#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

[7nuh]

MR. CRAWLING YANDERE HEADCANONS !

CW 𓂃 gn!reader, gaslighting, canon-typical violence

AN 𓂃 ik i said i'd have HCs for all of them but this ended up being too long so... 🧍‍♀️ also unedited bc i have an exam later ill be back to edit this later pls

Mr. Crawling is the protective type. He spends half of the entire game following you wherever you go and going through great lengths to protect you from the other residents of these cursed apartments. However, I can see how that protectiveness can get twisted in the long run when you remain completely helpless and unable to defend yourself. Mr. Crawling would have no choice but to step in and make decisions for you instead because he cannot afford to lose you just like that.

Out of all the homicipher men, mr. Crawling is the one who has the most respect for your choices and boundaries. He leaves when you tell him to, patiently guides you throughout this maze, and comforts you when you are upset— and he's never violent unless threatened.

Such a sweet and gentle guy would never hurt you intentionally. He loves you too much to hurt you.

That being said, though he'll never intentionally hurt you, he doesn't realize it whenever he's being possessive and suffocating you instead. After all, having wandered these halls for so long has desensitized him to violence and made him forget all his human memories. Simply put, his concept of love is warped in its own way. He doesn't understand nor remember how to healthily love another person by societal standards, but he (usually) means well.

He may not understand love but he knows one thing for sure— you're very precious to him. You're so full of life, so kind (to him), and so persistent to find your way home despite everything. Everyone else just kind of does their own thing around there... but you need him. You give him purpose and he's ready to give himself up for you in return.

But as much as he respects you, he knows you sometimes don't know any better. You almost got yourself killed multiple times despite his numerous warnings, and he's not confident you completely understand him just yet. So whenever he feels as though something got lost in translation, he won't hesitate to push you aside or cover for you in that instance. Thankfully, you can now regenerate your limbs.

You don't know any better. This sentiment becomes a mantra that repeats itself in his head over and over again. The two of you haven't made any significant progress on finding an exit, but you've almost died more than a dozen times by now. How are you supposed to survive without him?

What even is your home like? How can he be sure that you aren't going to get yourself killed over there too? Can he follow you there too to protect you? Can't you just stay here with him instead? Would that be so terrible? Of course he wants you to find whatever you're looking for...! it's just that...

The thought of losing you only intensifies his anxiety and over-protectiveness. Whether by departure or death, he cannot stand to be apart from you. Why are you so eager to leave this place anyway?

Mr. Crawling is gentle, but love can force him to be violent. He's not as cruel as the rest, but it doesn't mean he won't be when you're put in danger, especially when his possessiveness and overprotectiveness spiral out of control. He doesn't want to restrict you in any way because he loves and respects you too much to do that, but you just keep getting yourself in trouble. He overcompensates and goes overboard instead trying to protect you, even if it means killing someone.

And the thought of you moving on and forgetting him depresses him. He knows you had a life before this, but he wants a life with you in it. He'll be selfish just this once, but never again. He'll make sure you're safe here you so don't worry about that! Just don't leave him. Just stay with him, please.

It starts little by little. He starts telling you to rest more often and misleading you farther away from the elevator. Sometimes, when you tell him to leave you alone, he pretends not to understand you anymore. When he sees that dreaded green light from a distance, he tells you there is something malicious up ahead. In times like these, he's glad you're so blindly trusting of every word he says. It's difficult for him to watch your resolve break down, but it's for the best. When you're with him, you're safe and that all that's matters.

I can see some of the others like Ms. Bride and Mr. Silvair being in on it. Ms. Bride is very excited that her wedding garments will be used for their actual purpose this time whereas Mr. Silvair finds your unconventional relationship an interesting area of study. Whenever you find yourself 'lost' (escape from Mr. Crawling), they will redirect you back to him.

Eventually, you do give up. Maybe you even become more monstrous by the day and accept that you're better off here. He loved your persistence, but maybe he can show you giving up and that staying here isn't so bad. After all, you have him. He makes sure to be extra affectionate and cuddly after you give up <3

You'll learn to accept it, won't you? For him? Whatever's beyond those elevator doors can't possibly be better than being loved unconditionally and safe within his arms. You're even free to be yourself down here! You can be as violent as you want, and Mr. Crawling will happily watch you bludgeon someone to death on the sidelines with nothing but adoration.

