#ive been having a hard time w art lately

[cherry-koi]

u wouldnt download an internet angel puppy (u would)

[hinamie]

corvidae

[seethinglikeme]

missed my art and maths lessons bc i’m so tired 😐

[eevyerndracaneon]

Hm

[nonexistentbees]

ive been having a hard time w art block lately so i decided to return to my roots , putting fenton in various little outfits from some of those memes

[the-moon-files]

so... my interpretation of guide!reader may be vastly different from others but with my vast assimilation of yours and others content, this is my variation of the one I like envisioning involving concepts such as yours (Humans are NOT Hylians and Guide!Reader) so this is my official start to the ramblings *DEEP INHALE*

when I read the post about reader losing their sord and just punching the monsters and it is working along with the other links being amazed

I imagine that because of the fact that hylian's are so light that they didn't put that much into the growth of physical arts

they can punch and kick fine but that's more so used for scraps agents one another, rather than in fights against monsters

hylian's don't have enough strength or weight to have it be worth it on the battlefield

its much more worth their time and energy to learn things like swordsmanship or artery, and be nimble

but guide dose have: the muscle, weight, durability and training necessary for such a strategy to be worth it

It would be more effective for the reader to use the Muay Thai and Taekwondo they worked so hard on instead of learning something new

_*looking respectfully

I can imagine that this levees them beater of physically than most (*cough* me *cough*)

leveeing them much more prepared

along with giving them a lot more... muscle...

Link's(-wind):... please crush me between your thighs

Guide!Reader: what?

Link's(-wind): what.

I know that it has been said that reader is shorter than time, but I personally like them slightly bigger than time

you know... forehead kissing rang

so it's only slightly less awkward to pick them up

I think their deep honey like voice could be compared to their slightly dark honey-colored eyes

someone like legend would appreciate how their eyes turn golden in the sun light, shining like no ring on his finger

Hyrule loves how they feel different from the cold sweetness of sugar water, instead they feel like rich honey and warm cinnamene

wild remembers them as there very first true companion and comfort

to wars, an immovable force, never leveeing their side

that's all I have fore now, but be warned...

I'll be back!

and I'm putting them in a dress (:<

AHH SORRY FOR LATE REPLY U HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH IVE BEEN HOGGING THIS TO MYSELF

Martial arts reader/Mc my beloved <333

U sent in ART TOO??!!!! 😭🙏

i love stuff like this sm ur style is so 😳💌💘💝💖💓💞💕❤️‍🔥🙈

The bit abt hylians not needing as much/making intricate martial arts/making their body be the weapon is so peak worldbuilding, if i had an official stamp to say smth is canon in my little HaNH AU (Humans are Not Hylians) i would stamp this 10x over

Acc u know what one sec

Since u made art, have some shitty meme art in return

LMAO its shitty but i hope u know it is the biggest support i can give you, like GOD the ART i keep coming back and Also. Looking Respectfully.

And this is the biggest thank you i could give for sharing this w/me!!

Ok spam headcanons?? Sorta

CONTENT WARNINGS: MILDLY SUGGESTIVE? CONTENT, 16+/18+ MATURER AUDIENCES RECOMMENDED.

COULD YOU IMAGINEEEEE

How the Hylians view Wrestling.

Like, your knuckles/elbows/knees (the parts where thers not as much fat to protect) start to bleed punching armored monsters/arms get tired and you just-

Wrap ur legs around a lynels neck and spin around their neck, using your body weight to drag and lay that bitch Out.

(This is a Real Martial Arts move Ive fucking seen a gif of hold on i NEED to find it- FUCK i cant find it but try youtube and see if yall can find it, its So Real i promise, it was on tumblr at one point)

Who's swooning? Not all 8 Links, nope-

Links, externally (+Wind genuinely): Hahaha, u can crush a watermelow open between ur thighs?? Omg thats so cool- !! 😃

Links, internally (-wind): omfTRIPLEGODDESSES- DID U SEE THAT?? IT WASNT JUST ME RIGHT??? SO WE ALL LOWKEY WANNA,, RIGHT??? 🙊😶🙈😳😳😳(Making eye contact w/each other and communicating this silently, everyone going super red/turning away/ears twitching)

Wind makes you do like another 4 watermelons bc its genuinely so impressive to him (does he think its hilarious to watch the others get all embarassed? Hell yeah- what else are little brothers supposed to do??)

Okay but OG asker/Snack Eater DID NOT emphasize how insane a Muay Thai fighter in HaNH AU would go???

If u dont know, Muay Thai is DEADLY-DEADLY kinda martial arts, like it has been considered assault with a deadly weapon before i think/been banned a lot of other fighting places outside its country of origin? I think its Thailand?

Anyway Thailand is fucking crazy for not having a higher rate of murders acredited to this martial art, bc guys, they use Elbows and Knees in their moves.

Like. That's banned/outright no moves created/or at least taught, a lot of the time in other martial arts from diff places.

Like that kills people. So easily. 😃

Like, the Chain already knows ur deadly, but when u reveal (having done the Honorable/Give Them A Fair Chance Thing) and not used Elbows or Knees yet, only to get into the harder enemies like boss fights and suddenly get real close (!!! What are you doing Guide Back Up-!!)

And whip out an elbow, crack the motherfucker straight in the head, and watch the thing immediately flatline right before their eyes??

Its like seeing a biblically accurate angel descend.

Like their in awe, but also scared? But its also like feeding into the awe?? Jaws have dropped.

U tell them that Elbows and Knees are even banned back home, and every single Link is like "Understandable. Obviously. But also, oh my goddess?? A move even the Humans banned?? Bc its so deadly???"

Wind: "..."

Wind: "...hey. Can you kill Gods? ...Can you kill Ganon?"

(The entire Chain goes silent in shock before exploding into Exsistential Crisis Mode, it takes Time/Wars like 5 minutes to recover from this information/experience enough to get up and calm everyone down lmao)

ALSO???

On a completely diff note-

Shorted Links, Taller Guide Reader my beloved?? <<<3333

Oh i def been leaning towards some Links are taller bc i think the imagery of you picking them up easily is funny (what can i say I live to embarass/try and fluster Time/Twi)

But you being taller?? Sign me tf up babe I have NOTHING against that, and am ALL for it????

Like u go thru a triangle portal/wake up from playing Loz and the Links are all shorter than you?? blessings rain down upon us like????

Twi/Time/Wars (who i headcanon as the tallest Links, in that order, along with Sky when he stops slouching lol)

And for Twilight to just be forehead kissing height?!

(He might've realized he's got a thing for lowkey feeling like worshipping ppl taller than him, bc other than the few humans who did live in Ordon, he was the tallest Hylian)

Time adores looking up at you, like u swear you saw his ears flapping a little

Wars is just,, 😀😳👉👈🥺 h-hey

Like flirting is infinitely harder when theyre a head taller than you, the poor Captain has found

(Yknow bc im personally 5"3, or abt 160cm, i think itd be even funnier if no matter what height you are, ur still taller than the tallest Hylians LMAO, Four our here actually being 3-4 ft tall like hobbits lol)

Omg (i know, i PROMISE, i KNOW) that its not canon at all, but i think itd be funny if the hylians most common hair color was blonde/most common eyecolor was blue/green,

And its rarer for ppl to have brown eyes/dark hair

Like the opposite of a lot of American beauty standards, ur seen at the Y/N, the main character for having darker features

(Lowkey inlcuding skin tone bc, and this is canon, have u seen the skin tone diversity historically for Loz games lmao 😅)

Ok im done sorry for rambling

Thanks again for this!!

