#bc of depression and the other may or may not be back yet from having covid

[valoale]

I’m starting to be convinced my dog is having joint/structural damage pain and I’m scared

[albonium]

i haven't been to work yesterday and today due to feeling sick and the very real possibility of having covid. i couldn't go to the doctor yesterday but took a magically not taken yet appointment this morning only for him to tell me he can't give me doctor's notice thing for yesterday because i should have gone yesterday. also i'm supposed to go to the post office while sick to send the paper with a confirm upon reciept thing ???? when i'm supposed to be home and SICK. i still have a headache and the fever went down thanks to paracetamol but i still feel weird

[cr4yolaas]

the weight of words — alhaitham x mute! reader

notes: based off of this tiktok i found a long while ago featuring a poem that serves as the base for this fic <3 i feel like this is very poorly written / rushed and it lacks a good flow but i wanted to get it out asap bc i didn’t have any more energy to write it LOL

tags: italics represent handwritten notes, reader is implied to be rlly smart / top of the class, implied depressive episode (reader), self deprecation (reader), fluff → angst → fluff, may or may not be an inaccurate rep. of mute individuals, ooc alhaitham, not proofread

this was a little more irksome than he wanted to admit.

at the very top of the akademiya, far away from prying eyes, sat a student bathed in sunlight. from a distance, he observed. you held a book in one hand and an apple in the other, while your legs dangled off of the ledge. he couldn’t discern much from your backside.

but what bothered him the most was that you were seated in “his” spot. the spot he always crept away to during lunch, mainly for its isolation and breathtaking view.

without hesitation, alhaitham approached you. he tapped on your shoulder and stared with an intensity akin to the blazing sun in june. “excuse me,” he began. “i normally sit here. i would greatly appreciate it if you moved to another place, as i’m most accustomed to this spot.”

a silence washed over as you stared up at him. your lack of response left him annoyed — did you find this funny?

however, as you set down your book and snack gently, alhaitham found himself surprised for the first time in a while.

a notebook sat on your lap as you wrote rapidly. the man watched quietly.

i’m afraid not. there are countless other spots up here, and i just happened to get to this one first.

a sigh slipped from his lips. while he wasn’t unfamiliar with stubborn personalities around campus, this particular interaction seemed to interest him more than it irritated him. alhaitham nodded and sat beside you, much to your surprise.

he listened as you flipped your page and began writing again, this time taking up less space on the paper.

why do you like sitting here? you passed the notebook to him.

he wrote much slower in comparison to you, however, his handwriting bore an elegance you had not seen before, as if each letter carried a song in the ink. you found it beautiful.

the lack of noise.

his short response made you smile — simple and straight to the point. another thing you deemed wonderful.

he did not hand the notebook back to you, but instead, continued to write. i dislike unnecessary sounds. they serve as useless interruptions. up here, i find that in comparison to the chatter of students, the ambience is soothing. alhaitham placed the notebook in your lap gingerly and looked into the distance, his gaze absent yet his thoughts reverberating.

you continued this back and forth with him for the entirety of the lunch break. the lines engraved on your palms spilled over with ink smears, and you found your dominant arm growing weary. you did not write your goodbyes on the paper, therefore leaving your conversation unfinished. you left with a smidge of warmth in your heart and a smile on your face in hopes of meeting him again the next day.

from afar, you could see the way he sat leaning slightly more towards one side, and the occasional tapping of his fingers against the table as he wrote. he drank from a small mug of what you presumed to be coffee, but rather than holding the handle, he gripped the cup from its mouth. another intricacy that piqued your interest.

he noticed your stare after a few seconds, eyes of jade and clementine meeting yours. without a word, he relocated to your table, sitting directly across from you. “hello,” he greeted softly. “i didn’t know you frequented this place either.” his gaze flickered over to your notebook peeking out of your schoolbag, and when you pulled it out to respond to him, he found himself getting uncharacteristically excited.

i don’t, actually. i wanted a change of pace, but i’m not sure how much i’m enjoying it. you pushed the book across the table to him.

is it too loud to study? that’s surprising.

you looked up at him questioningly for a moment before jotting down your reply. i’m not studying. i’m just here to read. his lips upturned noticeably at your words, an expression you wished to carve into the crevices of your memory for eternity. he was painstakingly beautiful.

alhaitham didn’t respond for a handful of seconds, instead opting to look outside the window to his left. strands of sunlight draped themselves onto his perfectly crafted face and fell between each strand of hair. a view that compared to the one at the top of the akademiya.

a conversation of short responses — ranging from questions about your darshan, to your favorite season, to the books you enjoyed reading — ensued, the evidence splayed onto the paper. you appreciated his company, for it was rare that anyone sought to talk with you.

he asked another question, his curiosity seeping out endlessly. why do you communicate like this?

a thin-lipped smile etched itself onto your lips. the ink of your pen ghosted atop the paper, your hesitation evident. i was born mute. i have no voice, therefore i cannot communicate in a normal manner.

you grew increasingly anxious as he looked at you with an expression that was terrifyingly unreadable. your hands rested atop the notebook, keeping it away from him for reasons you didn’t understand quite yet.

“that’s okay,” he spoke, the baritone of his voice cutting through your shared silence. “i don’t mind it. actually, i think i prefer it. over the grating voices of the other scholars i know, at least.” he went on about his senior, a friend in kshahrewar who apparently could never keep his mouth shut in his presence. you merely listened, soaking in his words and absorbing each syllable that spilled out of the cracks between his teeth. your confession rendered you utterly silent, but seemingly, he paid no mind.

again, your conversation ended without a proper goodbye. your notebook sat still on the table. moments after his departure, you stayed in your seat, contemplating the complications of this newfound acquaintance.

alhaitham’s life revolved around routine and quiet. he needed both to go about his day in an efficient and satisfying manner; otherwise, he would end up feeling rather unfulfilled and bothered.

perhaps that is why he found himself so drawn to you. in comparison to many of his classmates, who were incessantly obnoxious and needlessly talkative, you were quiet, not just vocally, but in every other aspect. your handwriting was consistent and each letter looked just as neat as the other. your responses were similar to his in that they were direct and honest. and, oddly, you radiated a warmth that he could not see in anyone else.

his next encounter with you wouldn’t be for a handful of days. he knew you were a student, thus resulting in his confusion — he had never seen you around campus until that day.

he ran into you during one of his lectures. you sat right beside him in a seat that wasn’t usually occupied. he began to question you with pen and paper, as usual.

since when were you enrolled in this class?

i always have been. this isn’t a necessary class for my darshan, it’s just an extra period for me to increase my credits. i don’t come to class very often.

he quirked a brow up. you fiddled with your pen.

interesting how i haven’t heard of you until now. alhaitham smiled softly at your muffled giggle, one that he had not heard until then. the noise swarmed his chest with a lightness he could not replicate.

you might have fallen too soon.

alhaitham was a simple man, yet alluring all the same. you had snuck away his perfections and imperfections in a different notebook. for instance:

3 - straightforward and direct

21 - prefers tea over coffee

44 - can’t sleep without a weighted blanket

your ever-growing infatuation for him began to blossom in the cavities of your stomach, and soon, it would infect everything above. you could not bear it — nights spent in solitude, where he would discuss his interests (which were minimal) until you fell asleep; afternoons spent in comfort, where you would share a slice of cake to celebrating a particularly difficult exam. he consumed your very being, the neurons that invoked muscular response and the veins that carried your blood here and there; all of it was him. and yet, you could not meaningfully share this with him, your silence embedding your heart in a crevice far away.

it seemed that he got to it first, anyways.

alhaitham asked you a simple question — if you were capable of speaking for a day, what would you say? he had begun carrying his own memo book to conversate — another addition to the list.

you sat in silence for a brief period before writing, every thought and feeling and idea that has ever encountered my mind would leave my lips.

he wrote, then i will give you just that, and more.

when you began dating alhaitham, you found that he was much more eager to “speak” to you consistently. he would write in his same font and present to you a variety of inquiries, ranging from plans for the day to what you wanted for dinner. he was the epitome of a loving man, a far cry from the tales of coldheartedness and brutality you’ve heard of him. and yet, something began to gnaw at your lungs as he did so.

alhaitham was your voice to speak through — he was the monotonous ramblings, the heavy whispers, the gentle laughs; he held all of those for you. seemingly, life became far more breathable.

but your love was just as restricting as it was kind. to speak is to suffer, but to not speak at all is beyond that — it is torture. nights were spent staring at alhaitham’s sleeping figure, questioning whether he truly felt the affection you expressed. gifts, contact, quality time; what good was it if you could not do something as simple as converse with him? it extended beyond him, as well — for reasons unknown, it grew increasingly difficult to communicate with your new professors and classmates, the downturns of their lips as you pulled out a notebook gut-wrenching. you questioned if alhaitham felt the same.

you began to spiral.

a rapid set of knocks arrived at your door at a questionable hour. the sun hung high in the sky, albeit obscured by your curtains. a soft buzz rung in your room.

“i know you’re inside,” a voice spoke from the other side of the wood. he knocked again.

you made no move to open the door, nor to approach it, nor to get up from your bed. in response, the hinges creaked and heavy footsteps neared.

“why have you locked yourself in here?” alhaitham asked, his tone indiscernible. you didn’t see it, but you heard him shuffling around your bedroom. “where is your notebook?”

it was silly. he spoke as if you could respond, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to be sorrowful or upset.

he pulled the blanket from off of your head, his face indifferent as he witnessed your disheveled state. “i’m not sure what’s going on, but i can assure you i will wait until you’re well enough to speak to me again. i will always wait.” alhaitham set his own memo book and pen beside your pillow. a warm hand held yours, a signal of reassurance. “please get better as soon as you can.”

he turned around to leave, and you could not bring yourself to reach out for him. what would you do? would the words crawl out of your throat, akin to a miracle? or would you plead at him with desperate eyes in hopes he’d read your mind? you did not know. every instance would inconvenience him in some way — that you could not bear.

you did not step foot outside for another week. alhaitham (and kaveh, much to your surprise) had left meals and gifts next to your door, all of which remained untouched. you were in stasis.

each thought had been replaced by a fog so asphyxiating that it had drowned every word the moment it rose to the surface. a bubbling exhaustion boiled in you. you wished to speak, to express anything at all, to apologize for inconveniencing those around you, and to apologize to alhaitham for putting him through such an obstacle.

as if sensing this desire, he arrived at your dorm again, this time with a more gentle appearance and a large bag behind him.

you reached out for the notebook he placed beside you a week prior. why are you here?

he kneeled down beside you, paying no mind to your disheveled appearance, and spoke softly, “i’m sorry.” if it were fitting, he would have laughed at the instantaneous furrow of your brows. “i should’ve realized. and in failing to do so, i have failed you.” alhaitham took the notebook and pen from your grasp, and with an unrivaled delicacy, he held you.

“i would give up my own voice if it meant i could spend an eternity with you,” he began. “i do not care if you lack a voice of your own. you’re still embedded in my heart all the same.”

you had not written to him for days. and yet, he understood everything. he read the words displayed in your features with a familiarity no one had demonstrated.

758 - willing to help me heal.

alhaitham sat across from you, his back hunched over his work and his face framed with a mix of feather-gray hair and wispy sunlight. he wrote with an unmatched fluidity, as if time were escaping him.

he let out a sigh as he set down his pencil and sat up straight. “why must you sit with me if you’ve finished this assignment weeks ago? it’s as if you’re mocking me.”

it’s entertaining. he grabbed the notebook from your side of the table and wrote haphazardly, contrasting his smooth technique before.

it’s really not. i feel as if i’m being ridiculed and observed under a microscrope. it’s horrible, he teased.

you’re smart, anyways. you’ll survive.

afternoons in the akademiya’s library were once suffocating and exhausting. to be surrounded by peers who could only sneer and misjudge and question was unpleasant. now, as you sat with your lover in a soft silence, you felt at peace.