Alternatively, if you do find your way home, he WILL follow you whether you like it or not. But if you don't want him there... well, do expect a few inconveniences. Whatever it takes to convince you to let him stay or to convince you to come back, really. Maybe like blood on the walls spelling 'me love you' and 'me miss you' or a cold pair of arms wrapping around your waist at night.

[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.

[jjscrybaby]

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (bad parents, mentions of weed, sad!reader, not written overly well bc i was sad)

this is depressing as hell i’m sorry… also very self indulgent. i’m an oversharer idc, the main reason i haven’t been posting a lot recently is because my home life isn’t going too well with my step dad, but at half 2 in the morning this is what my brain came up with to make myself feel better so enjoy

One thing the Pogues understood more than most was dysfunctional families. There was Kie, who’s parents cared more about their reputation than their daughter, John B, who’s mother had left when he was three and his dad was so invested in finding treasure it got him killed. Sarah’s family life made everyone’s heads spin, at this point it was a taboo subject that only came up once she’d had one too many cocktails, Pope was lucky to have parents that cared for him but there were still times he wasn’t happy at home.

JJ’s dad was the worst man you’d ever met, you may be biased because anyone treating your boyfriend like that would put them in your most hated book but everyone on the island could agree that Luke Maybank should never have become a father. Your family life was the same. Tragic, hurtful and heartbreaking. You and your mom used to be close, but after she met your step father things changed. She fell in love, you couldn’t blame her for that, what you could blame was the fact she’d allow a man to treat her child like a speck of dirt on his shoe. It was never physical, maybe that was why you were yet to tell JJ and the others just how badly it was effecting you; it didn’t seem necessary.

Everyday your closest friends would have to deal with the reminders of the parents they’d been stuck with. You didn’t want to be that person. The one that made it about themselves, the one that bummed everyone out.

You were trying to keep a brave face on, after the fifth argument of the week with the devil himself you’d stormed out of your house and made your way over to the Chateau. Tears brimmed your eyeline, and you knew even one joke-gone-wrong could send you into a ball on the floor. But you couldn’t stay in that house any longer, not with him and not with your spineless mother.

“There she is!” Sarah beamed as you rounded the corner of the Chateau, a strained smile on your face. You’d texted them to let them know you were coming, you felt you owed that at least.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice unnatural from the way you were holding in your tears.

JJ patted his knee, indicating for you to take a seat around the fire with the rest of them. You sat, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you murmured back, playing with a piece of his hair to try and distract yourself.

You didn’t speak much as the others carried on with their conversation, catching you up on the topic as they passed a joint around the circle. JJ offered it to you but you shook your head, you needed to have control over your body; over your mouth more like. The last thing you wanted to do was blurt out how miserable you were and ruin the atmosphere.

Slowly but surely, everyone but you and JJ retreated inside. Sarah could never handle her weed, she was already half asleep when John B picked her up to take her to bed. Kie was in one of her mellow moods, wanting to be away from everyone to think. Pope wasn’t quite as in a state as Sarah, but he’d decided he was ready for his own bed so he headed back home. That left just you and JJ, that was what you’d been dreading. If he had even an inkling something was going on, he’d be able to get it out of you. He had a way with words, especially when it came to the people he cared about.

“What made you change your mind ‘bout coming?” JJ asked, leaning back on the couch that you now sat beside him on.

“Can’t a girl miss her boyfriend?” You teased, making him smirk back at you.

“Always, baby. Just thought you and your mama were havin’ a movie night,” he explained. The topic made your jaw clench and your stomach drop. The reason for the argument tonight: you and your mom had planned to watch a movie together, something you hadn’t done in a weirdly long time, but of course your step dad had wanted to watch the tv. You’d tried to calmly explain that it was just a couple hours, all that had lead to was screaming and accusing.

“Yeah, uh, change of plans,” you croaked out, blinking rapidly to try and force the tears away.