___ TW: Hurricane Helene talk below ____

Fair Warning: I WILL NOT be tolerating any condescending/hateful or otherwise negative responses about the effects of Hurricane Helene.

People have died. Myself/my friends/my family/my coworkers have been affected. Be respectful.

You will be blocked/possibly reported for hate speech.

This was like Hurricane Katrina for us, because these areas were NOT prepared for hurricanes.

Those most affected are Mountain communities, we're supposed to have more mild weather, and the last time this happened according to older locals was decades ago, if then.

...

Hey!! If u read my tags of my last reblog, im doing better, we got back to town and realized our powers back on, and then the next day luckily our water was back on too

(its not drinkable but at least we can flush the toliet/shower 😭)

Luckily too by this point the water distribution/rescue crews are here,

DUDE. We were/are so fucked Biden came to look at us 😃

Im personally still on the lookout for missing ppl (my coworker has missing family in the town nearby and in telling my friend over there to spread the word)

And cellular service is back up, but they may jut be bc they brought in temporary towers/Tmobile is giving out free service for everyone too

Its slow going still, all these developments are taking days to achieve if u cant tell

And no pressure, esp if u dont have the spare money,

But if you could donate to help my city/the cities nearby who are still very isolated bc theyre smaller, along with helping our homeless people who no doubt are worse off, thatd mean to world to me/all of us!! <3

Here's some links for that, even if its just tip money/money for a coffee, anything helps!

https://pay.payitgov.com/ncdonations

https://crowdfund.charlotte.edu/project/44126

https://www.chabadasheville.org/templates/section_cdo/aid/6606696/jewish/Hurricane-Helene-Relief.htm

Thanks for reading, and blessed be those still in need of rescue, from human to animals, and to those who have passed.

May those you left behind find peace.

<3

Peact out,

🌙

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[britneyshakespeare]

The reason charcoal is superior to graphite is because it's the more tactile medium. I mean when it comes to blending volume into shapes and feeling outlines it's literally hands-on (if you want it to be... and I do). If I go over with a graphite pencil an eye or a nose or a mouth or a forehead a million times, it looks like complete shit. If I do in with charcoal, it still looks like complete shit but it IS progress, AND it's more forgiving. The parts of it that look a mess will be more easily hidden once the technical details are figured out. So you can have a great start look like complete shit and have it not be at all discouraging, when holy crap if I made this mess on a piece of paper with graphite I'd be weeping about how hopeless it is.

I love drawing in charcoal because when you're in the beginning of a work, instead of looking like something reasonable it's perfectly acceptable and natural for them to look like this

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

Ayo! I haven't answered asks in FOREVER, so it's time for some spring cleaning :) Also answering other stuff, like what I've been up to.

If you sent an ask and it's not here, sorry! I may have deleted it because the prompt required too much work of me and I wasn't feeling it, or I was uncomfortable.

Let's gooooo !

Firstly - where have I been? Work REALLY picked up in a way I wasn't expecting over the last...4 months? I was working double and often triple the hours I was used to. With work, vacations, random illnesses, and many video games I got a bit too obsessed with, this blog took a backseat. Plus, sometimes I get disinterested in vore when obsessed with something else. Sometimes, that lasts months, and it did this time.

But now I can confirm that work will FINALLY chill for a long period of time. I'm free! And more motivated than ever! Wahoo! Thanks for your support ALWAYS.

Next big question - when am I going to do more of my story? The one with Asyr? AHHHHHGHHGHH this story has consumed my life. I think about it daily. I dream about it. And yet I'm not as comfortable writing as I am drawing, so writing is a slow process that my perfectionist ass struggles with. I can assure you that there is a story in the works - and I am working on it at a snail's pace.

Okay, ask time...

@ponyluvesonic09 AYO maybe I'll make a full ghost pred pros/con list for you, because that sounds awesome! Kir//by is one of the silliest canon preds out there. Honestly getting eaten by him would be like getting vored by a vacuum, LOL. Galaxy tummy!! Imagine a prey floating around in one of those item bubbles all grumpy. Thank u for the ask, this is good stuff.

no. ( /・・)ノ

UWAGHHHHH I LIKE HER!!! Never played O/verwat/ch but what a gem!! I have a random fondness for centaur-like preds nowadays. She looks so cozy. THANK U I LOVE HER!!!

@tiger9o0 I have not played r//ain w//orld or know what it's about, LOL. Looks like a platformer? Man, I'm terrrriiiiibblleee at those. But whoever this is on the cover, I LIKE EM. A+. (That might not answer ur question shdjbghkjg SORRY)

@heimkoheimkofan LOVE THAT I GOT THE ROBOT ENJOYERS AFTER THAT ONE POST....YES yall are so right and I'm so wrong for just hard metal robot tums. I will rectify my mistake soon I PROMISE. Also oh! You were the one asking about stomachs other than elemental ones! IVE HAD THAT IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER IM SORRY AHHHH. I REALLY love your imagination with tums and you've inspired me to think of some awesome environments! THANKS

@fastfur07 BWAH?? Ugh I'm all over the place when it comes to art. Some pieces take 30 min (like the zangooc I drew at the top of this post), most take 2 days. Some really hard drawings like my wolf bat creechur from a few months ago and my shrimp from last year took a month. THANK U??

We're going back so far that I think this is about my naga oc (which I'm in the midst of redesigning cough cough). For him, he would never tolerate being prey, extremely unwilling bahaha. In general, I haven't thought much about naga or snake prey! I get the appeal of slurping up a noodle, but I just prefer human prey :)

@fastfur07 you fiend, you always give me the best drawing ideas. UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have time to draw something for this one. BUTTTT....

(i've had this next one in my drafts for forever)

then i had a silly comic. I'll post the wip here because I won't finish it, so enjoy bahaha.

@blizzaria123-blog THANK U im rapidly melting into a puddle from ur words

@mrpotatomanversionsix relevant. i will continue drawing them 4 u

?!??!!??!?!??!?!?!??!?!? how dare u enter my ask box with this blasphemy

@sfwsillynoms WAH!!! you!!! I'm currently redesigning my naga oc but when I finish I'll tag you, if you're still around! And he can 100% be drawn with ur preysona :)

@mystorl i am SO late to this, but SMART. I like it. I shall give my lil guy this friend. I just want to let u know that I see this and it's wonderful and I will do something abt it.

I remember this ask made me laugh a ton when I first got it. thank u. idk why I find this so funny

@sillylilprey IM CRYING RIGHT BACK AHHHH this is an ancient ask, but thank u! hope you're still enjoying!

@terrytheinsane finally, the last ask in my askbox. I love it. You have been wronged with how long it took me to answer you. I have gained knowledge from your ask. THANKS

AND THAT'S IT!! Thanks guys, I hope to make you proud! Feel free to send more asks, and hopefully I will answer in a TIMELY manner.

Goodnight! And remember: Nice Vore ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ

[dreemurr-skelememer]

☆21, 24, and 30 :3

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

OOOOHHHHH FUN ASK. ive personally always been a fan of how blackggggum/jot has drawn for YEARS. i adore the linework most especially

massive shoutouts to their battle with sans and their dust collection, which had other dust variants (dustswap, dustfell, dustshift, etc) but i think it's lost :( (i have them on my phone but im not reposting w/o permission)

they're still active on twitter! (well, as much as they can be) here's recent bluey fanart they've made!

i'd look for more but im already taking so long looking for them so just jot for now LOL

24. Do your references include stock images

they are MOSTLY stock images. where would i be without stock images

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

i haven't been drawing lately so hmmm

i personally think this doodle of humanized idol ink au blue is severely underrated not bc i worked hard on it but because i think idol ink au blue is so pretty and i cry about him all the time even though i never say a word about him publicly 😭

[timextoxhajima]

Sonder: Part III

Parts: I II III IV V

member: enhypen heeseung! x oc! woo ki yeom [3rd person pov]

genre: coming of age, slice of life, angst, romance

w/c: 5.8k

warnings: topics on religion, distressed relationships, mental health (I want to leave an a/n here that I grew up with my maternal family being Buddhists so what I've written is based off what I researched online and the way her family practised Buddhism. I'm personally a free-tinker and this narrative is not in any way meant to offend nor support any particular religion.)

synopsis: after being kicked out of her home, Woo Ki Yeom is forced to live life on her own. struggling to find herself in the midst of her chaotic life, she meets lee heeseung, who, like her, can't give any more fucks to life than she does.

