#personally a tough year but I do like the art I was able to create c': <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[moonasketch]

some of my arts of 2023 <3

[cuubism]

a lovely person on ao3 expressed interest in more of this retired Dream chronic pain fic and I said well who knows maybe one day and then proved myself a liar by doing it Now. when it gets in your head it stays there until it's out

--

One of Hob's greatest joys, as boyfriend and caretaker to one retired King of Dreams, is finding new things for Dream to enjoy. Things that Dream didn't have time for, or never got the chance to try, when he was fully occupied by his function. It's so fun seeing Dream's joy. Dream has never allowed himself very much of it.

Of all the things Hob's introduced him to, he hadn't figured Dream would be a video game fan. Always thought he was more one for slower media like books, or maybe he just hadn't been able to imagine his ancient, ponderous stranger gaming.

Hob was wrong. So very wrong that ever since he made the dubious decision to buy Dream an iPad he's been stuck in a perennial competition with Minecraft for Dream's attention, and Minecraft might be winning.

He really should have known better, should have guessed that the once-king of the Dreaming would love the immersive dreamscapes of video games, not to mention that he can create things again in a way that doesn't have the world-shaking consequences of his former role.

When Hob gets home from work, he's unsurprised to once again find Dream twisted up in a complicated pretzel shape in his favorite armchair, headphones on, nose buried in the iPad. Sitting that way isn't going to help his joints much in the long run, but nowadays Dream only ever seems to either sprawl or to crunch up in a tiny ball when he's sitting anywhere--sometimes Hob wonders if, after so many years of carrying every aspect of his life so primly and correctly, Dream simply can't bear to do it ever again.

He's also said that that twisted way of sitting is the only position that helps his hip ache less, so Hob doesn't complain about it too much.

"Hey, love," he calls as he sets his bag down, sitting on the couch beside Dream's armchair. Dream looks up at him, pulling his headphones off so they sit around his neck. Hob can vaguely hear the audio--Christ, on top of working on his crazily elaborate Minecraft world--Hob's seen it, the thing's insane--he's also listening to an audiobook. Yeah, Hob was so wrong about expecting Dream's way of trying to relax to be slow or measured.

Dream looks tired now, though, not relaxed, dark circles along his cheeks and a pinch of weariness at the corners of his eyes. Ah. Tough day, then.

"How's the Minecrafting going?" he asks instead of remarking on it. He probably sounds like an old person when he talks to Dream about it--well, he is an old person--but Hob's never been able to stick to any one thing for too long, and he hasn't actually picked up this game since the first time it came out. Who knows how it works nowadays.

Dream shows him the screen. Predictably, he tends to just play in his own little world instead of interacting with anyone else, and said world has become an elaborate landscape of infinite cityscapes, art pieces, and complex structures Hob can't determine the purpose or design of. If Hob's not wrong, it's significantly more complicated than it was just yesterday. Dream has picked this all up with disturbing ease and gotten very fast at it besides. You can take the dream lord out of the craft but not the craft out of the dream lord, apparently.

"You're getting quick at that," he says. "Pretty soon it will be bigger than London."

"Were it to be made physical in equal dimensions, it would be," Dream says. Maybe Hob should get him involved in city planning, might be entertaining for him.

He tries to imagine Dream at a council meeting and nearly perishes at the thought.

While Dream is still looking at him, Hob cups his jaw in one hand, runs his thumb over the dark circle under his eye. "Not feeling so well today?"

Dream sighs. "No. I did not sleep well."

Hob had noticed that, but he'd hoped the fact that Dream was still in bed when he'd left for work meant he might get some sleep later on. Apparently not.

"I am..." his lips twist. "My joints. Hurt."

"I'm sorry, love." Hob would fix it if he could. God he wishes he could. "Where?"

"Back. Primarily."

Really, Hob should be grateful for Minecraft, no matter that he's been in a pitched battle against it. It's one of the only things that can properly hold Dream's attention and distract him when he's not feeling well. Without his game to occupy him Dream just starts getting sad in addition to being in pain and Hob can hardly stand it.

"I love you, you know?" he says, and the corners of Dream's lips tip up.

"I know."

"You want to do some stretches with me?" Hob offers. "You can laugh at my lack of flexibility as much as you want."

He has, in fact, gotten Dream into some yoga and light strength training. It seems to help, at least a little. Dream's new human body is already very flexible, though. It's actually part of the problem. Maybe that's what happens when you try to put an amorphous conceptual being into a fixed body. Maybe it's just the roll of the dice.

"I would not laugh," Dream says, but sets the iPad aside and starts disentangling the knot of his limbs to climb out of the chair.

"No, but I can always see you thinking about it."

"I would not exchange flexibility for you being strong enough to pick me up," Dream declares.

"It's not a one-off trade," Hob says, laughing. Then, perhaps to prove a point, he scoops Dream up from the chair and into his arms.

Dream shrieks and clutches at him with all of his limbs. He's so good at tangling himself up like that that sometimes it still feels like he's able to manifest twice as many of them.

"Could try something else to flex those muscles too," he teases, and Dream gives him a judgmental look, but Hob can see the smile secretly tugging at his lips.

"Taking perverse advantage of my ailments?" he says.

Hob feigns offense. "I was just going to give you a back rub! Totally innocent."

"Mmmm." Dream tilts his head, studying him. "Perhaps if you are truly committed to doing all of the work. I'm not finding myself inclined towards effort this evening.”

"Taking perverse advantage of my generosity?" Hob echoes.

Dream smirks down at him from his perch in Hob’s arms. “Always.”

It’s fine by Hob. Dream deserves a bit of generosity, in his opinion. And a lot more than that, too.

“You’ve indeed been most generous with me in my indolence,” Dream purrs. “Cared for me in my infirmity. How ought a man repay such a magnanimous patron?”

“Could think of a few things,” Hob says, letting his gaze deliberately track down to Dream’s lips. “I’m more inclined to spoil you, though.”

“I am amenable to that,” Dream says. Haughty little thing. Even dying couldn’t take the king out of him.

Hob doesn’t mind, though. He’s always had a bit of a thing for it. So he obligingly carries his still-smirking lover off to their bedroom to spoil him just as he’s promised.

--

Afterwards, when Dream’s sprawled across him, one leg tossed over Hob’s hips in a way that apparently relieves the strain in his lower back, though Hob can’t imagine how, he says, “Does it bother you that I have become utterly idle?”

“You’re not idle,” Hob says. “You do plenty of stuff. I see you do it.”

“Not with true purpose, though,” Dream says.

“If you mean do I think you should get some sort of career, then no, I don’t.” Hob kind of shudders at the thought. “As far as I’m concerned, you never have to work again if you don't want to. Do what you want. Work on your Minecraft cities. I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“You work,” Dream points out.

“I get bored,” Hob says. “Besides, my job doesn’t involve literally being the job, you know. You have to make up for about a trillion years of no work-life balance.”

Dream just humphs, but settles closer against him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I pay for everything, is that it?” Hob asks. Dream has always been so fiercely independent.

“Uncomfortable, not exactly,” Dream says. “I find I still fail to grasp the importance of money.”

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Rather,” Dream continues, “the issue is equity. Something I am contemplating more as part of human society.”

“Okay, I understand what you’re getting at.” Hob wouldn’t want their relationship to feel inequitable either, but it’s not so much about paying for things, but about Dream not feeling trapped. As much as part of Hob wants to bundle Dream up and never let him leave the flat again after he literally died once already, he doesn’t want Dream to stay because he has to. He wants him to stay because he chooses to. At the same time— “But, Dream, it’s been only six months.”

“And?”

“For your lifetime— hell, even for mine, it’s a vanishingly small amount of time. And you were so tired.” It still hurts, still feels almost panic-inducing to think about, how Dream had been the last time they’d spoken before he… died. Hob’s never seen such weariness on a person, and he’s seen a lot. It would take a long time for that to lift from a human, and Dream is operating on a much vaster scale. “If I can give you time to rest, then that’s what I want to do.”

Hob could never figure out how to help Dream when he was Endless. At least there’s something he can do to help Dream now.

“Rest,” Dream echoes. “You are insistent upon it.”

Hob buries his hand in his hair, scratches at his scalp. “It feels better, though, doesn’t it?”

It takes a long moment for Dream to concede his answer, but finally he says, quietly, “Yes.”

“I love you beyond measure,” Hob says, aching with the words. “I want you to be well. It’s no more complicated than that.”

“I think I am,” Dream says slowly. “Well.”

Hob thinks so, too—at least, more so than he once was. He has his issues with his body. But some of the heaviness on him has eased. And that’s a step.

“I do not think I have been well before,” Dream continues. “At least, not in quite some time.”

This, Hob knows, too.

“Then we’ll have to keep working at it until you’re used to it,” Hob says. “And I’ll spoil you until then. Well, after, too.”

“You seem to take pleasure in it,” Dream agrees.

Hob kisses the top of his head, rubs his hand up and down his back until Dream sinks into him further, boneless and lax. Maybe later he will give Dream an actually innocent back rub, it seems to help with the pain a bit. For now he just lets Dream fall asleep on top of him.

He needs the rest, anyway.

[purupurple]

so as you probably know, i've teamed up with moonsprout games and makeship to make squishies of characters my husband and i created for bug fables, tanjerin and cerise. so far, tanj is doing alright, but cerise is dragging behind. however, i'm concerned about if they'll be funded at all. i'd like to go over why its so dire that at least one of them achieves their goal.

so, i don't like talking about serious and personal stuff and i very rarely do it, but just a little over a year ago i had been hospitalized with no health insurance. thankfully i recovered quickly as it was just some sort of icky cold that turned into pneumonia despite my efforts in recovering as fast as i could. that being said, i live in america, and being hospitalized with no health insurance is a very bad situation and now i have debt. on top of that, i've had two unrelated ER visits later last year where i did have insurance, but they didn't cover everything (america, i swear…) so that's MORE medicical debt. not to mention my husband is still paying off a lot of student loans… so we've got our hands full. of debt, that is.

what i'm getting at here is that these plushies getting funded is crucial to help me pay off these medical bills and some more that are expected later on this year related to receiving mental health care, specifically from the process getting diagnosed for autism and/or adhd as well as being able to learn how to handle anxiety attacks. i would even be happy if just one of them was successful (poor cerise is lagging behind…) so i'm officially making this a cry for help. please, help us fund the tanjerin and cerise makeship campaigns! if you're not in a spot to buy even just one of them, then all i ask is that you share this post and tell your friends, families, and/or any other interested parties. both my husband and i very much need all the help we can get!

but i also made this post not just to go over our tough situation, but i wanted to let everyone know that there's now a gleam giveaway! it's a raffle you can enter by following the steps on the gleam page to get an art commission from the box art cover artist schweise and me, designer for the fruity bugs!

tl;dr me have big medical bills husband has student loans and me will draw something for the one who wins the gleam raffle so sign up for that if you're interested

please spread the word, and thank you in advance for reading! here's the links below

gleam page - tanjerin squishie - cerise squishie

[yuurivoice]

since you love to write, does your job ever feel like actual work? Kinda like that saying “if you love your job, you’ll never work a day of your life.” Kinda question.

also, how much free time do you normally have?

It felt like actual work from pretty early on. The moment I crossed over from doing it for funsies to sometimes taking commissions I didn't really feel strongly about for money, it was work.

I've had to drag my ass into the booth and record on days when I couldn't even take care of my basic needs because of ADHD struggles, and that sure felt like work.

I've had to write like absolute dogshit and just accept it because I had deadlines and people waiting on me. That felt like work.

I've had to spend hours breaking down different shots needed for visual projects, like a caveman painting on a wall for a renaissance artist to reference. That definitely felt like work.

I've had to deal with community moderation, personal betrayals of trust, harassment, goddamn pr crises, tax nightmares, and shipping hundreds of orders by hand. That was work.

That old cliche of if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life is a crock of shit. But all of that being said, even though it is work, and even though it can be really difficult sometimes?

Wouldn't trade it for the world. There is no other calling for me, my heart is not satisfied if I am not telling stories, and for some reason the universe decided that this was the path forward. I didn't plan on it. I never loved voice acting, but I learned to. I wish there was less bullshit over the years that robbed me of my joy. I wish I wasn't fighting my brain for so much of the time I've been doing this.

But the good will always outweigh the bad.

It's a dream fulfilled. I never needed or wanted to be some sort of massive sensation, or have broad renown or appeal. I didn't need to become a best selling author, or create a hit video game, or do anything like that. I am happy that I've found even a small group of people who love to get lost in my worlds, or spend time with my characters, or hear them get railed in pumpkin patches.

I get to experience the magic of creating something I didn't know was within me. Again and again. Projects like BitterSweet, Shattered, and Echoes of Evalas are precious to me because of the wondrous feeling creating those stories gives me. They could all flop, and I'd do it anyway.

I was creating art when no one was ever there to listen or watch. In that regard, it's never been work. It is a function of my existence. I was made, raised, and shaped to tell stories. It's the one thing I can do. At a table of friends, an audience of hundreds, or on long drives by myself. It's like breathing. It just happens.

Being able to call it work is a privilege. I'm thrilled that I've got the chance to work. I'm happy that I even have the opportunity to have days where I have to push myself. Because it has given me more than I've ever thought it could. I was on food stamps living with family under constant threat of getting kicked out. I was lonely, isolated, and scared of the world. I was considered lazy.

Finding my lane, getting traction, and thriving was something I considered out of reach. I was ready to tap out and accept that I just wasn't quite right for life. Like maybe I just didn't have all the right parts. I was okay with it, even. I was tired.

So yeah. It's work. But I spent a long time desperate to find work I was suited for, and with a lot of recent life changes I've removed many of those points of friction that would make it tough to work. So I'm thrilled.

And that, my friends, is what happens when you ask a professional yapper if they love yapping. 😂

As for free time, it's hard to say. So much of what I do being my own boss and shit, plus creative stuff just constantly churning in my brain, I struggle to clearly define what is and is not "free time". I basically have to be on call. At any given moment something might need my attention, or creativity comes knocking. It's hard to completely disconnect.

I've done a good job of getting into the office about four times a week. That has helped me find some sort of balance, but even recent writing I've done was on my laptop at my little breakfast nook having coffee.

