side, briefly. You trail a couple of steps behind as he ascends the steps, his cape billowing in the breeze. All the while, you purposely fixate on the motions of his cape; anything to try and not acknowledge the dozens of eyes baring down on you. "Remember what I told you," Marcus whispers over his shoulder. "Bow, don't speak unless you are spoken too, address them as Your Majesty and don't show your back to them." "Understood," you gulp, your nerves beginning to fray. The closer you get, the faster your heart thumps and the sweatier your palms become. You're so distracted by your consternation that you don't even realise you're at the top of the steps until you almost walk straight into Marcus' back, only managing to stop an inch away from him. That would have been embarrassing.

"General Acacius, your arrival has been much anticipated. Rome welcomes you. I trust your journey was uneventful?" the tallest of the two men says. Marcus bowed his head and crossed his arm over his chest. "Your Majesties, it is a relief to be back. It was a tiring journey." "And a dangerous too," the shorter one interjected. "It's a miracle you've returned in one piece." "Yes, the gods have been good to us," Marcus stated. It's strange, the way he's conversing with them, like he's just tolerating two obnoxious children. "And this must be your valiant saviour," the tall man says, looking over Marcus' shoulder, his tone dripping in condescension. Marcus takes a step to the left and you get your first up close view of the two most powerful men in the world.

They're the oddest looking men you've ever seen. The honey colour of their hair looks artificial and their unnatural pasty complexions contrast with the rest of their skin. Their arms and hands are laden with gold and colourful gems, it's a wonder they can hold themselves upright. But the thing that took you the most by surprise was the peculiar, furry creature, decked out in clothing atop the shorter Emperors' shoulder. "Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla," Marcus motioned to each man in turn, "This is Alia, of the Gutones." Marcus now turns to look at you, his voice returning to the softness you've become accustomed to with him. "She's the reason I'm standing here today." You're frozen, tongue clued to the roof of your mouth, all lessons of etiquette and propriety Marcus had given you forgotten.

When Marcus clears his throat, you come back to yourself and quickly bow your head. Geta eyes you with both distaste and mild amusement. "Rumours of your dramatic rescue have swept the city. Rome is indebted to you. Tell us, how can we repay such bravery?" You lift your head but don't dare look Geta in the eye. "Y - Your Majesties..." you stutter, "I wish to become a citizen of Rome, if you please?" Geta chuckles, while Caracalla turns his head to feed the creature on his shoulder. "You see brother," Geta grins, broadly, "eventually, everyone succumbs to Rome." His tone took on an edge of darkness as he stared you down. Caracalla looks your way, offering you a smile that makes your skin prickle. You can't help but feel there is more hiding behind it. You've dealt with bullies your whole life, so you recognise the signs and right now he's clearly amused by your discomfort.

"It's the least we can do for our Generals' saviour," he answers his brother. "Thank you... Your Majesties." You bow again, resisting the need to fiddle with the hem of your clothing. Being under their gaze makes your hairs stand on end. Everything about these two screams 'danger', and you'd be a fool to ignore it. Even when they offer you polite words, they come with malice woven within. Maybe Marcus can sense it too, because now he seems keen to end this interaction. "If I may Your Majesties," he began, "I'd like to offer my praise to Mars and then we wish to leave. We're both very tired." Geta's attention shifted to Marcus, his eyes narrowing slightly before relaxing once more. "Of course, Acacius. We shan't keep you any longer." Both brothers stood aside to let you pass. Marcus bowed and you did the same.

"Shall we...?" Marcus placed his hand at the small of your back, ushering you past the Emperors, stopping briefly when the crowd of Senators greeted him with quick pleasentries. Marcus took it all in his stride, formally returning the greetings before stepping into the temple. Your steps slowed as you followed him into The Temple of Mars, the sheer enormity and grandeur of the place leaving you breathless. High decorated ceilings echo the chants of priests, faint whisps of burning incense swirl in the air and thick marble pillars with golden carved Acanthus hold up a balcony that spans the entire room. Small braziers hang low from the ceilings, giving a warm glow to the hall below while high up, small rectangular windows light up the balcony. The floor is so smooth, you can see your reflection in the many beautiful patterns. At the very end of the room, nestled under a large archway and flanked by two large braziers, is a huge, golden statue of a bearded man in armour, holding a spear. So this is Mars.

Marcus stops before you, gently holding onto your elbow. "Wait here, I won't be long," he whispers before approaching the statue and bending - somewhat awkwardly - on one knee. While Marcus is pre-occupied you watch the comings and goings of worshippers and their strange customs and rituals. With the chanting voices and the overwhelming scents surrounding you, the whole atmosphere feels reverent and otherworldly. You wonder just how many Roman gods there are. A few minutes later, Marcus appears at our side. "Let's go." His hand settles at the bottom of your back again and something flutters in your tummy. For reasons unknown, you're really beginning to like his hand there. It instantly calms your nerves, makes you feel protected, safe, maybe even... cared for.