His smirk faded as he looked at you, instantly noticing the water in your eyes and the way your smile looked like it was physically hurting your face. “Yeah? What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. You want to go inside? I could do with a shower,” you sniffled, trying your hardest to change the subject.

“What’s going on?” JJ asked softly, hand coming up to cup your cheek. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeated.

“Clearly it does. C’mon, talk to me, please. You’re upset,” he murmured, moving closer. His other hand moved to your waist, stroking your skin softly.

You opened your eyes, the dam broke and tears began to roll down your cheeks. The worry in his eyes doubled as he saw you crying, hold on you tightening as he tried to wipe them away. “I hate it there,” you sobbed.

“Hey, hey, hate it where? Hate it where, baby?” He worried as you began to cry manically. He’d seen you cry countless times, but never like this. Never like you were in pain.

“My house. I feel like— like a stranger, like I don’t even belong there. It’s all his fault,” you admitted through your tears.

“Your step dad?” He asked quietly, connecting the dots in his head.

He’d been at your house before, he’d met your step dad, and he’d always been pleasant. But he was polite in a way that you knew it was fake, it was a show and JJ had worked that out from the first time they’d shook hands. His grip was too tight, his eyes bored even whilst he smiled. He’d always figured that it wasn’t like that for you, though. He just assumed it was an issue with him.

“He’s so mean to me,” you choked out. “I try my best, I do, I just want to get along but it’s like he’d rather die than see me as his kid.”

“Okay, alright, c’mere,” JJ coaxed, holding his arms out for you to crawl into. You didn’t need any convincing, already in his lap before his arms were fully extended. “I got you, okay? Take a breath, calm down. You’re safe, you’re alright.”

You sniffled into his shoulder, slowly but surely beginning to calm down and realise what you’d done. You’d shared. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like the world was ending. It actually felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breathe for the first time in years.

“Should we go to bed? Hm?” He murmured, running his fingers soothingly through your hair.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly.

He stood up, lifting you with him into his arms as he kicked open the porch door and walked through the house to the spare bedroom that he called his own. He dropped you onto the bed, flicking on the lamp and closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he stripped down into his boxers and put his shirt over your head, climbing into bed beside you.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked, kissing the back of your neck.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you mumbled back, exhausted from the confession.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Is there a reason you ain’t brought this up before?”

“It’s— compared to what you and the others have been dealt in the parent region, it’s nothing. It’s stupid, really, I don’t even know why I’m so upset,” you explained. Both of you knew it wasn’t stupid, it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. No one deserves to feel unwanted in their own family.

“Don’t compare,” he murmured, rolling you over so you were facing him. “Just because someone’s broken their leg don’t mean your paper cut doesn’t hurt.”

You let out a tearful giggle, shaking your head at him. “That’s a stupid analogy.”

“Maybe,” he smiled back softly, happy he’d been able to see you smile even if just for a moment. “Doesn’t make it a lie. I don’t want you feelin’ like that at all, but I hate the fact you’ve been feeling it alone. And me, the Pogues, we’re your family. You’re always wanted here.”

“Thanks, JJ,” you whispered, eyes welling up once again. This time it wasn’t from the pain, it was from the fact you knew he was telling the truth.

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ll talk in the mornin’, over Kie’s blueberry pancakes,” he said, stroking your cheek. He leant forward and pressed a soft but firm kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It would always hurt that you weren’t ever going to feel whole in your own home, but at least you were lucky enough to have a second one. One that truly wanted you, no matter the circumstances.

[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.

[theambitiouswoman]

how do you deal with shame? bc i suffered with severe depression and im just getting my own apartment at 30 years old. i still have no degree, the job i go to in ashamed everyday even though it pays my bills and take care of my kids because i see everyone who i went to high school with graduated and some got their masters. im ashamed of what i been through and ashamed of where im in at my life and im carrying deep deep depression and shame because i feel like im not enough and embarrassed of where im at because i know i could’ve did more with my life.

I really want to answer this because I also remember feeling behind at one point and I definitely remember my friends comparing themselves to me because we didn’t make the same life decisions.

Just want to warn you I’m going to give you some compassion combined with a little tough love.

