#chiaroscuro inspo

[moonchildstyles]

vampy harry seeing y/n put on fake vangs for halloween and he goes oh? oh. he did not think she would look so hot with fangs anddd you can imagine what happens after that

bestie this is ...... os......actually im sitting w this so much rn

[ghoulierstudio]

Munch (b.1944) top/left Caravaggio (b.1571) right/bottom

(Preface) Munch didn’t do strive for chiaroscuro but I see a parallel in his use of light & shadow. Honestly, I think Munch’s painting style conveys a lot more emotively with the stark colors & gesture based approach to rendering giving the impression of raw emotion, whereas (likely due to differing their eras) Caravaggio imitated emotion with focus on accuracy/reality (depending on models not the mind’s eye).

(Point) Anyway I made the mistake of flipping through this late one evening & perceived true dread/torment in Munch work. And while it’s not the same it reminded me of an old tumblr post I saw of a person talking about listening to Hozier in the dark, implying the atmosphere makes the lyrics resonate differently. I get that now. In my own way. Which prompted me to think of H.P Lovecraft’s short story The Pickman’s Model. - Terror lives in the realm of emotion, but can manifest in reality. There’s a distinguishable difference.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hi mira i’m going to rq for jjk (gojo specifically) :) kinda inspired by a fic idea of mine so if i see you post it maybe it’ll give me inspo to actually write too LOL — this is also a little long sorry, you can shorten as you wish 😓 maybe it’ll get the brain juices going idk

Y/N was really close to geto (i was thinking siblings but do whatever) and when he turned curse user and left, it made Y/N rethink why she was a sorcerer herself. she believed in geto’s ideals, but seeing his mindset 180 made her question if the same thing would happen to her since she was always weaker-minded than him. so she quit dropped out of the school and gojo never saw her since

skipping to the present, Y/N became a sorcerer again after having a conversation with geto some time before he died. with yuji being sukuna’s vessel, she goes to the school herself and sees gojo (their last convo was actually an argument leaving everything [him] behind). gojo’s just really stubborn, but he’s there when Y/N really needs him. from there they only keep encountering each other until they make up, their feelings are all out on the table, etc. etc.

── CHIAROSCURO

Synopsis: You don’t really know who you are without Suguru Geto. Satoru Gojo doesn’t know who he is without either of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo x Reader, Geto & Reader have something less than romantic but more than platonic going on

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: angst, mentions of death, flawed y/n character, major time skips, most plot events happen off screen, characters are probably ooc tbh i haven’t written for jjk in months

A/N: finally finished the first of the requests I’ve received so far!! it ended up being way more geto-centric than i had planned for it to be though i’m so sorry angel 😭 and it was also getting way too long so i decided to end it by just hinting the development of the rest of the story you mentioned LMAO i hope that’s okay 😫

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Most people grew up with one shadow, but according to your mother, you had lived your entire life with two. The first was the same as the one everyone had, that darkening of the ground in the shape of your figure. The second was the boy who lived next door — or, at least, that was what she told you.

His name was Suguru Geto, and despite his dark features and darker clothing, he had a perpetually sunny demeanor, always quick to offer you a gentle smile whenever you glanced his way. He was polite even when it wasn’t required of him, and though your mother teased you for it, you knew she was secretly grateful for his presence in your life.

The greatest thing Suguru had ever done for you, though, was not teach you manners. It was that he gave you someone to follow. Perhaps it was true that he was your shadow, but it was his in which you cowered when you were frightened, when the brightness of the world was too harsh for your eyes, which, when it came to cruelties and horrors, were as sensitive and new as a child’s.

Suguru was always happy to take on that role. He would stand in front of you, his shoulder blades pinching together as he puffed out his chest and rebuked whichever neighborhood child had dared to tease you. They all ran from him when he was like that, when his brow grew heavy over his eyes and the corners of his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Not you, though. You stayed behind his back, blinking owlishly at the way the others scurried, laughing along when Suguru likened them to mice with a click of his tongue.

Suguru didn’t like those who hurt the ones weaker than them, so you didn’t, either. Suguru thought that the role of the strong was to protect the frail, so you did, too. Whatever Suguru believed, you did as well, because what else was there for you? It was easier for you to hold onto his hand and press against his back, to allow him to tell you where to place your feet, so that there was never even a chance of you falling.

That was why it wasn’t a surprise that, upon Suguru being scouted as a sorcerer, you were extended the same invitation. It was a natural consequence — where he went, you followed, and so when he packed his things and went to Tokyo, it was both of your bags that he was carrying, while you peered around the train station and wondered what kind of place you were going to end up in.

Your new classmate was the one that picked the two of you up. He was tall — taller than even Suguru, though the majority of his body consisted of his legs — and had an unearthly appearance, with pale hair carefully mussed into a seemingly thoughtless style and black glasses which slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal eyes like diamonds.

He was the most brilliant thing you had ever seen. Lowering your eyes, you stepped back into Suguru’s shadow, earning you a scoff from your classmate and a worried exhale from your friend.

“Blech,” he said. “You’re supposed to be my classmate, really? How’re you going to keep up, huh? I’m the strongest sorcerer in the world, you know.”

“I think we’ll manage just fine,” Suguru said pleasantly, though there was an edge to his voice, his teeth like knives when he smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Satoru Gojo,” your classmate said, shaking Suguru’s hand firmly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” Suguru said. “And this is Y/N L/N.”

“Hi,” you said, swallowing even as you said it, pursing your lips and glancing around, wishing for some kind of escape. Gojo hummed and then poked you on the forehead.

“Aw,” he said when you did not visibly react beyond furrowing your brow. “I thought you might fall over or something.”

“I see,” you said. “Um. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go before our teacher gives us all detention for playing hooky.”

Unlike Suguru, Gojo didn’t allow you to follow him around. He made fun of you when you were scared and poked you on the forehead if you cringed away from his taunts. The latter occurred so frequently that you were surprised there was not a permanent indent in your skin.

“One day I’ll get you, pretty Y/N,” he’d always promise you. “Seriously! I mean, you barely have a backbone in the first place, so it’s really a wonder you’re standing at all.”

At first, Suguru used to demand he stop, but as the months went by, his protests grew weaker and weaker. You supposed that it must’ve been nice for him, to stand beside someone for once instead of constantly throwing himself in front of them. You could not blame him, but you found that you missed him more with every passing day.

But what was there to be done about it? After all, you were nothing compared to the two special grade sorcerers. You did what you could and found it was, for the most part, sufficient, but sufficient would never let you exist beside either of them in any way that mattered. So you fell behind, and this time, it was not a conscious choice but an unavoidable circumstance. This time, when you hung back, Suguru continued forward without you.

Empty-minded and weak-hearted. That was what your teacher called you. He sent you on the simplest missions he could, and still you struggled. Sometimes, this meant you would sit alone in the classroom until it was long past dusk, listening to your teacher ramble and shout.

“You are not weak!” he would say, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “By all rights, your technique is perfectly serviceable. You are not weak, Y/N L/N!”

“Yes, sir,” you would respond meekly.

“At least, you should not be,” he’d say. “Yet somehow, inexplicably, you are. Even a Grade 2 curse nearly got the better of you. Your classmates are exorcising special grades on their own! Aren’t you disgusted with yourself?”

Suguru, and sometimes Gojo, would wait outside of the door for you, lingering until they heard the shuffle of your feet, the soft sniffles which announced your arrival. Then Suguru would wrap a casual arm around your shoulders and tell you that it was fine if you were weak, just as long as he was around to protect you, and Gojo would do that infuriating thing where he’d poke you in the forehead and pretend like it was a miracle you hadn’t toppled over yet.

Otherwise, you did not see your classmates. Shoko Ieri was far too busy learning to do things you could never hope to accomplish in your lifetime, and Suguru and Gojo were called on to complete assignments with such unhealthy regularity that their education actually suffered for it. 