The subdued light of the temple left you unprepared for the sudden brightness outside, and you have to shield your eyes to the blinding rays reflecting off the white floor. The people who'd gathered earlier, lingered in The Forum of Augustus, eager to see their General once more. Marcus helps you mount your horse before climbing atop his own. As you leave The Forum, people, both noble and low born, regard Marcus with respect and admiration while giving you a very different reception; some look at you with confusion, along with whispers and unashamed pointing, other's with a disgusted curl of their lip, as if your very appearance is offensive. Well, maybe it is to these people; after all, your are still wearing the clothes of your tribe.

As you pass more people, you take note of the appearance of the women. The multiple layers of their attire look complicated and unnecessary, but if you want to fit in you'll have to adopt their style, no matter how frivolous it looks to you. "Where are we going?" you ask Marcus as he leads you through the city. "Home," he answers, simply. The notion of home hits you like a sharp twist in the chest. You don't even know what that means to you anymore. The 'home' you'd left ceased to be your home the night your parents died. And after losing Farro, the place became hell for you. But that's in the past and for the first time, you have the opportunity to better yourself and make a new home, so a brief stay at Marcus' villa will give you the time to figure out your next step.

Marcus leads you just outside the city to a very affluent area dotted with large villas on spacious grounds. "We're here. This is it," Marcus announced as you approached the largest villa in the area atop a gentle slope. Lines of Cypress trees line both sides of the pathway that leads to a walled archway, manned by two guards. Entering the courtyard, your jaw hangs low as you soak in the size and splendour of Marcus' home. Four sections of bright white buildings and warm orange roofs all join together to make one huge square residence. A variety of brightly coloured flowers and creeper plants hang on the walls and from multiple balconies on the upper floors. A large three tired fountain with carved fish that pour water from their mouths into basins of increasing size sits the centre of the courtyard. Heavens, the Romans really love fountains!

The shuttered windows and the doorways are bordered with more carvings of Acanthus and scroll-like patterns. At the main entrance a line of nine people - five women and four men - wait with their heads inclined and hands clasped in front of them. As you and Marcus bring the horses to a stop in front of them, a short middle aged man with a receding hairline steps forward, bowing his head, respectfully, a heartfelt smile on his lips. "Welcome home, Dominus. Praise the gods for your safe return." Marcus dismounts, handing the reins to a younger man who'd stepped forward to receive the horses. "It's good to be back, Silas," Marcus greeted him warmly. "I trust everything has been kept in order during my absence." "Perfectly, Sir," Silas replies. Marcus turned to you, extending his arms, once again to help you down. The young man takes the horses' reins and leads them away. The man in front of you gives you an appraising look, before dipping his head, slightly.

"This is Alia," Marcus introduced you. "She is my honoured guest and is to be treated as such. Alia, this is Silas. He is the head of my household." "Welcome, My Lady," Silas greeted you. You give him a shy smile, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Marcus continues, "Cassia, Flavia..." Two young women (probably in their mid to late twenties) step forward. "Please show Alia to her room and help her settle in." "Yes, Dominus," one of the girls - the blonde one - answered. "Please follow us, My Lady." You nervously look to Marcus, feeling a little on edge about leaving him, after all, he's the only person you know in this whole country. Clearly seeing your hesitancy, Marcus places a hand on your shoulder, his touch feather light. It's okay," he soothed. "Go on and rest. I'll see you in a little while for dinner." "Okay," you give Marcus a tight lipped smile and follow the girls into the villa.

Series Masterlist Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 6 - coming soon

@bbyanarchist @myownwholewildworldwhole @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29 @abbyanarchist @suzyface @missadangel @evyiione

[backfromtwitterforw]

The question of "is tr!bad manipulating tr!ros" is very interesting because it can be summed up in what do you call "manipulation".

E.g are your friends manipulating you when they try to prevent you from going back with your ex? Or when they encourage you to pursue a goal they think would benefit you? And is that manipulation if they try to show you why something you did is bad in their eyes? Or if they push you in what they think is the right way for you? Where do you draw the line between advice and manipulation?

On one side, tr!Bad did encourage tr!Ros to kill and/or let the violent part of herself out more. And yes, he emphasised her insecurities, trying to make her think about how The Kingdom has been treating her. That can legitimately be seen as tr!Bad trying to manipulate tr!Ros.

On the other side, even without tr!Bad's intervention, she would've still have a violent side in her (as everyone does I believe). She did feel underappreciated and believe herself less worthy than other Kingdom's member. Her insecurities and her will to change things were really her own from the start.