I’m really, REALLY sorry you’re feeling this way. No matter how different your life looks to others, it’s your life. It’s easy to compare yourself to people who seem to have it all figured out, but their paths aren’t yours. Just because you are seeing someone during the good times in their lives, doesn’t mean it will always be that way or that it won’t be for you when the time is right.

I remember feeling so much judgment because all my friends were married, had serious boyfriends, or kids. Back then, I’d leave our dinners in tears, feeling like a failure. Looking back now, the pressure I felt seems almost comical, but it was painful at the time. For context, I’ve been engaged more than once, yet I wasn’t ready to settle. Now, many of those women are divorced and starting over, often without financial independence, while I’m at a high point in my life and considering settling down on my own terms.

The lesson here is that life isn’t a race or a checklist. It’s not linear, and it doesn’t have to follow a timeline. Some people hit their stride at 20, others at 30, 40, or beyond—and that’s okay. Life is meant to be experienced, not rushed. The lessons we learn along the way shape us. Society’s timelines and standards are just that—standards. You don’t have to follow them to live a fulfilling, meaningful life.

Depression is incredibly hard to deal with, and it’s not something I take lightly. But since you’re committed to working on yourself, it’s so important to remind yourself to keep pushing forward. That said, I think you’re being way too hard on yourself right now. Who wouldn’t feel overwhelmed? But let’s take a step back—you have your own apartment for the first time, which is incredible! You have a job that allows you to provide for your kids, putting food on the table and showing up as a parent who loves them deeply. How lucky are they to have you?

From my perspective, you’re incredibly strong. You’ve faced depression and still found the courage to keep building yourself up. That’s no small feat. Don’t let negative thoughts get in your way—practice reframing them. Instead of focusing on what you feel is lacking, focus on how far you’ve come and the amazing things you’re doing right now. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.

You may not like where your life is now, but you have to realize that it is under your control. If you want to change your life now, today, you can. Your life will start to change when you yourself commit to change. And that starts with your thoughts. Work on your perspective. Don’t beat yourself up for what could have happened or didn’t happen because you’re wasting even more time for absolutely nothing. You feel like you’ve wasted years, why would you want to continue wasting any more?

Shame often stems from the story we tell ourselves, so try to shift that narrative. You wouldn’t shame your friends for struggling; you’d remind them of their resilience. Focus on small wins— change your perspective. Start focusing on showing gratitude for the things you do have and what you’ve overcome. Gratitude for everything and anything. Gratitude attracts miracles and abundance. I know this sounds dumb or unrealistic, but it’s true. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to try.

I’m very proud of you and you can do so much more, anything you want if you just had a little bit of faith in yourself. Your worth isn’t defined by what you’ve been through or what you’ve accomplished. It’s defined by the fact that you’re here, trying and pushing forward. That alone makes you more than enough.

[f4ggydog]

Big dick lottie having her way with jackie in doomcoming instead of travis bc “it’s what the wilderness wants” and jackie doesn’t wanna die a virgin

warnings: this is both smut and dubcon incoming. if you're uncomfortable with either or are a minor, please leave. thank you!

"I heard your conversation with shauna." lottie kneels down next to jackie, donning her antler queen outfit fitted with her crown. jackie's not interested in much chit chat with her. she wants travis to crawl on top of her and get this over with. if she's not going to make it out of this forest, she won't do so without losing her virginity.

"that's none of your business," jackie replies.

"no, I think it is my business actually. do you think you could get away with what you were about to do so easily?"

"leave me alone," jackie grumbles. "you can't blame a girl for trying. I've gotta lose it one way or another."

"so you give up your dignity to a pathetic man who doesn't even give a shit about you? a pathetic scumbag who's supposed to be with nat?"

"oh please, as if either of them give a shit about each other. they're both just in it for the sex. and so am i."

"you know what we call girls like that, jackie?"

jackie rolls her eyes and leaves no room for a response. she stands up and attempts to leave, but lottie drags her back down by her dress.

"I didn't say you could leave."

"you're such a weirdo," jackie mumbles, attempting to leave again. lottie doesn't allow her to. she's adamant about jackie staying and she won't let her little captain leave until fun has been had.

"where do you think you're going?" lottie interrogates, shoving jackie fiercely into the dirt. jackie winces and her legs wiggle as lottie stands tall and proud above her.