I think the big thing is, I can create my free time whenever I need or want to.

Anywho, this is why you don't open Tumblr when you wake up to pee in the middle of the night because then you spent 30 minutes staring at your phone writing a whole ass essay. I'm gonna go get out of bed and make something awesome now. 💖

[ahundredtimesover]

Untitled | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: idolverse (no explicit mentions of BTS), strangers au; angst, smut

Warnings: foul language, inexplicit smut (making out, non-descriptive penetrative sex) (18+)

Word count: 16k

Summary: For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.

A/N1: It’s been tough being on a writing slump and not being able to come up with something new, but then Indigo happened. I’ve been so into Closer and been wanting to write something that would encapsulate the song’s emotions, but the more I listened to NJ talk about his album (especially Yun), the more I got to reflect on so many other things. So here we are. This was a quick write (and an experiment, too!) filled with my own ramblings and questions that only one Kim Namjoon would prompt me to have. Please enjoy.

A/N2: I’m not an artist, but I’m fascinated by them and what they create (Van Gogh’s Digital Art Exhibition in the LUME, Melbourne from last September just blew my away). In another life, I probably would’ve been a collector. But the essence of humanity in my professional work links to my own appreciation of art in that sense. All the things that I wonder about life and the essence of being human are reflected here. I’ve taken from Namjoon’s reflections and insights as well, and once again, I was reminded of his brilliance and his heart.

2020, early winter 

A little boy with a bucket painting stars in the sky.

That’s what this season’s artwork on the side of the building is. Just this fall, it was a girl raising a paper airplane on this exact spot; in the summer, it was another kid on a swing, and in spring, it was a child with an opened suitcase, their toys falling out and drifting into a stream. 

Lost childhood, perhaps. That’s what happens when the world stands still, Namjoon thinks. He’d written a song about it - the things we lost during the time when time froze, and maybe just like these paintings, life continued to go on. The yearning remains, though, and he can see it on the piece that he’s been looking at for minutes now. 

Maybe the artist is young, mourning their own youth that slipped from their fingers. Maybe it’s someone a little older, mourning it for others. Maybe it’s just a person who’s trying to understand the situation through a child’s eyes - with innocence, confusion, trust. Maybe it’s—

The sound of footsteps disrupts Namjoon’s thoughts. It’s 2AM and he’s a little surprised that someone is in the area at this time. It’s a busy street during the day and the crowd falls away early. It’s completely deserted by this hour; it’s why he likes taking this route from the office to his apartment. He’s always liked walking home regardless of the distance, but it’s at night when he feels most free, and it’s become something he looks forward to everyday. 

He’s about to turn away when he notices a figure run up to the small building where the painting he was just admiring is. The individual lays their bag on the floor and retrieves a paintbrush and a pail, seemingly about to continue their work that Namjoon didn’t even realize was still unfinished.

“Fuck,” the voice curses out. “Fuck fuck fucking shit. Why do I always forget my hot packs!”

The person removes their mask and blows into their cupped hands, rubbing them after in hopes of sustaining the heat from the friction. 

“Just a bit more,” they continue, gloved hand now pointing ripples by the boy’s legs as he stands in a body of water. “Just a bit more.”

As chattering teeth and the blowing of air on hands continue, Namjoon decides to make himself known. The stranger is clearly trying to finish their work - and he’s curious to see this all unfold, finding amusement in watching an artist in action - but the cold air is quite uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” he says, as the figure stops their movements. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I was just looking at your work but you’re freezing and I… I’ve got some extra hot packs with me.”

You slowly turn around with furrowed brows. This is the first time you’ve come across another person during the early mornings you paint on this specific building. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness of this street at this time, but somehow, hearing this man’s deep, rough voice is giving you comfort. Especially since he’s offering something you need.

“Sure, that would be great,” you say, blowing into your hands again.

He slowly walks forward - clad in a thick hoodie and beanie, his mask covering half of his face. He looks familiar, but you don’t have much time to place where you know him from. You take the hot packs he offers, squeeze one with your free hand while the other continues on with the piece that you want to finish tonight.

“Will it take much longer?” He asks, his voice kind. “I didn’t know it was unfinished and it’s quite interesting to see an artist complete their work. So, uh, can I watch?”

You turn towards him. On a normal day, you’d turn him away. You’re not too keen on anyone on your ass while you finish something, but he doesn’t seem like a creep and he was kind enough to give you hot packs at a time like this, so you nod. 

It doesn’t take long. It’s just some ripples and a few strokes left anyway; you were freezing too much last night so you put off the final details for tonight. And then the last bit. You sign your name on the bottom corner, and a gasp leaves the stranger’s mouth.

“Wait, you’re Blue…” he says, the realization dawning on him. “

“Surprise,” you reply, standing up from your squatting position. 

“I mean, I figured since you’ve been painting children and their lost youth this past year but… the man in the rain, the distorted face on the mirror, the hand on the neck… those were you, too.”

Namjoon can’t believe he’s finally face-to-face with the artist whose work has been haunting him since he first came across one on an electric post 3 years ago. 

They were in other parts of the city. He remembers seeing them on walls and buildings during his walks home or when he was in the car, and then some weeks later, they were gone, either replaced with a new piece of work or just painted over, as if it never existed. He’d seen the signature a few times, and seeing it again reminded him that it was you, too. The one who’d created those masterpieces that got him thinking, feeling, wondering.

“You have a good memory,” you simply smile at him, realizing at this point that you’ve left your mask off. You put it back on and take in his domineering form. “Those were years ago; I’ve almost forgotten about them.”

“I haven’t. I mean, sort of.”

“Good. That was the point,” you reply. “I mean, sort of.”

“The point being? That I find something that speaks to me and then the next minute, they’re gone?” He says, quite defensive. It bothered him for a time that he never got to see those pieces again.

“What did they make you feel?”

“Desolate? Alone? Confused? Desperate?”

“Then you forgot about them, didn’t you?”

“The paintings, sort of. Not the feeling, though,” he frowns. “I still think about them but… I think I’ve forgotten exactly what they look like. Is that what you wanted?”

“Pretty much,” you hum, starting to pack your things. “The stuff I leave on for a few weeks are mostly sad, and I paint over them because I don’t want people to dwell on them. I want people… to forget, to move on.”

“But they don’t, not really. I’m sure they’ve taken photos if it spoke to them so much. At least I did, but then I deleted them because…”

“Because you got over the sadness,” you smirk, knowing that somehow, he proved your point, and he lets out a chuckle at the realization. “It may be on their phones but it’s not the real thing. The image may be distorted, the colors different, the strokes a lot smoother. It’s not the same.”

“They should be preserved,” he voices out. “It’s art. Those things are meant to be immortalized, no matter how they make people feel.”

“Not always,” you counter. “At least for me, I make those to forget. The feelings fade once the art does. I created them that way.”

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, taking this time to observe you, as you’d rendered him speechless. 

There’s this softness in your eyes that contrasts the words you say. He doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve gone through to create hauntingly beautiful pieces inspired by feelings you want to forget. 

Whatever those are, he truly does wish you’ve let those go. He knows he has. But he still disagrees - he doesn’t think art ever fades. Perhaps feelings do, but he’s come to learn that visual art is eternal.

“So how long will you keep this up?” He asks, wondering when he’d see you again; the allure and intrigue from your words makes him want to know more.

“Until the next season,” you say, picking up your bag now. “It’s been a tough year and I hope the spring brings more hope.”

“But you also don’t want them to dwell on this… the loss of childhood, of youth,” he continues. “You want them to move on from this, focus on what’s to be gained after losing something important.”

“You’re a fast learner,” you wink, and Namjoon surprises himself by the way his heart jumps at the sight. “You must be a genius or something. Or an artist yourself.”

“Neither,” he lies. “I mean, I’m barely anything, really.”

“I doubt it. A guy like you being affected by all this means you’re something, whatever it is.”

There’s something validating about your words, and he smiles behind his mask, something you see, as you smile back. 

It’s odd, feeling a sense of connection with a stranger like this, something he’s never really experienced, most times because he’s always wary of who he meets, especially at this time of the night. But you don’t seem to know who he is. And if you do, you don’t seem to mind or want to make a deal out of it, something that he appreciates. 

There’s comfort in your smile, and he wants to discover what other things cause it. There’s a dearth of experience in your words, and he wants to know more. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that he wants to mirror; he wishes he can give comfort to someone just by looking at them. 

Maybe it’s the cold breeze. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the year and he’s spending it alone again. Maybe it’s spending an entire day cooped up in his studio only to go home to an empty apartment. Maybe it’s knowing what a year it was and what’s about to come. He didn’t think that a stranger in a yellow puff jacket who cursed so crisply would be the one to make his walk back home not feel so lonely. That the woman who’d casually painted some ripples and splashes on the wall was the one who’d make him feel a little less alone.

“So, uh, do you usually paint at the start or end of the season?” He wonders.

“Are you trying to ask when you’re gonna see me again?” You look at him with an arched brow.

“Maybe,” Namjoon chuckles. He’s also just trying to delay your departure, seeing as you seem to be ready to leave. 

He doesn’t want to ask your name, not ready himself to share who he is. But perhaps the next meeting won’t be as serendipitous as this. 

“It depends,” you tease. “But maybe I’ll see you again, either here, or elsewhere.”

“I hope it’s soon,” he confesses. He’s being bold, but his eyes light up when you reply.

“I hope so, too.”

Namjoon walks the opposite direction of where you are headed, turning back once to look at you, and catching your eyes when he does. 

Winter passes. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to take this route for a while, and it’s mid-spring when he sees a new painting that’s been completed - a young girl looking through a glass window to a world outside, her fingers holding onto the latch as she readies to open it. A small smile forms on his face; he at least sees something of you, even if it isn’t you.

The next time he’s able to pass by, it’s the end of summer, and all he sees is a gray wall - empty, undisturbed, as if there was nothing there to begin with.

2021, autumn 

The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he’s been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he’s been told, and one of the curators that he’s become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town. 

He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.

It’s something he’d seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away. 

He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.

Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he’d encountered something similar. 

And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee. 

He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn’t get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

“Find something that interests you?”

Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He’s definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.

“Samantha Lee,” Namjoon responds. “Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago.”

“Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She’s a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She’s here, actually,” Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. “She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?”

“Ah, that would be great,” Namjoon smiles back. “If she is fine with that, of course.”

Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. “I’ll lead you to her.”

Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she’d untitled all her pieces, and why there’s nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.

He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is,” a familiar voice spits out. “The next time he harasses you, I’m going to impale his dick with my heels and—”

“Ehem,” Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. “Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you.” 

He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he’s met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he’s been yearning to see since that cold winter night.

“Blue?” He asks, surprised.

“My favorite color, yes. How did you know?” 

You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You’ve seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it’s him, the man who’d saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice. 

You thought you’d see him again, seeing as he seemed to want to, but he never came that spring. You even left a small, ridiculous note at the corner where your signature usually is, asking when he’d come, thinking he’d communicate with you there. But the response never came. 

The universe is tricky sometimes. You passed up on coming to the gallery yesterday because you felt dizzy when you woke up. And of all days that your winter night man visits, it’s the one where you’re here.

“I just figured,” Namjoon smiles, picking up your hints. “It’s one of mine, too.”

“Perhaps we should talk about the complexities of the color, then,” you smile back, nodding towards one of the sections in the large patio. 

You lead him there, leaving Mr. Hong and his warning gaze and your assistant, whose smirk and teasing laughter makes you glare at her.

“I’m guessing they don’t know about you being Blue?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little jittery standing next to you again and being able to see your face much more clearly, your hair tied loosely in a bun and your clothes a nice fit for the cool weather.

“Minji does. She helps me find materials,” you respond. “Mr. Hong doesn’t. He’s not much of a fan of street art.”

“That’s a bummer, especially since one of the artists creates amazing pieces on buildings and posts and then signs them, then abandons them, and leaves spectators like me to wonder where they’d gone,” Namjoon replies, hoping you don’t find offense with his tiny jab. 

Your chuckle tells him you don’t. “You never came.”

“I didn’t know when to,” he defends. “Well, more like, I stopped having the time. That place is so far from where I live and I only walk from my office because I like that time alone and I haven’t had that, but then I came back in the summer but you—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you assure him. “That was a chance meeting and I didn’t really expect I’d see you again in the same spot weeks later.”

“Did you expect to see me this time?”

“Oh, not at all,” you shake your head. “Why are you even here?”

“Why are people ever in art galleries?” He counters. “To check out the art. Maybe chance upon the artists if they’re here.”

“I guess,” you shrug, turning a corner to a small maze of an installation. “You wouldn’t have known it was me, though.”

“I didn’t. I was staring at Untitled 56 and realized I took a photo of Untitled 48,” he reveals, earning him a shocked look from you. “It was in LACMA. I saw it a while back. The name rang a bell because I don’t know anything about you. You leave so much to the imagination, Ms. Lee. There’s nothing about y—”

“It’s Han,” you correct him, feeling comfortable now. “I mean, Han ___. Samantha Lee is another pseudonym. Or like a stage name. You know, like you?”

You bite your lip at the slip-up, not wanting him to be uncomfortable at the thought that you clearly know who he is. But he just nods, affirming that he now knows that you know who he is, but he smiles right after, his eyes turning into the smallest, prettiest crescents and his dimples framing his strong-featured face that makes him even more handsome. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums. “But why blue? And why Samantha Lee?”

“It’s the simpler version of my favorite color. Aegean blue is too complicated to sign every time,” you chuckle. “And Samantha Lee… Well, she was my roommate back in college and she once told me she wanted to be famous and the only way that could happen is if I used her name as a pseudonym. I had a crush on her so I agreed.” 

There’s a long pause before Namjoon realizes that you’re not joking, and he comments that it’s interesting but he doesn’t ask again. 

“I’m Kim Namjoon, by the way,” he reaches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, internally melting at the feel of his warm and large hand. “So why did you take a photo of Untitled 48?”

“It looked like a clam.”

At this, you burst into laughter.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, just to be clear!” He insists. “It was beautifully made. It was of a neutral color but it somehow stood out the most to me in that section. And it was the 48th; I wondered why they didn't have titles. And your 56th, which looks like—”

“A vulva,” you snort.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “and a flower, yeah - something I’ve been into lately. And well, it was interesting. And seeing your piece here reminded me of that,” he goes on. “And I just wanted to know… why.”

