#but i still vastly prefer tumblr

[woolydemon]

tumblr remains my go-to site to be chronically online on

[prismatic-starstuff]

okay was anyone going to tell me that ascended Astarion calls MC 'little love' and 'my treasure' in the smoothest most sultry voice I've ever heard or was I just supposed to get absolutely smacked around the head with that knowledge myself—

[blamebrampton]

Books talk to each other. Mostly because practically every writer is also a voracious reader, but also because books arise out of times and places and we share a lot of our worlds these days. So it’s unsurprising that several novels I have hugely enjoyed over the past few years share the theme of the antiheroine who is past all giving of the fucks. Naomi Novik’s powerful dark sorceress kept on her own tight leash in the Scholomance books was a joy to follow; Xiran Jay Zhao’s Iron Widow slashed her way into my heart and now Sarah Rees Brennan’s Long Live Evil has added to a list of beloved antiheroines that probably started for me with Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair.

Coincidentally, when considering how to describe Long Live Evil without significant spoilers, I realised that it shared several major themes with Vanity Fair. Young woman unfairly treated by fate decides to embrace her slut era to survive a war zone – both very accurate and wildly inaccurate for both. LLE opens with main character Rae in a hospital bed, teasing her sister about a book series they both adore. Rae is taking refuge in the story they have shared over years because it is one of the few things they have left: she is losing her fight against cancer and has been losing parts of her life, family and memory as that fight has progressed.

My personal hospital experiences have all been to do with major traumas rather than illness, which I vastly prefer because if you don’t die in the first couple of days, you usually start mending and you can immediately make plans to make the best of whatever you’ve broken. Rees Brennan, however, famously wrote a very funny, very horrible, ‘Kids, you won’t believe what shenanigans your girl’s been up to now, it’s only stage four Hodgkins lymphoma!’ post on her Tumblr or LJ (someone who has been hit in the head with taxis fewer times than me will doubtless factcheck that in the notes) about seven or eight years ago and then faced the very serious business of trying to live. The hospital scenes are painfully authentic, as are the stories of people who have left Rae as she slipped further out of everyday life.

For Rees Brennan, a loving family and peer group were there to hold her as close as they could. For Rae, only her beloved little sister, Alice, and Time of Iron, their favourite fantasy series, remain. They read the books together, remember adventures cosplaying and watching the musical, they wonder about the final instalment; for Rae it’s a joy she can still share (even if she doesn’t remember as much as she should), for Alice, it’s her two greatest loves. When a strange woman offers a door into the world of the book and a possible magical cure to Rae, she wants it as much as she disbelieves it.

Stepping into Eyam, the land of Time of Iron, Rae finds herself in the body of a villain doomed to die the next day. No worries! She’s thought and fought her way out of worse scraps than this in her past as a head cheerleader, let alone while battling cancer. She can use her knowledge of the plot to change things! If only she remembered more of the books…

Portal fantasies are common enough, but not all play by the same rules. This isn’t Narnia, where the magical world is more real than our own, for Rae, the world of the book is nothing more a tool to get her hands on the cure. She doesn’t need to care about any of these people, they’re not real. Most of them speak in a formal language that relies on the conventions of fantasy literature (there is an ongoing, warm-hearted skewering of all Game of Thrones-esque texts running through both the story and the in-text ‘quotes’ from Time of Iron) and half the characters are known more by their descriptions rather than their names. So she will play the Beauty Dipped in Blood, with her questionable morals, impractical clothes and centre-of-balance-distorting boobs for the weeks that will pass until the cure is available. Whoever she has to shuffle in the plot to secure a place beside that cure, she will shuffle. While she’s not out to kill anyone, it’s not as though they were ever really alive. Not like her. If she has to be the villain to survive, she will be an impeccable one. The people will cheer evil on!

Obviously, little goes to plan. Rae’s illness has taught her cruelty, but she hasn’t forgotten what it is to be kind. Even as she manipulates her role into ongoing main character, she realises that’s not how anyone gets a happy ending. That’s not how she can live with herself. As she comes to think of the other people in the story as real, they become more so, both in how we read them and in how they impact the story. Rae remembers what it is like to make friends, which she never meant to, but, oh, the luxury after years of watching people slip away!

As in previous novel In Other Lands, Rees Brennan has a long list of fantasy tropes to embrace and undermine, and her deft touch with humour is as evident as ever here, but her publishers call this her first adult novel and there is a shift in tone from her previous works. Anger is more real and lasting. Consequences are more significant. Understanding is reached for, even if it’s bitter. One of my favourite things is that she lets her female characters rage, but never judges those who can’t, whether because they’re too powerless or just too tired, and her male characters are allowed to be people if they choose to be — which all but the most vainglorious do.

I hadn’t paid much attention beyond checking the release date for the book, so didn’t realise it was the first in a series. For me, it worked perfectly as a standalone novel, even with the unended threads, which would have perfectly balanced Rae’s unfinished life. That said, I am very happy to know we will spend more time with these characters in the future. I want more. I do want to know if there is a hope for Rae, if this is the fever dream of a fading life, if this is the story Alice has told to ease her sister from the world or something else. There are a dozen characters I hope for, at least three happy endings that would bring joy. But don’t wait for the next books: sink your teeth into this one and believe what it says about the importance of listening to stories rather than just falling in love with characters. Though if you find yourself cheering on Rae, or her servant Emer, the elusive Eric, Horrible Hortensia or almost any of the others, I am the last person who will judge you.

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Sylus SFW/NSFW Headcanons

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A/n: I wanna emphasize further headcanons for Sylus cause he got me in a chokehold, NSFW isn’t a lot cause I couldn’t think of much. I hope you like this one! Also, when I was writing this, Rafayel was on my screen saying “Babe don’t move, I wanna see if I can see myself in the reflection of your eyes” I am so sorry baby boy. Also, I apologize for the separated posts, I, once again, reached the Tumblr limit. <( •̀ᴖ•́)>

Pairing: Sylus x AFAB Reader

Not beta read!

Warning: Toxic! Relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Forced Drug Usage, Exhibitionism, BDSM, Sadistic! Sylus, Cussing, Blood, SYLUS! (He gets his own warning) If there are warnings that I didn’t notice, please let me know, thank you!

Masterlist Sylus SFW/NSFW Headcanons (Part One)

Sylus NSFW Headcanons

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SFW:

✄ He wouldn’t forget about the men you keep in your life; they’re so obsessed with you that they all got impacted by your disappearance, especially Rafayel, who was the one that got you into the situation, he knows that the guy was the reason why you almost died, twice? Was it thrice? Anyways that’s too much for someone who says that they loved you for 800 years, (He’s a full-time stalker, do you think his raven wouldn’t hear your conversation when that man got hospitalized?)

✄ For his amusement... he usually tends to give them little trinkets of your possessions where they live or lets you send a message to them once in a while. Just to mess with them, after all, they're the ones who got to have plenty of time with you, and yet here you are, in his home. He considers himself the winner right now.

✄ Out of all the male leads, the one he considers to be a big threat was Lumiere, the number of times he almost got caught with you, that man is crazy. (as if he isn’t) so whenever he lets you out, he makes sure you’re not identifiable, it’s simple really, he uses a device that changes your appearance to look vastly different from your looks.

✄ In terms of Physical affection, he would do it when you still despise him, he’d force you to kiss him, planting his lips on yours while you squirm from your chains, try to bite his lips, he’ll slap your thighs with a baton, specifically your inner thighs mind you, since it hurts so much more there. Yeah, keep trying to hurt him, he’ll make sure to give it back tenfold.

✄ Does he hug you? He does, though the type of hugs he gives aren’t comfortable, it’s where you can’t move, can’t leave or squirm your way out of his hold, he’s strong enough to hold you down.

✄ Cry for him! He likes seeing your tears, angry tears, or pained tears, he doesn’t care, he just wants to see you sob. While he loves that you’re bratty, he also prefers obedient mutts as stated in the first headcanons. If he needs to punish you for that he’s very much willing.

✄ He does drug you often. He likes watching you turn into a mush, a pliant pet for him, he doesn’t take advantage of you in this state though, he just gets tired of your constant squirming when he wants your cuddle after a long day of work, he’d come back to his home, his bodyguards and servants greeting him enthusiastically (they’re forced to) while you on the other hand, just spat insult after insult to him. He would appreciate the feisty personality you have if he has the energy for it.

✄ He’d grab your cheeks in a bruising grip before he grabs a pill box, finding the right drug to put you in a state where you reciprocate his love for you, he forces your jaw open before pouring 3 pills into your mouth.

✄ “Drink” he’d ordered, you gasped, trying to push the pills out of your throat, “spit it out, you’ll regret it” his voice harsh, while he forces cold water down your throat, making sure that you drank it, the moment he lets your cheeks go, you’d be coughing and gasping for air, he drenched your shirt too cause of what he did, but he doesn’t care, you’re acting like a feral dog, be ready to be treated like one.

✄ The moment the drugs start to circulate in your system, making you tired and obedient, he’ll carry you to the bed, where you were supposed to be, but didn’t like being on since that bed reminded you that you were trapped.

✄ In times like this, he turns vulnerable, asking you to tell him how much you love him, he likes hearing it, you never told him those words, and he could only hear it when you’re drugged out.

✄ You cuddle him, breathing ragged while he traces his fingers on your back, causing you to shiver, it was cold and hot at the same time, and the only comfort you feel is when you’re pressed against his body, he is the only solace you feel when you’re in this state, and you hated it.

✄ When he tells you he loves you, you respond so eagerly, like a proper mutt.

✄ He'd plant kisses on your face, his hand gently holding your back to adjust your position on his lap. Your skin, warm from the effects of the drugs, pressed against his. Seizing the moment, he continued kissing you, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he left bites, he’d savor your whimpers.

✄ Oh, but if you mention any of the male lead’s name except for him while you’re in a dreamlike state,  he’d be fuming with jealousy, but it’s not obvious, his subtle hints would be on his body language, the way his kisses became rougher, he bites your bottom lip, breaking skin and making you bleed, if you wince in pain, he’d have a sneer on his face.  His grip on your back would go to your waist, chubby or not, he’d have you under his mercy, his hands tugging your cuffs and placing your wrists on top of your head.

“Even if your brain’s a mush you never fail to hit a nerve pretty”

✄ After you fall asleep under his “care”, he’ll take care of you, changing your outfit before he tucks you to bed, you’ll often wake up alone, but with a letter that says that he’ll be expecting proper etiquette from you next time.

✄ Does he say “I love you” to you? If you’re still mad at him, he would out of spite, He would infuse it with such sweetness that it’s guaranteed to make you angrier. Honestly, he loves seeing you try to piss him off. Keep going, love; you're at least one step closer.

✄ On the other hand, once you develop Stockholm syndrome, he won’t say it much, you didn’t become boring, he just likes seeing you desperate to please him, to get his love so he stops his affections just for you to beg for it.

✄ Is it hard to withhold loving you? Nope, it’s easy for him, he lived without your constant affection, even during the months he kept you in his home, you didn’t give him the privilege of your love, so he doesn’t mind not touching you at all, not giving you the attention you want, or the verbal affirmation if he still loved you.

✄ Once you start crying and begging, that’s where he’d hush you, petting your head before he kisses your forehead.

“I’m sorry pretty, I’m here now, don’t cry” He’d coo before you hug him as if your life depended on it.

[a-purple-crow]

banner: vysleix, dividers: aquazero & anitalenia (tumblr)

content: silco x gn!reader, sfw, hcs, 2nd person, little/no spoilers for arcane, reader fills a role similar to sevika for silco

warning(s): may be ooc, alcohol & smoking mention, possessiveness mention

a/n: i haven’t even finished all of arcane but this man has been possessing my thoughts!!! enjoy :3

𝜗𝜚— this man will never be direct or verbal with you until it gets very serious. good luck communicating.

𝜗𝜚— once serious with you, he will verbally allude to the vast amount of affection he holds for you (“they’re satisfactory”, “I don’t mind their company”, etc), while his actions show how much he actually cares for you

𝜗𝜚— always has you by his side whenever he can. if a job requires separation from him, he will send sevika for it first. he prefers to keep you nearby.

𝜗𝜚— but he still does trust you to get anything done. because of his lack of direct communication with you, it’s easy to think he just doesn’t think you’re capable. if you attempt to “prove” yourself to him, even though there was no need he’ll be impressed.

𝜗𝜚— doesn’t enjoy physical touch with most people - but you’re not most people. won’t invite the touch but if you happen to touch him, he won’t bat an eye.

𝜗𝜚— offers you a drink or a smoke every time you’re in his office and not working. you get a glass of his favourite whiskey (if you like it, if not he’ll get something in that you actually enjoy), and can sit on or even at his desk and use his ashtray.

𝜗𝜚— gets strangely possessive over you. someone at a meeting vaguely alludes that they wouldn’t mind having you as their right hand, and silco snaps and calls you “his”. his assistant, he means, but everyone else knows he feels differently.

𝜗𝜚— would allow you to scold jinx once or twice. wouldn’t feel comfortable allowing you to be like a second parent to her, but would be okay with you stepping in from time-to-time. whether or not jinx actually listens to you is a vastly different story.

𝜗𝜚— loves when you fix his outfit every morning - watching you carefully as you tie his tie, adjust his collar, brush a hair back from where it’s come loose… every time you’re done, he takes your hand, kisses the back of it, and then the two of you silently go about your day.

𝜗𝜚— will monologue to you constantly about the underworld this and loyalty that and back in my day, yada, yada, yada. he just feels comfortable enough to tell you his full philosophy, and really wants you in particular to understand him and his actions.

𝜗𝜚— when you and sevika have bad news for silco, you both know you’re gonna be the one to deliver it. he’s never as outwardly angry when it’s you telling him.

𝜗𝜚— he loves simply observing you, quietly and carefully, taking note of all your tiny features and habits that would be hard to notice otherwise.

𝜗𝜚— the only time he ever allows himself a moment of tenderness or vulnerability is with jinx, and with you. helping him with his appearance and you notice him leaning into your touch, a softened expression on his face. it only lasts a few seconds, but he allows you to hold him for just those moments, before it’s back to business.

[contraryclock]

stupid ass Don Quixote ramblings

hi this is my first tumblr post but i really wanted a good place to put this

spoilers for all of current limbus company, including Murder on the warp Express, the Don Quixote book (( kinda )), and a musical (( i'll get there ))

please humor this deranged rant about a character i havent read the source book of

so basically ive had a theory since Don was even teased that she's less so based on book Don Quixote and moreso based on the Man of La Mancha musical which is. an insane thing to suggest but hear me out here (( ive since changed how i word my stance to the much more mild "it will most likely delve into the themes of both works and reference both" because suggesting they would discount the book entirely is TRUE insanity ))

her quote (( from teaser tweets that i cannot find anymore? they seem like they were deleted which sucks )) was "To reach the unreachable star!" or something which is notably not a quote from the original book ((as far as im aware at least?)), and suggests. a lot i think!

One of the most notable differences between Man of La Mancha and the original Don Quixote is their tone and attitude towards Quixote. In the original text, he's shown to be a fool who is ignorant to the vastly more interesting world around him, and prefers to instead sink deeper into his delusions of reality equating to chivalric literature. This makes sense as Don Quixote was written as a parody and mockery of the genre

La Mancha is, notably, much more forgiving on Quixote's character, showing that while still a fool, and his insanity often detrimental to those around him, he is still a good person at heart and that he truly wishes to pursue this justice he posits

I usually say it as "Don Quixote is about how reality is beautiful, and La Mancha is about how sometimes one should strive to make reality a little more fantastical" although i dont know if that. is the most accurate comparison. both Don Quixote and La Mancha have a lot of themes and stuff going on

one of the things that made me scream was learning about "Miguel" being written on don's LCB combat spritesheet instead of her listed name

which if you've seen or read a summary of la mancha is a huge alarm bell

In La Mancha, the whole thing is shown as a Play within a Play

Miguel de Cerventes is sent to prison, awaiting trial by the inquisition, and is tasked with defending himself in a mock trial with the other prisoners so they dont take his belongings. His defense is Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha! With the prisoners acting out the various roles he assigns them, and him acting as the leading man, Don Quixote himself!

that was most of the things that made me think "Oh, maybe it'll be La Mancha!" and then this happened

and i sort of lost my god damned mind

because like what if this is miguel... what if shes simultaneously playing out her life as don quixote as a her delusion, and as her dream, but also as a statement...

idk but this isnt JUST about Man of La Mancha bc i think this has a few implications for how don's canto is going to go

In both don quixote and la mancha, they send someone to cure quixote of his delusions

The final thing they try is setting up an act where a "Knight of Mirrors" duels with Quixote, which ends up working.