"you're being a freak," jackie complains. it's all she's done since she entered the wilderness. not pitch in, not assist with chores, not collaborate as a team, but complain and whine. and she was a sad excuse for a captain. she could hardly hold her own out here. it all started to make sense why coach chose her for her passion and not her skill.

"and you base your worth on your virginity," lottie chuckles, shaking her head. "fucking depressing. do you think you exist as breeding material alone, jackie?"

"okay, geez. what the fuck are you on about?"

"if you want to act like a horny bitch," lottie says. "you may, but you won't be doing it with him."

lottie gingerly lifts up jackie's dress before ripping the end piece off. a wet patch in her underwear is revealed and lottie almost cackles at the irony of her confusion yet immediate arousal.

"no exaggeration there," lottie says. "you really are just a horny bitch, jackie. and your virginity's all you're worth, isn't it?"

"that's not true," jackie protests. "you know that."

"you think im gonna be generous towards you?" lottie's cock begs to poke out from under her own dress. "do you think sluts like you deserve compassion, jackie?"

"i-i..."

"answer the fucking question. or I'll put my cock in your asshole instead of your warm cunt. would you like that, jackie? you'd still have your virginity if I anally fucked you after all!"

"fuck alright." jackie hesitantly pulls down her underwear, miserably anticipating what comes next. she should've never let that conversation topic leave her mouth. then again, with what she found in shauna's journal, she wouldn't have an ounce of shock if shauna snitched to lottie.

"so now you're finally starting to get it," lottie responds. fantastic. spread your legs a little wider, jax."

jackie doesn't follow her command. lottie crouches down and forcefully spreads jackie's legs open. she snickers at the thought of rutting into jackie dry. there was no pleasure in this encounter. this was merely punishment for jackie's lust. how dare she lust over another, let alone a man at that. the thought of seeing them mate like rabbits made lottie ill.

lottie's dress doesn't come cleanly off. she tears it off so erratically that there's no way it's in shape to be worn after turning jackie's cunt into a sore puddle.

"and this couldn't be done with travis?" jackie groans, lottie's underwear becoming a torn mess that paired beautifully with the tattered dress.

"its the most infuriating thing to watch you lose your virginity to a man because some teen romance movie told you to," lottie growls. "if you wanna get fucked so bad, it mind as well be with me."

lottie forces her tip inside without prior teasing. she's massive, stretching out jackie with her insanely veiny dick to a limit jackie didn't even recognize was possible. she gulps, not adjusting whatsoever despite the wetness. goosebumps form on her skin and her legs tremble.

"I've only got the head in," lottie pants. "fuck, I already wanna cum inside of you. already wanna give you my babies, you useless bimbo."

"fuck," jackie curses, her legs trying to close and force lottie's cock out. every effort from her legs is fruitless and she finds lottie pushing herself deeper. jackie's terrified that her cervix might get smashed throughout this process. but lottie doesn't go any easier on her.

"you're lucky the others aren't around to watch this. you're such an ungrateful bitch. you wanted to get fucked so bad and now you've got the audacity to complain? I don't wanna fucking hear it."

lottie could be going a lot faster, jackie supposes. she's tightening around lottie's cock, but it could be worse right? isn't this what she wanted? didn't she want to give up her virginity tonight?

but this was no sex scene in those movies. there was no passion, a drought of romance. there's not even sprinkles of love. it's just feral mating, animalistic even. and jackie wasn't sure if she would last with only half of lottie in her.

[if-mirrormine]

as an alternative to "if you have writers block, kill a character", may i try (likely in vain, i am aware 💀😔💀) to give you my professor's advice that's helped me??

he said "you can only be affected by writer's block if you believe it exists" which, at first, made me go "bitch? ive felt it?? youre so wrong?"

