#as a creative and curious character I think Ink would like to try lots of stuff

[con-cognito]

Inktobertale day 3: Medicine

I wouldn't trust Ink to conduct an actual and accurate examination. He likes to play with paint and cause trouble, he's really not fit to be a real doctor. XD

[okamirayne]

Hey Rayne! Just wanted to drop in with an ask about writing. I'm curious if you have any unusual or uncommon advice about the writing process. I guess I'm looking for some suggestions that go beyond 'read lots' and 'just write', you know? Any experiences or methods you'd be happy to share would be great! No pressure though! I'm just curious. ^.^

Hey there, Anon!

Thanks for your ASK -- and for your patience with my delayed reply.

I'm curious if you have any unusual or uncommon advice about the writing process. I guess I'm looking for some suggestions that go beyond 'read lots' and 'just write', you know?

Wow. Ok. Before I throw some ideas out there, I gotta state the small caveat that: when it comes to writing advice, any experiences or methods I suggest are to be tried, tested, and either kept or thrown out according to how useful you find it. I don't think there's a one-size fits all -- which is kind of what the "read lots" and "just write" no-brainers possibly attempt to be? It's a very safe suggestion, right? Just read and write...there's no mention of ritual libations (using questionable and highly-flammable liquids) or moonlit sacrificial offerings to the ink-demon, Scribonian, that lurks at the bottomless well of Lost Writer's Tears...

Not that I do that... *sidesways look*

Seriously though. Experiences and methods that have helped me as a writer which aren't standard suggestions are:

fanfic writing (for developmental purposes and feedback)

And, believe it or not, RP. Roleplaying.

Ok...so when I say "roleplaying", I'm not talking about whip-me-whip-me games in Christian Grey's Red Room of pain (I mean, if you're into that and it inspires the inner eros and passionate writer in you, go for it -- whatever works, yeah?)

I'm talking about old-school RPing, which used to be done on link-based forums (with threads and replies) on some quiet little back-alley website, usually crafted by a dedicated fan; these 'threads' migrated occasionally onto chat platforms like AIM (Christ, I feel old).

Now, back when I was flexing my muse muscles with other writers who wanted to try out their OCs or just have fun with canon characters, it was often AIM where the 'stories' played out...and LiveJournal was the social media hangout.

It was a blast!

A regular OMG event back then. Especially when your co-writers would come up with a killer response...

I've never experienced anything quite like that when it came to exploring my characters...I mean, you're writing that shit in REAL TIME. You're responding AS your character, AS things unfold, with very little time to think/plot/plan in certain instances...I guess it's kind of like method acting...it forces you to be extremely present and very much in the character's skin.

Aah, I miss those days, as it's a helluva rush being able to transport yourself into a world that is unfolding as the other writer(s) respond. You have no idea what's going to happen, as you're not in control of the other writer's responses. And when you're writing action scenes or romance scenes, it's nail-biting. I used to love throwing twists in there, just for shit and giggles. It's also a co-creating experience and if the other writer/s are on your wavelength, it can be a fabulous method and experience of creative engagement when it comes to developing and exploring your characters -- or, if it's for a ficlet / fanfic purposes, it's cool for writing a joint fanfic with another writer.

Now, I have no idea if any such chat platforms exist for that kind of back-and-forth RPing...after AIM died and LiveJournal became a ghost town, I didn't come across anything quite like that -- that's not to say it doesn't exist somewhere else.

But, if you know a bunch of writers who are happy to start up an RP with you, there's an idea: writing in 'real-time' is the most intense and awesome way to do it, but not necessary - sometimes it might not even be practical if you live in different time zones. Either way, RPing, like fanfic writing, is a cool way to explore characters -- for me, it was super-awesome, as I'm insanely character-centric in my creative process...that's not the same for everyone. So do what works for you and your process.

I'm not sure if those two suggestions are helpful?? I mean, you could always try the ritual sacrifice and blind-drunk writing route, if all else fails. I joke, I seriously joke.

My grim humour aside, whatever tickles you, DO THAT THING. So long as you're not harming yourself or others -- I mean that quite seriously, as writers can get into godawful, stupid habits when it comes to their practice. My RPing days regularly ended up with me and insomnia doing the dirty tango at Stupid O'Clock due to syncing up time zones with other writers -- it became a bad 'I'm-invincible-(the fuck you are)" habit I took into my later writing practice that did some hardline damage that I still struggle with. So yeah, if that singularly self-inflicted part of my burnout has taught me anything, it's that self-care has gotta come first, even if you have to pause your writing in the middle of an intensely fabulous scene. Makes for good stuff to come back to the next time. Does that count as advice?? Serve as a cautionary tale?? Both??

Ok, Anon, I've waffled on. I hope there's something of use here in my ramblings. I wish you every success and joy in exploring whatever ideas and methods tickle your inner writer. Feel free to let me know what's worked for you as you embark!

All the best, sweetie. Thanks for this interesting ASK! x

[memento-morri-writes]

Morri!!! first of all, how are you???

I wanted to tell you that I started for the first time playing a solo ttprg with like the whole deal (well this one uses 2 d10 and a d6 but I added a d12 to make a scale yes/no/maybe answers bc sometimes you just gotta ask fate no?) and I look up to you a lot for all your DnD ocs so the moment I started I was like "damn, gotta tell Morri!"

anywayyyy I am playing Iron Valley which is basically a big what if Stardew Valley were a solo (or +2 people! but idk anyone irl to play ttrpgs with so I'm going solo) ttrpg?? Is not DND cause... I need friends for that I think. And it intimidated me. BUT I am having so much fun???? And since is solo there's a lot of writing down and journaling involved so is SUCH an amazing wiring exercise?? (← hasn't written her wip since uhhhh April? yeah more or less)

would you mind if I asked you about your ocs?? I am so curious!

@ink-fireplace-coffee

CARMEN! HI!!!!!!!!

Congrats on your first ttrpg!! I've never actually played a solo one before, but that's mostly because I kind of need other people to keep me focused. (I get distracted way too easily, adkjasd.) But Iron Valley sounds so cool!! I love that you're adding your own mechanics!

And yeah!!! Playing ttrpgs is GREAT for your creativity!! My DnD characters are my current biggest source of inspiration, and they're the focus of most of my creative output right now.

(I also haven't written anything in MONTHS, so don't worry. You're not alone there. <3)

As for asking about my ocs, of COURSE you are welcome to ask!!! I'm obsessed with these ridiculous people in my head!!!!

(putting discussion about OCs under the cut, because I talk too much.)

My two current characters are Rook (half-elf swashbuckler rogue) and Asola (aasimar oath of vengeance paladin). And I adore both of them SO MUCH.

I'm obsessed with Rook to an unhealthy degree, lmao. He's the love of my life, and a complete disaster of a man. (You can find all the stuff I've posted about him on my personal blog here.) Me and my DM are currently plotting on how to absolutely ruin his life.

Our current plans include forcing him to face his intense trauma from Captain Wolf (the woman who held him prisoner for two years and tortured him), and also dealing with cursed nightmares sent by a literal demon lord. My boy is NOT going to be having a good time soon.

Asola is a little less developed, but she's growing with every session!! Just last session I realized that her oath of vengeance isn't against just one person or group, but rather against the unfairness and shittyness of life as a whole. Specifically, she takes anything that hurts the people she cares about personally.

The most recent example of this is our party's 16-year-old bard, who has a very fucked up past. At the end of last session, he was abandoned by his only real friend (who he's known for 11 years). None of the rest of the party even knew this "friend" existed, since he communicated with / lived inside Val's head. But when Sola finds out, she is going to be FURIOUS. (But not at Vallamir.)

(Sola's tag is here.)

I'm also eagerly awaiting the moment I get to use my Grand Fuck You. (Screenshots to follow.) The way I have it flavored is that Sola doesn't know she's an aasimar, and she has no control over her Radiant Consumption. Instead, it activates in times of extreme emotion, usually anger or grief. The only time it's happened in her life to date was when she found out her family had been killed. So I'm just waiting for the day that the DM does something that will break her enough for me to use this. (Also, as a fun bonus, none of the other characters know she's an aasimar either, since even she doesn't know. So it will be fun for them to find out. Especially since they might be trying to help her, but she will be burning them if they get close.)

(if you do the math, and assume I was level 20, and only rolled exactly half on the dice, that one hit would do 70 points of damage, not accounting for any weapon bonuses.)

I have another character, who I'm going to use after Rook's campaign is done. We're going to be playing Pathfinder (which I don't like, but I will survive), and my character is a fetchling witch named Morana Novak. (Her tag on my personal blog is here.)

As for other DnD ocs, I have about 20 more that are in varying stages of development, but talking about them all would require me to write a novel, lmao.

[dorianpavus]

ahhh!!! @astrabysm THANK YOU!!!!!!! 🥰💖🥰💖

ok dnd worldbuilding and character creation under the cut 🫡

(tl;dr: half-gnome artificer gunslinger! aasimar cleric or paladin whose personality changes based on class! i wrote A FUCKING NOVEL so no pressure to read any of it lol, it was super helpful for me to put my thoughts into words!!)

OKAY SO! we had our session 0 (part one) where we established that one of the big themes of this campaign setting was going to be nature vs civilization!

the world had both potentially an old, old war between gods (who have a schism between the more 'natural' gods and the more like... 'civic' gods kind of) that created a lot of super dramatic natural landmarks; and also natural events that keep happening that making it hard for civilizations to grow. so there are lots of completely overgrown and forgotten grand cities, but also places where nature is completely untouched.

in making characters, and knowing that this is going to be a campaign that features a lot of untamed wilderness, i wanted to play with the idea of having characters on either side of the nature/manufactured spectrum. and with a druid and a wizard already locked in (with one other player undecided), i also wanted to fill in any gaps we might have mechanically!

just as a disclaimer - this is preliminary brainstorming about the characters, there's gonna be even more world building in our session 0 (part two), so lots of things are still being worked on and subject to change! :3

the first character i was thinking about is:

JUNIPER "JUNE" (undecided surname, but something gnomish and cute)

she's a half-deep gnome, half-undecided (using deep gnome stats!) artificer and gunslinger! as a battle smith, she'll get to use intelligence for all her weapon attacks, and she has a giant magical fox automaton that she can ride around as a mount or that keeps her company 😭.

i'm imagining a wild mess of red hair, lots of freckles, an impish smile, elfin ears, with a lot of tattoos and paint and ink and dirt smudges on her callused hands. and her outfit would have lots of pocket space for potions and grenades and concoctions and contraptions! maybe a little western themed - juniper would not be out of place in a saloon somewhere with her legs kicked up, laughing loudly and playing cards with a ragtag bunch of regulars, pistol on her hip.

i imagine her as kind of this jack of all trades, swiss army knife of curiosity and confidence. she's a cartographer and makes maps (and hobbyist artist, though that's not her trade) and travels around making field guides and painting places no one has been -- but then digging around so she can collect rare or valuable resources that she uses to craft! she has proficiency in like a million different tools (cartographers, smiths, alchemy, thieves, tinkers, painters), so she's always trying to invent and discover new things.

i see her as being ENORMOUSLY curious in a very laid-back way, asking questions that might come across as insensitive, but is super playful and creative -- the kind of person that'd it'd be hard to rile because they're way more likely to laugh something off (even in an insulting way, like "you're not even worth my time"). self confidence through the ROOF and the most intense case of wanderlust you can imagine, always eager to see and experience more and more new things.

spot her blowing things up with a laugh, jumping off cliffs into pools of bright blue water, biting her lip, doodling in inappropriate places, NEVER turning down a dare no matter how fucking stupid, engaging in acts of guerilla marketing and warfare against corrupt politicians, collecting herbs and not taking anything too seriously even when she should.

BUT!

while i was imagining where juniper would be from, i had a stroke of inspiration for another character!

i had been imagining somewhere underground and very mineral rich - filled with crystals and gemstones and rare magical materials that she could have grown up experimenting on and learning her craft. and my friend and i were talking about there being this suuuper old growth magical forest that was also incredibly mineral rich (with all kinds of cool details i won't get into but i am very excited by lol), and it all matched up so perfectly that i decided she would be from underneath the forest!

because we all decided in our session 0 that there would be like a lot of... spirituality and sacred sites and shrines in this religious system we're building (spirituality woven in with nature rather than grand halls, particularly on the 'nature gods' side of things lol), i was thinking about what that would look like for where my character was from...

and i came up with a big cavern where the ceiling had caved in some, and you could see some roots from the enormous enormous trees above. and from that cave-in, there would be a shaft of sun- or moonlight that fell onto a little island in the middle of a pool of luminous ankle-deep water, with this GIANT MAGIC CRYSTAL in the middle on the island. and the crystal would reflect all over the water and the walls and refract and it'd just be SUPER SUPER BEAUTIFUL...

and we're coming up with all this lore for the gods and religion and spirituality and whatnot that i'm excited by, but effectively that prompted me to think about my next character, meant to be able to fill a couple of different mechanical roles:

UNDECIDED BECAUSE IT DEPENDS ON A BUNCH OF DIFFERENT THINGS

she would be an aasimar, either born to probably earth genasi or something underdark (deep gnome, drow, etc); or just from a lineage of aasimar. but her family would have been caretakers of the shrine for centuries! and because she was born as an aasimar, she was seen as "blessed" by the gods, and raised in a deeply ceremonial and religious tradition -- and could be either a cleric or a paladin!

at first i was floating around the ideas of there having been a prophecy about her (but the plot twist was that she failed in whatever the prophecy was supposed to be about; or it wasn't her that was prophesied at all, kind of playing with the 'chosen one' idea because i really like themes of fate and choice in my worlds haha).

but when i was thinking about the personality that would maybe make most sense for that character, it was a little too similar to my current character in my other dnd campaign (sweet and hesitant)... so i went, "what if she was actually A HELL CHILD?" and she grew up whining and groaning CONSTANTLY, smacking her feet together cause she's restless all the time, sticking her tongue out and hating all the calm and ritual of what was expected of her

like a very active kid who wanted to run around and explore and play! not sit and pray! (NOT in a way that her family or their religion was bad, but rather, that she was just an energetic kid who was not suited to that kind of thing, but still took a lot of lessons and love from it all). and she would have grown up into a.. cocky little shit, lol? who deeply values and cares for all the things she grew up with, but wouldn't be the type to admit it in words -- rather, show it through her actions. lots of moaning and groaning but doing the right thing, kind of. (a little more of the paladin characterization there though)

as for why she'd leave, a lot of that will probably be discussed in session 0 part two! but it could be a bunch of stuff from her being expected to leave as part of an ashari-like quest of fulfillment, or because something bad happened she's looking to solve (magic crystals dying or something?), or because she felt like she was going to get chained there forever for some reason (maybe she was supposed to become the full-time caretaker or something) and bolted out into the world before anyone could stop her. idk yet!

for the paladin version of her, i kind of imagine stark white hair, bruised knuckles, a cocky grin, a blaze of energy and athleticism. she'd be likely to help an old woman cross the street, join a fight club, swear vengeance on a villain with eyes blazing, talk casually or quip something to someone she DEFINITELY SHOULDN'T, etc. an oath of the ancients paladin.

the characterization would change a little depending on her class as a cleric; i envision her as less of a jock, that energy isn't gone, but a little more as a conduit of raw magic. the restless kid grew up into someone who uses more of the ceremony and ritual she was raised with - but because she worships magic as the life force of the world that connects people, even things like making someone laugh are part of her faith. she is at home in all places natural, where she can feel the thrum of magic and her gods. almost radiant with love of the world... and like a vengeful angel when people harm it.

find her grinning as she casts the ceremony ritual at a teenager's coming of age celebration, teasing him with good humor as she blesses him, surrounded by his loved ones; a whirlwind of limbs and laughter as she's swept along in a dance; rage in her eyes as columns of roaring fire incinerate foes around her; standing in awe at a sunset; kneading bread in quiet and peace; floating on her back in the water and gazing up at the stars in the sky; a twilight, light, peace, or arcana domain cleric.

so.... as you can see...

I AM STRESSED AND I LOVE THEM ALL AND I WANT TO PLAY THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my old campaign character was stupidly smart, angry, closed off; my current other campaign character is sweet and shy and sad; i am really looking forward to playing any of these other much more playful personalities !!!

anyway. if anyone actually read all of that. i love you. you're an angel

ACTUALLY IF YOU READ TELL ME WHO TO PLAY SKSNSKSKNDBDJSNS

forcing myself to come up with multiple character ideas to brainstorm and bounce ideas off everyone at our session 0.5 but now i want to play both

[lucky-dreamfisher]

The Illusion of Living Notes and Spoilers

I feel like enough time has passed for everyone who wanted to get the audiobook to get it, so here are all the notes I made while reading the book.

Please do NOT show these spoilers to anyone who didn’t give their explicit permission to be spoiled! And do not try to sneaky-spoil while being vague and pretending you’re not spoiling either!

TIOL was written in 1941 and published in 1942

Joey’s biggest dream is to become a God

Joey is explicitly not straight (reaffirms his distaste for dating women multiple times in the book, purposely avoids intimate gestures when meeting female friends, and reacts negatively to a straight couple kissing in his presence) but can be interpreted as either gay or asexual, and there’s evidence supporting both of these interpretations

Joey doesn’t think of people as real. He thinks of them as fictional characters in a show (well, he isn’t wrong)

He witnessed a murder at 10, but isn’t bothered by it, because everyone’s fictional anyway (watsonian perspective: little sociopath, doylist perspective: smartest character in the franchise). It was on that day that he started thinking of people as characters in a play, including his own parents.

He likes to throw peanuts in the faces of vaudeville performers he doesn’t like. Very proud of his aim

Joey’s dad sends him a pair of boots every year as a gift. Joey throws them out and buys himself better ones

Though it’s implied that the stories he tells about his parents aren’t true

While in the army, he was bullied for liking girl stuff, like reading romance novels and genre fiction

Nathan and Joey are very close. Nathan often gives him business advice and knows some of his secrets. Nathan looks down on artistic-type people. Joey is the only artistic-type person he admires, mostly for being business-oriented. Nathan is all about money.

Nathan wears a suit, has perfectly slicked back hair, and an elegant mustache. Smokes Cigars. Calls himself Nate

Nathan says that Lottie (the girl from the preview) isn’t real. It’s implied that there are more made-up people in the book. The epilogue implies that Joey intends to bring the made-up people to life one day, just like the cartoons

After leaving the army, and before starting an animation studio, he worked at a bookstore together with Henry for a few years

He took late-night art classes together with Miss Lambert

Bendy was named after Joey’s friend, who murdered a man to take a photo of his dying face for an award show. Joey finds it inspiring. In his words: "Thank god for dark paths, they lead all great artists to their greatest creations". Joey also likes the name Bendy, because it means someone who bends the rules

Nathan says that Joey had a genuine change of heart in his old age, and had “too much guilt and worry”. Nathan is not pleased with that

Abby Lambert is one of Joey’s oldest friends, and the one who introduced him to Henry. She and Joey used to perform vaudeville acts together. Joey played a Devil and Abby played an Angel

It’s implied that Henry created the Butcher Gang, and they were some of his oldest characters, even older than Bendy, Boris, and Alice

Henry left a year after the studio’s creation because he wanted “something that isn’t Bendy” (it’s either that he felt like his creativity was being stifled by being forced to work on the same project all the time, or that he wanted a real family, as opposed to the “studio family” that Joey was satisfied with)

Joey disses Henry a lot in the book. He paints him as untalented, unimaginative, boring, and a poor dresser on top of that. Nathan thinks that pretending to not care about Henry is Joey’s “greatest illusion”

Nathan hates Henry and thinks that Joey’s going too easy on him (if BATDR is Nathan’s world, Henry’s gonna be screwed)

Sammy used to play music at a movie theatre when he was a teen and Joey came to watch his performance every day

They met again a few years later and Sammy recognized him. Joey hired him and Jack on the same day

Sammy smokes

Sammy and Jack performed jazz songs at vaudeville together for some time before working at JDS

Jack gets upset when people ignore him and only pay attention to Sammy. He loves being the center of attention, and has a knack for showmanship. Very optimistic and good natured

Sammy was hired a year after Henry’s departure and has never met him (curious, given that he recognizes Henry in the game) Not true - turns out Sammy was hired in October 1930, so he still could’ve met Henry

As part of his deal with Joey, Sammy has full creative control over his department and people he’s working with (did Sammy replace Susie?)