The Knight forces Quixote to see how he is perceived by others, to see the truth that he is no knight.

ignoring the stuff with vampires and mirrors for a second, i feel like this could be more mirror world shenanigans, where either the knight IS a mirror world don quixote, or is someone who will show her mirror worlds. Whatever that will imply!!! i dont know its exciting!!!!!

Her being absurdly old and powerful, plus bloodfiends having a whole familial adjacent hierarchy makes me think theres a LOT of bloodfiends out there that would want her back

I dunno!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im insane!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! i just wanted to get my thoughts out before her canto actually happened so i can say that i did indeed have an opinion on this

-limbus assets taken form Lunartique's asset google drive go look at it -text written by me and not proofread

ok thanks bye dont follow me byeee byeeeeee

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: july 2024

full disclosure: I started out July in a bit of a mental lurch, really feeling stuck in a rut. there are a lot of reasons for that, absolutely none of which need to be shared with the general populace of tumblr dot com, but suffice to say that I was feeling listless and reading was not a high priority. I was pretty content to accept that this was going to be another month where I didn't finish a lot of books. I was too busy for most of June, and now too unfocused and bummed out in July.

and then that ended up not being the case. I think I can chalk that up to three things:

very early in the month I realized that none of the reading I had been planning on getting to was grabbing my interest at all, so I did something drastically different: picked up a YA memoir that I bought at pride on the recommendation of a bookseller. not my usual kind of reading at all, but YA is very readable and memoirs grab me fast because I'm nosy, so I figured it might be great for getting out of a rut. and boy, was I right!

Akwaeke Emezi also has a new novel out, and if you don't know then please note now that I'm a person second and an Akwaeke Emezi fan first. their newest novel was a sinister joyride, non-stop twists and turns that I couldn't put down until I saw the characters through to their bitter ends.

and, of course, over in the Dungeon Meshi manga I got to Mithrun. I've only had Mithrun for a couple of chapters, but if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this dungeon and then myself. even if I hadn't been able to read anything else, that would have kept me running back to the library for more Dungeon Meshi.

all of which added up to a fairly voracious appetite for books being reignited in my brain, and my second most book-heavy month of the year so far (still haven't beat May, but there's time). sick!

so - what have I been reading?

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 7-10 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Taylor Engel, 2019-2022) - mannnnn I know I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said elsewhere, but Dungeon Meshi is so. fucking good. the way that Kui starts to raise the stakes of the story and grow the world beyond the core band of adventurers is so conscientious and well-done, timed perfectly so it never feels like having an undercooked heap of fantasy exposition thrown at you all at once. instead everything proceeds at a perfect simmer, leaving me feeling like the frog in that pot of boiling water who didn't notice how dire things had gotten until it was very suddenly too late and I was screaming bloody murder at a book. things have gotten so dire that I'm yearning for the days when fighting a red dragon was our biggest problem - and yet, through it all, every character remains rendered with humanity and compassion, no matter how scary, dangerous, or outright alien they first appear. I'm not naming any spoilers, but I need [REDACTED] to fix shit ASAP in Vol. 11 and [SUPER REDACTED] is on my shitlist fucking forever. also Mithrun sweetie you're perfect, do as many crimes as you want.

Heart and Hand (Rebel Carter, 2019) - my romance novel of the month, as picked by my lovely patreonites! this self-published historical romance promised some messy f/m/m, following a biracial (half Black, half white) young lady, Julie Baptiste, as she responds to a marriage ad that takes her out west to the fictional town of Gold Sky, Montana. Julie's sort of a standard historical heroine - she doesn't care for the silliness of high society and vastly prefers the company of books, looking forward to becoming Gold Sky's schoolteacher - but her marriage has a twist: rather than marrying one man, she's agreed to marry two, a pair of friends who have been inseparable since they served together in the Civil War. this book is charming, for sure, but I can't help be more intrigued by what isn't there than what is, namely: are these men having sex with each other or not? Rebel? hey, Rebel? why is there no DP in this two husbands mail order bride book? that was, like, he bare minimum that I expected. for the love of god, why did those men never put both of their dicks inside Julie at the same time? why did we spend so much time on emotional conflict that could be easily resolved if anyone just talked to each other when Julie's two beautiful husbands could have been having sex in front of her? HELLO?

also, listen, this is such a nitpick, but I am FROM Montana and it feels personal: I know that the general poverty of frontier life isn't sexy, but god these people are WAY too well off. at one point Julie enjoys some fucking BANANAS, something that I goddamn assure you were not easy to come by in late 19th century Montana. a banana. as fucking if.

All Boys Aren't Blue (George M. Johnson, 2020) - as is proudly advertised on the back cover of my copy, in recent years All Boys Aren't Blue has been the second most-challenged book in America behind Maia Kobabe's Gender Queer. reading through All Boys Aren't Blue it was initially hard to see what exactly was so objectionable, until I realized that a queer Black person living their life with compassion and joy is the scariest thing some of these motherfuckers can possibly imagine. Johnson writes about their life growing up in the nexus of racism, homophobia, and masculinity with wisdom and endless compassion, directly addressing young people who may find themselves in similar positions to offer them assurance that they, too, can be okay. more than anything, All Boys Aren't Blue is a plea for young people to live their lives without fear and shame. it's a beautiful blessing of a book that I hope brings comfort to every innumerable kids who need it.

Little Rot (Akwaeke Emezi, 2024) - how do I even begin to describe Little Rot? definitely not for those who feel squeamish about sex crimes, I guess that's an important place to start. this novel starts with the breakup of a long-term Nigerian couple, Kalu and Aima, and follows both of them into a weekend that starts with drugs and sex parties and spirals increasingly out of control from there, drawing more and more characters into a complicated snarl of money and power. Little Rot has the seedy, lurid draw of an episode of SVU if SVU ever grew up and realized that cops don't do shit, reveling in the nastiest that Emezi's imagined city of New Lagos has to offer. cannot say this book is for everyone - few of Emezi's novels are - but god, it's a thrilling study in corruption.

The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader (editor Joan Nestle, 1992) - this is a massive and fascinating historical document, assembled by Nestle as part of her work with the Lesbian Herstory Archives. within this collection are letters, interviews, academic essays, poems, and transcribed oral histories from all manner of self-identified butch and femme lesbians. while some of the contributors are recognizable names in the history of American queer activism (including Pat Califa, who's a bisexual trans man now lmao), others are women who were just trying to live their lives with as much authenticity, comfort, and dignity as was possible in their time. (although, notably, the vast majority of these women are white, and all but a very few are Americans. racial and cultural diversity is not one of the collection's strong suits.)

the personal narratives span all over the twentieth century, and I was really delighted to see the very frank discussions of what would be written off as "bad representation" by a lot of queer resources today: butches overdosing on toxic masculinity and getting in messy bar brawls, femmes committing outlandish acts of adultery, lesbian sexual awakenings taking place between fairly young children, and one extremely memorable instance of a butch getting unexpectedly pregnant and decided to do a little sex work on the side since she couldn't get more pregnant than she already was. I was particularly fascinated by the many, many accounts of "second wave" self-identified lesbian feminists who tried to do away with butch/femme identities and "politically incorrect" expression of lesbian sexuality altogether (that's everything but mutual cunnilingus, btw) in pretty eerie echoes of contemporary radfem arguments. at close to 500 pages it's definitely better suited to skimming and stopping to read whatever catches your attention rather than trying to read cover to cover, but I think this is a really invaluable piece of history.

American Mermaid (Julia Langbien, 2023) - this was a novel, for sure. American Mermaid is a novel about a broke, anxious high school teacher named Penelope whose novel, also called American Mermaid, is a runaway success that gets optioned for film. Penelope quits her teaching job and moves across the country to Hollywood to work on the script with two dude bros who don't really Get what American Mermaid is about, and set to work turning Penelope's weird, unsexy female empowerment novel into an MCU-style action romp with a hot young lead. the novel's strongest when it's deep in the spirals of Penelope's frantic mind, probing the conflict between her fairly desperate need for cash (she wants to be financially independent of her conservative father, she has good reason to suspect breast cancer is in her future, she wants to start a family someday) and the artistic affront she feels at watching her story be disrespected and dismantled. where it's weaker is in the extensive chapters of the story-within-a-story; while useful for context, I straight up didn't need to read that much of Penelope's novel. and the plot overall kind of felt like it fell off the rails near the end once Langbien finishes making her point about how Hollywood sucks. it's not bad, but it's also just... fine. it's fine!

How to Taste: A Guide Discovering Flavor and Savoring Life (Mandy Naglich, 2023) - how do I put this so nicely? this book is for people who are kind of dork ass losers about food, a group that I do very much count myself as a part of. I first became acquainted with Naglich's work when she appeared on a podcast called the Sporkful, which claims that it is "not for foodies, it's for eaters." I'm a fairly devout listener, and after listening to Naglich describe her efforts to become a master cicerone (one of the world's most elite beer tasters, a distinction that is taken Very Fucking Seriously) I thought sure, whatever, that's a book I can get behind. Naglich is maybe a big more entertaining as a podcast guest than a nonfiction author. in places the book can be dry or roughly constructed in a way that suggests another pass by an editor or maybe a co-writer would have helped. and straight up, there are just weird fucking typos in this book that are like. crazy to me, I cannot believe they got through. the cheap-ass cover art also suggests this was not exactly a high budget production.

but having been very mean about it, there are a lot of extremely interesting tidbits about the world of professional tasting here! it sounds awful and you couldn't pay me to do it, but here's the cool thing: Naglich is extremely aware that what she does is insane and she knows that the average reader doesn't want to learn how to identify where a coffee bean was grown just by sniffing the bean from across a room. what she offers instead are really approachable ways to be more conscientious about how you interact with and appreciate food! and she also shares some really cool info about tasting snobbery that IS bullshit, to help you sort out the stuff that actually matters and emphasize that fun and personal taste ultimately trump any "rules." it's a very dorky book but I, personally, did have a good time.

Sex Criminals Vol 3: Three the Hard Way (Matt Fraction and Chip Zdarsky, 2016) - every time I read another volume of Sex Criminals I find myself thinking "man, hang on, do I ever actually like Sex Criminals? am I enjoying this?" but then I end up placing a hold on the next one. I don't know, it's charming! it's like so very VERY 2010s in its dialogue, by which I mean it's like. you know. it's giving Joss Whedon before we all found out how bad he sucked and collectively booed him. but man, I love a story that's down to get weird, and Sex Criminals is sooooo about being weird. and yet also very normal where sex is concerned! considering this is a series all about people having freaky world-altering powers that activate when they cum, sex is treated as an incredibly ordinary thing, warts and all. I like that! I like seeing that! idk, I don't need every comic to be perfect, as evidenced by the fact that I'm actively enjoying Azrael: Angel of the Bat. sometimes the vibes are just good.

[depressedbloggerwrites]

i feel like writing an essay on why jeffannie is a horrible ship

disclaimer before i rant: you are completely entitled to your opinion on whatever ships you prefer! this is just what i think :)

i'm going to begin with the most obvious problem with jeffannie: the age difference. at the start of the show, she's eighteen (a TEENAGER, guys) and he's in his thirties. they are at vastly different stages of life. he has way more life experience than her.

even if we ignore that, they just make no sense together. they already have that father/daughter dynamic, and the chemistry community reddit is constantly on about is nowhere to be found. all the kiss scenes felt forced (maybe not debate 109, but i'll talk about that later). also, jeff having two awesome women competing for his love, and then going after the teenager with a boyfriend...interesting.

i don't think jeff is necessarily predatory; he is very clearly not exclusively attracted to girls as young as annie, but that doesn't mean his attraction to her isn't at least slightly iffy.

i saw someone say annie and jeff, a recovering addict and someone who currently has an addiction, would not have a very healthy relationship in the long run, and i agree. as the original poster said, annie worked so hard to put her addiction behind her, and being with jeff wouldn't be good for her.

also, whoever made that tumblr post saying every jeffannie episode would work better with jeffbritta or abedison was 100% right, which is why i'm going to discuss the problems with each jeffannie episode.

jeffannie began in debate 109, when annie and jeff had to argue the point that man is inherently evil on the greendale debate team, and the debate ends in a scene where the leader of city college's team launches himself out of his wheelchair; jeff instinctively catches him, and the leader uses this to support the point that man is good. annie proceeds to grab jeff and kiss him, which makes him drop city college's leader, which wins them the debate, because 'he dropped him because he was horny!'

god.

obviously, you can see why that made me uncomfortable to watch, but i guess you could look past it in the comedy and chaos of it all. anyway, jeffbritta would have made that episode so much better. britta would definitely be on the debate team, and since she and jeff actually had a normal age gap, which would make everything far less creepy.

next, let's talk about the worst thing in the world:

pascal's triangle revisited.

actually, the episode was fine. i enjoyed it. but that kiss at the end makes me so angry. jeff, you have these two beautiful women who you have been pursuing this whole season, and you go and kiss the teenage girl. THE TEENAGE GIRL. jesus fucking christ. and she had a boyfriend too. you know what would have worked? abed convincing annie not to transfer instead. infinitely better chemistry, and an abedison kiss that actually impacted the plot would have changed my life.

the conspiracy episode was excellent, but jeffbritta would have made it perfect. i don't think it expanded on anything problematic jeffannie-wise though, so that's a win.

and then you have intro to political science. i haven't really seen anyone talk about this, and it's once again not a bad episode, but i really think the writers just didn't want britta to have a storyline that actually developed her character, because she would have devoured in annie's place during this episode. jeff's dynamic with her is already perfect, and it would make so much more sense for them to run against each other, as opposed to jeff and annie.

all those alternate timeline jeffannie scenes in remedial chaos theory already sucked, but i didn't care too much because i knew they weren't going to push it into anything too serious, but then you had annie tell jeff he reminded her of her father mid-makeout and it's just...wow. so the creators knew they had this very obvious father-daughter like relationship, were fully aware of it, and still forced the ship. cool.

now, don't kill me for this, but i'm one of those people who actually genuinely, really liked season 4. and one reason why i liked it was because the one major jeffannie scene they had was the imaginary alternate timeline one, which acknowledged that jeffannie would not be good together, and was hilarious. so thank you season 4, they can never make me hate you <3

introduction to teaching was also great because there was a plotline centered around jeff and annie that never tried to force any sort of awkward romantic chemistry (at least that's how i remember it), which seems impossible in community. honestly, this episode just proved that platonic jeffannie is superior to romantic jeffannie.

but that period of bliss where there was no romantic jeffannie didn't last long, because then you have g.i. jeff.

i love g.i. jeff. it's one of my favorite episodes, and was phenomenal for jeff's character. there was just one line, where animated coma dream jeff tells animated coma dream annie, 'look at the rack i gave you.' that was just kind of gross and didn't sit right, especially since a major plot point of this episode was jeff turning 40 and having a crisis. annie was *checks notes* 23-24 during this episode. the age gap is still very concerning here, and was made worse because of the fact that it really highlights how jeff is aging.

and then season 6 got so close to leaving jeffannie behind, forever, and then they had to ruin it with the series finale. i'm just saying, we couldn't have a platonic jeffannie goodbye like we got with jabed (speaking of which, the jabed goodbye arguably hurt more than the jeffannie one)?

anyway, i am desperately hoping we get jeffbritta/abedison (or trobed!) in the community movie, even though i know that's probably not going to happen, i do not like jeffannie at all, and thank you for reading my explosion of angry thoughts!

[aivarizhtml]

Head in the clouds with you, love

Since no one can stop me from treating tumblr as my self-exploration project, I want to share some thoughts on Jason/Piper ship. I’ve always felt the biggest fondness for canon pairings, which is hard to explain - maybe I just believe in author’s abilities to prove me right about relationships they’re talking about. For me, the journey of these two demigods, represented in no less than five books, was believable enough. It was a journey of trust and first love and exploration, willingness to show your best and worst sides to the other person. In fact, for me it felt the strongest after Percabeth, who had much more time and space for development. Hence when I found out about events of ToA, I felt disheartened to continue exploring Riordanverse. It probably coincided with me outgrowing these books, but I prefer leaving them at that ending of Blood of Olympus - bittersweet, unsurely hoping for the future together.