[sunlit-mess]

this is such a vague question but how do you keep drawing even through depression? i just end up lying around and then i feel bad for not drawing and not improving. its really admirable to me that you still create art even when times are rough. do you have any tips or advice for that?

I don't really know what to advise bc I'm a pessimistic, cynical person

And much like Hazbin Lucifer who has an attachment to creating ducks as a coping mechanism, I have an attachment to drawing. I struggle to express myself and never had any healthy ways to cope EXCEPT drawing. I'm obsessed with creating art in general. Hate and pain are what keep me on gear like some built-up GRIT and the unexplainable feeling of surpassing an imaginary crisis or future I've yet to conquer. And the pen is like my only beacon of hope to remind me I have a mission to fulfill. (OA I know, ahahaAHA It's PRIDE and POWER, I don't fkin back down easily)

(This is from a harsh perspective)

So my advice would be: FIND A WAY TO STAY DETERMINED. Improvement is not spoonfed. It's never easy. Never consistent.

Feel like absolute shit, like a failure, like the biggest regret of the universe but never let it crack your purpose of being. Other people can be there to support you, yes but no one is going to save you or help you better but YOURSELF. All the decisions and the work will come from you, and as unfair as it may seem, it's the truth. You are HERE for a reason. You don't know? Then it's your journey to find it and you'll soon realize. Swallow your fear and self-pity, and GET UP.

[slytherheign]

CONNECTING ARTS | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: photographer!tasm!peter parker x painter!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

SUMMARY: peter is slowly losing hope for his love of photography when he finds himself at a loss of inspiration. to give his passion a last chance to prove it’s worth holding on, he decides to do one last project: to capture a stranger’s life for 1 week. unbeknownst to him, with every click of his camera, he’ll slowly fall in love. unbeknownst to you, with every stroke of your paintbrush, you’ll realize your lives are more connected than you both initially thought.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, cursing/swearing, parent's negligence, reader being an orphan, anxiety, depression, inaccuracies (?) there may be some because i’m not a photographer nor a painter. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is angsty towards the end but it’s hurt/comfort and there are more fluff moments so the destination is sweet street instead of angst avenue. this took so long to write but it’s only bc i added a little bit of mystery here about the person in the reader’s painting and their pasts. i hope y’all forgive me. enjoy reading!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS CONNECTING ARTS (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It’s truly terrifying how a person could suddenly lose interest in something they have spent their whole life yearning for.

This was Peter’s greatest fear—to watch the once-ignited flame of passion within him get slowly extinguished. Photography was supposed to be his lifeline. How could he let himself get drained of something that was his escapism?

Was it his surroundings, his personal life, or just life in general that made him uninterested in his hobby? He had no answer. He truly, certainly, absolutely did not know.

He stared at the camera that was atop the center table, and as he did so, flashbacks of the joyous moments he spent capturing people and places struck him. He had held that camera for years—garnering both little and grand memories that were far too special and memorable to forget. He couldn’t just let it go.

One more chance, he thought.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he said to himself.  “One last time.”

So he grabbed his camera and went to the nearest place he thought would spark even just a pinch of inspiration—the park.

The busy yet calm buzz of people's chatter met him as the wind blew softly against his skin. He walked a few yards until he saw a bench which he sat on almost immediately. He raised the camera close to his eyes, adjusting the lens as he took pictures every now and then while scanning the surroundings. 

A couple on a bench that was turned back from him and facing the city bay. The guy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders while her head rested on his.

Click.

A mother gently pushing her child that was giggling so hard at the swing.

Click.

A lovely couple walking the grounds, holding each other’s hands without an ounce of care in a world that judged them because they were both women.

Click.

A large oak tree from which the outline beautifully clashed with the slow setting of the sun.

Click.

Suddenly, his hands seemingly moved on their own as the camera panned over downwards without him even noticing. 

A girl underneath an oak tree, gracefully sitting on a paint-covered cream blanket. Art supplies were messily scattered over the soft blanket while the girl was drawing something on a canvas in front of her.

Click.

He zoomed in, focusing on her face. He couldn’t help it, she was mesmerizing. The girl must’ve felt it because she looked straight at the camera, piercing his eye that was behind the lens.

He put down the camera instantly, mouthing an apology towards you as he realized he probably distracted you from your drawing. You shook your head, letting a small smile form on your lips. You gestured for him to come over, and without hesitation, he did.

You quickly but carefully moved some of your things to give him space on the blanket to sit on. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

“Someone,” you replied, showing him the canvas. There wasn’t much on it at the moment, just the initial sketch of a person’s body and a white fence in the background. The person did not have a face yet.

Click.

Peter captured the canvas with his camera. As he looked up, he saw your puzzled face staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I haven’t asked for your permission to take pictures of you and your work. I can delete it if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I’m just curious, do you take pictures of everything?”

“No, usually just the interesting stuff,” he chuckled at your question. 

“So you think I’m interesting?” you winked playfully. 

“I…” he started to say, but then stopped before smiling. “Yeah, I do. The most interesting, actually.”

He noticed your cheeks redden, but before you could think of a reply, Peter’s eyes slightly widened as an idea dawned upon him.

“Can I ask something crazy?” he asked.

“I love crazy,” you beamed with excitement, putting down your canvas to face him. “Go ahead.”

“I was thinking… if maybe I could capture the process of you completing your artwork? Like… capture your life for a week?”

He noticed the slight skepticism in your eyes. “I know this is kinda weird considering we just met but I–I just think you’re really cool a-and awesome and I’m really fascinated by you.”

“You know, usually I don’t entertain strangers much more let them stay in my apartment… but I have a good feeling about you,” you admitted. “So…” you nodded.

“Okay, just so we’re clear, you are agreeing for me to capture and document your life for a week?”

“Yes.”

Perfect. This was the exact thing he needed. A good and worthy ending for his slowly dying passion. 

“I feel like shit,” he said suddenly. “I haven’t even asked your name. I’m Peter,” he offered his hand.

You chuckled as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How do you want this to work?” he didn’t want to decide by himself since it’s your life he would be documenting in the first place.

“Uhh–here,” you ripped a piece from a sketchbook you weren’t using. With a pencil you pulled from the back of your ear, you wrote your address on the piece of paper. “That’s um–where I live. Come by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

Peter smiled on his way home.

He was ready for his very last project.

DAY 1.

You awoke from the same ray of sunshine that visited you every morning through your large window. You wasted no time as you made your bed and took a shower quickly. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother to leave your bed for at least half an hour after waking up but today was different. You had a visitor and for some reason, you wanted to impress him. After all, he was the first person to ever visit your place.

The place that you called home was a studio apartment with a loft bedroom. You had no usual living room because you turned it into a painting studio. The only places where paint—with exception of white—didn’t reach the wall or the floor were the small kitchen area and the loft bedroom where you sleep every night. But above all things, your favorite part of your apartment was the large window that occupied the entire wall facing the first floor and the loft floor.

After dressing yourself in a white shirt and brown overalls, you decided to put your hair up in a ponytail. The moment you started to heat water for your morning coffee, you heard a knock on your door.

“Hi,” Peter greeted.

“Hello,” you smiled in return, opening the door wider for him to enter your humble abode.

Peter’s mouth slightly parted from the aesthetic of your apartment. His eyes scanned the place like a child in a candy store. He saw the canvases on the floor that were both empty and painted on, and the large wooden table in the middle of the room that had art supplies and an unreal amount of colorful paints scattered on top of it.

Click.

And from that moment on, he knew your place was something else.

“This place is amazing,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you said, a proud grin presenting on your lips. “Coffee?” 

“Thanks,” he smiled, accepting your offer. “How long have you had this place?”

“Since I was 19. A year after I moved out from the orph–uh from my old home.” Thankfully, Peter was too busy admiring the place to even notice you almost slipping out.

No one gets to know your past. That was your life rule. The present and the future were what mattered. 

“Here,” you placed the mug atop the side table near the entrance. There was a small couch—noticeably thrifted—beside it where Peter sat. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warned him as he tried to hold the mug and drink while still being distracted by your paintings.

You sat beside him, sipping your coffee as well. “How did you get into photography?” you asked.

“I think I’ve always been interested in the art of photography since I was a kid. I’ve always loved taking photos back then and I think it’s really cool that memories can be captured in the form of pictures forever.”

You agreed, nodding your head. “Same goes with painting. Sometimes, I paint my surroundings, mostly people that I see around me; sometimes, I have pictures as my reference; sometimes, I like storing memories in my head and then painting them when I get my hands on a canvas. But the best thing about it though is that I can paint not what I see but what I want to see.”

The last line you said seemed to get his full attention. “What do you mean by that?” his face showed an intrigued expression.

“It means that I can paint whatever I want. I can paint the past, the present, and the future. And sometimes, you hate the past and the present, so you just change them in your paintings. And then when you start hating the future too, you just paint what you want the future to be. Basically, what I’m saying is, you can manipulate life through a painting. Reality and imagination share a room, and there’s really no limit.”

There was something about the words you said that made Peter realize just how deep of a person you are. It wasn’t just your paintings he was mesmerized by anymore, but also you. He would love to get to know you more.

DAY 2.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good morning,” he greeted you once you opened the door. You let him in, excited for the day because you planned on teaching him how to paint. It wasn’t your idea, he asked you yesterday if he could be the first person you teach how to paint and you accepted the challenge. You didn’t consider yourself a good teacher, but oh well, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge.

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Oh no. You promised to teach me how to paint and I would very much like to start learning now,” he had a huge excited grin plastered on his face. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you smirked proudly.

“How do you know which canvas to use? There are so many sizes,” he asked, standing over the piles of empty canvases on the floor.

“It depends on what you’re going to paint. Do you have something on your mind?”

“I-uh… no? I thought the idea would come naturally honestly.”

“That’s fine! Sometimes, it comes naturally. Sometimes, it doesn’t and you have to push yourself until it eventually comes.”

“Why would you push yourself if it doesn't come naturally? Wouldn’t you just take a break and wait?”

“I could wait, But I prefer not to. I push myself because I want to paint and the lack of ideas won’t hinder me from painting. This is my passion, I want to do this forever. If I took a pause every time I had no idea what to paint, most of my paintings wouldn’t exist and I would’ve given up this passion years ago.”

“What about rest? Do you even take a rest?” he asked as you handed him a small-sized canvas. You thought it was the best for beginners.

You chuckled lightly. “I’m human, Peter. Of course, I rest. But not when I know I’m getting uninterested in painting. When I get over that phase and I’m inspired again, that’s when I rest. I don’t go to bed until I have that fire in me again that dances with the art of painting.”

Now, that was something that hit Peter all the way to his core. How could you even manage to do it? To answer the question he didn’t even know he had in his heart so effortlessly and precisely?

He now knew his mistake—he let the lack of inspiration slowly extinguish the fire in him whenever he was feeling uninspired. He realized now that he didn’t push hard enough. But that would change, starting now.

“I think I know what to paint now. And this size is just perfect, thank you.” 

You watched him put his canvas on an easel. He looked at you, his eyes asking a question about what to do next. 

“You can draw first, sketch what would be the outline of your painting, and then let it guide you when you start painting. Or you could proceed to paint immediately. But if you ask me, I would recommend sketching first so you won’t make a lot of mistakes later when you actually start painting.”

“Okay. I’ll sketch first. Thank you,” he said as you handed him a pencil. He started drawing lines, and then curves, and then came the shapes. 