Sammy hates being at the center of attention and is always very serious. Making jokes comes hard for him, but he plays along sometimes. His expression is very hard to read and he always seems suspicious of people he’s talking with. He’s dressed very neatly and appropriately (unlike Jack, who wears bright and flashy clothes), his hair is long and not slicked back. He’s a few years younger than Joey, but acts much older

Joey thinks that Sammy is his best decision and the man who comes closest to fully understanding him. He takes pride in the fact that Sammy sticks by him for all these years out of his own will, and not because Joey makes him. He thinks Sammy is a genius and deserves to be worshipped like a god (he doesn’t hesitate to tell him that). Asked him once whether there’s anyone Sammy worships, and it’s painfully obvious that he wanted to hear that it’s him (Sammy replied that a god of this magnitude hasn’t been invented yet, which is a nice foreshadowing) 

Allison is already working at the studio at the time of TIOL. Before that, she was a Broadway actress. Joey likes to watch her recording sessions. It’s not confirmed which character she’s voicing, but Susie wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the book, so there’s a possibility that Allison was already voicing Alice Angel in 1941

Joey’s meetings with Jack Fain and Grant are just an excuse to have a coffee and chat with them

On his first meeting with Bertrum Joey got drunk and flirty with him. Bertrum told him he’s “not that kind of date” and Joey played dumb (the scene is played for laughs though, so idk if it’s supposed to be seriosuly indicative of Joey’s sexuality)

Bertrum returned from retirement to work on Bendyland

Disney exists in this universe, Joey wishes he could be able to achieve the same with Bendy

Nathan wants to prove “very soon” that he is limitless

The moving ink was developed as part of the Sillyvision film process at some point around 1941. The purpose of Sillyvision was to make corrections to images that have already been created, without having to redraw them from scratch. The ink is activated through contact with a special paper

Joey describes Bendyland’s conception, and the Dark Land sounds eerily similar to the studio world in BATIM & BATDR

Light Land is Alice’s Domain, and as the name suggests it will have many lights. It’s designed to create an illusion of being lifted up

Tiny Land is Boris’ Domain and it gives an illusion of getting shrunk

Big Land is Butcher Gang’s Domain and has giant airplanes and battleships

Joey hates the real world and wants to escape to a make-believe one. He was hoping Bendyland would be that for him. His greatest fear is being unable to create that perfect world, and creating only its dark reflection (ironic)

Joey feels like he won’t be able to truly die and rest his soul until his dream fully comes to life. He calls art his “doorway into immortality” (is Dapper Joey?)

Joey believes a soul is needed to make a lifeless artistic imitation of the world into a real breathing world. He says that he’s been looking for a soul for a long time (he means it metaphorically, but it feels like a foreshadowing)

[auncyen]

Ok ok so I'd been idly thinking about updating "Chats with Joker in Mementos" for Royal for a while, except as far as I know there aren't any transcriptions for the Royal Mementos chats like there is for Vanilla...

So...after some questionable use of my time, I now have a list of a good chunk of the starters in Royal. Only starters, not responses, since the point of the fic is having Joker be the one to respond, and I didn't transcribe ones I didn't think would be interesting for him to respond to, but still, if anyone does ever look to do a complete transcription, this might be helpful as a start? Or just interesting if you want to see what some characters talk about. Spoilers for third semester below cut.

Ryuji: Man, we really bust our asses to get stronger in here. I wish it meant we got stronger in the real world too.

Ryuji: Man, I had this horrible dream last night… Can’t remember a thing about it, though.

Ryuji: Ya know what? I guess Mona does have a mask, technically.

Ryuji: Yo, the way he jumps behind Shadows is so sick!

Ryuji: Yo, is it just me, or is fallin’ asleep getting tougher every night? At this point, I’m outta ideas of what to do.

Ryuji: Kinda fiendin’ for some ramen right about now… Maybe I’ll hit up Ogikubo when we get back.

RyujI: So lately, I’ve been tryin’ to work some training into my nightly routine before bed.

Ryuji: Hey, is it just me, or is Morgana’s sword basically the same size as Joker’s knife?

Ryuji: My mom made gyudon last night! My fave! Now I’ve got, like, fifty times more energy than usual!

Ryuji: This phantom thief stuff feels real as hell whenever he’s flyin’ around with that grappling hook.

Ryuji: Dude, that grappling hook is awesome! He looks like a freakin’ superhero with that thing!

Ryuji: Aww man, I just can’t get enough of those Akihabara maids…

Ryuji: Aren’t knives kinda hard to use ‘cause of their shortness? I definitely prefer my own shit.

Ryuji: I always thought darts looked easy—just aim for the board, y’know? But, it’s waaay harder than that.

Ryuji: Every try the monja in Tsukishima? That stuff is LEGIT.

Ryuji: Yo, does this outfit really make me look like I’m part of some biker gang?

-

Morgana: Listen, it’s not that I look like a cat. Cats just happen to look like me.

Morgana: I repeat: I am not a cat. To prove it, I took an actual bath yesterday.

Morgana: So, cats love to chase mice, right? I don’t get it—where’s the fun in that?

Morgana: I’m always so entranced by Panther’s whip technique!

Morgana: Panther, we have matching tails!

Morgana: You know, I’ve never actually been in a car before. Is it anything like I am now?

Morgana: I definitely made the right decision giving him the code name “Joker.”

Morgana: I’m willing to bet Joker’s skilled enough to use throwing knives.

Morgana: Anime, books, movies… Phantom thieves sure are popular.

Morgana: Last night I dreamt that Phantom Thieves were kicking some serious butt—let’s bring that dream to life!

Morgana: I can teach you everything you need to know about being a phantom thief. Relax—you’re in good hands!

Morgana: *yawn* I didn’t get enough sleep…

Morgana: I couldn’t fall asleep at all last night. I just laid there with my eyes open…

Morgana: I like Yongen-Jaya; it’s a great place for a stroll.

Morgana: Is Shujin Academy the only thing in Aoyama?

Morgana: I was vegetating in front of the TV last night, and I have to say, there are some pretty decent shows on now.

-

Ann: The bakery had a sale yesterday and I ended up buying everything they had!

Ann: The Ferris wheel is a must for me at theme parks, every time. I love being able to just relax.

Ann: I have an upcoming shoot at a theme park, but what sucks is how I can’t go on any of the rides.

Ann: Last night I dreamt I was eating a chocolate bar, then all of a sudden, it got mad and started chasing me!

Ann: Every once in a while I have a dream where I get chased by a Shadow…

Ann: I’ve been sleeping really well since I started getting all this exercise.

Ann: I was up late watching TV last night, so I might be a little sleep deprived…

Ann: I tend to do my clothes shopping in Kichijoji—it’s fun looking through all the resale shops.

Ann: I hate when people ask me to say stuff in English just ‘cause I lived overseas.

Ann: It always bothers me when foreign movie subtitles leave stuff out or take too many liberties.

Ann: I was talking to my overseas friend the other day—her straightforward attitude was really refreshing!

Ann: I was talking to Shiho on the phone and before I knew it, three whole hours had passed!

Ann: Joker seems like he’d make a good cook, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s great with his knife and all…

Ann: It’s actually quite exhilarating to attack with a whip. I wonder why that is…

Ann: Whenever my foreign relatives come to Japan, they always rave about how much they love Japanese food!

Ann: Do you think there’s anything I can do about my outfit? I feel like I stand out too much in this…

Ann: Is there a difference between a whip and a grappling hook?

Ann: Ya know, Skull’s always been into skull designs and stuff.

Ann: Wouldn’t a grappling hook be awfully handy in the real world?

-

Yusuke: I wish to paint the world as only I see it. The best way to succeed at this is through practice.

Yusuke: It’s fun to walk around and inspect different temples and shrines. The architecture is always impressive.

Yusuke: If Shadows are sentient, do you think their being moved by a painting would invoke a change of heart?

Yusuke: There have been times where I was compelled to create three-dimensional art.

Yusuke: I’m quite curious about Mona’s Western-style sword…

Yusuke: I hear whips are quite difficult to use. Where did you learn how to wield one?

Yusuke: Joker using a grappling hook…. That would make for a picture-perfect composition.

Yusuke: Mona, what exactly do you have in those pouches?

Yusuke: Creating a piece of art is pointless unless I can convey the full essence of the subject.

Yusuke: Art museums stimulate my creativity like no other place—I wish I could live inside one.

Yusuke: Skull and I both use long melee weapons, but they’re total opposites of one another.

Yusuke: Why does my outfit have a tail? I don’t understand…

Yusuke: I considered growing my own bean sprouts, but it seems to be more expensive than buying them grown.

Yusuke: I once had a dream that I washed up on a deserted island. I painted as much as I pleased… So wonderful.

Yusuke: I may specialize in Japanese-style painting, but I’d like to learn some Western techniques as well.

Yusuke: That grappling hook is very useful. I should find a way to utilize one in my daily life.

Yusuke: The other day, I went into the mountains to gather vegetables so I could cut back on food expenses.

Yusuke: I tried to paint a landscape of the starry sky once, but it’s quite difficult to do so from within the city.

Yusuke: India ink isn’t my specialty, but I’ve been experimenting with it in some recent work, just for fun.

-

Makoto: I may have stopped being a doormat for adults, but people are still calling me a “teacher’s pet.”

Makoto: A phantom thief’s body is their most vital asset. We need to make sure we eat balanced, nutritious meals.

Makoto: Do you enjoy visiting theme parks? I’ve rarely been to one myself.

Makoto: Fox looks cooler using his katana than I had originally imagined.

Makoto: I had the weirdest dream… I was at school, but I was wearing my phantom thief outfit.

Makoto: Would anyone care to learn how to drive, while we’re here? This place seems as good as any for practice.

Makoto: I know it’s not very healthy, but I do enjoy eating ramen from time to time.

Makoto: Once I’ve graduated, I’m going to buy a motorcycle and go on a road trip.

Makoto: I’ve been working on my grades because I still want to attend college, despite being a phantom thief.

Makoto: I want to read a certain book, but it’s out of print. Where do you suppose I could find a copy?

Makoto: Maybe I’m just burned out, but waking up has grown awfully difficult lately.

Makoto: The grappling hook’s cable seems pretty strong, but it’s scary to think what could happen if it snapped.

Makoto: Once my sister brought home some sushi for me. It was indescribably good…

-

Futaba: I heard rhythm’s an important part of fighting, sooo… I started playing a rhythm game!

Futaba: There’s going to be an event tonight in the MMO I play. I can’t wait!

Futaba: This MMO I’m hooked on is really cool. Do you wanna play with me? Oh—it’s in English, though.

Futaba: I’m about to beat the game I’ve been playing. Wonder what I should play next?

Futaba: I’ve been going outside a lot more, so now I’m sleeping way better than I did when I was a shut-in.

Futaba: Guess what? I’m making a game called “Hungry Hungry Mona”!

Futaba: You know who’s a really good driver, is Sojiro. He can parallel park with his eyes closed!

Futaba: If you could shoot grappling hooks from your hands, you’d probably be able to get around just using those!

Futaba: Ya know, I’ve thought about workin’ out and fighting alongside you guys.

Futaba: You guys should try playing shooters! It could help you improve your gun skills.

Futaba: Last night I had a dream my hard drive failed… That was scary.

Futaba: Wouldn’t it be cool if you could mod the grappling hook so it was electrified?

Futaba: Sure, the internet’s convenient, but it’s not like it can do everything. Don’t overestimate its capabilities.

Futaba: I wonder if I’d be okay going to some place by myself if it wasn’t crowded. Inokashira Park seems nice.

Futaba: Yesterday Sojiro bought me my favorite instant yakisoba!

Futaba: Maybe I should get a gun too, just for self-defense… Nah, my hands need to be empty.

-

Haru: I found this cafe in Kichioji with phenomenal tea—would you care to try it sometime?

Haru: I ordered kusaya but they refused to make it—they said they couldn’t get the smell out of the kitchen.

Haru: I feel like I need to learn more about the world, but I’m not sure how to best go about it.

Haru: Recently, I’ve been finding rare delicacies rather enticing…

Haru: Even lately, I sometimes dream about doing phantom thief things with Mona.

Haru: If you’re having trouble getting yourself to relax, I recommend herbal tea.

Haru: Asakusa is a wonderful area—I love how it’s this blend of the old and the new.

Haru: Ever since I started high school I’ve been taking the train in the morning, but I’m still not used to it…

Haru: Queen, your mask looks like it’s made of iron. Doesn’t it get heavy?

Haru: Joker’s so acrobatic! He’s really got the hang of that grappling hook.

Haru: I don’t think I’ve gotten this much exercise since I was in ballet.

Haru: Let me know if you ever get a tear in your clothing—I’m good at sewing, so I could most likely fix it.

Haru: I dreamt that the vegetables I’d been growing all died… I was so sad.

Haru: Your weapon seems fun, Skull. Do you want to swap sometime?

Haru: Sometimes it’s impossible for me to fall asleep on days that we’ve been to Palaces, no matter how tired I am.

Haru: You know, before this, I’d never considered using an axe for anything other than chopping firewood…

Haru: My hands have gotten all calloused… I supposed it comes with the territory in gardening.

-

Akechi: I have no intention of changing my stance on matters, no matter what anyone may say.

Akechi: Pancakes... I don’t want to hear that word again for a long, long time.

Akechi: We don’t have much time left. Please do what you can to avoid getting sick.

Akechi: The enemies are stronger than ever. Don’t let your guard down.

Akechi: A world that panders to your every whim is so mundane. Where’s the thrill if there’s no competition?

Akechi: Do you prefer my previous outfit or this one? Moving around’s become much easier for me.

Akechi: This place is immense. If there weren’t train tracks everywhere, I’d bring my bike here.

Akechi: We’re working under the constraints of a time limit, so I’d appreciate it if you could be more efficient.

Akechi: If you’re looking for a way to train both your mind and your body, I highly recommend bouldering.

Akechi: You think I’m frightening when I fight? Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it.

Akechi: I meant to tell you, regarding Shido… Thank you for keeping your promise.

Akechi: You may not like working with me, but I’m counting on your assistance until our goal is achieved.

Akechi: When we’re riding in the car like this, it’s easy to forget that we’re actually inside Mona.

Akechi: The Shadows here behave differently from the ones in the Palaces, don’t they?

Akechi: I’m getting a bit hungry. I should’ve eaten beforehand.

Akechi: I enjoy spending time in Kichijoji. It’s not very big, but there are plenty of trendy shops.

Akechi: Riding in the car may beat walking, but it doesn’t stop my legs from growing stiff and sore…

-

Sumire: I have a few different superstitions for good luck in my routines… They get sort of hard to drop.

Sumire: It was already hard for me to believe Palaces existed, but to think there’s such a massive one under Shibuya…

Sumire: It’s a bit cramped in here with this many people…

Sumire: I get stiff all over from just sitting in the car.

Sumire: Why is the one desert you get to eat during the week so delicious?

Sumire: A phantom thief outfit represents a person’s image of their rebellion, right?

Sumire: I wonder if I should try incorporating another sport into my gymnastics training.

Sumire: I wonder what I could use as inspiration for my performances…

Sumire: Swords are actually pretty hard to wield.

Sumire: Whenever I travel, I always end up buying some sort of good luck charm.

Sumire: Your outfits are all so unique. I can see coordinating them wasn’t a priority.

Sumire: This time of year, a heating pad’s an absolute must for keeping warm.

Sumire: Sometimes people will just walk up to me and ask me to show them a standing split.

Sumire: I’m in top shape today! Let’s keep going.

Sumire: Do you all stretch beforehand? You could pull a muscle if you don’t.

Sumire: It’s too bad gymnastics competitions aren’t on TV more often.

Sumire: Fighting makes for a pretty good workout, doesn’t it?

-

while I didn't transcribe responses, I did notice something a bit disappointing: neither Sumire nor Akechi seemed to have responses for anyone else. It's possible I missed one?? But not being able to remember any, they must not have many if they do have some. A bit odd.

[stillness-in-green]

When MVA/MLA Arc gets animated, what will you be looking forward to the most? What (canon-compliant) additions and/or changed do you want or think Bones should make, if any?

There’s--a lot.  Does that surprise anyone?  There’s a lot.

o  I have been foaming at the mouth for voice actor announcements for almost a year now, particularly for Trumpet, Geten and RD.           Trumpet’s superpower is literally his voice!  I mean, nothing about that statement requires that voice be particularly entrancing, but it certainly seems like it should be, right??             Geten is a boku-type in the manga, but that was literally the only hint foreshadowing his pretty boy face through 21 solid chapters of Pure Feral Gremlin.  Everyone was shocked by Geten’s face reveal!  How do you maintain that surprise value with an actual voice actor in the mix?  Do you not even try?  Do you play up the disparity--in which direction?  I can’t wait to see what they do.           And Re-Destro!  Re-Destro requires so much range!  From his peppy, silly businessman persona, to the urbane commander, from the overeager yes-man to the raving zealot--who on earth do you get to believably cover all that ground?  I can’t even begin to guess, but I am living in anticipation of that article going up on ANN or the official Twitter sources.

o  I’m also much looking forward to getting official coloring on Trumpet and Geten.  Skeptic seems pretty straightforward--black, black, more black--and RD and Curious, we have color art for, but I wonder if Trumpet will also be all black clothes, to go with that dignified politician image of his, or if he’ll get some color to pep him up a little.  What color are those tinted shades of his?  His eyes?  The wicked-cool Sevens Loud?           I assume Geten is all wintery shades, but it’ll be great to confirm which ones.  I mean, we all assume he’s white-haired to better annoy Dabi with family parallels, but what if he turns out to be platinum blond?  And are his eyes blue?  Gray?  White?  What color is that awful parka?           Also, Re-Destro’s stress powers.  Having been writing them as black since at least August--Rorschach test blots are generally black, after all, and they’re the clear inspiration--I would much like it if the anime would have my back on this.  They made Destro’s mask a dark cinnamon brown, though, so I’m prepared to be unpleasantly surprised in this matter.

o  Predictable MLA adaptational choices aside, I’m also eager/anxious about how they’ll handle Spinner’s narration.  What I really hope is that they actually straight-up hand him ALL the narration duties--not just the stuff he dictates directly in the manga, but also e.g. the name and quirk explanation material that Present Mic normally gets, or the previews that are always handled by Deku.           The opening and closing sequences are another big structural thing, of course--based on the flashed snippets of Hawks and Endeavor in both our current and the previous OP, I’m expecting we’ll see at least a bit of something referencing the upcoming internship arc (which I expect to close out the season), but I hope the villains just walk away with the closing entirely.  I want my slice of life villainy ED, dangit.

o  Another thing I’m eager/anxious about would be Kotarou, and the Shimura flashback generally.  There’s a brittle edge of to Kotarou that I really love, and I hope he manages to keep it in the anime, despite the anime being generally not so great at moments that I would describe as “delicate.”  For example, I’d like it if he doesn’t get a super deep voice, and if they could manage to keep his pretty face, and capture how deeply bitter and tired he looks in the scene where he’s reading the letter Nana left him.           Also, I hope they keep the little montage bits and, crucially, the changes of clothes the family goes through.  We see Tenko in no less than five, possibly as many as seven, different T-shirts through the course of that flashback.  It seems like a small thing, but it’s one of the factors that makes me skeptical that AFO gave Tenko Decay, when so many days clearly go by between the opening with the man at the door and the tragic end.  It’d be nice not to see too much resurgence on that just because the anime can’t be bothered to come up with more than one outfit for the Shimuras.

I have enough issues with the anime’s usual adaptation choices that I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high on the actual content of the episodes.  The staff is diverting too much of its major talent to the movies (BAH) these days for me to expect the whole season to look all that great, and it’s never been particularly creative or daring outside of its climactic sakuga-heavy fight scenes anyway.  I’ve also long had a bone to pick with its scoring decisions, and am already eyeballing the climax of the RD/Shigaraki fight and imagining the minor-keyed terrifying dirge I fear the anime will play there, at the moment that Re-Destro (and, shortly afterward, Spinner) are supposed to be experiencing something akin to religious awakenings.           There’s also the issue of the violence and gore--judging by how the anime handled the scene where Shigaraki and Compress maim Overhaul, I have some severe reservations about how much blood they’ll be allowed to get away with, particularly in the scene where the League brutally decimates that CRC group and, of course, Shigaraki’s backstory.  I’m looking at MVA to serve as a preview for how all the same issues will be addressed in the War Arc.