“Why what?” You furrow your brows at him.

“Why those pieces? Why are they untitled? What prompted you to create them that way?”

“We’d probably have to tour the gallery 4 more times if you want to know,” you chuckle.

“I have time.”

“Do you?” You ask, eyeing the phone in his pocket that's been vibrating for the last 5 minutes.

He smiles shyly and excuses himself. When he returns, he has a disappointed look on his face. “Turns out, I don’t have time. But I want to. I… uh, will you be here again anytime this week?”

“I will. I’m just not sure when.”

There’s something alluring with these coincidental meetups. Somehow you want more of those, perhaps to let the universe tell you that you’re meant to constantly meet this man whose time you know you’ll never have enough of, even if he makes it for you. 

“Let me see you again?” 

“You will.”

You catch his eyes when he turns back as he walks away. There’s a sparkle in them, and you’re afraid to want to see it once more.

**

The walk to the site of the lost youth is a long one, but not knowing when you’d see the tall man with the prettiest smile again, you head there. 

Your last piece was of a child at the brink of freedom, about to take the step outside the cage she’d been in for the past year and a half. You painted over it once autumn started; maybe the next time you’d paint over a building, you’re no longer yearning for lost things. Maybe you’d paint something about finding something new.

“I’m gonna start believing in a higher power if we continue meeting like this.”

The raspy voice is familiar, and you turn around to see Namjoon, clad in a hoodie and a baseball cap, leaning against one of the streetlights across the empty wall of the building you’d been staring at. It’s been 2 days since you saw him at the gallery, about 7 months since the first time you’d encountered him here. You’re unsure what this all means.

“Maybe you should,” you head towards him. “I missed the last bus so I decided to walk home. I’m still far away but this is on the way. Why are you here?”

“Stayed up at the studio,” he replies. “I’m incredibly exhausted but I don’t know, I got the energy for the long walk. Then there you were.”

“There I was, appearing so suddenly again, yeah?” You chuckle, leaning on the opposite side of the pole. 

Namjoon merely hums before he nods towards the direction of his apartment. “I’m heading there.”

“Me, too.”

With his hands in his hoodie pockets and yours crossed against your chest, you try to match his long strides.

“Painting came first,” you say, as if answering the question that he’s been thinking of asking. “Painting was everything. We had so many pieces in our home, and it’s as if they spoke to me. I mean, in a not creepy way, it felt like all of my parents’ own pieces spoke to me. And they always told me I wasn’t good enough.”

Namjoon turns to look at you with empathy in his eyes. He lets you speak, and he finds out that both your parents are the artists he’d been researching lately. Your father is a classical painter, and your mother does contemporary. He can’t imagine living in gigantic shadows like that. 

“When I was 15, my parents pulled strings to get some of my pieces displayed with theirs,” you sigh, recalling the mixed emotions then. “It was exciting at first, but the patrons wouldn’t mention my name unless they mentioned my parents’. And then one of my favorite pieces that I made was sold to a man who wanted it as a decoration in his summer home’s living room.”

Namjoon slows his walk and you match his pace. You meet his comforting eyes, and there’s that warmth you feel from, technically, a stranger that you didn’t expect.

“I made that piece at a time when I was frustrated living in my parents’ shadows,” you continue. “Someone once told me that art is meant to be shared, that there’s humanity in the community we create when it’s shared, that the meaning deepens when others make their own. That piece had so much of me in there; I felt like the meaning of that piece was stripped away from me the moment that stranger took home that canvas for a select few to look at. It wasn’t mine anymore, it was his; it was theirs. I stopped painting after that.”

There’s a certain kind of pain in giving up something that matters deeply to you, in losing meaning in the thing that’s given your life meaning for most of your life. Namjoon knows a bit about that pain. Many times, he’d found himself questioning all that he does, what he stands for, and what the world expects him to be. 

He sees that pain in your eyes, of losing a part of you as the art stopped meaning what you wanted it to. But he doesn’t think that all is lost. 

“But your street art,” he reminds you. “That’s still you. That still has meaning. And that’s something that you share.”

“That’s Blue, though,” you manage a smile. “She’s just a part of me.”

“She’s still you,” he insists. “Can you tell me about her?”

And so you tell him - how you argued with your parents about quitting painting, how you were going to turn down the scholarship in a prestigious art university to take up sociology instead, so they shipped you to a foreign country to fend for yourself, and that’s when you learned what loneliness felt like. But that’s also when you learned about people in their rawest sense, what it meant to struggle to survive, what it meant to lose something that mattered, because you studied them - you studied how humans grieved and how they persisted. You studied how they lived and how they died.

“Blue wants meaning, and she still struggles in finding it,” you explain. 

“Does she?” Namjoon questions. “I’m in my late 20s but your lost youth series resonated with me. All those paintings of the man in the rain, the distorted face… they’ve inspired me in ways I can’t explain. That’s meaning, ___. That matters.”

No one outside of Minji knows all these versions of you. Except Namjoon, the brightest star you never thought you’d ever meet. Hearing him speak about your work this way makes you feel something - a first in a long time.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say shyly.

“It’s a shame they’re not displayed in galleries and museums, though.”

“I don’t want them to,” you say, surprising him. “People intend to go to museums, but they pass these streets out of necessity. I want them to stop and look, to feel, to think for a few seconds before they go back to their routinary walk. And then I remove them, so they can forget what pain and sadness feel like.”

“Looks like you found your meaning, then,” Namjoon smiles, comforted by the fact that someone as talented as you had found purpose again, something he relates with at a deeper level than he imagined.

“The painter in me did,” you reply. “The sculptor, not so much. “

“Untitled,” he hums.

“Yeah. I don’t think I can name something I understand, or at least, feel,” you say. 

“That’s a lot of untitled works for you to not understand what you do,” he chuckles. 

“I’m prolific because there’s not much of me I lose when I create them,” you explain. “I just sit in my stool, craft something, then call it a day. Not to brag or anything, but it comes easy. They’re shallow pieces, Namjoon. They don’t even deserve to be in galleries but Mr. Hong insists they do for some reason. I wish this version of me, Samantha Lee, understood why it matters, why someone like him would believe in my pieces, why a Kim Namjoon would think that 48 stood out to him enough to keep a photo.”

Namjoon processes your words. As an artist himself, he believes in the meaning of the pieces that he creates, whether it’s a song or a poem or an album or a concert. There’s effort put into them even if it’s something created in 30 minutes. Your pieces are beautiful, and he wants to explore more - you and your meaning, you and your value. 

“Then why do you keep making them? What about it makes you keep sculpting?”

“The feel of the clay on my skin, the way my fingers get to mold and create the details,” you explain. “I get to touch it. I don’t get to do that with painting, you know? It’s the paintbrush and the canvas I feel but with sculpting, I get to mix the materials, I get to shape it, hold it.”

“There’s that intimacy,” he offers.

“Yeah. And it’s addictive because it’s closeness I’ve never felt before.” You turn to him before speaking the next words. “It's an intimacy I’ve never experienced before with anyone or anything.”

“Isn’t that your meaning, then?” He questions. “The piece itself might not have a story on its own but all these untitled works, the process of creating, of it being easy because you can’t get enough of the intimacy you get from creating… that’s meaning. That desire for closeness, for meaning… that’s meaning.”

No one’s ever put it that way for you, probably because you’ve never let yourself be this honest with someone about your art. All your friends aren’t artists because you wanted that world separate, you didn’t want to have to talk about it feeling as insecure and lost as you are. 

But Namjoon - he’s one of your generation’s greatest artists. He weaves words and sounds so beautifully to create masterpieces that people consume and hold so closely. He understands. 

“I’ve made songs that took me 30 minutes,” he shares. “But I’ve also made songs that took me to dark places, that broke me as I wrote them. But once they came out, once I’ve shared them to others who’ve shared what it meant to them… slowly, I started becoming whole again. Isn’t that an artist’s burden? To break to create, to feel whole after that, and then to break all over again?”

“You are truly one of a kind, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him. “I’ve lived with artists my whole life and they never let me understand art in that way.”

“I’m still figuring it all out,” he shrugs. “I still feel lost sometimes, but I think it’s natural to feel that way, to be unsure or confused. I guess what matters is that we’re still walking on some road to somewhere, even if we don’t know where we’re heading.”

“Is that where you are right now?” You wonder. “On a road to somewhere you don’t quite know yet?”

More than you know, he wants to say. He’s in this period of experimentation, of figuring out his signature style, of figuring out who he is and what he means to his teammates, to the industry, to the world. 

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s hard sometimes. Walks like this give me a reprieve. Consuming other people’s art lets me understand things a bit more.”

“Yeah, I get it. I mean, conversing with strangers gives me time to breathe, too.”

“Ooh, so I’m still a stranger, huh?” He chuckles, shyly looking at you. “Our third unplanned meeting, an hour of walking home… and I’m still a stranger.”

“What would you want to be, then?” You turn to him, a little teasing smile on your face.

“A friend, for starters.”

“My nighttime friend?”

“Not just,” he shakes his head. “I would like to see you again, actually. And I don’t want to put this up to chance this time. Like, something planned or—”

“And how exactly would that work?”

“I, uh…” he thinks. “I’d invite you to my apartment. And you can invite me to yours?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay.”

“Are you always this bold?” You giggle, not missing the way your cheeks start to feel warm at the mention of visiting each other’s homes and him wanting to get to know you. 

He’s obviously handsome - you’ve known of him since his band made it to your TV screens, being young men who were around your age, singing songs that resonate so deeply with you. But he’s more than that, as you’re learning. There’s this passion for creating that's refreshing, something you seem to lack.

“Not always,” he looks away, the dips in his cheeks something you’re sure you won’t get enough of.

“You should be. It makes a girl flustered but it makes it so difficult for her to say no,” you smirk. Sometimes, you also don’t know where your own boldness comes from.

“You? Flustered? That’s quite hard to believe,” he teases.

“That’s true. But it happens, believe it or not, when a gorgeous, brilliant man asks me over.”

Your heart stops for what feels like a minute, but his sweet, child-like laughter melts away your worry.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask. 

“Surprisingly, no,” he replies. “I appreciate your honesty. About everything. I hope we can give that to each other.”

“Okay then, your turn,” you challenge.

“Hearing you curse was kinda hot.”

You try to hold off your laughter, your defense to your true reaction, which is to smile like an idiot and feel like floating. 

“That’s interesting. I would’ve thought it’s something to do with my looks or my talent, you know?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.

“It is. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m usually a forgetful person but I haven’t forgotten your sweet smile since I first saw it last winter,” he says, catching you off guard. “And your talent… there’s a reason why I have 48 saved on my phone, and why I sought out your street art these past years. I want to know what intimacy in art is like for you. I guess I’ve sort of lost that in creating my own.”

“Intimacy,” you repeat. “I think we both lack it in certain ways.”

“Maybe we’ll find it,” he says more confidently now, holding your gaze as your eyes trace his face. 

“Maybe we will,” you respond, feeling your whole body warm with embers of fire. 

He insists on taking you home, another 20-minute walk away from his. But you claim to enjoy that time on your own, assuring him that you do this all the time and the streets are safe.

“Let me know when you get home safely?” He asks, and you give him your phone for him to input his number.

“I will.”

It’s 30 minutes later when you do. It’s 1AM, but you and Namjoon spend the next 2 hours talking some more - about his songs and your pieces, about his plants and your collection of wind chimes. 

You didn’t expect to make him laugh as much as you did, and he said he didn’t expect you to think his ramblings are adorable and amusing. You most definitely didn’t expect your heart to beat as fast as it did when he told you, in his deep, raspy voice, that he’s glad he took that long walk that winter, that he visited the art gallery when he did, that the hopeless romantic in him pushed him to go to the place you first met. 

“I think I’m crazy but somehow I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” he muses. 

“I feel the same way,” you assure him, as you hug your pillow and slowly surrender to sleep.

“Good,” he hums. “That’s all I wanted to know. Good night, ___. And I’ll see you soon.”

2021, winter 

There’s a warmth in Namjoon’s home that’s hard to replicate. Filled with his favorite art pieces of all forms, he said he curated it to reflect his emotions just as much as his tastes. It’s clean and well-organized, with books on shelves and stacks on the floor, and an entire area full of liquor - his new interest, he’d said. 

He’s had you over several times already; the first one, barely a week after that long walk home. You both spent hours that day talking about his favorite artists, and it wasn’t enough, as he asked you back the next day. 

You often talk about your childhood, one that you weren’t always comfortable sharing, but being with him makes it easy. 

It’s easy when he looks into your eyes when you speak, as if he’s telling you that he knows you say more than words. It’s easy when he’s got his own stories to share - stories of vulnerability and honesty, of fear and confusion. It’s easy when he still stutters over words sometimes and then gets lost in his own ramblings, then he chuckles when he realizes he’s talked so much, and you tell him that it’s okay because his voice is calming and his thoughts are a breath of fresh air.

It’s easy when his presence is comforting, when his anecdotes about his friends and family make you laugh until your insides hurt. It’s easy when he makes you feel like you can question everything about your art and your purpose and your abilities but he never makes you feel like a failure. It’s easy when he smiles and laughs nervously, when he’s funny without meaning to, and when he makes sure you’re comfortable by always having your preferred tea and biscuits next to the wine you once said is your favorite.

The only time it gets hard is when he stands a little too close as you look up at a painting or a book on a shelf. You could feel the heat from his body; a slight movement and you’d be touching, mere cloths in between you. It’s hard when his arm brushes the slightest bit against yours. It’s hard when he gazes at you when there’s silence, and it’s like he’s studying your face before you call him out and he apologizes because he “can’t stop looking at pretty things.” 

It’s hard when he hugs you goodbye and he wishes you a safe ride home. It’s hard when he sends you a message right after, saying he wishes you both had more time.

Being attracted to Namjoon is hard; being attached to him is torture. 

“You’re looking for him again,” Minji states the obvious as you walk around the gallery, your eyes darting to the door every time the bell rings. 

“No I’m not,” you deny. “He just got back from his trip abroad and he’s tired. He won’t be coming here.”