There’s a shared loneliness between all the members of the seven, and there are many conversations we didn’t get to see - midnight talks of Jason and Piper, being children of movie stars with vastly different childhoods, him telling her of the wolves and growing amongst army discipline, her sharing of LA memories and never having a loyal friend beside her before their meeting. Amusingly, books about lonely kids going on road trips in small groups are really lacking in those calm character bits.

Nevertheless, I feel like pjo and hoo series supported me a lot in my teenage years, being one of a few fandoms focused around teens going through immense struggles and falling in love in the meantime. That’s the one thing for me, long time a grown up, still hasn’t changed.

[starleska]

Ngl I must confess…I’ve always mixed up the Outlast and Resident Evil franchises. Idk why. Maybe something in the color palettes? Impossible to tell. I got real good at telling the difference between the games recently tho. However, at the exact same time you started posting Ramon Salazar, another person I follow started posting Franco Barbi. Once again, I do not know why, but I GUESS their silhouettes were too similar. I was back at square one and mixing them up for awhile.

I recently started to tell them apart effortless again! Which is nice. All is well in the world. And now YOURE POSTING FRANCO BARBI—

Regardless, good for you, good for him. At least I can still tell them apart now. I love both of them. <3 I hope y’all are doing well, invite me to both weddings. I imagine they’ll be wildly different aesthetics. 👀 I’m here for it😂

(also, once again, I hope you’re doing well and having a good time! I’ve been rather stressed lately but your blog and new blorbos make me feel better, it’s all so fun <3 that being said, still take breaks if you need them, I’ll be just fine, everyone will be fine 💖 old posts are just as fun as new ones. XD Tumblr user Starleska and the menagerie of F/Os would never hurt me…unlike…planning what to pack to housesit next-door…dungeons and dragons and other ttrpgs with my far nerdier family…being unable to really pound the pavement looking for jobs until I know the autism evaluation process is over…multiple friends drawing and writing my male blorbos pregnant/about to be pregnant (as gifts and/or psychological warfare) bc they love domesticity but don’t believe in me-pregnant or “fpreg” no matter what I say about the matter… c’est le vie, vastly first world problems. I wish you the absolute best!!! Take care!💖)

dfghfd WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THESE ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT GUYS!!!!!!

i would be offended if i didn't think you were inching towards falling for one or both at some point...and if you weren't coming into my inbox talking about getting your faves pregnant 😂💖 (speaking of, your pals have excellent taste - you should tell me who your Franco simp friend is, and see if they'd be interested in Ramón 👀)

i do get it, i do...they're both short, murderous mutant men with violent tempers and small yet dedicated fanbases who find them impossibly sexy 🙈💖 but Ramón Salazar is like...his first iteration is all formal and cunning, yet with a tendency to explode and go into childish fits of rage, whilst his second iteration is all airs and graces with a colder, more measured exterior. whereas Franco Barbi...i mean, i think we could write whole books on everything wrong with him 😂😂 if you value your life don't listen to Franco's audio lines i think i blushed so hard it hurt and all the colour drained out of my face at the same time- congratulations on now being able to tell them apart!!! that means you miiiight just survive long enough for them to grow attached to you. what would you prefer? Ramón softly caressing your face and calling you 'my dear', being enticed into becoming the Castellan's princess? or Franco chasing you down, cornering you and murmuring absolute filth into your ear? two very different flavours, but both equally enticing 😉 (or, y'know, maybe you have some self-respect and i'm just shooting blanks 💀) awww honey it is so good to hear from you - but i'm sorry you've been so stressed!!! 🫂🫂 that is far too much stuff to be dealing with all at once. how's the progress re: the autism assessment now? don't worry, it won't last forever - and all of these other problems will seem smaller once your time is freer! sounds like you've got lovely things in the pipeline as well, so please do remember to chill out and rest and come and scream about your faves on here for relaxation purposes. doctor's orders 🥰

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly...

(don't know what kink week is? click here!) ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the fires of unholy week rage still, but perhaps today the sinful and the sweet can mix — consider it a calm before the storm ∼

∼ day four brings us our beloved cop with a heart of gold ♥ Miranda Hilmarson ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

tags: #fluff and smut #cunnilingus #vaginal fingering #strap-ons #lesbian sex #bisexual character #gangbang #lesbian gangbang #porn #sex work #triple penetration #double penetration #face-fucking #face-sitting #butt slapping #face slapping #acted-out rape #pretend rape #degradation #verbal humiliation #handcuffs #prison sex #friends to lovers #rape fantasy #multiple orgasms #kink!week

...but we could be (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Miranda is crunching on her cereal.

Very loudly. Robin waits for her to finish eating so she can concentrate. She counts to ten in her mind to calm down. Then she counts to twenty and then to fifty, and Miranda is still fucking eating. It sounds like she’s chewing on her own teeth.

Finally, she snaps. “Hilmarson, will you cut it out?”

“Whaf?” she asks, mouth full, eyes wide. She looks like a kicked puppy.

“The chewing. It’s fucking annoying.”

If Miranda was a puppy, her ears would droop. She looks down at the desk and swallows a mouthful of cereal. “Oh. Sorry.”

Robin returns to typing on her computer. Finally, some fucking peace and quiet—

“I shouldn’t overeat, anyway. I was just so hungry. I’m going to brunch later, you know.”

“Hm,” Robin grumbles, not wanting to incite further conversation — and it works. Miranda is no longer crunching on her goddamn cereal, she’s no longer talking, and Robin can finally work in peace. 

The fucking brunch is bothering her though.

“Since when do you eat brunch?” she can’t help but ask. She never imagined Miranda to be the sort of person who eats brunch.

“Oh, I don’t usually — I only eat brunch with my pornstar friends!”

Robin almost chokes on her own spit. “Your what?”

“My pornstar friends,” she says, beaming.

“Right.” Robin hates that she wants to know more about this. “And those are… friends from school that went on to become pornstars?”

“Oh, no. We know each other from the shoot. I starred in a video, you know.” She sounds proud as she says it.

Robin blinks. “You starred… in a porno?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah! It was like an all-girl gangbang scene in a women’s prison. And all the girls were super nice so we stayed in touch. We get brunch every couple of weeks.”

Robin stopped listening on the gangbang part. She shakes her head. “Hilmarson, I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

“I’ve been asked, you know. I was on my way to the gym and this really nice lady approached me and told me they need someone tall for a shoot they’re doing, and asked me if I’d be comfortable filming a sex scene. And I said, depends, you know. I wouldn’t do any piss stuff, that’d be nasty. Then she told me it’s an all girl gangbang scene and I couldn’t believe it! That’s been my fantasy since I was a teen!”

“Your fantasy?” Robin repeats. All of this sounds like a fever dream, and something that could definitely only happen to Miranda.

“Yeah! People have asked me to do sex work before, you know. Because of, well,” she gestures to herself, waving her arms up and down, “this. I’ve been asked to be an escort, but that just seemed, oh, I don’t know. Rather bleak.”

Robin can’t imagine a bleaker job than being a police officer, but she says nothing.

“I usually say no when people ask, though — but I couldn’t say no to this. It was a once in a lifetime chance!”

Robin blinks really, really slowly, trying to process what she just heard. 

Miranda’s face suddenly lights up. “Oh! Oh! I can show you!” 

Robin shakes her head. “What?” she asks, but Miranda is already scooting over to Robin’s desk on her chair. Before Robin knows it, Miranda is sitting next to her and grabbing her keyboard.

“It’s available online. It’s on a payed website, but I have access to it. Just a sec,” she says as she types in the address.

Robin grabs the keyboard from her, and Miranda gives her a wide-eyed look. “Are you fucking mental? You can’t search for porn at a police station! And we certainly can’t watch that here!”

“Oh. Right,” she says, looking a bit embarrassed. She seems to genuinely not have thought of that. “Well, we could watch it at my place.”

Robin can’t believe her ears. “Sorry, what?”

“We could watch it at my place,” Miranda repeats. “We can get popcorn and beer, and I can show you.”

Robin scoffs in bewilderment. “I won’t watch your porn, Hilmarson. That’d be weird.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Well, I’m fine with it. It’s really hot, you know. And it wouldn’t be weird. We wouldn’t like, watch the whole thing. We could just watch the beginning, before the action starts. It’s really cool. All the girls are amazing actresses, it’s really realistic. Well, until the part with the sex toys. There’s no way they could get away with having those in prison.”

“Absolutely not.”

There’s no way she’s watching porn with Miranda — especially not Miranda-porn. 

“Oh. Okay,” she says, disappointed, and rolls her chair back to her desk.

They continue to work in silence, but Robin can’t focus. Something’s bothering her.

“I didn’t know you were into girls,” she finally says.

She glances at Miranda, who opens up her drawer and pulls out a bag of chips. Her cereal sits forgotten next to her. 

“It didn’t come up.” Miranda opens the bag and shoves a fistful of chips into her mouth. Robin recoils at the horrifying crunching noise and turns her gaze back to the computer screen.

Miranda crunches on her chips for a couple of seconds before asking a question, Robin doesn’t want to answer — but she supposes it’s fair of Miranda to ask, since Robin was the one who broached the subject.  “Are you into girls, Griffin?”

“Not usually,” she says. She doesn’t really wanna talk about it.

“But sometimes?” Miranda asks, still crunching away.

“I guess.”

She lifts her gaze and finds Miranda looking at her with curiosity, munching on her chips. “I thought you had a bit of a vibe,” Miranda says.

“I don’t have a vibe.”

Miranda shrugs. “Okay. I’m not very good at telling, anyway. Girls like me, you know. I think it’s the height. I rarely have to approach first.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Okay,” Miranda says. “Want chips?”

“No.”

Robin hears Miranda shove the bag back into the drawer. They both continue to work in silence. Robin’s finding it hard to concentrate on work, but she refuses to stop. Her thoughts wander.

It never occurred to her that Miranda might be into women. She doesn’t know why the thought plagues her. It’s nothing special — many women are into other women. Robin has had… experiences. Not her thing, really. Except that one time — but that was its own sort of disaster.

She always thought Miranda had horrible taste in men. Her brother is a prime example, as well as their boss — just garbage man after garbage man. Women are at least prettier, if nothing else — even when their personalities are garbage. Maybe Miranda would do better finding a nice woman for herself. She hopes her taste in women is better than in men, but her hopes aren’t high — Miranda is sort of a walking disaster with no self-preservation instincts. Who accepts to star in a porno after being approached on the street?

About ten minutes pass in silence. Robin doesn’t work — instead she thinks about Miranda’s love life — and then the very subject of her thoughts interrupts her ruminating by speaking again.

“Hey, wanna have brunch with us? I’d really love for you to meet the girls. You’ll love them, I swear. They’re really nice.”

Unlike Miranda, Robin didn’t have breakfast, nor chips, and she can hear her stomach growling. She should probably eat something.

Ah, what the hell.

“Sure,” she says. 

Miranda squeaks — she’s practically vibrating with excitement.

Robin really hopes she won’t regret this.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

“Miranda! Miranda!” a group of five pretty young women squeals from across the restaurant. 

“Ohmygod, hiiii!” Miranda squeals back and scurries towards the girls. She pulls each of them into a bone crushing hug. They all reach up to her shoulders — they are absolutely tiny compared to her. Robin can’t imagine what that fucking video must have looked like.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Mirandy!” one of them says, squished against Miranda’s chest. 

“I’ve missed you too!”

They all hug and scream and Robin just stands there, feeling like she’s witnessing a sorority girls reunion in an American rom-com. She’s already regretting this. “Everybody, meet Robin,” Miranda says after they’re done screaming, her face beaming in delight. Robin hates to admit that she looks kind of cute, all happy and glowing like this. “She’s gonna join us for brunch today.”

The nearest of the girls goes to pull her in a hug. “Hi, Robin! I’m Tracy.”

Robin scoots away. “Not a hugger. Sorry,” she says.

“Oh,” the girl says, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh, sorry, should’ve told you we are all huggers,” Miranda says to Robin, then turns to the girls. “She always acts all mean, but really she’s a delight. She’s the best partner one could wish for.”

“Work partner,” Robin adds, wanting to make it clear right off the bat that she and Miranda are not involved. They’re not even friends. “We’re work colleagues.”

The rest of the girls introduce themselves a bit more coldly, shaking her hand, and she immediately forgets their names. They’re all eyeing her up and down, studying her — it’s all rather awkward. 

“We should sit down,” Miranda says, smiling, oblivious to the awkwardness, and they all sit down at the big table the girls have already occupied beforehand. Robin spends the brunch eating her food and minding her business. The girls try to include her in the conversation a couple of times, but once they realise she keeps giving one word replies to everything and doesn't speak unless directly spoken to, they slowly give up.

It doesn’t take a particularly observant person to see that the girls absolutely adore Miranda. They’re very touchy-feely with her, they all look at her with wide adoring eyes, and they seem to find her jokes genuinely funny. Robin can see why Miranda likes to hang out with them. Nobody at the police station treats her like that, that’s for sure. 

The entire thing has a bit of a “schoolgirls at a sleepover” vibe, but gayer. All of the girls are very clearly into Miranda — they touch her uniform, ruffle her hair, give her an occasional peck on the cheek — and Miranda just sits there, looking absolutely delighted by everything that’s going on, radiating major golden retriever vibes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that these girls would clearly gladly fuck her again (that much is obvious even to Robin). There’s also lots of giggling and talking about clothes (she didn’t know Miranda was into clothes — but then again she did seem to be delighted by Prada shoes that one time). Robin’s just waiting for them to start braiding each other’s hair. The whole thing makes her uncomfortable, especially the physical affection — and on top of that, she’s never been the girly type. In fact, girls like that bullied her in school. She always thought Miranda was similar in that regard, but it looks like she was wrong. 

She seems to be learning a lot of things about Miranda today.

She can’t wait for the whole thing to be over. The food was good, but not good enough to justify the torturous socialising she, for some unknown reason, willingly subjected herself to. She’s relieved when they all start getting up from the table. 

She tries to move to the side and wait for Miranda to say her goodbyes, hoping no one will talk to her again — and she almost succeeds in her plan.

One of the girls — the one with jet black hair down to her butt and an eyebrow slit (she believes her name is Sydney or maybe Sally) — approaches her. 

“Can I help you?” Robin asks rudely. 

“Yes, actually, you can,” the girl says. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck your thing is with Mir and it’s none of my business — I know she likes a tough bitch — but if you break her heart I will fucking cut you, get it?”

Robin scoffs. “What?” 

“You heard me. That girl is a fucking delight. If you dim her light, we will all cut you.

“You might want to think before you threaten me. I’m a police officer,” Robin says, so pissed she doesn’t even try to explain she and Miranda are definitely not an item.

Sally — or Sydney — simply raises an eyebrow and eyes her up and down. “We’ve got contacts in the police, bitch. Watch out.”

And with that, she turns. “Mir-mir!” she yells and hurries towards Miranda. “I didn’t get my hug!”

Robin just watches Miranda hug whatever-her-name-is, shocked, mouth agape. She says nothing further as she and Miranda leave the restaurant. She doesn’t bother to wave at the girls, or even spare them a second glance.

“So? What do you think? Aren’t they amazing?” Miranda asks the second they step onto the street. Her voice is high-pitched with excitement. “With them I feel like I’m finally part of the girl’s club. It’s so nice.”

She doesn’t even look at Miranda, just keeps on walking. Miranda just follows her like a puppy. 

“I didn’t know you were a girly girl.”

“Oh, I never used to be. Girls like them used to bully me in school. And look at me now,” she says proudly. “I really came a long way.”

“It’s because they want to fuck you,” Robin says before she can stop herself.

“Oh, that’s not the only reason. They were really nice to me at the shoot, and they really didn’t have to be. I was very nervous, and they did their best to make me comfortable.”

Robin scoffs. “One of them threatened to, I quote, ‘cut me’ if I break your heart. The one with black hair.”

“Oh, Samantha?”

(Okay — so neither Sydney nor Sally.)

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Miranda says carefully. “It’s just something you say.”

“Yeah, when people are an item. But you and I are not an item.” 

“Oh, they know that.”

Robin stops walking and looks Miranda in the eyes. “Do they?”

Miranda just laughs. “Yeah! You told them, and then I told them again.” 

She pauses for a second. 

“Besides, I know you wouldn’t spare me a second glance,” she adds and gives Robin a little smile — the smile of a person who’s used to not getting picked first and is completely okay with it. For some reason, it breaks Robin’s heart.

She frowns. “It’s not that I wouldn’t.”

Miranda’s eyes light up. “You would? Okay, so like, if you didn’t know me, and we met randomly at a bar, would you buy me a drink?”