That bit of pessimism aside, as to what I’m hoping they’ll add or change?  Well, off the top of my head.....

o  I would love to get a full episode devoted to the time the League spends fighting Machia.  Not that first tussle, but the six grueling weeks in the mountains.  There’s so much you could add there for character building and atmosphere that Hori didn’t so much as montage through.  Where was their food coming from?  How’d they pick out places to pitch camp?  How much access to news from outside did they have, and how frequently?  What were the circumstances in which Gigantomachia “told them himself” about his great sense of smell??  Stuff like that!             I don’t think we’re at all likely to get this--honestly, the series of late has had enough of a problem with trimming bits and pieces that I’m as worried about what they might cut as I am hyped about things they might add--but the one thing that gives me some hope is the training camp arc.  Specifically, the moment 1-A first gets to the Pussycats’ forest, they get jumped by earth golems, a fight that the manga off-panels entirely, but the anime spends a modest amount of time on, giving the kids a little bit of time to show off their moves and such.  I’d love to get something equivalent for the League.

o  On a similar note, I wouldn’t turn it down if they fleshed out some of those running street fights a bit.  One obvious thing comes to mind: there’s a weird jump in the manga between Skeptic and a horde of his golems being all but on top of Twice at the beginning of 233 and then that fight just--doesn’t happen.  There’s no mention of it at all.  I think the suggestion is that either Machia’s appearance or the tower going down interrupted it--Skeptic breaks off from his fight the same way Geten and Trumpet do theirs, shifting focus to protecting Re-Destro--but it’d be nice to see the anime touch on it.

o  It’d be nice to get a bit of expansion on the nature of the bullying Spinner endured.  We’re told he was, but was it limited to verbal?  Did he get beaten up a lot?  Was there an online element?  Deku’s our only other reference point for “bullied kid,” and whatever one might think about the story’s development of Bakugou’s mentality, it’s been made clear in retrospect that there was a lot more too that than just the matter of Deku’s quirklessness.  I’d love to know how Spinner’s bullying looked in comparison (not least because of some of the theories about Spinner and Deku needing to come to some kind of accord to free Shigaraki from AFO).

o  Make the Villa (both here and during the War Arc) look more realistic.  By which I mean, I know Horikoshi is capable of drawing interesting and lived-in interior spaces--he has an entire chapter dedicated to it in the 1-A dorm room contest, after all--but he normally doesn’t bother much with it.  At UA, it’s not too distracting, because we know good and well that that whole building is probably maintained by Cementoss anyway.  Ditto places like Tartarus (intentionally, dehumanizingly barren) or the League’s post-Kamino hideouts (abandoned homes and industrial spaces).  But the Villa?            For heaven’s sake, it’s called a mountain villa.  It has a clear reception desk on the ground floor; it’s obviously some sort of high-end hotel, if not an outright resort or rentable retreat lodge.  Speaking as someone who’s worked in one, places like that don’t look as fuckin’ bare as the rooms we see there always seem to.  For fanfic purposes, I’m happy to go on telling myself that e.g. the pool and the bar and the restaurant(s) and the gym are in the building Cementoss doesn’t tear in half, but it’d be nice if the anime could class the whole place up a little, maybe put some real furniture and decor in the rooms that are in use.  (Yes, I know this is a ridiculous nitpick.)

o  This is less a change and more a correction, but for fuck’s sake, BONES, give us white-haired Shigaraki.  The climax of Deika is a solid time for it, given that it’s obvious in the manga that Shigaraki’s hair gets paler in Deika--you can see it in the way Horikoshi inks it (which is to say, the way he stops inking it)!  I think if we ever get white-haired Shigaraki in the anime, a somewhat better time as far as narrative justification goes would be when Shigaraki gets out of the tube in the War Arc; you could easily justify it as a side-effect of the surgery.  Still, I’d rather see it here.  I want white-haired Shigaraki, gleaming and brilliant through the scattering ash in that crater, a veritable angel of sacred destruction.           Honestly, more than anything, the crater sequence is the one I hope I love.  It’s probably my favorite single moment in the entire manga, as Shigaraki wins over Re-Destro, Spinner and Gigantomachia in the same moment, and finally comes into his own.  If they can at least nail that, I’ll consider myself pretty satisfied.

[musicfren]

tend hearts to bloom (our folly exhumed) part 2

Everything takes time to grow. Some good things take so much longer than you could have ever thought possible, and the best things might never grow at all. All you can do is tend to your garden. Part 2 is HERE y’all. Me and @nottesilhouette have finished part two of our hyper-extended flower metaphor saga :P You can read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all! May this post last you a lot longer than 3 days <3

Felix lives in a state of “too cool”: too cool to be friends with the kids at school, too cool to be friends with the teachers and faculty, too cold to be friends with anyone at all. So he’s the last to realize when a new trend finds its feverish way across the school in whispers and muffled laughter behind lockers. Normally, he wouldn’t care-- schoolyard trends are little more than the transient, ephemeral whims of children drifting on the winds of their judgement, but there’s something about the ink that peeks through the sleeves of Kim’s shirt that demands his attention. 

“What is that?” 

“...are you checking out my muscles, bro?” Kim is genuinely baffled, not a trace of judgement in his tone but clearly trying to slot the puzzle pieces together as to when Felix became someone who cared about brawn, either in himself or anyone else. Still, Kim is nothing if not kind, so he flexes in Felix’s direction to give him a better look. 

His sleeves ride up when he does, and Felix brushes his arm over the bulge of Kim’s forearm, which probably doesn’t help the confusion. But the ink is irresistible to Felix. It’s familiar and gorgeous, sharp clean lines on Kim’s skin, and so glossy Felix worries it might smudge. It doesn’t. 

There on Kim’s wrist, perfectly framed by his bulging veins, is a comically cute grey dumbbell, and a doodled little snapdragon curled around the handle of the weights. 

“Oh, dude, did you mean my tattoo?” Kim is clearly relieved that his perception of Felix can remain intact, and helpfully flexes a little more. This is a much more reasonable thing for someone like Felix to find attractive. “Yeah, I finally caved and got it done, I wasn’t really sure what to get, y’know? I didn’t want to show up there like an idiot with no idea what to say or ask for, but Max told me that she was really good about just listening to you talk about what you liked and working with you to get something nice done. I like Max a lot,” he shares conspiratorially. 

Felix nods, as if this makes sense, and wanders away. Show up where? Get what done? Clearly someone was drawing this on Kim. There’s no way he could’ve done it himself; it was on his right wrist and Kim is right handed, but… Felix needed to know. He just didn’t know what to ask, or whether he should ask at all. 

But Felix knows how to hold his tongue, how to say the right things and keep himself safe, so he waits three days before ending up in a partner project with Max. Not by design, he plans to insist to anyone asking. No one asks. 

They’re listing their skills to decide who’ll take which piece of the project when Felix makes his move. “And you draw, too, right?” 

“No?” Max looks flummoxed, and Felix panics immediately. 

“Oh, well… I just… you had… Kim-told-me-you-drew-a-dumbbell-for-him!” He rushes the sentence out all in one breath, and Max looks more startled at his explanation than anything else, which sends Felix spiraling even more. 

But Max just takes a moment (a way too long moment) to process, and then laughs. “Is that what Kim said? He must’ve explained poorly. Nah, he got it the same place I got this.” And then Max is unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it up enough to show off the robot brushed over his abdomen, adorned with a cheerful amaryllis where its heart would be. 

“Where… um, where did you get it?” 

“Oh, art room after school! I’m surprised you haven’t seen the line out the door yet, it reaches well past the auditorium and I know you like to practice violin there after school. So, the project?” 

Max is too focused on the work to answer anything else after that, and Felix is too afraid to try. But he does know that Alya spends ages in the art room writing up articles for her blog as she waits on Marinette. 

He doesn’t get a chance to ask Alya anything, though, because Chloe derails the rest of class bragging about the shopping bags on her bicep and thoroughly avoiding the subject of the creator. Each one of them has an orange lily stamped on it in bold color, and Felix snorts. Fitting, though he’d never say it. Beautiful hatred is the modus operandi that Chloe exists on. 

The day after that, he waits until Nino is busy getting lunch to corner her at a lunch table. 

“Cool drawing, Alya.” Compliments are good, right? Compliments help people get what they want. And Felix wants, needs to know what this is, because there’s something so familiar, important, the way they’re tagged, and he would know it if he just had one hint, the right clue to fit into this picture-- 

“Thanks! My girl’s talented, don’tcha think? I love the way she let me match Nino.” She tugs down her collar to show off headphones slashed through with a pencil, and the ball of a group of sycamore flowers dangling off the end of the eraser like a pom pom. 

Felix bluescreens. No, no, that’s wrong. That’s not what he’d glimpsed on Nino’s neck, and Alya said they matched, something is wrong.

“Why is that flower there?” 

Alya laughs. “Well, every designer’s gotta have her tag, right? She’s a real tattoo artist, tags every piece with a flower she chooses out of nowhere. No one can work out what the pattern is, even when we cross referenced traditional flower meanings, but they’re always gorgeous and fit in so well-- have you seen Juleka’s? You’d hardly even notice, it’s so punk rock.” 

Nino’s making his way back and there’s no sycamore pom pom on his pencil, just an aster on the ear of the headphones, and Felix’s mind is whirring too fast to follow but Alya is walking away and the clues are slipping away like sand between his fingers and gripping harder only makes them slip away faster and--

“That’s the wrong flower.” 

“What?” Nino startles, absolutely taken aback at this out-of-character greeting. He’s used to Felix being curt, speaking out of context, but this is beyond even Nino’s ability to nod through. 

“It should be a marigold, right? Creative, passionate, absolutely driven by your art and the things you love, that’s who you are, why is it an aster?”

“...what??”

Felix can do little more than point. “Alya: sycamore, curious, journalistic drive, asking questions and doing everything she can to know a person so she can take care of them. Max: amaryllis, determined and focused on the work he builds and proud of it when it works because he has every right to be. Kim: snapdragon, strong and gracious and so, so, so protective, because that’s who he is so why is yours an aster?!”

“He deserves to know he’s clever, even if he doesn’t feel it.” 

Felix whirls around, and Marinette is standing there clutching her bag to her chest, trembling, but glaring at him from half a foot shorter than where he stands. She’s so strong. She’s so strong, and Felix wonders if she kept marigold for herself. She deserves to, if she wanted it. 

Maybe it shows on his face, what he’s thinking, or maybe she’s just always been the kindest person he was ever dumb enough to let go, because her gaze softens, hurt and hopeful in equal, anxious measure. “You remembered.” 

“...you made it hard to forget.” The way her face crumples confirms that yep, nope, Felix is an idiot. He scrambles to fix it, take it back, get it right this time no matter who’s watching. “No, no!! Like… unforgettable.” His voice is breathy on that last word, nostalgic for a childhood they barely shared, and it’s wrong and someone’s going to make fun of it but right now just for a second he doesn’t care. 

“...oh.”

What people really do make fun of him for is the way he ends up apologizing, for hours, sobbing into her blazer and wiping tears from her cheeks, and still not walking into school with her art on his skin, and Felix doesn’t correct them. 

He was right: there’s a marigold inked over her heart like a treasure. 

There’s a butterfly inked over his, now, landing on the petals of a geranium, and they’ve talked about now. Butterflies, first of all, can live for years, so that wasn’t even true, and friendships… friendships are like flowers. They take root and they grow, and when the sun hits right their seeds will burst into petal and stem and exist, persist, against every odd and obstacle. 

She has no idea how apt that butterfly is. Felix brushes his fingers over a brooch barely visible behind his tie, and feels hope blooming in his chest for the first time in years. 

This time, he knows how fragile it is. This time, he vows, he’ll keep the sunlight on it, patch the soil around its roots with fertilizer and keep it safe. This time… he’ll love her the way she deserves to be, the way she wants to be loved, the way he knows he’s allowed to.

[smileybokuto]

| Spooky Story |

a/n: This is a story I wrote in creative writing when I was a senior in high school! I thought you guys would enjoy it. I just want to preface this I was also taking Criminal Psychology at college while taking this class. It only has original characters in it. 

Warning: Graphic, tw:blood, tw:torture, tw: killing, tw: stalking, dystopian society

wc: 2.9K

                                                        Ethereal

                                                     11.01-31.20XX

01.

The world in utter turmoil, violently crying against the classroom window. This room however, remained still not worried about the rain banging against the window. The bot at the front of the classroom unaware that all of the other students, who were engrossed by its lesson about old earth’s flora. Everything is as it normally is here in the Ethereal. 

Then it happened.

The bot stops writing and the room goes quiet. Then the lights go out and the room is engulfed by darkness. Everyone sits still, so still you could hear a pin drop, no one dared make a sound. Until we heard a blood curdling scream. People started to panic, saying ‘we were going to die’.

Chaos set in quickly. 

November 01, 20XX:

The world went dark. 

This was the end but also the beginning.

                                                                                                                        -Fox

19.

Our society is stuck in hopeless depravity ever since the power went out. 

“Fox,” Fleance yells, “Come on the others are waiting on us.” Fleance is my best friend, he found me when the world went dark. He dragged me out of the high school. When we got outside we saw a group of kids for our school terrified for their lives. I remember telling them it’s going to be okay and to follow us. They are Jett and Jace the twins, Wyatt and Keegan the lovers, Warren the go with the flow kind of guy, Abel and Hunter the inseparable best friends, and the girls Fora, Peyton and Thea. We all have our positions that helps us survive. 

“Fox!” Fleance snaps in my face.

“Yes, what’s up?” I ask.

“Come on the others are waiting for us,” He rolls his eyes. 

“Oh sorry,” I laugh.

“Such an airhead,”He shakes his head. We walk back into the camp to see that the fire pit is burning and Jace the hunter was back with an Gerenuk corpse. 

“Dinner’s here,” Abel screams, “It’s about damn time too.”

“Sorry man, I got my foot stuck on a tree branch and fell,” Jace laughs. This is how it is everyday here for our small family. 

26.

“Wyatt and Keegan it’s game time, stop making out,” I whine. 

“Sorry Alpha,” Keegan teases, “We’re making you uncomfortable aren’t we.” 

“I told you not to call me that. I’m the leader not an Alpha.” I chuckle. “Anyways we need Wyatt our raid organizer to organize a raid; and stop doing your mental tricks on me.”

“Fine. Also it’s not a mental trick. I am simply a Mentalist. By the way the Scientist, Herbalist, the brains and the genius want to see you.” Keegan says.

“Can’t you just call people by there names,” I groan and walk off. I walk over to the ‘Scientist’ more commonly known as Peyton who specializes in Science back in school. 

“Oh, Fox just who I was looking for, I made a new drug. I call it, ‘drink this or you’ll die.’ Not very original but it works, it makes you puke up any poison from poisonous berries.” Peyton squeals.

“Sounds good Peyton glad to hear,”I say patting her on the back. “Oh if you need anything tell Wyatt and Fleance so they can do the raids.” She nods and I walk over to Fora our Herbalist, she’s basically our doctor. 

“Hey, Fora, I heard you were looking for me.” 

“Yes, the boy who wandered in…he died. However before he passed he kept saying watch out for Cain. He said it over and over until he died.” She says with a look of concern. 

“This is the third one this month right?” she nods yes. “Okay then we’re going to keep this between us and don’t worry this Cain person hasn’t made any attempt to hurt us.” She nods, “Ok, I have to go see Jace and Hunter. One more death and we’ll move again.”

“Ok, I trust you. The boys are at the lake trying to test as the boys say ‘alkalinity’ of the drinking water. Which is just a fancy way of checking to see if the water has any neutralizing components to acid.” She rolls her eyes with a bright smile. I chuckled and walked down to the lake to see the boys in the lake.

“Fox!” Hunter says walking out of the Lake to greet me. 

“Why hello there ‘Genius’,” I smile and he gave me a puzzled look, “don’t worry about it. So what did you guys need to talk to me about?”

“Oh, so the water is neutralizing itself…hey you okay, you look a little down,” He says looking directly into my eyes.

“I’m fine, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah you are our leader seems like a hard job. If you ever need anyone to talk to I’m all ears.”

I smile, “Hey, I’m the therapist that’s my job.” He laughs when I finish, “Anyways I have to go find Fleance.” 

                                                                                                                         -Fox

                                                     01.01-31.20XX

08.

“I’m Cain, and I love the way your heart beats can I see it?” A sinister laugh resonated around the tent.  I sit up screaming and Hunter runs in.

“Hey,hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”He says in a soothing voice while hugging and rubbing my back. 

“I…I…I just had a bad dream I’m fine,” I stutter.

“You’re not fine, you are far from fine.” He looks into my mind. “What’s the problem? I’m a genius so I can solve it.” I laugh and it calms my nerves.

“Thanks,” I hug him a little tighter, “ Sometimes I feel so ordinary and I don’t understand why everyone picked me to be their leader.”

“I’m a man of science but listen to me when I say you’re everything but ordinary, far from typical. The way you dress, the way you think it so unpredictable. I look into your eyes and I believe in miracles.” Hunter finishes. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way. Is that why you voted for me?” I ask

“That and you inspire us to keep living. I remember the day you found Abel and I. You told us ‘everything you want is on the other side of fear.’ This made me join your group, but it isn’t what made Abel join, he joined because he told you he didn’t know what to do. You responded with ‘I just wanna go on more adventures.Be around good energy.Connect with people. Learn new things. And grow.’ You know exactly what to say and when to say it to put people at easy.” 

“Wow your edenic memory serves you well.” I chuckle. “Hey, if I tell you something will you keep it a secret even from Abel?” 

“Yeah,” he stared into my eyes waiting for me to speak.

“I think someone is hunting us. I think it’s someone named Cain. I keep hearing a voice saying they like my heart and they want to see it. It’s a malicious voice. I think that Cain is one of the psychopaths trying to kill people like us. I think he wants to destroy the Ethereals peace. We are the last surviving peaceful group.”

“ Maybe, I’ll create a way to protect this base. That’s why you’ve moved us so much. Makes sense.” He shakes his head. “Don’t worry I’ll figure out a way to make this place safe.” With that he left my tent.

12.

“Fox!” Hunter runs over with the biggest smile. It was like an adult getting socks for christmas.  “Guess what,” he whispers.

“What?” I ask curious about why he was so excited. 

“I figured it out. We can use the new drug, we’ll have to do a raid for it but, we can do it. We have to get Fillory.” He says

“You mean the drug that glows when touched by skin or anything that human made?” I ask.

“Exactly, we will be able to see whenever someone enters here. We’ll be able to leave.” 

“That’s brilliant,” I hug him.

“Are you two a thing now?” Fleance asks pointing between us.

“No,” I say lightly patting his arms.

“Good, cause I’m the only one you can have.” Fleance says faking betrayal.

“ Oh you’ll always be my best friend. No matter what.”

“Of course I will, there was no way I would let you leave me.” He laughs. He’s such a chuckle head. 

                                                                                                                         -Fox

20. 

“Fox, we’re ready for the raid. Get everyone ready. I saw two Psychopaths, one being Sam, and the other name I could not read.” Wyatt tells me. Damn two psychos, they have their names branded on there backs to let us know they are coming. This is a tactic they use to instill fear in us but I won’t let that happen. 

“Ok we can deal with it, we need to get the chemical and get out without any of them seeing us. Is that understood?” I tell him sternly.

“Yes, I’ll get Fleance, Jace and Hunter,” I nod to him and he walks off. I wonder who the other Psychopath is. What kind of ink do they have? Why do they have tattoos of there names on there backs.  

“Hey, ready?” Fleance asks and I nod in response. 

“Okay, we are heading in from the west ward. It is the quickest route to the pharmaceuticals. To leave we’ll take the front entrance since it’s the closest to our base. Everyone got it?” We all nod. “Let’s head out Fleance and Jace be on the lookout, Hunter there's a code to the vault we’ll need you to break. Fox, I need you to use your bow to defend the back and i’ll defend the front while to boys defend the sides.” 

“Let’s move out,” I say as we all take our positions. We get into the hospital without a single altercation. We quickly made it to the vault with all the drugs and Hunter takes about three minutes to figure out the code. But he cracks it, then I hear a squeak. “Guys,” I whisper to silence them. I put my index finger to my mouth, and they all look confused. Then another I hear another squeak. I felt chills run down my spine. Then I saw the ink, it was a thick and violent print. The tattoo almost took up his entire back and it read ‘CAIN’. I turned around and Hunter grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the back where we came from. 

“That’s him,” I say recalling his shoulder length blonde hair and his grey stormy eyes. His smile also held something sinister. 

“I’ll find you,” Cain screams after us, but he doesn’t pursue us. He simply stands at the exit and watches us as we run away. 

“We’ve got it. We got Fillory.” Hunter skips. 

                                                                                                                         -Fox

                                                    04.01-31.20XX

01.