“Doesn’t mean you wish he would,” she smirks. “But why rendezvous here? You guys go to each other’s houses. And no one goes to your house… aside from me.”

“We can’t exactly see each other in public, you know?” You glare at her. “But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see him look around and talk about what he sees. I feel like I learn more from him. And that’s weird, isn’t it? This is my field. The arts have been my entire life, but I’m learning more about it from him.”

“What is it about him?” She wonders. 

She doesn’t say that she’s noticed more life in your eyes since he came into your life. She doesn’t say that she’s noted that you take more time creating pieces, seemingly savoring the process unlike the way you used to. She doesn’t mention the smile that she hasn’t seen in all the years that she’s known you. 

“Passion is sexy, you know?” You giggle. “He has so much of it, it’s inspiring.”

“Is that all?” Minji smirks.

“He’s also fucking gorgeous. I try not to ogle him but I think he’s noticed. Fuck me.”

“Maybe he wants to.”

“Shut up. Don’t make me hope.”

“You do that to yourself,” she laughs. “Keep denying that you don’t want to see him or want anything more with him and let’s see how you do.”

The truth is, you know. You know that you’d fall hard if you let yourself go like that, but it’s human to know danger and then still want it, isn’t it?

The vibration from your phone ringing surprises you. 

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice booms on the other end.

“Hey,” you reply. “How was your trip?” 

“Good. I just got home. We had to stop by the office for a bit. My place is a mess and we have something again in the afternoon,” he huffs, sounding incredibly tired. “Can I come over tonight?”

You almost drop the flute of champagne you’re holding. He’s been to your house twice, but this is the first time he’s specifically asked to come over, especially considering that he just arrived from a trip abroad. 

“Of course,” you hum. “Any dinner preferences?”

“Your cooking,” he says simply. “But wait for me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“Okay,” you say, before dropping the call, unable to hide the wide smile that forms on your face, to your assistant’s amusement.

“Why don’t you try to let go this time?” She advises. “Maybe you’ll find the intimacy you’ve been longing for.”

**

Namjoon overestimates your cooking abilities. Truly, all you know to do is prepare ramyun and fry anything. But, compared to him, he’s said you’re chef level. “The guys” don’t even want him near the kitchen, he tells you all the time. 

But instant noodles and pork belly seem enough for him, as he eats with his mouth closed and hums in satisfaction. You take the time to savor the way he looks. A few weeks without him has started to feel like months. 

“It was overwhelming,” he finally says. 

He knew the moment he landed that he wanted to see you. There’s comfort in your presence that he’s begun to accept, and being with you allows him to be honest, to feel real, to feel human. 

“It was great to be able to perform again, to hear the cheers and the sounds and everything. It was also terrifying,” he continues. “I was nervous and excited, I was scared and elated. I felt so fulfilled and satisfied but I also felt like it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s a lot of conflicting emotions,” you hum.

“Are they? Conflicting, I mean.”

“It depends, I guess. They seem up and down to me. Does it bother you?”

“That I felt all that, all at once?” 

You nod in response.

“It used to,” he admits. “At the start of all this, I thought, I can’t be scared. Six other guys and an entire company are looking to me to succeed. I have to be strong and confident. And then, an industry is waiting for me to fail. And then, my own country is letting me - us - represent an entire generation, it’s asking me to carry on this cultural wave. It never ends. And I used to think I couldn’t be scared, that not wanting all this anymore means I’m ungrateful.”

“But you aren’t,” you try to assure him. You can’t imagine the burden he feels, leading a group that feels all kinds of pressure. “I’ve heard you talk about your art and your poetry and your brothers and your fans. You’re easily the most passionate, hardworking, and appreciative person I know. I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to give.”

“It’s tiring,” he sighs.

“I’m sure. But you’re honest about it. You’ve always been. Doesn’t honesty unburden you, even just a little bit? Doesn’t it leave you space to feel more, to be more?”

Namjoon hums. For someone who claims to not know much about feeling, you seem to know what to say to make him stop and think, to remind him of why he does what he does. And why ultimately, he’s always going to love it.

“It does,” he finally says, sitting up straight to take a better look at you in your linen pants and soft sweater. “Do you do that, then? Unburden yourself by being honest?”

“I’m not good at doing that,” you chuckle. “If you don’t know by now, I say a lot of seemingly profound things that I don’t necessarily live by.”

“Why not?”

“Honesty scares me. Being vulnerable scares me. I don’t know how to return it.”

“Has anybody ever been all that to you?” He wonders, feeling the tension build a little.

“Once” you say, standing from the dining table and heading to the large window that overlooks your garden. “And I ran away.”

“Is that why you sculpt, then?” Namjoon asks, walking towards you. “Because you don’t know what to do with intimacy so you do it with your art? You want to hold and touch what you walk away from? You don’t give it a name because you don’t want to define it? Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll realize that you actually want it - the closeness, the warm body, the rawness that you can only get from being with someone else.”

You look up at him, towering over you. He came from a short filming, donned in a white, buttoned polo with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see the darkness of his hazelnut eyes and the stubble on his chin. You spot the beauty mark on his neck and the smoothness of his skin, especially on his chest, as he leaves 2 buttons undone. 

“Reading me now, Kim Namjoon?” You cock an eyebrow, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the last few minutes. 

“I’m trying, because I want to get to know you more, find out what you’re afraid of and ease it somehow,” he admits. “Because I feel the same way. I’m honest but I’m scared, yet with you, I’m honest but I’m brave. I feel like I’m brave. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I met you, I just wanted…” he glances at your lips then meets your eyes again. “I just wanted to know more, to feel more. To understand what it’s like to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know much about it like me. I want to figure it out. With you.”

“How?” 

One word is all you get to verbalize, as you feel him come closer, the heat of his body intensifying with every second. You’re backed up against the window, the distance between you and him decreasing and decreasing. 

His eyes are boring into you, and you bravely gaze at him back. You mirror his desire, as you lick your lips when he glances at them again. Your chest is heaving as is his, and your heart races even more when he breathes out your name.

You palm his chest, and for a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes at the thought of you stopping him, you instead grip the cloth that covers him, and you slowly pull him in.

His lips are soft. And the way he gently presses against you is tender, comforting, like he wants to savor it and go slow. He angles his head the same time his hand reaches for your waist, and you feel the slightest wetness from his tongue.

You grant him entrance, and the second you do, he takes control, tightening his hold on your body as he cages you, his one arm now propped up against the window. You moan into each other as tongues and teeth clash, and you can’t help your hand that travels to pull on the ends of his hair, brushing your fingers against the nape of his neck right after. 

It’s a little sloppy, needy, but there’s still gentleness in there. It’s in the way he cups your cheek, caressing it with his large fingers and letting it slide down your chest, back to your waist. It’s in the way he smiles into the kiss when you moan your pleasure; you can almost feel his dimples as he does. It’s in the way that he asks for more, not with dominance but with care, with understanding, with caution. 

You both pull away to catch some air, lips swollen and wet, but your smiles say you enjoyed it. The way your bodies haven’t completely detached from each other shows that.

“Would you let me stay the night?” He asks softly, as if it’s a request he’s afraid to ask. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Be with me tonight.”

Underneath the covers of your bed, you lay in his arm while your fingers trace patterns on his taut chest. You can hear his heartbeat still drumming, and you can feel the care in the way he caresses your cheek, your arm, your waist.

“I don’t know what I can give you, Namjoon,” you admit. “I don’t know how to be as honest and vulnerable as you. I don’t know how to share parts of me that I don’t understand. I don’t know what I can do to ease all your worries and concerns. I—”

“Just give me moments,” he interjects. “Nights like this, days at our homes, afternoons at the galleries, hours on the phone… I just want to feel something that I can actually touch, that I can savor. And I want it to be you, the one I get to hold and taste and kiss.”

He leans forward again, and you capture his mouth in yours. There’s no need to do more - much as you’re wet and he’s definitely hard, but neither one of you is rushing, neither one wants to scare the other.

He’s hot, the kind that burns. That’s how it is with people as passionate as he is - their touch can light a fire on your skin, and you won’t be able to stop it.

“I can give you moments,” you whisper. “Just tell me.”

2022, spring 

You can count the moments with 2 hands. 

Namjoon stayed with his parents over the holidays but he videocalled you everyday. You both went to a few galleries outside the capital but did so separately, spending hours after that talking about the pieces over the phone. 

You’ve come to appreciate your world much more deeply with his commentaries and reflections, and with you, he said he’d gotten to breathe a little longer, laugh a little louder, and feel a little more human. 

He stayed over your place 4 more times; you stayed over at his thrice. You debated over movies and recommended each other books. It was common to spend the day wrapped up in each other on the couch while you both read separately. He made you listen to a few songs he’s been working on - some of which were inspired by your many conversations and your own musings, and you’d showed him sketches of your upcoming planned series on sculpted landscapes.

It’s freeing, being able to share about your world with someone else like this, and being part of someone else’s, too. Whatever it is you both have is freeing - kisses included, which never went beyond what you first did. Despite the obvious desire to do more, neither of you ever tried, perhaps knowing what it would entail. There’s distance between you and him but there also isn’t. There’s enough comfort and intimacy that you’ve only scratched the surface of, but this seems to be just enough. 

“I have the weekend off,” he pants over the phone. It’s 11PM and they’ve just finished rehearsals for an upcoming series of concerts abroad. “Do you want to do something?”

“A trip to my parents’ summer home?” You wonder out loud. The spring air has come and you love going to the lake at this time. “It’s by the mountains and it’s really private. The estate is like their personal art museum with their works and others’. I visit every year. But if—”

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” he huffs. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“I know I got you at the art museum bit,” you laugh. 

“You got me at the really private bit, actually,” he says seriously, causing your heart to race. “And the art of course. And you. Always you.”

“Alright, Casanova,” you tease. “Just make sure I don’t get in trouble for taking you somewhere weeks before you leave.”

“We’re alright,” he responds. “I can’t wait.”

**

It’s a 3-hour drive to the estate by the mountains. In the far future, your parents want to open it up for private viewing, and so you want to make sure that your art lover more-than-but-not-really-friend gets a first peek. 

You spend the entire ride talking about a hundred topics, going off tangent when he rambles again, and you’re the one who circles him back to the original discussion. You hum tunes while he sings songs, and when you find private spots, you take the risk and take photos.

You make it to the estate in the late morning, and as you expected, Namjoon’s jaw drops. 

The fountain at the front is an art piece itself. The front door was shipped from Indonesia, and the furniture are a beautiful curation of pieces from all over the world that were gifted to or bought by your parents. 

You watch him gently trace the carvings and the details. You’re in awe as he absorbs the sculptures and paintings as you tour him around. And you melt every time he turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, like he’s discovering a secret that only both of you know. It’s breathtaking and absolutely precious. 

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, as he catches you marvel at him. “I like it when you look at me like you want me.”

“Don’t fluster me,” you say, turning away. 

“You’re not denying it,” he counters, walking closer to you.

“I would be a liar if I did.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I only asked for moments but can this weekend be filled with that?”

He looks nervous, like you’d turn him down.

“I… it’s been tough, dealing with a lot of things,” he continues. He’s mentioned some difficulties lately, and you know there’s not much you can do about it. Except, maybe this. “I just want something to hold onto, like being here with you, experiencing all these art pieces, being close…” 

He cups your cheek and gives you that look that you’ve become familiar with, his request for intimacy that you both continue to explore.

“Okay,” you respond, taking his hand and kissing it. “Okay.”

You eat lunch, explore the east wing of the property, and at mid-afternoon, you convince him to swim on the lake with you. 

“Isn’t it freezing?” He asks worriedly.

“That’s the fun part of it,” you insist. “There’s a hot tub we can stay at after.”

Namjoon gives in. It’s easy to, with a smile like yours that makes his heart race every time. Especially when you come out in your blue swimsuit, shaping your curves and all other parts of your body that makes his own react. He can’t help but marvel at you, even as you tease.

“Hey, big guy, eyes up,” you smirk. 

He blushes when you giggle, but he does tease back, removing his shirt to reveal his body that he’s been working so hard on. He does flex a little to give you a taste of your own medicine, and it works.

“Hey, eyes up,” he chuckles. 

You feel a shiver when his finger tilts your chin up, and you do the childish thing and bite it before you run to the lake and dive in. Namjoon follows, canonballing and then swimming over to chase you. 

You haven’t swam here in years. You merely used to watch the sun rise and then gaze at the sky and imagined doing all this with someone else. You didn’t really think you’d end up here with Kim Namjoon, but here you are.

Namjoon pulls you to him as you swim close, and you both float in the water with your arms around his chest and his arms around your waist. You’re obviously both drenched, and that just leaves so little to the imagination, especially with the cold water a little more overwhelming than you expected. 

His hair is swept back, with beads of water lining his face and sliding down his neck and his chest. He’s broad and incredibly built. It’s unfair that his body looks as amazing as his face. 

“Does Minji know you’re here with me?” He asks.

“Yes, teased me nonstop until I picked you up. What about the guys?”

“They do. They insist we are a couple.”

“And?”

“And I said that we aren’t,” he says cautiously. “We’re friends who spend a lot of time together and cuddle, and uh, sometimes do a little more.”

“What a complicated way to say we’re friends with benefits,” you laugh.

“I don’t see it that way, though,” he furrows his brows. “I don’t want to reduce what we are to each other to just benefits or something sexual or shallow. Do you see it that way?”

“No,” you say. “I… I’ve come to understand art a lot more because of you. I’ve come to appreciate what I do. That’s not just some benefit.”

“And I… can’t even explain all that you do for me,” he says. “We’re more than that. Less than lovers, but more than friends. And our moments shape this, whatever name we call it.”

“Untitled,” you wonder out loud. “Sometimes artists name their pieces as such when they can’t find a better descriptor.”

“So 58 sculptures in, and you still can’t find a better descriptor?” He teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his hard chest. “I titled them that way because I didn’t have a meaning for them. I just created them. But then I met this man, tall and built with a sexy brain, and he made me realize that the meaning is in the creation, too. So 58 works, 58 times I experienced intimacy, the only times I do.”

“Ah, so what about us?” He nudges you with his nose. “Aren’t we intimate?”