"n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own."

By the time Sim Ji Yeon had realised what was happening, she knew deep down in her heart that it was too late. She was stuck with the dilemma of whether she should aggressively offer Ki Yeom support, or let her writhe in her own pain for a while, especially since she knew that Ki Yeom might take it the wrong way if she went with the first option.

Ki Yeom's pride and ego was fed to her since they were children. She had grown up in a stable home, both parents worked and so, they were better than the average household. She didn't have a difficult childhood that would've otherwise created a timid and inferior person.

Her confidence was further fed by the years in which she excelled in every single arts class she took. She had the perfect knack for it, always creating original pieces and never having trouble finding inspiration for her assignments.

Ji Yeon had always admired her eye for the arts, while she was stuck as the boring, better-looking-than-average girl who loved volleyball. She was well aware of the attention that dragged around with her wherever she went - boys would come to her matches just to see her and her teammates. She would get random love notes and gifts from people she didn't even know.

While Ki Yeom somewhat teased her and envied her for this 'small celebrity' life, Ji Yeon would've much preferred being talented in her own, safe bubble.

The hard part during the entire process of the falling out was the fact that Ji Yeon hadn't heard about Ki Yeom being kicked out of her home from her, but instead through friends who somehow knew people who had seen her looking for single-room apartments to rent.

Talk about a small world.

And talk about not sharing your worst nightmares with your best friend.

Ji Yeon remembers the day she felt Ki Yeom had given up on her friendship, and till this day, she doesn't know exactly why. Ji Yeon had decided to wait near the building that Ki Yeom used to stay with her parents. She's been over multiple times, so it wasn't hard to blend in with all the convenience and food stalls owners greeting her.

She figured that Ki Yeom probably still had to come back to pick up more things.

But hours turned into days and by the time she had waited three days, Ji Yeon realised that Ki Yeom had completely moved out for good. Then, she spots her mother leaving the apartment building.

She's hesitant at first, but it's the only way she will ever find out anything about Ki Yeom without needing to spam call her.

With tired eyes and a broken heart, her mother tells Ji Yeon that she hadn't seen her daughter since the day she ruined the altar.

"Ruined the altar?" Ji Yeon's lips part in startled surprise. "But..."

Her voice trails quiet when she realises she doesn't know what to say. She can't imagine what Ki Yeom is feeling, much less her parents.

"I don't suppose... you know where she is?"

The elder shakes her head gently. "You're the only person who has a shot at knowing where she's gone. So if you don't know, then I definitely wouldn't."

There's something harsh and direct in her voice, that almost makes Ji Yeon uneasy.

"Alright," She chooses not to pry. "I understand. I'm... so sorry this happened."

A chilly gush of wind runs between them.

Her mother parts her lips and inhales slightly, as if already finding the words to say - but she decides against it and swallows instead. "I have to go run my errands."

"Of course," Ji Yeon slightly bows and lets her on her way. She stays, long enough until Ki Yeom's mother disappears down the corner.

Ji Yeon wonders if she will ever visit their home again.

She will spend the next few weeks leaving Ki Yeom texts. Calls. Even resorting to E-mails and leaving her DMs on Instagram. She starts to think of herself that she's pathetic, but no, she can't think this way. Her best friend was just kicked out. She's probably lost and afraid. And honestly, she might not even be alive. What if something happened to her and nobody found her body?

But somehow, she finds comfort in knowing that she hasn't heard from her in months now. At least she's alive, and her body hasn't been thrown in a ditch somewhere and in the news, with the headline 'MURDERER ON THE LOOSE'.

And yet, everytime she tries to comfort herself to think this way, she can't help but think - why is she not speaking to me?

What have I done wrong?

Months turned into trimesters and trimesters turned into a scholarship offer to a university in another state. Ji Yeon decides that fate will bring her back to Ki Yeom when the time is right.

She leaves, and decides that she will only come back during her longer summer breaks.

And in the blink of an eye, she graduates next year.

But to Ji Yeon, this meant that it had been four years without Ki Yeom. How could Ki Yeom pretend that she didn't exist anymore? How could she move on with life, not accounting for what happened to her? Doesn't Ki Yeom know that she cares, especially with all the shit she's sent her?

Ji Yeon is not one to get angry easily, but Ki Yeom is the exception. Perhaps she hasn't tried hard enough.

She googles her name. She scrolls through the 'Ki Yeom's whom she know aren't her Ki Yeom.

Then, she stops when she notices the name under a tattoo parlour's search result. Ji Yeon hunts for the address on their website, and finds it.

Just about thirty minutes away from where Ki Yeom used to stay.

"Ki Yeom might look a little cold, but she promises her best. Top of sales 2022." Was written as her description. No photo though.

Ji Yeon picks up her phone and drops her some messages.

"She hasn't spoken to you in four years and you still want to go look for her?"

Ji Yeon is quiet. She knows how ridiculous it sounds from someone else's perspective. Ki Yeom clearly doesn't want to be found and reconnected, so why should she go out of her way to do it for her?

"Think about how we left off, don't you think it'd be terrible of me to not even... get some kind of closure?"

Sunghoon frowns at her, crossing his arms over his chest and slightly rolling his eyes. He's never liked this 'Ki Yeom' whom he's never met. By the time he had met Ji Yeon in university, he thought the falling out was through and finished. He knew that Ji Yeon had always wanted to find her and find closure, but he thinks otherwise.

"It would've been terrible if you didn't try to reach out but the thing is you did and you tried. I don't know why you think you haven't done enough."

"Well, maybe you think I've done enough, but it's not enough for her."

"Come on," He pushes his hair back and sits in a chair, back slouched and his elbows on his knees. "Love, I just- From my perspective, she sounds like she doesn't care about anybody else. If she had wanted to reconnect or find closure like you do, she would've responded by now. But it's been four years. We met, dated, fell in love and moved in together in these four years."

Ji Yeon sighs.

"Have you ever thought that she just... outgrew the friendship? Like, I don't know, maybe her getting kicked out of her home just escalated it. Like it was an event that forced the two of you apart and it was just... meant to be? It hurts to see you trying so hard and she doesn't reciprocate. I get that she's your childhood friend but that doesn't mean she would do and think the same way you do."

"I know what you mean," She's quiet as she turns and looks at him. "But I just... Maybe if I see her one last time. Just over a cup of coffee or something. She doesn't have to catch me up nor does she have to give in to my 'needs'. Maybe I just want to see that she's well and taking care of herself."

Sunghoon stands and walks over to where she's sitting at her desk, standing near enough so she can rest her head in his stomach.

The next day proved a challenge for Ji Yeon, a challenge she didn't even think she had to deal with. She had found the tattoo parlour as early as after lunch with Sunghoon, who reluctantly left her alone. Ji Yeon felt nothing less like a creep, spending the entire afternoon sitting at the coffee shop just a few doors down from the parlour.