It all started on a cold day, specifically June 11 2018, the day I turned ten. My ‘mother’ told me I was a monster after I cut off an infant's head. This to me was exciting, it gave a sense of thrill. The reason that I cut off the infant's head is due to the fact that it would not stop crying. This lead my mom to think I was a psychopath, telling me I was not her son, that I was adopted and probably from a family of killers. I thought she was joking until she pulled out the adoption papers. I looked at it and it read:

‘Adoption of Cain Lillian by Samantha Lillian and Charles Lillian. The biological  son of Lily Ford and James Ford brother to Abel Ford still in custody of biological parents.’ I was outraged and in that time of outraged I searched for them. All of them, I wanted to know why was I not good enough for them. When I finally found them they were at a park sitting having a nice picnic. However sadly I was detained before I could gut them…I mean talk to them. They strapped me down to a table and stabbed me with a small needle over and over again until they were done carving my name into my back so that everyone would know I was a psychopath or so they put it. They then put me in a cell with a food bot. No human interaction and I felt my anger bubbling and bubbling until it happened. 

On that fateful day when the power went out. I was free the bot was down and the cells let up and I could exact my revenge.

                                                                                                                       -Cain

12.

November 01 20XX, I killed them. To be more specific I skinned them alive. I started with my father, James Ford. I tied them both to chairs across from each other they sat there struggling but I drugged them before hand. I sat in between them sharpening my knife, smiling and laughing at them.

“Why are you doing this to us?” She cried.

“Mother dearest are you so vain you don’t even remember your son,” I chuckled.

“C-Cain,” she recalled. “How did you find out about us? I thought you were happy with your new family.”

“Well if you’re conscious enough to make coherent sentences, it’s time to start.” I laughed.

“Start whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” She screamed as I cut a chunk of her thigh off. 

“I love hearing you scream!” I shouted enthusiastically jumping for joy like a little kid high off candy. “Can I take out your kidney? Or your tongue? I promise I’ll show it to you.”

“My K-”

“Too long, Tongue it is,” I say grabbing her tongue and slicing it out. I wiggled it in front of her face. “I told you i’d show you.”

“You monster, kill me! Leave her alone! Kill me!” My ‘father’ cried.

“Oh are we going to have a hero here. Fine, I guess I have no choice. I’ll take your heart out,” as I finished my thought I lunged at his chest and carved out his heart making sure that I didn’t cut any vital organs so it continued to beat. 

“ If you're going to kill me just do it.” He groaned with pain shining in his eyes. I loved it. 

“On the contrary I will kill you but I want to skin you first.” I laughed starting to carve away at his skin until all you could see was muscle. “Now you look beautiful don’t you think?” I kicked his foot. “Did you die on me, Awe that sucks oh well. On to the next one.” I turned around and did the same thing to my mother. 

                                                                                                                       -Cain

15.

After a couple days I found there first hideout. My targets and the last of my family. I however was bored so I wanted blood and lucky for me there was kid passing by. I captured him and tortured him but he didn’t satisfy me the way my parents did. So I told him to head into the camp and tell them Cain is coming. I did that three times and I will keep doing it until the day comes. 

Then one day they went to get Fillory. I’m sure they didn’t know this but Fillory was a drug created to react to the psychopathic gene in people so that the government could find us easier. Now they have spread it across the whole entire perimeter of their base but it’s okay. They’ll have to come out soon enough.

-Cain

                                                         06-11-20XX

11.

“Teams?” Hunter asks tilting his head slightly.

“Abel and I, You and Fleance.” I laughed, “Wyatt and Jett, Jace and Keegan, Fora and Thea, Peyton and Warren.”

“Ok, who’s going first?” Warren sighs not wanting to play hide and seek in the woods.

“Hunter and Fleance,” I declare. 

“Ok, we're counting to thirty, go and hide,” He says as he covers his eyes. Abel and I run deeply into the forest. We run until we find a cave and duck into it. We muffle our laughter with our hands, when we finally stopped laughing it was silent, it was so silent it reminded me of that day. The day the world went dark but now I feel safe because I found them. I found all of them. 

Then I heard something. 

A snap I think, it is probably an animal…but where is the scurrying noise. 

“Fox,” Abel whispers, I turn my head to see Cain holding a knife to Abels throat. He sees the panic on my face and smiled, “It’s ok.” 

Then I saw Cain smile and I knew, “Say goodbye,” he laughs. As soon as I start to say goodbye, my vision instantly turns red and the smell of sulfur engulfed my senses as Cain drops Abels lifeless body in front of me. 

“Why,” I sob, “Why did you kill him, you monster!” I threw a rock at him and he dodged it with ease. 

“I’m the monster! Ha, he had everything. He lived in my bed, he was loved by my parents, he was loved by all of you, and I wanted it all for myself.” He sneers, clearly outraged. 

“What are you talking about? Abel had no siblings,” I cry, I couldn’t stop.

“None that he knew of. They gave me up and now, I killed the son they wanted.” Cain looks down at his brother and smiles. I sat there sobbing cradling Abel’s head in my lap as Cain says 

“Goodbye brother.” 

[sleepyfan-blog]

Ripples

A/N: This was a request from @littlepigart . The ask they sent me got eaten.

Fandom: UTMV

Characters: Dream, Ink, XGaster

Warnings: none, ask to tag

Word count: 2,250

Summary: Of the people and things that Ink shows XGaster while encouraging the other to keep improving the story of his world, he brings the other to Dream, and the two have a brief chat. 

Tagslist:  @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi @therandomskelekey

"-and while I do know what it's like to be discouraged and to feel as if you're lost and nothing is going to go well... You see... As I've shown you, there are many worlds, many different stories that are told,  in endless variations. So, g when I bring you home, I hope that you understand that the story of your world is meant to unfold as it is - bright points and imperfections all in one." Ink finished, a warm smile appearing on his face as he gestured expansively to the doodlesphere, looking up at the Gaster he'd been speaking with.

The tall skeleton frowned a little, pushing his glasses so that they sat right on his face "I... There are indeed many worlds... Many timelines... I'm just.. It's staggering how many there truly are.."

"Yup~ And new worlds to appear at any time. Some are just sketches - concept worlds that are newly born. It's really exciting to watch the creator find more light, colors and life to fill them with. But each world has its’ own story. Isn't it amazing?" The creative guardian prompted with a grin.

"I... All of this is truly impressive. I'm just... I don't know if there really is anything I can do in my own world that can compare to any of these worlds… Perhaps I..." He sighs, shaking his head a little "I do not know if my imagination is not working well enough, or if I have simply hit a creative block of some kind." The Gaster responded, shaking his head a little, curling in on himself a bit. He doesn't want to tell the eager and cheerful young skeleton that he is still on the fence about destroying the world, and allowing the children to be free of suffering an imperfect story, in an imperfect world...

"Well, I know someone who will cheer you up from your slump!! He always makes me feel better, and I don't even have to constantly talk to him either. Come with me to the OT and I'll introduce you to him." Ink grinned, a strange grey door appearing before the two of them.

Before XGaster could ask where this door lead, Ink has already dragged him through it, and in a world that seems to be an odd mishmash of many timelines, multiple copies of different monsters and humans, Ink is shouting "Dreaaam? Oh Dreaaam, where are you?"

A bright yellow and blue sans alternate (as Ink was a sans alternate too) came running towards them "I’m right here, Ink. What's going on? I just finished talking to a couple of newcomers. They're settling in as well as can be expected... I just wish that there was more that could be done..."

Ink shrugged, gently patting Dream on one shoulder, answering with a shrug "It's up to the determined human, and in timelines that they come from..."

Dream winces a little and then looks over at XGaster, curious "Who's your friend, Ink?"

"Oh! This is XGaster, he comes from an... Interesting timeline. I've never seen an AU like his before, but he's feeling a little... Discouraged. He.. He's..."  Ink's eye lights are a very bright pink, the other yellow "He's... a creator."

Dream stills for a moment,  a soft gasp leaving him and the other bowed a little "O-Oh... It's... It's an honor to meet you, XGaster. Frisk - Core!Frisk that is - is the one who created this timeline."

"he's having a bit of a creative block and feeling a little blue, so I thought I'd bring him to you. YOu always seem to know what's the best thing to keep everyone positive." Ink hummed, his eye lights rapidly shifting shape and color as he spoke.

Dream nods, a determined expression appearing on his face, and he murmurs "I'm not quite sure what I can do to help encourage a creator... But I can do my best. Ink - the newcomers need housing, and they are running low on supplies. I don't suppose that you wouldn't mind making them living accomodations? They're that way..."

"Sure think, Dreamy. You take good care of XGaster while I'm gone, alright? I'll be back soon enough. Ciao~!" Ink answered back, rushing off in a blur of colors and movement.

Dream clears his nonexistent throat a little and asks quietly "So... So what in particular is upsetting you?"

"I just... I want to make sure that the world is perfect, you know? But... In the first iteration of our world, the humans turned on our ambassador, Frisk. because they couldn't age, and stayed an eternal child. I rewound the world back to the beginning and... In the next timeline, another war broke out, which we monsters won, but at a dear cost... SEveral more iterations, and things have gone wrong in some way... I can't... I can't seem to make the narrative of the story end purely happily, and I don't know how to make the story perfect... Ink says that no story is perfect and I... I understand that in theory... But I just... I want everyone to get their happy endings." XGaster sighed, frowning a little as he paced back and forth in front of the shorter skeleton. He was surprised at how... Calm he was feeling. Normally by this time he' either be yelling in frustration, or at the point of tears, or a combination of the two.

Dream looked at him for several seconds quietly before responding, voice gentle and comforting "it's quite noble of you to want to ensure the best ending possible for everyone... But if everyone had the same ending... Then would they really have different personalities? Because sure... You could take away every individual's personality and reformat them to obey you, and end up as nearly emotionless husks of their former selves... But then they wouldn't be able to reach their full potential, though technically they would be happy, or whatever emotion that you'd want them to... In my experience, there are good experiences and bad experiences. There must be a balance of both to live life to the fullest. The bad things help you grow... Or at least.... They should..." 

XGaster thought about what the other had to say - so suffering may be a necessary component of a life lived well? An odd thought... But the shorter skeleton seemed to be distressed by something "Are... Are you alright?"

"O... I'm fine. Everyone feels frustrated or... Or as if things aren't going well. But you've got to push through it. There are shadows, but there is also light. You've just got to open your eyes and grasp it. Even if it's a faint flicker of candlelight." Dream responded, flashing a bright smile at him. He fidgeted a little and asks shyly "Ink... Ink said that you're a creator... If it's not impertinent to ask... How?"

XGaster smiled a little, glad to show the other "I possess this." the OVERWRITE button glowed a bright purple beneath his hands "It allows me to create, destroy or change anything I want, however I want. The only limits are my imagination and the amount of magic I have at any one point in time, at least so far as I have found."

Dream nodded, the smile on his face fading a little as he stared into the distance, fidgeting with his hands as if he were thinking about something. "Ah...  What did Ink tell you about me?"

"That you were a friend of his who cheered him up when he was feeling down. I understand what he meant. I feel much better, thank you." XGaster responded, smiling warmly at the other, gently patting the other on one shoulder.

"Thank you... Uhm... Can you affect people or beings from other timelines, or just your own?" Dream asked curiously "and I asked about that as I... I'm... I'm the guardian of positivity. I try to encourage positive feelings in the beings of the multiverse..."

He seemed... Disquieted about something, and XGaster had a hunch there was a reason why he was asking about the nature of OVERWRITE. Nevertheless, he had no reason to not answer "Yes, I can - I helped to fix a broken door in an underswap, and healed an injured monster in a... I believe he called it a Swapfell? Ink was a bit annoyed at me, but the monster was grateful."

"I... Alright. Okay, you can... You can affect beings outside of your timeline. I... Forgive me if this is impertinent but... I have a favor to ask of you, but only if you promise to never tell anyone... Including Ink?" Dream murmurs, voice low and quavering. His smile had faded completely and the sans alternate looked very small and vulnerable.

"I'll try my best to do as you ask, and I'll keep it from Ink. What is it that you want?" XGaster asks curiously, having no idea what the young guardian might want to ask of him. 

"You... While you were with Ink... You may have noticed that there are a lot of AUs and Timelines that are... Not... Not very happy... There's a reason for that, and it's due to the fact that the... There is an imbalance of power between myself and the... The former guardian of negativity. I'm not asking you to try to correct that... I don't know if you *can* considering the nature of what happened. What I am asking you... He and I are bound together by the strings of fate." Dream pauses for a couple of moments.

The guardian seems to be very upset as he continues to speak, XGaster stays quiet as Dream starts talking again.

"If one of us dies, so does the other. I... I'd rather... I don't... I don't want to be bound to him so closely. He has become a cruel and vicious tyrant. Someone who... Who Ink and I fight against, and while I desperately want to believe that I can... That one day I can bright him back from the darkness and corruption he has stumbled into... He's been this dark, corrupted caricature of the... Of the person I have known since the moment we were first created. I'm... I'm asking you to sever that bond, in case... In case there is no way to cure that corruption and he... He needs to die. Because I... I need to be able to be alive to fix the damage that he has caused if... If he..." Dream is unable to continue speaking, having buried his hands in his face, shoulders shaking as he sobbed silently.

"If it turns out that he does need to be killed, as you may have no other choice? I have never heard of such a bond. I will attempt to sever it - if you do die in the process, I believe that I can ressurect you. I have brought back the dead in the past." XGaster responds, summoning OVERWRITE and using it to bring up Dream's code - rather surprised to find out that, among other things, this slight skeleton is over five hundred years old. He scrolls through the other's data until he finds the fate bond. He studies the code closely before inputting the information and binding it with magic, severing the life and death connection between the two of them - making sure that the dark, twisted creature Dream was up until now bound to, would not find out as the bond snapped. OVERWRITE fades from existence and Dream wakes.

"I... D-Did it work?" The centuries old guardian asked, anxious.

"Yes. You two are no longer fate bound... And the only way he will find out is if one of the two of us tell shim, and I certainly won't say anything about it. Stay safe, Dream. Thank you for your words of encouragement." Changing the code of the monsters and humans around him... He hadn't considered that until Dream had asked him to. It was something that was definitely worth thinking more about. 

The positive spirit tackled him and hugged him tightly, a wide, bright smile appearing on his face as Dream murmured "Thank you... Thank you so much! You... You have no idea how much of a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders."

"we all have our burdens to bear, and battles to fight. You have helped me a great deal, and I am glad to have been able to help you in kind." XGaster responded, a small smile appearing on his face. he's surprised that he can so deeply affect the nature of someone so critical to the balance of the multiverse. This power of his is something that he very much needed to put forethought into, and move with cautious careful care... Experiment bit by bit, to see just what and how much he could do, to ensure that he had his perfect story.

Ink pops up just as the two of them stop hugging, and asks "How are you feeling, XGaster?"

"Much better. I can understand why you like Dream quite a bit. He is certainly quite inspiring. I believe I am ready to go home and continue crafting the story as it should be." XGaster murmured with a warm smile, dozens of ideas from the many worlds he had visited - and from what he'd learned from Dream - floating through his mind. He'd be sure to mute the fear, hatred and distress the monsters and humans could feel. The last thing he needed was for Nightmare to find him.

[musicallynerdy]

hey ryn long time no see that d&d ask meme is insanely cool (frankly I love all of them so I tried to choose but there are still a lot, feel free not to answer all of these), so: 2, 3, 7, 9, 11, 12, 15, 16, 20, 23, 24, 26, 27, 31, 33, 35, 44, 60, 72, 77, 87, 93, 94, 97!

Hi Taylor! Long time no see! I hope you’re hanging in there! @hoot-h00t So, Hannah sent me a few of these last night on my D&D sideblog (@gmsguild) so I’ll skip those ones but I’m gonna do the rest! I’m gonna focus on my primary character, Sahar, my tiefling wizard in my home Tal’Dorei game.  2. Who in the party would your character trust the most with their life? I think our party rogue most likely. A few weeks ago (in game time) the rogue saved her life (literally- failed death save, would have been dead if that shadow hit me again), and Sahar returned the favor in a fight with a succubus, so there’s some trust there. 

3. What are your character’s core moral beliefs? I think she’s redeveloping her morals for the first time in a decade. She’s becoming a better person and it’s interesting really interesting to play. She never hurts kids, she’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect those she loves, and she’s devoted to the pursuit of knowledge. She’s got a dark side and isn’t afraid to hurt or kill to get what she needs, but she’s starting to try not to cause more harm. I think she feels the need to make up for what she’s done in the past. 

7. Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armor, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc? Sahar Tel’Urdyn is a deep purple-skinned tiefling with these stormy grey eyes with catlike pupils and a light blue nictitating membrane that she can flick over them. Her horns come from her forehead and then curl back forward similar to but not the same as a bighorn sheep (I don’t really know how to describe them?), and she has a thin pointed tail that flicks like a cat’s when she’s excited. Her hair is a darker purple, close to black, and is pulled back in a single french braid. She has a number of piercings, earlobes and cartilage. One of her cartilage piercings has a thin chain that connects to a band around one of her horns. She also has a belly button piercing, a nose stud, and a ring in her tail, all in silver tones. With the exception of the chain, she wears almost entirely studs, bars, or rings. Nothing that could catch on something or make noise. She has a number of scars and tattoos from the Tragic Backstory, but the most interesting is probably a lot of blackwork on her left arm that extends from her hand up to her elbow, almost like she dipped her arm in ink (although there is a triangular design on the hand, almost looking like a bit of that type of glove that only attaches to the middle finger?)-- or more accurately it looks like blackwork but it’s actually a lot of really intricate work, lots of script and sigils.  She wears a white, v-necked, with lacing in the V, like a flowy pirate shirt sorta thing, with black pants and brown leather boots, and a dark blue almost black sash around her waist. She has a dagger at her waist and her spellbook sort of sits in a bit of a holster thing in the small of her back. She hasn’t actually picked up much over the journey... she’s got a really nice dark gray traveling cloak she took off of... some dead body somewhere. She’s also got a wand of magic missiles tucked into a leather thigh sheath. She’s probably got a scar or two from the one battle I’ll detail below in number 15.  9. What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship? She grew up worshiping the Moonweaver but sort of lost a lot of her faith during the Tragic Backstory period. As a wizard she also prays occasionally to Ioun. She doesn’t really have opinions on other people’s worship so long as it doesn’t start causing her problems.  

11. Describe your character’s current relationship with the player character sitting to your right. So my group is a crew of old friends from my hometown, so we haven’t played in person in a while. 

12. What is your character’s current goal, summed up in one sentence? To crack this puzzle cube and learn more about conjuration and transmutation magic in the process. 

15. What battle in the campaign has been most memorable to your character? Oof so we broke this girl out of prison, she’s the daughter of a crime lord, but in the process we sort of... alerted the entire town to what we were doing and our barbarian punched the guard captain in the face? So we were burnt and tried to get out of town and hide, but they sent guards after us and we had no spells left and our barbarian had one rage and our rogue, our warlock, and our druid all went in with like low health and Sahar ended up having to be a tank for the battle and was just casting shocking grasp and somehow we still won? We killed six guards coming after us and somehow got away. That was the moment it was like ok we’re a team and we have each other’s backs even when shit royally hits the fan. 

16. If your character wasn’t whatever class they are, what would they be instead? Probably a bard or a warlock. Magic is just like, ingrained in her and she’s a curious motherfucker so like, if her troupe had lived she probably would have become a bard, or she would have stumbled into something deep and dark and made a pact with something for knowledge. If she had focused in her Tragic Backstory more on the sneaking bit of being an assassin rather than the “i will kill people creatively with magic” bit, possibly a rogue too. 

23. If your character could go back in time and change one thing about their life, what would it be? To not get kidnapped by the crew of the Talon’s Breath because that just started a decade of bad things. On the other hand, without that she probably would never have gotten to Tal’Dorei from Marquet and would never have found the party, which she’s starting to count as the best experience in her life. But it doesn’t erase the previous decade. 

24. Which other player character does your character find themselves having the most in common with? Definitely our party rogue. Tragic Backstory Buddies

26. What would your character say their best trait would be? “My Wit, of course” (her virtue name she used for years was Wit, so that’s a pun)

27. What is your character’s greatest fear? Deep, irrational? Ooh tough one. She’s afraid of losing her powers, I think. Her magic has been what has kept her alive and allowed her to become who she is and I think she’s wrapped up so much of her identity into the magic she wouldn’t know who she is without it. She uses minor illusion like people in the real world use a fidget spinner. I think she’d have a hard time functioning without her magic. It was a source of trauma and now it’s the way she’s helped herself through that trauma. She’s definitely going to need to deal with that at some point but therapists are hard to come by in Tal’Dorei. 

31. What stereotypical group role does your character play in the party? (The Mom, the Mess, the Comic Relief, etc. Optionally: What role would your character play in the “Five Man Band” structure?) Ya know I’m not sure. She’s sort of the brains (her intelligence is like a full 4 points above anyone else’s in the party) but really our party is six dumbasses held together by spit and a prayer and the fact that they keep stumbling on sketchy shit in every small town they come to (literally, they’ve had one town that hasn’t had sketchy shit going on in it) (well, and one city. So two stops on their entire journey). 