“That’s really good. Damn, didn’t know you were good at drawing,” you complimented. He laughed lightly. “Thanks, I think I got the genes from my mother. My aunt always told me she was a really good artist.”

Once he was close to finishing his drawing, it dawned on you that he was drawing a sunrise. You wouldn’t tell him, but it reminded you of one of your paintings. It wasn’t a sunrise, but it was similar. Maybe you’d show it to him when he finishes his painting.

“I’m done!” he announced proudly. “Nice!” you replied. “Are you ready to paint?”

“Oh no no no… please, I think that’s enough for me today,” he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, but that little drawing took a lot of work. I’d like to go back to my camera now.”

DAY 3.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good mo–”

“Morning!” you cut him off as you opened the door. He laughed seeing your proud face. “Come in.”

“Coffee?”

“Actually��yeah. I’d like a coffee,” he answered, yawning.

“Had trouble sleeping?” you asked. 

He nodded. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He felt how the silence almost swallowed the room and how your eyes never left his. Only then did he realize what he said. 

“I–uh-I m-mean ab-about the things… y-yeah about the things you said yesterday w-when you talked about painting an-and your passion and your–uh… like making sure the fire that dances within you stays lit,” he was rambling.

You let out a giggle. Deep inside, you were struggling not to blush. “I understand. You know, if you want me to stop saying deep things about life and other stuff, just tell me.”

He was quick to raise his hand, as if stopping you from doing something idiotic. “Oh no. Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop saying things that are so deep that it makes other people unable to sleep just thinking about them.”

“You make it sound like you don’t like it,” you chuckled as you turned your back on him to prepare his morning drink.

He shook his head. “Oh, I like it. I like it when you say things like that. It makes me double-think my life or just life in general. For the better.”

“Thanks. I don’t really have a lot of people to talk to so I can understand if you think I’m being too much.”

“You’re not being too much, I assure you that. You’re just wise… and I love that about you.”

You almost dropped the mug by turning almost instantly to face him. No one has appreciated you like that before, and it certainly felt good. You couldn’t stop—and didn’t want to stop—the smile that formed on your lips.

Click.

You were out of words if you were being honest so you instead chose to ask why he took a picture of you just then. “What was that for? The picture? I wasn’t even painting.”

“It’s for memories… beautiful ones,” he winked and you swore you felt something in your stomach that you never felt before. Oh, this can’t be happening.

“Um–anyway, here’s your coffee,” you said as you handed him the drink. You quickly changed the topic. “I was thinking maybe we should continue doing our paintings? You continue yours and I continue mine. If you need my help or you have any questions, just tell me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

This was harder than Peter expected it to be. There were so many colors to choose from. How could he know what were the right colors to use? This was his first painting and he was being mentored by an incredible painter. He wanted this to be good. He wanted to impress you.

“You could always start with orange or yellow,” you said as you noticed him struggling.

“I feel like I need a reference just to know where the orange starts to blend with yellow.”

“Okay,” you agreed with him. “The internet has a lot of pictures of the sunrise.”

“I know, but I kinda want my own?” he shrugged. “Those pictures are the sunrise from other people’s eyes that they took from their cameras. I want to know the color of the sunrise from my perspective, you know? It’s just that I just realized I’m doing a sunrise painting and I haven’t even seen the sun actually rise… I want to see it for myself and then take my own pictures of it while it happens. Maybe then I could connect more with my painting.”

You stopped painting as you stared at him, feeling extremely proud that you couldn’t help but grin. “You want to connect more with your painting?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it. Tomorrow, let’s meet up at the park early in the morning just before the sun rises. I’ll take you to my secret spot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m excited,” he smiled and you reciprocated it. He then picked up his camera again to take pictures of you.

By now, the background of your painting was finished. A white picket fence, on the back of it was a brick-walled house. A figure was in front, but it was yet to be painted on. The outline of the man was the only blank surface left on your canvas.

Click.

You were glad Peter still hadn't asked any questions about your painting.

DAY 4.

Different time, different place, different day.

You immediately saw Peter the moment you were close to the park. It wasn’t hard to spot him since it was early and not a lot of people roamed the place just yet—only the ones who jog there every day.

You didn’t notice him click his camera when you rushed towards him.

“Good morning!” Of course, he couldn’t forget about his daily greeting. In response, you greeted him back.

“And before you offer me coffee, I’d like to take you to my favorite coffee shop later. My treat. That is, of course, if you only want to.”

“I’d love to,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

You held his hand and Peter swore he felt some kind of electric shock. A shock that was so addicting he was willing to get electrocuted if it meant getting to hold you much longer. 

“We’re here,” you announced and Peter was suddenly brought back to earth. The ‘secret spot’ you mentioned was a little hill that was just a mile hike away from the park. The pathway entrance was covered with trees so it was concealed from most people. The view from up there was insanely breathtaking. He could clearly see the city bay and he was sure the sun would rise from where the city bay ended. You still held his hand and he assumed you just forgot you were holding it in the first place. There was no way you would hold his hand for this long.

You absolutely did not forget. But you didn’t do it on purpose either. See, the thing in your stomach that you felt yesterday always visited you whenever he was in your presence. For some reason, there was a need for your body to touch his, and as much as you tried to control it, there was no containing it. That was what happened. Your hand acted on its own and it didn’t want to let his hand go. It was kind of embarrassing and you just wished he didn’t mind it.

Oh, he didn’t mind it, that’s for sure. In fact, he was enjoying it. Although it was taking everything in him not to wrap his arm around your shoulders and keep you close.

“Look,” you pointed at the sun that was starting to peek from where the bay ended in your perspective. And there it was, the sun slowly and magnificently rising above the waters. As much as Peter didn’t want to let go of your hand, he needed both of his hands to capture the moment. You glanced at him as you wanted to watch his reaction to his first time witnessing the sunrise. And while his face was covered by his camera as he took a picture of the scene, you saw his lips form a peaceful smile. You found yourself looking back at the sun with the same peaceful smile on your lips.

You knew he was done taking pictures when the once-darkened place was brightened up by the star that was the sun. It was evident since he lowered the camera from his face and adjusted the strap to let it hang by his neck comfortably. What you didn’t know, though, was that before he put his camera down, he sneakily took a photo of your face joined by the hues of the sun.

“This is our secret spot now,” said Peter.

“Yup,” you laughed. “So, coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, offering his hand for you to take.

Peter brought you to a little cafe not far from the park, it was located near a library which you reminded yourself you would visit some other time in the future.

You were taking your last sip of coffee when you heard the familiar click of his camera. This time you actually posed a peace sign for the picture. Peter chuckled at this, and in return, it made you laugh as well. He seized the opportunity to take another picture.

Click.

“It's nice here… the staff, the view, the ambiance, the food, and of course, the coffee,” you commented.

“So, now you get why this is my favorite coffee shop?”

“Correction. This is our favorite coffee shop now.”

DAY 5.

The next day, you met up back at your studio apartment. After your usual morning greetings and coffees, both of you were busy doing your own paintings. You looked over at Peter, seeing him so focused on his painting. You suddenly had an idea. 

After one last stroke to complete the body of the faceless person you were painting, you stopped. You stood up and went to the table where Peter put his camera on. He didn’t notice you, he was too busy to even notice you standing. You carefully and quietly put the strap over your head and adjusted it to your comfort. You walked little steps towards him, positioning yourself just behind him where you could see his back as he worked on his painting on one of your easels. You adjusted your eye to the viewfinder and just when you found the perfect view, you clicked its shutter.

Click.

The familiar click of his camera forced his eyes to look away from his painting. He looked quizzically at you. When he realized what you were doing, he smiled widely as he carefully put his paintbrush in a brush holder.

“What are you doing?” he laughed. God, you loved his face when he laughed. You couldn’t resist clicking the shutter for the second time.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just continue what you’re doing. You’ll be the painter and I’ll be the photographer for today.”

Moments later, you probably had circled around Peter just to make sure you could capture every angle of him painting. He was smiling for most of them. 

“Am I even doing this right?” he asked, gesturing for you to look at his painting.

You stood beside the stool he was sitting on. “You’re doing great. But I think you should blend this area a little bit more,” you said, moving closer as you pointed out the area you were talking about. “And you might want to go softer on your brush.”

“Have I told you how attractive you are when you teach me these things?” he said suddenly.

That caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do so you just looked at him with an awkward smile. Peter didn’t know where his confidence came from, but all of a sudden, he dipped his pointer finger into the orange paint on his palette and smeared it on your cheek. Your mouth widened with shock but you immediately did the same thing to him. And so, you two had a full-on fight which ended up with both your clothes and faces covered with colorful paints. 

“Oh, I have to take pictures of this,” he stated before running to the sink and washing his hands so he could hold his camera and not worry about smearing paint on it.

He got back quickly, asking you to do silly poses as he took your pictures. You did the same to him, instructing him to do ridiculously funny poses when you took his pictures. After a while, he set the camera down on a table facing the two of you and set it on a timer so he could take photos of both of you together. You two were having so much fun that none of you even cared or noticed that some of the poses you did were both of you being too close to each other’s bodies. 

That was how the day went for the two of you. Covered with paint and indelible memories with each other.

And maybe even growing feelings towards one another.

DAY 6.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Your painting fully dried overnight,” you said excitedly as you opened the door for him. “Would you like to see it?”

“Well–good morning to you too,” he giggled. “Actually, can I go to the bathroom first? I really need to pee.”

“Oh-yes, of course,” you smiled, letting him inside. “It’s up there in the loft beside the bed. It’s the only bathroom so it’s not hard to find.”

As Peter went to pee, you decided to find a painting of yours similar to his sunrise. You were thrilled to show it to him.

You held your painting behind your back as Peter exited the bathroom and went to see his finished painting. “You can touch it,” you reminded him when you saw how his fingers hesitated to touch the canvas in fear of ruining what he’d done. He finally touched it, picking it up with his hand and stroking the piece of art with the other as he admired it. He did this. With his hands.

“It’s beautiful,” you commented. “You seem to be a natural. It doesn’t look like it was your first time. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, I had the best mentor, so…” he smirked. “But in all honesty, thank you so much. For introducing me to painting, for teaching me how to paint, for your wise words—everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said before remembering the piece of art behind your back. “I have something I want to show you. But I’m getting tired just standing, so let’s sit on the couch.”

Once you both settled on the couch, you showed him your painting of the sunset. You put it side by side with his sunrise and it created a perfect contrast together. The same sun, taken from the same secret spot on top of that little hill, but at different times of the day.

“Unbelievable. They’re almost the same,” he whispered, wonder-struck. “May I ask why you painted a sunset?”

“I painted this during one of the hardest days in my life. Why a sunset? A sunset because it reminds me that even though the day is hard, there is an end to the day. A sunset… because it represents the opportunity to rest. It reminds me that if the sun can rest after a tiring day, then there is nothing wrong with closing your eyes for even just a moment.”

He looked at you with deep understanding. “Why did you paint a sunrise?” you asked.

“I’ve always known that a sunrise meant the start of another day. But only when I started to paint it and connect with it did I realize that there is more to that. Why a sunrise? A sunrise because it reminds me that another day isn’t only another ‘day’. It’s also another chance to live and take risks. A sunrise… because it represents the opportunity to start again. It reminds me that if the sun could come back up after a long dark night, then I can too.”

Your eyes glistened with tears as he said those words but you didn’t let him see it. Art really was a voice that spoke beyond thoughts and words. Those paintings weren’t just paintings, they were experiences. Your sunset was a symbol of rest—what you have always wanted to have after all those years. His sunrise was a symbol of hope—what he was searching for for the longest time.

You ended up framing the paintings and hanging them on your wall beside each other. Together, they created the most beautiful contrasting artwork. The two paintings became one—it was like they were always meant to be beside each other.