You never knew what they did on their missions. You never cared to ask, either. The details would only make you queasy, and in this new world where you were not permitted to shudder and seek out the safety that Suguru so willingly provided you with, you tried to avoid things like that. Harsh things, brilliant things, cruel things — all of them you ran from at an equal pace. Without Suguru there to defend you, you turned into one of those children he had so-despised in your youth. Always running. Always hiding. Always shying away from anything resembling a challenge.

It was after one such mission that Suguru returned differently. You knew he had changed because he crawled into your bed that night instead of his own, drew the blanket up around his shoulders and pressed his weeping eyes against your collarbones.

“It’s no good,” he said after the third time you had asked him what was the matter, your hands nervously skimming over his shoulders, smoothing over his rough hair. “Everything’s been ruined, Y/N. Or maybe it was always like this. Maybe you’re the only one who’s ever understood the world to begin with.”

The next morning, when his feet touched the ground and he slid out of your bed, you were hit with the strangest feeling that you would never see him again. Not in the way you were used to seeing him, anyways. Sitting up in your bed, leaning against your pillows, you watched as he left, though when he went to close the door behind him, you reached out your hand.

“Wait,” you said. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

“Is everything okay?” he said, his knuckles growing white from gripping the handle.

“I want to look at you,” you said. You knew without knowing that the instant the door shut between the two of you, you would lose him forever. Your best friend. Your shadow. You wished that there was a way you could reach out and save him, but the thought of you saving someone was outlandish. Impossible. Laughable. 

“Yeah?” he said. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and it did not reach his irises, but nevertheless, he somehow managed to muster up a smile. It was not gentle as much as it was exhausted, but still, he smiled as best he could at you. “Okay.”

You hugged one of the pillows to your chest. “I miss you a lot.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said.

“Not yet,” you said. “I think you will someday, though. You’ll go somewhere far away, and I won’t be able to follow you there. You won’t even want me to.”

“What kind of place is that?” he said. “I’ll always want you to follow me around, Y/N. As long as I’m there, not a corner on this planet could be a place I don’t want you to follow me to.”

The door creaked shut. You stared at the blank expanse and thought to yourself that he had always been very good at lying.

From that day forward, there were two opposite phenomena which occurred simultaneously. On the one hand, that blinding radiance of Gojo’s was magnified by the minute, and on the other, Suguru withdrew further and further into a grey sort of monotony that, try as you might, you could not pull him from.

“Gojo,” you said one day, tugging on his sleeve and flinching when he turned to look at you. As per usual, he pressed his finger into your forehead.

“Yikes,” he said. “Seems like you’re still lacking in the spinal department, dear Y/N. But just so you know, I’ve cheated off of your math homework enough times that you really shouldn’t be scared of me.”

“Please help Suguru,” you said.

“Eh?” Gojo said. “What do you mean? Help him with what, his math homework? I’ll just give him yours to copy as well, so why don’t you cut the middle man and show it to him yourself?”

“No, not with — just, he’s going away, and I don’t want him to, but he doesn’t — you’re the only one,” you stammered. 

It was even more difficult to speak with Gojo now than it had been when you had first come to school. That was because it was only recently that you were realizing that that way he made you feel, that shyness, that apprehension, was not because of his gleaming, sharp countenance, but rather something else, something soft in your heart that thudded to life whenever he smirked at you.

“You want me to take his mission for him?” Gojo said, his nose wrinkling. “What, so the two of you can go on a date or something? Forget about it.”

“What?” you said. “No, what — a date — that’s not what I meant!”

It was too late. Gojo was gone, and with him, your last chance at helping Suguru vanished, too. In fact, Gojo avoided you until you went home from the summer break, making a face whenever you glanced his way, and by the time you came back to start the next year, it was too late for anyone to do much of anything.

“Y/N L/N,” Masamichi Yaga said, entering the library where you were writing a paper for your literature class. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his cheeks a dark, flushed color, his teeth gritted together so hard that a muscle in his jaw twitched periodically. “Do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”

“I was just working on the essay that we were assigned, but it can wait,” you said agreeably, all too eager to give yourself a break from the work. Pushing aside your paper and pen, you stood up, massaging your wrist. “What is it, sir?”

“It’s, er…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry, Miss L/N.”

You tried to run through the list of things that he could be sorry for, but only one thing came to mind. You froze, your eyes widening. He had been on a mission, hadn’t he? 

“Suguru,” you breathed. “Is it — it’s not about Suguru, is it?”

“In a sense, it is,” Yaga said.

“Is he alright?” you said. “He has to be alright.”

“We believe his condition is fine, considering what he’s done,” Yaga said.

“‘What he’s done?’ Why are you being so vague? What’s going on, sir? Please say it plainly,” you said.

“It’s your parents, Miss L/N,” he said, spitting it out all at once like the phrase itself was poisoned. “They’re dead.”

Your stomach dropped. You had imagined so many things. In your nightmares, you saw your classmates dying, your teachers, even yourself. But never your parents. Your parents, who were so far removed from this awful world. Your parents, who only a month ago had sent you back to school with a pair of new shoes they had saved up to buy. You parents, who had never harmed anyone in their lives. What had they done that was so terrible it warranted such a sudden death? What were they being punished for?

“How — how did it happen?” you said. “Was it a curse?”

“Miss L/N…” Yaga said, his entire self deflating. “I’m really sorry.”

“What? Stop apologizing,” you said, tears gathering in your eyes. “Just tell me. Stop saying sorry and tell me!”

“It was most likely Suguru Geto,” he said, handing you a piece of paper. Your vision swam, and you could barely make out the words. All residents of the village were killed. Jujutsu High investigated. Based on residuals…all 112…the work of Geto’s curse manipulation. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “No, why would he do that? My parents loved him, and he loved them, too! We grew up together, so why would he do that?”

“Based on the evidence, he most likely killed his own parents, too,” Yaga said. Your hands wound themselves in your hair as you tugged.

“That’s a lie,” you said. “Suguru isn’t like that. Suguru is good! Suguru looks out for those weaker than himself! He protects people, Yaga. It must be a mistake. It has to be a mistake!”

“Miss L/N—” he began, but you were already running, sprinting as fast as you could. There was no way. There was no way. There was no way. 

Your house and the one beside it — Suguru’s house, a voice in the back of your mind nagged you, that’s Suguru’s house — were blocked off with yellow caution tape. Dozens of police officers were milling about the scene, barking into handheld radios, conversing tensely. One of them noticed you and extended an arm to stop your approach.

“Stay back, ma’am. This is an active crime scene. No outsiders allowed until the investigation has been concluded,” the officer said.

“That’s my house,” you whispered. “Officer, that’s my house. Why are there so many people here? It’s not true, is it?”

The officer didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The pitying frown on his face told you everything you needed to hear. It was true. It was true. Your parents, your parents were dead, and that meant —

What had it been like for them? Had your mother welcomed him? When she opened the door for him, had her eyes crinkled at the corners in greeting? Had she offered him tea, as she usually did, because she was so fond of him and he was so fond of the drink when made by her hand? And what of your father? Had he reached over to clap Suguru on the back, or had he tried to grab him in an affectionate headlock so that he could mess up his hair with all the zeal of a man half his age?

You threw up. Some of the vomit splattered onto the officer’s shoes, causing him to fold his lips into a thin, disapproving line. Taking a step back, he reached over to pat you on the back as you heaved and hacked, trying to expel the knowledge from your mind and finding that you were entirely unable to.

You walked back to the train station in a trance, your eyes reddened and glazed over, your mouth sour from the taste of the stale crackers the officer had handed you, your hands shoved in your pockets as you tried to remember to breathe through your nose. The officer had offered to escort you to the station, but you had refused. You needed the time to think, and anyways, what did it matter? No ordinary person could hurt you, and no sorcerer would.

“I didn’t think you’d come back alone,” a soft voice said from behind you. You turned around, your insides roiling at the very sound, your ears ringing as you took in Suguru’s casual posture. His hands, too, were in his pockets, and the streetlights cast misshapen, dancing shadows over his face, the effect worsened by the odd tilt of his head.

He was refusing to look at you. That was why he was standing like that. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes, and that was the only confirmation you needed. 

“So what?” you said. “I did. Are you going to kill me next?”