The challenge was mustering up the courage to speak to Ki Yeom after four years. Why was she even finding this hard? They were best friends, weren't they? And as far as Ji Yeon knew, she didn't do anything wrong on her end. If anything, this was just a case of a fading friendship, not a messy falling out.

She thought, and thought, and panicked, and thought again, until the sun had set. There were more clients leaving than entering, she thought that this was her chance.

Now or never.

Her throat had gone dry when she stood at the door, fingers wrapped on the metal handle and ready to push herself in. Ki Yeom had shoulder-length brown hair, but with her black roots growing out on the crown of her head. She was sat in a roller chair, backfacing the front door, turned and talking to a guy with bright, bleached pink hair who was definitely a couple years older than her. And another girl, around the same age or even younger, with her hair cut so short, some might mistake her for the opposite gender.

Then again, Ji Yeon knows better than to bother about that.

"Hi. I'm looking for Ki Yeom, I saw somewhere that she worked here."

WHAT? She thinks to herself. She's literally standing infront of you, why would you ask that?

Ki Yeom takes a moment to stand and turn, like she already recognised her voice before she even saw Ji Yeon.

Oh, my God. It's like meeting an ex again.

Ji Yeon's heart drops when she can see how much Ki Yeom has grown in four years. She aches to know that she wasn't by her side, following her through the healing she probably needed.

"Who told you I worked here?" The words are cold, and sharp. Like her mother's. Ji Yeon starts to sweat, the warm gush of uneasiness sweeping through her when you feel unwell or about to faint.

Ji Yeon's mind is running at a thousand miles per hour. Say something!

"I... I googled you," Ji Yeon gulps. She can see the knowing scowls and squints from Ki Yeom's two acquaintances. They must think she's a bitch. "Took me a couple of minutes, but it wasn't that hard to find your name as a tattoo artist in this parlour."

Ki Yeom rubs the back of her neck, looking exasperated and at a loss of patience, like she were thinking 'I don't have the fucking time for this.'

She turns around and begins a mini discussion with her acquaintances, which Ji Yeon realises, if she's close enough to trust them in times like this, then Ki Yeom must consider them friends.

She has been replaced.

Ji Yeon isn't surprised. It was a sooner-or-later thing.

But why did it hurt the same?

She can hear the 's'-es and the whispering they're doing whilst turned back. She wonders if they know who she was, or if Ki Yeom has kept her an embarrassing secret and memory she doesn't want to relive.

There's a little scuffle. Someone swats someone on the arm, and someone knees the boy in his groin. Then the short haired girl drags him away, leaving Ki Yeom alone with her.

When Ki Yeom turns around, there's this fierceness and sternness in her eyes. Ji Yeon knew that she wouldn't be meeting the same person she became best friends with back then, but it hit her harder now that she's seeing this new-and-improved version of Ki Yeom.

Ji Yeon can see that she doesn't have much to say, so she starts first.

"I know you've been reading my texts," She says quickly, hoping to get some reaction out of her.

Nothing.

"I just wanted to know how you were doing. I don't know anything about you anymore and I just can't stand to know that... I no longer know anything about you and your life."

"I don't know why it matters that you don't know anything. My parents don't know anything. Nobody knows anything, but I'm fine and well."

Ji Yeon is stunned at how quickly she responded. It's almost like she had rehearsed for a moment like this. Has Ki Yeom just been waiting for Ji Yeon to show up, so she can tell her to fuck off?

"It matters because I care," She wishes that Ki Yeom can hear the sincerity in her voice. "It matters because you basically disappeared, and for the last couple of years, I've been stuck wondering what I've done wrong. And if it was my fault that the friendship has turned sour."

"It's not your fault, it's mine. For being an ass."

Ji Yeon didn't even realise she was holding her breath until Ki Yeom finishes her quick-witted reply. The words start to come out naturally.

"So at least tell me how you were being an ass. You have so much spine to be out here making a life for your own but you don't have a spine enough to tell me why I had to google you?"

"'Spine to be out here'?" Ki Yeom snaps her head and squints at her, clenching her jaw as she strings the words together. "Have you... forgotten why I was even made to be out here making a life for myself?"

Oh.

Ji Yeon didn't mean for it to come off that way. Ki Yeom must know she didn't mean it like that. Right? ...Right?

"I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant."

In Ji Yeon's peripheral vision, a client pays at the cashier's. He awkwardly walks around them, arm wrapped in a protective foil as the light reflects off the surface.

She thinks carefully about what to say next. It feels like years before she can think of how to put it across.

"Look, I... I just want to know what happened. And... if after all the clearing up, you still hate me and our paths have just... diverged too far and too long ago, then... I will just have to make peace with it."

Ji Yeon pauses. She thinks about what Sunghoon said to her earlier today.

"But I can't just leave this... it's like abandoning my house without reason."

Her eyes are teary and she can feel the sour ball creeping up in her throat and her nose.

But Ki Yeom doesn't look like she gives a single fuck.

Ki Yeom's head falls in the gap between her arm and herself, nodding herself awake. She looks down at her sketchbook, instinctively rubbing her forehead to get any pencil markings off her skin.

She turns and looks at the clock. 2.23am.

Sighing and yawning at the same time, she looks around her apartment, spotting the unwashed pot from her instant-noodle supper sitting by the sink.

She recalls the encounter at the tattoo parlour earlier that evening, where Miss Little Perfect showed up and demanded for a redeeming coffee break tomorrow.

Ki Yeom rubs her eyes and yawns again, finally getting up from her desk and making her way over to wash the dishes.

Suddenly, life had so many offerings to provide her.

Picking up her phone, she slips on her slides and heads out the door, making a point to close it quietly. Then she turns and heads for the lift, in her peripheral vision, noticing that the nosy boy's door was slightly ajar.

She ignores it, turning for the lift and dragging her headphones over her head-

Then she hears the piano keys, and the singing.

Ki Yeom will admit that she didn't think that would stop her in her tracks, but it did.

She stays in the same spot for a few seconds, listening to the random piano keys, then him singing or humming a tune, then the piano keys again.

He's writing an original, she realises.

Well, if he can be nosy, so can I.

She finds herself at the door, peeking in through the gap.

He's sat, angled backwards against the door, with a portable keyboard infront of him and a notebook in his lap. She looks around, and spots his desk - which was a round dining table that he probably picked up from someone's garage sale - strewn with lecture notes.

Ki Yeom leans against the door frame, quietly studying the apartment that resembled hers while listening to the music-in-progress. Her eyes are mindless, until they finally return to him sitting at his piano.

Except, now he's staring at her, wide-eyed and surprised.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to tell that you gave up on studying," She pushes the door open and nods toward his dining table. "Sitting against an open door isn't very smart. I could've gone in and stolen something and you wouldn't have known."

"Well," He shrugs, picking up the notebook from his lap and tossing it on his dining table. He starts to gather the papers and binded notes. "Thank God it's you, then. I'd just have to worry about missing a washing machine token."

Ki Yeom rolls her eyes, but doesn't hide the little smile that curls up on her lips.

"Couldn't sleep?" He lifts the stack off the table, aligning them against the surface and placing them nicely in the centre.

She scratches the spot under her ear. "It's... a little more than 'couldn't sleep', I guess."

Heeseung turns to face her, arms reaching back to lean on the edge of the dining table. But it wobbles from how old it is, so he clears his throat and stands away from it instead.

"I'd invite you to come in and talk about it but I don't want to seem creepy," A pause. "Nor does it seem like I have adequate, functioning furniture to host a guest."

Ki Yeom chuckles, which is a surprise. Maybe it's just the 3am lack of discipline and awareness.