“It’s a different kind, I guess,” you say. You’re not my creation and you’re not mine, you choose not to say. “You don’t break. You’re the one that breaks other things.”

You pass it off as a joke, and he buys it. You don’t want to think much about what you and Namjoon aren’t; you just want to think about what you both are - something that may or may not be fleeting, but something beautiful nonetheless.

The sun shines a little too bright, and you take the chance to get out of the water and into the dock to soak up its heat. Namjoon follows and you both lay that way, just next to each other, catching your breaths.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You ask, wondering if he still carried over all his concerns here.

“Yes. It’s exhilarating,” he responds. “It’s nice to feel this way for a change.”

“I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”

“Not this way,” he turns to you. “It’s different, I guess. It makes me think of all the other emotions I have yet to feel, the ones I’ve felt only briefly before, and the ones that I’ll never feel. I think life’s too short for a person to experience all kinds of emotions. I was it wasn’t.”

“Are humans built for that?” You question. “To feel every possible thing out there? To feel every variation of pain and sadness and joy and elation and pleasure and desire?”

Namjoon thinks. Surely, being able to have emotions and to truly feel is what makes us humans and what makes us different from animals. It’s what marks our humanity, regardless of what emotion that may be. But are humans really capable of feeling everything without breaking? Without it being too much?

“Maybe not,” he finally responds.

You think, too. You’ve often wondered why you were so scared to be vulnerable, to take risks, to love. You thought once that feeling things is overwhelming - what do you do with them? How do you handle them when they get too much? When you become too happy or too sad or too scared or too excited? 

You think maybe because like all things in this world, you can never have emotions. You feel them, but you can’t own them, they can’t be yours. Like your art. You can create them but they stop being yours once you share them. Like music, as Namjoon has told you, it stops being his the moment he releases it for others to consume. And it’s scary to not have that permanence; it’s scary to not have that assurance that you’ll always have that joy or that excitement or that elation. And in some way, it’s also scary to know that you won’t always have that pain or that sadness.

“Maybe humans are only built to try to feel everything,” Namjoon states, having thought about your question and his years-long quest of figuring himself out. “But we aren’t meant to achieve it. Maybe our life is about just feeling bits and pieces of it, sometimes longer than others, but we can’t feel it all, and definitely not all at once. It’s like truth; we spend our life seeking and trying to live it, but we might never be able to. Still, we have to keep trying.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to say. “Do couples have deep conversations like this?” You laugh this time, needing his thoughts to linger a little longer.

“They should,” he laughs. “But it’s enough for me that I have someone like you to make me question things. It reminds me that I have more to discover, to feel.”

To feel. 

Sometimes Namjoon makes it seem so easy to just do that. He’s able to name what he feels, unlike you. You wish it was easy, like saying that the cold water on your skin is refreshing, like the sun’s heat is comforting, like the clouds in the sky are soft.

You don’t notice your hand reaching up, wanting to just touch them because you want something concrete, something more real than what your imagination says that clouds feel like. But instead, you feel rough, warm fingers interlocking with yours.

“If you want to feel something concrete, I’m here, you know?” Namjoon says, thumbing your hand to let him know he’s right next to you. Somehow he just knew what you were doing, what you were wishing for.

“But this is what couples do,” you tease, yet tightening your hold nonetheless.

“Friends hold hands,” he smirks.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They kiss, too,” he hums, lifting himself up only to hover over you, catching you by surprise, but your desire trumps that, as the view of him - damp and natural-looking - makes your insides twist in circles.

“Hmm, like this?” You peck his lips, then his nose, teasing him.

“Sometimes. Other times it’s deeper. You know, like this.”

He dives in, and you welcome him immediately, your mouth already slightly open for your tongue to entangle with his. It’s long and deep, as how your kisses always are, and you feel him shift above you, fixing his position with his arms caging your head for support. He angles his mouth so he can have more of you and control how far he goes, how hard, and how fast. 

Your fingers, whose spaces were filled by his just minutes ago, ghost over his neck. They trail down to his chest, gingerly passing by his pecs and his abs, the tips now resting on his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans in your mouth, and you immediately know why he does, feeling his length getting harder by the second. 

It prompts him to grind on you, and you meet him halfway.

“Fuck, Joon,” you whine once his lips detach from yours, only to meet your neck when he sucks then licks over the sting. “Fuck.”

He hums in satisfaction at the sounds you make, going south now as he teases by giving tender kisses on the exposed part of your breasts before biting your nipple over your suit.The obscene sound you make turns him on, especially when you pull his hips harder against yours.

“Oh fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans in your ear now, and you might as well have just come from the way he said those words. 

And then you remember where you are - in the outdoors, in your parents’ summer home. Private as it may be, you’re still exposed, and you remind him of the fact before he slows down and agrees that you can’t be doing this out here. 

“I’m sorry I got carried away,” he says shyly now, as if he didn’t just devour you with his skillful mouth.

“Yeah, this is totally your fault,” you tease. 

He chases you back to the house where you both spend another hour in the hot tub, just talking like normal friends, as if you didn’t almost just cross a line. But it’s like that with Namjoon, you’ve come to realize. Everything is easy, everything is natural, like you can just forget that he isn’t him and you aren’t you.

You spend the rest of the day looking at all the pieces on the first floor, with you sharing as much about them that you can remember. You both sleep that night with his head on your chest and his arms around you.

He sleeps soundly, snoring even. And as you comb his hair, you think of how close you were to wanting so much more in the lake earlier. You think of how much you wanted his lips on your mouth, all over your body, and you wanted it everyday. With the way he held you close and breathed desperately on your skin, you had a feeling that so did he. 

Living in this dream-like state with him feels surreal, several months in. Because that’s what he is - a dream. Here’s a man grounded by his principles despite the fame that seems to shackle him, yet constantly propels him to new heights; a man whose search for truth and humanity shows you that he just wants to be a good person, and a person who does good. 

Beyond his unmatched talent and gift with words, beyond his strikingly stunning looks, is a man who cares deeply, who feels deeply, who submits himself to what he commits to, whether it’s his music, his brothers, his plants, or his interest in art and nature and even whiskey. You have a feeling he’d do the same to whoever he plans to be with. You don’t know if it’s you, and the more you find yourself wanting him, the more you wish it isn’t you.

Namjoon is a dream, and you know at one point, you’re going to have to wake up.

**

The gallery is buzzing, as it always is when there’s a new exhibition. You’re excited for this, too, as the featured artist is one you admire. 

Namjoon admires her as well, which is why he’s here, dressed in a black long-sleeved buttoned top, looking immaculate as per usual. He has a busy schedule but he made time, knowing how special this event is. 

The room holds its breath when he enters; as a well-known lover of art, everyone has come to expect him to be a guest in exhibitions and various art shows. He bows at the other patrons and artists present, and they fawn over him, being the famous man that he is. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this side of him. You’re used to him rambling, making jokes he doesn’t realize are funny, and being lost in his own thoughts. You’re used to him in his natural environment - in his home full of books and paintings, and in his studio, which you’ve seen dozens of times through your phone screen. He fits right in here, though - he can easily follow on with the conversations, whether it’s about business or culture or literature. He can charm anyone with his smile and his good looks, and too many times, guests awe at his presence, finding out that he’s much more commanding and handsome off the screen. 

You hide a smile as he glances in your direction. You’ve agreed not to talk much today; there are too many people around and any kind of interaction might be grounds for rumors that neither of you are ready to face, at least that’s what you think. You and Namjoon don’t really discuss those things. You always see him in your periphery, though, and perhaps just like you, he just wants to be where you are, even if no pleasantries or conversations are shared. 

But Mr. Hong pulls him aside to introduce to Ms. Suh, and you can see from afar how Namjoon is fanboying over the artist whose work he’s very interested in. 

It’s nice to see him in his element like this, too. Here, though still a celebrity in the eyes of everyone else, he’s a spectator. He’s told you several times how his trips to these places have made him think about the kind of legacy he wants to leave with his music, with his poetry. And how pieces in museums and galleries are timeless, permanent; they live on regardless, and each person is free to make their own meanings. You know he wanted to comfort you then.

You become involved in your own conversations until someone barrels inside the gallery and makes a scene, of all days. The slightly inebriated man is familiar; perhaps a patron you’ve seen before, but he comes in and starts yelling at the staff, going on about something you can’t understand.

Not wanting to be part of the scene and be involved in something you don’t know how to handle, you slowly step away, that is, until you see him storm towards the room where your art pieces are. He seems to be targeting someone as he looks around, but the security gets to him first and he flails his arms around, eventually knocking over Untitled 56, and the cracking sound rings in the entire building.

“You knocked over a precious piece, you bastard!” You hear Mr. Hong yelling. 

You start walking slowly to where you see the shards of ceramic have fallen on the floor, and you’re unsure what you feel. Is it loss? It doesn’t seem like it. Is it anger? Perhaps not. 

“It’s just some useless flower anyway,” the raucous man answers.

Shame. You think that’s it, maybe that’s the feeling. Insecurity, sadness. It’s all of that yet nothing at all.

You stand there over your broken piece, the one you created while the rain was pouring and you’d just finished a bottle of wine by yourself because you could. Everyone seems to be as shocked as you, especially with the man finally contained and led out the building. You look up to take your eyes away from the scene, but you see Namjoon’s instead - anger filling his, sympathy, care, all at once.

You shake your head once, instructing him not to say or do anything. And he follows, loosening his clenched fist and stepping away to the back of the crowd. You instruct the staff to sweep the broken piece away, not wanting to see how fragile and temporary your creation is. All that had been reduced to shards and pitiful looks of the crowd.

You don’t really want to be here.

**

You’re filled with emotions you can’t name. You’re afraid to feel them all, so you cower on your couch and cry to yourself. 

It’s just a piece of useless flower. It’s the 56th of untitled works that you couldn’t name yourself because you didn’t know what they meant, what they symbolized, yet it hurts you this much that it’s gone. Hurt. Is that it? You’re still not sure.

The banging of your front door startles you. It’s 9PM and it’s been 4 hours since the incident. Minji offered to tell you the whole story but you didn’t really mind. You wonder if it’s her this time, wanting to know how you’re doing.

But it’s Namjoon, panting on your doorway when you open it. And the first thing you think to do is bury yourself in his arms.

It’s immediate, the catharsis of being in his hold. It’s like you’re enveloped in a warm, protective blanket that you don’t want to get out of. He embraces you tightly, letting you cry on his chest as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling. 

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear so that the words don’t get lost in the sound of your sobs. “I’ve got you. Don’t tear yourself. I’m here with you.”

You don’t know for how long you both stand there, but it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling. When you’ve calmed down, Namjoon tilts your chin up to face him.

“Hey,” he greets with a soft smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow you right away. I wanted so badly to punch that man.”

The shift of emotions is immediate, as you see his furrowed brows.

“He didn’t have a right to be there and to ruin what you worked hard for. I asked Mr. Hong to look into him and I’m so sorry, ___. That piece… that piece is–”

“A useless flower,” you shake your head. 

“Please don’t listen to him. Listen to me,” Namjoon insists. “You know what I feel about it. That piece led me to you.”

“And now it’s gone.”

The thought hits you hard. That piece led you to each other, and temporary as it is, it’s now broken. Maybe art isn’t timeless, you think. It can burn, it can break, just like all things. Just like emotions. Just like what you and Namjoon have.

“It may be but look what it did for us,” he challenges your thoughts. “A broken piece won’t change us, it won’t erase us.”

Tonight, this is what you want to hear. And with his fingers tracing your cheek, you think that tonight, he is what you want to feel.

You pull him close and crash your mouth onto his. It’s fervent, desperate, wanting. There’s this need in you, this animalistic desire that has you wanting him to prove you wrong again - that some things can be touched and felt and that they’ll stay and won't break, that emotions can be just as real and tangible, that they matter and that it’s worth it. You want him to prove it to you with his mouth, his words, his touch, his body.

He answers back, inhaling you completely, his tongue working on yours right away, doing that dance you’ve both memorized by now. Your moans are loud and needy. You want all of him, all over you, and with the way he groans your name and curses as you grind against him, you think he feels the same. 

You’re in a haze, falling into hypnosis as you feel his hands all over you. You guide them to your clothed breasts, down your waist where he sneaks underneath. His touch burns so deliciously, and it’s what prompts you to unbutton his clothes, to feel him bare and naked, his skin against yours - raw, vulnerable, honest.

Things you don’t know how to be. 

You pull away, feeling as if you’ve been snapped out of the spell.

And then you’re crying, as you look at Namjoon with his top undone, looking at you curiously before he’s walking towards you in concern.

“No,” you almost scream. “I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t supposed to. We’re not supposed to do this. We’re just… we’re just something that’s temporary and–”

“No,” he replies, surprising you. “Don’t be sorry, please. I wanted it, I still do. I want you. Fuck what we said about being just friends. I want more. I–”

“You don’t mean that,” you insist, not wanting to hear his words. 

It should comfort you, shouldn’t it? You’ve known long ago that you’ve fallen for him, but you made yourself believe that all things are temporary, and this one time you wanted something permanent with him, you got scared out of your mind. 

“I do,” he counters. “Fuck it, all I wanted to do earlier was hold you in my arms. Fuck the other people around who’d see. I just wanted to be with you. Is that what friends do? Is that what they feel? I have to be honest, right? We said we’d be that to each other. I want you, ___. I want to be with you.”

“I can’t, Joon. I can’t,” you sob. 

“Be honest with me this once. Do you want me?”

“Yes, so fucking much.”

“Then why can’t you be with me? Why are you making it so hard for yourself, for us?” He yells.

“I–” you start, but you don’t know how to continue. You cover your face with your hands and fall onto the floor.

You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard, and you’re unsure exactly what you’re crying over.

“Hey,” Namjoon softens, leaning down next to you as he tries to free your face. “I’m not mad, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t even… I can’t even say what I want to say because I don’t know. I don’t–” you sniff. “I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, taking you in his arms again. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some rest.”

He calms you down again and leads you to your room. He waits as you wash up and then he tucks you in bed. 

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You watch him eye your lips, and then he looks away. 

**

Namjoon comes over the next day with a basket of pastries and coffee. He knows enough that you won’t have energy to prepare anything to eat. 