Robin sighs and starts walking again. “I don’t know, Hilmarson. Maybe. I’d have to be drunk.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, I’d be drunk too!” she says and happily scurries after her. “Oh, that’s nice to know. I’d totally let you buy me a drink.”

Robin says nothing further. They walk in silence for a while until they reach the police station.

When Miranda goes to enter the building, Robin stops her. “Wait,” she says. 

Miranda turns and looks at her with those big, blue, puppy eyes. “Yes?”

Robin doesn’t know what possessed her. 

“If I agree to see the video, do you promise to tell those girls once and for all that we are not together?”

“Oh, you don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to. And they know we’re not together.”

“Tell them again.”

“Okay, sure,” she says.

They stand like that for a long moment, neither of them moving. “Uh… do you want to… see the video?” Miranda finally asks, confused.

Robin purses her lips. “It will plague me if I don’t. But we stop at the actual porn part.”

Miranda’s entire face lights up. “Of course,” she chirps. “Oh, I’ll get snacks and everything, it’s gonna be so much fun, I promise! Come to mine around eight?”

“Sure.”

She ignores Miranda the rest of the day, but Miranda is in such a good mood that she doesn't seem to mind — or notice — at all.

Robin doesn’t know why she did it. She supposes it’s her morbid curiosity — or perhaps it’s that sometimes she gets awfully lonely in her flat at night, and she would appreciate some company. Miranda is obnoxious, but she’s the only person that Robin didn’t manage to chase away with her foul attitude — not for the lack of trying. 

Miranda is not someone Robin would normally pick as a friend, but she has to admit that Miranda is a very good friend. Robin knows she could count on her if needed — and now that she thinks about it, if her place was burning down, Miranda would be the first person she’d call — because she knows Miranda would answer. 

Miranda has shit taste in men, but maybe Robin has shit taste in friends. And maybe she needs someone like Miranda to keep her at least somewhat fit for society. Without her, she’d become a true hermit. 

…

Still — is it weird to watch porn with a work colleague? 

She decides not to dwell on it — she already agreed to the thing, anyway. And it’s Miranda — there’s no way it could lead to anything sexual. Worst case scenario, it’ll be awkward, and then they’ll never mention it again.

With that thought, she closes the subject in her mind and continues to work undisturbed until the end of her shift.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

When Miranda opens the door that evening, she’s grinning from ear to ear. Robin can’t get an image of an excited puppy out of her head. 

“Hiii!” she says, moving aside so Robin can enter. Robin’s eyes wander to her flimsy, almost see-through T-shirt. 

“Couldn’t you have found a proper shirt to put on?” she grumbles, moving past her and walking towards the living room. She knows where everything is — after all, all the apartments in this building are more or less the same. 

Miranda glances down towards her own chest. “Oh, I just forgot. These are my PJs.” She scurries after Robin, following her to the couch. “Why, Griffin? You into me?” she asks, grinning from ear to ear. “You wanna daaaate me and make loooooove to me?”

Robin sits down and on the couch, crossing her arms and legs. Miranda plops down on the couch next to her, making kissing noises into the air. The couch bounces with the force of Miranda’s weight being thrown on it. 

“If you continue to be weird about this, I will leave.”

She won’t leave. Robin hates to admit it, but she’s feeling a bit weepy tonight. She would really appreciate some human contact — but she will be grumpy about it

“If it really bothers you, I can change,” Miranda says. 

“Forget it,” Robin grumbles. 

“Okay. Want a beer?”

“Sure.”

She could use a beer. Or seven. She can’t believe she’s about to watch Miranda’s fucking porno — even if it is only the intro.

Miranda disappears into the kitchen and quickly comes back with two opened beers and a bucket of popcorn. She puts the popcorn on the little coffee table in front of the couch and hands one beer to Robin. “Here you go. Do you want a glass?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” She takes a big swig.

“Someone’s thirsty,” Miranda says as she sits down, taking a sip as well. She makes herself comfortable, lifting her long legs (that, Robin notices, look even longer and leaner in the black tights she’s wearing) onto the couch and crossing them. The way she moves, all tall and lanky, reminds Robin of a baby deer. 

“It’s just been a day,” Robin says.

Miranda furrows her brows. “Has it? You typed on your laptop and had brunch.”

Robin shrugs, staring at the bowl of popcorn on the table, not looking at Miranda or her flimsy fucking shirt. “Well, it’s been a day in my brain, I guess.”

“Oh. I get it. I have those too, sometimes. You PMS-ing?”

Robin takes another swig of her beer. “None of your business.”

“So grumpy,” Miranda tuts. “So, you wanna get right to it? I have it all set up on the TV.”

“Sure.”

Robin drinks her beer, feeling a bit fragile. Maybe she is about to get her period. She shouldn’t for another two weeks, but maybe it’s early. Being with someone really helps, though — and so does the beer.

Miranda grabs the remote from the coffee table and fumbles with it a little bit. “Okay, so it’s connected to the tablet… alright, here we go.”

A big title appears on the screen. 

Girlbang series production — Fun In Prison

  Robin already regrets this. “I still can’t believe you agreed to that. You’re a police officer. Did they at least blur your face?”

Miranda presses pause. “Oh, they asked me if I wanted them to, and I said no.”

Robin chokes on her beer. “Why?”

“Oh, I just think it’d ruin the viewer’s experience. Besides, it’s on a paid website. Nobody in their right mind pays for porn.” She cranes her head towards Robin and Robin finally makes eye contact. She tries very hard not to stare at her chest. It’s not that Miranda has such amazing tits, it’s just that you can’t just not look at someone’s tits if they’re right fucking there. “Have you ever paid for porn?”

“No?” Robin says.

“Precisely.”

Robin scoffs, and then chuckles. “So. Wanna tell me about the plot?”

“Oh, yes!” She bounces on the couch, grinning excitedly, her eyes twinkling. Robin must admit, when she isn’t being annoying, she is rather endearing. “They didn’t even plan on filming a prison scene before they hired me, it was supposed to be just a regular gangbang. But then I told that lady that I’m a cop, and she lost her mind. She told me, Miranda, I’m ready to beg you to do a prison scene — and I said, oh you don’t have to beg, I’ll do it, that’s like, so hot. You ever seen Orange Is The New Black?”

“No.”

Miranda sighs. “Babe, you live under a rock.”

Robin just shrugs and drinks some more of her beer.

“Anyway, the plot is basically that I’m a cop who gets ambushed while doing nightly rounds and then they all fuck me and it’s really hot.”

“Sounds very complex,” Robin deadpans.

“It’s better when you see the visuals. And all the girls are reeeeally hot — but you already know that.”

“I’m sure you’re hot too. Like, those girls seemed into you today.”

“Told you — it’s the height.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’ve got other things going.”

Miranda looks at her with those big, blue puppy eyes and Robin feels a wave of affection wash over her like a fucking disease. 

“Like what?” she asks, and Robin can see the question is genuine.

“I don’t know, Hilmarson, but you do,” she mumbles grumpily. “I can’t think of anything right now, you put me on the spot. Let’s just watch the thing.”

She can think of at least a couple of things — but it feels weird to hand out compliments. She can’t force herself to push the words out of her mouth.

Miranda looks a bit disappointed. “Sure,” she says and presses play.

Robin has to admit — this thing isn’t half bad, as far as pornos go. The acting is not terrible (except Miranda’s, which is tragic). The prison uniforms look correct, and Miranda’s does as well — it’s a bit tighter than it needs to be, but Robin thinks it suits her. It shows off her long legs. Miranda actually looks good, and they put some very natural makeup on her. 

Miranda towers over every girl, and it looks a bit ridiculous when the first one comes up to her and shoves her against the wall. That’s, however, when Miranda’s acting really improves — and Robin suspects it’s because she isn’t acting anymore. She looks like she’s really into it.

The intro is long — longer than Robin thought it would be, but she supposes that’s how it is with high quality porn you gotta fucking pay for — and Robin is on her second beer and already drunk, and she can’t stop thinking about how disappointed Miranda looked when she refused to compliment her and she also can’t stop thinking about her tits in that see-through shirt and about her puppy eyes, and wow, that girl pinned her on the bed and bit her neck and Miranda’s moan is really sexy and fuck, that was really hot. Another girl rips off her shirt and Miranda is now only in a lacy blue bra and Robin can see her nipples, and suddenly she’s hyperaware of the fact that she could also see her nipples if she just turned a bit to the left and—

Miranda pauses the video. 

“That’s the intro,” she says, glancing towards Robin. “What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Robin says and her voice is much squeakier than she intended it to be. She clears her throat. “It’s good.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that? You don’t look like you like it. You’re doing that weird face.”

Robin frowns. “What weird face?”

“That weird face you always do. You scrunch your nose and look annoyed.”

“I think that’s just my face.”

“Oh.”

They sit in awkward silence for a bit, and then Robin turns to Miranda to fully face her.

“I’m a bitch,” she says.

Miranda furrows her brows. “What?”

“I’m a bitch. I’m a bitch to you, I’m a bitch to everyone. Everybody in their right mind has already left me. Why won’t you leave?”

Miranda is silent for a moment. She places her beer down on the coffee table. “Do you… want me to leave you?”

“No.”

“Why? You don’t seem to like me. You couldn’t even think of one thing to compliment me on.”

“That’s because I’m a bitch. But I do like you. And yes, you do annoy me, but I think you have many good qualities. You’re loyal and kind, even when everybody’s being terrible to you, including myself. Your jokes aren’t funny, but they cheer me up. And you have much more going for you than your height. You have nice tits and really long legs and pretty eyes, and no man I ever saw you fool around with was ever worthy of you.”

Miranda stares at her, at a loss for words. “Do you really think that?” she slowly asks.

“Yes. I really don’t understand why you didn’t ditch me a long time ago, though.” She averts her eyes, then takes another sip of her beer. “I don’t think I’m worthy of you either.”

Robin can feel the couch shift as Miranda scoots closer to her. Miranda takes the beer from her hand and places it on the coffee table, then grabs her by the shoulders. “Robin. Robin, look at me.”

Robin reluctantly meets her gaze. She doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close. She can feel Miranda’s breath on her face, and the only thing she can think about is that Miranda’s eyes are very blue.

“I think you’re a good person,” Miranda says. Robin glances at her lips. They are very pink. “You’ve just been through a lot. I like you, and I want to be your friend. I won’t just leave if you’re acting like a bitch sometimes.”

Robin kisses her. 

Miranda squeaks, but she doesn’t pull away. Robin grabs her neck and her waist and pulls her closer and then Miranda is kissing her back. She hums into the kiss and it drives Robin wild, and then she pushes her tongue into Miranda’s mouth and Miranda immediately welcomes it. They kiss like they’re hungry, and Miranda is a sloppy kisser but somehow in a good way, and Robin loves it, loves how warm and wet her tongue is, and how big her hands feel on her waist. Miranda whimpers when Robin’s hands wander to her tits. She finally indulges into what she’s been thinking about the entire evening and gropes Miranda over her shirt. 

Miranda pulls away. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. But I also want to watch the porno till the end. I want to see you get fucked, and then I want to fuck you.”

Miranda’s eyes go dark with desire and she kisses her again, then pulls away. “No problem,” she says, grinning a bit mischievously. She pushes Robin back into the couch. “Lie back and relax. I’ll eat you out while you watch.” 

Robin can’t remember the last time someone ate her out, and her pussy throbs just thinking about it. “Okay,” she says with a breathy voice. Miranda presses play and the video takes off where they paused it — a closeup of Miranda’s tits in the lacy blue bra.

Miranda pushes away the coffee table and sinks down on the floor, getting onto her knees in front of Robin. Robin’s chest is heaving and she can feel her cheeks flushing as Miranda unzips her jeans. “Up,” she says, and Robin lifts her hips. Miranda pulls down her jeans and underwear in one swift move, pulling them over her knees and feet and discarding them on the floor, leaving her completely bare and exposed. Robin almost feels self-conscious, almost tells her to wait, to slow down — but then Miranda looks at her bare pussy with such lust and adoration in her gaze that Robin just can’t feel embarrassed anymore. 

“It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve had someone do this to me,” she says breathlessly. 

“Just relax. I’ll take care of you,” Miranda says, and she also sounds a bit out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dark. Robin fixes her gaze onto the screen.

  Miranda’s pants are already gone. She’s lying on the bed, handcuffed, her chest and cheeks flushed. One of the girls is straddling her waist and groping her tits underneath her bra, two are kissing and biting her neck, ears and jaw, two are stroking her long legs and slapping her thighs. Miranda is breathing heavily. Her eyes are hazy and dark, her lips parted. The girl straddling her pulls off her bra, ripping it apart and exposing her small, perky tits. Miranda gasps. One of the girls kissing her neck takes her tit into her mouth and bites her nipple, making her cry out. “Fuck,” Miranda breathes out.

“That’s what we’re gonna do to you,” one of the girls says. “Fuck you until you can’t fucking walk, bitch.” The one straddling her starts slapping her tits, the other slaps her cheek, and one of them yanks her panties down. The camera zooms in on Miranda’s pink, dripping cunt.

  Robin lets out a breathy moan — both because of the visual on the screen, and because of Miranda lightly biting the inside of her thigh. She is gentle, reverent — kissing and licking Robin’s thighs, running her thumbs along where Robin’s thighs meet her vulva. Robin is squirming and breathing hard, and she’s surprised how much she’s affected by Miranda’s teasing. 

Finally, Miranda gives Robin’s pussy a hot, long lick — Robin shivers and moans. Miranda’s tongue is warm and wet against her pussy, and she wants more. She grabs her head, tangles her fingers into Miranda’s soft, blonde hair and pulls her closer. Miranda grins into her cunt and starts giving her pussy long, fervent licks.

  One of the girls is fastening a strap around her hips. She hovers over Miranda’s face, lowering her pussy down to Miranda’s mouth, the strap grazing Miranda’s forehead. “Eat my pussy, pretty cop,” she says, and starts riding Miranda’s face. The strap bounces up and down and hits Miranda’s face as the girl grinds her hips and Miranda licks her cunt with fervour — you can tell she’s really into it. One girl is slapping her tits, and the other produces another strap, lubes it up and shoves it into Miranda’s cunt. Miranda’s stomach muscles contract as the girl stretches her out and then starts fucking her at a relentless pace. She’s whimpering and moaning, her face covered in drool and the other girl’s arousal. “Such a tight pussy. Does it hurt, pretty cop?” the girl fucking her mocks her and Miranda can only whimper.    Miranda’s pussy eating is sloppy. She licks and sucks and smears her own drool and Robin’s wetness around with her tongue. She shoves her tongue inside of her, sucks on her pussy lips, licks her clit. 

Robin loves it. 

She’s never felt so worshipped and adored. In the past, when people ate her out, they usually just wanted to be done with it. Miranda is the complete opposite — perhaps she’s sloppy, but she eats her like she’s devouring her favourite meal. She’s taking her time, really getting in there, and she looks like she’s enjoying herself a lot. She’s humming and whimpering along with Robin. The room is filled with sounds from the video mixed with their own, real-time moans, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “Fuck,” Robin gasps as Miranda finds a really good spot. “Do that again, fuck!”

Miranda is really good at following directions — and she really wants to please. She repeats the movement that made Robin cry out many times, and Robin’s thighs start trembling. “Fuck, Miranda,” she pants, and saying her name only spurs Miranda on, and she slips one finger into her dripping cunt and starts slowly fucking her. Robin keens. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

  The girls throw Miranda on the floor, making her kneel on all fours. Her wrists are still handcuffed. One of the girls spits in her mouth. “Suck my cock, slut,” she then says and shoves her strap into Miranda’s mouth. Miranda looks so hot sucking it — the camera zooms in on her face, on her wide and pretty blue eyes as she looks up at the girl fucking her face. The girl grabs her hair and shoves the strap deeper. Miranda’s eyes tear up as she gags, but she never stops sucking, bobbing her back and forth. “What a good slut you are,” the girl says. Miranda whimpers as two girls start spanking her ass, and the other starts fucking her asshole with a dildo.  The girl fucking her mouth pulls the strap out. “You love it. Say you love it.”

“No,” Miranda says, and Robin can tell it’s the script she must follow, because her eyes say yes and she cranes her neck to take the strap into her mouth again.  “Fucking liar. I know you love it, slut,” the girl says and grabs her hair, starts fucking her mouth faster than before. Tears stream down Miranda’s cheeks and she moans in pleasure as her mouth and ass are fucked relentlessly and her ass is spanked until it becomes bright red.