!Bad lived for so long and had his heart broken so many times that he reached the conclusion that he should now do his own thing, rely on himslef only and keep everyone at arm's reach. When facing an unhappy tr!Ros who only see value through other's eyes, he jumps to the conclusion that what she needs is what worked for him: find self value and self happiness regardless of what others want. So that is what he tells her when she came to him for advice, to get motivation from herself. And all tr!Bad said was "what do YOU want".

Ofc, tr!Bad has his own agenda that we don't know much of yet, but after tr!Ros vague answer that she wants to protect the Kingdom and make everyone happy, tr!Bad just encourage her in that way.

And then, you have tr!Aimsey and Kingdom's members. They see tr!Ros who appeared calm getting more and more into combat training, trap building and revenge scheme. They don't understand why she still crave validation when they do their best to make her feel appreciated and that she belongs. So they try to make her realise that the path she's taking isn't what they consider the right one, that the feeling she has may be just that, a feeling with no evidence to support it.

So, who is manipulating tr!Ros here? Is tr!Bad the villain for validating her feelings and pushing her to be more self centered? Is tr!Aimsey and the Kindgom's members bad for trying to talk her out of a way they think dangerous?

My answer would be that none of them are actively manipulative. Each have their own view on life, friendship, loyalty and happiness. Each genuinely give the best advice they can with the biaised view they have. And it's up to tr!Ros to decide who she wants to listen to.

[ask-obt]

Hai, so I've been working on, as weird/cringe as this might sound, a OC for On Borrowed Time, and was wondering, is there any particular rhyme or reason behind how OBT characters look

On the same topic, do the names have proper meaning behind them, like Dielle, Malachi, any particular reason that's the name you landed apon, or was it random chance?

Thank you, a random Vulpix

// Aw, not weird and cringe at all! I find it very flattering. The design philosophy of OBT characters has morphed over time as my own artistic preferences have changed- early designs for the comic favored features that I personally enjoyed (fluffy mammals, spiky dragon-y reptiles, white scleras and human-ish eyes). You can see this in Rune and Dielle, for example!

As I've continued my journey through art though, I've found I appreciate a lot of the canon designs of pokemon. When new characters are introduced, you may find that they stick closer to their canon designs, since I now have an easy time drawing them.

As a little drawing exercise, I even drew Rune and Dielle in a style closer to canon recently!

And honestly... I kinda prefer it! But their designs in the comic are pretty cemented at this point, and I still enjoy them even if they aren't 100% my preference anymore.

The other part of OBT's designs are that they have a notable feature- which will usually be either clothing or hybridization. Again, Dielle is an example of the latter (hence why her outfits are pretty sparse), and my general idea is to not clutter designs with too many elements that the species of the pokemon is completely unrecognizable. This is also why OBT doesn't (often) accept true fusion cameos- as far as OBT's worldbuilding is concerned, actual 50/50 hybrids are pretty much unheard of! Every pokemon has a base species they belong to, though they can have traits of another parent species.

Going back to the former point with clothing, look no further than our resident duck!

Who was recently joined by Mr. Wizard over there,

Where the standout part of their design is the cool clothes they wear. In general I've also been trying to make more of an effort to have more purebred designs show up in OBT, though mileage varies there haha.

As for names, they're mostly selected just based on if they sound nice for the character in question! I'll occasionally look up name meanings as a sort of tiebreaker, but mostly I go off of the list I talked about in this ask here when I'm in need of a name!

[leftalpacavoid]

🎭 His Dear Witch ~ 🎭

It's unknown why do you even eixst. The SCP Foundation doesn't know what to do with you. You're a confusing paradox that they do not understand and most frustratingly—uncontainable in a conventional sense.

#TAGS: Nothing time twins related, SCP Fandom is slowly drawing me back, It includes SCP! Reader, The Herta! Reader, Honkai Star Rail x SCP Crossover, Potentially OOC, Reader x Canon, Witch Reader, Short Writing, The Herta! Reader x SCP character, More stuff like this would be included if interested, SCP FANS ARISE. 🔥🔥🔥

— TW?: Possesive Themes, Be Warned, 035 Being 035 As Usual, Potential Yandere Themes, He Calls You His 'Wife'.

A/N: After hitting maxed pity on herta's banner along with her LC, I decided to make an interesting crossover because I thought it would be interesting to see how this goes for The Herta! Reader Insert. (Huge bonus that I'm blessed with good stats while I'm building her. 🙏)

You’re the definition of an enigma. A literal spacefaring, unknown anomaly wrapped up in an elegantly appearance, self-aware, and untouchable persona. The Foundation doesn’t know what to do with you, and SCP-035? He’s utterly entranced.

And Who Exactly Are You in the SCP Foundation?