“What?” he said. Briefly, he glanced up at you in alarm, and then, like he had remembered he didn’t deserve to feel betrayed by that kind of question, he slouched back down into the same apathy of earlier. “No.”

“Just do it,” you said. “Just do it, you fucking asshole! Why would — you — you killed my parents! You killed my parents, and now you’re just talking to me as if nothing happened? Why? Why would you…?”

His expression did not budge again. “They were filthy monkeys who deserved it.”

“Huh?” you said. The statement was so bizarre that, for a moment, your anger was forgotten. “What the fuck?”

“This world doesn’t need more non-sorcerers running around,” he said. “Every single curse you’ve ever fought, it’s their fault. Those idiots who don’t know how to control the meager amounts of cursed energy they have, they’re the ones who cause curses to manifest. You should be thanking me, Y/N. This’ll make your life that much easier.”

“Do you really think that's the case?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “With my entire heart, I think that it is.”

You had always, always followed Suguru. When he said to protect the weak, you did so. When he said to take care of others, you did that, too. Whatever he told you to believe, you believed. But how could you do that this time? How could you believe in the person who had murdered your parents?

“You killed my parents because of your stupid theory,” you said numbly. “You killed my parents. Suguru, you killed my parents.”

You didn’t care about the one hundred and twelve villagers. That was the most shameful thing: if it had just been that, then you might still have followed him. He could’ve convinced you — no. You could’ve convinced yourself that it was fine, that he really was looking out for you in that peculiar manner of his. It wouldn’t have been impossible. Even now, your resolve was so weak, and it was only the thought of your parents that allowed you to cling to it at all.

“They asked about you,” he said dully. “I let them. My own parents, I didn’t give them a chance to say anything, but yours…I let them ask. I guess you could consider it my last favor to you.”

The ringing grew louder. You pushed your palms against your ears in an effort to drown it out, but you couldn’t. If anything, it just grew louder and louder, more and more insistent. You couldn’t shake it off. You couldn’t make it go away, just like you couldn’t make Suguru’s words go away.

“It was the only thing they worried about. In their last moments, it wasn’t their own lives they begged for…it was yours,” he said, his gaze far away, his irises unreadable as he recalled that moment. “How strange is that?”

“Shut up,” you said.

“I told them you were okay,” he said.

“Shut up,” you repeated, though it was unsteady and unconvincing. “Shut up, shut up.”

“They were pretty happy about that,” he said, in a tone filled with dreamy recollection. “They didn’t fight much after I promised you’d be okay. What simple creatures they must have been, that even while dying they could only think to rejoice!”

You screamed. It was wordless and brittle, a symptom of your lungs’ collapse as you broke into sobs, fumbling in your purse for your phone. Suguru watched as you unsteadily punched in a number you had never bothered to save, not trying to stop you, maybe not seeing the point.

“Gojo,” you said when he picked up, before he could even say anything. “Gojo, please just — can you come get me? Please come get me.”

“Okay,” he said, to your surprise. He didn’t argue or call it a waste of time or point out that you were still bawling as you spoke. “Where are you? I can be there pretty soon if I steal one of the managers’ cars, I think.”

“By my house,” you said. Suguru did not move, showing you his hands, as if he was giving you permission to do what you wanted. It was your choice. If you just told Gojo that he was with you, then you had no doubt he’d be apprehended within minutes.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

You were the one who hung up, not him. You were the one who made the decision. You were the one who looked at Suguru and then turned your back to him so that, for once, he was the one behind you.

“I can’t reconcile it,” you said, using the ends of your sleeves to blot at your tears as you hiccuped. “I can’t understand it. Even after everything, I still want to follow you. I still want you to be my shadow. I still want to be yours.”

Don’t turn. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. You couldn’t turn around. If you turned around, then that meant your old teacher was right. Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. You could not turn around.

A dry breeze rustled through the leaves on the ground, sounding like footsteps against pavement. Don’t turn.

You turned. You should’ve known better than to expect anything different from yourself. You had never been someone who could stand in the front for very long. You would always turn. You would always run and cower and hide.

Anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as you saw he was already gone. You were alone. You had let him go. You had allowed that mass murderer, that criminal, to walk away from you. What kind of a sorcerer were you? Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. That sort, then. The horrible sort.

When the headlights of the car Gojo had borrowed swung around the corner, you had long since curled up on the grass, your cheek to the mud as you tried to grasp what you had done. 

“Hey,” Gojo said. “Y/N?”

He must’ve gotten out of the car at some point, because suddenly, he was crouching before you, pulling you to your feet, his limbs awkward and gangly as he cocked his head, still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses despite the darkness.

“I’m a piece of shit,” you said, and then you were clutching the collar of his uniform jacket. “Why am I like this?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“He killed my parents,” you said. “He killed my parents, and I let him walk away.”

“Who?” Gojo said, but it was a rhetorical question. He knew who. You looked up at him miserably, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “You let who walk away?”

“I don’t think he was planning on seeing me,” you said, letting go of his shirt and pleading with him to understand. “We weren’t supposed to meet.”

“You saw Suguru,” Gojo accused, and now it was his turn to take you by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle of your biceps, his eyes wild. “You saw him, and you didn’t tell me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “He killed my parents, Gojo.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It is,” you said. “It is, he told me it is, and I couldn’t even do anything when he said so.”

“Why?” Gojo hissed. “You only had to tell me! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t!” you said, and then you were crying again. “I couldn’t. Oh, they’re dead, and he killed them, he killed them, and they only asked about me when he did. Why am I the one who gets to live?”

His hands traveled from your arms to the nape of your neck, the heels of his palms pressing into your jaw as he tried to force you to look at him. But you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t, you hadn’t been able to before and you definitely couldn’t now.

“You know Suguru better than anyone. Don’t you think there’s something else at play?” Gojo said. He wasn’t asking for you. He was asking for himself. He wanted you to reassure him, tell him that it was alright, that his best friend wasn’t the monster you both knew he was. How was it fair? How could you be expected to reassure him?

You shoved him off of you. “No.”

“Then why’d you let him go?” Gojo said. “You must’ve thought that there was a reason, or else you would’ve told me. It’s the only explanation!”

“No, it’s not! The only explanation is that I’m shitty and weak and stupid, and I can’t help but rely on him. No matter what I do, I’ll rely on him! People like you don’t understand what it feels like. You can stand on your own, but I’m not like that!” you said, and then you were grabbing his hand — he always did that, you noticed, always turned his Infinity off for you even now that it was an automatic, constant process — unfurling his fingers and jabbing his index finger at your forehead. “Do you get it? You were right. I don’t have a spine. I don’t have one at all!”

“Pull yourself together, Y/N,” Gojo said. “He’s still out there. We just have to reach him before the others do, and then we can talk to him. If it’s the both of us, then he’ll listen. He’ll explain everything!”

“He already did,” you said. “You just don’t accept it, but that’s different than him not explaining at all.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to go back to the school and live your life as normal?” he said, scowling at you. “How could you even think of doing that? In what world does that make sense? You can’t go back and pretend like nothing happened!”

“It’s true. I can’t,” you said, because it was the fact you had been avoiding since the day you first set foot in the school, which you had always known in the back of your mind despite how you denied it. “I can’t go back at all. I can’t be a sorcerer.”

It was a rare thing to see Satoru Gojo speechless. If it were a lesser occasion, you might have laughed at the way his lips parted and his eyebrows knitted together in such a foreign way.

“Why not?” he said. 

“I’m afraid I’ll follow him,” you said. “No, I know I will. If I stay, then I will definitely follow him.”

“You won’t,” Gojo said. “Follow me instead. Follow me if you have to, but you can’t leave. Not you, too.”

Another rarity: Satoru Gojo was afraid. Not of your absence, but of the changes it would bring. With Haibara gone, Suguru vanished, and then you…what would even become of the school? When so many pieces were taken away from it, could it even be considered the same place?

“I can’t end up like that,” you said. “I can’t even risk it. I became a sorcerer because of him; I’ll leave because of him, too. Anyways, you hate when I follow you. You prefer people who can stand on their own two feet. I know that about you now.”