"I was going to go on a walk."

"At..." He picks up his phone. The screen lights up his face. "3am?"

"Why, scared of the dark?"

"No, I'm scared that I'd be murdered in an alley and thrown in a ditch."

"Yeah, because you live in a dangerous country," Ki Yeom pushes herself off the door frame, hoping that the sarcasm can be detected. "No obligations. If you prefer to sleep, then good night."

Heeseung shrugs, picking up his keys and phone and shoving them into his pockets.

"Can't say no to a 3am storytelling session though," With a cheeky smile on his lips, he walks to the door. Ki Yeom moves to let him close the door, only now realising how tall he was.

Maybe Jun Yeol was just short.

"Who said anything about a 3am storytelling session?" She says as-a-matter-of-factly. As he locks the door, she heads to press the lift button.

"Well, I'm just a nosy stranger. And you walked right up to my door, striking up a conversation with me. Besides, who am I gonna tell about your dramatic life story?"

The boy pulls his key out of the door and turns around, tilting his head at her. His eyes are tired, the kinds that sleep but not quality. The kinds that try their best, but it's never enough.

Perfectionist eyes.

Ki Yeom knows because those were hers too.

"So why are you up at 3am?" She quietly asks.

"Hm," He hums in thought, eyes looking up at the panel displaying the floors the lift was climbing. "Somewhere between existential crisis and can't sleep. If that makes any sense."

"'Existential crisis', huh?"

There's a silence that envelops the both of them as the lift reaches. She doesn't even know his name but she can tell what type of person he is - or at least, she can guess. She conjures the thought, 'What if he's a serial killer luring her in so he can murder her in the middle of the night?'

Nah, Mr Hsien has seen his face. If he were a serial killer, he wasn't a very smart one.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way," He turns to her in the lift, awkwardly raising a palm to her. "I just realised I know your name but you don't know mine."

Ki Yeom gingerly takes his hand, giving him a firm shake as she does some of her clients. "Nice to know."

"So, what do you do? I mean, you don't seem like you go to university."

"I'm a tattoo artist."

"Oh, shit. No kidding?" Heeseung looks pleasantly taken aback. "Would love to get one one day. Where? Is the parlour nearby?"

"Just about a twenty minute bus ride into town," The doors open into the lobby, the security guard at the counter exchanging glances with them.

"Town? You're a fancy tattoo artist. What, do you like top sales or something?" He giggles as they walk out the building. The cool, crisp breeze kisses her skin and she instantly hugs herself. Ki Yeom remains quiet to his question, merely shrugging her shoulders.

"No," He turns to her and folds his arms across his chest, hugging his arm pits. "That's crazy! Are you really? You're like some super talented tattoo artist, and I'm just some... stupid student that can't beat the curve in school."

"What do you study in university?"

"Performing Arts - But the thing they don't tell you is that half the things you study is theory, which don't work that well with me."

"I heard you just now, with the piano and the singing. You sound good, is it an original? For a project or something?"

They stop at a traffic light. Opposite the building was a park. The crickets were chirping, the street lamps were sizzling and there wasn't a single soul in sight. Some cars driving down the main road, but it had been awhile since Ki Yeom had found the motivation to leave home for something that wasn't work.

"Uh- Yeah? I guess? It's more of just a 'me' thing. But, I also tutor kids. Piano lessons. So they help me sort of... sort it out in my head. Makes it abit easier to teach when I'm figuring out the notes and bars myself."

"Interesting," Ki Yeom nods. The traffic light turns to the green man. She smiles when she realises they didn't even need to wait for that, since it was so empty.

"Why?" Heeseung shoves his hands into his pockets, smile mimicking hers. "Realised we didn't have to wait?"

"Yeah. It's so empty."

"We're law-abiding citizens, what do I say?"

They enter the park, the scent of grass and trees filling their noses. Ki Yeom can see the birds scattered about in the grass, slowly walking or standing almost completely still. The leaves were gently rustling in the breeze. Empty cups, food wrappers, tissues, strewn here and there and on benches.

"By the way, I was joking about the storytelling. You don't have to share if you're uncomfortable. It's just... nice to talk to someone that's not from school."

Ki Yeom walks quietly, sitting in her thoughts. He must've understood her silence, for he goes quiet as well, matching her pace and looking around like he hadn't already been to this park a couple of times.

She considers the day's events. First, being told she had an opportunity to leave everything she had here, to go be part of an art organisation. Then, being told she had topped this months' sale (again), followed by Ji Yeon showing up at the parlour. It had been four years since she had seen her.

Suddenly, she's tired. Her lids are heavy and her heart is torn into shreds. Maybe it wasn't that great of an idea to go for a walk with a stranger at 3am.

"It was a long day. Alot of things happened," Ki Yeom starts, unsure how to continue. She didn't want to seem like she was trauma dumping or asking him for advice when he barely knew her.

"Oh," There's a hint of sadness in his voice as he can hear the reluctance to share. "I understand. It's alright. You don't have to divulge anything. We can walk the whole park in silence. Or if you want to go back, that's totally fine with me too-"

"No, it's okay," Ki Yeom shakes her head and rubs her palm down her eyes and the rest of her face. "I just..."

She strings the thoughts together, holding her breath as she does.

"I was offered... a thing. My boss told me that she had an opportunity to send someone overseas. To be part of a touring art organisation."

She looks up at Heeseung, watching his face for any reaction. As opposed to before, he suddenly had this slightly heavy look on his face, as if he instantly knew what it meant to have such a grand offer... in such a faraway place.

"That... That is something," He nods as he acknowledges it. "I assume there's a 'but'?"

Ki Yeom rubs the back of her neck and turns away from him.

"I mean, it's not easy for anybody to leave anywhere, honestly. Even if they had nothing else left, it still wouldn't be easy."

"You sound like you know this experience yourself."

Heeseung turns and looks at her intently, his tired eyes getting even more tired.

"I'm the total opposite, actually. I had... everything. Like I had a nice home, my family is intact unlike alot of my friends. Supportive environment. But... when I left to find... a purpose, I felt lost. It was my decision, yes, but... it's hard to leave somewhere you're comfortable in."

"You left home to find 'purpose'?" Ki Yeom stifles a little chuckle.

"Well, yeah," Heeseung grins, knowing how stupid it sounded out loud. "I wanted to find out what life was about, you know? I didn't want to stay sheltered. I wanted to meet crazy people and do crazy things and see where the wind blows me."

"That doesn't sound like the life a university student should be living. Just being a student on it's own already takes away the freedom to do that."

"I know, I know," He rolls his eyes half-exasperatedly. "I realised."

They both go quiet again. Ki Yeom is pleasantly surprised at how easy he seems. She wonders if she's being nice and vulnerable because it's 3am.

Yeah, probably.

"So what's keeping you here?"

Ki Yeom smiles, but it's weak and sad and depressing. "What isn't?" She turns and looks at him, then turns back to look straight.

"I grew up a devoted Buddhist and my family practised it to the T. Then, about six years ago, my father lost his job and we were broke for a few years. In those two years, we scrimped and saved. My grandfather had tried to help, but my parents... believe it or not, didn't accept it. Out of filial piety. It's one of the most valued principles in Buddhism. I came home one day, tired and exhausted from work, and my room was literally sold out. The furniture, the lamp, the damn bed."

She pauses. The memories come back in quick flashes in her head.