You are Anomaly [REDACTED], a Level 6: CTS entity classified under Euclid. They don’t fully understand what you are—just that you exist, that you have an unsettling level of influence, and that you are playing the longest of long games.

You don’t act out. You don’t cause destruction. You don’t try to escape. Instead, you watch. You let them wonder why you haven’t done anything drastic, knowing full well that the moment you choose to tip the scales, everything changes.

They don’t imprison you because they can’t. They simply keep you in containment because you allow them to.

And then there’s SCP-035.

SCP-035 has never met someone like you before.

He’s charming, cunning, and manipulative—but none of it works on you. Not because you’re immune to him, but because you let him think he’s in control before flipping the script entirely.

You’re his perfect counterpart. The ultimate tease, the unattainable yet tangible anomaly that keeps him guessing.

At first, he tries to toy with you, flirt with you, unnerve you. And then, he realizes.

Oh.

You’re not like the others.

You understand him. You see through every little act, every trick, every calculated play. But instead of rejecting him or trying to outmaneuver him, you do something infinitely worse.

You indulge him.

You let him speak his flowery words, you humor his charm—but it’s clear who the real player is in this game. He’s used to being in control, but you? You make it so easy for him to fall under your spell instead.

And it drives him insane.

The Foundation is uneasy. Not because you’re violent, but because they cannot predict what you’re doing.

Why do you allow SCP-035 to get so close?

Why does SCP-035, a master manipulator, seem to worship you?

What is your endgame?

They want to separate you two, but the problem? 035 actually behaves when you’re around.

If anything, he’s less volatile, less inclined to escape, more… cooperative. But only because he knows that if he behaves, he gets you.

035: (mocking, but with an underlying threat) “Oh? You want to take my darling away? My wife?” (chuckles darkly) “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. You wouldn’t want to see me upset, would you?”

The researchers watching? Having war flashbacks.

The Real Question is...Why You Haven’t Given Him a Permanent Host (Yet)?

Because you’re playing the long game.

You could give him a permanent body. A perfect, indestructible vessel crafted specifically for him. A host that would never rot, never decay, never fail him.

And he knows you can.

That’s why he adores you. That’s why he’s obsessed.

But you? You wait.

You let him yearn. Let him crave it. Let him wonder if today is the day you’ll finally grant him that final gift.

035: (grinning, tilting his host’s head at you) “Tell me, dearest… when will you finally stop teasing me?”

You: (smirking, brushing a hand over his mask, whispering) “Would you love me the same if I gave you everything at once?”

035: … (soft chuckle) “Ah. I see. You do know me too well, don’t you?”

And the Foundation? Losing their minds. Because whatever the hell this is? It’s not normal.

They don’t know if it’s love, obsession, or something far worse.

But they do know one thing:

SCP-035 is yours.

[ganondoodle]

so, after this phase of depression, i am back at too many ideas at once and getting overwhelmed by all of it bc i cant do it all and dont know how to decide which one to focus on or which ones actually good and not just a brainfart

(so, some more botw2/totk rewritten ideas-

mostly text but i am unsure what to actually work on and draw or if its even any good, so id be very happy to hear your opinion on some of this qoq)

-was thinking about designing the sonau even though they might not show up physically, to keep their mystery alive, but i am playing with the idea of a dead one preserved in crystal in a larger cave, perhaps their last stronghold, i like the thought of them being rather small monkey like creatures with long tails that end in a light fern looking thing

--been also thinking more about the ancient queen zeldas and ganondorfs relationship bc i feel its compelling for them to have had a much more personal grudge agaisnt each other than i previously planned, gives more weight to everything-

though it is mostly background stuff that is not directly shown in the game, except for environmental storytelling -which botw was pretty good at- and diary entries you can discover (perhaps finding it and then telling riju and a gerudo researcher about it since it would be in ancient script zelda hadnt encountered before?), current thought was to have there be a secret lair that one of ganondorfs daughters used to live in after the sealing disaster sent both kingdoms into conflict, and with their mother dying in battle the eldest daughter would surrender and agree to whatever the princess of hyrule demanded, while the younger one would not bow down and those that followed her split off to live in the gerudo highlands, like another reoccuring theme with this being the prescursor to what happens with the shiekah and yiga later- of those are none left by this time (or should there?) and the diary of the younger daughter talks about her fathers secret hideout having being sealed shut as a sign of respect- it is inaccessible due to the structures beign damaged, but its serving as a hint there will be more; it will be made accessible after the mid game fight with ganondorf, in which you see the scene of the sealing, and he changes his position from hyrule castle that fell into the underground to the innards of the plateau- that being the final dungeon- in his room, might also be a part of his diary, at least from his younger days, and a bracelet of obviously hyrulian origin, which is meant to imply-