Click.

“You know, I went through the photos you took while I was painting. They’re really good. The angles? they’re perfect. If you ever want to change careers, just tell me,” he joked.

“I think I’ll stick to painting,” you chuckled. “But thank you, I mean, I had a great mentor so that’s probably why the photos turned out good.”

“You mean me? I didn’t even teach you as far as I can remember.”

“Well, not literally. But when you take pictures, I observe you and the ways you hold the camera. So, I definitely got my ‘skill’ from you,” you admitted.

“You observe me?”

You noticed his lips slowly form a smirk and only then did you realize what you just revealed. “Uhh-let’s not m-make it a big d-deal,” you nervously laughed, feeling the anxiety creep up on you. You never knew how to deal with social situations like this. When things went awkward or you didn’t know what to say, you ran. Hence why you never had a long-time friend. Peter was the only one you lasted this long with.

“I was just teasing you,” he smiled, stroking your arms with his hands to calm you down. You didn’t know how he knew you were slightly panicking on the inside. But somehow, he did. And then he smiled at you with the softest and most caring smile you’d ever seen and suddenly the anxiety and the panic shifted into a feeling of comfort.

You had never felt like this before.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and almost in an instant, the once bright day outside your windows turned into a dark night.

Time really did fly when you were with someone you loved.

Loved.

None of you would admit it yet, but it was definitely there.

“It’s time for me to go…” he announced.

Before he could fully stand up and start to make his way to the door, you held his wrist to stop him. He looked at you with confusion, but the glint in his eyes said a lot more—he hoped you would ask him to stay.

And that you did.

“You can stay here tonight…” you whispered. “Only if you want to, of course.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” he softly asked, glancing at your hand that held his wrist before looking at you again.

“Yes.”

DAY 7.

Different time, same place, different day.

Peter woke up earlier than usual and yet he felt that the sleep he had taken was the most satisfying he ever had. Why? Well, it was because he slept next to you.

Let’s take a few steps back…

Yesterday night when Peter was about to leave, you insisted on letting him stay. He offered to take the couch but you felt guilty that you were about to sleep on a soft mattress while he would sleep on an old couch downstairs so you told him that it was fine if he slept next to you on your bed. He was hesitant because he respected your boundaries but eventually you were able to come to an agreement to put a pillow in between both of you to not make things awkward. None of you knew how it happened, but when you woke up, the pillow was moved to the floor and your hand and his were almost touching. It seemed like your bodies naturally gravitated towards each other—but of course, none of you would admit that. At least not yet.

He quietly made his way down to where you were painting, careful not to disturb you. He grabbed the camera along the way. He would never get tired of capturing photos of you while painting—you were a master of arts in one of their truest forms. You were sitting on a stool with an easel in front. 

He pulled the camera close to his face, aligning his good eye with the viewfinder. He adjusted the lens, zooming it in your hand that held a really old—it seemed to be your favorite—paintbrush. But before he could click the shutter, he noticed how your hands were shaking as you stared at the painting. He immediately put down his camera and stared at it as well and only then did he realize that you haven’t made any progress on your painting today. The painting was almost complete, the only thing missing was the face of the man in the middle. Up until now, he was still faceless.

“You know, this is the longest it’s taken me to paint a person,” you said, feeling his presence behind you. “It’s just a face. Why is it so hard?” you sighed with shaking lips. You were battling the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes.

For the first time ever, he didn’t know how to reply.

“No–don’t answer that,” you let out a breathy laugh, but there was pain underneath. “That was a rhetorical question. Of course, I know why it’s so hard.”

With shaking hands that you tried so hard to steady, you started coloring the face with a skin tone color that matched the rest of the man’s body.

One stroke.

He didn’t know what to say, but hopefully, he knew what to do. Peter moved beside you, intertwining his right hand with your left as you painted with your right. 

Two strokes.

You felt him squeeze your hand, doing his best to comfort you.

Three strokes.

Painting the structure of the face was done. Now onto the details of the face.

You closed your eyes, trying to dig up the memories you had with this man. But it was hard since the man you were painting only stayed for a little while in your life. 

You opened your eyes, picking out a thin paintbrush that was perfect for little details. You started with the lips.

One stroke.

Peter’s presence was giving you not only comfort but courage as well.

Two strokes.

And then another.

The pinkish-red lips stared at you from the painting. You let out a breath. Next was the nose.

You picked up your pencil to draw some lines for a little bit. You only did some to serve as your guide. Next, you cleaned the thin paintbrush before dipping it in another color—black. 

One stroke.

You followed the lines you drew. But they were just lines, you have to paint the details to actually make the nose specific from the rest.

Two strokes.

And then you did some shadows with the outlines to blend them with the skin. It was done.

“I think I’ll continue later,” you sighed sadly, squeezing his hand. “I need to take a breather. S-sorry this is hard for me.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, squeezing your hand back. “Do you want me to join you?” he softly asked.

“No-I want to be alone for a moment,” you smiled to show him you appreciated his concern. 

He watched you leave and was alone for a moment. He glared at the painting, wondering what this person could have done to hurt you this much. How could someone even hurt the most precious person to ever walk on earth?

He heard the door open loudly, making him turn immediately. You were at the other side of the door, looking up at him with your eyes red evidently from crying. He walked past everything—the table and the clutter on the floor—hastily just so he could hug you.

He carefully closed the door as you leaned into him. Your body was weak due to repressed emotions now releasing all at once. He noticed your knees slowly giving up and he guided both of you to sit on the floor.

The camera, the photos, the paintbrush, the painting—all were forgotten the moment he wrapped his arms around you. He cradled your face with his hands, brushing your cheek and wiping your tears.

“I’m a mess,” you said, sniffing.

“You’re beautiful,” he responded, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he cooed.

“Will it help?”

“I think so. But it’s still up to you,” he replied honestly. 

You nodded. “I know you have questions, ask them.”

“Who’s the man in the painting?”

“My father. Or at least what I remember of him.”

His back was resting on the wall as you leaned into his side, his arm was still wrapped around you.

“And the house in the background, is that your family’s house?”

“It’s the orphanage. I spent my whole childhood there. That’s where I grew up.”

“Did he visit you there?”

“No,” you laughed painfully. “Remember what I told you before? That the best thing about painting is that I can paint whatever I want to see or happen? That painting is one of them.”

He was listening intently. He didn’t want to say anything because he knew that you didn’t want any advice at the moment, you just wanted a listener.

“I never met my mother. The caregivers at the orphanage told me she died when she birthed me. When I asked them how I got there they told me about my father. He took care of me for 4 months, and then I think his heart broke whenever he saw my face because I looked a lot like my mother. It came to a point where he couldn’t look at me or care for me anymore so he put me in that orphanage. I guess the heartbreak was bigger than the joy that I brought. 

“I always imagined him visiting me, getting me out of that place, and bringing me home. But that didn’t happen. So I coped with drawing and painting. Until now, I still wonder what could’ve happened if he came back for me… hence why I’m doing the painting.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?” he asked.

“I only had one. It was a picture of my parents at their wedding. I used to stare at it every day until I lost it and I would never forgive myself for being so careless back then. The last time I held that picture and stared at it was when I was 7. It’s been too long and I can’t seem to remember his face that much.”

“Is that why it’s so hard for you to paint his face?”

“Yes. But also because of the realization that my wishes only come true in my paintings. I wanted him to come back for me or at least visit me. I didn’t get that visit, so I’m getting it in the painting.”

“Have you tried looking for him?”

You nodded. “Of course. But you can’t find who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Did you at least have any people who cared for you like a parent?” he asked, sympathy evident in his expression.

“I had this one particular caregiver who made me experience what it was like to have a mother. She was the one who gave me my first paintbrush and painting set. She was the one who made me discover that I had a talent for drawing and painting.

“But she didn’t stay for long because she had to leave the orphanage permanently to take care of her own family. She told me something happened and she had to take care of a little boy.”

Peter’s face furrowed from the familiarity of that exact situation, but he let it slide eventually. This was your story, this wasn’t about him.

“I have some questions for you too,” you chuckled. Tears were no longer falling on your face. Peter was right again. Indeed, talking about your past helped.

“Shit. Do I have to get nervous?” he joked.

“It depends on what your answers are gonna be,” you joked back. “How did you get your camera? Did you buy it or is it from someone you look up to?”

“The answer is the latter. I had a teacher once in high school, he wasn’t a professional photographer but we shared the same interests. I remember the first time he stepped into the room to teach English but instead of focusing on him the first thing I noticed was his DSLR camera. It was kept and hidden in a bag but I know a camera bag when I see one. I think, over time, he noticed I was always glancing at his camera that one day he called me to stay after his class and gave it to me. He told me that I needed it more.”

“Were you two close?” you asked.

“We were, yeah.” 

“Where is he now?”

“He died a year ago. He’s gone now but I still treasure every lesson he’s taught me.”

“And your parents?”

“They died when I was 4 from a plane crash. Since then, I stayed with my aunt before she was gone too.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. I feel comfortable around you—the heavy things don’t feel as heavy anymore.”

Silence surrounded the apartment, calming the two of you as you held each other. No one needed to speak at the moment, just you in his arms were enough.

Day almost turned into night and you finally stood up.

“You don’t have to finish it today,” he said as he noticed you staring at the painting anxiously.

“I know. But I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Then I’ll be there with you.”

He walked towards you and intertwined his hand with yours. 

“Thank you.”

Together, you walked until you were in front of the easel again. He picked up the paintbrush and held it in front of you. He gave you an encouraging look and you smiled as you took the brush with courage.

“Here we go.”

You did the eyebrows first, it didn’t take you as long as you did when you did the nose and lips. 

The eyes.

The hardest part because the eyes were what looked into the soul.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Three strokes.

You weren’t shaking anymore.

Four strokes.

Five strokes.

“You can do it,” Peter encouraged.

Six strokes.

Seven Strokes.

“You’re doing great,” his hand held yours tighter.

The last stroke.

You did it. You painted your father. You remembered his face. And above all, you painted him in front of the orphanage, coming back to get you.

You smiled. 

Peter stiffened beside you. His eyes widened as he looked at your father in the painting. 

“Peter?” you called his name.

He stayed unmoving.

“Pete? Are you okay?”

“That’s him…” he pointed at your father.

You were confused. “Who?”

“My teacher in high school. The one I told you about. The one who gave me my camera,” he collected his camera from the table. “The one who gave me this.”

You were speechless and shocked to the core. “Are you sure?”

“It makes sense now,” he continued. “He once told me in our conversations that the greatest mistake he’d ever made was leaving something he loved because he was so scared he would never be deserving of it.”

You didn’t know what to feel.

“But now I realize, he wasn’t talking about a ‘thing’, he was talking about someone. You.”

“Did he try to come back for me?” you asked, curious but you weren’t hopeful.

“I-I don’t know… I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” you sniffed, wiping your cheeks. Funny, you weren’t even sure when the tears started to cascade down on them.

“You mentioned your teacher died last year, right? That means he’s…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he softly spoke, even his eyes couldn’t help but tear up slightly.

“It’s not your fault. Besides, he wasn’t even there for me for most of my life. It’s fine,” you reasoned, telling him it was all good but another tear still slipped from your eye.

He hugged your side and stayed like that for a good while as he tried to think of another subject to talk about to keep you from hurting any longer. His eyes caught the brush holder and focused on an old paintbrush that you use almost every time. It seemed to be your favorite. The marks on the wooden handle told him the age of the brush; the bristles that were still intact and usable told him just how much you take care of your art supplies. 

“That paintbrush… you use it every time, is that your favorite?” he already knew the answer but he still asked just to distract you.