  Miranda slips another finger inside Robin, and Robin moans loudly. Miranda starts fucking her harder and licking her clit faster. “Yes, yes, yes,” Robin whimpers, pulling Miranda closer. Miranda moans as Robin pulls on her hair, and Robin starts rocking her hips against Miranda’s mouth.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Miranda keens as she rides a girl’s strap, while another girl fucks her from behind. Her face and chest are red, there are beads of sweat on her back and forehead, her hair is ruffled, her eyes closed and her brows furrowed with pleasure. Another girl kneels in front of her and shoves her strap in Miranda’s mouth again, muffling her cries of pleasure. The other two girls are pleasuring themselves, watching Miranda get fucked in every hole. The girl underneath her gropes her tits and the one behind her slaps her ass as they fuck her. 

The girl fucking her mouth pulls on her hair. “That’s it, you’re gonna come from this like a dirty slut,” she says and pulls the strap out of her mouth, and Miranda screams as pleasure overwhelms her. The girls don’t stop fucking her, and she keeps moaning and screaming and rocking her hips. “Fuckyes,” she cries as another wave of ecstasy washes over her.

  “Ah, Miranda,” Robin cries, “don’t stop — ah, fuck!” She feels herself clenching around Miranda’s fingers. She grinds on Miranda’s face, and Miranda hums and moans into her pussy, fucks her hard and fast until the tight coil in Robin’s belly snaps and she comes — hard. 

“Shit — fuck!” she cries. Miranda continues to fuck her and doesn’t stop licking her clit. Robin feels the tension build again, and before she knows it a second orgasm washes over her like a wave. She keens and clenches her thighs around Miranda’s head, trying to push her away from her sensitive clit. Miranda slowly pulls her fingers out of her and continues to gently lick her through the aftershocks. Robin’s thighs tremble. “Fuck,” she says breathlessly, her muscles convulsing as Miranda gives her aching clit a small kitten lick.

When Robin looks at the TV again, the screen is black.

She glances down at Miranda kneeling in between her legs. Miranda smiles and wipes her mouth on her forearm. She gives Robin that pretty, wide eyed look that Robin can’t admit she loves. 

“Do you have a strap?” Robin asks. 

“Yeah. Want me to fuck you with the strap?” Miranda asks, still a bit out of breath, climbing back up on the couch.

“No. I want to fuck you with it and make you moan like you did in the porno.”

Miranda’s face lights up. She smiles at Robin, grabs her arm and leads her towards the bedroom.

Miranda comes three times that night. After making her admit she came five times on the set, Robin makes a pact with herself to reach that number next time — but right now, she’s very, very sleepy.

As they lie next to each other on the bed, Miranda tentatively reaches for Robin’s hand. Robin doesn’t pull away. They stay like that for a bit, and then Robin rolls over and wraps her arm around Miranda’s waist. She can tell Miranda loves it.

“So, what are we now?” Miranda asks as she rubs little circles on her back.

“What do you mean?” Robin asks into Miranda’s chest, knowing very well what she means.

“I mean, are we an item?”

Robin waits a moment before she responds. 

“Not yet,” she says. “But… we could be.”

With her face buried in Miranda’s torso, she can’t see her smile.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Big thanks to @opheliauniverse for beta-reading. <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @softshrimpy @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz

[clefaiiiry]

From the Airwaves to your Viscera

i wasn't kidding about finding a way to get lux into every fic ya know

not sure if this should be mature or explicit but hwei does have cannibalistic fantasies so ya know

now i can stop tormenting you all with incessant fic posting! for now :)

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr - Under Read More

-~*~-

There’s a crick in Hwei’s neck, as there often is.

Before him, his canvas stares back, blank as it had been hours ago. His inspiration is a rusty old tap; when it flowed it was a raging tide, the only problem was unscrewing the damn thing.

Hwei spins his chair away from his easel and lets out a long, gravelly whine as he rubs his face. How long has it been dark for? He hadn’t really noticed. Hwei forces himself to his feet to switch on a lamp and stretches his fingers upward to the ceiling.

When he turns, his canvas is still empty. Even when he tries really hard to force paint to magically appear, it stays empty.

He’s exhausted, but sleep won’t come so he might as well paint. But if he can’t even paint, then what is he good for-

He needs a drink. He doesn’t have any alcohol so he’ll settle for something warm. Maybe it would do him some good to pour the boiling water straight onto his wretched hands-

His kitchen nook beckons and his heavy feet drag across the splotchy floor. It certainly needs a good scrub, but he’d have to shove everything off to the side for that.

While the kettle, he paces around his apartment, and makes a vague effort to fold away some clothes, but only makes it through two shirts before he decides the laundry chair is good enough. He fumbles to make his bed, a mattress on the floor with a duvet and a pillow without a case, but that plan too rapidly falls apart as he instead flops onto it facedown with a huff.

Hwei catches his gaze in his mirror, just a little desk one he uses when he can be bothered to do his makeup, and finds he doesn’t recognise himself. His skin prickles in apprehension of his unfinished piece. He has all the tools he could possibly need, all the technical know-how, so why do his hands not work? Why can his mind conjure nothing of merit? 

Soon enough his sulking is interrupted by the whistling kettle and he pours himself some tea, sipping much too early and burning his tongue. Rain is pattering against the window when he returns to his chair, mug left too close to the edge of the desk to be safe.

Hwei switches on the radio. He’d gotten it from Lux, an old thing probably due for the bin rather than his windowsill. It sounds about ready to blow every time he turns it on and cooperates only when it feels like it, but he likes it all the same. Hwei had only upgraded to a smartphone once his old brick had finally packed in and he couldn’t find a new battery for it.

Static crackles as he switches through frequencies, until finally a voice comes through,

“-much appreciated. We’re just now approaching- two-thirty in the morning, and those of us with sense may seek to retire for the evening.” Static rumbles with the man’s chuckle. “But sense is vastly overvalued in my humble opinion.”

The voice is deep, almost melodic, its warmth burrowing its way deep into Hwei’s bones. This would do. He leans back, pulls his feet up onto his chair, and braces his mug in both hands.

The host continues, “I do hope you are all satisfied with the playlist this evening, but if you aren’t then I’m afraid your other options are lacking. I don’t believe anyone else in the area runs this late anymore, so you’re stuck with me, poor thing.”

Hwei hums, lips twitching in a little smile as he goes for another attempt at his tea. It’s still not quite cool enough, but he doesn’t scald his lips this time. He leans forward to listen,

“Now, I’d like to let these next three play in their entirety. Now, if you’re a returning listener you’ll know I prefer instrumental pieces, but I can be persuaded to tolerate vocals.”

The host’s chuckle draws one from Hwei, like sharing the room with him.

The host goes into particulars regarding the upcoming songs before he lets them play. First is a gradual build of a quiet piano and strings that eventually crescendos in a resounding tidal wave, the next carries the intensity with strings and light synth, before the final song returns to a gentle lull with soft male vocals.

Together the songs feel like a journey, an adventure to the highest peak of a forgotten mountain. Like he’d trudged through sleet and snow to reach the very top, then slowly worked his way back down to earth.

A climb to the divine… and a fall back to mortality.

Hwei drops his mug on the desk with a loud thunk. If it had spilt, he didn’t notice, there were more important matters to focus upon. His hands move of their own accord, colours vibrant on the canvas. Jagged cliffs pierce the sky, a tattered hand breaking through to claw at the horizon, a single beam of heavenly guidance reaching back-

At least, that’s what they could be, what he intends for them to be. Art is rarely so straightforward.

He steps back and takes it in, tilts his head, is amazed to find he doesn’t hate it after staring at it for more than ten seconds. It’s still rough, needs a touch up on the uglier lines, but it’s progress, more than he’s had in weeks. 

Something rumbles at his ears and he realises the radio has died into static. The show must be over. Hwei stares at it for a moment longer before he takes note of the frequency on a little scrap of paper, then finally switches it off.

-~*~-

The moment he sees it again, Hwei hates his canvas.

In the light of morning he picks apart every stroke and smudge of paint he’d subjected upon that poor thing and finds a potent nausea bubbling in his stomach. The image is too bleak, too morbid, torn flesh shattering upon sharp blades of stone.

He considers shattering his fingers, placing them in the window and slamming it down until they’re broken and just as useless as they feel.

Suppressing the thought, he removes it from the easel and leans it against the wall, facing away. If he had to look at it any longer he was going to vomit. No, that was a bit dramatic, but he would certainly fantasise about tossing it out of the window. But what if it hit someone on the way down? He’d never forgive himself.

Once again, Hwei entertains the idea of cleaning his apartment and makes it as far as taking out the rubbish before he realises how late it is. He fumbles to scrounge up a full outfit from his floor, grabs his bag, and almost forgets to lock the door on the way out.

Not like there would be anything worth stealing.

-~*~-

The Crownguards come from the sort of old money Hwei could only ever dream of. While Hwei had got Lux a new plant pot for her succulent, her older brother had casually bought her, among other things, a new car. The way she said the make made it sound important, but he didn’t really know enough about that sort of thing to judge.

“You know,” Lux says as she turns the little pot over in her hands, “I prefer this.” It’s a little ceramic cream one shaped like a sheep with big shiny eyes and pink cheeks.

“You don’t have to say that,” Hwei says. She pouts.

“I’m serious! Larry looks so sad in his current pot, he needs a spruce up! This is perfect!”

She places it in the centre of the table and stares intently, as if another plant might sprout up if she wills for it hard enough. She’s deep in thought when she suddenly jerks and clasps her hands together.

“Oh! I got you something too!”

“Now hold on,” Hwei says, “it’s your birthday. You’ve got this backwards.”

Lux rolls her eyes. “Well, my birthday present to me is getting a treat for my friend! Ta-dah!”

The wrapping paper is almost too nice to tear, done up with a little ribbon and bow. Hwei mourns it before he begins to carefully peel from the taped edges. She’s bouncing in her seat by the time he finally folds it back.

Within the paper is a little wooden box, reminiscent of the sort one would expect to find a ballerina dancing inside. A golden crest adorns the lid, one that makes his stomach drop.

“Lux, I can’t accept this, it’s too much-”

“Don’t be silly! I insist!”

People are starting to stare so he accepts defeat and cradles the box in his arms like a wounded animal. He feels like crying.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it! Hopefully this helps with the ol’ art block!”

A cold, heavy rock lodges itself into his throat. She’s staring at him with that huge, toothy grin and bright eyes, like she sees something he doesn’t.

Like she doesn’t see what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

A part of him wants to throw them back at her, as if it could ever be that simple! A darker part is tempted to throw it into the street just to make a point. But he doesn’t, because he knows she doesn’t mean it like that, that she’s just trying to be supportive and helpful.

The cold spreads downward into his lungs and he stares into his cup. Besides, why couldn’t it be that simple? He has sparks of inspiration all the time, why can’t he just create without second guessing himself? Without creating something hideous?

“Oh,” Lux says, breaking him from his stupor, “so I met up with Quinn the other day and-”

He’s grateful for the change of subject, especially since he isn’t expected to say much beyond the odd, ‘oh really?’ or ‘that’s nuts.’ She does try to prompt more of a contribution at first, but quickly realises it’s one of those days so lets him listen in peace.

Then she starts to fidget, her gaze lingering through the window. Lux purses her lips and taps an arrhythmic pattern into her cup with her nails. She’s had them done recently. They look nice, better than Hwei’s. His are still chewed and chipped, due a fresh coat of polish.

“What’s wrong?” Hwei asks and she nearly jumps out of her seat.

“Well, I- So urh, my aunt is running an art show between Christmas and New Year?”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah!”

The silence that lingers between them drags on for much longer than he’d prefer. Lux finally sighs and sits up straight. She’s taller than him, but only because of how appalling his posture is, puffing up her chest to earn that extra inch or two.

“I think you should enter.”

Yep, about what he expected. Hwei shrugs. “I’m not sure…” he lies. He knows damn well what is stance is regarding such things-

“I like your stuff! And I’m sure other people would too, if you gave it a chance. It’s really great!”

He knows his work holds objective quality, on a technical level at least, but that stands for naught when it’s about as shallow as a child’s paddling pool. Not like he can help it; he can’t best the part of him which dreads what he’ll find if he digs any deeper.

Hwei finds his feet are suddenly deeply fascinating as he struggles to meet her intense stare. She deflates.

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you or whatever, I just- I really want more people to see your work. To really see the stuff you can do!”

“I-” He’s about to argue when he sees her face again and curse his humanity. Hwei rubs the bridge of his nose. “Let me see if I can finish something, and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re the best!”

Lux’s grin should be comforting, but it only twists the cold knife in his stomach even deeper.

-~*~-

When the radio crackles to life the following evening, Hwei can finally put a name to the voice.

Khada Jhin.

The music is pleasant enough to fill the silence and Hwei very rarely finds himself disapproving of the song selection. There are duds, of course, albums Jhin will sing the praises of while Hwei frowns through the set, but they just make him appreciate the good ones all the more. If anything, the alternative perspective is refreshing.

Jhin isn’t live every night, only Monday through to Thursday from one o’clock till five, but Hwei diligently listens to most of his shows. He doesn’t even do it consciously after a while, simply finds himself huddled by his desk with the soothing static. His sleep schedule is royally, completely screwed, but it’s not like he’d sleep even if he weren’t listening, and the routine is… nice.

Who was he kidding, the reason he kept tuning in was to listen to Jhin’s voice. That warm, comforting cadence has thoroughly imprinted itself into his soul and he’s shamefully addicted to the sound of it.

Hwei wonders if this is how a cosmonaut feels while they’re up in space, observing life below from afar. Out of reach but so very real. He also ponders on how long he’ll stay adrift before he runs out of air.

Jhin doesn’t talk that much, probably a thirty-seventy split on talking and music if Hwei had to put a number on it, but he listens to every word. Jhin speaks like an old friend one hadn’t seen for years, regaling tales of his life with all the theatrics of a playwright, and Hwei wants- needs to discover every piece of who this man is. And he does, piece by piece.

Jhin used to work as a composer, Jhin has a cat named Yuumi who he loves to death, Jhin is at least forty years old, Jhin prefers red wine over white, Jhin’s favourite flowers are lotus blossoms-

Hwei too could appreciate the beauty of lotus blossoms. He wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about flowers as a rule, but the lotus typically represented purity or rebirth, sometimes divinity depending on who you asked.

His mind wanders, stuck on the thought of how hard it would be to weed flowers blooming from one’s own skin. He feels itchy afterward, unclean.

It’s been a month since he discovered Jhin’s show. Tonight he’s playing some tracks by an artist Hwei had never heard of, but had recently gone mainstream after joining a boy group called Heartsteel. He had heard of them, but only because Lux was totally obsessed with their debut single.

“I did meet him before he lost his voice, back before he was forced into purely instrumental work,” Jhin says, almost melancholic, “a shame, really, his vocal talent was quite special. At least he’s finding success in other places.”

Hwei spares a glance to his canvas, staring back as blank as it had been hours ago. He bundles his blanket closer around his shoulders.

“Now,” Jhin’s voice guides him back like a candle in a storm, “as we are into our final hour, and because station management are getting quite particular about engagement- Urgh, we shall be opening requests again this evening. However, if any of you ask for some top forty schlock again, those privileges shall be revoked, management be damned.”

As he reads out the number, Hwei glances to where his phone is perched on the edge of his desk. He had considered ringing in at least a dozen times. What would he even ask for? He wasn’t particular, the type to say, ‘oh, I’ll listen to anything.’ It was a small roadblock, really, for an opportunity to talk to the man whose voice had kept him company for so many nights.

Hwei covers his face with a groan, his heels thumping onto the floor as he kicks his legs out.

Just pick something! Anything!

But what if he picked something Jhin didn’t like? 

Then I’ll just have to run off and start a new life in the forest-

Alright, now he really is being dramatic.

Hwei looks at his phone again, reaches out and strains his fingers across the desk until he can fumble it into his hand. He knows the number, even without Jhin repeating it. It’s so easy! Just dial it in and-

Hwei slams it back on the desk, face down, and hugs his knees up against his chest.

Another listener requests a song named The Turning of Our Bones. It’s a slow build of guitar with a gravelly vocalist, visceral in a way that tempts brush strokes from his idle hands.

A chest being torn open, ribs cracked and blood spilled. Hands carve their way into the cavity and clutch the heart within. The blood is purple, the heart is gold-

It’s only when the song ends that Hwei is struck by how morbid his creation is. Morbid, but oddly… beautiful.

He places it against the wall with the others.