that the ancient queen zelda and him were in love once when they were both younger, though neither really acted on it (noble families pressures and conflictions yippie) until it was decided she would be married to a young knight of a noble hyrulian family, as it had been per tradition, after which they would not be able to visit each other anymore in the way they sued to as her father wanted her to prepare to take the throne and was way more strict than before, with one last meeting in that secret chamber and her leaving a bracelet there as a gift-

now heres the problem i ran into, that they had feelings for each other and used to be very close, as well as both having their own families later on is pretty solid and i want to keep all that but i also randomly thought about weaving the drama further (in that noble families kind of way especially, though again this would only be mentioned in his diary entry from the secret room you unlock, and since his younger daughter doesnt mention anything at all save for makign a point about not rummaging through her late fathers things out of her deep respect for him, its pretty clear she didnt know and neither did anyone else except for ganondorf himself and perhaps his mothers, this is all meant to make all of these characters have more depth even with getting little to literal no screentime, not to be a big focus)- so there was the stray idea of the ancient queen having a daughter 'just' after being married to that hyrulian knight.. and it being obviously not his, but gerudo, as gerudo traits are rather dominant(i think?) and the knight and ganondorf look nothing alike, so to avoid any sort of royal disaster that daughter would be secretly given to ganondorf to raise instead (which he would gladly do), and the official story being it was stillborn (the whole thing being worked out by a few maids sworn loyally to their queen .. im torn about the queen herself knowing or not tbh or if that even matters in the grand scheme of things (though i do like the idea of her knowing but acting like it is nothing to live up to being a wise and proud queen now thats shes under that pressure, she would change alot during her time of reign, going from that more typical unsure of herself but trying her best princess to a self confident cold and calculating queen, maybe he could even make a short remark about it), again this is still just vaguely implied background details most wouldnt even find out about, i just .. like to think about the background of things that make sense and give more weight to it all but arent what it revolves around and its neither essential to know, might as well be one of those things people would likely hear about in youtube videos)

i didnt find or dont know if theres any rule that princess zelda cant have siblings (i think she had a brother once but idk that may be different about sisters is the question) bc ganondorfs older daughter then not awakening any special (zelda reserved) powers could be simply bc she wasnt trained to do so (perhaps she would be able to hear things like zeldas often do but that too being only mentioned offhand) and him just not putting any focus on royal hyrulian traditions, it could be a secret rite too and honestly .. why would he try to train her to be the traditional princess of hyrule, awakening powers that are reserved for the hyrulian royals would make everything go haywire in terms of the secret about her mother, though im worried it would seem like her being gerudo is seen as 'tainted' instead, like she isnt a 'real' or 'pure' zelda and that being the reason, which somethign i do not like at all

either way that second part is purely an idea that i am 50/50 about using since its really not a big deal in the end and ultimately doesnt change much except make their relationship a bit more messier

---ahem, anyway, i also decided i wanted to model most sky islands after this one photo in my collection since it looks cool and would make sense to have these island be worn down by constant winds

---- i also want to flood the tabantha canyon with the forgotten temple and considered actually breaking of some pieces of landmass, like it is now a giant island, imagine akkala a kilometer away from the mainland for example, it wouldnt inherently change much about the structure but it would make it feel alot more different and provide good ground for different kinds of interactions since the people there would need to adjust to that, you can melt ice around the riot region easier than you can reattach a broken off giant piece of land after all

[the-wanderer]

Netflix has seriously harmed it's reputation with how often it is now cancelling shows. What used to be seen as the go-to service for saving cancelled shows, has now become the very thing it swore to destroy {Hello There Obi-Wan Kenobi reference). Netflix likes to repeat it's standard line that they have never cancelled a successful show, but they conveniently never tell us how they measure success, because this doesn't ring true with their shows like Lockwood & Co and Shadow & Bone, that got to both Number 1 and Number 2 respectively in Netflix's own published streaming charts, and that still wasn't enough to save those shows from cancellation. Also Netflix clearly has favourites in terms of marketing, for example I enjoyed the show Everything Now, but you've probably never heard of it, and I searched Facebook - Netflix did one post about it when they dropped the trailer 3 weeks before it's worldwide release, and that was it; but other shows like Bridgerton, you can't fail to know it's there because they post daily about it on their socials for weeks up to and including release and for weeks after too. You even have actors in a new show saying they have to search their show to find it so they can watch and it's not even advertised on Netflix's own home screen, let alone anywhere else, so no wonder these shows get cancelled as they are never given a fair shot to succeed.