“If you run away, I won’t forgive you for a long time,” he warned me. 

“Then don’t,” you said, stepping away, though still facing him. “What good is your forgiveness, anyways? It won’t bring my parents back. It won’t bring Suguru back. I don’t even want you to forgive me, Gojo. I want you to hate me until you die.”

It was the last time you saw him for so long that his memory blurred away at the edges. The way he said your name, the way his hair shone in the sun, the slope of his nose and curve of his neck…once, these were things you might’ve been able to list with a great degree of accuracy. Not anymore, though. Now, if you thought of him at all, it was only that final image of him, framed by the headlights of that still-running car. It was not your name he had called out as you walked away from him, but something bitterer, a promise said with such sincerity it was all but a Binding Vow.

“Ten years,” he had said. “That’s how long I’ll hate you for. Not my entire life. Not until I die. Just for the next ten years.”

Life as an ordinary person was easy. Life without Suguru was harder. But you learned. You learned, through the years, how to stand on your own two feet. You learned how to live with only one shadow instead of two. You learned how to let your eyes adjust to light, gradually instead of all at once, so that it was an easy progression and free of pain. 

There were times when you thought you had seen one or the other of the two who you had run from. There, across the street, was it Suguru reading the newspaper? Or in the bakery you walked past on your way to work, was it Gojo who was admiring the displays? They always vanished before you could grow close enough to ascertain their identities, though, remaining ever out of your grasp, existing as nothing more than phantoms in your periphery, refusing to let you forget the past entirely.

The first time you called Gojo was a year after you left the school. You weren’t expecting him to pick up, and when the automated message prompted you to leave a voicemail, you almost hung up in resignation. Something stopped you, though, and despite feeling entirely ridiculous, you cleared your throat.

“Ah, it’s Y/N. But I guess you probably knew that, considering you didn’t pick up. Well, I don’t have anything much to say, but I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright. I’m okay. The anniversary of my parents’ deaths is coming up, so I was planning on visiting their graves. I got a new job. Somewhere that I never would’ve expected to work when I was younger. It’s nice. I like my coworkers. They’re nothing compared to you, of course, but they’re fine enough. Anyways. Um. I guess that’s it. I don’t think you’ll call me back, but I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay.”

It was a routine. Every year, on that day, you’d call him and leave him a voice message. He never once answered — you doubted he listened to the voicemails at all, either — but it soothed you to leave them, to leave one last connection to the world that had taken up so much of your life, and for so long.

More often than not, that time felt like a dream. If it weren’t for the thorned mourner’s bouquets which left pricks in your fingers or the ten calls you had made to Satoru Gojo, you wouldn’t have believed any of it had happened at all. Sorcery, curses, shadows and killers, best friends who betrayed you and boys you ran from, these were all things better suited to storybooks than real life. 

Your mother’s favorite flowers had been roses, and you always made sure to bring some with you when you visited your parents’ graves. Roses for her and white chrysanthemums for your father, who had never had a preference for any particular flowers but was so sentimental that he would weep at any blooms being set by his headstone.

The roses were the ones that made the pads of your fingertips bleed, leaving bright red drops the same shade as their petals on the tissues you brought with you. You’d set the bouquet down and wrap your fingers with the tissues, watching as blood seeped through the thin paper, and then, without fail, you’d cry.

“It’s been so long without you,” you said, when enough time had passed that you could not be considered anything but an adult despite feeling like little more than a child. “It’s been so long, and I still don’t know what to do. Mother, father, I am grown now, yet constantly I wish I could ask you for advice. What was that song you’d always hum when I was tired, father? How did you make that tea of yours, mother? When did you know you loved one another? And a million other, sillier things. If I could think of nothing more pressing, I’d ask you about the weather, the time, and your plans for the weekend. I’d bid you a good morning and a good night. I’d complain about the rain and my job. Just as long as it meant I could talk to you again.”

You could not help it. You wept, bloody tissues fluttering to the ground as you ground your fists into your eyes, trying to stem the flow of your tears. Your breath came in quick, short gasps, and you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes in an attempt to lull yourself into a state of calm. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was the only thing you could do, but it was not enough.

Someone’s hand settled upon your shoulder, and it had been so long since you had felt even a semblance of physical affection that you did not immediately bat them away. Instead, your own hands fell to your sides, your head hanging as you watched the newcomer set a bouquet beside the one you had brought. Orchids and lilies. Lovely, pale things that contrasted sharply with the red of the roses next to them.

“You said in your voicemail that you’d be here at this time. I hope it’s okay that I came.”

It was Satoru Gojo. He no longer wore the sunglasses you remembered him to; instead, a black blindfold was wrapped around his eyes and forehead, causing his pale hair to stick up like he had been shocked. He did not quite smile when he noticed that you were looking at him, but something resembling that expression crossed his face.

“Gojo,” you said. “Why are you—?”

“It’s been long enough,” he said. “You’re a really hard person to hate, Y/N L/N. I did my best, but it was difficult. I hope that you know that.”

“So you’ve come to, what, tell me you forgive me?” you said. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. It’s as I said: your forgiveness means nothing.”

“Nah,” he said, and then he was grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’ve come to bring you back to sorcery with me.”

“What?” you said. “No. I quit.”

“You didn’t quit, you ran,” he reminded you.

“That’s the same thing,” you said. He grinned. It was the kind of grin that would’ve blinded you when you were younger, but you found that it was not so brilliant anymore. You found you liked it even more than you once had.

“Not in my books,” he said.

“Gojo, I’m not strong enough. I can lead a normal life without you and Suguru and the others, but if you throw me back into sorcery, I know I’ll cave,” you said. “I’ll turn back into that cowardly little girl I once was. I’ll seek out that shadow which I’ve spent so long learning to exist without.”

He sighed, and then he poked you in the forehead. “Not the case. See, you didn’t even waver this time! I think you finally did it, Y/N. You grew a spine.”

“Why do you want me to come back?” you said. “I’m not strong like you. I won’t give you anything you don’t already have.”

“It’s selfish,” he said. “I don’t want to tell you because it’s selfish, and you’ll laugh at me.”

“If you don’t tell me, then I won’t even consider it,” you said. Though his eyes were covered by the blindfold, you could sense him rolling them based solely on the way he pouted.

“I’ve spent the last ten years hating you for leaving us — for leaving me behind,” he said. “Everyone else was gone. I needed someone, but you left too, and then I really was alone. I want to drag you back into hell because I can’t face it by myself anymore.”

There were things left unsaid in that. Why you, for one? He could have anyone in the world, so why, after ten years, had he come to find you specifically? Why was it now that he could no longer bear the hell that was sorcery alone? But Gojo was not the sort who ever revealed his true self if he could help it, so you supposed those things would have to go unsaid for a little longer.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll come back, but I have a condition.”

“What is it?” he said.

“The next time I leave, or run away, or quit, don’t hate me for quite as long,” you said. “Don’t hate me at all. I know I told you that I want you to hate me until you die, but I don’t anymore.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” you said, in a direct mirror of your previous exchange.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on, then. Follow me.”

“Oh, that, too,” you said. “I won’t follow you. If that’s what you’re expecting, then you can forget about it. I cannot allow myself to follow anyone ever again. I cannot be that weak, or I’ll become someone I despise. Someone I don’t want to be, ever again.”

His expression morphed into one of shock, and then he did something so odd as to be beyond all rationality and logic. He beamed at you before patting you on the head. It wasn’t condescending; it was the kind of gesture that was like a promise, or a warning, depending on who you asked. Maybe in this case, it was both.

“It’s alright. Actually, it’s better if you don’t,” he said. “I like you more when you don’t follow anyone at all.”

[diejager]

spreading the adriana imai/skull merchant agenda, i'm here to request <3 adriana imai x fem reader? if you need inspo msg me!!