-~*~-

Another few weeks pass before Hwei dials the number again. The dim screen illuminates his even darker room, thumb hovering over the call button, then he locks it and rubs his face. Jhin’s already had a few callers this evening who wanted to chat as well, so he’s probably sick of it anyway, Hwei reasons.

He spins on his chair and entertains the idea of adding to this piece, but he’s already sick of this one. It’s placed against the wall like the rest. He replaces it with a blank canvas.

The neighbours across the street have their Christmas decorations up already, the tacky LEDs making him squint every time he turns to the window. They’re not so bad, they’re a suitable excuse not to switch his own lights on.

He’s struck by how morbid it would be for someone to choke on them, be hung by them-

“I hate Christmas,” Jhin says with a sigh, “I know, I know, ‘how could I possibly?’ Yes, call me Ebenezer Scrooge. If you ask me, everything is far too loud and bright this time of year. Or perhaps I’m showing my age.” He laughs and Hwei feels the tension bleed from his shoulders.

But then he finds himself wondering, does Jhin have anyone to spend Christmas with? He’s never mentioned a partner or any family, other than Yuumi. Maybe his distaste is more personal than he lets on.

Or maybe Hwei is just projecting.

Lux would probably be going home for the holidays and, even though she’s always extended the offer for him to come with, he can’t think of anything more uncomfortable than surrounding himself with someone else’s family. He barely even knew how to act around his own.

He looks at his easel again, still blank, then to his phone, still on the desk.

Jhin continues, “it’s partially why we haven’t queued up any seasonal songs. I get sick of all of them after the first week of November. Perhaps that’s why I find myself in a rut at the moment.” Jhin gives a wistful sigh. “Nothing I put to paper passes my standards these days. My fellow creatives can relate, I’m sure.”

Did Jhin spend hours staring at his sheet music too? Wondering how to create something beautiful, something meaningful? He always seems so natural, the admission is a chip in the mask. It strikes Hwei as impossibly human.

A reminder Jhin is not the sun keeping him warm in the vastness of space but a fellow cosmonaut left adrift.

Hwei sits up and, before he can reconsider, he takes his phone and dials the number. His fingers tremble around the device as it rings, pressing it harder to his ear.

Then there’s a click.

“Hello?” he says.

“Good evening. May I take your name?”

“I- Hwei.”

“And how are you this evening, Hwei?”

His composure is rapidly depleting. “Oh, I’m…” Hwei gives a breathy little laugh, “surviving.”

Jhin chuckles and suddenly Hwei’s throat feels very dry. “A sentiment I’m sure many of us share. Now, what can I play for you, my dear?”

“I- I’d actually like to ask for your opinion on something, if I may?”

The beat of silence lasts a little too long before Jhin says, “Is that so?”

“Yes. I- I just… How do you decide if a piece is… good enough?”

His voice is so irritating, perhaps he should do everyone and favour and cut his tongue out-

Jhin hums, a low sound that seeps through his skin. “That is truly an impossible question to answer,” he says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed or, god forbid, bored. He maintains the casual tone as he continues, “what I might find valuable in a piece will certainly be different than what you do. Now, tell me, Hwei, what do you truly love about the art that speaks to you?”

“When… When I can feel how the artist has poured their soul into their work. So I suppose… empathy.” His chair creaks as he spins on it to look at his canvas. “How else can we find meaning, without empathy?”

Jhin is quiet for a moment, just long enough that Hwei nearly slams the phone down, but then he hums. “What an interesting perspective. How fascinating. Though if we limit ourselves purely to the artist’s intent, doesn’t that also limit the piece itself? A parent may have good intentions for their child, but they may also be that which suffocates them, no?”

“Y-Yes, that’s true. I’ve lost count of how many times a piece hasn’t turned out the way I planned.”

“That I can certainly relate to.”

Jhin laughs and Hwei does too. He feels a little dizzy.

“Now, as much as I would love to continue, we’ve not much time left.” Before the shame can take hold, Jhin continues, “What can I play for you this evening, Hwei?”

Hwei blinks, stares ahead blankly. The lights across the street glow green. “I… didn’t think about that part, I’m sorry to waste your time.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth. “Now, now, time enjoyed is never wasted.”

And oh, how his heart flutters. Words die in his throat before he can embarrass himself and he’s grateful that Jhin continues without pause,

“What if I pick something for you, Hwei?”

“I would like that.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint. Take care now, my dear.”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

In the moments following, the dial tone is deafening. It takes him far too long to put his phone down. My dear, it feels much too tender. Jhin uses pet names for listeners all the time but for Hwei, it just felt-

Through art, connection-

As the song starts, Hwei slowly stands and turns to his easel. He opens the box of paints from Lux and takes a long, deep breath. His brush dances with the music, a quiet build of strings and flutes. In Cold Light is the title of the song, and the way the notes flow leaves him adrift in the cosmos.

Just him and his canvas, Jhin’s voice resonating in his skull.

The colours flood together, blue and gold and flecks of purple. Each brush stroke feels intimate, purposeful. He’s missed this, to simply be as he creates.

Soft petals bloom from his brush, a blanket of stars, two little figures adrift in the abyss between, reaching out to each other, outward to a blooming lotus above. Reaching for divinity, as one-

Or perhaps a new beginning? Rebirth, a cycle beginning anew-

Hwei paints through the rest of Jhin’s show, even as the music changes and the night grows older. Only when Jhin signs off and the station goes quiet is the brush finally set down.

He takes a step back and wipes his sleeve across his forehead, damp paint smudging across his skin. The canvas that stares back doesn’t disgust him, doesn’t horrify or torment.

It warms, it comforts, it inspires-

And in the quiet of his apartment, slowly growing orange in the sunrise, he wonders if Jhin would like it too.

-~*~-

“It’s beautiful.”

Hwei shuffles awkwardly as Lux marvels at his work. 

Whether or not his piece was beautiful wasn’t the point, is what he wants to say. He knows the objective quality is sufficient but what does it say? What does it mean to her eyes that it couldn’t mean to anyone else?

“You… like it?”

“I love it! It’s like a narrative, right?” She points but keeps her hands a respectable distance from the canvas. “These little blobs are being rejected by the flower and falling out into the black. Well, okay, that’s what I think is happening, but I could be totally wrong.”

Hwei only shrugs. The surface level analysis isn’t necessarily incorrect it’s just-

He needs something else.

“Seriously, though, it’s really amazing!”

“Thank you. Do… you think your aunt would find it satisfactory?”

She whirls on him, eyes huge and grin even brighter. “You’re submitting?!”

“Do you think it’s good enough?”

Lux opens her arms, an invitation one he takes. He likes her hugs, they’re always warm and slightly too tight. Hwei squeezes back just as hard.

Wonders how hard he’d have to squeeze to crack her bones. The thought is an ice cold blade straight into his skull and he swallows the tide of nausea that follows.

“Alright, mister,” Lux says as she finally pulls away, “Just because you’re casually making masterpieces doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive this!” She gestures wildly around the room and he blinks. 

“What?”

“Your place is a mess! C’mon, we’re gonna clean up, right now! I don’t care if you had plans-”

-~*~-

Would stepping out into traffic be more tolerable than the knowledge that people would see, and by this point had already seen, his art? Probably, but Hwei hadn’t seen a big enough truck on his way over so that plan was a bust.

Lux is waiting for him when he finally arrives at the gallery, grinning ear to ear, and Hwei is made painfully aware of how underdressed he is.

It’s his own fault, really, Lux had said it would be formal dress, but he didn’t own anything that could even be considered close to formal. Got rid of most of it when he left home. Formal for Hwei usually meant brushing his hair and tossing on a jacket. He tugs at his collar and tries very hard to stand up straight, ignoring how his spine cracks and pops with the effort.

“How are you feeling?” Lux asks as she holds the door for him.

Terrified, queasy, disgusting-

“Tired,” he settles on, nodding his thanks as he scurries through.

Lux snorts. “You’re always tired.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

The walls are pure white, floors a perfectly polished hardwood, and both so spotless that Hwei keeps looking behind him to ensure he hasn’t left any blemishes behind. When he isn’t obsessively inspecting his own trail, he finds it hard to pick just one piece to admire.

How can he possibly when each of them is such a pure representation of the creator’s soul?

He’s happy to have Lux there, if anything for the different perspective. She lingers for longer at pieces he only gives a minute of time, enamoured. They only voice their opinions occasionally for a particularly striking work, but it’s nice to have her by his side as they stroll through the exhibits.

Occasionally, there’s the sudden urge to plunge a blade through the canvases, to topple over the sculptures, but he stifles them, covering his mouth and swallowing the bile that threatens his throat.

They’ve made it about halfway through the exhibition when an elbow suddenly jabs into his side and Lux waves a hand. “Hwei, look, look, look!” She whispers, dragging him across the hall to-

Ah, that’s his.

It’s different under the artificial light of the gallery. Hwei isn’t fond of how it reflects on his shades of purple, but it does bring out the gold- it’s not bad, just different. It feels a little surreal, seeing his work somewhere other than his own apartment. There’s a layer of disconnect that feels… weird in a way he can’t place. Lux doesn’t say anything, simply lets him be in the moment, but it’s impossible to miss her blinding smile just in his periphery.

Shoes click against the hard floor behind them and they both turn to the approaching man. He’s quite a bit taller than Lux, and even she isn’t short by any means, with shoulders so wide that Hwei wonders how he hasn’t knocked over any sculptures yet.

Okay, that was a little mean-

The man rights his posture once he reaches them. “Lux.”

“Garen!”

“Inside voice, please!” The man, Garen, jabs a finger toward her and looks around frantically. “And no running! If Uncle Eldred catches you, he will have a fit-”

“Oh, pish-posh,” Lux says with a wave of her hand, “Uncle Eldred will have a fit if the centrepiece is half an inch to the left.”

Garen stiffens and clears his throat. He finally pays Hwei a glance. “Ah, are you- you must be Mr Lukai. Lux- Luxanna has told me a lot about you.”

The emphasis on his title strikes him as a little odd, but he tries his best to ignore it. “Hwei is fine, thank you. Garen is it?”

“Urh, yes. I’m Luxanna’s brother.”

He takes Garen’s offered hand and tries not to think about how clammy the larger palm feels around his. Hwei is sure his smile looks as awkward as it feels. 

The silence that follows is so unbearable that Hwei is sure plucking each of his fingernails one by one would be less painful.

“Garen,” Lux says, mercifully breaking it, “this is actually Hwei’s piece! What do you think?”

Garen’s mouth opens and closes a few times, reminiscent of a fish in a filthy aquarium. Finally, he says, “It’s certainly- abstract.”

“It's actually impressionist,” Lux says, beaming a grin to Hwei, “right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Ah. It’s… well,” Garen fumbles, rubbing at his chin, “it’s very… urh…”

His jaw clenches as Lux’s grip on his arm tightens like a tourniquet. “It’s very…?” she prompts, her smile bordering on manic.

Even though he’s standing there in his family’s gallery wearing a suit that probably cost more than Hwei’s monthly rent, he can’t help but feel a little bad. All this stuff is very clearly not Garen’s forte, eyes darting about as he finally forces out a,

“It’s um, colourful?”

Lux blinks once, twice, then she turns to Hwei. “Could you excuse us?” she says with one last smile before she drags her brother away.

Once they’re just out of earshot, she bombards him with a tirade, every word shrinking him back further as he attempts to form apologies.

Hwei watches for a moment longer before he sighs and steps back-

And crashes straight into the man behind him.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s my fault, I thought you’d heard me.”

Hwei scrambles to stand back, ensuring the man is unscathed. He brushes himself off as his eyes crease with a smile. The man has a medical mask over the lower half of his face, not an uncommon sight with flu season at its peak. His right arm is kept under his jacket, his left holding a metal cane. Part of him wonders how long he’d be able to walk without it and Hwei scolds himself again.

“Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, I assure you.”

His voice sinks into his bones like falling into a hot bath at the end of a long day. A voice that’s been so intimately familiar over the past two months of his life.

Hwei realises he’s staring and swallows another apology. “Have we, um, met?”

The man tilts his head. “I don’t believe so. I feel as though I’d remember your face if we had.”

“No, I mean- are you Jhin?”

Recognition flashes behind those eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Hwei.”

“A pleasure. I see you’ve escaped your rut,” the man- Jhin says, gesturing with his cane, “And my, I’m glad that you did.”

“Do you like it?” Hwei cringes. Could he be any more needy?

Jhin takes a few steps past Hwei, never taking his eyes away from the canvas. He does put a little weight onto the cane as he walks, so it seems to not just be an aesthetic choice. He taps it on the ground, four times in all, the sounds reverberating through the hall. “Like is a little simplistic, but I suppose so, yes.”

From the corner of his eye, he spots a blonde head and a frantically waving arm. Hwei glances over and Lux is grinning back, gesturing toward him and shooting him a pair of thumbs up. All he can manage in return is an awkward little wave.

“Though I don’t love it,” Jhin says plainly, “There’s potential here, but something is missing.”

Hwei bristles. “And what would that be?”

“Even I’m unsure,” Jhin says, still not paying him a glance, “Tell me, how did you feel when you made this?”

Hwei shrugs, because he isn’t sure what else to do. He twists his hands into the fabric of his jacket and tilts his head so more of his hair covers his face. “Oh, you know.”

“No. I don’t.” The cane taps against the floor again, once, twice, three times, four times. “Explain your thought process.”

His head is throbbing, pounding. Pressure builds behind his eyes as Hwei wracks his brain for an acceptable answer. Is there anything he could say that wouldn’t be utterly pathetic? I projected my own insecurity onto a person I’ve never met. I thought of the two of us ascending to divinity, reborn in a form that could comprehend us as we are. 

“I felt… Inadequate,” Hwei says, an admission that leaves something dark coiling in his gut, “I’d been trying to create something, anything that wouldn’t disgust me for months. I- I figured if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Jhin, so he just stares at the two little figures. There’s no discernable features, he only sees them as humans since that was his intent when he painted them, just two blobs on a sea of black.

“I see. How fascinating.”

The voice jolts him from his thoughts and when he looks up, Jhin is gazing back.

“I do wish to learn more of how that mind of yours works, Hwei, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei smiles. “I don’t.”

Perhaps he is dreaming, or perhaps only adrift. 

-~*~-

Having a second contact in his phone makes the whole thing feel very official. They aren’t friends, it doesn’t feel right to call their relationship that given they’ve technically just met, but they’re connected. Somehow that feels… intimate.

Hwei still listens to his show, but the dynamic is different. There’s the knowledge that there’s a part of Jhin that’s his, that none of his other listeners will ever see. A selfish part of him that his parents and teachers wish they’d stripped from him, the part of him that wants and yearns.

For companionship, for understanding, for warmth, for viscera-

So Hwei, selfishly, texts Jhin quite a bit, though he vastly prefers when they get to call. Jhin tells him more about his compositions, his ever fitful muse, what sort of tomfoolery Yuumi has gotten up to. Hwei in turn offers what he thinks could be interesting; the progress of his own work, his schooling, any sort of gossip from Lux he thinks Jhin might find amusing.

It is not lost on him that neither of them broach the topic of family.

On New Year’s Eve, Jhin has no show planned for later so Hwei takes the initiative to call him first.

“How is my little starling this evening?” Jhin says through the receiver.

It’s probably a blessing that they haven’t met in person again, since it gives Hwei some time to desensitise to all the pet names he’s been showered in. “How did you know I’d be at home?”

“Hwei, don’t make me laugh. You don’t go out.”

He’s right, and it should probably be concerning how well Jhin knows him already. Hwei sighs. “What about you? Don’t you have any plans?”

“My plans are to be in bed by eleven.”

Hwei laughs. “Those ambitions are certainly admirable.”

There’s a little shuffle as Jhin presumably settles onto his sofa. Or maybe it’s an armchair? Hwei can just picture Jhin having a cosy little nook by a grand fireplace. 

“What about tomorrow?” he asks. Hwei frowns.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Have you any plans?”

Hwei pretends to think, so as not to seem too desperate. “No, nothing really.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to join me for a walk. Nothing too strenuous, I assure you.”

“You- Yeah. That… That sounds nice.”

“Do try to sound a little more enthused.”

“I’d like to!” Hwei quickly clarifies, “I just wasn’t really expecting it.”

Jhin chuckles. “I have to get you out of your cave somehow, darling.”

Hwei rolls his eyes at the teasing, suppressing the heat in his cheeks at that blasted endearment. “I would love to go for a walk with you.”