"I ruined the altar. Shoved everything off. My mother kicked me out. And I had so few things left that it took me an hour to get everything I needed out of the apartment. I walked aimlessly for hours, just wishing that a car would run me down and I'd never have to open my eyes again. I somehow fell asleep just a few shops down the tattoo parlour, and I don't know what it is that the owner of the parlour saw in me, but she waited until I woke up, gave me a pad and pencil and told me to draw. I don't know how she knew that I loved art. But I was at a loss and honestly, I had nothing better to do. So, I drew."

A pause.

The grains of rock and sand crunch under their feet as they stroll under a lamp.

"And she hired you."

"And told me that this apartment building had rooms for rent and that she'd pay for the first few months until I could sustain myself."

"What a lad," Heeseung nods. "What did you draw? That made her hire you?"

Ki Yeom stops in her tracks. Heeseung hears the crunching stop behind him, so he stops too and turns to look at her.

"I... I drew my room. Down to every single detail. Before it was sold and ruined."

Now, her voice is quiet, low, and raspy. The type that comes from someone who is about to cry. Heeseung can see that Ki Yeom is fighting all the urges in her throat and nose not to stifle a sob, because her eyes were already welling with tears.

But she blinks, and breathes through her mouth so he wouldn't have to hear the sniffling. Then all that resolution to keep it under wraps crumbles under the weight of letting it out for the first time, directly telling someone the whole truth without them having to probe and ask for them to fit the pieces together.

Ki Yeom squats and buries her eyes in the heart of her palms, her lips finally contorting into a quivering, shivering slobber as her tears and mucus start to run down her philtrum. She's feeling light-headed, but her chest heavy, from all the feelings that were bottled up and never once poured out.

A warm, gentle hand lands on her shoulder, a shadow casting over her as he stands in a spot to block the lamp from shining all over her.

Ki Yeom doesn't have a clue how long she was in that position, because it felt like forever. The tears were relentless - caught up for four years, and she hasn't even told him everything that happened that day. Would she cry even more?

One way to find out.

She lifts her head, hair messily stuck to her face because of the tears, and coughs, "You know... My best friend..." She chokes and hiccups in between the words as he looks down at her, tired eyes trying to show sympathy.

"She's just so fucking perfect, and I... I hate her for it.... She lived a perfect life, you know? Popular, smart, pretty... happy. Her family was so fucking... textbook. Sometimes I wondered if she was friends with me to... make herself feel better. I hated how much she tried to compensate for... something that wasn't even her fault. I hated that she started paying for me... or started defending me and protecting me in front of others just so they didn't think I was a loser."

She sighs and wipes her philtrum with her fingers, the glistening music on her nails and fingerpads as she wipes them off on her pants.

"I saw her for the first time today... In four years... asking me for a cup of coffee so we could talk about what happened... But I have nothing to say. What do I even say?"

"You can say what you just told me."

Ki Yeom looks up at him, wandering eyes unsure of what he means.

Then he squats, meeting her at eye level and awkwardly trying to pick her hair out of her face without it seeming like he was flirting with her.

"I think it's valid that you felt the way you did. I mean, all that that you went through? Not everybody knows how it feels. I'm sure she meant well, but I'm also positive that you would've felt the same way about anybody who tried to do those things. So, it was nothing personal."

He folds his arms over each other and wraps them on his knees.

"If it makes you feel better, I'd be annoyed too. If I had a perfect specimen of a person trying to make me feel better. Who wouldn't? It's like salt rubbing salt in a wound."

Ki Yeom gulps the phlegm and musuc away, rubbing her eyes.

"I think... you should go get that cup of coffee and push through it. It's the only way to resolve this."

"But I spent four years running, and I didn't hate it," She wipes the tears dripping off her jawline and stares at the rocks under his slides.

"Clearly, the more you run, the more she's gonna run after you and I'm sure you don't want to deal with her ten years from now again?"

Ki Yeom looks up and into his eyes now, his fringe slightly covering them.

"Here's the important question: Do you think you've been living life fine without her?"

Her eyes drift off to look at the bush on the grass.

"If the answer is 'no', then it's your chance to redeem yourself and mend things with her. But if the answer is 'yes', then sometimes a chapter just... ends. Without you knowing. Things happen. Just because it happened doesn't mean it's your fault."

She looks back at him, swollen eyes slightly drier, but eyelids heavier.

Heeseung is quiet now. He's said his piece, and has nothing else left to share.

"Come on," He whispers, just loud enough for her to hear as he gently grabs her arm. "Let's get you back home and to bed."

Ki Yeom weakly stands, knees trembling from squatting too long. He has a palm on her arm the entire walk home, in silence. The security guard almost looks concerned - he hasn't ever seen this resident cry.

The lift doors open with a ding, but before Heeseung can walk her rightways to her door, she pauses and looks at him.

"Do you think... do you think you can stay with me tonight?" She blinks her tired eyes, not even looking at him. "Not in the same bed, just... with me."

Heeseung blinks, slightly taken aback with the request. His lips are parted in a bid to protest and say that it would be inappropriate, considering that she was just tired and in a vulnerable state and it could've been easily misunderstood the following morning- but she puts a stop to it, for she quite literally mutters the words:

"I've been alone for so long, sometimes I wonder if I would be happier if I wasn't awake."

PART IV

[lillonvia]

— happy new year, from your dearest lili.

first off, i want to thank all of you guys for making my 2023 such an incredible rollercoaster !! ure all v silly n fun n adorable i js wanna grrRRAAA SMOTHERS ALL OF U WITH AFFECTION TAKE MY FUCKINH LOVE RAAAAHHHH 👹 I LOVE INTERACTING W ALL OF U IT ALWAYS MAKES ME SMILE N GIGGLE LIKE AN IDIOT HEHEHEJFN 🤭🤭 

@idyllic-affections ꒱꒱ ADDIII MY ELDRITCH DEITY N LITTLE SIBLINGGGG 🥺🥺💕💘💖💖💗💘💘💕💝💗💝💖💘💖🩷💘💗 u were my v first moot on this site n ill never forget the fun convos n memories we’ve made over the months <33 ure v dear to me n i herkehehdbd *vibrating uncontrollably* I LOVEEE talking w u n DONT U DARE APOLOGIZE FOR REPLYING LATE RRRRRR 👹👹 /lh ur works always leave me feeling delulu n giddy n i end up imagining different scenarios w certain character nd AAADJFKFKFB I LOVE U SM WAAA

@soleillunne ꒱꒱ ALYYYYY !!! LYSSA !!! UUUU HI BELOVEDDDD MWAHH 😍🥰 i dont feel like weve been talking a lot bUT BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, IM ALWAYS WILLING TO WAIT FOR U UWAAA ure soso precious to me n i js wan give u A BIG KITH N HUGGIE bc i love u vm n u deserve it !!!! 🫶🫶 i hate the fact ure stressed w education n i wish i cld do more for u to help u feel better :((( but if ure ever in need of some form of comfort my discords always open for u n ill do my best for u <33 💖💕🩷💝💘

@fatuismooches ꒱꒱ SMOOCHES MY LOVE HI HELLO !!! ure so fun to be around N NOT TO MENTION URE ALSO ONE OF THE SWEETEST PPL IVE EVER MET WAAAA 😩 i had so much fun when we were both brainrotting so hard abt our dragon otter neuvie EHEHHEHR I WAS SOOO GIDDY THAT TIME BC NOT ONLY BC IT WAS NEUVIE BUT ALSO BC IT WAS U I WAS TALKING TO !!!!! 🥹🥹 YIPPEEEEE

@areislol ꒱꒱ REIREI MY CONFETTI CREEPER OMG !! m always so happi whenever we talk bc ure SO sweet n adorable n amazing !!! 🫶🫶🫶 i remember feeling shocked when u followed me n dropped by my inbox bc OMG !!! ITS ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS !!! FOLLOWING SILLY LIL ME!!!! UJWJEKRKSJANABA 🤭 