Chiaroscuro

Pairing : Adriana Imai x fem!reader

Cw: blood, gore, canon-typical violence, torture, murder, death, kidnapping, The Skull Merchant is a simp, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.3k

A being of intelligence and cunning, Adriana knew what she wanted and how to get it, a creature of plans and technologies. She was a genius at her craft, wringing head after head to her growing masterpiece - a modern Leonardo. Her ingenuity and patience for attention seemed to win her everything she wanted: fame, money, blood and a reputation with the darker side of the world. Adriana took and took, pinning her eyes on something that had caught her attention and planning her way to get ahold of it.

She's a demon of two sins. The greed for money and the lust for fame. The greed for heads and the lust for blood. One was a means to an end and the other was the reward she reaped from the former. With money came fame. With deaths came blood.

She wasn't exempted from human attractions - distractions in her case. She liked pretty things, objects of fragility that hid secrets. She also liked dangerous things, making a hobby of stealing from others. She valued what she took, either pretty or dangerous, the pride she felt grow when they became hers.

Perhaps that's why she liked you so, the little artist that painted the most majestic piece of art she'd ever laid her eyes on. The graceful strokes of red and salmon, blended with the dark brown and black that struck the viewers with awe and adoration. The sticking contrasts of light and dark in your paintings made it come to life, like an image of your thoughts and imagination. The creation of a beautiful mind displayed for the world.

Every piece, every collection, every test was bought in her name. Her penchant for beautiful things had forced her hands into buying your work. She was your most beloved patron, a supporter of your work in the time of contemporary art that showed expressionism and conceptual art in waves. It prioritized newer art styles rather than the older ones, pushing back baroque, sfumato, chiaroscuro, classicism, etc

She wanted to know how your mind worked, how your technique made it looks real and how you came to this. She knew you were a freelancer, painting only whenever you felt the sparks of inspiration in your soul. She knew you came from a low-income family from a low-security area - much like herself. She could see the correlation between your art and your life, the darkness and the crimson in them, the heaviness and the dread from the simplest depiction of blood, and the trepidation and thrill from the bodies.

She wanted you, she wanted your mind, she wanted your hand, she wanted your paintings. You, it was you. You were the cause of her obsession, of her hunger, of her doom. You filled her thoughts as much as your paintings did. She wondered what she would find if she cracked your skull and peered into the soft tissues of your brain. Would it be the secret to your prodigious work? Would it be the answer to her obsession? Would it be the answer to your life? Would it be the link she felt between you both?

She couldn't stop herself, she'd gone as far as watching you and following you. In the darkness of the night, she would watch you tread carefully between alleys, and stalk you as you made your way through the city. Then she would watch you at home and your workshop, through the lenses of the surveillance cameras, Adriana watched you skip stairs with a heavy bag, an excited smile gracing your lips and a new, blank canvas under the other arm.

Your colour of choice was red, a deep crimson that reminded her of the ichor that breathed life into their bodies. A beautiful, glistening red that seemed a little too water to be acrylic or oil paint. Cans of freshly-opened or used paint littered the floor and walls of your workshop, red spilling from the edges, rolling down steadily when you cracked the lids open. Like blood, it stained the floor with red and brown spots.

She watched you dance around your canvases, hands twisting and bending like the body of a dancer, gracefully and fluently. In a fortnight, you'd have it finished, protected under a thin veil of cloth that hid it from prying and ecstatic eyes until the moment of unravelling. Be it flowers, a river, a plain, a forest, a person or a sky, it would be grand with the red shades.

If you needed black, you'd pour black. If you needed pink, you'd pour white. If you needed salmon, you'd pour yellow. You added your precious red to everything you used, the corners of your lips perking in a satisfied and awed smile.

Adriana wondered what was so special about your red, or why you returned with new cans every time you started a new painting. You always returned late with two freshly-opened paint cans and a canvas. It was suspicious, and it drove her insane.

Could she make you smile like that? Could she make your lips curve elegantly and prettily? If she was special, you'd approach her, no? She wanted to be like those random people from around the world that came to see your exhibitions and made you turn your head or catch your eyes. She wanted to be like them, but then, they all disappeared, as if they never existed (of course she knew they did, their physical form might've vanished, but their history and existence would never go unnoticed by her).

It made her curiosity perk. It drove her insane. She dared to follow you closer, threading a thin line of darkness behind you. Darting between shadows and corners like a common thug, it was self-degrading yet fulfilling - a means to an end.

Your secret. Their disappearances. The red paint. Your smile. Your inspirations.

It was filling, the moment Adriana caught a glimpse of the syringe tucked into the hem of your sleeve glinting under the yellow streetlight. Her heart swelled, her black, wretched heart pulsed with triumph and adoration. The red, the paint, it was blood. Your inspirations, the image you created through their last words, through the pain and sorrow they showed. Your secret, the murderous tendencies you felt when you painted.

She was thrown off her feet, the supporting pillars of her life falling apart as she followed you back. She had your secret, the dark secret you kept close to your heart was known to her and her alone. She truly had something that connected her to you. She wanted to be a part of your life, in the best ways she could.

She could hunt, capture and kill. You would bleed them dry and paint them in the throes of agony, making the most beautiful masterpieces known to her (the world too, she surmised, seeing that so many people came to see your work).

Adriana liked the sadistic grin when you cut their skin, watching the ichor bleed from the wound and into your new can. The gleam of your exacto knife under the white lighting of your basement and the dread in the eyes of your new inspiration was spine-chilling, making her knees weak and her mind dream.

She wanted to be behind you, an arm wrapped around your hip, body flush against yours as she led your dominant hand - holding a knife from her collection - near the skin of the person you caught together. Driving her knife into their heart, fingers intertwined and face mere millimetres from one another, close enough to touch, but too far to kiss. She wanted to be a part of your story and work.

"Hello, Miss Imai," you greeted her, head bowing lightly. Your smile illuminated the room, making you the center of her attention (not that it wasn't since she first stepped into the gallery). "I was wondering if you could join me tonight. I'd like to personally thank you for being my most loyal patron amongst them all."

The eager gleam in your eyes showed her your thoughts, the need to have her, to show her your work, to bring her into your life. You knew. You knew and she couldn't be any happier.

"You know," Adriana breathed, almost worshiping.

"Of course, you're my favourite, after all."

"Yes, please."

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Arting ask on this round because I love hearing about the nuts and bolts behind your work. What styles and/or real world elements do you take inspiration from when you make fantasy art, and how do you put them in dialogue (this is totally where I'm fishing for an excuse to ask you about the Central Asian inspo for your Dunmer character design, but anything else you want to bring up too!) Is there a specific feeling you hope the viewer to get from your paintings? And finally, are your writing and your art in dialogue in some way, or are they totally separate processes?

Bonus: What do you not enjoy drawing/painting (if anything)?

Yes, an excuse for me to waffle on about process! Under a cut because this is long and full of pictures!

Stylistically I'm heavily influenced by Baroque, Roccoco, Pre-Raphaelite, and Romanticism. I rely quite heavily on chiaroscuro, I really love that luminous look that high-contrast darks and lights give to a work.

Girl with a Pearl Earring, Johannes Vermeer

Throwing in a well-known Vermeer because the contrast in this painting is what I want to achieve in my own.

Luminous, I really feel that coming through in this particular piece. I really love the contrast between dark and light. Plus it means I don't have to detail that damn back wall.

I also really love the movement in this painting.

The Swing, Jean-Honoré Fragonard.

Probably one of my favourite artworks!

Emma Hart as Circe, George Romney

I take a lot of portrait inspo from Rococo and classical court painters as well as a lot of influence from John Singer Sargent.

Portrait of Madame X and Lady Agnew of Lochnaw, John Singer Sargent.

I just like to play with light a lot! I ran into a problem when I was designing Sydari, I didn't want her wearing half the clothes that you find in vanilla. She's from Skyrim but doesn't feel like she belongs there. I wanted to give her a more dunmer-influenced style (this was like a year ago now when I got back into TES, also pre-including Teldryn in like everything).

Playing around in Morrowind and modding the heck out of Solstheim so that it looks like it's actually a part of Morrowind made me think about clothes...yep, I do that.