“Excellent. I’ll send you the time and place. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

After they hang up, Hwei smothers his face into his pillow and kicks his feet like he’s twelve again. It’s not a date, he reminds himself, just a walk with his not quite friend.

Just a walk-

-~*~-

Hwei’s only been waiting in the park for a minute before uncertainty rears its ugly head. Is he overdressed? Underdressed? It’s just a walk, after all, it’s not anything more serious. Just a walk!

A stroll, a saunter, a-

Hwei has to find the nearest bench to sit down before the blood rushing to his head makes him keel over.

He takes a long steady breath. It’s fine. Is his hair okay? He’d brushed it and pinned it back this morning but does it look like he’s trying too hard? Maybe he should take the pin out- No, then it would look too messy, like he hadn’t even bothered. What about his face? He’d put too much makeup on trying to hide his dark eyes and sallow skin. He probably looks like a clown. What if-

“You look rather out of sorts, poor thing.”

Hwei jumps to his feet with far too much haste and sways for a moment. Jhin reaches out but Hwei, foolishly, waves him off, staggering until he can steady himself on the back of the bench.

“I’m okay! I just- I’m a little under the weather.”

Jhin frowns. “If you felt poorly, we could have rescheduled.”

“No!” He blurts out, then just as quickly reigns himself back, “I’ll be fine, really! The fresh air will do me some good.”

A sceptical brow is raised. “If you insist, but do let me know if you need to rest.”

Jhin isn’t dressed overly formal by any means, but he’s effortlessly stylish in a way Hwei can’t help but envy. He also isn’t wearing a face mask today, Hwei realises, and tries not to focus too much on that. Though given how perfect it is, that’s definitely a tall order. 

But it isn’t perfect, not really. Jhin has laugh lines, he has a few odd grey hairs, crows feet. Yet another chip in the armour, yet another weight dragging him back to earth with the rest of humanity.

It would all rot the same as Hwei.

They set off not long after. The park is quiet, they only encounter a few odd people walking their dogs or joggers. Otherwise, they’d be undisturbed if not for the cool breeze and chirping birds.

They talk about all manner of things, art and music and literature. Their conversation flows as naturally as ever, from one subject to the next like a steady forest stream. The pretence of shyness is quickly abandoned, Hwei no longer reigning himself back to normalcy as they chatter away.

On occasion, though, he catches Jhin whispering to himself, counting his steps. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Hwei makes a point to only broach conversation in the breaks between, otherwise he’s met by a momentary look of confusion. Jhin is quick to push it away, but it bothers him all the same, as does how Jhin is leaning heavier on his cane than he had last time. He needs to stop every so often, though does so under the guise of gesturing to something or to check on Hwei’s ‘illness,’ but Hwei can see how his expression shifts, how he clenches his jaw.

“Can we sit for a while?” Hwei asks as they approach another bench, “I’m a little tired,” he lies.

His suspicions are confirmed when Jhin accepts without even a playful jab.

As they rest, Jhin tilts his head back just so and furrows his brows, breaths coming in quiet little pants. When he catches Hwei staring, he sits up properly and smiles, all semblance of vulnerability discarded like a costume.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so cold,” he says casually. Hwei doesn’t believe him, but nods anyway.

“Not to worry. We could get a coffee or something instead if you prefer?”

“No, this is nice.” Jhin shifts his weight a little, taps with his cane, one, two, three, four. Hwei wants to ask about that, but decides now is not the time.

He’s not sure when there will be a good time.

“Does that help you focus?”

Jhin blinks, takes a moment to compose himself, then clears his throat and holds the handle in both hands. “In a sense, yes.”

“That’s good. That- you have a way of calming yourself, I mean.”

Jhin is still staring at him, jaw set. Something flashes across his eyes and he finally relieves Hwei from his intense gaze. “Yes, I suppose.”

“So,” Hwei says, desperate for a reprieve, “how do you know the Crownguards?”

“Hm? Ah, I unfortunately know Eldred through prior business. Thoroughly insufferable man, but it pays to have connections.” Jhin’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “And yourself?”

“I’m friends with Lux- Luxanna, sorry. She recommended I submit a piece.”

Jhin hums. “Then I have young Miss Crownguard to thank for your company.”

That leaves his breath stuttering and his lips slightly agape. Hwei takes a moment to still his pounding heart. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Jhin tilts his head. “Then let us enjoy the peace.”

He does, and there they stay in their corner of the world. Just for a little longer.

-~*~-

It’s Jhin’s birthday at the start of February. Now Jhin hadn’t exactly told him that, Hwei just remembers him mentioning it during one of his shows and had made note just in case.

Because that was a normal thing to do.

Though it does leave him with a conundrum; what on earth could he get Jhin as a present?

“Well, have you asked him?” Lux says as they stroll down the street, window shopping for ideas. She nestles her chin further into her jacket, breaths rising in little clouds.

Hwei turns to her. “I can’t just ask him. I’ll look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Urgh, fine. Does he have anything on his wish list? Mentioned any retro vintage album he’s been looking for or…?”

“No, he wants for nothing.”

“Great! So get him something he needs!”

“He already has everything he could ever need and the money to get the few things he doesn’t.”

Lux tugs off a glove with her teeth to send a quick text to someone before she replies. “Okay… so we need something that only you could give him…”

Oh, don’t-

She snaps her fingers. “You should paint him something!”

Hwei looks at her like a deer in headlights. “No, absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’m sure he’d love it! He loved your piece at the exhibition, right?”

“Well, no. He said he liked it.”

Lux waves a hand. “Same difference.”

No, Hwei thinks, there is a very real distinct difference.

“What would I even paint?”

“Well, why not just paint how he makes you feel?”

Lux probably expects sweetness and rainbows and a dozen other cheesy things from romcoms. As if his feelings about Jhin would ever be so straightforward.

The idea is nice, but there’s that constant coil of doubt. It’s all well and good pouring his heart onto the page, but what if Jhin hates it?

Or, worse, if he doesn’t love it?

-~*~-

When Hwei looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he finds he doesn’t really recognise himself. He knows the person he sees is him in a physical sense, but it still doesn’t feel like his body.

His body is… practical. It carries him dutifully to wherever he needs to go and only breaks down when he doesn’t sleep for three days or tries to subsist purely on caffeine. He’s never really considered himself ugly, or beautiful for that matter. He’s always just existed, in a body that doesn’t quite feel like his.

He showers, the water too far hot, dead skin flaking away when he scrubs. It leaves him tender and raw, blotchy and red all over. His hair is getting too long, maybe he should cut it himself again, the option becoming more and more attractive the longer he grumbles around his knots.

Then he looks down and is struck by the most obvious reminder that he isn’t a man. Not really.

It’s never really bothered him that much before. They’re just part of his body, same as the rest of it. He trails a hand downward, cups his breast and wonders if he should be disgusted.

He is a man, in theory and mostly in practice. Lux knows him as a man, but did Garen see a man too? Or did that confuse him as much as the art on the walls? What of the average person on the street? Not that their opinions held much weight against his friend’s.

But what of Jhin?

“Shame is the crutch of creation,” Jhin had said once during their late night phone calls, “if you waste your time worrying about what someone else might think, you’ll never make anything.”

Couldn’t his own body be an act of creation? Melding it into a shape that suited his needs? Couldn’t it be made into something beautiful?

What did beauty matter if the underbelly was rotten?

His jumper is only an afterthought as he emerges from the bathroom, hands aching, skin prickling. The radio crackles as Jhin’s voice surrounds him, his head pounding.

He claws at his chest, wishing his fingers could pry the skin from muscle, muscle from bones, spill his blood and guts onto his canvas. Desecrate the body that the divine had blessed him with, because how could a holy being possibly understand a wretched creature like him?

Maybe he could free his soul and find it a new vessel, one that was more whole, more appealing.

Or maybe, he thinks as he takes up his brush, he could paint one.

-~*~-

“It’s… different,” Lux says slowly, fingers tapping at her chin. She’s not had the chance to take off her coat, her nose and cheeks still slightly red from the teeth of winter.

Hwei picks at a loose thread on his jumper, watching her through his hair. “Different in a good way?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”

Even he isn’t sure how he feels about it. The canvas is black, a humanoid shape taking centre stage. It claws its back open, bloody wings erupting from the wounds as it weeps golden tears.

An act of desecration to achieve freedom from the self.

Maybe a bit on the nose, but-

Lux looks at his canvas, then back to him. “Are you alright?”

Hwei falters. He doesn’t like her expression. “What do you mean?”

Lux’s frown only deepens and she takes a step back, away from the canvas, away from him. “I’m really sorry, I don’t understand what would drive you to make this.”

Hwei lets out a deep, long sigh. “There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

“No, no!” Lux says, “Of course not!”

She’s lying. Hwei sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks at his piece again. “What do you see?” he asks softly, hoping his voice is steady.

Lux looks at his canvas again, brows furrowing. She rubs at her chin and stares at it, even though her lips quiver and her shoulder sag. They’re both quiet for a long moment before she finally turns to him.

“I see someone hurting,” she says.

“Do you think I’m hurting?”

“Yes, and I want to understand how to help.”

“Understand?” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Would it be easier to laugh or cry? They both bubble in his chest and threaten to breach his defences as Hwei swipes his dirty sleeves over his face. “I’ve laid it all before you, I don’t get what else there is to understand.”

“Explain it to me,” she says, though the effect is dampened by a lack of her usual enthusiasm, “is painting creepy stuff like this an outlet?”

Hwei blinks. “Creepy?” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue.

Lux is still staring at him, so sickeningly perfect and pretty and free from blemishes. It must be nice, he thinks, to have a body already in the right shape instead of having to carve it yourself.

“Do I unsettle you, Lux?” he asks slowly.

Lux stiffens. “When you ask questions like that, yeah.”

Hwei laughs, but the sound is strained. “You know, art is most effective when it can invoke an emotional response.”

He doesn’t miss how her eyes dart to the front door.

“You’re terrified,” he says simply.

“Of course I am when you act like this and paint freaky stuff like that! Don’t try to scare me, it’s not funny!”

It’s like a thread has snapped. Hwei closes the space between them and lunges for her, grabs her arms and digs his fingers in until he feels bone.

“Is that what you truly think of me?” he breathes.

“Hwei, let go-”

“Did you always think of me as a freak? Or are only now being enlightened?”

“Get off me!”

“I don’t understand!”

“I said get off me!”

Lux shoves his against chest, hard. So hard that he lands on the ground in a graceless heap. She scrambles up backward toward the door, heaving desperately.

Hwei reaches out. “Lux. I’m so sorry, I-”

“I think you need to- to calm down,” Lux says, sniffling. She’s shaking and Hwei feels sick. “I-I’ll call you later, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, slipping her shoes back on and slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls. The sound rings in his ears, pounds in his skull as he gradually finds himself on his feet again. 

Hwei stares at the door, his head filled with cotton wool and lead. He rubs his face, the dry paint on his sleeves scratching against his skin. He sways, vertigo assaulting his senses. He wants to vomit, claw his eyes out, peel off his skin.

What is wrong with him? What isn’t?

Then he catches a glimpse of his easel. Hwei tosses it over with a heavy crash, no doubt further infuriating his downstairs neighbours. He gasps and wheezes as he stares at it. Maybe he should burn it? In this enclosed space it was extremely dangerous, but maybe then he’d burn too.

He’d deserve it, to burn alive-

Hwei stumbles back until he trips and lands on his mattress. He can’t breathe. He curls over on himself and clutches his chest, his mouth, drool escapes his lips as he pants and gasps. Tears scorch his eyes and scald his cheeks. His chest burns, his throat threatens to close in on itself.

His hand moves of its own accord, straining for his desk and closing his shaking fingers around his phone. He calls before he can even realise what he’s doing and crushes the phone against his ear.

It rings, and rings, and rings-

Then Hwei throws it away. It clatters across the floor, disappearing to some unknown corner. He curls in on himself even further.

His phone starts ringing. He crams his hands over his ears until it stops.

There he stays, until he goes numb.

-~*~-

A rhythmic tapping at his door jolts Hwei awake. He wasn’t even aware he’d drifted off, but he can’t bring himself to extract himself from the cocoon of blanket he’s found himself in.

He waits, for what he isn’t sure.

After a pause, there’s another series of knocks on his door, then,

“Hwei? I know you’re in there.”

Jhin’s voice should have been a comfort, but right now? In the state he’s in? Hwei hugs his legs impossibly closer, his other hand pressing over the ear that isn’t crammed against the pillow.

Even so, he still hears him, “I’m coming in. Even if you’re indecent.”

The door groans as it swings open, clicking shut shortly after. Jhin’s shoes and cane click against the floor with every step until they come to a stop beside his mattress.

“Hwei. Look at me.”

That voice which led him through many sleepless nights now forces him out from his duvet barrier, just enough to poke his head out and peer upward. Jhin’s stare is intense, cold and hard, but perhaps it’s the hopeful idealist within that sees something else.

Hwei sniffs and wipes his face. “Why-”

“You rang me,” Jhin says, “I was in the middle of something but by the time I could reply you wouldn’t answer any of my calls or texts.”

Hwei blinks up at him, then cold shame surges in him again. “I’m sorry.”

Jhin only hums, tapping his usual one, two, three, four with his cane before he places it against the wall. Somehow, the rhythm seems to steady Hwei’s own thundering heart as well.

Jhin crouches in front of him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Do you think I’m dense?”

The speed at which Hwei sits up leaves him swaying. “No! Of course not.”

Jhin huffs through his nose. “Then don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He can’t show Jhin. Can’t stand the thought of someone else pulling back his layers and being disgusted at what they see beneath. Can’t he just be low maintenance? Make everyone else’s lives easier? They already have their own problems, they don’t need his on top of everything-

Hwei glances up again.

“I… I made something awful.”

Jhin appears near serene at the admission. “Show me.”

That putrid bile in his empty stomach lurches again. “I can’t-”

A hand seizes his jaw hard as iron, the eyes that gaze down upon him just as cold. Jhin could squash him under his shoe like an insect if he really wanted to, but his grip is only barely on the side of painful.

He leans closer. “Show me.”

Hwei nods as far as he can and, once he’s released, he wobbles up to his feet. Wading through tar would have been easier than his trudging steps to the overturned easel. It takes some fumbling, but he sits it upright again, stalling for the canvas as it’s finally propped back into place.

His shoulders sag inward as Jhin’s shoes click on the floor behind him. Heat radiates from him, the sun in Hwei’s dark, endless expanse.

Of all the sounds he expected, a chuckle was certainly not one of them.

When Hwei works up the nerve to look, Jhin is standing with his arms stretched outward. “Yes,” he sighs, “this is the sort of thing I craved from you. A truer glimpse into your soul, not the sweet nothings you hide behind.”

There’s something about his voice, the way his words flow, it feels-

Wrong.

Hwei bristles. “What are you talking about?”

Then Jhin turns to him again, his eyes brimming with- something. His grin is just a tad too wide, the hand that finds a perch on Hwei’s shoulder holding just a little too tight. “You stifle your potential to make yourself palatable. I’ve been there, grovelling in mediocrity just to feign pleasantry.”

The fingers on his shoulder trail upward, digging into his collarbone hard enough to make him flinch. Hwei wriggles free. “Is mediocrity really so bad?”

A scowl creases his face. “Why would you want to subject yourself to a lifetime of never being good enough, when you’re capable of so much more? What are you afraid of?”

It’s so hard to maintain eye contact, especially when they seem to pierce straight past every wall of defence. To the shadows he tries so hard to huddle away, to keep all packed up tight and safe. The very concept that someone could not only see it, but look upon it and not cower is-

Exhilarating.

“I’m… afraid of the part of myself that stays in the dark.”

Jhin only shrugs. “It’s there, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. Why not nurture it into something more?”

Hwei isn’t really sure what to say. The proposition seems so self-centred and conceited, so unlike him. No, he won’t- can’t feed the part of himself that dreams of tearing his own skin, of shattering Lux’s pretty bones, of slicing apart Jhin’s handsome face.

He would never- could never-

“What do you desire?”

The question is expected, somewhat, but it causes Hwei to stumble all the same. He looks out of his window, but he can’t see the stars tonight. It’s started to rain, fat drops running down the panes. For a split second, they seem red until he blinks. Hwei takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around himself, a puny, self-pitying mockery of a hug. Maybe if he digs his nails in hard enough he could tear the ligaments free-

“Things I can’t act upon,” he finally says.

“And if I allowed you to act upon them here, and told you that it wouldn’t leave this room, would you still deny yourself?”