You can’t imagine losing all this, but that’s what’s about to happen.

You’d been so close to giving in to him, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable to him, but doing so in flesh isn’t all there is to it. You can make love to him, bare your body to him that way but you wouldn’t be able to do it with your soul or your heart. 

What does being raw and honest mean? You don’t know. He deserves someone who knows.

“I still don’t know what I can give you,” you tell him as you both sit across from each other in the seating area in your garden. “Months later, I should know but I don’t. Even just moments, I… can’t. They make me want you more and I can’t. I don’t know exactly what I want - with myself, with my art, with you. I don’t know what to give.”

“You act like you’re the only one unsure,” he says softly. “I don’t know if what I can give you is enough. I mean, with what I do? It’s tough, and I don’t know if it would be fair. But I want you. I don’t know how the arrangements would be but I want you.”

“At least you know what you can give, even as you shine as bright as you do, you know yourself and what you can give me, what you can give us. I don’t.”

“But what if we try?”

“That’s unfair to you, Joon,” you insist. “You put your all into everything, and this - us - won’t be any different. But that just means that falling short would break you, and I can’t have that. And then there’s me who can’t give much of herself to anything - not my craft, not my friends, not myself. And you matter too much to only get the barest parts of me. I don’t want to be with you that way.”

Namjoon sighs. It’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s something he understands - all he’s ever known to do was to give his all to everything he wants to keep. If that’s not something you’re ready to do yourself, he can’t fault you for it. 

It hurts so fucking much, though. He’s learned in the course of these months of knowing you that you’re another one of those he wants to keep, that he wants more of, that he wants to learn inside and out - you’re also the first person to ever be that for him. For you to slip away like this is a kind of pain that he doesn’t know how to get over.

“Continue to be raw and honest in everything that you do, okay? Live,” you say, and he nods in reply. “Don’t stop yourself from seeing other people, from finding someone else,” you add. 

You can’t even be honest with this. You hope he’ll always want you, but you don’t let yourself be selfish with him, not this time.

“I won't” is what he answers. 

It breaks your heart all over again and you let it. You deserve it. Who walks away from someone they want, especially when they want you back? Someone afraid like you, someone who doesn’t trust herself enough like you, someone who wants permanence so bad that she lets slip away the one person who’s made her feel it.

You give a half smile and he smiles back.

Namjoon gets up from his seat. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s a month later when one of the museums you frequent launches a new installation. A tall man catches your attention. He looks at you and smiles, his hazelnut eyes gazing at you the way they used to. 

He nods in acknowledgement and so do you. 

And that’s the last time you see him in a long time. 

2022, winter

You stare at the package in your hands - white, with words of comfort. He’s finally completed it, you think. A piece of himself he’s been working the last 4 years on, and it looks just like how he described it to you all those months ago.

You don’t know if you’ll listen to it. You haven’t heard his voice in so long. You’re afraid you’ll break if you do. 

Perhaps just one time, to get it off your system. That might be enough.

You open it, unsure when you’ll unpack this obviously beautifully curated work of art. But the note at the top leaves you no room to ignore it.

Nothing’s changed for me. Let’s find ourselves. And then let’s find each other. I’ll just be here. But please, stay where you are.

Namjoon

You let one tear fall and then leave the package on the top shelf of your closet.

Your bedroom door opens.

“Are you all packed?” Minji asks. 

“Yes, I’m all good,” you smile. 

She helps you with your luggage, down the stairs and into the van waiting for you.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” she hums, holding back her tears. “How long will you be away for?”

“Until I find myself.”

“That might be a long time.”

“It will.”

**

**

**

2025, winter

Namjoon has been to several galleries in New York, but this particular one is a place he’s never been to. It overlooks Central Park, towering at the 30th floor like the other buildings in the city. But it’s 3 floors and he thinks it’s stunning. It’s not overly grand, but it’s also not as simple and natural like the others he’s been to.

He may say it’s not entirely his vibe, but there’s a reason why he’s here. 

Some patrons recognize him and greet him. He bows in response, engaging in small talk when he needs to, but stepping away to get to the exhibition he flew here to see.

It’s nothing like what he expected, although years later, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore.

The first thing is, well, it’s titled. There’s a year and a description, too.

2023, swing in the summer home

The piece is beautiful, made in clay and metal. It’s familiar, too. He’s seen this on a lake house by the mountains, over 3 years ago.

2023, the piece that lost its meaning

It’s a painting, but one placed atop a sculpted frame hanging on a wall in what seems like a living room. This scene feels familiar as well.

2024, lost youth

A group of children look up at a plane, with opened suitcases and toys on the floor. The nostalgia hits him.

The rest of the sculptures are new to him. There’s one about a lady in red, one of a neighbor, one of a woman with an umbrella and clouds, aptly titled, what am i hiding from? Further down the room, the emotions become more pointed, straightforward, and a lot more focused. 

2023, coward

2024, i truly was sorry

2025, is this what regret feels like?

2025, i hope you knew i lied

2025, maybe someday

Someone from the outside who knows nothing about the artist might think that the pieces are a little over the place, although one can tell from the titles that they tell a story. The sculptures are made from the same materials - clay and metal, all free standing and in similar sizes. Each caption holds a narration, and all Namjoon can read are words describing emotions, of states of being - innocence, anger, confusion, fear, loss, regret, loneliness, pain, hope, and few more. 

There’s not much about joy or intimacy, though, and the thought saddens him. He had hoped that by this time, you already knew how those felt.

“So, what do you think?”

Namjoon didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again. He’d cry if he could, especially as he turns to his side and finds you, dressed in a classy, aegean blue satin dress. Your smile is one he’s missed so much, and he wishes he could frame this moment, just so he doesn’t forget. He almost did, and he hated himself when he took so long to remember how you sounded like, how you looked like.

“Nothing like I imagined,” Namjoon replies. “In a good way.”

“I scrapped previous works and experimented with these ones. It took me years to complete,” you explain. “I almost stopped at one point, wondering if anybody would ever get it but then I figured, it didn’t matter. It’s a good thing that lifestyle magazine reached out for a feature. I think that was Mr. Hong pulling some strings. At least I got to say that for years, I didn’t know what I was doing, who I was, but now I do.”

“That’s how I knew about it, actually,” Namjoon hums. “It was in the art gallery because he was giving it away for free. It said your exhibition was here, so I flew in.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I thought you had a show or filming.”

“Nah,” Namjoon sighs. “I came here for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know where to find you, or how else to see you. You stopped… you stopped showing up. You just disappeared.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” 

It’s all you can say, really. You didn’t expect to see him here, but when you saw a familiar face enter through the doors, your heart stopped. You had a feeling Mr. Hong had told Namjoon about your exhibition - your first in 4 years. But nothing would have prepared you for this - seeing him again after you walked away from the one good thing you found in your life. You watched him from afar as he went through each of your pieces, perhaps savoring them, remembering them.

“Have you been well?” He asks, the concern still overpowering everything.

“I have.”

“You seem to have lost someone,” he says, nodding towards one of the pieces. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She was my neighbor when I spent 8 months in Sweden,” you share. “She took care of me but then she passed away due to an accident. It was hard for a while.”

“I–” Namjoon reaches out his hand - for comfort, perhaps - but he brings it down. “I wish I knew.”

“It’s okay. And I’m okay. It’s been a year, but I wouldn’t have finished all this without her.”

You’d forgotten how silence sounded like with Namjoon, and you want to remember what it was like. You remember a lot of things, actually, like his laughter, his voice, his smile, the feel of his lips on yours, and many others. 

“How long are you here for?” You finally ask, as you both walk side-by-side past the rest of the artworks inside, with a bit of distance between you.

“I’m here for 3 more days.”

“I stay at the hotel next to the building,” you say, being bold. “I leave here in 2 hours.”

You fumble for your room key and discreetly hand it over to him. “3802, if you want to. I have more to say, and I– uh, shit. If you’re seeing someone, forget what I said.”

“I’m not,” he answers. “I’ll be there.”

**

Namjoon watches the city from your full-wall window, wondering when you’d decide to finally speak beyond a greeting. It’s been 10 minutes since he arrived at your suite with the key you gave him, and you haven’t said anything since then.

“The buildings aren’t the same here,” you finally say. “I’ve been here for 3 months and the sounds of the cars are too loud, there’s too much smoke, people don’t smile… I don’t have anyone here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I decided to finish some of my pieces in the city. I’ve been staying at one of my parents’ apartments not far from here.”

“And where were you before that?”

“Puerto Rico, Greece, Sweden,” you answer. 

“When I said to find ourselves, I didn’t think you’d actually leave, and then not tell me about it,” he laments. “I knew it was stupid to wish you’d stay close. You weren’t in any of the places where I used to see you, where we used to go. I… I asked around but they said you haven’t visited in so long.”

“I couldn’t stay,” you try to explain. “I couldn’t because it just meant waiting for you to come even if I was the one who walked away. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to find myself in a place where I’d always be looking for you, and so I had to go. I’m so sorry, Joon. I–” 

You drop the hand that reaches out to him, unsure if your touch would still be welcome. You clench your fist to stop yourself from doing it again, but he notices. He notices and takes your hand, uncurls it so he can hold it properly.

“How was it being away?”

“It was good. Hard. Terrifying,” you share. “I experienced a lot of new, fun things. I learned a lot. Made a lot of mistakes, too. I met so many people. I–”

“Were you with anyone?” he asks, turning away briefly.

“No, I… I couldn’t bring myself to,” you answer nervously. “And you?”

“No one since you. There was a reason why I asked you to stay right there, so that I knew where to find you.”

“You still found me, 3 years later, on the other side of the world.”

“I had to know if anything’s changed for you. I had to know if you made it, if you found what you were looking for. I had to know if you were happy. But you didn’t create it. There was no piece for it.”

“I found what I was looking for,” you say, looking into his eyes, glancing at his fingers that are softly exploring yours. “I realized that I could only gain whatever permanence I was looking for if I learned to let them go. Because if they come back, they stay. I walked away from you then, and I had to lose myself to all the emotions that I was so scared to feel. And I felt a lot of them, Joon. I felt a lot of things. I was going to go back home after this. But you came to me first. You’re the one always finding me. That hasn’t changed.”

“I suppose it hasn’t,” he cracks a smile. “Did I take too long?”

“You were right on time,” you say. “I would’ve come for you in a few days though. But I’m glad you’re here so that I can tell you that I can finally have this. I can finally give you everything without being scared, without it breaking me, without it ruining the ones I love.”

“Is that what you feel for me?”

“Yes. I guess I did then. I still do now.”’ 

There’s uncertainty in your voice, perhaps due to the fear of him no longer returning what you feel. 

“I found myself, too,” he says. “I figured out what I wanted to do for myself, what more I can give, what more I desired. And I guess you’re right. That permanence can come from losing something and then having them back. And then having them stay. So many times then I regretted that I wasn’t more honest. That I was denying what I felt for you because I was scared of losing what little of a normal life I was afforded. I wished I told you much earlier, but I guess things happen when they do, right?”

“Right, but you can also say them again now.”

“That I want you close, holding my hand, tracing my skin, kissing me? That I want all that everyday?” He smiles, as he pulls you towards him and places your hand on his chest. “That I want everything from you? That I haven’t stopped thinking of you, wishing for you?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing into the kiss you’ve missed too much. 

There’s that tenderness you expected, but the desire is unlike the times before. There’s more confidence now, more security in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s as if he knows that he’ll always have this. That this time, he’s loving you in more than words, and that you’ve come back, and that you’ll stay.

Namjoon presses you against the wall, lets his lips trace down your neck and your chest. He undresses you, remarks that he’s starting to believe in a higher being who created a body like yours, and then proceeds to mouth more praises down your thighs and in between them.

He takes you slowly, amorously. He watches your face contort in pure pleasure, and you mention needing to add a piece for this, too. The way he goes in and out of you is out of this world, and you never want it to end.

You’d think it’s the intimacy you didn’t know how to feel. But it’s more than that. In fact, you find that in being with Namjoon, the intimacy is in everything - the way he holds your hand, the way he wraps his arm around you, the way he lets you bite his arm and tickle him just for fun. It’s in the way he kisses your forehead before he kisses your lips.

It’s in your bike rides together and watching the river whenever you catch a glimpse of it. It’s in your moments of calm - reading books, writing songs, sketching.

It’s in the deep, tender way that he says he loves you. 

You don’t have a piece for this yet. Perhaps it’s another series altogether. Perhaps it’ll require an installation. 

Or maybe, this is the one emotion you don’t need to put into art, the one that you’ll keep for yourself to hold onto because no clay and metal mixture, no tangible piece, could ever describe what this love and intimacy feels like. 

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[oziizborn]

My turn.

Usually, I would want to introduse myself. Name, age, hobbies and whatnot. Just like one of those friendship books from the early 90's and 00's. (This might kinda spoil my age). However, over the past few years I somewhat changed - not so much my character, what I enjoy and who I am but mostly how I treat and protect myself. I do believe that keeping personal information to myself is a good start.

A few things I will not be able to keep a secret is my never dying love for BTS since Oct '18, my love for art, sunflowers & @chikooritajjk I am really happy that my precious friend reintroduced me to tumblr. For the past few months, I have been sitting here, wondering where I could release my brain diarrhea. I asked myself "what about a diary?" but that wasn't really it. No judgement here, but to me it would feel like listening to your own voice - you know how that makes you cringe? Yeah, I didn't want that.

Tumblr on the other side feels better, mostly because its accessible for other people as well. Which doesn't mean I want 100 people to read this, but its the thought that I don't write stuff only for myself. If that makes sense. Well, probably not.