33. What person does your character admire most? In our party? Tough choice. Probably Thea, our warlock. She’s a 16 year old human girl and Sahar just thinks the world of this kid. She also has this huge Big Sister drive to keep this girl safe and also teach her about magic. 

35. Why is your character’s lowest stat their lowest (the in-character reason, not “because there’s no reason for a wizard to have 16 strength, duh”)? 10 in strength (I rolled well) but in character, she never really had a chance to develop it. She was the prisoner of a cartel for years and just didn’t have the space or the means to build up her strength. 

44. Does your character think more with their heart or their brain? Brain. 18 intelligence. She’s a wizard. Everything is logic. 

60. What decision would the party have to make in order for your character to consider splitting off from the group? Answered over at @gmsguild with number 20!

72. Who in the party would your character trust the most to keep an important secret? Oof yikes... honestly? Probably Mire, our barbarian. 

77. If your character had to multiclass into a class they currently aren’t the next time they level up, what would it be and what reason would they have for doing so? hmmm..... Something with spells. She’s such a magic nerd she would do something stupid for knowledge. 

87. What major arcana tarot card best represents your character? I’m only skipping this one because I’m not really familiar with tarot

93. Who in the party does your character trust the least? All of them. We all have flaws that make us untrustworthy in particular circumstances. But also she knows all of them have her back if she needs it. She just needs to know their weaknesses so she can help protect them. 

94. What is your character’s biggest flaw? She always has to be in control. It comes from years of not being in control and now she’s a bit of a control freak. 

97. What is most important to your character: health, wealth, or happiness? Happiness. I don’t think she knows what that means yet, but she left employment with a crime lord that could have made her very rich because she knew it wasn’t making her happy.  Thanks, Taylor, that was fun! Took me like 2 hours, but whatev. Hope you’re hanging in there!  Also I’m reading back through this and realizing like, folks trying to piece together her Tragic Backstory from this and my post on @gmsguild are going to have a rough time Much love to my party yall are amazing and I love you (@geekoz87, @skirtsandbattleaxes, @miniaturetanks, @vaguelyconcerning, @tenebris-felidae)

[taotrooper]

Colorful horizon

Title: Colorful horizon Series: Mo Dao Zu Shi Pairing: wangxian Summary:  Wei Wuxian wants to make Lan Wangji's life more fun, so he decides to make kites just for them. An afternoon together teaching his husband how to fly a kite under the breeze of a perfect sky, smiles and song and words of love on their lips, proves to be truly special. Notes:  For visual aids, this is the novel's description of WWX's kite back in Yunmeng. There are more pics of pretty Chinese kites that inspired me on the AO3 link.

🍃 On AO3

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

************

Wei Wuxian leaned back. He stared at his work and sighed in relief. His nimble fingers were covered in ink, paint of every possible hue, paper cuts, and even splinters after hours of work. The desk was a real mess that could attest to the intense creative process. However, it was worth the effort if he could say so himself. Not bad for his first and second attempts at this craft! It wasn't as gentle as Shijie's brushwork or as sturdy as Uncle Jiang's frame, true, but he felt pride in his chest as he raised both toys to the light for a final inspection.

But would the elegant Hanguang-Jun consider them worthy?

'Well,' he thought with a cheeky grin, 'he ended up liking me. His taste isn't that graceful or refined as he'd like to think.' He couldn't wait to see his beloved's reaction to those masterpieces.

The crazier the kites, the more fun you have flying and shooting them. That's just a fact.

************

The wide blue sky over his head was clear, with barely some white clouds spread across. Yet the wind was both gentle enough to refresh the summer heat, and strong enough to lift anything weightless —the grass under his boots, the clothes he was wearing, hopefully papercraft— into a disarray. In short, it was the perfect afternoon to fly a kite.

A strangely-shaped white shape moved closer and closer into the azure. As it reached the little valley, it was evident to the eyes that it was but a man. Patterns of blue clouds were embroidered into his white garb. For Wei Wuxian, the sight of that beauty warmed him more than the sun and shook him more than a gale.

Lan Wangji effortlessly unmounted his sword with a poised hop and pulled Wei Wuxian into his embrace right away. They joined lips, ignoring the distracting weather and taking their time to kiss in bliss.

"Did you wait long?"

"An eternity! What took you so long, Lan Zhan?"

"I was punctual."

"But I was early for once and I missed you..." A pout was quickly replaced by a mischievous laughter. "Ah, no matter, it's okay! You're mine for the rest of the day."

Lan Wangji tilted his neck to try to look at the pouch Wei Wuxian hid behind his back. "Will you tell me what you've planned, Wei Ying?"

It was natural he was curious. Three days of secret work, locked in a corner of the Library Pavilion, fingernails red and golden underneath. Of course his husband knew he was scheming and preparing something special, with this little date as the culmination of his labor. Anyone else would have been concerned to see the Yiling Patriarch crafting anything at all, yet Lan Wangji gave him space and trusted him, and never demanded to be told what that was about.

"Yeah, now I can say!" the devious artisan grinned. "We're flying kites! I made us some really cool ones since we didn't have any. Let's play, Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise. "Mn," he just said before reaching again for a final soft peck that made the other one purr.

Reluctant, Wei Wuxian let go and opened his pouch wide. He offered it to Lan Wangji, who took it. "Hold it, I need both hands to get them out."

After some rummage, Lan Wangji's eyes opened wide as a red monstrosity came out of the bag. It was all face and tail, the longest kite he had ever seen. The head was almost as large as a human's, with sharp horns and fierce eyebrows on top, bulging eyes, pig-like nostrils, and tusks coming out of a huge open mouth. While the base paint job was crimson, a plethora of vibrant colors adorned the flying beast's semblance.

Even though it should have looked intimidating or majestic, Lan Wangji's lips curved upwards and the softest chuckles were born and died in his throat in an instant. Wei Wuxian was left breathless, any outrage gone by the joy he felt, by the miracle that was making the stoic Hanguang-Jun laugh.

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

Whether he was saying it earnestly or trying to fix his comment to hurt Wei Wuxian's feelings less, the latter didn't know. He gaped, looked at his husband, looked back at the kite, and looked up again. He decided not to say that not only the design wasn't his, but also Jiang Cheng's kite was basically the same with slightly different colors.

"So... do you really like it?"

"Mn. It's perfect."

Beaming, and the weight in his stomach loosened a bit, Wei Wuxian turned the kite around and made the beast's mouth give a little nudge on Lan Wangji's cheek.

"Are you ready to see your own kite?"

Lan Wangji's face didn't change, but his shoulders tensed.

"Hahahaha, don't be alarmed! I made something completely different for you! Something pretty, I promise! Let me take it out."

Wei Wuxian put down the red beast on the ground and rummaged inside the pouch again. It didn't take him that long to fetch it, but he stalled and kept moving his arms for a while to increase the suspense. After building enough expectation, he pulled it out and rose it to Lan Wangji's face's level.

"Take it! It's yours now!"

Lan Wangji grabbed it with the utmost care, as if it was made of glass or silk instead, and glanced at it. The kite was larger than the targets that sect disciples and civilian children flew, but was still a more conventionally shaped kite than the beast. Bird shapes were already a current popular motive. Lan Wangji's kite was a rooster, which wasn't that usual nonetheless. It had a white body, a red comb on the upper tip, and a colorful tail made with long strips of different papers which simulated feathers. Its eyes and beak were painted. Its wings were part of the shape of the sail.

By itself, the rooster was quite beautiful. But Wei Wuxian didn't leave it there. Over the bird's body and wings, he had painted flower designs. Large pink peonies with small blue gentians around them, decorated the otherwise jade white canvas.

Lan Wangji's eyes shone bright like gold, full of emotion and wonder. With his free hand, he slid delicately his fingers across the paper, stopping on each of the peonies with tenderness. Wei Wuxian could see with delight that the tip of his ears had turned to a softer shade than those flowers'.

He didn't need to ask if Lan Wangji liked it.

"I told you it was pretty, see?" he said instead. "I gave it a lot of thought, and I think it suits you. Are you pleased with this kite, Lan Zhan?"

"Very much so," Lan Wangji spoke in a whisper, his eyes fixated on his present, on the tail feathers. "Wei Ying, it's gorgeous."

The weight in Wei Wuxian's stomach was completely gone, replaced with satisfaction. He would cherish Lan Zhan's delighted reaction forever in his memories.

"Why a rooster, of all things?"

Wei Wuxian contained a laughter. He saw that question coming and he was prepared. Of course, he couldn't just say it was because his husband had stolen two chickens the third time he had gotten drunk with him, therefore giving him a chicken kite was a highly amusing idea to him. Instead, he just pointed out at the toy.

"Turn it around and you'll see the answer."

On one of the bamboo sticks of the frame, there were three characters engraved in the wood. They read 'Lan Wangji', except wang was written with the character for watch, and ji was written with the character for chicken and rooster. As soon as Lan Wangji groaned at the pun, Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore and sat on the grass next to his own kite, holding his belly as he cackled.

There were so many layers to that rooster joke. Cocks, obviously —and a quality Wei Wuxian admired in his man. Not to mention, in a more serious sense, that it was a lucky, auspicious animal that symbolized wisdom, goodness, loyalty, and courage —all qualities Wei Wuxian admired in his man. It was really easy to keep the connection fun without making Lan Zhan losing face. Lan Wangji crouched next to him and held his shaking waist gently, waiting in silence for his fit to end.

"Come on," said Wei Wuxian afterwards as he took the hand offered to lift himself up. "Let's fly these handsome babies before the wind goes away."

"Mmn."

Wei Ying then took the pouch again and started to take out the two sets of bows and quivers. Lan Wangji tensed up again, his face looking angry and dismayed.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? It's to shoot them."

"No."

"You do know, right?" Wei Wuxian threw his arms in the air, exasperated at the curt, stubborn negative. "It's an archery target game, right?"

"...You worked hard on them!"

"They can be fixed or made again. Shijie took care of ours all the time."

Lan Wangji fiercely protected the rooster in his arms as if it were a masterpiece, very much like his drunken self with the actual birds. "Nonetheless, I refuse to damage it."

"..."

They glanced at each other. Wei Wuxian understood: he saw it as a mere toy but it was something he made for Lan Wangji, who treasured everything related to the man he loved with zeal. It was just unthinkable to open holes in them. With that point of view, he felt a tug in his heart and he offered a conciliating smile while he put the bows back in the pouch. Time for a compromise.

"You win, Lan Zhan. There are other games we can play anyway: which one flies it for the longest time, or which can reach higher. And we can just be boring and look at them! That's nice, too."

"Mn." Lan Wangji had the hint of a smile in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian put his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders. "Next time I'm bringing a few little cyclopes we can shoot into shreds. I kinda want to see which of us does better. You will shoot normal training kites, right?"

"I will, yes."

"Good boy!" He dived for a long kiss, licking his husband's lower lip before breaking apart. "Now let me show you how it's done by a true kite champion."

Lan Wangji followed his instructions carefully and emulated the way he had to run with nothing short of perfection. The rooster shot upwards and did well at first, but after he stopped in one spot it started to jerk down in the changing currents of gust.

"Do I give it more line?" he asked, glancing at the spool in his hands.

"Yeah but put... Ah, it's more complicated than that. Hold on, let me..."

Wei Wuxian quickly went and positioned himself behind his husband. He cupped each of his hands with his own, and gently moved his arms into the correct position.

"Like this, Er-gege," he murmured into flushing ears. And it would've been tender and erotic to fly the kite like this together for a while, their hands intertwined and their bodies against each other, but the breeze had another ideas. Lan Wangji's perfect silky mane was whipping against Wei Wuxian's face, not allowing him to see ahead or talk without eating hair.

He would be really annoyed if that hair didn't smell like sandalwood. He couldn't stay mad at that soothing scent. After some chuckles and coughs, he broke contact for a moment in order to grab the hair and shove it under Lan Wangji's collar. Then the lesson resumed until the kite was stabilized and the other man had learned the basics. As good as the embrace was, Wei Wuxian was itching to fly his own creation.

Soon a black-garbed man ran across the green, and a big red creature rose up behind him across the blue. Wei Wuxian managed to move so he stood up right next to Lan Wangji, but with enough space for the two kites.

"Lan Zhan~"

"Wei Ying?"

They glanced at each other, but careful not to leaving the kites completely unsupervised.

"First time flying a kite?"

"Mn."

"Have you shot kites, though?"

"I have. Archery training with moving targets is a group activity for junior disciples."

"But as a class, I assume? Not as a game with the other kids during your free time?"

"Indeed."

Just as he thought. He didn't expect Lan Wangji to share that common childhood experience. That was the real reason that drove him to get paper, scissors, paint, bamboo, string; to make something both fun and beautiful for a wonderful person who craved, deep down, for childish excitement he never had.

That, and the fact that during their drinking session last week, an inebriated Lan Wangji had demanded for kites after seeing children playing during the day. Wei Wuxian couldn't provide even one in the middle of the night and distracted him with a hide-and-seek game. Even if in the morning his husband had forgotten, he couldn't.

"Haha, look!" Wei Wuxian smirked and pointed above. "My red fury is flying higher than your white cock! I'm winning."

"Mn."

Lan Wangji was now looking at the kites closely. Even though the face remained with the same serious expression, he was mesmerized by the two figures. There was a happy shine in his eyes that told Wei Wuxian that he did not mind if he wasn't victorious. The same shine was in Wei Wuxian's eyes with that sight, infectious and endearing.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!"

"Wei Ying?"

"You're having fun, aren't you?"

"Yes. More challenging to keep it balanced than I thought."

An overwhelming emotion of joy filled Wei Wuxian's already puffed chest. Lan Wangji was having fun.

"Yeah, it's way less dull than I thought. And you're doing amazing for your first time, Lan Er-gege. Talented in everything he does, that's my husband."

"I have a talented instructor," Lan Wangji replied. Wei Wuxian guffawed, his cheeks flustered. Ah, that Lan Zhan was getting better and better at flirting and quips. His heart couldn't take it.

"Oh, yeah? I heard he was a champion or something."

He glanced again at Lan Wangji's direction, who had said all that without taking his eyes off his kite. Wei Wuxian's eyes wandered to his man's hands and how he was unwinding the line slowly, with care and dexterity. Then he dropped his voice to a hoarser tone. "Honestly, I wish I were that kite, to feel your fingers all over my spool until you take me to the heavens."

Lan Wangji almost dropped his kite, but he quickly recovered.

"Shameless."

"Ahahahaha!"

"...I will do that later."

"I know you will, my sweet Lan Zhan," he winked. "And I will make you fly so high as well, but let's play for a while while it's windy. After all my efforts to make these guys for us."

"Mn, let's."

He noticed that Lan Wangji was now looking at him with longing eyes.

"Are you envious of my kite, too?"

His husband didn't answer for a few seconds, weighing the question. "No need. You're the wind underneath my sail."

It was the red beast's turn to shake violently. He pouted, his face matching his own toy in color. "Argh, Lan Zhan! You're definitely doing it on purpose! And he has the audacity to call me shameless?"

But despite his complaints, this was truly happiness for Wei Wuxian. As he recovered altitude, a few notes from a tune that always calmed him against all turmoil came out of his lips, resonating in his throat and chest. Lan Wangji hummed back the following notes. It sounded so natural in his velvety deep voice, just like that time over a decade ago when the song was born out of reluctant young love in bloom. Wei Wuxian joined him for the next verse, and they kept singing along in an improvised duet.

The playful breeze made everything sway to the melody. The vibrant tails of the kites danced. Wei Wuxian's red ribbon and Lan Wangji's white forehead ribbon danced. The sleeves of their robes, their hair as dark as ink, the green grass around them. Even their souls danced to the wind and the music.

When the sky exploded in the soft colors of twilight and it was too late to play, they packed the kites; it was their time to glide in the air. Balanced on top of Bichen, Lan Wangji carried Wei Wuxian in his arms all the way home, both enjoying the sunset. Wei Ying's head rested on his beloved's shoulders. They couldn't wait to unravel in each other's hands, to make the other one reach those familiar heights.

[felixsellers-blog]

* ☆ ·˚  「 daniel sharman. cis male. he/him. 」  — oh, you mean felix sellers, the thirty year-old book editor?  they’ve been around the fold for four years. i know they’re a virgo and when i see them, i can’t help but think of dusty old books, sad blue eyes, ink-stained hands. but you’ll get to make your own judgement soon! (robyn, she/her, 21, gmt). 

hey hey i’m robyn and this is my bby felix, he’s a fairly new muse so i’m still developing him as i write him tbh but yeah feel free to hit me up for plots or just give this a like and i’ll 100% send u a message!

tw: depression

bio

felix grew up in london with an average working-class family. his parents were normal, caring figures in his life and he also had a couple of older siblings who couldn’t be more different from him. where they were loud and sociable, felix was shy and withdrawn and preferred to stay within the comfort of his room rather than go out to parties.

the friends he did say he had were really merely just acquaintances that he hung out with for appearances. he wasn’t interested in truly spending time with anyone aside from the piles and piles of books that he had built up in his room over time. not too far into his youth, the boy found that writing was his solace of sorts and got into writing anything he felt like at the time -- short stories, poems, anything he felt like getting down onto paper.

he excelled in school aside from the socializing aspect but in his later teens he found a sadness growing in him that refused to be squashed. whether it was because of his insistent need to be alone or something deeper in his genes, this depression could only be prevented with medication and therapy. it took some time but eventually, felix was able to go to university and into his chosen course of creative writing.

it wasn’t long before he was graduating with a full degree and wondering what to do next. underneath all of his anxiousness, the young man was curious about the world around him and decided that he would save up to travel to America. There was no other plan in his mind other than to explore and see what was out there.

eventually settling down in Los Angeles, the big city still often overwhelms him but entices him all the same. living at The Fold, felix got a job as a freelance book editor while he works on writing his first novel; something that gives him a steady income and allows him to do his own thing while still doing what he loves on the side.

personality

felix isn’t as shy as he used to be as a child but is still the anxious kid he has always been. often comes across as highly unlikable and a bit of an asshole because he just doesn’t know how to act around people like a normal human being. has always struggled with social interaction and this hasn’t gotten any better over the years.

is super closed off around other people but if someone does manage to get close enough to him to see his real self, he’s actually a sweetheart and loyal to the people he cares about. you just have to be patient with him.

is sad a lot, has moody moments quite often and just locks himself away when this happens.

is still trying to write his first novel but can never stick to anything because he’s such a perfectionist.

has a journal he writes in pretty much daily about his feelings but never really tells anyone because he’s scared of judgment.

basically, a sad misunderstood boy who just wants to be loved !

wanted connections

friends: [0/?] these people would have to be pretty patient to be able to put up with his quirks and whatnot.

best friend: [0/1] someone he just clicks with and can be himself around with zero pressure.

crushes: [0/?] male or female. as he’s awful with this kind of thing, who knows whether he is actually planning on doing something about it. think of longing glances from across a room etc etc. can be unrequited or not.

exes: [0/?] can have ended good or bad depending on the nature of the relationship.

unlikely friend: [1/1] andrea silva - someone he might have clashed with at first but they end up having more in common than they first thought.

enemies/mutual dislike: [0/?] felix doesn’t get along with everyone and there can be many reasons for this depending on your character!

clients: [0/?] authors and such who come to him or have used him in the past for his services.

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, eventual smut, main character death. 

Length: 9.8k

A/N: Sorry it took so long to post, everyone! The next couple of chapters will come more quickly, I promise. This is where the angst tag really starts coming into play, just as an fyi, but this may be one of my fave chapters so far. As ever, thanks for reading!

Grey and uncertain, the sky reflects Hoseok’s mood perfectly. He’s grateful it isn’t anywhere near as cold as it was last week, but the muted lighting makes it hard to keep alive the hope and positivity he’s keeping in his thoughts. Given that he’s made up his mind to listen to Yoongi, to try and understand where he’s coming from without the heavy weight of fear, he needs to keep himself optimistic. Bad enough that nervousness is fizzing in his stomach, making every step a challenge; he doesn’t want to deal with doubts about this whole meeting on top of that.

There are a lot of people on the street, far, far more than usual – in fact, Skymont has been closed to traffic, and pedestrians spill onto the road. Jimin had told him to expect it, and it does makes sense; the festival officially opened an hour or so ago, so of course Skymont is flooded with the curious. A multitude of lights have been strung up, unnoticed during his last daylight visit, flung with hap hazardous glee over trees, street lights and buildings. They mostly lean towards soft blues and whites – the colour scheme of the festival – but the occasional splash of Christmas red and green makes for some blaring dashes among the softer shades. Everywhere he looks, there are signs for various activities, some taking place outside and some indoors. A bake sale, an ice sculpting contest, fireworks at twelve, warm drinks here and a costume contest there. It’s overwhelming, but in a way that makes him grin.