You didn’t need to follow where his eyes were looking or ask him anything, you already knew the brush he was talking about. “Yes, it is my favorite. Remember when I told you I had this caregiver in the orphanage that gave me my first painting set and paintbrush?” you said before picking up the brush. “This is the paintbrush.”

“You must’ve taken good care of it all these years,” he commented. 

“I did. It’s special and it holds a lot of good memories.”

“What’s your favorite memory?” he asked, interested.

“Me as a little kid doing my first painting with my caregiver. She was encouraging me every step of the way.”

“What’s her name?”

“May.”

His eyes widened with realization. He remembered asking his aunt what her job was before she took him in after the incident that killed his parents. She had told him she was a caregiver at an orphanage. But the city is wide and big, it never occurred to him that that orphanage was the same one you were from.

“May Parker,” he breathed out.

You looked at him. “Yes! That’s her–I forgot her last name but that’s her. Do you know her?”

“She’s my aunt.”

Now everything made sense and all the why’s were answered. No wonder why you felt a sense of familiarity the first time he put his camera down and you saw his face. No wonder why your heart jumped when you learned his name. May Parker… Peter Parker… holy shit. How come you didn’t notice that before? 

“You’re the little boy she always talked about. Her little nephew who loved taking pictures so much,” you said, eyes once again starting to tear up.

“And you’re the little painter girl she always mentioned,” he smiled. “She promised me she would introduce me to you but life got busy and that never happened.”

“But look at us now. I guess fate still found its way to introduce us to each other,” you stated softly.

Peter once again cradled your face with his hands, slowly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“That day I met you at the park, I was at my ending point with photography. That day, I was determined to find the last project worthy of my dying passion. Then I met you. And in just a matter of days, I knew you, and it changed my life,” he started.

“You taught me lessons about art and life. You gave me something I’ve been trying to get back for a long time—hope. 

“Above all, you made me remember why I even started taking pictures. You made me realize my purpose. I know now that I never lost the flame, the candle just stopped burning. But you… you rekindled it and suddenly it was back again… and it’s stronger and hotter than ever.

“Now, I can admit, to anyone and myself, I love photography. This is my passion. It’s not just the flame… but the fire within me that sways with the wind.”

He felt your hands gently wrap around his wrists as he continued caressing your face. “Oh, Peter…” you whispered.

“T-there is something beyond words that I feel for you. I-I don't know how to properly say it but I’m still gonna try,” he whispered back. “You’re not just the muse of my favorite pictures, you are my camera. Without you, I’m unable to reach my full potential. You’re the perfect angle I’ve always wanted to find. And now that I’ve found you… everything makes sense. The blank spaces in my heart and in my life aren’t blank anymore because your name is now written all over them.”

You moved closer so your forehead could touch his. “And you, Peter… are the colors that I paint on my canvases. The sunrise to my sunset. Ever since you came, the meaningless life I had before became meaningful.”

Silence surrounded you for a moment. Your foreheads were still touching while both your eyes were closed. Tears stained both your cheeks as the two of you couldn’t stop crying out of adoration and love for each other.

“All the ones who guided us are gone now,” you breathed out.

He placed a long kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“From now on, it’s only you and I.”

After uncovering the past and embracing the present, you were looking forward to the future.

It truly was amazing how art could connect people together.

The hopeless photographer was once again hopeful;

The restless painter wasn’t exhausted anymore.

And soon the two of you would realize that the love you shared was a testament of…

Interlacing fates,

Intertwining lines,

and

Connecting arts.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 ​ @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog

me, as the author, connecting with the story through writing is further proof of how art connects us all together. i can only hope that i wrote this well so that you can connect with it too through reading. thank you all for being patient, this is for all of you.

[bloogers-boogers]

Forbidden Power AU. This AU focuses on Michael, it's the end of all Creation, all thanks to Lucifer's Spawn. Michael's final attempt to fix everything is to Disturb their father Only To Discover that his father is dead and has been dead for what looks like years there is still hope his father may be dead but his Authority can still be used... All angels authorities are held in Halos and God is no exception... Michael has a halo So he can go back and fix everything... The issue is the darkness in his heart, his Desire for the First man... Originally he was going to leave Almost everything unchanged...but this is an Opportunity he never did get or never should have had...can he stay on the noble path...ya No Michael has bin the good boy all his Existence and he will continue to be the good boy But he will be so when it comes to Adam and make Adam Exactly how he wants him to be

Hopefully this ask is for me and not mistaken for another blog shsiwbdjiwe do not get me wrong I love the guitarhero ship but I haven't posted anything about them aside from the drawing I made for @/ironbatpaperturtle (and my adamsapple fic) so I have a feeling that maybe this ask wasn't for me 😭

I should tho... like write more of them cause ngl I really like them together but my whole view on those two is far different than @/ironbatpaperturtle's Michael and Adam ahdjendiw

BUT if this anon is for me then I appreciate you for sharing me your au whdjwkdjdwoek 💖 now, with all that said let me proceed on actually answering you.

Omygod. Okay first, I think the God being dead for the longest period is such an interesting concept I read something similar like this before in a fic (adamsapple) called 'the devil you know /by anglotron' so I like it, kinda explains why angels would be put in so much work (do drastic choices) if God isn't there to guide them and solve things for them or just get involved but I also love the concept of him not giving a f*ck shjsiahdwiwbs after Lucifer's fall/betrayal he was just left hopeless for anything; his most "perfect creation" (Adam) corrupted by evil and then his most "perfect angel" turned out to have been the one to bring said corruption. (he may still care for Michael and Jesus tho but like it's hard for him to care about the rest) and letting all his children figure it out themselves (poor Sera), like, I can picture him just as depressed like Lucifer in the show issisofksos but unlike him who copes with making ducks, God just lays in the couch mopping about how disappointed in humanity he is and how "perfect" everything was before he planted the damn apple on earth, while he bosses Michael and maybe Metatron too (tho with him he's a lot more harsher bc he was previously human and he's kinda just bitter about them in general, but he's proven his worth enough) around to bring him shit like ice cream or junk food (tho he could easily just summoned all those things he subconsciously just wants company and Michael is there to bring it to him the only angel that has not yet disappointed/maintain loyal to him). So yeah.

Anyways — I still like the concept of God actually being dead. Like when you say Michael has a halo do you meant like he holds on to God's halo? Cause that's kinda cool af, imagine him just holding on to the halo of God (maybe even pitifully hopeful their father would return 'saving it for him') so he just has the halo on him and everyone just "oh shit this motherfucker really could just end it all if he wanted to" but Michael just doesn't cause 'with great power holds big responsibility' type of mentality and I think it'd be funny if Lucifer confronts heaven and is in a determined search for Michael to provoke him and remind him he's still the most perfect of all God's creation (mosty just salty as hell bc Michael cast him to hell lmao) and then when he finds Michael he like comes up with a taunting comment about how bad heaven turned out to be Yada Yada that neither realm is perfect or better than the other, and BAM suddenly his eyes drifted to Michael's head and recognizes the halo.

"Is that—...!"

"Yeah," Michael simply states defeated in his chair, unfazed by his brother arrival, from all the chaos going on, his people being murder, just, done, "father's gone, Lucifer."

So they just stare at eochother in silence, Lucifer with a stunned almost hurt expression and Michael with a nonchalant one. After the realization hitting him like a truck Lucifer realizes there was no end to the chaos released to all realms after Charlie unintentionally brought it to them if God wasn't there to fix it all...

Fear overwhelming him now cause he was kinda chilled out about the whole thing knowingly God would have to intervene soon because heaven was also being attacked by evil- but now realizing he's dead, it like hits him hard, mostly worried for his daughter's fate more than anything else.

Then, another thing hits him, "wait! What aren't you doing anything?! You can fix this, Michael! You have father's power, we can-"

Michael lifts his hand to signal him to stop, "I'm not planning to do anything."

"WHAT?!! Do you realize your people are also being attacked!"

"Your daughter brought this among ourselves, now, she must find her way to solve it."

"But she won't be-"

"Silence. If she was able to bring it to us then she's more than capable of putting it back. If not, that's no longer my problem"

"YOU-!"

"No, Lucifer," he stands up, the power of God emitting through his aura, the millions of eyes on him, big six graceful wings extended to show their full on glory, eyes bright like the intensity of a star. His voice was much more deeper and cold, distant, detached, "I lost everything because of your silly dream of free will, and now redemption. Look at where it lead us, prove me wrong this time, if it doesn't succeed then it was meant to be that way. Accept your fate.

I would create something new, something different. Something that won't betray its kind. No longer you existing. It will be perfect."

Lucifer felt so tiny now. That was no longer the brother he once knew. Not the caring, gentle, protective fiercely warrior that he once was.

Only filled with rage, grief and pain.

Michael... is dead too.

But anyways with all that, somehow lets say both Charlie and Lucifer mange to remind Michael of his love for the countless souls left at his hands to care and protect. And I dunno maybe a song too ahdhdiqgsjahsia and what gets the cake is Michael seeing Adam alive, behind the two, who somewhat stumble across their intervention in a 'bad timing'.

"Hey bitch you forgot your tampon— oh shit! Wrong room," Adam (now sinner) appears at the door oblivious of the whole deal.

"Adam!" Charlie shouted annoyed as they were already, almost, having a heartfelt moment between her father and Michael.

Michael eyes watered, "ADAM!" He pushes past Charlie and Lucifer who are now just confused as fuck seeing how Michael (filled with new growing hope) crushes Adam in a big hug with all the intensity of his power and somehow it was till so gentle and careful that it didn't kill Adam.

And the first man just there struggling to get loose while also suffocating.

Idk I just like Michael still having to be the hero even in circumstances where he doesn't want to. So the universe just grants him a purpose for he to keep following up God's title for him. If he wasn't gonna do shit because he lost Adam? Then BAM! Sinner Adam is now a thing so keep your ass moving Michael!

Michael now wants to fix things up to keep Adam safe; his new purpose (reason) on protecting heaven, his people and the countless souls God left him in charge with.

[burrowedhydra]

I think I have realized something absolutely vital when it comes to manifesting with a brain thats often feels "dysfunctional" due to disability or mental health issues and can make you feel alienated from other advice or the loassumption community in general.

Anything that is "holding you back" is a circumstance. And what do we know about circumstances? They dont matter.

You cannot keep your toughts in control bc you have adhd and keep getting distracted? You have autism and you don't know if you understood everything right or if there's some hidden feeling you have yet to look for? Circumstance. Doesn't matter. Whatever you did, counted in favor of your manifestation, even if something distracted you during your technique

You have BPD or severe trauma and spiral every time you think about your end goal? Nope, the bad thoughts didn't count, you did absolutely amazing.

You cannot even begin your techniques because of executive dysfunction? Who the hell needs techniques anyways! Every breath your lungs have taken since you learned about manifestation has done nothing else but take you closer and closer to your success story.

You have depression and cannot even keep a happy thought and feel it real even tho that's supposed to manifest? Nah. Not true. Whatever technique you did and mindset that you decided for with whatever effort, completely fucking worked.

You are overthinking the fact that you're overthinking and worried if mere worry will mess up your manifestation? Nope. Your unfavorable thoughts are a circumstance, they don't matter in manifestation.

Notice anything in your head that goes against your pure intention and call them what they are: circumstances, not negative, not positive, but insignificant to the outcome.

Im not saying this do downplay lived experience here. You are allowed to experience pain, but said pain does not have the ability to control your outcomes. They can hurt like hell, I know, but they messed up NOTHING IN YOUR PROGRESS. Your godself cannot be bound by the circumstance of flesh. I'm saying this to liberate you from the thought pattern that makes you think your circumstances are so unique that they surely have to matter. Nope, they don't . No mental health issue nor disability is holding you back. Literally nothing is. Not you "not doing it right". You are not born to just suffer through the 3d, even if the manifesting community forgets about your unique experience and feels a bit alienating because of it. You are doing it right. You are doing it perfectly. Congratulations.