until he continued and said "writer's block is a nebulous problem with no consistent or reliable solution. and when we eliminate that as an option, we are forced to be specific about what is wrong. it can be burn out, fatigue, stress, Depression, a lack of discipline, time blindness, ADHD or autism, some medical or pharmaceutical variable, a mixture of multiple reasons, or any meriade of any other reason or reasons to justify and validate why writing needs to go on the backburner for a bit or even several years. but the big difference is all those specific things: unlike writer's block, they do have treatments, cures, and/or accommodations"

and to that, i do agree, i see his logic in "take writer's block off the table". though i see it moreso as We Should Reframe Writer's Block As A Vague Symptom Of Something Instead Of As A Diagnosis, kind of like how chronic pain as a symptom could mean ANYTHING in regards to diagnoses yet is still an important puzzle piece to finding that diagnosis

that is specific to me though. but i was told that re-framing back in 2018 or so(?), and ive never had writer's block since. i HAVE not written for months at a time, don't get me wrong, im not churning out pages everyday with writers block no longer in my life. but i do feel like i am making progress in dealing with my Other Stuff which then is me maintaining an opening to write (as opposed to cleaning up a block) and just being too tired by said maintenance to often indulge in writing. and not the stagnant "this is how itll be forever"-maintenance, but rather more like the kind of maintenance you have to do after a natural disaster for relief, bc i got a Lot Of Diagnoses who eould normally give me the symptom of writers block that im still in the early stages of unpacking and accomadating and etc. so, hopefully soon, ill have less and less maintenance to do and more and more energy to write. but yeah, thats just me. idk whats going on in your life, in your head lol

and this is, in fact, me hoping and praying and begging that you go "i prefer this" and not killing a beloved character

bc i wont lie. would sure love you NOT to kill someone i love in your game lmao

uhhhhhhh, alternatively kill the dad instead. itll fuck us over about learning timey-wimey stuff, add more plot-conflict as a result, and we get the weird feelings of grieving a parent you didnt know/like. idk. i just want my faves to live and he is Not One Of Them lmao ill give you a $20 to, if you GOTTA kill someone, have that one soul be his lol

i appreciate the advice and yeah, i can get behind this explanation of things. i mean it makes sense; motivation or simply just the ability to write doesn't just grow legs and walk away from you, there's gotta be other contributing factors.

i do feel the need to say though that how ever and when ever i kill off characters, i don't mean in game lol. i already have the whole game plotted out, adding in an unnecessary death would make things messy and we don't want that. so while i do have some deaths planned, some literal others not, any new deaths would only take place in drabbles.

atp i just need to get words on paper. or google doc ig.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[alexandraisyes]

Give us thoughts on Moon x Ruin No rush!

Yeah so like they're canon trust

(My friend clipped this for me I'm sobbing. I haven't actually seen the episode yet)

OKAY SO YEAH THOUGHTS??? THOUGHTS???

I'm actually so fucking insane about them and have BEEN insane about them for MONTHS. @dragoncxv360 has been my partner in crime, we've been working on our first Moon/Ruin fic for the past month or so. I wanna make character cards/designs for it before we release it. And it's gonna be so fucking good grrrr. We have a second one planned too, but that one is going to be Moon/Ruin/Solar, so not quite the same.

ANYWAYS headcanons under the readmore

God I could rot about them forever. Ellery helped me drag some of our headcanons back up so I could answer this.

Ruin is super touchy feely and Moon initially is not and finds touch from most people uncomfortable (Sun and Lunar being exceptions) but he eventually finds that touch can be really comforting, so he'll spend the day curled up around Ruin, purring while he dozes.

Moon isn't a big fan of food but he enjoys baking for Ruin, because his rays always do a cute lil spin when he eats something he likes and Moon adores it

They also totally dance alone in the kitchen at 3 am when neither of them can sleep

Ruin sings a lot, has a really good voice for like broadway and stuff, which Moon enjoys a lot. But Ruin is always so ecstatic whenever he catches Moon singing to himself, he has such a soft voice for lullabies and getting children to sleep. But he's super shy and will only sing for the kids, he stops if any adults are around

However, Moon will hum lullabies for Ruin when he's having a migraine. (Ruin gets migraines from his sun and moon splitting every now and then. They're still a part of him and sometimes they try to peek out for one reason or another, although they're mostly dormant. It gives him really bad migraines.)