I noticed a lot of influences from Central Asia, East Asia, Sumer, Neo-Assyria and Akkad in the visual language of the game, as well as influencing a lot of the language, names etc. I decided to go with a general mix of these but most of my focus went towards a more Central Asian/Eurasian Steppe feel. The reason was these.

And this outfit

I loved those shoes, they were perfect in every way. The outfit was a good starting point too. Though this is costuming from a movie so I wanted to look for more traditional versions.

Fantastic!

And congratulations, I have a colour scheme!

More costuming but I fell in love with this one and have used it a few times.

I fully plan on utilising this style for Sydari's Skyrim arts.

I just sorta fish around for influences when I'm not working or painting. I use a lot of Bronze Age Levantine and Mesopotamian influences too, Vivec's jewellery is ripped from the Royal Cemetery of Ur.

Beads are murder! XD

So, my art is influenced by what I'm writing, or what I plan to write.

This one should take place towards the end of Part 1 of the fic. I made this way before I decided to bite the bullet and actually write anything.

And this should occur right before Diplomatic Immunity. Which is in Part 2.

I also create art for an upcoming tabletop game which is influenced by Bronze Age Mediterranean history (can't show it) but a lot of it is influenced by both historical dress and mythology from that time period.

As for feelings, I like to put a lot of small character-specific details in my art. I get a kick out of people commenting about what they notice. For example, I intend the Moon and Star ring to not actually fit Teldryn's finger (it's stuck) and I love that people have picked up on his vein attitude. I'm waiting on people to notice that the eyes move if you move your head. I do like that my art makes people happy. That makes me happy as well.

Bonus! I have a love/hate relationship with painting metal and jewellery in general. I get impatient with it and always leave it to last.

[let-remy-cook]

remy aesthetics / 2

Chapter Inspo #2: Roscuro from Tale of Despereaux

“There are those hearts, reader, that never mend again once they are broken. Or if they do mend, they heal themselves in a crooked and lopsided way, as if sewn together by a careless craftsman. Such was the fate of Chiaroscuro. His heart was broken. Picking up the spoon and placing it on his head, speaking of revenge, these things helped him to put his heart together again. But it was, alas, put together wrong.” ... "But, alas, he never really belonged in either place, the sad fate, I am afraid, of those whose hearts break and then mend in crooked ways."

Remy is very much inspired by Despereaux the mouse as well, but Roscuro more than any other rat in fiction represents Remy's loneliness, and how the world has othered him. Before becoming a familar-- and even as a familiar-- he was met with hatred just because of what he was. No matter how good Remy tries to be, his heart has been broken by the world-- and has had to be mended in crooked ways.

[ignatiuspostmortem]

I had a lovely dream about dimensional travel and beautiful cities and a man who held me shelter in that city and I am absolutely going to use it as inspo for horizon chiaroscuro

Shit maybe it WAS a horizon chiaroscuro dream

Dream description under the cut

So there was this hole in the side of a hill. And when I went into it, I was in another world. It was a beautiful city in pinks and purples and salmon tones, lit by a perpetual sunset. It was so beautiful, but I remember it being dangerous somehow. I was looking for something, I don't recall what.

I met a man who looked like a combo between a metaparxi from Fortuna and a Blumaroo from Neopets. I don't recall his name, it may have been Dale. He let me into his home and we made good friends.

At some point, I had gone home and returned, and I went back to see Dale again. There was a big industrial boiler-room type place with brass tones everywhere and portals to various locations in this dimension. I spent some time in it talking to the custodian of these portals, who was a pale spotty grey thing much larger than I was. It may have been a frog.

I was giddy and excited to be back in the city again, because it was so beautiful and I was excited to see Dale. I got lots of snacks from the city's dimension and I tried them all at his house.

I think there was also a sunny place with white stone and green overgrowing jungle and a fountain that was still working, with flowing water.

There was also a dark tunnel system, not a sewer but some kind of maintenance or drainage pipes, and it was lit in red. I never went in, but it was connected to Dale's house and it was near where I found my thing for which I was looking. It was both an MP3 player and a very important and possibly dangerous device.

Dale was very kind and made sure to keep me safe while I was there. I had a lot of fun and I hope I go back in another dream sometime.

[levantea]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ Chiaroscuro pt 1

Pairing: idol!hyunjin x blind!y/n

Genre: fluff, healing, strangers to lovers!au

Rating: PG

Warning: none

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s note: so i’ve decided to write a short series of this story as i suddenly have inspo HAHA okay yes i hope you guys will enjoy!

Synopsis: “The place where light and dark begin to touch is where miracles will rise.”

Chiaroscuro navi 🌗

Your pov

Better to be blind and see with your heart than to have 2 good eyes and see nothing.

It has been really long since you were able to see colours of the surrounding you are in. You were still able to recall some flashes of the images you saw before you went blind, but they were depleting and colours, sounds more and more distant to you.

What is colour?

Colour is a power which directly influences the soul,

Colour is a deep and mysterious language, and the language of dreams,

Colour is the smile of nature,

But the concept of colour is invalid to you.

“Y/n, there is a volunteer today who will be visiting you, you finally have someone to talk to now! Are you excited to meet him? I heard he is a handsome dude,” the caretaker said. She works in the care centre that you have lived in for years since an accident that took your family and sight away from you. She has been taking care of you since day 1 so both of you are like sisters, except that both of you are not blood related.

“Fiona, he is just a volunteer, people come and go, what’s there to be excited about? I’m more excited about my meal,” you turned your head abit that was facing the window just now towards the voice of the caretaker. Even though you can’t see, but your other senses are very sensitive.

“Y/n, get a life man, you have been cooping yourself in this room for almost half a year, you barely communicated with the other peers outside, don’t you feel sick of just hearing birds chirping or the wind blowing or the rain falling sounds that you heard? Y/n, please, i want you to become happier,” the caretaker walked over to you, kneeling down while holding onto your hands gently.

Your eyes started to tear up when you heard her words. It felt like all the bad memories started to emerge again, especially the tragic day that the accident happened. You had post trauma stress disorder, PTSD, for quite a period of time and it was a rocky path for you to walked out of it. Only until this 2 years, you have decided to walk out from the past and wanting to interact more with the outside world, but you didn’t have enough courage to do so.

“Fiona, i really want to become happier as well, but, i don’t know how, i genuinely want to interact with people outside but, im not sure if they will ostracize me as i haven’t been hanging out with them much, there are so many ‘what ifs’ in my head…” you sighed and explained to her on your worries.

“Y/n, don’t worry okay, im sure as long as you have the heart to do so, they will accept you, i will try to talk to them and let them welcome you as well,” the caretaker tapped her hands twice to reassure you on your worries while you just kept quiet and nod.

You knew it was impossible, because you have overheard some pretty nasty comments made by other peers when you were walking pass their rooms few days back.

“Oh you mean the y/n in room 405? She always don’t come out, so princessy.”

“Ya right, what the hell is wrong with her?”

“Not sure too, she always isolates herself in her room, maybe she got mental issues also.”

Ouch. You didn’t expect it to hurt so badly in your heart even though you barely talked to them. You walked back quietly to your room that day and you remembered yourself crying in your sheets silently even though you were adviced not to do so as it will worsen your vision condition.

“It’s okay Fiona, i don’t want to trouble you so much, you have already worked hard enough and im doing fine on my own,” you mastered your last energy to force a smile for the caretaker who is also tearing up when she saw you smiling at her even though you are broken inside. She knows how painful it was to live alone without any family, she knows how painful it is to lose vision when you were still young, she knows how painful it is to struggle with the aftermathc of it, she knows how painful it is to swallow everything on your own.

“Y/n, im praying to god that you can meet someone who will treat you well and love you a lot, you deserve them and you always do, life has been too tough for you and i hope your blissful life will come soon,” Fiona wiped her tears off her face while trying to put a smile on her face even though you can’t see it.

Knock knock.

“Uhm, hello?” A male’s husky voice that you never heard before ringed into your ears. He is probably standing by the door from the volume of the sound you detected since you are back facing him, from what you know of the interior of the room.