Hwei takes a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jhin follows. “Oh, I hope you do.”

Hwei hits the wall and his breath stutters. Jhin slips a hand under his chin and tilts him upward, their lips a breath away.

“Pain is such an intimate thing, isn’t it?”

I want your blood to soak into my floor so it will never scrub out. I want to shatter your bones so you can never leave me. I want to eat your heart so it will always be mine.

Hwei lunges for his throat and shoves them backwards, collapsing into a heap on the ground. There’s a dull thunk as Jhin’s head hits the floor, but Hwei doesn’t have it in him to care. Hwei’s fractured, chipped nails dig into Jhin’s throat and a hand comes up to take his wrist. Jhin doesn’t try to move them, or even resist, just simply holds.

“I- ah, I promise this will be much more entertaining if I’m conscious, my dear.”

“Maybe I don’t want you conscious.” Hwei tightens his hold and revels in the wheeze it dredges up from Jhin’s lungs. “Or breathing.”

Jhin is still smiling, even as he gasps uselessly. Hwei hates it, loves it. “You wouldn’t- ah, kill me like this, would you? It’s far too- simple.”

“Oh, but it’s so very intimate, don’t you think?”

If he squeezes a little tighter, maybe that would be it. Then he really could do whatever he wanted.

Even so, his grip eases and as Jhin heaves the air back into his lungs he trails his hands downward, nails scraping along the firm muscle beneath. He feels the minute quivers below his fingers, the heat of his skin, wonders how it would feel to peel it all back and marvel at the flesh.

Eyes follow his every move and Hwei wonders how easy it would be to gouge them with his fingers.

How does his blood taste-

Hwei doesn’t stop to reconsider, to doubt. He sinks his teeth into the junction between shoulder and throat. He breaks the skin, sighs at the copper on his tongue. Jhin hisses above him, a hand sliding into Hwei’s hair and tightening enough to draw tears.

It takes a particularly hard yank to force Hwei off, red staining his lips. He blinks a few times, dazed. Then realisation, as stark as a bucket of ice water.

“I’m so-”

But Jhin cuts him off with another harsh pull, forcing his back to arch so beautifully. He whines, a hand instinctively reaching to close around Jhin’s.

“I’m sick of you apologising for breathing,” he says, his tone neutral in a way that makes Hwei shudder.

“Sorry.”

“Now you’re just being facetious.”

He wheezes out a laugh. “You’d be prettier if you stopped breathing.”

Jhin only hums, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Keep going.”

Their position tips, Hwei ends up in Jhin’s lap, one hand on Jhin’s shoulder to keep him steady. Hwei ghosts his thumb over his previous mark, smearing the blood and admiring how Jhin shivers at the sensation. His other hand sneaks up to the back of Jhin’s neck and pulls him down.

The initial kiss is soft, like school sweethearts uncertain and petrified. Hwei isn’t sure who breaks the calm first, but then it’s all teeth and sharp bites and blood- He’s not even sure who’s blood he can taste-

He dearly hopes it’s a mix of both.

Jhin doesn’t pull away so much as he hauls Hwei back once he finally needs to breathe and leaves him to gasp like a fish above water.

Once he recovers though, Hwei tugs at the hem of Jhin’s shirt. “Take this off.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth, but compiles all the same, though not without making it an agonising trial of patience. Each button might as well be a mountain to best or beast to slay.

When the fabric finally falls to the floor, Hwei momentarily forgets how vital it is to breathe.

“Have I ever told you how charming you are when at a loss for words?”

Hwei shoots him a scowl and considers slapping him, but the contact would only be temporary, it wouldn’t be enough.

Logically, Hwei knows Jhin is not God, but that doesn’t make it any less sacrilege to look upon him like this, perfect in a way that leaves Hwei so desperate to claw and bite and scratch. He wants to tear Jhin’s ribcage open, devour what is his and his alone to always keep Jhin with him.

The only blemishes that mar his skin, save for Hwei’s previous efforts, are two scars beneath his pecs. Part of him wants to reopen them, drink in the blood that spills, but another lucid part screams-

He’s like me, he’s like me, he’s-

Then Jhin’s larger hands slide under his sweater and peel back his shield. Hwei freezes and squeezes his eyes shut, anticipation clawing up his throat like bile. There’s a sigh and Hwei feels the gaping maw of the abyss open beneath him.

“Let me in,” Jhin says, as if uttering a secret.

And the rest of the universe might as well not exist.

Hwei lets out a long, quivering breath, chest impossibly tight as he lets Jhin peel back his defences like the petals of a flower. He expects to miss the safety, but instead only the warmth. Warmth which is quickly replaced by Jhin’s hands.

Hwei so desperately craves for them to pry deeper, to carve out a place inside him. Perhaps he could offer his own heart, but what good would that wretched broken thing be to anyone?

He catches Jhin’s wrist and draws it upward, his fingers coming to rest at his neck, thumb brushing his lips.

“Destroy me,” he whispers, “and build me anew.”

For the briefest of moments, it is Jhin’s turn to lose his breath. Then he leans closer, and murmurs as a prayer, “Nothing I could create would ever compare to you as you are.”

-~*~-

When Hwei wakes, everything aches.

He groans and tries to curl inward only to bump into a warm weight at his side. It takes some convincing for his eyes to finally peel open and the memories of the previous night come flooding back.

Jhin looks so different when he’s asleep, his brow at ease and his lips slightly parted. He’s snoring, though only softly, hair rumpled and sticking out in odd directions. Hwei wants to reach out and brush it back down, but touching him might just break the tranquillity of the moment.

Though that’s when he realises they’re both still very naked.

With as much grace as he can muster, Hwei shimmies from under the duvet and down to the floor, fumbling about for his sweater and underwear. It’s almost suffocating to have them back on again, the fabric rubs against his healing bruises and cuts, but they’re stabilising, they tether him back to earth.

Still, it itches. This one never usually does, he’d hate to get rid of it. Lux had got it for him and he’d kept it till it was nearly threadbare. He twists his hands into the fabric and holds them there, staring into nothing.

He wonders where his phone is, if Lux would even want to hear from him after the night prior. She had said she would call him, hadn’t she?

A ruffle of fabric behind him returns him to the waking world and he glances back to see Jhin sitting up, blinking the remnants of sleep away and rubbing his face. It’s a spare moment of graceless fumbling that Hwei wishes he could bottle and capture on a canvas.

It’s gone just as swiftly as Jhin pushes his hair back from his face and raises his gaze.

“We really must get you a proper bed,” he grunts.

Hwei only shrugs. “I don’t mind it.”

Jhin pouts, honestly pouts. “Well, I mind very much, thank you.”

It makes Hwei chuckle. “Sorry it doesn’t meet your standards.”

“It’s a little novel for one night, but I understand fully why your posture is in the state it is.”

It takes a smidge more effort than Jhin would likely admit, but he does manage to rise to his feet with all the grace he desires. Hwei goes to grab his cane but Jhin waves him off.

“I can manage without,” he says, then adds a slightly softer, “though your concern is not unwelcome.”

Hwei huffs. “It’s the least I can do.”

It’s only then Hwei realises he has nothing to offer for breakfast other than instant coffee. He fully expects Jhin to turn his nose up, but he accepts the offer.

While the kettle boils, Hwei can’t help but stare. It’s not his fault, he reasons, as Jhin is adverse to putting his clothes back on it seems. He’s lounging back in Hwei’s desk chair, admiring his easel in the golden morning light, fingers tapping his usual rhythm on the desk.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four-

Hwei wishes he’d had the forethought to close his blinds, not to protect Jhin’s modesty or some similar ridiculous notion, but to hide away what should only be a sight for him.

He shakes his head as the thought crosses his mind and he returns to searching for a clean mug.

The morning drags with little urgency, as if the outside world has ground to a halt just for them. Hwei perches on the end of his mattress. Jhin is probably right about getting himself a proper bed, but he just keeps putting it off…

“Is it despair or catharsis?”

Jhin’s voice rouses him once again and Hwei has to take a moment to understand what the question means. Ah, his canvas.

“Can’t it be both?” he says.

Jhin’s lips pause at the rim of the mug, then he lowers it back down to glance at Hwei. “Do elaborate.”

Hwei peers down into his own mug, feels a twinge of displeasure when he spies a hair floating and picks it out. Gives him a moment to compile his thoughts into a coherent sentence,

“Despair because the life it knew is gone forever, there’s no going back to what it was before. Catharsis because it’s finally free to spread its wings and become what it was always meant to be.”

Jhin hums, his gaze drifting back to the canvas. The moment drags, but it isn’t painful nor even unpleasant. Hwei finds he quite likes watching Jhin think.

Finally, he places his mug onto the desk and says,

“I’d like to see some of your other pieces, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei blinks. “They’re not very impressive.”

“Show me.”

It’s not a demand, but a request. For once, Jhin’s smile is pure and Hwei thinks if he does not tear his gaze away he might cry.

“I have a few…”

[ballsballsbowls]

@ms-demeanor - I didn't want to make your post about writing romance any longer than it already was, but I've been trying to make a post about this specific phenomenon for a while now (every time I start to do it an adjacent topic is lighting up the horizon on tumblr and I'd hate for people to think it's a direct reaction to any of THEIR posts), and I think it's something that might also help you when thinking about writing romance.

So, I took a set of screencaps of two romance ebooks, deliberately pretty terrible because I am not out to say specific things about these specific books but about a phenomenon that's pretty apparent in the romance world right now, and you don't need to be able to read the words or ID the books to see what I'm talking about.

The book on the left is a romance book I'm currently reading and enjoying; the book on the right is a random Top 10 Paid Amazon Romance that is showing what I am trying to convey and wasn't picked for any other specific purpose.

Check out the paragraph size, length of line, how much white space per page in the book on the right.

Peace and love on planet earth etc, I think both kinds of books can, should, will, and must exist in the romance retail space because people want different things out of their books. But I'll admit that I vastly prefer books that look like the book on the left, even if I am just reading erotica. I'll read books like the one on the right, they're nice if you want something you can finish in a few hours or can read in a spot you'll be distracted, but they're not my favorite and they're not what I actively choose to pick up.

I'm tagging you in this specifically because I can sense you are hesitant about Writing Romance because you think that you don't have anything to say that romance readers want to read, which is blatantly untrue and I have already told you that.

But I sensed a second undercurrent of, "I am hesitant because I'm under the impression that nobody wants to read my long-ass shit in the romance space," since you get more than a little pushback on your long-ass stories on tumblr. And I wrote all of this in this specific time and place to tell you that there's still a market for dense romance novels with a lot of worldbuilding and commentary. In fact, we need more of them in the romance novel space, as a romance novel reader.

Sometimes I really want something I can sink my teeth into that also has sex in it, you know?

[styxisms]

☢ What fads/trends are you so over?

the salty af munday meme / @nebula-drcams

// HM. I still am not a massive fan of carrds or google docs. I know why they are needed with dash only blogs. But I feel like things were easier when everything was all ON tumblr. again i get why they are popular and so on, but I still find them to be a little bit ehhh. I vastly preferred stuff all being ON tumblr as a post or a theme page or w/e. My big issues with docs and carrds is that 9/10 times they BARELY work on mobile at all. Which to be fair, popup stuff on themes was the same way but at least most people would make mobile accessible pages and stuff. i wish people with docs and carrds would at least have a plain text easy to access mobile version somewhere. it is VERY hard for me to access most people's muses pages, rules, about, ect when I am at work. which is like 90% of the time sadly. plus my work internet blogs most websites like carrd so i have to go onto 5g which I can't even LOAD 90% of the stuff in. and when they text is really small and I can't zoom in, I can't see at all. I LOVE stuff to be pretty and cool, but like carrds and docs really sometimes do be the new hard to read tumblr themes.

[nights-at-crystarium]

I love reading Fragments, your art style is so cool and expressive! When I first came back here from Twitter you were one of the first people I looked for to see if they had an active presence here and I was so so happy you did!

Thank you ;w; <3 In fact I'm originally from tumblr, and vastly prefer it over any other socmed. Been here since like 2011. Still might have to return to twitter, but tumblr will always be my main until this place literally burns down.

[qqueenofhades]

I'm about halfway through my History BA and I have a question (I pinky promise I'm doing more research than just asking tumblr academics their opinions), but this is also me assuming you did college in both the US and the UK so forgive me if I guessed wrong and am confusing you with someone else. How does graduate school in either country compare? I'm still stuck between whether I want to go for my master's or straight to PhD so obviously I'm quite a ways away from making any important decision, but considering that I'm studying British history (primarily), it felt natural to consider getting my degree(s) abroad. Are there like, any major differences you're aware of that made university vastly different, or are they more similar than I'm thinking?? Was one situation flat out preferable to the other?? If you even have strong opinions about it at all

That is me, yes. BA in the US with one year in the UK; MA in the US; PhD in the UK; now the co-director of a US MA/PhD program, so I have an appreciable amount of experience with graduate and postgraduate education in both countries. Here are the main ways in which they compare/what the experience is like in both:

In the UK overall, the experience is much more self-directed. I only had taught coursework for the first year of the PhD; the rest of it was spent in research and writing. So compared to the American system, where you take 3 years of coursework first (such as the PhD program that I currently manage) and then write the dissertation in the last year or two (hence the designation ABD, or All But Dissertation), you're thrown into the deep end from the start. I didn't have comprehensive exams, which might be a plus if that's something you have anxiety about, but the tradeoff was that I had to complete the dissertation proposal and first full-length sample chapter in the very first year, rather than waiting for year 3, and to have that be the basis on which I was evaluated/approved to continue to the full PhD degree. If you know what you want to work on and have solid supervision, this can work out and it certainly allows you to develop your topic in depth from the start, but if this is the kind of thing that gives you heart palpitations, there is that. The bright side is that you will come out with a thesis that will need less revision to be suitable as a monograph, because you've done a higher and longer amount of work upfront. I.e. I published my PhD thesis as a monograph with a major academic press within a year of graduating, which is generally rare in the US system.

As such, the US PhD experience is overall more directed/structured and leans toward more coursework than research. The research is obviously a big part of it in a way that American undergrads rarely train in (unless they go to a fancy liberal arts writing-intensive school for undergraduate, like I did), but as noted, the dissertation is central in the UK PhD system in a way it isn't (or at least not as much) in the American system. You have pros and cons for both systems, and sometimes I wished that my intensively research-centric PhD, where it was all on me to do the research, write the research, and have something to present to my supervisors on schedule for each meeting, had more taught coursework or formal/structured contact time. You have a committee in the American system, i.e. three or four academics who will oversee your defense, whereas in the UK, at least in a history program, you only have two aside from your degree supervisor: an internal reader (within the institution) and external reader (from outside the institution). While this means fewer people whose approval you need to wrangle, my viva (final defense) ended up being a Goddamn Ordeal because my external reader, despite being a friend of my supervisor, was really not suited to read a dissertation on the subject and I don't think should have been picked for it, then was extremely unprofessional about her notes/reviews/suggestions. (My supervisor likewise apologized to me for that, so yeah, It Was Bad. Academic Trauma Ahoy.)

Master's programs in the UK are also incredibly intense; they are generally one year compared to the usual two years for most US programs, and you have to complete the coursework AND write a thesis in that time, which is not something that I really recommend for maximum sanity. (Then again, if you're getting an advanced degree in history, that might be out the window.) However, if you are working on British history, then yeah, it makes the most sense to be based in a UK university, since the archives that you will need to consult will be, obviously, far easier to access than if you need to try to cram it all into one overseas academic research trip on a postgraduate student's budget. In that case, it might make sense to just apply to a master's/PhD program in the UK upfront, to smooth the transition/amount of moving around/financial misery you will have to endure. However, word to the wise that there WILL be financial misery, especially as an international student at a UK university. The Tories have yet again jacked the visa and NHS application fees (which you will have to pay upfront for every year you intend to be there) through the roof; your tuition will be much higher (though as noted in previous asks, don't go anywhere unless they pay YOU to do it) and it is difficult to get any part-time work outside of teaching or other opportunities directly related to your degree, which are subject to the uh, totally great pay rate for junior academics. (Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.)

Basically, yeah: it depends on what kind of student you are, how much initiative you like to take, how much structure you need or don't need, what sources you anticipate needing to consult and how you're going to do that, if you're comfortable starting the dissertation right away and being ready to present a finished chapter at the end of year 1, and whether you want your graduate/postgraduate experience to focus primarily on independent research or taught courses. There are no exactly right answers to these questions and you will obviously have to think about what suits you best (along, of course, the money aspect). Good luck!