He deliberately – of course – arrived really early, so he takes a few minutes to record some of the antics of the various people lining the road. Nothing fancy, just on his phone, but he likes catching a few seconds of an older man bringing a tray of hot coffees to his friends, kids hurtling snowballs at each other, a couple admiring the snowflake decorations of one of the stores. It’s not until that same couple lean in to kiss that Hoseok stops, nearly dropping his phone in his haste to keep from getting the intimate moment in the shot.

His hot blush is fueled by embarrassment, but the spots of colour speak of something more uncomfortable, too, and he decides that’s probably enough filming for the moment. It’s close to the time to meet, anyways, and impatience is warring so fiercely with trepidation that he’s almost afraid he’ll blink and find himself late by ten minutes or more. Unable to bear that particular scenario, Hoseok decides to thread through the crowds of people towards the Born Tiger.

He ends up being fifteen minutes early, but as it happens, that doesn’t matter. A small form – with a thicker beanie and gloves, though in the same jean jacket – is lounging against the glass, the tiger art hovering over him. Someone’s given the fierce striped beast a Santa Clause hat, complete with a little bell, and Hoseok can’t tell if the addition is a decal or something else. He’s a bit preoccupied, anyways, his previously urgent steps dragging into near stillness as he observes Yoongi.

The other man has his arms folded across his chest, is staring unmoving at the sidewalk. Hoseok doesn’t know why he feels so certain that there’s something strained and wild fighting in Yoongi – his quiet body gives no signs of turbulence – but the certainty is gut deep and it makes him wary. Wary and sad and worried. He just wishes he could figure out what’s tearing the artist apart, so he could help him hold together.

Before he’s anywhere near Yoongi’s line of sight, the man’s head jerks up, his gaze unerringly snapping to where Hoseok’s abruptly halted. Hoseok searches his expression, tries to focus on his pale, welcoming smile – but he can’t see anything beyond the two dark, sickly yellow splotches on his face. One, almost perfectly in the center of his forehead, is the size of a palm. The other, smaller but darker, a mottled collection of green and yellow, clings to his gaunt cheekbone and just skirts the edge of his eye. The bruises aren’t anywhere near as bad as they must have been at first, but they still don’t look great. And overall, Yoongi – he doesn’t look like he’s eaten or slept much in the last week.

Hoseok finds his feet moving again, heart wrenching, and he practically stumbles over himself getting closer. “What happened to you?” he demands, his politely scripted greeting thrown out the window. He’s seen bruises on Yoongi – the artist almost always has some collection of ghastly purple or faded yellow marks on his arms or legs – but never on his face before. It makes his sunken cheeks and wan skin stand out even more.

“You should see the other guy,” Yoongi says, and when Hoseok starts scowling, raises his hands. “No, I’m kidding. I was in the dark a few nights ago, and tripped. Just hit my face on the side of a counter and then on the floor on my way down. It looks worse than it is.”

Given the colour of the bruises, Hoseok can’t help but doubt that it happened a few nights ago. He believes that Yoongi could have fallen, but something tells him it was a week ago, last Friday night. Which would explain why Yoongi’s lying. His heart is beating too fast, too lightly, and the surge of concern has nearly wiped out his awkwardness – but not his anxiety. “You’re okay though?” he asks tightly, skipping over the lie in favour of making sure of that.

The artist shrugs. “No,” he replies, which makes Hoseok’s heart seize up altogether. Swallowing, Yoongi licks his lips before he meets Hoseok’s gaze. It’s painful how hard he obviously has to work to manage it. “My face is fine. It’s just – uh, I’ve just missed you, Hobi. And I’ve been thinking about what I said, and how I – I really was an asshole. And how I should apologize for that. So this week has just been, uh… rough.”

Judging by his wretched condition, that seems like an understatement, but it summons such a wave of guilt and compassion that Hoseok is struck speechless – and the outright honesty doesn’t help him summon any words, either. Yoongi ducks his head, his hand finding his neck. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not – you don’t need to feel bad or anything. It’s not your fault. I just… I didn’t want to lie about it. It’s kind of obvious, right?” He laughs hollowly. “Even some of my regulars commented, so I figured it’d be dumb to try to hide.”

“Why… why would you hide it anyways?” Finally he manages to get his paralyzed tongue to move, and he even succeeds in making his voice soft despite wanting to shout the question.

Yoongi shifts his weight, mumbles something under his breath before his eyes pull back up. “Because,” he says more clearly, “it’s kind of pathetic that I can’t get my shit together, and I just thought it’d freak you out. So yeah, I’m not really stoked to have to tell you.”

“It’s not pathetic, Yoongi.” His fierce rejection surprises even him, but Hoseok pushes on. “Having a rough week doesn’t make you pathetic, at all. And yeah, I don’t like hearing that you’re not doing great, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk to me! I’m glad you told me, I want you to tell me about it. That’s – seriously Yoongi, that’s all I want. I want to hear about your problems and I want to help you fix them and I want you to stop shutting me down every time I try.” The words spill out of him in quick agitation, pulled by Yoongi’s bruises, by his mere presence.

By Hoseok’s realization that he’s so, so glad to be near Yoongi again, and that he doesn’t want to have to leave.

“Wow.” They’re standing close together, the space of moments before forgotten, and Yoongi breathes a shaky laugh. “I had a plan for getting to this part of the conversation, you know. It was supposed to be in like an hour, after we talked about your exams and I made fun of Tae’s pet cactus.”

They’ve completely hurtled off the script, the wild rush of emotion boiling over, but Hoseok doesn’t care. Even his anxiety is drained, leaving only a hot determination to – as Namjoon said – shake some sense into the artist. “I was at least supposed to say hey before I started giving you hell, right? But, uh – I dunno where to fit in my own apology now.”

That puts a furrow between Yoongi’s eyebrows. “Your apology?”

“Yeah. You’re definitely not the only one. I’m sorry for calling you an, uh, asshole, and I’m sorry for caring more about the feelings of some person I’ve never met than yours. I – I’ve been thinking about this, and I guess I shouldn’t care so much if I have a soulmate or not. You were right. I… I wanted something that’s easy. That I can have without anything complicated being involved. But…” He trails off, fumbling futilely for the right thing to say.

Yoongi tilts his head, his eyes a swirl of dark ink drawing light. “Sometimes,” he proposes softly, “if shit is too easy, it’s not really worth having.”

“Yeah…” Hoseok takes a deep breath. “Something like that. I’m not – I can’t lie and say I’m totally cool with this thing.” His hand presses to his chest, indicating the currently obscured marking. “I mean, it’s been looking weird and wilting and dropping petals all week and I’m kind of scared of what that means for whoever’s on the other side.”

The inhalation from the other man is so sharp it makes him jump a little, and Yoongi’s blanched face does even more to set his heart jolting. “What?” he asks hurriedly, his concerns about his soulmate forgotten in a sudden spike of panic. “Are you okay? You look–”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi cuts in, and indeed colour is rapidly flooding back into his skin in the form of a flush. “I… actually got a new tattoo this week, and I put too much pressure on it. That’s all.”

“Wah, really?” His empathy isn’t quite buying that Yoongi isn’t in pain – there’s something distinctly unsettled about the artist – but he thinks it’s probably just a face-saving show. “What’d you get? Where?”

Yoongi clasps the inside of his forearm, right below his elbow. “It’s just – a sun. Y’know… round. A sun.”

That is so distinctly undescriptive that Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Did it go well? Do you like it? Can I see it?”

“Not right now,” Yoongi snaps, and then visibly forces himself to relax. “Sorry. It’s just healing right now, with the scabs and – you know, damn ugly. Probably better if you see it later. I do think it went well, though.” He pauses, his gaze turning reflective. “I… guess I like it, too. At least, I think it was something I needed.” Another pause, and then he exhales. “Do you wanna walk? There’s this side street that’s hosting an art galley kind of thing that might be cool to look at. I did promise to show you the best parts of the festival, you know.”

“I remember,” Hoseok says, and he can’t help but smile, just a little. “With the video and the apology and the invitation.”

Gloved hand covering his face, Yoongi groans. “Fuck, that was pretty stupid, wasn’t it? I just –”

“It wasn’t stupid. It was actually kind of cute. Clever, too. I mean, the lighting was terrible, and I don’t know what the director was thinking with that camera angle, but the script made it pretty good. Plus, the actor wasn’t hard on the eyes.” He laughs at Yoongi’s growl, and barely feels it when the other punches him on the shoulder.

There it is again. The vertigo of falling, without the terror of the eventual crash. All tingling weightlessness and heart-in-throat exhilaration. Like dancing but with less tangible effort. He hasn’t even really discussed either of their issues, they haven’t come to any kind of resolution, but every particle in Hoseok’s body is okay with that. It was easy to agonize over their differences and misunderstandings when he was away from Yoongi – it’s far, far easier to forget about them like this.

And then forget that this is falling, and not flying.

He sets his teeth, reins in his laughter. “We do still need to talk, Yoongi.”

His friend – surprisingly – doesn’t stop smiling, though the gummy grin does dim a little. “You’re right. But let’s walk and talk, okay? And first, you should fill me in on how your exams went. We can grab some hot chocolate or something and take a look at all the shit that Namjoon’s worked so hard to pull together.”

Though he faintly suspects Yoongi is stalling, they’ve got at least a couple more hours together. Plenty of time to get through the hard stuff, and frankly, Hoseok isn’t exactly enthusiastic about beginning that, anyways. He agrees to the suggestion, and shortly finds himself being pulled through the packed streets, Yoongi clinging to his hand to “make sure he doesn’t get lost in all the useless people.” His grip doesn’t loosen even in areas where the crowds thin, but Hoseok finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

The first stop is a food vendor – there are at least twenty of them spread out on Skymont – that Yoongi claims is his favourite, and it shortly becomes clear why. The man behind the stand makes an assortment of simple, hot drinks, and about half of the menu happens to be alcoholic. Yoongi gets a spiced Irish coffee, and Hoseok tries out hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua. It’s pleasingly sweet, and as their pace slows down a little to enjoy the drinks, Hoseok talks meanderingly about the last week. He’s careful to avoid speaking about how he’d plunged into studying to avoid the bleakness saturating everything he looked at. He doesn’t mention the way his mood had plummeted so badly it was like everything turned grey.

He keeps to lighter topics, but somehow, in the way Yoongi’s gaze lingers on him, he thinks the other man knows. It’s a relief to push through that area of discussion and start talking about other things as they come to the art show.            

The makeshift gallery is outside, set up on one of the smaller streets branching from Skymont. The sidewalk’s been studiously swept clean of snow and other debris, and pale cloth drapes across the buildings, forming a roof that shelters the little avenue. Lights are evident here, too, some of them the blue and white of the festival but mostly brighter lamps that cast warm illumination over all of the art pieces. Yoongi explains it was a toss up whether they’d have it outside or not, but with the weather report showing no signs of snow or rain, it was decided that outside would be better. Hoseok agrees. There’s something breathtaking about stepping into the sheltered but open street, about being removed from the frantic hustle of the rest of the festival.

There aren’t as many people here, and Skymont employees keep the peace, asking everyone not to run but otherwise giving people free rein. As they approach the nearest stand, a couple of erected walls hung with paintings, Hoseok asks, “Don’t you have any examples of your tattoos set up here, Yoongi?”

“Actually, yeah,” his companion says with a grimace. “They’re further on. Jin hyung made me put the collection together – even paid for someone to stand around, since I wasn’t going to. I guess it’s good for advertising or something. It’s just the usual, though, nothing special.”

“For someone incredibly talented, you sure say “just” a lot,” Hoseok observes idly, his eyes on the gallery. This first installation is themed on natural destruction, most of the paintings incorporating rockslides, tornadoes, waves and the like.

Yoongi seems drawn to a painting of a wildfire, the brilliant tongues of red and orange so vivid Hoseok can practically feel the heat devouring the trees. His companion stares at it for awhile before he says, “Do I really use it that much?”

“Mmhm. All the time. Usually to make it seem like whatever you’re saying isn’t important.” They’re at a strangely calm point, almost but not quite detached from each other, and it makes it easier to point out something that’s been bothering him for as long as he’s known Yoongi. The other man wields “just” like an ax, and it’s always himself that he’s cutting down. “A lot of your stuff really isn’t just the usual, y’know.”

Glancing at Hoseok sidelong, Yoongi snorts, “Says the expert who’s never had a tattoo before.”

“Yah, I thought about it when I was younger, seriously! Do you know how much it would have pissed off my parents? I looked at a ton of them back then. Besides, I have a good eye for that stuff.”

“Sure, sure. Anyways, my tattoos are okay, I guess, but they’re not the best. I just–”

“There, see?”

“…I just don’t think they’re a big deal,” Yoongi finishes pointedly, and they begin to wander from the first stand. It’s not only paintings or drawings on display; there are sculptures, glasswork, jewelry and other more exotic exhibitions, and Yoongi chooses one of the craftwork examples to look at next.

While considering a little flower made by folding and crumpling tissue paper, Yoongi looks over at him. “Is this one of those talking points we’re both looking forward to?”

It takes Hoseok a moment to realize what he means; when he does, he shrugs. “I dunno. I guess… can I ask why you don’t like saying any of your stuff is good?”

His long fingers are strikingly delicate as they pick up the flower, and Yoongi hardly seems aware of the man hovering on the other side of the table. Still gentle, the artist turns the flower so that light shines through the thin tissue paper, changing the colour just a little. “I don’t really know. I mean… look at my life, Hobi. Especially up until recently, I was some poor fuck who didn’t even graduate. At least half of my friends had seen the inside of a jail cell, and so had I. I hated my parents and pretty much everyone else, too. What good could possibly come from that? Yeah, I got really lucky with Malsoon and Jihong, but the tattooing? That’s their work, not mine. They were better teachers than any of the assholes in my old school, but that’s them, not me.”

He falls silent, puts the flower carefully back on the table before looking at a small scene, also created from tissue paper. It’s set in a shoe-box sized display and depicts the sun rising over a blue ribbon of water, with painstakingly detailed fields of green spreading out on either side. “You don’t talk about them – Malsoon and Jihong – very often,” Hoseok observes quietly, sensing that now isn’t the time to disagree with Yoongi’s critical evaluation of his life.

“No, I don’t,” Yoongi says. “Malsoon would like this thing. She always bought stuff with nature and she liked rivers a lot. She – I guess I could buy it for her. Send it her way. It’d be a stupid gift but maybe she’d like it.”

“So, they’re still alive?” He hadn’t even known that much. The few times Yoongi’s mentioned the people who essentially adopted him, he’s always referred to them in past tense, and they’ve never come around the store they used to own. To be honest, he’d assumed they were dead, but the way Yoongi’s face tightens makes it obvious it’s not a happy story even if they’re alive.

“Malsoon is. Jihong… is not. About two and a half years ago he had a heart attack.” The small man swallows before continuing. “It took a long time, for it to... happen. Used up most of their money on medical bills before he died. Malsoon… she lost it. Not – she didn’t go crazy. I mean – she just stopped enjoying anything. She stopped drawing, stopped doing tattoos… And a few months later she decided to move. Said that she couldn’t bear to be where he used to be, feeling his ghost all the time.” His shoulders hunch. “They weren’t soulmates, but… they kind of were. They used to joke about giving each other bonded tattoos all the time, just through the sheer power of will… and maybe with the help of an irons – a tattoo machine, I mean. That was the joke, right?” The smile on his face is achingly sad, and it fades quickly. “Not soulmates, and his death still ripped something out of her. So she left the parlour to me... and then she was gone.”

He feels like he’s walking on the thin ice of Yoongi’s grief, but he’s not going to leave his friend stranded in a frozen field. “I’m sorry, Yoongi. So sorry. Do you two still talk?”

“Sometimes. A few times a year. Neither of us can really afford to fly out to visit each other, though, so it’s just shitty phone calls.” He hesitates, his eyes still on the wispy river. Eventually he admits, “I miss her. Both of them. Losing them, and then with all the other shit right after… It was a lot. After – after I did something stupid, the doctor said I needed to get out. Join the community. He knew Jin hyung, introduced us, and it kind of snowballed from there. Suddenly I was on a committee, I had shit to do, and feeling bad for myself wasn’t as easy.”

Yoongi doesn’t expand on what the other shit he mentioned is, or what stupid thing he tried to do, but it sends cold tendrils cascading across Hoseok’s skin, raising violent goosebumps. He can imagine well enough, and the thought makes a desperate, panicked breathlessness seize his throat. On impulse he reaches out, catches Yoongi’s hand in his own. “You got through it, though,” he says fervently, and even through the gloves it’s almost like he can feel his companion’s warm wave of gratitude. “You’re still here! And that’s – man Yoongi, that’s so cool. That’s not “just” anything; it takes strength to be where you are now. To keep tattooing and doing the thing you love for so many people.”

When Yoongi ducks his head, the motion is almost shy. “I couldn’t give it up,” he mumbles. “Jihong… he liked it so much. Malsoon too. Not just making shit, but the people, too, y’know? All their regulars, and hell, even the tenderfoots getting their first one. They liked getting it right, and they taught me that on top of everything else.”

He’s not sure what to say. “They sound like really awesome people.”

“They were,” Yoongi agrees simply. “Better than my parents ever were, too.” He doesn’t let go of Hoseok but runs his free hand through his hair. “You wanna keep walking?”

“Yeah. You gonna buy Malsoon that?” he asks with a nod at the fragile paper scene.

Yoongi is already turning away. “Nah,” he says, and the blatant effort to shrug off his emotions is heart rending. “It was a stupid idea, anyways.” Hoseok finds himself pulled away before he can protest, but he glances over his shoulder one last time before they’re on to the next stand.

Metal sculptures of twirling shapes, wood carvings of fiercely realistic animals, blown glass and copper etchings, oil paintings and shadow art, they blur by in an extended flash of breathless wonder and the more grounded reality of hesitantly traded thoughts and history. Threaded throughout their slow roaming, Hoseok pulls out confessions from Yoongi, things that make him wonder if it’s really possible to hurt so much for another person. Things about his parents and alcohol and raised fists and voices, things too bleak to look at head on. He can only point out everything Yoongi’s done since then, all of the incredible progress he’s made, and hope it’s enough.

In turn, in diffident spurts, he finds himself talking about his sister, who’s always been better than him in his parents’ eyes (and his own, too), about his parents themselves, growing further and further away. He talks about having money and never feeling like he actually wants what he buys, and how far that feeling set him apart from his family. Somehow, even as insignificant as they are to Yoongi’s troubles, the other man doesn’t make him feel shallow or weak for being hurt by them. The artist talks about how, out of all the emptiness Hoseok felt, he still managed to fill other peoples’ lives. About how much strength and kindness that would take. Somehow, Hoseok almost finds himself believing it.

They talk about lighter things, too. First crushes and last crushes and all the awkward dates in between. They laugh at stupid mistakes and great successes equally, and swap stories with an abandon that only grows as the night goes on. And somewhere between the lines Hoseok finds the answers he’s been looking for.

Yoongi doesn’t want to hope. He’s afraid to lose more than he already has. Hoseok’s never really had much of anything to be worth losing – until he met his friends – but he thinks he understands the tired man who trails along with him like a shadow. It’s part of the reason he’s always recorded things. It’s a lot easier to capture a moment, to make sure you don’t lose it on film, than to try and feel all the emotions in the moment itself. Easier to keep the distance of a lens between yourself, to admire instead of risk the chance of being hurt.

Hoseok’s learned something from all those videos, though, something he thinks he needs to help Yoongi learn. Nothing – not the most expensive camera in the world, not the best director in the business – can wholly capture some of the deeper emotions that permeate all of the greatest moments. That’s the challenge, the joy of filmmaking; striving for perfection in a world without it. But at the end of the day, removing yourself from those moments, from the emotion, it doesn’t make your own life better. It just takes all of the colour from it, until you’re standing there and the moment is gone and the only memories you have are grey.

Better to have a life of all the colours – even the painfully sharp ones – than to live in dull shading.

It’s hardly a lesson to put on a blackboard; it’s hardly a lesson that Hoseok’s even grasped or tried to live himself. It stays at the back of his mind, though, an unpolished resolution that someway, somehow, over the course of months or years, Hoseok’s going to give Yoongi that thing he’s so dearly missing.

He’s going to give him hope, and it’s not going to disappear.