You didn’t turn your head immediately but continue to sit on the edge of your bed, receiving some warmth from the sun that is shining into your room. It has become a habit of yours, to sit by the bed and take 15 mins to enjoy the heat radiating from the sun, which depicts a new day for human in this world.

Fiona quickly wiped off the tear stains on her face and put on her welcoming smile while standing up from kneeling infront of you. She walked towards to guy and lead him in.

“Hello! You must be the volunteer right? May i know what is your name?” Fiona asked while trying to not appear obvious that she was staring at him from top to bottom.

This guy’s body proportion is insane. Broad shoulders, thin waist, long legs, silky blonde hair, perfect and godly eyes, is he a god creation? Fiona thought.

Maybe, and finally, luck is on y/n’s side now.

“Hello, my name is Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin,” he replied modestly while taking off his mask, with a tinge of shyness in his words. Fiona noticed that since the start of him walking into the room, his sight has always been fixated on you who still did not turn around to look at him. Curiousity is written all over his attractive face which caused Fiona to laugh.

“Hi Hyunjin, i am Fiona, her (you) caretaker, i hope you guys will get along well,” the caretaker spoke and patted Hyunjin’s shoulders lightly. He nodded and walked towards you.

“Uhm, hi, may i know what’s your name?” He stood beside you carefully and peeking a little over to your side, trying to see how you exactly look like as your long, black and silky hair is covering your face.

You putted on your graceful smile and turned towards the latter’s voice and face him.

“Hi Hyunjin, im y/n, nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin’s pov

“I’ve decided to do volunteer for this few months, i don’t feel like dancing now, i want to do something else to get a peace of mind,” you announced to your group members and your manager. They were all silent throughout when you called them in, worrying if you are doing fine with all the allegations pointing towards you.

Eventually the rest of the members supported your decision and you have also moved back to your own house with your parents during this hiatus period. You wanted to continue practicing, but the impact has hitted you badly that you decided to give it a break for now and focus on other things that can heal yourself. You found this care centre where they take care of kids or teenagers who are physically disabled and you contacted them. Soon later they contacted you back and linked you with this girl who is 3 years younger than you and she is blind. She has no friends and the care takers have been worrying about her mental wellbeing hence they decided to pair you with her.

The moment when you heard she is blind, you felt empathetic for her. How does it feel like living in darkness?

Living in the darkness doesn’t solely meant for the blinds. There are people who can see but growing up from the dark - no happiness, no light, chaotic days that people who are struggling to survive while sheding enormous amount of tears that nobody knows. When will light come into our life and guide us out of it?

It is your first day visiting the care centre. Before you stepped out of your house, you were looking at your wardrobe, thinking what you should wear. Even though you know she can’t see, you still want to look presentable as a form of showing respect for her. You then swiftly take out a plain white hoodie and a pair of denim jeans, sliding a few rings into your fingers, grabbing a sling bag that contains all your valuables and left the house with a pair of converse hike, without forgetting to put on your mask.

Thankfully people did not recognise you while you were on the way to the venue as you lifted your hoodie over your head, so you looked like just a normal college guy who is on the train going for school, but obviously you are not.

You looked at your watch and you realised you arrived 10mins early. You greeted the principal as she welcomed you into the centre and she offered to bring you around the place before finding your buddy. You suddenly felt grateful for your healthy and strong body that allows you to dance, sing and do whatever you can that the kids there can’t do. More compassion starts to flow in your heart and you silently swear to treat your buddy well and be her useful pair of eyes.

“Hyunjin, her room is 405, meaning level 4 room 5, you can go and visit her now, i think she is awake,” the principal told you warmly before leaving to settle other affairs. You nodded and mouthed a thank you before taking the lift.

As you reached the doorstep of her room, you realise her door wasn’t closed. Instead, you overheard a conversation between 2 females and you peeped inside a bit, seeing a girl with a long, straight, black hair sitting at one corner of the bed with another female who looks more matured. You supposed that is her caretaker.

You decided to wait for abit and let them finish, so you stood outside, leaning against the wall while intaking whatever has been said between them. You didn’t mean to hear it but it was loud enough to travel to your ears.

You felt really bad for the girl who was sitting there and your empathy increases for her. Even though you have not seen her, you already felt a deep and unexplainable connection with her that you never experience it before with any other people. Many different thoughts have been running through your mind for the past few minutes on how you can try to cheer her up or bring some excitement into her life, despite yourself being disheartened for the past few days, you are pretty sure that yours is trivial as compared to hers.

Silence in the room. You take it as your call to enter right now. You gently knocked on the door twice and greeted them.

“Uhm, hello?” You spoke softly and carefully since you never meet them before and you are unsure if they are easygoing or hostile. You felt relieved after you see a wide smile on the caretaker’s face as she walked towards you, guiding you into her room.

You looked around to observe the surroundings and you realised her room is really simple and clean. No photo frames, no pictures, no toys, no colourful or vibrant colour decorations as compared to the other rooms you walked past moments before. Only a bed, some basic necessities by the table top and a beautiful vase of flower that stands obediently at one corner of the room. The room also smell nice with mild scent of chamomile, and you started wondering if she has insomnias since most people drink chamomile tea to help them sleep better.

“Hello! You must be the volunteer right? May i know what is your name?” The caretaker asked. You turned your attention back to her and replied her question.

“Hello, my name is Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin.” You were unsure why nervousness starts to kick in and your heart started racing. You felt anxious and awkward as you looked at the girl sitting infront of you, still having her back facing you.

Is it because she doesn’t like me? Or she doesn’t like having a buddy? Or is it-

So many ‘is it’s running in your brain messily.

“Hi Hyunjin, i am Fiona, her caretaker, i hope you guys will get along well,” the caretaker patted your shoulders lightly before signaling you to walk closer to her. You slowly made your way to the side of the bed and tried to peek at her face.

“Uhm, hi, may i know what’s your name?” you asked carefully as you are afraid if she may overreact or what. You were only able to see her side features and you already noticed that her features are prominent, especially her sharp nose.

She finally slowly turned to face you abit, and you are able to catch her whole face in view. You were actually taken aback by how pretty and pure she look. She had a neat bangs that’s just on eyebrow level, flawless face, sharp nose and peach coloured lip that looks very soft and kissable. Lastly would be her big and alluring eyes. You couldn’t commend how pretty her eyes were but sadly to say, she lost her sight.

“Hi Hyunjin, im y/n, nice to meet you,” she replied you elegantly while putting on a warm smile to welcome you. All your worries have been brushed off and now you are focused on her.

You started to feel your heart racing again as you take a second look of her. Even though you saw many attractive females before but hers just hitted you different, making your curiosity about her grow even more.

“Hyunjin, thank you for visiting me, i’ve actually prepared a small present for you, im not sure if you like it or not but i got Fiona to buy it, you can have a look,” she hand signalled Fiona to get the present in one of the cupboards and give it to him since she can’t see.

You take over the small gift box and open, to see a baby blue knitted scarf laying gracefully on the box. There was a letter beneath the scarf and it contains a few words that are not neatly handwritten, which you supposed it was written by her.

“Hi, thank you for being my first ever friend and i will be your listener, even though i can’t see.”

You gripped onto the box tightly and looked at the girl who is still sitting there smiling. You suddenly felt engulfed with care and love by someone you never meet before and feeling appreciated of the gift you received.

She is not only beautiful on the outside, but her inner soul is also the one radiating her beauty.

And now you are looking forward to visit her every week.

-> part 2 | Masterlist | About

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© levantea — all rights reserved. No plagarising, editing, claiming as own without permission.

[burninghoneyatdusk]

Now that the Bellarke and 100 fandom are back alive, here are some quotes for edit and fic inspo

Bellarke themed:

He can touch your soul. And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

If two points are destined to touch, the universe will always find a way to make the connection - even when all hope seems to be lost. Certain ties cannot be broken. They define who we are - and who we can become. Across space, across time, among paths we cannot predict - nature always finds a way.

Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.

The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

I would have come for you. And if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting.

Why all these paintings of you? Because I'm an artist. These pictures are my heart. And if my heart was a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted over with you.

“You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me." She smiled up at him. Filthy as he was, covered in blood and dirt, he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen."But I don't want anything else in the world.”