BTS

One thing I always loved reading was how Armys discovered BTS, or how some of us say, how BTS found us. I don't want to go too much into my emotional experience and how they indeed found me, but I will always be grateful. Not only because they helped me, and many others through difficult times, but also because of the friends I have made along the way. Whether it was on twitter, in front of the stadium while waiting in line, or when spotting an Army in the wild with a bt21 bag-charm. There is nothing reasonable about NOT being an army. I mean we get the whole thing. Fun, looks (not as important but you get me), friends, music that holds your hand in all possible circumstances. Tough day? listen to Magic Shop, feeling sad? Spring day. Feeling lonely? Mikrokosmos. You wanna feel badass? Blast cypher or we are bulletproof pt.2. We might have planners, scheduled appointments and routines throughout our day. But shit, nothing is guaranteed. Not our good mood, not a good day nor a perfect good nights sleep. Before BTS, these things gave me anxiety and scared the shit out of me. You know what? Sometimes they still do but things got easier. I have an escape. Something we all need. Before BTS it wasnt impossible but also not easy to lift my mood if a minor nuisance affected me. Sure, I did have other favorite songs or things I could do but did those things feel like a warm hug by your best friend? Did they feel as comfortabnle as taking your outside clothes off and wearing your sweatpants and hoodie after a long day? Did they feel like smelling your freshly lit candle that you inhale and it creates a smile on your face without you even noticing? The only thing that gave me the same amount as comfort as these things were things that involved BTS. So when some of us say "they saved me", there's a reason behind it. To some it might be a day that BTS saved, to some it might be something bigger.

With BTS and Army, I went through all kind of emotions. Sadness, happiness, diappointment, anger, fear, pride, exhaustion, excitement, joy, anticipation & most importantly love. (the negative feelings only because of western media) F*** JKLMNOPQRST

This takes me to why @chikooritajjk and I (or Armys in general) are so protective. Who would allow people you conider family/friends to be used, treated badly or negatively in any way. No one. I have no shame in calling them my family or friends. They might not know what I look like or who I am - but to them I'm Army and that's all that counts. What else would you call giving and receiving love, comfort and protection from another human? I'm not going to lie, I also had a shitton of fun pressing people's faces in their own shit they let out their moufssss.

Talk shit, get hit.

Last but not least

I dedicate this part to @chikooritajjk God knows the amount of gratitude I have to him for making me cross paths with BTS and letting you come in my life. You've been the greatest gift to me, ever. You helped me in so many ways. The most important thing that you helped me see is that I am more than just that person that is there for others.. You helped me understand that I am also me, a person with desires, dreams, a battery that can be drained and with wishes and beliefs. I can't thank you enough for that. From the day I wished you were my friend to this day, we made so many good, sad, teaching, beautiful and precious memories. We truly had it all. You know what makes me happier than talking to you? Hearing the positive things I have contributed to your life. Maybe it will make me sound selfish but I promise it's not about me, or what I did but its about the fact that YOU allow me to be there for you, to talk to you, to spend time with you and to be your friend. Man, I am going to sound super fangirl-y but what I mean is I accomplished being good enough to be your friend. Remember when you said you are obsessed with me? I think I am the obsessed one. If someone I liked, friend or not just sits in front of me and tells me "hey I like your bracelet" I will be like TAKE IT, IT'S YOURS! (unless its from @chikooritajjk.) I love sharing, I love putting a smile on people's faces. When it comes to you though, nah. You are nobody's but my best friend. I love you so much and trust me, I will knock anyone out for you, ANYTIME. Verbally and/or physically.

Joonie "I wish there was a better word than love. but i really, truly love you."

Hobi is my bias. So here.

[mageofseven]

Hello my friend! Would it be too much trouble to ask me for an Obey Me match??

Name: Mochi

Gender: female (she/her)

Sexuality: pansexual

MBTI: infp

Zodiac: Libra

Personality: Shy at first and generally quiet, but ambiverted and love to be around my chosen family. Naive and gullible but I put up a tough front and I'm very book smart. Love to have philosophical and deep conversations. I'm awkward but charming (at least I like to think so) and while I'm generally cheery and pleasant I can get a bit moody, and tend to be sensitive. Honesty and communication are very important to me. Also, very nerdy and indoorsy

I hope thats enough info!!

Okay first off: Yay!!!! Another INFP Libra 🥰

Secondly, your information is a bit on the small side, but I think I might be able to scrape something up for ya~

Okay so your MBTI: INFP (just like me 🤭)

This means your function stack is FiNeSiTe or more simply, FiNe.

Your primary function is Introverted Feeling. This means you lead your life asking questions like

"How would this make me feel?"

"Does this decision match up with the morals/values that I hold dearly?"

And overall, you are a person who does a lot of reflection, both on yourself and the state of the world.

This is supported by your auxiliary function, Extraverted iNtuition. This helps you find patterns, form connections, and overall see many possibilities. This function serves your Fi and collects information for it to process.

For your sun sign, Libra, it shows you are indecisive, friendly, and fair. You aim to be diplomatic and kind to all you meet, but at your lowest you can be codependent, impatient, and fragile.

We Libras are ruled by Venus, the planet that governs love, beauty, and money; this leads us to generally be artistic and enjoy both creating and admiring art in various forms.

We are a cardinal sign, meaning we can do great at taking initiatives, but our indecision also stops us in our own tracks. We need to learn to trust our own intuition instead of always pausing our efforts to look at other perspectives.

All of this info, including the others you listed above, bring a few things to mind.

You need a s/o who can accept you at your core. You feel deeply and think deeply and you need someone who can appreciate that about you.

You need someone who will respect you and not let anyone take advantage of your gullible nature while also not becoming frustrated with you about it.

There are a few Boys who come to mind for you with this information and with so little, I can't truly say any of them are wrong for you.

However, there is one name that has been extra persistent in my mind for you. Because of this

I pair you with...

Solomon

Honestly, I just think this man checks all of the boxes in the strongest way possible.

He'd love your deep thinking ways, something he wishes he saw in more people.

Soli would find your sensitive and gullible nature to be too tempting and would have plenty of fun in teasing you; never far enough to hurt your feelings, but always enough to bring a cute blush to your cheeks.

Most importantly, he would protect you from those who wish to use those traits to hurt you. This man has been alone for a very long time and therefore is very protective of those he loves. No one would risk taking advantage of these traits of yours that the sorcerer finds so beautiful because they'd have to deal with him if they even thought about it.

Honestly, I don't think Solomon let's other see his philosophical side a lot, but I know he has it; he has lived for thousands of years and has an insatiable curiosity for this world. To me, it would be strange if he never asked or pondered the big questions in life and I truly believe you would find such conversations with him to be fulfilling and mentally stimulating.

I'll admit, Solomon might have an issue opening up to you at first. He's lived for so long, experienced so many terrible things (some that he no longer remembers well, but still feels their affects to this day).

He's not someone who would lie to his little Minx, but I think he would dodge your questions for a while till he truly starts to feel safe with you.

Solomon is someone I can see loving you completely to your core. He has his issues, yes, but you have this magical way of breaking his walls down.

He loves you for your heart, mind, and soul and will appreciate who you are the most out of all of the Boys.

[katyspersonal]

And perhaps some headcanons on Maria & Gehrman 🥺 if you want to

Back to the cute ship headcanons scheduled program!

💔 Damn, I used to write Gehrman as that tormented, traumatised, emotional brick of a man orphaned as a child and only having found peace, healthy outlet for his obtained negative impulses and development as a very inventive individual thanks to very patient and loving adoptive parents! Who only first felt WHAT IS LOOOVE~ at the age of like, 50, and towards Maria, hahah. The core of that interpretation still stands, and I think Hunter's Dream doesn't really age people, and Gehrman was getting "older" only mentally, so the two would still have about 20 years of an age gap, yeah; Not necessarily a damning thing - various sorts of dynamics can happen, and they are not always inherently dysfunctional!

🌻 Despite Maria idealising him and being really impressed by his skills as monsters hunter / archaeologist, she would not be quite all that shy and coy, far be it. She could still object him and speak her honest mind if she deemed it appropriate - a trait he appreciated in people dearly, having (unintentionally) appeared to be 'menacing' in his younger years (not to mention the absolutely abnormal height). Her sincerity, sometimes even naive one, was one of the things that attracted him!

💔 I believe that Maria was the one to teach other Old Hunters, Gehrman included, the Art of Quickening; it seems to be a very Pthumerian thing (the elder, man), and it is implied it's her bone that Paleblood Hunter can use to do the trick! It was one of the instances of 'a student having something to teach to the teacher'. Gehrman would quickly get accustomed to treating the younger woman as an equal, which resulted in him at times venting to her about his middle-aged man grudges, harsh past and fuckin health issues. Maria was feeling awkward, but not in the bad way; not only she was glad to help out a friend that Gehrman became, but also could confirm those were not the cringiest things she heard ahahah

🌻 They could discuss engine and effectiveness of weapons, battle tactics, history of wars and weapons creations and so on for HOURS. This stuff is Gehrman's special interest that makes his eyes spark with enthusiasm and adds life in his otherwise sad and detached manner of speaking, whereas Maria was a good listener, and genuinely interested on her own as a Knight with noble motivations to protect the humanity from "monsters" looming over. Gerhman could not help but felt very moved by a person who is not only much younger, but also A GIIIIIRL o_o o: 🤯 to listen about this stuff with so much interest and comprehension. She asked very interesting questions, too.

💔 In trying to be more like him, Maria was trying to pull the "no cutesy!!!" mentality, regardless of still loving flowers, ribbons, animals (especially baby ones) and other adorable stuff. She wanted to be tough to impress him more, so that side of her would be pushed aside more and more. The plot twist? Gehrman himself is a HUGE fucking softie loving dolls, flowers, tea-parties and all that! He himself was trying to repress that side of him, to create the image of a tough badass mentor only knowing how to kill - especially for Maria. Basically, they both turned out to be total idiots upon trying to impress one another with how Tough TM they would be xD

🌻 It does not mean that they are not ALSO tough, however! Maria was the one to remove his beasthood-infected leg and carry his injured ass all by herself to seek help; and Gehrman once killed an Executioner guy that tried to have a go at Maria when she was succumbing to vampiric blood-lust and was able to talk her down into sanity all by himself. All not to mention how most of the hunts they were paired together; a common practice amongst hunters, so no beast will creep from behind (check Gascoigne + Henryk). They saved each other at least once with just the power of their loyalty and the character.

💔 I do believe there was a window in the timeline for Maria and Gehrman to have had dated, actually, before initial breakup with Maria abandoning the hunt and being greatly disappointed in Gehrman for seeing Laurence's ass and not being able to say no 'madness of his curiosity'. But, I do think they'd have a hella hard time coming together, both being very shy and uncertain about it. Gehrman would feel very self-conscious about being 'too old and broken' for the young, beautiful and energetic person like her, not willing to burden her with his old man shit; meanwhile, Maria would (falsely) assume he already has a lot of simps, among older and more experienced women (or men, for that matter) and she risked losing his respect and approval by even trying to flirt. It would be their friends like Henryk, Matias (Blood Minister from cutscene) and maybe even Ludwig and Laurence themselves that would see the Tension (TM) and try to talk to them about it or set them up together so they could break it. For some reason, in my stuff every single ship with Maria comes down to 'just fucking TALK already AAAAAAAA' fsdhfhds

🌻 TMI but Gehrman would be not the best lover, actually...? (subjective hmmm) His style is to go too slowly, give too many kisses, feel too strongly too intensely, fondle every bit of the person's body... and then fuckin' fall asleep on them from the sheer feelings of warmth and tenderness overwhelming him fdjhfhsdf If something was to ever happen between the two, Maria would have to take the lead, as someone who sure has a tender side, but is not THAT much of a slave to it, hahah. But they probably never had a 'something', some couples just vibe and are happy like that, you know?

💔 Their first kiss was probably on a bet by playing with friends, though. Again - they were very shy and hesitant, fully sure that the other did not feel the same, whereas having cringe gremlins for friends that wanted to help them to come to terms with their attraction hahah. (you dipshits smh)

🌻 In plenty of ways, actually, my version of Gehrmaria is just hetero ship version of Valtr x Yamamura. A battle-hardened ruthless killer mentor figure and a young, passionate warrior with fair share of naivety but also a great potential. Gehrman was as inspiring for Maria with his stoicism as Valtr was inspiring to Yamamura with his rage and passion.

💔 "Okay, no, for reals, enough with the 'Gerhman ruined Maria's masculinity with the Doll' takes. Where are the 'Gehrman's FEMININITY was not allowed to show off so he projected hard' takes?" (c) quotes of great Russian girls. For real though, imagine Maria helping Gehrman to pick a dress and being THE source of approval x) It is all light-hearted, of course, as you know I jiggle like 5 version of why Doll is Like That and all of them are nice to Gehrman's character, but I think this dynamic would be the cutest!

🌻 Actually, most of the times I see this ship as best friends that simply hug and kiss ... more often than 'friends' would do that, let's say so. When they would not hunt, or perhaps in a "happy"/modern AU - they would go on adventures and explore, especially abandoned and historical places. Just experiencing the world together and being fucking NERDS. Absolute fucking NERDS about most of the things. When they do not share the interest - it is always one being a great listener!

💔 It might feel a little sad, but I imagined them preferring to adopt a child (if they'd ever get to that stage of relationship) rather than having one of their own. Maria would fear to pass the 'evil', 'bloody' genetics, and Gehrman would respect the concern - whereas having his own motivation to give care and love to "discarded" child that he once was. They would be a really good couple of adoptive parents, really. Not something that was meant to happen in canon, of course. Hahaha! Imagine an AU where they absolutely destroy the Choir and instead take all the orphans as their adopted kids! Now, if they only still had balls after Laurence's influence, huh?

stares at Laurence like in this meme:

_______________________

Thank you for the ask! I know this was more the 'dynamic' rather than the ship itself, but I tried! For me it is just one of those ships in which types of love kinda blur, so it is hard to say what type of companions they'd be determined as. I do still think they used to be very close, regardless of what kind of a bond it was!

[allthingsfook]

I'm gonna keep this anonymous cause personal but not really hehe!

I am a 21-year-old woman who's 5'5 and with light brown hair, fair skin, and Brown/green eyes (they change color in different lighting). I have a little mole (beauty mark) on the left side of my face, kind of full lips, and where little to no makeup daily. I'd say my body type is mid-size (192 lbs and I can fit into M/L/XL so it's hard to tell) and I'm not too curvy.

I'm an Aquarius Sun, Virgo rising, Capricorn moon, and Venus in Aquarius. My hobbies are painting, drawing, and any kind of visual art. I love rock music, both old and new, and will sometimes listen to folk music. I'm entering my fourth year of college as an Arts Management Major and Comm minor (still got a way to go till I graduate cause shit's expensive) and ideally would love to be a part-time artist and work in PR or Journalism.