It seems unless you go viral or break Netflix's own streaming records, like Stranger Things or Wednesday, then even getting the number one or number two spot is not good enough to save a program from cancellation. Netflix needs to remember that not all releases are an overwhelming overnight success - even some of the best and most popular shows took a while to find their audience, like Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, The West Wing, The Sopranos, but then when they did find their audience they became what everyone was talking about, and people who had never seen the show, still knew about them from it's impact on the cultural audience. Somebody else said, and I truly believe it, that if Netflix had made Breaking Bad today, they would have cancelled it after two seasons, and then think what great storytelling we would have missed out on, all because the show wasn't a record hit in it's opening week.

And now Netflix finds itself in a self-fullfilling loop where they have now trained their audience to not try new shows and get attached as they'll likely be cancelled. Think about it, how many new shows can you think of on Netflix that got renewed last year. It only seems to be people will tune in for shows like Bridgerton, Emily in Paris, Outer Banks, as they have had time to grow with the characters, so now Netflix has got themselves in to a model where customers don't try a new show, like KAOS or Everything Now, and they'll wait and see if it's renewed, and when after only a month since it's release, it does indeed get cancelled, the consumer hasn't wasted time getting invested in a show & characters that get cut short, especially nowadays when there is so much to watch across traditional TV and now streaming services too, that just because the audience doesn't come running to watch as soon as it drops, doesn't mean it's not there or interested.

2025 see's the return of some of Netflix's biggest shows like Squid Game, Wednesday and Stranger Things, but 2 out of those 3 also end this year too and then what shows will be left that are associated with the Netflix brand - they had Stranger Things, House of Cards, Orange Is The New Black when Netflix first got going, it'll be hard to say by the end of this year what big shows Netflix will have left to draw customers in

Unless Netflix, and the wider industry, change their perception to not only see massive, viral numbers as success and that shows with strong-moderate success are allowed to grow and widen their audience, then there will eventually reach a tipping point where they will cancel one show too many that either customers leave their service, or creatives will decide that Netflix isn't a good partner to work with where you put years of work in writing, filming, producing, editing a project just for it to be cancelled a month after it's release, so if you have a story that needs more than one film or a one and done series to tell it in, then Netflix probably isn't your best bet any longer.

[radfemfessing]

The radfem community online and especially on tumblr is largely still stuck in individualist and identity driven thinking patterns they have adopted from the liberal ideology they have been fed for years. I don't say this as an accusation, I just have two words of advice: 1) Don't ever worship or idolize people. Don't rely on a person as a "leader" or moral compass. No person in the world will always be 100% right or likeable. And more importantly: if you start to think for yourself and form opinions by yourself, you will find that you can't agree 100% on everything with a person, especially if you don't know them personally. This is important because if you expect other people to deliver you the correct opinions all the time, you are not better than TRAs and libfems, you just chose a different false idol to worship. Not idolizing people also prevents you from being disappointed and/or attaching your own moral/political alignment to sympathy. If you idolize JK Rowling and find out that she supported Johnny Depp or if you idolize Andrea Dworkin but then find out about some facts about your personal life, you might consider their words and their work worthless entirely, because that's how liberal spaces like to operate. See theory and other womens thought and opinions more as a buffet of inspiration for your own opinion. You don't have to agree with everything someone says and you don't even have to like that person to look at what they have to say and form your very own opinion around it. This doesn't mean you can't like someone or can't acknowledge the genius of some people and their work. It just means to not be blindsided, ignorant or shocked when they do or say something that doesn't align with your values or opinions. It makes you and your standpoint much less vulnerable to criticism as well. 2) "Radical feminism" is almost and sometimes outright treated as a new identity. It's an ideology you can understand, learn about and follow through actions. There are actions and ideas that are fundamentally opposed to radical feminist ideas and actions. And calling those out and talking about them is important. But arguing about "what makes you a radical feminist" so you can go through a checklist that makes you part of this new fun identity/club isn't a good way to go about it. Don't be so worried if you are allowed to call yourself a radical feminist. That's just a hollow identity thing. Rather evaluate which actions are radical feminist and which aren't. Engage with radical feminist theory through reading and conversation and draw conclusions from that for your own life and the actions you want to take on your own or with other women. For example: Wearing makeup isn't a radical feminist action, it's even opposing to radical feminist theory. Acknowledging that and taking action is much more important than "But can I have this radical feminist identity and be part of the identity club online if I wear makeup". Why is it so much more important to you to be able to call yourself something than to understand it and take material action according to what you believe in? I personally do not care if I am "allowed" to call myself a radical feminist. Why should I? It's not like I introduce myself like that anywhere. It's just something you agonize about when you want to know if you can write it into your tumblr bio. I am much more interested in finding out what exactly radical feminism is and then reflecting on that and taking material action according to that.

Think more for yourself, disagree with things because you personal thought them through and not because someone else told you to. Change your opinions if you gather new information. Engage actively with radical feminism instead of passively consuming it or passively identifying with it.