@mondaymelon ꒱꒱ the silliest watermelon to ever watermelon in existence !! interacting w u n seeing the silly things u say never fail to make me laugh BWJERJRKRKIFG m so glad i was able to work up the courage to be moots w u bc lets js say. I DONT REGRET IT 😋😋 ure so lovably unpredictable ND UR ART IS SO NOMNOMNOM DEVOURED N DIGESTED TEEHEEE JSJSKAKAN UUUU i love u 💝💕💕💗

@https-furina ꒱꒱ AAAAAAA FINA FINA FINA !!!!!! UWAAHDHHRHF NSJSJ YIPPEE YIPPEE YIPPEE MY BELOVED POMERANIAN UUUUU RUNS AROUND IN A CIRCLE AROUND U we havent been mootsies for v long BUTBUT OMGG I ALWAYS HAVE THE FUNNEST TIME W U BC UWAAHH URE SO PRECIOUS N ADORABLE AAAAAA !!!! 🥺🥺 i still cant believe we ended up rambling to each other abt liyue hell family for eight hrs straight BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING BC IT FED N SOMEHOW SATIATED MY INNER ND OUTER DELULU 🫶💕💝💗💖🫶💕💝🤭💘 i love talking abt ocs w u HEJEKEJRH UR CHARACTERS R ALWAYS SO INTERESTING ?????? WHAT IS YOUR SECRET ???? /lh I WANNA GROW EVEN CLOSER W U IN 2024 MWAH MWAH LOVE U ALWAYS <333

@umgatochamadopercyval ꒱꒱ CLARACLARACLARA !!!! the cutie patootie sweetheart herself, in the flesh !!! sunshine in human form !! u have such an incredibly kind and beautiful soul UUUUU CRYING SOBBINH /pos I LOVE YOU SM love ur cat too btw JAJAJJAJ IM RLLY HOPING WE CAN INTERACT MORE OFTEN NEXT YEAR UWAAAHHJJH

to all my other moots who didnt make it on the list, M SO SORRYYYY DJJFN I JS NEED TO IMTERACT W U MORE SO I CAN HAVE MORE POSITIVE OPINIONS ABT U 😭 ITS NOTHING TO DO W U GUYS I PROMISE 🙏🙏 but w little conversation we have, i still appreciate each and every one of u 🫶🫶 KITH KITH MWAH once again, thank u sm for such an amazing year !!!! 💕💗💘🩷💝💖💖💕💗💘🫶🩷💝💕🫶

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

hi miss pmd9!

I was wondering what your insights are regarding the artmaking process and social media / the void of the internet.

Lately I've been feeling like all of my inspiration comes from tumblr, which is nice, because I create a true feed of things i really do find inspiring, but it feels like all it does though is feed into itself- i find my practice becomes extinguished when I think too hard about what I make and try to synthesize all my inspirations down into a lovely simmer.

All in all...

What do you do to keep your artistic practice healthy/strong? Is there any way that it relates to the internet/ goes away from the internet? And any advice for a healthy balance between a practice that is both informed by the internet but keeps a healthy distance?

sorry for text wall u_u

no need to apologize i love this Q 🙏 i totally understand, i love tumblr but i barely look at my dashboard anymore, out of the whole day i scroll maybe 10-20 minutes total lol, and its kinda forced cus cus i dont wanna fall out of touch w friends .. some insight on this -

dont get me wrong tumblr has brought me a lot of visual inspo over time but at this point in my life i am really obsessed w being in my own energy -w- And enforcing boundaries between my own thoughts/feelings + those of others. the more disconnected i am the more inspired i naturally feel

one of my biggest inspo is hilma af klint, and her methods of channeling, is how i try to draw now. i have found ways i can ~empty my vessel~ until visions start coming thru, which i believe r from my angel guides. thats actually a huge reason y im quitting weed lol i care a lot about being as receptive as possible. walking outside rly helps stuff come thru, as well as yoga, i get crazy ass vividness visuals during yoga !!

another thing thats a fun exercise is like, closing your eyes & watching the fractals on ur eyelids to see what apeears. i always loved doing this as a child! also stuff like, staring at the ceiling until forms appear, staring at tree bark or cracks in the cement. i have been doing this stuff my whole life but recently i heard this can be a method of channeling :o

also this is maybe an obvious one but listening to music while drawing can really help ignite a flow state, maybe a word in the lyrics will stand out to u and send ur mind on a visual path, reading does this for me too, language rly helps me generate pictures in abstract ways not directly related to what's being said/written

ultimately just practice going inwards & getting into flow state , watever method of getting there works for u, keep practicing ,it gets easier w time

But yeah the internet is really not part of my creative process at all anymore, other than to share my work. its just too overwhelming to my senses. i enjoy making art sm more now that ive distanced myself. thats just wat works for me ^-^

i hope this can help in some way <3 just keep going!! thanks for the good question it gave me much to reflect upon. Have a wonderful gemini new moon anon <3

[yonpote]

under cut cuz i talk too much lol

i am not blaming dan or anything (and obviously this has been a joke in lgbt spaces for forever) but i do think he unintentionally enabled the like "homophobia is a good thing actually" type jokes and like i definitely make them too, and im always seeing jokes on here like "god why are they Like This" etc. but i think some people just dont know the line or view them so much as friends that they don't think about how it could read differently from someone who is essentially a stranger. ive said smth similar before of like, dnp (ESP DAN...) used to be not great at drawing boundaries esp since youtube and social media culture were so different back then, but now even when they draw hard lines ppl either continue to step right over them, or dont understand exactly where the line goes. they dont care if u write smut or dead dove fics, they dont care if u make shippy fanart, but like maybe dont tag them in buttsecks? (or maybe do, idk theyre being so unhinged lately maybe we gotta start @'ing them in catboy porn (JOKING))

i was talking w a friend a little bit ago about the exact differences between the generally speaking philosophies between older fans and younger fans. it seems that older fans embrace creating transformative works and having their own interpretations on who dnp are, whereas younger fans want to know dnp on a personal level and want dnp to know Them and recognize them not just as fans but as people. and OFC there are older phannies who want the parasocial interaction and younger phannies who write fic and people who do neither, and people who do both! (hi :3) but then some people have a difficult time being able to marry the two ideas maybe?

heres the truth. dan and phil are real human beings who have made a career largely off their shared dynamic together, BOTH because they genuinely enjoy creating and being together AND because a lot of people really get invested in it and it makes them more money. they don't mind fic or art, you probably SHOULDNT tag them in the saucy stuff, but they know it's out there and generally have been respectful of fan spaces and knowing where OUR boundaries lie (altho maybe the line was toed w the roblox video but thats debatable.) they really do care about their audience both in order to please us and keep us coming back, AND because they see how much theyve affected us as people and have a deep *Sarapocial Relationship with us.

there are both parasocial AND tranformative ways to break boundaries, and oftentimes they can be one and the same. they aren't our friends they arent our dads and they arent objects with no feelings. they don't stalk our accounts but they are still able to see whatever we post publicly. theyve seen so many horrible things and have had many horrible things happen to them, and while no one can be certain something like that won't happen again, now that they have been able to be more honest with us about a lot of things they are able to trust us a little bit more.

anyway ramble over back to me talking abt how dan should embrace their transness

[aroace-poly-show]

also a thing for you if you ever want to ramble about hw- what's emu's story for this? how did she get into illustration, and how did she meet the troupe?