By the time they get to Yoongi’s own display at the end of the street – and it takes them a good two hours, they’re moving so slowly – a deep weariness has curled up in Hoseok’s chest, the outpouring of emotion wearing him thin. Their conversation has slowly sloped off, into a quiet contemplation of every thought they each offer, though Hoseok still finds himself talking the most out of the two of them. The sight of the tattooist’s collection strikes him to a momentary enthusiasm, however, and he rallies his energies. There are a couple of people observing the tacked-up photos and sketches, and he and Yoongi wind around them.

The girl minding the station recognizes Yoongi right away and beckons him to join her. With a wry grimace, he relinquishes Hoseok’s hand and goes to see what she wants, while Hoseok takes a look at some of the examples of Yoongi’s work. As his companion predicted, he’s seen most of the pieces already, though here and there a dazzling new example jumps from its page. The bold lines are just as catching now, the hundredth time around, as they were the first time he was exposed to them, and he’s still vaguely appalled the artist doesn’t think his work is worthwhile.

One piece in particular catches his eye, and Hoseok wanders over to it. It’s strangely familiar, although he’s certain he’s never seen it before. A circular shape punctuated by outward flames, he supposes “round” isn’t an inaccurate description, but the gorgeous sun surely deserves more than that. It’s a glowing white at the center, though the colour is so thickly wrapped with oranges and reds and yellows that they blend together. As the sun erupts outwards, a halo of jagged light surrounding it, the tones don’t lose their bright intensity. The brilliance of the sketch is somewhat discomfiting to look at, and Hoseok finds himself fidgeting, transfixed in place until Yoongi comes back.

“This is your new tattoo?” Hoseok asks as soon as the artist appears.

Yoongi barely glances at it. “Yeah. One and the same. I’m afraid the guy who did it might have fucked up a bit though; I don’t know if the colours are going to be that bright.”

“It’ll be cool, won’t it? If they turn out that crazy intense?”

Shifting, looking like he wants to be elsewhere, Yoongi shrugs. “I guess. Takes a shit ton of work to get colours like that, though. Not everyone can manage to bring them out right.”

Hoseok shakes his head, blinking, trying to dislodge the melancholic feeling from his throat. There’s something depressing about the thought of the real thing being some pale imitation of this sun, never quite reaching its brilliant potential, and he’s not in the mood to be depressed. “I bet it turns out just like that,” Hoseok says firmly. “Better, even! It’s not like you chose some hack to do your tattoo, right?”

“Let’s see how it turns out,” Yoongi says, his lips twisting. “Then I’ll decide if they were a hack or not.”

The gallery area closes at ten, darkness pressing hard against the sheltered area of light, and they end up grabbing another round of hot drinks and sitting at one of the tables sporadically dotting Skymont. The crowds have thinned significantly, but neither of them wants to strike out into the open spaces. Hoseok’s not positive, but he thinks he sees Jimin at one point, walking in the distance with his hands full of bags. He’s even less sure, but he thinks Jimin sees him and Yoongi, too, and then precedes to flee as fast as his feet can take him in the opposite direction. His oldest friend had been thrilled when he’d heard Hoseok was going to meet with Yoongi, and had promised to kill anyone who tried to interrupt.

His pointed glower at Taehyung and Jungkook had been a little underwhelming, but Hoseok appreciated the sentiment all the same.

He and Yoongi don’t sit for very long before his companion shifts, gaze going to the sliver of moon shining through the patchwork of dark clouds. “Were you going to drive home?” he asks suddenly.

“That was the plan, yeah,” Hoseok says. “Although I had to park so far away with all of the people, it’s gonna take me like half a year to get to my car.” The complaint is good-natured – it’s not so cold out, and he doesn’t mind walking – but Yoongi’s lips thin, and he rubs at his ear, a telltale sign that he wants to say something.

The student lets him go about it in his own time, and, just as abruptly as the first time, he says, “Haven’t you drank too much? You could just stay at my place instead.”

Eyebrows jumping up, Hoseok’s eyes go uncertainly from his incredibly light drink – his second of the night, over the span of about three hours – and back to Yoongi. Who scowls. “You could just play along,” he grumbles, puffing out his cheeks. “Okay, fine. Do you wanna stay at my place?”

His petulance makes Hoseok grin, but he’s inordinately pleased with the offer, and doesn’t take the opportunity to tease. “Sure, that’d be good. Although I don’t have any clothes or whatever.”

Yoongi stands up. “S’fine. You can borrow some of my shit.” The logistical soundness of that plan notwithstanding – they’re not exactly on the same level, (literally) height-wise – Hoseok gets to his feet too, glad enough to go along with it. He’s too drained to feel particularly anxious or excited, but his contented gratitude hovers close to the surface, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Do you wanna go on ahead? I just remembered I saw something my sis might like, and I wanna go buy it.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” Yoongi asks quizzically.

“It’s not like we’re gonna be waking up early. What if it’s gone when we come back?” He’s not exactly a first-class liar, especially not about blatant stuff like this, and his smile feels more than a little forced.

Yoongi only stares at him for a moment longer before jerking his shoulders, so maybe he’s better than he thought. “Okay. I’ll leave the door open, so just come in.”

He turns to go and Hoseok calls loudly, “See you in a bit!” Maybe a bit too loudly – a few people nearby turn to look at the sound – and Yoongi flushes. The other man doesn’t quite manage to turn his grin into a scowl, though, and he actually waves after a brief hesitation. Then he’s walking away, and Hoseok waits until he’s a decent distance away before dashing off in the opposite direction.

Most of the gallery’s lights have been turned off, but some sellers are still around, packing up their art, and Hoseok is thrilled to see the man he needs is still there. They have a quick conversation, the man unpacks the piece Hoseok requests, and then Hoseok is reverently tucking it close to his body.  He pays for it, says goodbye and is off, long strides eating up the pavement. His excitement is sailing through his nerves, eager with the prospect of seeing the look on Yoongi’s face, and it makes the walk down Skymont a short one.

Constantly moving, unable to contain the energy, he pushes into the Born Tiger, where lights are shining from the upstairs. Locking the door behind him, Hoseok bounds up the stairs and spills into the connecting hallways between the two spaces on this floor. The kitchen is empty, and he finds Yoongi laying out blankets and pillows on the couch in the living room. Caught by a brief fist of indecision, he halts just outside the room. Somewhat to his surprise, the familiar nervousness is stripped away almost as soon as it appears, just as soon as he reminds himself that Yoongi will appreciate this.

With that thought, he’s back in motion, his hand behind his back, and anyways, Yoongi notices him and straightens, head tilting. Eyes on Hoseok’s face, he asks, “What’re you grinning about?” and Hoseok realizes he is smiling, the unconscious gesture a dead giveaway that he has no control over. He doesn’t care, because without waiting for an answer Yoongi starts smiling too, and the look is too big to leave any room for discomfort.

He didn’t have any time to plan out a big speech, so Hoseok thrusts the boxed scene in front of him. It feels like his grin is going to break his jaw, and Yoongi’s reaction only makes his cheeks hurt more. The pale man freezes, mouth falling open, his face abruptly suffusing with colour, the stunned disbelief making Hoseok itch for a camera – although it’d be a shame to miss the immediacy of something as priceless as Yoongi’s expression. Even better, his smile doesn’t fade. It grows, wider and wider and more and more disbelieving, and it takes several moments before the artist accepts what Hoseok’s offering.

“Are you kidding me?” he mumbles, and though the question is largely rhetorical, Hoseok answers anyways.

“Nope! You’re gonna be able to give it to your Malsoon and she’ll probably fly over here just to thank you.”

Yoongi’s hands turn the little diorama around, and he can’t seem to rip his gaze from the gift. Nonetheless, there’s a rapid thrumming in Hoseok’s heart, and in turn he can’t look away from the stunned joy on the other man’s face. It feels like that same joy is flowing through his own blood, closing little hurts and straightening bent expectations, and it makes him want to be, specifically and exclusively, the reason the emotion continues. When Yoongi’s eyes begin to shine with unshed tears, only then does Hoseok turn away, letting his companion have that moment to himself.

The emotions don’t embarrass him – in fact, he’d rather embrace them – but he knows how Yoongi views tears. Instead he stares out the expansive windows, taking in the dark street and buildings that seem so far away right now. It doesn’t take the tattooist long to recover – he touches Hoseok’s elbow only half a minute later – and as Hoseok twists around he sees the tissue river set with perfect precision in the center of the coffee table. That doesn’t hold his attention.

Yoongi’s eyes are wet, but the light catches in them and softens their hard darkness into something muted and yielding. He licks his lips, licks them again, leaving a sheen, and Hoseok has to forcefully pull his gaze up. Yoongi doesn’t seem nervous, exactly, but he lingers over each word like he’s afraid of where they’ll lead. “…Thank you, Hobi. It’s such a cool gift. I – I don’t know how to pay you back.”

“You don’t owe me for it, Yoongi. You said you’d show me some great stuff tonight, and – well, you did. So we’re even.” His words are automatic, but they leave him unsatisfied, shifting, and he can’t quite figure out what it is he wants to say. He’s become used to the wire-thin tension between them, always and ever present, but it seems heavier now, like it’s pulling on him instead of just existing. Yoongi’s happiness was just too much, overflowing a glass that was filled to the brim already.

In a similar state, Yoongi drags his fingers over his neck in a constant, thoughtless motion. “Yeah. I just want…” The sentiment dies out, leaving them in frozen silence, and Hoseok has a sudden vision of them being stuck in this state forever, a candid photograph taken a few seconds too soon, capturing only the strain of consideration and never the release of choice. He could turn away right now, leaving the look in Yoongi’s eyes untouched, leaving them exactly as they are. A photograph, and nothing more than that.

Or he could do something else. Something like moving forward.

His thoughts have heated to a haze, but it doesn’t affect his coordination when he reaches out, gently slides his hand under Yoongi’s to rest against his neck, stilling the uncertain, delicate fingers. Beneath his light touch Yoongi’s skin is hot, and the temperature sinks into his palm and then travels up, searing his nerves along the way. The artist holds himself still, perfectly still, too still, and Hoseok finds himself leaning over to break up that apathy. He pauses – just for a second, just to give Yoongi the chance to pull away, dazedly certain it won’t happen –

And Yoongi closes the distance between them, and then they’re kissing.

If he makes a noise at all, it’s drowned by his heart, throbbing in his ears. If he breathes at all, it’s captured by Yoongi’s warm mouth, pressed hard against his own, and he cares less for oxygen than for eradicating the space between them. Yoongi’s arms encircle his back, pulling him nearer, and Hoseok cups Yoongi’s neck with one hand, his thumb steady on his jaw. His other hand tangles in the artist’s hair, pulling too roughly, but he has to get closer. The frantic need boils under every piece of skin that isn’t touching the other man.

Yoongi’s hands move with equal fervor as they curl into his back, and then they’re falling down to clutch Hoseok’s waist in a grip so tight it might have hurt if Hoseok remembered what pain felt like. They cling to each other and it still isn’t enough. As Yoongi’s tongue parts his lips, their breath mingles hot and wet and heaving, and Hoseok’s vision is tilting, slanting, spinning into a blur of colour that doesn’t disappear when his eyes close. His lungs are straining but he doesn’t remember air, he only remembers Yoongi, only remembers fitting against him like they were sculpted to be together, and it still isn’t enough.

His grip on Yoongi’s jaw becomes harsher, their lips pressing together so hard their teeth are cutting into each other’s skin, and he doesn’t know if he’s tasting his blood or Yoongi’s, if he’s breathing his own air or not, if it’s his heart shuddering in his chest or if he’s somehow stolen the tattooist’s. It all blends, sights and sounds, taste and touch, and over it all is the rush of their blood, thick and getting thicker. Under his closed eyelids, blazing streaks of light form and dart away, as quick as emotion, like thought, like he’s thinking – but it’s not just him, it’s Yoongi, too, and he can’t tell where his blistering desire begins and Yoongi’s fierce relief ends, and it’s finally, finally almost enough –

And Yoongi breaks away from him, suddenly and violently, and the duality is shattered like a dream, like a fantasy, like hope with no happy ending.

Hoseok lurches as his eyes snap open, his vision scattered with swirling spots, and he has a sickening impression that he’s – that he’s looking at himself, looking out from Yoongi’s eyes, but then he blinks and the impression is gone, leaving him bewildered. The artist has staggered a few steps away, is leaning against the couch, and their harsh panting can’t quite cover up the hollow sound of the space between them. He doesn’t feel – he’s not upset. Nothing even remotely like it. But it feels like his emotions have been heated to such a high point they’ve melted together, all the colours turning into a muddied brown. There are no sharp points to hold onto and so it all eddies together and slips away from him; even the burn in his groin flickers lower.

Exhaustion is an abrupt weight, personalized for each of his muscles, and Hoseok sags, runs his hand through his damp hair. They’re both regaining control of their gasping, and slowly Yoongi straightens, his skin glistening with sweat. Hoseok wearily prepares himself to be shut out, to have a wall put up in his face by word or look or gesture, but the artist doesn’t make any move to increase the distance between them. He doesn’t try to decrease it, either, but it’s still an improvement.

Eventually Yoongi speaks, his voice husky with the breath he hasn’t quite managed to catch yet. “We should have done that last Friday,” he says, startling a laugh out of Hoseok.

“It would have been better,” the student agrees. “Although…” Yoongi tilts his head inquisitively, and Hoseok grins. “We might have been kicked out after that.” He has no idea how long it lasted – time turned liquid within their kiss – but he has a feeling it was long enough to have attracted attention on the dance floor.

Yoongi smiles wanly. “Good thing I know most of the bouncers.”

Slowly his emotions are stretching out, finding themselves again, and an overwhelming sense of rightness is at the forefront. It’s like a pain he’s never noticed before, scarred into the tissue of his lungs, is gone, and now that it’s disappeared Hoseok can breathe like he’s supposed to. A lingering ache in his bones has replaced that pain – faint, a phantom sensation – but it’s nothing compared to the restless itch he could never scratch, the relentless pressure he could never escape.

He has no idea what the hell just happened. It’s not like he’s never kissed someone before, not by a long shot, but that was – what the hell was that? “Have you ever–” Hoseok begins, changes tack at the last second. “Did you feel that?” The answer is plain in their violent upheaval, in the sweat darkening Yoongi’s hair, but Hoseok needs to hear it from the man opposite him, a confirmation he’s not going crazy.

For a moment he thinks Yoongi is going to deny it, but then the artist raises a shaking hand, brushes it over his lips in a way that makes the fizzling fire deep in his core flicker stronger before fading again. “I felt it,” Yoongi says, drawing his fingers back and examining them like he expects them to be stained with something. There’s nothing there, and his gaze drifts over to Hoseok, an eyebrow tiredly arched. “What did I tell you, Hobi? Don’t need to be soulmates for there to be – whatever the fuck that was.”

Even as he laughs, the comment doesn’t sit quite right with Hoseok. He’s too tired to examine it carefully, though, and besides, the draining hasn’t stopped, pulling his memories of the kiss into an uncertain vortex. All that distinctly remains is the heat and the satisfaction, and he doesn’t want to question that too closely.

“So,” Yoongi says suddenly. “You think your soulmate’s out there somewhere, jealous as all hell?”

Hoseok meets his eyes – his tired, hopeful eyes – and shrugs. “I don’t think so. But if they are…” Each breath he takes is freer than the last, and Hoseok finds himself smiling faintly. “If they are, I don’t care.”

---

Hoseok is just as restless in sleep as he is awake. He twists and turns on the couch, so much so that Yoongi’s a little concerned he’s going to fall off, and his hands track across his body in brief, agitated swipes. He looks ridiculous in the oversized pants Yoongi had found at the bottom of his drawer, won from a contest years ago, though it’s not in a bad way. His mouth moves but nothing comes out – or at least nothing Yoongi can hear, a good few feet away, arms crossed and leaning against one of the room’s walls. He wants to move, to go do something – not sleep, sleep hasn’t come to him before one or two in the morning in years – but he stays where he is.

His lips are tingling, and it feels achingly good. He can’t say he hasn’t kissed someone recently, but that had left the taste of stale cigarettes and booze in his mouth; now something deeper lingers heavily on his tongue, sweetness and the rust of blood combined, a faded echo of their kiss. When he wipes his hand across his lips, it doesn’t do anything to dispel the sensation, and he wonders if it’s going to be there for however long he has left. He’s not sure if it’s a pleasant thought or not.

Yoongi would lie if someone confronted him, but he’s been thinking about doing that for as long as he’s known Hoseok. Hell, even before noticing the tattoo, the thought had darted through his head, there and gone because it wasn’t a desire worth holding on to. The kiss wasn’t a disappointment, and that’s an understatement Yoongi doesn’t know how to fix; his breath keeps catching and his heart has been spinning out of control for the last hour. He’d known it was going to be intense, but he’s been dealing with the bond for months now. He thought it couldn’t knock him off balance anymore.

Wrong.

If Hoseok is at all like him, the other man’s distinct memories of the moment are dwindling and mixing together into a flurry of pleasure and relief with nothing certain in between. It’ll be better that way. Yoongi’s not sure how he could explain that grain of sand, falling at last to the bottom of the hourglass, when they’d been more than together, more than two – when they’d been one and the same. He can barely even explain it to himself. He’s heard it doesn’t happen to every bonded couple – or even most of them – and the only thing he can guess is that the constant denial, the repression of the bond had led to that explosion of need that blurred the lines between them.

He hopes that’s it. He’s definitely not gonna be able to keep it together if it happens every time they kiss. Against the secret Yoongi has to keep, and against the pain knifing below his skin, the thought of kissing Hoseok again makes him smile.  

It’s hot in the room, but then again, he also hasn’t taken his jacket off since getting here. With Hoseok safely asleep, he shrugs out of it, throws it over one of the sturdier, taller plants Seokjin gifted him. It sags – hyung would have a fit if he saw – but it’s not one of Yoongi’s concerns right now. His first is the sun on his arm, a sun which is still largely grey, but has been steadily gaining in colour since Hoseok saw his video yesterday. The center in particular is reverting back to the white-hot tones it’s supposed to have.

At least now, with his lie planted, he can stop hiding it so much. That’s been a pain in the ass this last while, constantly keeping his arm turned down, or covered up with clothes. Plus, Hoseok’s probably not knowledgeable enough to know there’s no way it could look so clear less than a week after being done; give it a few more days, and even if Hobi comments on it, he’ll claim he’s a fast healer. There’s a part of him that feels bad about the lie, but it’s nothing in the face of the collection of others, and he shrugs off his guilt exactly like he took off his jacket. Easily.

This night, though… He’s surprised how good it had felt to talk about his parents. About Jihong and Malsoon. These days lying comes as naturally to him as breathing, and telling the truth is the equivalent of forcing himself off a cliff with pointy rocks at the end of the fall. With Hoseok… the little truths, the ones he keeps jealously close to himself, those had rushed off his tongue like they were glad to leave. He’d planned on revealing some of his backstory, on giving a bit of honesty – he was pretty sure that was the only way to mend the break – but it hadn’t turned out like he’d planned. He’d given away almost everything. Almost too much.

Fuck, there’d been a point, when Hoseok had smiled for the hundredth time – encouraging and bright and blinding and just as sincere as the first – that he’d almost blurted out the truth. The big one, the one that would probably destroy the both of them.

That was dangerous. At first, Yoongi had kept it to himself simply because he wasn’t about to let some random stranger come swinging into his life to save the day, and he didn’t even know if Hoseok would, anyways. Now, though… God, he can’t even think about how hurt Hoseok would be if he found out. Besides, he almost has enough money. One more month should be enough. Who cares what they say, about urgency and “too little too late”? When have “experts” ever been right about any of that shit? They just want his money faster.

He’s good at lying to himself, too, but it doesn’t do much for the disquiet in his chest. Instead, Yoongi focuses on the little scene Hoseok bought for him. It’s peaceful, in a way that doesn’t really touch Yoongi, but he thinks Malsoon will like it. He hopes she will. It’s embarrassing how much he’d collapsed when his soulmate had proudly presented it. Call it a really rough night. Even worse, he’s pretty sure Hobi noticed. Actually, he’s positive he did. But Hoseok has that effect on him, assaults him with emotions he’d long ago buried, and grateful joy isn’t the least of them. His soulmate has a truly vexing ability to make him embrace all the things he shouldn’t, and as he watches Hoseok toss, he can’t even be annoyed about it.

Asleep, Hoseok is fucking beautiful. Oh, he is awake, too, but awake there’s always this little tension, this undercurrent of anxiety that all the fidgeting in the world can’t dismiss. When he sleeps, the energy remains, but it’s cleaner, more relaxed. Yoongi briefly entertains the notion of waking him up, of kissing him until he looks as secure awake as he does asleep. It’s an idle fantasy but a pleasant one, and he lulls himself with the lie that he could be that for Hoseok, that he could be the person who finally makes Hoseok feel right with himself.

Like Hoseok keeps trying to be for him.