🔱

[leebuckets]

I finally took the time to try and come up with a design for my Spamton, it will probably change again, but for now, I love it. All sources and what the final result looks like will be listed at the end, as well as what inspired me

The map out (I used the base given but I'm glad it doesn't look like their spammy, wouldn't wanna copy a design!):

I had so much fun doing this, I worked on this for about.... 3ish hours, using sources and trying to throw them into my style. If you like my design, PLEASE check out the much more talented artists 🧡

The first artist is @colliholly on X and Tumblr

You helped me so so much! The fact that you drew and wrote what you meant is just awesome. I used the base you provided (I hope that's not a big deal, I could not draw his [4.99] body haha) it was a BIG help! I see your Spamton art everywhere and there's a reason why 🧡!

The second is @unikhroma on Tumblr!

This guide inspired me so much, I kinda forgot his jaw just... Detaches, and I want to eventually replicate it in the future, if you can tell I tried to make the bottom of his jaw look unconnected. This small little detail helped me understand this man's GARGANTUAN maw so thank you!

The third artist of the night is _•bluetea•_ on insta!

The soft warm pallet, his round facial features, and his kinda similar facial features being turned into a statement with his hands and eyebrows is just...WOW! They may be one of my top #10 favorite Spamton artists! They helped me with my Spamtons grey hairs and some of his color pallet.

Fourth is @bug-molars on Tumblr!

He looks so silly and radiant, you can't really see but I'm gonna make his head float like they did, drawing his neck would be a NIGHTMARE, so thank you for the idea. Again, warm soft pallet! He looks fluffy, snazzy, and middle aged! So like, 10/10 💯💯!!

Fifth! @zarla-s on Tumblr

I love your Spamton comic, if you're seeing this uhhh, I love his silly grey hair and his goofy ass pants!!! The hand wounds reminded me of Gasters hands and being crucified, so I was going wild and rolling with it, thank you for that realization and drawing a based ass comic. Go read it by the way, all y'all, it's based!!!

As for the last one

I can't find the artist, I thought this was really cute but considering how it has that little sticker outline I think this may be pirated art that's lost somewhere, if you find the og artist lemme know! They drew him super cute, I didn't end up using anything with it but I thought it was cute none the less.

OKAY, finally, time to see my spammy, hope the lead up wasn't super exciting and then it was a let down:

However, I think he's cute and hot haha, I love this IDIOT, and I appreciate every artist that let me get here. Got some silly head canons for y'all too!

1# Spamton's loose hair was a glitch that just kinda stayed... it's in his data model now so it'll be there for the foreseeable future

2# When spamton fell in acid and started going crazy he turned to religious means to cope, one day he got drunk as shit and uhh... Tried to get a group of people to crucify him in an alley way... So that's where the holes came from

3# There is not a single stain on this mother fuckers pants, you wonder how, especially since he sleeps in a garbage can, and honestly, idk how either.

4# like 2 feet tall. He is short as hell. I mean small small. Like it's actually concerning.

[sleepymccoy]

Here's tips on how to find people to follow and have a more engaging dash

Create what you want to see on your dash

Post it when you want to see things on your dash

Tag it with tags you want to see on your dash

Follow people who reblog it

There's you go! Now you follow people who will be likely to reblog other things like this

Important aspects of this

If you are unable to create what you want to see on your dash, find a post that perfectly emulates what you want to see and use that. You do lose the control of posting at times you want your dash to be busier

The tags must be accurate, but also liberal. You are finding people who aren't already in your orbit, so you're hoping to reach them by matching their followed tags

There's no point following people who just like the post, they've proven the only like these things so you won't see stuff like this from them on your dash. Follow the people who reblog

I only follow people for the first few days really, mainly cos I think there's a habit of not engaging with low note content here. So I want to follow people willing to engage with low note content, once the post gets to 50 or 100 notes it's just circulating, but those freaks who reblog at 2 notes? They're legit, and they'll do it again. You'll see posts you'd never see otherwise by following them

An example

Hmm I want to see more Scotty from star trek content, preferably fan art or polls

Draw Scotty for a few nights, post in the mid afternoon local time cos I want people active between 6 and 10 pm my time to catch it

Write up some polls about Scotty, repeat

Tag all these with every accurate Scotty tag I can think of. Scotty. Montgomery Scott. There be whales here. I cannae change the laws of physics.

Check the blog of everyone who reblogs these posts. If I don't see anything blatantly like terfy, follow

Also be liberal with your unfollow for the next week or so, cos sometimes you catch people on a fluke and everything else they post is like meta about their Vietnam war OCs or whatever, tumblr is wild

Rejoice in the slight increase in Scotty you see!