RAUGH I ALWAYS WANT TO RAMBLE AND IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TY FOR ASKING!!!! also took a while this time my bad man. the route my bus takes has very very shit internet so i couldn’t continue my draft during my ride 💔

anywayyy. good lord this is fucking long. im sorry.

for emu, i’m still figuring stuff out with her, but i’ve been thinking about her a lot more recently, and so far what i’ve got is that she has a little bundle of issues including grief over her grandpa, toxic positivity and not letting herself feel negative emotions properly, some internalized hatred of herself and how childish she is following an argument w shosuke, and generally feeling kinda lost, like the rest of hw, after wonder stage closed bc she doesn’t know what to do w/o shows. yknow.

so like. she still has her whole thing w/ her grandpa. and she while she wasn’t doing the *best* she wasn’t doing that bad in the mental health department. still wasn’t letting herself like. grieve properly. but she wasn’t the worst. she performed a lot on wonder stage and knew that the stage was in danger of being closed down, so she tried really hard to keep it from happening. but the actors for wonder stage began to leave as time went on and the ones who stayed didn’t really get why she was so persistent in keeping this stage open when the others in the park were better and shit. and she didn’t have much help. so unfortunately despite her best efforts wonder stage was kinda doomed for closure. butttt she’s not giving up yet. so she tries to convince her brothers to not close it, or at least to just give her some more time. which Does Not Go Well. shosuke gets real frustrated with her and starts yelling and shit. and while keisuke shuts him down once he gets too heated. well. it’s kinda too late. with what he said about her being childish and demanding that she just grow up already and stuff like that, my girl takes that to heart. and then with the official closure of wonder stage…yeah…she’s not doing the best…

emu’s grief here is made worse w/ the wonder stage closure. cause like. that was her and her grandpa’s favorite stage. girl feels like she failed him. she loved that stage. she loved doing shows there. it was something she had to remind her of her grandpa. and now it’s closed. :(

since then she’s been. different. like it’s just barely noticeable to a lot of people but she’s definitely changed. she smiles and acts cheery and seems like her usual self but like. her smile isn’t quite the same. she’s not quite as talkative. she avoids her brothers a lot more. and her brothers have noticed btw and they both feel AWFUL. especially shosuke. they done fucked up and they know it.

also like technically she could keep doing shows, after all theres the other stages in pheonix wonderland, and she has experience in doing shows + is related to the people who literally own the place so it wouldn’t be hard for her to join one of those stages. but she doesn’t bc after all that, she thinks her goal of just wanting to bring smiles to people is childish. shows make her so so happy but she thinks it’s immature and naive of her to still want to pursue that, especially considering she failed last time. it’s a silly and childish path to pursue, and she needs to pull her head out of the clouds and grow up already, like her brother says. so despite loving shows with all her heart, she gives up on doing them. but since shows are so important to her, she doesn’t rlly know what to do without them, so that’s where that feeling lost stuff comes in. yknow.

for her art, i just think she enjoyed art in general, and with her grief and the wonder stage closure it helped her cope. i have a very specific idea in my head of her style. but i cant remember the artist here on tumblr that i think she does art like. if i can remember their name i will though. i might actually do a post dedicated to what i think her art style is like….

not set in stone just yet, but what i’m thinking for the original meet up is that she meets nene first. nene does music and emu finds it, and it gives her some inspiration for some art. she posts it and credits nene’s music as what inspired her, and nene is so fucking honored. through some light encouragement from rui nene gets the courage to dm emu to tell her thank you, and they start chatting!! they get along pretty well and emu starts making art for nene’s music. eventually rui has the idea to start animating them, so they can make music videos for the songs, and boom hw gets its beginnings online.

this happens before wonder stage closure btw. when it does close, emu disappears from their group chat for a bit. she comes back like nothing happens and while she doesn’t tell them what happened, they both notice she doesn’t talk about what shows shes doing anymore, or shows in general. nene and rui are both very sad at this btw. seeing emu have so much love for shows and be able to talk about them like she did was really nice, so to see her stop with that and seemingly not enjoying shows anymore after something happened, just like they did, it sucks. :(

anyway i think my timeline is like. during nene’s last year of middle school when she transfers to home schooling, she starts doing music -> everything i just mentioned here happens -> eventually they meet tsukasa, and he joins the group -> hollow ☆ wonderland does its thing as a group for a while -> main story shit happens. yeah. 👍

uhhhh. dear god i’m so bad at explaining my thoughst. augh. i hope this made some amount of sense. and that i wasn’t too repetitive lsajdkhfgyfdhsj. anyway miscellaneous emu thingies now.

like i mentioned, wonder stage hasn’t been replaced yet, it’s just closed down and sectioned off. so emu still visits it all the time. there is nothing being done to maintain it. so it is absolutely unsafe. but does emu care. no. girlie wants to disappear and while she’s not *planning* on dying, if she had to die anywhere she wouldn’t mind if it was at wonder stage. she draws there a lot.

a lot of her drawings are traditional!! with lots of bright colors and crayons and colored pencils. she has lots of fun drawing.

this applies to non-au emu as well but she has gifted stickers to all her friends. nene’s synthesizer is covered in them.

wonder stage was closed off at sunset. btw. just to give her another reason to hate sunsets.

[kroosluvr]

(PLEASE FEEL FREE TO NOT POST THIS IF YOU ARENT COMFORTABLE TALKING ABOUT THIS) Hi Celeste! I'm doing this on anon because I don't wanna seem like I'm being overly friendly even though you don't know me -- but i saw your vent-y posts yesterday, and just wanted to say that I relate pretty strongly to some of the stuff you said. I'm not an artist, I'm a writer, and like, 6 months ago? Maybe a bit longer ? I was in a pretty similar rut with my writing, and had a hard time seeing "the point" and even why i was writing at all. I had a few really close friends and confidants and even my pseudo-mentor reach out and be like "hey, this too will pass. you're just 23 and have only been writing in earnest in the last 18 months." I don't know how long you've been drawing! But I do want to give some encouragement and tell you what I was told myself. That this too will pass, and you'll find that people do want to look at your art and do enjoy what you do and are genuinely brightened by it. Anecdotally, I'm not a Persona fan myself (just bc ive never gotten into playing it) -- but I am more 'online' than my girlfriend is, and she loves P5R, and so sometimes I send her your art when I see it and she always gets super excited because we both originally know you from your Arknights posts, but then found out you do a whole bunch of Persona art as well so there's something for both of us that we both really love seeing on our dashboards!

I hope this isn't overstepping or anything, and I hope that you have a great day and week!

NOT OVERSTEPPING AT ALL!!! im so sorry for getting to this so late anon, but i read it when you sent it in and it made me feel better ;w; so thank you so so much for taking the time out of your day to type this up and send it to me, it really means the world..!!!!

creative struggles really are a pain in the ass,,, i was thinking abt all of it even more lately. like it only matters because i put importance on it. so if i simply 'didnt care' then it wouldtn affect me as much. however........... thats the beauty of life, isnt it? being able to care. being able to care This much. so i guess its alright just to let myself feel things. ...

best of luck with your writing!!! writing is SO difficult uagh i truly respect writers/poets/etc frm the bottom of my heart..... SHAKIGN HANDS EMOJI.... AND ALSO pass on my thanks to your girlfrined uafudsjgsdjkfhwk that makes me so happy to hear!!! ///w// I SHOULD GO BACK TO DRAWING ARKNIGHTS!!! ITS BEEN SO LONG!!!! BUT IM SO FLATTERED YOU STUCK AROUND REGARDLESS OF MY LIL FANDOM SWAP AKJSDJKSDJKFS (SHY) (SHY)

i hope you have a wonderful day/night and week too ;w; )// take care of yourself!!!! and THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN!!!!