Moon likes to mess with Ruin's rays. It's kind of a stim for him that he'll do without thinking about it. Ruin doesn't mind

Ruin still uses his old battery pack even though he's in an upgraded body, so sometimes his battery will stutter out or get drained really easily, causing him to faint. The first time this happened Moon panicked and thought he just died on the spot and had the computer run diagnostics. Because Ruin had to be plugged in for the diagnostics tho he woke up (which also startled Moon)

I've always liked to headcanon Moon with lowgrade depressive schizoaffective disorder, which is a psychotic disorder, since he's admitted to experiencing long term psychosis, but he's clearly self aware about it and the symptoms are so severe that they keep him from functioning. After him and Ruin became friends, Ruin started helping him manage it so he wasn't alone with it. Even though Ruin doesn't have experience with the disorder, it reminds him of how his friends would act and how he would help them when the virus in his dimension started taking root.

Both Ruin and Moon struggle with making connections to others (especially Ruin who has ASPD), and they're both under the aro/ace umbrella, so even in aus where they are dating, they see each other more like close friends (with potential benefits) rather than lovers. Although they may use the term to distinguish their relationship from other relationships in their lives, even if they don't necessarily feel/have limited romantic attraction for each other.

Ruin deals with phantom pain (partially from his rusted battery which scrambles his internal sensors a bit bc it's not supposed to be there, but mostly psychological), and Moon helps him with it. Moon made him a cane for really bad days when Ruin's processors just won't do what they need to and he has trouble with balance and orientation.

When Moon was rebuilt Monty accidentally fucked up his optics, and so he had to wear glasses for a long time until he was able to get them fixed. After he got them fixed he just popped out the lenses and kept wearing them (partially because Ruin commented that they made him look more like *his* Moon, rather than Nexus or any other Moon out there. - "his" being possessive and not literally Ruin's moon that is part of him)

Ruin is constantly stealing Moon's clothes. They're way too big on him, but he will literally wear Moon's turtlenecks like a sweater dress. He doesn't give a fuck.

Ruin is still really into playing games of his own invention, even if he isn't having to pretend to be insane anymore. It was how he kept himself entertained in his own dimension, and so occasionally Moon finds himself going on a wild goose chase just to appease Ruin's sudden whimsy.

[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.

[doegirldaydreamer]

What book you are looking forward to read?

YAAAYY ILY I GET TI YAP ABPUT THISS!!

Okay firstly i finished the winter soldier cold front a little while ago and i still LOVEE it </3 I really wanna buy some annotating stuff to annotate it bc i just need to dump all of my thoughts into this bc they did by bbg DIRTYYY. I may or may not have been teary by the end.. also i found a cute like 60 pack of the little annotating ermm.. tabs yk?? On amazon and it has rhe perfect colours and im DEBATING it..

Anyways rn im reading the Moonday Letters!! Its like.. my gay romance ever i need them i love them. It was actually kinda hard to get into at first bc like obvi its made of like letters and they referenced a lot of things that didnt make sense til later. Like i was 1/4 if the way thru before they explained the moonday bit giggle. But i really love it theres a rlly cute romance and the plots so interesting and iysf UFJFJFKKDJ. Dide i havent finished it yet so no spoilers but if they kill this one character im GOING to go insane u dont understamd. Also they have a cat so im happy

Anywayysys i have a couple im excited for. Firstly 1984 which i miiiight read next.. its gonna be a reread bc we learn abt this stuff in schools here but i just love it in general. I like george orwell a lot but 1984 is def the best of his that i’ve read. But what i actually think im gonna read next is the hunger games books!! I got this really cute set of them for Christmas and i havent started it yet and i just AHHH im so excited for it!! The only thing is bc theyre all hardcover and fancy idk if im gonna be too scared to annotate them.. ill get over it eventually shhhh. Andd theres also one last one that miight get a little depressing but shshhh. A little while ago my friend’s mum passed (rip debbie you angel </3) and i got a book from her a little while back thats part of a series called firesong and im so excited to read it. Like.. dragons??? Fucking yes??? Idk if im gonna be able to annotate it tho im like actually terrified of ruining it.

Okayaya thats it!! Ofc theres a couple others but unfortunately i cant talk ALLL day so heres my little list atm (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

Oakayay tysm for the ask girlie ilyyy <3333