“I’m not drunk,” he observes quietly, eyes watchful for any sign of Hoseok stirring. The other man doesn’t react to his voice, and he continues after a moment. “I guess that’s breaking a promise, but I don’t think it’s a big deal. This is pretty much cheating, anyways.” His breath starts seizing, like the very air in his lungs is reluctant to leave, but Yoongi keeps talking. “I said I’d tell you my secret, right? That was supposed to be a lie, but I just – I wanna say it, you know? I want you to know and I – fuck, you can’t. You can’t. But I wanna say it so fucking bad.”

The pressure on his eyes is threatening with tears; his voice is getting hoarse with the weight of them. God, he’s just been so – so by himself. So alone. He could never dream of imposing on Seokjin and Namjoon’s happiness, whining like a spineless fuck to them, and even now, even with his soulmate right in front of him, he’s still alone. In this quiet, pathetic moment, he wants to wake up the wiry man on the couch. He wants to share the weight, because he’s just that much of a selfish son of a bitch.

Except he’ll regret it right away. He’ll regret it as soon as Hoseok’s sleepy smile disintegrates. He’ll hate himself as grief and anger replaces all of the happiness they could have had. Isn’t it better this way? He’d rather enjoy whatever time there is between them and try to get Hobi used to a life where he supports himself just as much as he supports everyone around him. That’ll be Yoongi’s goal for the next few months, to have the sun in his life so bright he’s even bright enough for himself. That’s a good goal. Fuck, even his parents couldn’t spit on him for it.

The sun is down right now, though, the moon his only witness, and there are too many words in Yoongi’s chest to contain them all. He edges closer, careful steps and broken thoughts, and kneels next to the couch. “Hoseok?” he asks, even more softly than before, and this time Hobi twitches in his sleep, twitches but doesn’t quite escape. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you this for real. I hope you can forgive me, and – fuck. It’s – it kind of sucks, you know? Because I feel so stupid, but I think I actually love you and – how do you even say something like this? I don’t know. I just –”

His throat closes, and his eyes do, too, and Yoongi has to drag out each syllable, jagged, painful, blunt. “I have cancer. Surprise, right? Can’t afford any of the treatment or – I almost can, now, thanks to you. But – I dunno. I had an appointment this week, and – fuck, they use so many fucking terms, I can’t remember it now. They – the doctor said it’s changed. Not for the better, that doesn’t happen, right? It’s gotten worse. She said it might even be too late or – or something. That’s probably bullshit, but – fuck, I hope it is. It’s just… I’ve felt so shitty lately. I was supposed to have time, but the doctor said – well, should I even fucking care what she said? She was so wrong that I–”

Hoseok twists restlessly, the sound loud enough to make Yoongi’s eyes open, darting to the troubled face of the still-sleeping man. There’s no relief in his heart – he’s selfish enough that he almost wishes he’d dragged his soulmate out of his peaceful rest – but the crease on Hoseok’s brow makes him quiet himself. His hand reaches out, hovers for a moment before gently, carefully brushing back the fringe of hair from his soulmate’s forehead. His fingers skim across Hoseok’s skin, and slowly the worried lines smooth away, until there’s nothing but relaxation left.

“I was going to tell you,” he says, and the pressure is too much, it’s driving out the tears in silent rivulets down his face. It only gets worse, a horrible weight on his lungs, and he can barely breathe. “After we fought, I decided that we – that I couldn’t take it anymore, that I’d… But – but –” Yoongi chokes, can’t get the words out until several heaving moments have passed and the grip on his throat loosens faintly. “Now I can’t. Not if I can’t get – if I’m not gonna get better. I’m sorry, Hoseok. So fucking sorry.”    

He can’t wrestle with the suffocating grief anymore and Yoongi breaks off, hunched over, his hands braced against his thighs. He lets the tears fall, takes deep, shuddering breaths to keep himself from shattering into sobs. It’s a skill he’s had since he was a kid. It takes time, but eventually the splintered pieces quit stabbing him so hard, leaving the usual dull ache. Yoongi teeters to his feet, hands clenched into fists, and looks down at Hoseok for a minute or a moment or a meaningless eternity. At least his soulmate is okay. At least Hoseok can only get better from here.

That’s the only thought keeping him together, and the artist repeats it over and over as he puts his jacket on and quietly leaves the studio. He’s not going to be able sleep, and he doesn’t want to risk waking Hoseok up. The solitary night isn’t a friend, but it is an old companion, and it surrounds him as he walks out into the darkness. He’s running away, but not for long.

He’ll be back when the sun rises.  

[eleanor-robinson]

Writing, in the Tunnel of Terror

In my writing group, I have the company of two other writers. Wonderful, creative and dedicated writers. I enjoy their company hugely; their support means the world. Yet, I feel as though I am not on the same journey as them. They both write quite prolifically and have been writing for a few years. They are older than me, they have careers. Of course, I’m sure there are things I don’t know, and everyone carries their own struggles, but lately my self-comparison demon has been flaring up.

I have been feeling a lot of shame over the last few weeks—shame that I can’t write as quickly as them; shame that I can’t seem to dedicate myself to my story like they can. I’ve felt weak, and like a failure. When I sat down to think about how my writing process has been going, and to take stock of the things that have been going on in my life, I realised that its no wonder I haven’t been able to get stuck into my novel. The truth is that I’ve been going through a journey of my own, and you can’t really compare a rollercoaster to a bus. Or in my case, a boat ride.

I don’t feel remotely “settled” in any aspect of my life at the moment. For this whole summer, I have felt like I’m on the Tunnel of Terror boat ride at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory—the surreal and disturbing version from the 1970s film. I’m doing my best just to cling onto the damn boat and not get thrown overboard into the chocolate river.

Last Sunday.

I came out to my Dad as Nonbinary on Sunday. Well, I tried to. He gave me a hefty kick back into the closet.

It was the evening, just me and Dad at home. I came into the living room, where my Dad was watching the golf on telly. I sat next to him and gave him a hug. He could see I was upset, so he asked me what was up.

I had a choice then—do I dare be honest with him? Or do I pretend there’s something else wrong? Could I be honest with him? At first, I pretended I was nervous about starting my new job. But it didn’t sit right with me. I decided to do it. I’ve practised it enough times in my head to know exactly what to say—

I don’t really feel like I have a gender at all. I’ve realised I’m not as attached to womanhood as I thought I was, being constantly gendered at work this year made me feel uncomfortable and confused. I don’t know what to call myself anymore. I’ve thought about using Mx instead of Ms as a title at my new job, but that scares me too. I emailed the new school about it but I got the sense that it wasn’t really possible, so I agreed to go by Ms, which feels safer and more comfortable to me anyway. Its been a stressful and confusing time.

Dad was silent, he didn’t take his eyes off the golf. When he spoke, his voice was tense—

What are you saying? You want a sex change to become a man? What are you trying to prove? You were the girliest little girl I know. You liked sitting inside, colouring, writing stories, doing crafts. Why are you making life hard for yourself? There’s always something with you. Just when we thought you were getting settled down. Your generation are just jumping onto bandwagon after bandwagon. I already have to tiptoe around you in case I’m accidently sexist and now there’s this. I mean for God’s sake. This isn’t normal. This isn’t what normal people do.

After a little back and forth that was mostly me saying the same things, and him saying the same things, I went upstairs and cried into my pillow. I hadn’t even managed to utter the word Nonbinary to him.

After a while, I heard my mum come home. Mum already knows, I trust her, she isn’t judgemental and has been helping me work through my feelings. I comforted myself with the thought that at least I have one ally; at least I have one parent who is accepting. That’s better than what some people get.

My mum came into my room and sat on my bed. He thinks you want to become a man, she said. It would have been funny, but I feel too wounded.

That’s not what I said, that’s not what I meant.  

He doesn’t understand. He’s very old-fashioned. He is going to get dragged, kicking and screaming, into the twenty-first century whether he likes it or not. She strokes my hair. Take your time, just be yourself.

­­­­­­­­­­Even later on, Dad came into my room, with my mum. He tried to make up with me, in his own, back-handed way— I’m sorry I was grumpy, I just feel like you’re making your life harder for yourself.

I’m one of the kids on the boat in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, with my notebook open, but its too dark to see my writing, and water keeps splashing the pages and ruining the ink, and its not Willy Wonka sitting at the front of the boat, but my Dad speaking judgemental words into my ear. He is supposed to be the one sat next to me, protecting me. I couldn’t articulate to him then that its not me making my life hard, but him.

Last Monday.

The next day, I wake up anxious and full of thoughts. I have had a night of anxiety fuelled dreams filled with characters from my past, people I’ve let down or are simply not in my life anymore and I miss. I force myself out of bed. I do my yoga, I do my meditation, I do my morning pages, I eat my sensible porridge (because I read once that oats are a superfood for curing depression). It’s all mechanical—I am hoping these things will bring some relief. However, all the while, I am scraping at myself, raking myself in search of answers. What is my gender? How can I make myself palatable? How can I fix this? It’s hard to stop. I feel like I have scraped the barrel of my soul and at this point I’m just drawing blood. I know in theory that how other people react to me isn’t my burden, but the wound of rejection throbs. I shower and get ready to meet a friend.

After charity shopping with my friend, we stop for a pint after. She’s known me for a decade, throughout various ups and downs. She can tell something is up and asks me what’s wrong. I tear up. I don’t want to freak you out. She reassures me she won’t be freaked out, so I tell her the whole awful story. I haven’t even told her about being Nonbinary before.

She holds my hand and listens. She’s kind.   She doesn’t judge me. She reassures me. She says she loves me. She doesn’t reject me.

At the end, she says It’s exciting really and smiles.

Today, Saturday, later in the week.

Things with my dad will get better. He can tell I’m hurt, and he is being extra nice to me. He thinks his reaction doesn’t matter because he got the wring end of the stick and I don’t actually want to become a man.  He doesn’t realise that his reaction completely crushed me and made me feel like if I was anything other than woman he’d reject me. We’ve been talking about it a bit more here and there, but he still thinks I am needlessly making my life unbearable.

I simply am who I am—and the world makes it hard for me to do that. As an LGBTQ+ person, denying who you are feels no less comfortable than being who you are in a homophobic and transphobic world. With staying hidden, you have overwhelming feelings of guilt, self-denial and fear, of carrying a great secret burden, of feeling trapped, with no one to talk to. With being open, you have fear how of people react to you, of being discriminated against, of being rejected and hate-crimed, of never finding love. Of course, it’s not like there are just two paths, its a spectrum, and coming out is a life-long task. Also, there are positives to each one too. With staying hidden, you have more physical safety, control and time to process. With being out, you feel free to express yourself completely, even if it is terrifying. Of course, some people are “outed” and are robbed of their choice and autonomy. Others simply cannot come out for their own safety—or maybe they can come out to their friends, but not their family in a sort of double-life of half-freedom. I had a friend at university who was openly queer with her peers, but not with her family. She worked part-time while she studied, and was frugal. When we talked about her financial sitation she said she was saving up money in case her family ever found out she was LGBTQ+, and disowned her.

It feels important to include what happened on Monday as well as what happened on Sunday. There are happy coming out stories, there are painful ones. It’s true that things are a lot “better” than they used to be for LGBTQ+ people, especially in the UK where I live. But coming out is still a huge emotional burden that shouldn’t be underestimated. Like my writer friend Fiona said, ‘Yeah it’s 2021, but for some people in their heads its still the 1950s’.

So I haven’t done much work on my story this week. But I’ve been busy. I’ve been doing other, very important work. I’ve been busy self-soothing, trying to reframe my thoughts away from self-blame and attack to being proud of myself for how true to myself I am. I’ve been journalling and talking to friends. Also, swimming, a lot.

I feel lighter.  I am proud of myself for being curious about who I am. I am proud of myself for wanting to live authentically. I am proud of myself for being brave, for being honest. Indeed, a writer’s work is that of bravery and honesty so this journey through the Tunnel of Terror will only benefit my work, I’m sure of it.

As for me and my Dad? I came down this morning and he had my bike laid out across the kitchen table, replacing my brake pads. I’d vaguely mentioned this a week ago. So, maybe we will be okay. He’s helped me off the boat, and onto my bike.

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1208

Monday, April 16, 2018

 Today is going to be challenging here in Ottawa. Freezing rain overnight has left thick ice on everything. It's going to take a lot of muscle and time to scrape off any cars parked outside overnight. Penny has been going at hers for half and hour and she still hasn't left for work. I would normally go out and help her but I caught a bad cold and I feel like poop. I probably got the bug on the flight home from Cuba last Tuesday. My immune system let me down this trip.

 Our week at the Brisas Guardalavaca resort in Cuba was near perfect. Beautiful sun every day. I took one of the resort bikes out for a ride on one of the only cloudy mornings, got rained on a little but made it back to the resort unscathed. I donned mask, snorkel and fins every afternoon but one to swim out to look for tropical fish on what remained of the reefs after last year's hurricanes. I'm happy to be home but I wish winter would finally leave the area. Just going to stay in today and try to get better.

 Domino #1 - Gail Simone (writer) David Baldeon (art) Jesus Aburtov (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). Killer Instinct part 1. It's my lucky day. The merc with the facial tattoo is back on the racks and she's being take care of by a writer and artist team that I like a lot. This story starts off with Neena Thurman's birthday but may end in her death day. If I didn't like this whole issue and the many guest stars so much, that last page guarantees that I will be reading the next issue.

 Immortal Men #1 - Jim Lee, Ryan Benjamin & James Tynion IV (storytellers) Jim Lee & Ryan Benjamin (pencils) Scott Williams & Richard Friend (inks) Jeremiah Skipper & Alex Sinclair (colours) Carlos M. Mangual (letters). The End of Forever part 1. I used to get excited when I saw Jim Lee's name attached to a new project because his art was so fantastic. At least to me it was. His X-Men and Batman stuff made me go "wow". Now I look at his art and feel meh about it. This latest New Age of Heroes book introduces a team of immortals that are brand new to me. None of them made a positive impression. I didn't finish reading the Dark Nights Metal stories and this team ties in to that series so that's probably why I couldn't get into this debut. These Immortal Men will be short-lived.

 Xerxes #1 - Frank Miller (story & art) Alex Sinclair (colours). I really liked 300 when it hit the racks 20 years ago. This new 5-issue mini promises to be just as good. This time the Greeks and the Persians go at each others' throats in 490 BC. I have an interest in ancient history so I'm going to follow this story to see what happens.

 Exiles #1 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Rodriguez (pencils & colours page 4) Javier Rodriguez (pencils) Jordie Bellaire (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Here we go again with Blink leading a team of heroes to save the multiverse. This first issue introduces two team members and the big bad guy that they'll be facing. I liked this debut. It reminded me of the Unstoppable Wasp book with young Nadia. I really enjoyed Javier's art in Spider-Woman so I'm giving this new book a chance.

 Batman #44 - Tom King (writer) Mikel Janin & Joelle Jones (art) June Chung & Jordie Bellaire (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). I loved the silent scenes where Selina picks out her wedding dress. Those pages are interspersed with flashbacks showing different times in Batman and Catwoman's tumultuous relationship. The lead up to the wedding has been amazing. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about the blessed event however. The "'til death do us part" part may be a nasty surprise that the creative team are going to spring on us. I really hope not.

 Oblivion Song #2 - Robert Kirkman (writer) Lorenzo De Felici (art) Annalisa Leoni (colours) Russ Wooton (letters). Still liking this adventures in monster land series.

 Runaways #8 - Rainbow Rowell (writer) Kris Anka (art) Triona Tree Farrell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Julie Power/Lightspeed is all grown up. I remember reading Louise Simonson and June Brigman's book when it first hit the racks in 1984 and loving the Power Pack kids. I never would have thought that Julie would mature into the woman she is now and would be dating Karolina. Julie's visit to her girlfriend's is interrupted by a surprise villain who wants Victor's head. I was surprised because I thought he was a good guy now.

 Superman #44 - Patrick Gleason & Peter J. Tomasi (writers) Doug Mahnke (pencils) Jaime Mendoza & Doug Mahnke (inks) Wil Quintana (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Bizarroverse part 3. Thank Darkseid this story is over. This climax had more Bizarro characters so the confusion I felt while reading this issue was increased exponentially. Even the sound effects were Bizarro. I hope we get back to normal next issue.

 American Gods: My Ainsel #2 - Neil Gaiman (writer) P. Craig Russell (script & layouts) Scott Hampton (art) Rick Parker (letters). Find out why this arc is called My Ainsel.

 Spider-Man #239 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Oscar Bazaldua (art) Brian Reber (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Sinister Six deliver their stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier to the buyer. A special guest star team helps Miles to stop the handover. Somebody is going to die I bet.

 Detective Comics #978 - James Tynion IV (writer) Javier Fernandez (art) John Kalisz (colours) Sal Cipriano (letters). The villain tips his hand this issue. I just noticed that all the ad pages were in the back of this book so that reading the story was a lot smoother. I wish every comic book was printed that way.

 Avengers #687 - Mark Waid, Al Ewing & Jim Zub (writers) Paco Medina (pencils) Juan Vlasco (inks) Jesus Aburtov & Frederico Blee (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). No Surrender part 13. The Avengers find out what they're involved in as Voyager confesses to her duplicitousness just in time for the bad guy to ratchet up his threat to destroy the planet. The scene between Jarvis and Bruce Banner bodes well for the return of the Hulk.

 Avengers #688 - Mark Waid, Al Ewing & Jim Zub (writers) Kim Jacinto  & Stefano Caselli (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). No Surrender part 14. The Avengers need every hero they can assemble to defeat the Challenger after he crowns himself the Grandmaster Prime. It's going to take a lot of sacrifice to save the doomed planet. Who will not survive is the question.

 Old Man Hawkeye #3 - Ethan Sacks (writer) Marco Checchetto (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Clint is hunting Thunderbolts and Bullseye is hunting Clint. We all know that Clint doesn't die in this story because he still has to go on a road trip with Old Man Logan. I'm curious to see how he survives Bullseye.

 New Mutants #2 - Matthew Rosenberg (writer) Adam Gorham (art) Michael Garland (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). The team gets sent to the Arctic to deal with a giant problem. Meanwhile a new New Mutant makes a surprise appearance on the last page. Maybe Doug Ramsey will show up too.

 Amazing Spider-Man #798 - Dan Slott (writer) Stuart Immonen (pencils) Wade von Grawbadger (inks) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Go Down Swinging part 2. I love the design of the new Red Goblin. The sacrifice that Peter has to make to keep himself and everyone he loves safe is huge. Now we'll see if he can come up with a way to beat the Red Goblin without his web shooters.

 Marvel 2 in One #5 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Valerio Schiti (art) Frank Martin (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Ben and Johnny find themselves in a universe where GalacDoom has eaten everything except Earth. Now he's going to eat it too. Then what? There's nothing left to eat. Not very bright, GalacDoom. Seeing the Silver Surfer and Emma Frost doing the Smallville thing was cool though.

 All-New Wolverine #33 - Tom Taylor (writer) Ramon Rosanas (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Old Woman Laura part 1. We jump into the future where Laura is queen of Madripoor after the good guys win Doom World War. Wait until you see who the POTUS is. Laura has only months to live due to a genetic glitch and one of the items on her bucket list is to kill Victor Von Doom. Someone shows up in the last panel and April 25, when the next issue hits the racks, can't come soon enough for me.

 Astonishing X-Men #10 - Charles Soule (writer) Aco (pencils) David Lorenzo (inks) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). A Man Called X part 4. As much as I liked Aco's art in the Nick Fury mini, I didn't think it suited that spy versus spy story. It's perfect for this reality warping story though. The team tries to save the villagers of Fetters Hill in the Scottish Highlands from the villain Proteus before he can spread his madness even further. I'm interested to see how they do that.

 X-Men Red #3 - Tom Taylor (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Ive Svorcina (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Hate Machine part 3. I don't remember much about the villain Cassandra Nova but it's clear she's one very nasty person in the first three pages. I'm not usually a fan of super hero teams but Tom Taylor writes the All-New Wolverine and Gabby and Laura are on this team so this book stays on my "must read" list.

 Star Wars: Darth Vader #14 - Charles Soule (writer) Giuseppe Camuncoli (pencils) Daniele Orlandini (inks) David Curiel (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Burning Seas part 3. Vader is sent to the oceanic planet of Mon Cala to hunt down some surviving Jedi that slipped through the Empire's clutches when Order 66 was executed. The defiant Mon Calamari are thwarting his efforts. Mmm…calamari is yummy.

 Captain America #700 - Mark Waid (writer) Chris Samnee (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). So disappointed that a time paradox was used to beat the bad guy. All that matters to Cap fans is that Steve is back in the "present" and the series continues.