Well done, sweetheart. You did well. Welcome back to your power, God.

May you use all that power for good.

[ur-boyfiend]

i thought we'd manage with words left unspoken

hi hello felix x reader angst bc i feel like it and to balance out the fluff i'm also writing rn lol

uhhh gn!reader, angst like i said, depression / depressive episode, felix is an idiot but he's trying, hurt / comfort, soft ending dw

wc; 875

there's a strange kind of melancholy in the air around you. the sky is a weak shade of grey, almost as if it can't manage enough care to turn a true stormy grey.

it's ironic, you're not sure if the weather matches your mood or if your mood matches the weather. either way, it's not a pleasant combination.

you almost wished that the sky would just open, turn to an actual storm, anything but this odd limbo state. it was fitting, and you didn't want it to be.

you were in your own limbo, you didn't need the world to be in limbo with you, didn't want anyone else to be stuck in the same space of uncertainty you found yourself in.

and yet, as you sit by the window of your apartment, the sky is blank. you refocus on your reflection instead of the world outside, your expression as blank as the sky.

you try to remember the last time you'd felt anything really, anything besides this crushing apathy. and every memory leads back to him.

lee felix. your best friend, or who used to be at least. he'd stopped talking to you, apologized again and again because he hadn't just ghosted you, he told you that he needed space. you think you would've preferred him ghosting you.

you know that he doesn't want to hurt you, he never wanted to hurt you, and in a way, he hasn't. you can't feel hurt if you don't feel anything in the first place.

you'd always half-expected this to happen, he was the sun in human form, and you often wondered why he'd stuck around so long. after all, you might as well have been a black hole. but felix had balanced you out, he made things brighter, and you kept him grounded when he needed it.

you're not entirely sure how long you've been staring out the window, but there are clouds in the sky again. if the weather is reflecting your mood, you figure the clouds can only be memories. they drift across the sky, lingering just a bit too long, but there's nothing you can do to make them dissipate.

you only return to your body again instead of some place in the sky when you hear a knock on your apartment door. you ignore it, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting to remember what having someone there for you felt like.

but when you hear a key turning in the lock, any uncertainty solidifies into a solid mass of dread pressing down on your chest, crushing your lungs. you know full well that only one person besides you has a key to your apartment, and you curse yourself for not trying to get it back.

because if there was anyone you didn't want to see right now, it was the person currently opening the door. he looks almost as bad as you, and your throat tightens at the sight. you wish you didn't care, wish you could tell him to leave again, tell him that you didn't want to see him right now, no matter how much you needed to.

for a few long seconds you both look at each other across the apartment, the only light coming from the windows and the pale grey day.

"felix," it's all you can get out before tears threaten to fall, and you hide your face in your hands. you wish that it didn't matter so much to you, that he didn't matter so much to you.

a moment later you're being wrapped in a hug, and he's rubbing your back, mumbling countless "sorry"s into your hair. as soon as you feel his arms around you you let yourself break, feel yourself shatter in a way you'd been so close to since he left, but always managed to avoid with the knowledge that there'd be nobody to pick up the pieces.

you hope that he'll stay long enough to pick up the pieces.

when you can breathe again, you lift your head to meet his eyes. neither of you speak, afraid to break the fragile connection, afraid that if anything else breaks you may not be able to fix it.

leaning further into him, you try to figure out how to put everything into words.

"i missed you," is what you finally say, and hope that he knows you care, no matter how much you struggle to communicate.

he hugs you tighter, like he's scared you'll fade away if he lets go.

"i missed you too, i'm sorry y/n, i was an idiot."

you manage a small laugh, "yeah, you were."

"hey! you're not supposed to agree with me!"

"but it's true!"

he huffs, making you laugh again.

you hate yourself for a second, for how easily you welcomed felix back into your life, but it's not like you'd never done something stupid when feeling overwhelmed. and you both needed the other, you'd known that from the first time you'd met.

almost as if the universe was confirming something to you, the grey sky brightens into a bright blue, the melancholy clouds reorganizing into cottony white ones.

leaning further into felix, you smile slightly, hoping that this time the sun would stay.

[mixedcontents]

Thinking about how Alan and Alice love each other so much and what they're willing go go through for each other. Alan willingly being trapped in the dark place to get Alice out all his fighting for her and Alice willingly sacrificing herself in the second game knowing she'll be going to the dark place despite her absolute terror of the dark and her wanting to see and capture Alan/Scratch so badly she was willing to make so much of their apartment dark so he'd show up and her depression and grief so bad she probably would have succumbed to it had it not been for Barry who she did not like at all til after she got to know him truly without her husband and Barry loved Alan so much even though he went to hell and back he tried pretending it wasn't real and a reaction to the trauma of losing Alan and he spent the time since protecting and continuing Alan's work (being turned into shows/movies) and yet spent so much of his time caring for Alice in her grief despite his own saving her pulling her out of that darkness until she was able to pull herself out and stand on her own and yet even from across the country busy with Alan's work and meetings to get it perfect so Alan would be proud and happy with it were he there Barry still checks in with Alice daily and is gonna come back at the drop of a hat should she not reply for one day just all the love there and in the dark place we see Alan loving Alice wanting to get back to her and that's reflected a lot in the graffiti but also we see Barry there to like Wheeler Street and whatnot and then Saga and her grandfather and grand uncle and despite not knowing them feeling that connection and coming to love them they do everything to try to help and protect her walking into the dark place themselves her love for her daughter and husband her love for Alex Casey just it may be a horror story but at its heart Alan Wake is really a love story and it has been one of my favorite games since I played the first one and American Nightmare when they first came out 13ish years ago I was finishing up high school and so in love with the game for it's story and characters and unique and incredible game play and I desperately wanted all my friends to play and love it too and i desperately wanted more and then alan wake 2 was worth the wait and not knowing we'd ever have a sequel and then some it took what made the first game incredible and the love the fans had and the story and introduced new mechanics and characters and just built upon what made the first game incredible and more and I love it so much I was going through a really rough time and I was spending most of my time in bed trying to sleep the pain away and my depression getting bad bc i was unable to physically do anything and my mom was getting really worried about me as we waited for my specialist appointments (my mri for my knee is tomorrow finally!) And so I was like what can I do to convince myself to at least get out of bed and sit up for a while so i splurged and bought a ps5 earlier than planned just so i could play Alan Wake 2 cause it was the one thing I really wanted to do little did I know that the game would become the reason for getting out of bed excited for a new day and that it would help keep my own darkness (depression due to chronic pain and injury) at bay truly both games hold special places in my heart and mind for both what they are but also what they mean to me for the horrible things i was going through when playing them for the first time and the way they brought so much light and joy to my life may be a bit silly sounding to some but it means the world to me I truly am excited to play the dlc lake house when it comes out and I'm excited to see where Sam Lake goes next be it Alan Wake or new games I know I'll be happy to play em 💜💛🧡❤️

[turbulentscrawl]

Poly Potential (IDV x Reader)

These are just my personal musings on some potential x reader polyships with the IDV characters. Some characters, in my opinion, would be okay with it only in specific dynamics.

(I’m fine with writing poly that goes against these HCs and, as an extra note, Ada and Emil have a ridiculously unhealthy relationship so I’m 100% good to do xreader stuff where they’re not together.) I’ll likely remake this later, when I’m familiar with more characters.

Using Luchino's header bc I havent had a chance to yet

Characters who I think are poly themselves:

Luchino (Hunter&Survivor)

I think this one is pretty self-explanatory. Most reptiles aren’t monogamous, and Luchino has other things to concern himself with than being his partner’s only source of affection and vice versa. He doesn’t really care who else you spend your time with and expects the same courtesy in return. As long as you respect the plans you make together, there’s no issue.

Fiona

I’m not sure about the extent of her eldritch worship, but I think her focus on that makes her a more open to atypical relationship dynamics and a less open to hard legal commitments like marriage. Poly works out well for that particular combo.

Patricia

She just strikes me that way? She yearns for a sense of belonging, and having multiple lovers means multiple “homes” for her heart. She’s a bit picky about her partners, though.

Some situational poly opportunities:

Norton x Naib x Reader Triad

Norton and Naib get one another on a level they don’t even have to voice. They’re kinda in their own little bubble away from reality and, while I think they’d both be okay sharing the other with a 3rd party, they’d both strongly prefer to like the same person. That way you would also be in their bubble rather than one of them stepping out. This triad would work best if you’re more laid back. Norton has to step away when his personality swings, and Naib does his own thing behind the scenes, so there will be times when neither can hang around. Don’t let that make you doubt their love, though.

Wu Chang x Reader…Triad?

This one is pretty depressing because I think Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were lovers before, but they can’t have direct contact anymore. That said, they are aware of one another’ presence and have implicit trust in one another. So if one of them fell for you, there’s a very good chance the other would fall for you too, and they have no issues sharing. It’s both sweet and sad because you’d be important to them both as a lover, and as a messenger for them to speak again.

Luca x Reader x Victor

This one’s pretty straightforward, I think. They have a good rapport with one another, and are generous about sharing. They’re also both pretty straightforward communicators—though Victor may take a bit longer to address things—so any jealousy issues can be easily resolved. There’s room for this to be a triad, as well.

Reader x Emil x Ada

This set up would be very difficult to get into, and more than a tad hostile. Emil loves Ada, and he very much could love another, but Ada is possessive and controlling. This would only work if you had an established friendship with Ada before you met Emil, AND if you were susceptible to her manipulation. This is the only way she trusts you enough to let you around Emil—she knows you’ll accept her guidelines for not interfering with their ‘treatment progress’—and then Emil develops feelings quickly because you already have a rapport with Ada and you must be as nice as she is. This could potentially be a triad, but it somehow gets even more unhealthy that way as Ada’s laser-focus for Emil would leave you to be neglected by her a lot.

Joker x Reader x Margaretha

Under normal circumstances, I don’t think either of these two are willing to share a partner. But since they both still have feelings for one another on some level, they can understand why you would too. there’s potential for this to become a triad as well, if you’re a good enough wingman and can convince Margaretha to stop burying her feelings so much.

Edgar x Reader x Frederick

Under normal circumstances they’d both prefer you be exclusive with them, but there’s a unique exception when it comes to each other. They both think their respective art mediums are superior to others, and strive to reach perfection in their work. While they don’t share appreciation for the same art form, they respect one another’s discernment and tenacity. And, clearly, you have wonderful taste to have picked them both out. This set of relationships works in the long-run too, as Frederick is concerned with appearances, reputation, and family names, so he would want to marry. Edgar doesn’t care nearly as much about such things, and is content to be in your life without a ring and a vow involved.

Kevin x Reader x Emily, Fiona, or Patricia

It’s a bit of a mixed bag here, as I think each of the three ladies have different likelihoods of engaging in poly relationships, but Kevin is the more important element here. He would be okay with having a poly partner, but only if the other partner(s) was a woman. He’s too competitive with other men, and it would turn toxic if left to fester. Additionally, one of these three women would be best because he’d feel weird if your other partner was too much younger than him.

Characters who would never, under ANY circumstances, be okay with you having more partners:

Ithaqua

He. Does not. Share. This guy is as close as it gets to yandere that I’m willing to write, and he really toes the line.

Freddy

Let’s be honest, he’s just a bad person. He’s possessive and will do anything to keep you all to himself. If you’re very charismatic (or very gullible) he might be convinced long enough for you to get another partner…but then get toxic. He will go out of his way sabotage your other partner(s) just like he did Leo. And he WILL do his best to make it look like everyone but him is the issue to convince you to give up polyamory forever.