[erasinglines]

little by little, the concept of self-control seems to trickle further away from his conscience. there isn’t much else going through his head other than the thought of her— not the fact that anybody could walk into their confined quarters, see them both as they are now, wrapped up within one another. he doesn’t think about how the image will blow everything up, the consequences that will arise from their close proximity. no, he only thinks of her. just her— the warmth of her skin beneath calloused palms, the spark her own touch leaves against his skin, igniting little fires in the areas it skims along; his jaw, his lips. it’s all that circles his mind: her, her her. “ dev, ” he breathes, the sound equally as shaky, like there’s dependence there, keeping him grounded, losing himself in the feel of her, the thought of of her. it acts as a warning, too, a reminder of the line they’re so close to falling beyond; something they can’t come back from. the longer he stands here, though, he realises, maybe he doesn’t care, half-tempted to fully pull her against him, in order to feel all that she’s stirring within him. “ i want you, too. ” he whispers, without thinking anymore about it, the implications those words have. needs her doesn’t need to be said, he doesn’t think— doesn’t she know that it’s never changed, for him? that there hasn’t been a day, an hour, a second where that’s hasn’t been the case, for him? can’t help it, then, the way his gaze falls to her lips too, tracing their outline— god, just how easy it would be to lean forward, press his lips to hers? was she thinking the same? and he’s just about to say fuck it, press forward in the way he’s keening for when he hears the same, the sound of someone else on the other side of their haven, about to burst in on their bubble. retreats from her in an instant, the pang of guilt coursing in his chest, when a familiar face pops into view, beckoning him closer, already loaded with a request that he’s ready to follow, if only to draw attention away from them, an apologetic glance sent over his shoulder towards devon before he exits the room.

hates that she hesitates before she reaches for the door handle, as if she’s afraid to see what awaits her on the other side— the two of them together, no doubt. she’s all smiles, despite the lingering sense of dread that manifests in her stomach. it’s always there, however, whenever he drags her along to these sort of getaways. with his friends that barely accept her, his ex-girlfriend that’s clearly still held up on him. until recently, she’s refused to believe that his feelings are reciprocated, that he feels any inkling of anything towards the brunette, but she’s caught the glances between them over the course of the night, any excuse they can take to remain close. they’re so… opposite that she’s never believed he could have lingering feelings for either parties, but observing them tonight (as well as the constant contact… the messages, the calls over the past few months— she’s trying to remain calm, collected), she’s afraid that sinking feeling in the gut is right. wonders if either can name the simmering anger behind her hues, bright smile painted across her features as if to mask it. “ there you two are! ” her voice has never sounded so fucking chirpy in her life: a common occurrence, she’s noticed, when her body detects competition. “ we were just about to send out a search and rescue party, ” she crosses over to miller, only to make her presence known, hands grasping at his forearms, smile dancing at her lips, as she requests his help— fletcher needed a hand with getting the fire started, as well as everyone else getting ready for games night. makes a point of pressing her lips to his in a silent thank you when he agrees, as well as blocking devon’s path before she gets the chance to run off with him. “ — you have a second, don’t you? ”

there should be alarms sounding, somewhere, to alert them to stop, to think past their own desires and needs and realize that there are other people to consider besides themselves. because no, she may not exactly be in love with fletcher, but she doesn’t want to hurt him, or anyone else for that matter. probably too late for that, though, considering she really should’ve thought of that before reaching out to touch him like she just did, because now she couldn’t get enough. she wanted more, and had no intention of stopping unless he said so. thinks they might be on the same precarious page, however, at the sound of his sigh, at the feel of his hands sneaking beneath her sweatshirt, breath stuttering in her chest. heat pools beneath where his palms lay, finding herself no longer teetering over that edge, but ready to jump off it, entirely. she wants to so badly, hearing him speak, thinking about all the other times he’s pulled his own shirt off her, the two of them falling into a heap of teeth and tongues and wandering hands. “ miller, ” she sighs, the syllables shaky in resonance. she’s certain he already knows just how much she would like that, but she has no problem telling him, either. “ you know i’d like that, ” more than anything, she thinks, allowing her hand to sneak up to rest against his jaw, now dangerously close to his lips. “ you always know what i like. ” the words are sweet and soft, a hint of a smile present on her features as her fingers move once again to his lower lip, allowing her thumb to run along its softness, as if she’s thinking about whether or not she should press her own lips against it. “ i want you— i need you, ” she whispers, eyes flickering up to meet his once more, tension hanging heavy between them as she finds herself holding her breath. and she’s just beginning to lean in and close that gap between them when she hears it— that creak of floorboards outside the door, the jostling of the handle that immediately causes her to snap out of whatever trance she’s in. she pulls away from him all at once, muttering a curse under her breath, skin instantly cold without his touch. all her muscles burn with unfulfilled desire as she attempts to appear as unaffected as possible to whoever it was about to enter their oasis, turning to shield her flushed skin from their view.