I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you.

They don't know who we are. Not really. They don't know what we've done, what we've managed together. So let's go show them they picked the wrong damn fight.

Mamihlapinatapai: A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will initiate something that both desire but which neither one wants to start.

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you

General 100 (or maybe more Bellarke ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Nobody can save you but yourself—and you’re worth saving. It’s a war not easily won, but if anything is worth winning—this is it.

One thing you learn when you’ve lived as long as I have — people aren’t all good, and people aren’t all bad. We move in and out of darkness and light all of our lives.

What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men.

You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it. That is all.

I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.

‎Later that night I held an atlas in my lap, ran my fingers across the whole world and whispered where does it hurt? It answered everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.

In the end that was the choice you made, and it doesn't matter how hard it was to make it. It matters that you did.

We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.

If there's a thing I've learned in my life it's to not be afraid of the responsibility that comes with caring for other people. What we do for love: those things endure. Even if the people you do them for don't.

Sometimes one must choose whether to be kind or honorable. Sometimes one cannot be both.

We get used to living one way, even if it's a bad way or a hard one. When that's gone, there's a hole to fill. It's in our nature to try to fill it with anxieties and fears. It can take time to fill it with good things instead.

None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.

How many times have you told me you're a monster? So be a monster. Be the thing they all fear when they close their eyes at night.

Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste.

In each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We’ve got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there is a lot of grey to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.

Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains.

These are hard times. The world hurts. We live in fear and forget to walk with hope. But hope has not forgotten you. So ask it to dinner. It's probably hungry and would appreciate the invitation.

But we can't live in the light all of the time. You have to take whatever light you can hold into the dark with you.

But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on.

War. That is what they call it to give the illusion of honor and law. It is chaos. Madness and blood and the hunger to win. It has always been thus and shall always be so.

[hyukcieee-main]

hey so since its summer is there any type of fic you wanted to read ? any storyline that you just feel like you want to see be developed into a full fic maybe? i'm just asking some of my fave authors since i need inspo - also you can recommend your fave fic atm? if not its fine - stay lovely!

awwwww i just busted the biggest uwu i can believe i’m someone’s fave pls i might cry also saw that you sent this to @/caiuscassiuss and my mind exploded, that’s a person with talent right there

i don’t have any particular storylines or plots that i think should come to fruition so i’m sorry about that baby but i’m going to throw out some of my favourite tropes and just things that i wish i saw more in fics ??? if you get me ??

it’s pretty obvious with what i have written that i’m a huge fan of best friend’s sibling and fake dating bc of my series as well as brother’s best friend bc i like seeing the different dynamics that come out of those situations. i’m very much a sucker for misunderstood characters so i like seeing fics with good character development and progression where you can peel back the layers much like an onion as a fave would say 

some general genres that i would love to see more of would be fantasy i have a fic rec for this although it isn’t nct so i won’t be including it and mystery, particularly murder mystery- i grew up on old murder mystery shows like murder she wrote so this genre will always have a special place in my heart. something that is more prominent in my taste for anime is a psychological thriller. i don’t know what it is but there is something i really enjoy about that genre. 

now for some fic recs! 

basically anything written by @stormae special mention, her fic chiaroscuro (yukhei) will always be special to me bc of the overall beauty of it but it was also the first nct fic that i read. she doesn’t write for nct anymore but i reread her fics over and over. her blog rn is art and fashion and more classical and im in love 

next is @agustdomain in particular the donghyuck fic, take me to outer space. it’s an actual masterpiece very much like chiaroscuro but in an entirely different way. i actually read them one after another and it was a good afternoon cried a whole lot tho. also the jaemin fic is one of my absolute favourites. 

fics i’m currently reading are @hyuckiebabie ‘s bad intentions series which has me in love with idea of arsonist!donghyuck and also @neocultvretechs ‘s silver dollar, golden flame series. it’s a doyoung series and honestly i can’t get enough. this next one was mentioned by @caiuscassiuss and it’s @jaextapose ‘s 1-800-chaos. it’s such a unique take on a misdial and again like all of these, the writing style is amazing. 

i hope this helped! i didn’t really know how to answer this but here you go darling!

[farugs]

A graphic new addition to our Retro Classic collection. We wanted to contrast the dark background with the light patterns recalling the classic chiaroscuro effect seen in beautiful European paintings. The light touches of color adds an extra layer of sophistication, consider it a glaze to the overall canvas. Contact us for more info on this beauty. . . #canvas #art #retroclassic #classic #chiaroscuro #history #farugs #nyc #inspiration #inspo #patterns #decorative #sophisticated #precious #interiordesign #interiordesigner #interiordecor #lux #luxury #glaze #chic #rug #carpet #wool — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/2H3NawJ

[moonchildstyles]

would you ever write something about petal being on her period and h is worried because he hasn’t really been around anyone closely enough in ages where they had to deal with it, and he’s fussing over her which she loves obviously, and he makes her a tea that his mum used to make for her and his sister way back when even though it has an ingredient that they don’t even sell in a store anymore but he finds it, and maybe she’s just taking some pain killers and letting him do his thing but ultimately has to remind him that she’s okay and she’s hurting but it’s nothing he needs to fuss about but he HAS to, so she lets him hold her and ofc he’s not very warm so she does have a heating back but he keeps his hand pressed into it on her stomach and he actually keeps her from overheating with it and he has to kiss over her stomach when he sees it’s a little red from the heat and he makes sure she drinks her tea which is actually delicious and he knows from her reaction that he’ll be making it every month for her now even if he has to go to a foreign country for the main ingredient, and you’re a better writer than me and could articulate this better but I think it could be so so cute and sweet! obviously, it could include some smut because he’s my vampy boy but I think the fluff could just work so well with them :( I love them

ive been MEANING to do a period thing for vamp h just bc you know he'd be so soft so ill def hang onto this and hopefully when I get a chance to put it all together ill take a look at this and add what I can!!! love the tea its so cute that he would remember something like that :(

[moonchildstyles]

i would love to see vampy h and petal celebrating her birthday, since he’s still not used to celebrating them but she made his birthday so lovely that he has to make hers even better with so many thoughtful gifts and little things that have her feeling more loved than ever by him!and ofc she gets all of the say in the bedroom

I deffffff need to write something for her birthday bc you kNOWWWWWWW he'd go allllll out for her !!!! def a very mushy mush kind of piece w him loving on her in every way he can :(

[moonchildstyles]

ohhhh chiaroscuro!yn getting bored one day and plays hide and seek with harry having fun with his vampire abilities and he starts to enjoy the thrill of chasing her like prey and it’s all fluff turned smuttt

I actually love the idea of them playing a little like that :( like maybe its super sunny outside so they cant really go out and do anything together for very long so they start playing funny games like that :( and like its never like scary for her or anything like that and they both know that if hes seeking he could totally just find her right away but its part of the fun for her to like kind of gt away w ut you know :( so I can def see it being likt a giggly game and shes like hiding in their bedroom or in the kitchen or bathroom or something and hes like pretending he can't find her before its him just chasing her around the house and all ad like when he catches her its def like that adrenaline of catching her and he can hear her heartbeating so loud and just its very easy for hm to like bundle her up to him and like like he won he captured the pretty girl and now he gets to be the vampire in the stories and take her away to his tower and I think they'd have fun w that kind of game together

[moonchildstyles]

ok but the thought of petal dressing up as a sexy vampire for halloween makes me sooooo dizzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 vampy would just eat her up. literally.

okay wait.....stop............wait.....WAIT.....

[moonchildstyles]

All i can think of is a chiaroscuro blurb of petals parents visiting the manor for the first time and Harry's all anxious because it's been so long since he's had anyone but her there 😭

I haven't thought too much about them coming over but ive never thought about him being so like nervous for them to see the house nad like be around other people in his space like thats actually so cute :(you know he'd be sooooo upset and worked up over making dinner and wanting to know her parents favorites and like wanting to plan it around certain weather so he'd be able to take them around and show off different places and art exhibitions and just :( thats actually really really sweet:(