Andrew

You could convince him to let you have another partner, but it would doom your relationship. Andrew’s insecurities would eventually get the best of him, and he would break up with you, unable to take seeing you with someone “better” while he gets “strung along like a fool.”

Anne

She’s too untrusting of people now. Loving one person enough to overcome the betrayals she’s suffered is already remarkable for her, but loving more than one, or loving someone who has other lovers that might be scheming behind her back is too large of a trauma-based roadblock for her to overcome.

[starofhisheart]

This scene in s2 w Ed and Frenchie

Parallels with this scene w Ed and Izzy from s1

(Had to snip a part out so it would fit but at first Izzy denies and then he actually tries, albeit begrudgingly.)

I always thought the scene with Izzy was showing how disconnected the pair are and while I still think that, the s2 scene shines new light on that original interaction. Where Izzy is trying to understand his boss, Frenchie doesnt even try and only denies. This is understandable ofc with everything Ed has put him and his friends through but its just interesting how they chose to parallel the scenes. Here, Frenchie has just become first mate and its almost like Ed hopes he'll be a sort of Izzy stand-in or at least falls back on his usual rapport with his first mate. But Frenchie is not Izzy. And this parallel highlights that.

I've had theories about how Ed sees Izzy and s2 has given us so much food for thought. When Izzy directly asks him "Who am I to you?" Ed softly says "what", like he's not even sure himself. The look on his face is blank but almost imploring and unsure. Izzy is just...Izzy. Friend? Lover? Thats too complicated and yet not as complicated as their relationship with each other. Izzy has clearly thought about it but has Ed? They've been together for so long ("I've been cleaning up your messes my whole fucking life.") without communicating their feelings. Bc thats what pirates do right? They dont have time for soft things like feelings.

But then Ed goes off and finds a new lover unlike any of his others and Izzy panics. Stede is a threat to their way of life, unsafe-at least thats how Izzy sees it-and then its over and Ed is breaking, depressed and then pretending to be ok

TW: suicide discussion

-and to speak on that specific point some more, I subscribe to the belief that post Lucius-talk-Ed where he's planning music shows, etc is not him coping healthily. We see this paralleled in s2 where after Izzy is "dead" Ed puts his hair up, starts cleaning and seems "chipper". But then we know he's planning to kill himself and everyone on board that same day. So this whole charade feels...macabre. He's getting his affairs in order in preparation for the big deed. Depression CAN look like this too.

When Izzy confesses he has love for Ed he says it haltingly, like its hard to even get the words out, like he's never said anything like this before (and he probably hasn't). And the words he chooses too. Instead of "I love you" he says "I have love for you". Its like he's saying after everything, all the pain and heartache, I still have love for you. But Ed refuses to, can't hear what Izzy is saying, and dismisses his confession. Perhaps he thinks this is a ploy too. After all he's unlovable right?

But we know from later scenes that Ed does love Izzy

in his own way. Some may interpret this line as platonic, some romantic-but I think it's more complicated than that. Again, Izzy and Ed have been together for so long the lines have blurred. They love each other like a brother. They're partners. They hate each other. They're an extension of each other. They're coworkers. Boss and right hand man. They can't imagine being without the other.

Well, whatever they feel for each other its capital C complicated that's for sure.

I have so many thoughts about ✨️them✨️ but I'll leave it here for now. No hate in the comments pls. Both men are my lil meows meows and have done nothing (and everything) wrong. Love those gay dudes fr.

[ahamkara-apologist]

All right gonna be going ham on this one for the character asks:

4, 14, 16 for Eramis

21, 22, 23 for Taniks

9 and 26 for Misraaks

MEGA ASK GAME SO I CAN PROCRASTINATE ON WRITING MY FIC YIPPEE!!

Eramis:

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

-Oh gosh, this one's difficult. I think, if I could choose, my first thought would probably be a book, because it allows for a lot more explainations and insights into her actions than what's apparent in game; just look at how stellar her lorebooks are for explaining her POV and her actions, and how many people in the fandom/playing the game still have zero idea what she's about because of it. For a second, though, a longform tv series would be stellar, because I'm fucking obsessed with all her little mannerisms and speaking inflections and a longform tv show would also allow for the nuances of her character to shine through in a way that isn't so easily ignored. But, since she's a morally grey lesbian, I feel like she'd be shit on and ignored anyways, because there's no winning with fandom

(I AM thinking about potentially making a lore video explaining Eramis's motives pre-Revenant, but given my lack of a professional microphone, editing skills, and time, that...may be a problem. But I want to do a lorevid explaining her character one day bc damnit she's D2's most nuanced and interesting antagonist apart from Savathun and I want to explore that)

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

-I know jack shit about fashion but she's a leather jacket motorcyclist 100%. Just look at her and try to tell me otherwise. You can't. Maybe she's got a side thing of spikes and collars and whatnot but she blends fashion and utility extremely well in her canon getup, so I can't imagine it would be much different otherwise

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

-I don't really think I have a least favorite ship, tbh- there's just not enough shipping for her to begin with. Maybe her x male characters* or her x anyone romantically after losing Athrys? But that's less of a dislike thing and more that with my hcs for her (+ her being canonically only attracted to women) and the fact that I just can't see her with anyone after losing Athrys. Too much trauma, depression, and rage for any relationships to bloom, her heart is salted soil, it just doesn't work

*I know I've said that I like the thought of her and Taniks as fuckbuddies before, but this is explicitly from the perspective of my indulgence hc that Taniks is closeted genderqueer (he/she), and that Eramis sought him out for sex explicitly because she wasn't attracted to her, so she wouldn't get flashbacks to Athrys mid-fuck. I would not call this any form of shipping as much as it is me being aro and trans and craving nonromantic sexual intimacy in fandom bc I'm frustrated about how difficult it is to get irl

Misraaks

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

-Jaxx ur trying to get me to talk more about the eggfic aren't you. Anyways my fav thing to write is Putting Him In Situations (of any kind!), while my least favorite thing to write is his dialogue. I keep forgetting that Misraaks has an Eliksni-accented way of wording things compared to, say, Eramis or Eido, and that trips me up when writing him- which is ironic, bc the way he speaks in canon is how I like to write a lot of my own prose, lol

WAIT THIS WAS FOR TANIKS MY BAD. Misraaks I'll get back to you in a bit bud

Taniks

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

-HIS MANNERISMS!! I love how ruthlessly fucking wild and feral he is in canon, enough that you'd think he's just off the shits insane, and yet the one (1) lore entry we get from his perspective indicates that he's actually a deeply cunning, intelligent, and proud Eliksni with a very strong (if twisted) sense of right and wrong and a deep disgust for the power structures that have brought his people to such lows. The face of Taniks that we see as the Young Wolf is that of a mindless, sadistic monster, but the one that we see when he's speaking to other Eliksni is a guy that I'd happily call comrade, would he not beat the everloving shit out of me for it. I love everything about the scraps we get of him in canon and I enjoy trying to fit those two sides of him together to get a nuanced individual who's still a guy that's basically an abused ex-circus chimp on ketamine while also giving little hints as to why he's Like That. Monsters are made, not born, and Taniks is not as much of a monster as we think he is.

What I don't like, like Misraaks, is writing his dialogue- albeit for different reasons. With Misraaks, what I worry about is getting his dialogue right, while for Taniks, it's getting the length of it correct. Like I said before, we only get one lore entry where we actually know what he's saying, so I don't actually know how talkative he is. So far, what I've been doing is having him monologue a lot when he's hyped up on something and near-silent when not, but I'm not quite sure if that's right. He spends way too long roaring unintelligibly at us in canon for me to know if he's actually chatty or just unimaginably furious at our existence

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

-Buddy I don't think there's enough fics out there for me to have gathered anything I might dislike from them. I'm just happy to find one where he's in it, and actually plays a real role in things. I guess the closest that I can say is that I dislike how much of a niche character he is, because he's genuinely so fucking interesting, but he tends to get relegated to just a meme character and nothing more

23. Favorite picture of this character?

-This one. I love how he looks like a lazereyes reaction image sjkhfdgbksjdhfg. He's so fucking done with our shit

okay, now time for Misraaks

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

-Honestly yeah, I probably could. Misraaks just seems like a really chill guy to live with though, and Eido is an absolute cutie who's just like me in that she's ravenously curious about everything. I do think we'd butt heads a bit about letting her participate in potentially-dangerous scenarios (mostly bc I grew up with an overprotective, paranoid father so I feel Eido so hard), but he's a respectful guy and I think he'd understand that I need a lot of alone time to not go insane. The culture sharing would be a blast and I think that he's like me in that he hates drama, so apart from debates over Eido and him being all ashamed of his sordid past (which I don't give a shit about), we'd be cool

The hardest part would be not jumping his bones. I don't know if I could be normal about that. As I said before, I'm an aro trans man who craves a form of contact that isn't socially acceptable or easy to find among humans, and Misraaks is a big sweet calm nonjudgemental alien dilf who probably thinks all humans look weird, trans or not. The temptation is obvious here

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever?

-HIS OBSESSION WITH ASHER MIR. IT WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY DJHBDGH. That and his friendship with Saint and Osiris (old man gang go!) and his hatred for Eramis are all things that I absolutely love about him. He's just a big reverent nerd of a man who doesn't want to talk about his college age years and I love that about him so so much

Character ask game here

[calsvoid]

for the character ask 002 Bobby Nash

(I love how you're fighting with polls, I also hate that you can't delete them)

character ask game

reply threads are so great tumblr can you make a fucking x button for polls

anyway

version two — give me a character and i will tell you:

how I feel about this character:

i need to fuck that old man

and then also hold him tight and keep him safe because he needs stability and love in his life and let him know that he never needed to be perfect or even great and the pain he suffered wasn’t a punishment it was just life and it’s not his time yet

all the people I ship romantically with this character:

it’s athena it’s just athena who else no one could beat THE athena grant they’re soulmates i love them they’re so perfect each other THE married couple of all time even if i wanted to ship anyone else i couldn’t because she’s literally right there and nobody else matters

my non-romantic OTP for this character:

will never not hate rockmond for taking away bobby and michael bestieism from me they were perfect together husbands in law besties god brought them together because god can be kind sometimes and by god i mean tim there was always support between the two of them and they were so good at communicating their issues and urghhh just every scene between the two of them is amazing

also him and the kids like the firehouse field trip and all his moments with may and always caring about them ugh i love this family if they don’t give me more moments next season ill fight someone

my unpopular opinion about this character:

i think the only one i have remotely is that i don’t want him to retire yet, i think they absolutely could do well with it (especially if that one food truck idea gets followed through ppeawepleaseoleasepleawepleaseeapsleapslewapslw) but ill just miss him as captain even though i know his attitude towards his job isn’t like athena’s so it might happen but ill be sad because change is hard

one thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

um his fucking house didn’t burn down

no bc i get it but oh my fucking god BRING THE GRANT NASH HOUSE BACK TO ME TIM YOU ARE EVIL AND YOU BETTER BE READY WHEN I FIND YOU

also my previous answer before season seven probably would’ve been more details on his childhood but guess what tim hates me and he wants to make both me and my husband suffer through the horrors

my OTP:

me and bobby

lol no it’s bathena of course it is, they are such a beautiful couple and i’m on my rewatch and “thanks for coming to get me” “always” never fails to make me a believer in true love like it is insane how much love you can pack into one word they’ve always got each other’s backs and they are just soooo in love they’re everything to me

my crossover ship:

once again no one because i’m not big into crossovers unless real life counts then it’s me and bathena

a headcanon fact:

i like to think after he retires he’ll be a lot more involved in charity work and whatnot, like he’d probably still help a lot with the 118 fundraisers and then do more with his local church. he and buck would probably make homemade meals and donate them to a shelter idk i just think it’s cute. and the firefam kids help too because kindness and volunteer hours

[arse-crack-thistle]

rwrb characters and their eras tour outfits

so i saw this tiktok asking what we think alex and henry are wearing to the eras tour, so here’s what i think the super six would do if they were all going together (in new york, i assume)…

(in my head they all choose an era and base an outfit on that…probably nora and pez’s idea)

alex - he fights for reputation and wins. i’m thinking black, sparkle, and chains. leather jacket with a black rhinestone snake on the back and a black mesh crop top underneath. black distressed jeans cuffed over combat boots. chains around his neck and hanging from his jacket and pants. thin black sunglasses that he later uses to hold back his curls when the house lights go down. oh and he definitely has the sharpest black eyeliner on his lids.

henry - he has a choice: either live in his reputation era with alex or be his complementary opposite. so he chooses lover. i’m thinking ‘80s high school student with lover energy. light-washed jeans with white chuck taylors. tucked in, a loose-fitted pastel button-up with cuffed sleeves. maybe it has splotches of color or faded butterflies on it…idk some kind of print. on top, a hand painted jean jacket with “london boy” in loopy pink typography on the back. a glitter lover heart around his eye (bc nora insists).

nora - speaking of, i’ll keep this simple for her. a fully identical ring leader costume to what taylor had on the red tour. she may be an irl chaos demon but i think she’s anointed herself the unofficial leader of “super six does eras tour 2k23” so this fit is appropriate for her. i mean she almost made them all wear matching t-shirts like they’re a depressed cishet family at disney world but june talked her down.

june - the queen of fashion herself. this is the trickiest for me bc june wants to do folklore and just wear shortalls and the silver star cardigan to be comfy, but she’ll be damned before she doesn’t match the energy of the others. june goes with evermore and all in on “cowboy like me” to piss alex off since he almost went with rodeo wear. cropped cream fringe jacket with an elegant ivy embroidery on the back and trim. underneath, a bustier and shorts of the same fabric with the same embroidery. of course she’s wearing a cowboy hat, cream with the ivy details. and caramel cowboy boots (rounded toe bc she’s a utility girl). everything but the boots are custom made in austin.

pez - “this night is sparkling! don’t you let it go!” yeah so as soon as he saw taylor in all of her enchanted ballgowns, he knew he had to be her nigerian billionaire glitter prince. and that’s exactly what he does. he commissions a nigerian designer to make a suit and headpiece using akwete fabric in the colors of the speak now era’s visuals. all accented in rhinestones of course. he’s also all about the accessories with a watch, bracelets, necklaces, shoes, and glasses from various luxury brands. he does the absolute most, and everyone loves him for it.

bea - angel is in her midnights era, and i am here for it! bc of bullshit princess rules she couldn’t wear a bodysuit like she wanted. but no matter, she’s still going to shimmer. having not seen anyone do it yet, she literally learns to sew and diy’s a mini dress version of taylor’s yellow dress at the end of the bejeweled music video. it was totally, incredibly frustrating but she nails it! complete with lace, bows, and a little more sparkle, the dress hits so hard. she pairs it with sparkly louboutin boots and replicas of the hair clips and choker she bought off etsy. june helps her do taylor’s hairstyle from the video, while she does the makeup, beauty mark included.

so yeah that’s what i got. what do you think?? bc this is such a fun prompt and i could see each character doing like fifty different things lol <3

[chris-continues]

Okiiii

Only one bed in the booked hotel room trope? 👀 (not nsfw obv) I read something similar to this but it was Vash so maybe a Nai version?

Star wars convention with Vash? (If u do dis one and if u need any help feel free to ask me anything cuz im a huge star wars nerd)

Vampire Vash and/or Nai?

CARNIVAL!!!! I wonder if the brothers would compete to see who can win the most prizes, also watching the fireworks on the ferris wheel would b cute

Beach episode? 👀👀

Sorry if it's alot-

(I love your au's so much oml, you write all the characters beautifully ♡)

AAA TYSM I REALLY APPRECIATE THAT imma screenshot this message/ask and use it a few times probably but the one that caught my eye most is vampire au PLS SEND SO MANY ASKS ABT VAMP AU I need to write more stuff on it

Ngl I’m most willing to write suggestive stuff for vampire au bc bro… 0///0

Lonely nights lead to delectable frights <3

In which two vampires with extreme charm have you wrapped around your finger (when in reality it’s them wrapped around your finger). (To be added on to, I wanted to expand on this more later lol)

WARNINGS/TAGS: mentions of depression/loneliness (reader runs into the woods to be alone but also craving companionship), gender neutral reader

Vampire Vash and Vampire Knives meeting reader! I’ll add onto this in separate pieces but I haven’t set a definitive timeline yet!! So any drabbles written may deviate from the last piece

I was debating on writing this in Victorian era type beat or modern au (because I’ve written vampire Nai modern au) but I asked my fav vamp lover @coffinbeananteiku and her word is final 🫡 (I needed to ask someone to decide for me I’m very indecisive sometimes)

Tags: @lune010 @vashfantasy

The dusk of a new night greets you as you run. Far, far away. You had nowhere to go, your feet leading you wherever the wind took you. Nothing truly important lay back in town, perhaps a few less than noteworthy friends in society who’d given an artificial smile and obligatory wave.

Nothing to go back to.

So of course you’d been an idiot to run into the woods. You have one horrible day, and rather than wallowing at home like usual you make the horrid decision to run when others keep berating you for it, fine attire catching on brambles you’d almost tripped over as the haphazard movements of yours fell to a halt. How far had you run? How far did your stress carry you?

Alone. Just as you wished and terrified. Only the moss at your feet and rather barren branches accompanied you, horrors of the night awaiting your person.

Wonderful. Wonderful.

You breathed in shakily, only to exhale into a sob. God, you were tired, so so very tired.

You eventually lifted your head to observe your surroundings. Eerie; yet a welcome sight compared to the bustling cobblestone streets of town, quiet, perhaps too quiet. The wind whistles past your ears in its reverie, encompassing you fully into the charm of the night.

This could be good, you attempt to reassure yourself. That thought is fleeting as you attempt to appreciate the short lived tranquility and struggle to backtrack. It’s futile.

You have no way back. So what must you do? Trudge forward. The next town could be for miles, you have no money and certainly no mode of transportation besides your already exhausted two feet.

You trek forward.

Not long after, your loneliness returns. The peaceful night soon digs into your heels once again, dragging your already worried mind into further disquietude. Your arms wrap around yourself in poor manner to shield yourself from the further night’s chill, vision hazy from the little light and paranoia suffocating you.

But nevertheless, you persist. You were stubborn in that way, never knowing quite when to stop despite the fear you’d be too much. Even now, when you’d done too much, by leaving town entirely to the welcoming yet terrifying arms of the woods did you remain stubborn. In a will to survive? In the pursuit of curiosity? The need for more? To deserve more?

You’d never quite place it, you’re sure. Perhaps all of the above.

Such thoughts plague you as you unknowingly stare down at your feet, eventually reaching a cobblestone pathway.

Your neck snaps up to see- ruins? No, it’s far too neatly kept for that. A castle, complete with gates and stone pathways; warm torches lit at the sides if you squinted from the faraway grounds of the gates. Cool moonlight acted as your light as you traversed forward, feet picking up. Perhaps you could try to see if it was abandoned, fashion yourself a place for the night! Hopefully no dangers resided here, in such a domestic place. Well, perhaps it wasn’t the most welcoming of homes but it certainly was a new sight amongst what surrounded you. Ah, yes, dead trees, dead trees, and.. woah! More dead trees!

..so, quite the refreshing sight.

The pats of your feet are the only noise you truly process, the gates creaking with movement as you walk closer to the manor.

Large metal rings the size of your head hung heavily at the double doors. Should you knock? They appeared to be in usable condition.. so you supposed, lifting one knocker with your dominant hand.

A heavy boom resounded as you dropped it. You’d never really used one- just accustomed to the usual rapping of knuckles on doors, or a verbal call whilst entering a room.

“You appear unfamiliar.” A voice suddenly husks behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

You whipped around quickly, “Holy shit!-“ for someone in the Victorian era, your modern slang (profanity) was rather proficient. Standing before you was someone cold and cunning, towering over you intensely. His presence demanded attention, the need to stand straight and not let him out of your sight in fear of what he could do.

The wind whistled in your ears once more. Like a taunt that it could run far away from here, unlike you. His domineering white- no, almost white, pale blue eyes stared down at you. He seemed inhuman.

Your mind seemed scrambled in a feeble attempt to explain yourself, “Sorry I uh, was walking and needed someplace to stay for the night..”

His eyebrow arches in amusement. “So you decided to reside here?”

The crunching of leaves is what alerts you to a new presence behind the.. man who’d confronted you, wisps of blonde hair peeking from over his shoulder until he stood next to him. “Aw, that’s no way to treat a visitor!” He gave a sweet, yet strangely tight lipped smile. “I’m Vash, this is Nai. It’s wonderful to meet you.” A partially gloved hand adorned in lace outstretches towards yours in a pleasant handshake, small tears in the fabric from overuse. It’s a paradoxical feeling of ‘rough lace’, yet it suits him rather well.

You hesitantly greet yourself, voice meek with unfamiliarity and worry. An introduction slips past your lips albeit shaky voice, he remains ever so friendly and opens the door for you, the.. Nai guy taking care to briskly zoom past and ignore your very presence.

How kind. He’s taken a liking to you.

Vash merely brushes it off as usual banter, perhaps it’s nothing personal, you assume. He seemed unbothered overall and didn’t really acknowledge anything, that much you could observe just from his behaviors so far.

It’s not of importance, not in your mind at least. What truly caught your attention? The ornate structures in the main hall- carvings of angels in rich marble and stone, hell, even the floors had carvings!

Out of curiosity you dipped your toe into the slight crevices in the ground, feeling the divots of some.. geometric swirls and markings that decorated the beauty of the castle.

“Hey, you coming?” Vash peeked over his shoulder towards you- you’d lost yourself in the beauty of the room. He gave a knowing smile at your wonderment, entrancing chuckle reverberating throughout the tall ceilings. “I was the same way when I first came here, it’s definitely a sight to take in!” He jolts his head to beckon you forward,

“You can stay the night. If you wish.”

What other choice did you really have?

[found-family-tournament]

Found Family Tournament Round 1 Part 25 Group 123

Propaganda and further pictures under the cut

Floof Squad: Kendal, Alinua, Erin Ruunaser, Falst, Tess Ruunaser, Dainix

Sea Fam: Chongire, Elda, Dr Numeri & Butler

Submissions are still open!

Floof Squad:

Floof.

Sea Fam:

They're a villain team working for a sea witch under the ocean and live together in a mansion, where they all have their respective house chores and jobs. Three out of the four of them are always unmotivated and depressed af and Butler is just trying to have a functional thing going on.

They may sell each other to the devil for one corn chip in order to avoid being the one tasked with the evil work, and steal each other's food from the fridge, but when push comes to shove, they look after, take care of, support and protect each other, and even when ultimately defeated, they never even think about splitting, because in their mind they're a unit, cannot be separated. Also, they vibe together a lot, have one single braincell between all of them (if Butler isn't present, it just bounces between the other three) and pick up phrases from each other as the show progresses and it's adorable. Both Chongire and Numeri have a soft spot for Elda, while Butler very clearly doesn't know how to interact with a child.

One of them turns out to have manipulated and lied to the rest, and may or may not want to commit world genocide (the rest of the fam included), yet once everything is settled they just pick them up and go back home together without even a second thought bc what are they supposed to do? That's their buddy.