I come off as shy and particular with a little stubbornness, but as you get to know me I open up and will laugh with you and share things I'm passionate about whether it's big or small. I will always try to hide my emotions around you and if we are really close you'll be able to get me to talk about it cause you know how I try to mask it all.

Extra facts: I love cats, I love pasta so much it's what I eat the most, I am a caffeine addict, and I have never dated anyone.

Who would you ship me with?

Sorry if this was long 😬

Hiiii!!! I am so incredibly sorry this has taken me this long to get through my inbox, BUT good new is…. You are last, but MOST DEFINITELY not least!!! I won’t make this drag out any longer, so lets jump into it!!

I ship you with….

Daniel Robert Wagner

Let’s start with the zodiac compatibility… Both Capricorn’s and Aquarius’ are intentional with their love lives. You are cautious, yet open-minded. You take time to build a trusting relationship, and slowly approach each other’s vulnerabilities and insecurities together. Danny would be the best partner to help you through that. He is incredible patient and kind. He would wait as long as you need him to for you; just to feel safe with him. He’d assure you along the way, not only with his words, but with his actions. Once all the walls are broken down, you’d share a stable and positive life.  

With the foundation of your relationship being extremely strong, it’s easy to see how the rest of it can fall into place. Your hobbies are things I could easily see Danny eager to do with you. Clearly Danny is a very talented man, not just with drumsticks in hand… maybe a paint brush or marker. He’d jump at the chance to hunker down into a cozy corner of the house with you, skim through pages of an activity book and color you a purple monkey. He’d hold it up to you like a proud 1st grader and sport a cheesy smile. You’d giggle and tell him you love it! I could see you discovering an old rock song one day. Playing it in the shower, the car, and around the house. Danny would recognize the tune and quickly learn how to play it on the guitar. One night while he is playing around, he’d start casually playing that song. You’d slowly catch on and begin dancing around, singing the lyrics with him. Those are the moments he would live for with you. So innocent and playful. Just what he needs after years of rigorous touring and creating.

Danny, per usual, would be extremely supportive when it came to your education. He’d understand the need to take things slow or even taking time away from it. For someone who didn’t have to go to college, he’d seem to know a lot about the woes of it. Or maybe he is just that insightful to your feelings. He’d be your biggest cheerleader on the days you get stellar grades. Then he’d be your shoulder to cry on when things get tough. No matter the circumstance, he’s always going to stand beside you. When you do complete your academics, he’ll be blushing over you. Showering you with reminders of how far you’ve come and how smart you are. When you are ready to step foot into a career, Danny would be hyping you up on social media, and getting your name out with his contacts. We love a supportive man!!!

I suppose it is the Aquarius in you that identifies with being shy and stubborn. Definitely a few things Danny would be able to handle. Compared to the other boys, Danny is certainly a little more reserved. That may be the very thing that unites the two of you when you first meet. He’d notice you behind your drink and subtle smirks over the obnoxious gal in the room. Once the two of you have been together for a while, he’ll get a taste of that stubbornness. Again, Danny is so understanding and not very quick to temper. He’ll have his ways of taming you. Not in a dismissive or demeaning way either. He’d be kind and understanding. Giving you reason and words of affirmation. Once you come back down to earth, your passionate, loving, beaming soul will shine again. The very reasons Danny would love you!

To address your tid bits:

Danny would adopt any cats you may have now, and if you don’t have any (or want more) I could see him coming home with a tiny kitten in the palm of his hand with a bell on it’s collar. He’d insist on naming it something like Ludwig or Ramone.

Danny would also love a good bowl of pasta. As I am sure you know, he is a great cook and the minute you beg for a pasta dish, he’ll be in the kitchen boiling it up.

Danny would share and feed into your caffeine addiction. If that is in the form of coffee, he’d always be making early morning coffee runs. Greeting you with a cup in hand.

And finally, Danny would be so accepting and understanding of you not being in a relationship. He’d agree to take things slow and guide you through everything. His want for you to feel comfortable and safe is so profound. You will quickly understand how deeply he would care for you!

Alright!!! I so hope you are happy with this ship! As always, let me know what you think! I always love to hear back!!!!

[bryhaven]

I've been tagged in a good number of New Year messages, and I sincerely appreciate them. So I thought of also giving back and continuing the good cheer and positivity especially at the start of the year 💖

There were several times when I felt inadequate, felt like I wasn't contributing enough, or I wasn't connecting enough to the people in the fandom. But being tagged in sweet simple messages means a lot and shows that my efforts and presence in the respective fandoms I'm in are indeed seen and appreciated 🥰

Special shoutouts: (tagged people, you can skip to reading only your part of the message if you like ahah 😅😅)

@levi4mikasa - Your username is the core of our corner of the fandom ahaha. Thanks for your support of my work! (Is there a sort of nickname I can call you or refer to you as? Ahaha) Like the Alchemy of Shadows RM art I made, if you have any ideas or photo references that you want to be turned into RivaMika, you can send them to me and I'll try my best to create them whenever I do some art~

@nuri148 - Nuri! I appreciate that you are usually the one who gets the deeper meanings I incorporate into my stories. I'm also grateful that your story and muse have also given me some ideas and inspiration that I can use or incorporate into my own future works~

@warbarbie - Barbie! I feel like you're my biggest fan because as far as I noticed, you are the one who reblogs my posts the most. And I can't thank you enough for your support. I know you're busy and all, but hopefully we can get to interact more as well~

@chaosisbeauty23 - Chaos! I'm truly grateful that your works inspired me to make my own fics as well. I'm still struggling when it comes to writing, but hopefully like you, I will also be able to find my path to it in time. You are one of the RM writers I look up to, and I know you already said it, but I hope you won't mind if I pop into your inbox sometimes if I need some advice or so~

@your-lavender-dreams - Lavender! Your AU fic, A Valuable Asset, is my favorite and the highlight of my reading this year! Since it is the AU that I've been dying to read and have for our OTP RivaMika! I'm truly grateful that your fic exists and I can't wait for it to be updated! I can't even begin to explain the toughness of the situation you're facing right now there in your country, but your safety and well-being are always the priority. Stay strong and keep safe~

@kenza-nm - Kenza! I've said this already but I will say it again. Thank you so much for encouraging me to get into Tumblr. I know you aren't as active anymore in the SnK or RM fandom. But I am truly grateful that you remained when I finally joined in and continued to show me support. Good luck as always to your endeavors this year~

@cakesensei - Cake! (Hope you don't mind but the handle is actually cute) I see you as my bestie in the FSKG fandom, and I'm grateful to have you as one of the people who I can share my JJK and FSKG brain rot with! Your works are brilliant! And I also can't thank you enough for supporting me always~

@onigiri-dorkk - Last and most definitely not least, Onigiri-bestie! I am eternally grateful to you for being the first person both here and on Twitter who welcomed, encouraged, and supported me! Your works have inspired me more than you'll know, and whenever my anxiety kicks in, your comments and messages on them keep me going. It is also thanks to you that I've met and got to interact with these wonderful people in our corner of the fandom. Without your encouragement, there probably wouldn't be a Haven sticking around here now ahaha. Keep shining like you do~

Special mentions to @lady-purpleblue and @bebellabutterfly for always supporting and encouraging the RM fandom and its creativity!

Again thank you all so much! And also to the rest of the fandoms! I hope we can all continue to support each other 🥰💖

Happy New Year and may we all have a fruitful and prosperous 2023! Cheers! 🥂

[hellishjoel]

hi kylee!

i’m back with another “gentle reminders” ask. it goes in line with one of my personal goals this year of trying to work on my kindness and how i show that kindness to others.

the beginning of a new year is always a bit tough for many people, for many reasons but at the scale of the fandom, i have noticed some negativity starting to spread. maybe it’s bound to happen on any social media but i always considered tumblr to be different, to be over the kind of discourse you could find on other apps. this place has been a true haven for many of us and i would like to keep it that way, so i thought, as a way to counterbalance this negativity, i could compensate with a nice message for one of the driving forces in the fandom: our dear writers.

i would like to begin by saying thank you.  thank you for dedicating your time, your energy, your love and sharing pieces of yourself with us. the fandom wouldn’t be what it is without you: just like a body needs a brain or a heart to function properly, fandoms need writers like they need others contributing. thank you for offering diversity, engaging with different tropes and characters to reach as many readers as possible. i will admit, some things proposed are not my cup of tea but i know they can be enjoyed by others, the same way some of my favorite fics wouldn’t necessarily attract others. so thank you for giving a chance to everyone to find what they enjoy, to discover, to learn, to cry, to laugh, to love and to be able to do so in an open, safe space. thank you for interacting with us as well. thank you for responding to our questions, sharing snippets when we get impatient, teasing us with your new ideas and making life a little more fun and exciting every day. and of course, thank you for doing all of this for free. for expecting so little in return when you give us so much.

now a few things i want you to remember: 

although we’re all thankful for having access to your art, your first fan should be yourself. write what you enjoy, write that self-indulgent fic, write your favorite trope, an improbable duo or crossover because you’ve always wanted to. do it for yourself. in the same way, have fun with it. writing is a hobby, it’s not your job, it’s not supposed to be a chore. so do what makes you happy. don’t worry about updating fics, about being slow, about posting too much or too little. some things might take time, some might need an hour to be posted but in the end, they all matter just the same. they’re worth being read and cherished and we will appreciate them. whether you have thousands of notes or barely a few hundreds, you have your place here. you’re still an amazing writer, you’re still an artist regardless of the stats. 

whether i've had time to binge-read your stories or just discovered you. thank you. i love you. i’m grateful for you. i see and appreciate your work. your efforts. you.  i’m sorry if you’ve ever been received with negativity but i hope this can make up for some of it.  you deserve nothing but kindness and appreciation and i hope you know how much you matter here.

sending you all my love,

anna 💗

hi anna,

reading this felt like a really sweet letter and your message touches my heart. this is a good reminder that people like you make being part of this fandom so incredibly special and I appreciate you taking the time to write something so incredibly personal and filled with gratitude to spread positivity, it means the world not to just me, but all of us writers.

knowing that our hobby brings so many people joy and creates a safe space for readers is the most rewarding thing, it's what we all want to achieve.

sending you back all my love and gratitude, anna, thank you for taking the time to write this and send to your favorite writers, I'm genuinely so grateful!

all my love,

kylee

[poedameronwifey]

A true home( The hobbit Fanfic)

Hey you guys, gals and non-binary pals.

I have decided to post my story on here. It is still on Wattpad but I thought perhaps I should also post it on here. Please don't be afraid to comment and like. I would love hearing your opinions. Please also understand that I'm very new to this. I hope you'll like my book. Also its a group thing really. My friends' also contribute to this so they also deserve the credit.

My friend Chiara is the artist but unfortunately due to family events she will be unable to work on the drawings as she is still going through a very tough time so I hope you will be patient and wait until she is more comfortable to do it again.

Thank you for understanding and I hope that hopefully soon in the next year you might be able to see the art she created. Anyway many thanks for those who read this story. I really appreciate it and so do my friends.

Also Please don't be afraid to message about anything. I promise I'm a very friendly person...Most times. Anyway see ya soon. Bye.

[ladadee195]

Allright!

♥️💻💫💪✨

Haha ya know I didn't expect to actually get an ask! thanks dear! ❤️- do you have a fav fanfic? (From any fandom?) That's such a tough one cause I mean I've been reading fanfics for 20 years. So a lot of my favs are long gone by now. And I have a lot bookmarked too. I think it would be cliché of me to ask that I still love the Boosh fic A Life Less Ordinary. Its just the epitome of a Boosh fic imo. There's a really good POTC out there somewhere, possibly still on FF.net that me and my oldest friend still talk about to this day. 💻- how often do you write? oh jeeze, technically I write almost every day but its not always fanfics, mostly its role play sessions. I wish I wrote fanfics every day, but its become a rare thing for me. Lots of starts and stops. So not as often as I'd like. 💫- do you have a fav au, personal or something else?

OKAY! but AUs!? idk if you know this or if anyone knows this but I LOOOOVE AUs! I good well thought AU is so delicious! I love all the normal ones. Coffeeshop, Tattoo VS. Flowers Shop. Or any those variations are amazing to me. Specially if you have to specify that its a "modern" or "human" AU since a lot of my favs tend to be from period pieces or aren't human in general. Like taking a character and placing them so perfectly in another role that fits them just as well with hobbies or backstories that parallel the original canon? GIMMIE IT! 💪- whats ur favorite personal work?

HMMM I don't have many but until I write something that tops it, imo my favorite an best work is Electro Swing Circus. I wrote it at good place in my life, during the holidays. While I was working for a retail store. An it was the last fic I wrote under those conditions. Which are odd conditions but that's how I started and I haven't been able to reach that level of pride in my work since. ✨- self love! rec one of ur own works! Art or fic! HAHA you might expect me to link the work above but I wont lol I'm gonna rec something that isn't only mine but also @thatpointywitch's as well because I think everyone should be amazed by our skills at creating a ship from nothing: Friday I'm in Love

[stardustjessie]

JESSIE'S 2024 ROADMAP

So, I just wanted to ramble about the projects I have planned out for 2024. I've been very ambitious about some due to being able to afford to invest in them. Of course, art will forever be my #1 ambition and will continue to improve my craft. I'm always finding new ways to improve and exploring new ideas. However; I do have various non-digital art related! And I want to tell you all on my own personal blog about them and what you can look forward from me in the future!

MUSIC PROJECTS

I've actually been taking my time to figure out how FL Studios work, and how to work with it with Audacity. I've been attempting at voice training, so once I'm satisfied with my voice, I'd really love to do lyrics. I'm planning on working out something special for the first quarter of 2024. An EP called "Hear my Voice! (Existence)". I want it to be focused on the progress of HRT and Voice Training and just the idea of artistic freedom and the great feeling it is to be able to create things the way I want after being so long unable to. I don't know, 3 songs sound good for an EP. I want to be crafty and creative with them. I'd love for it to be Lo-Fi Pop Punk. As in, actual Lo-Fi, not the Synthwave kind of Lo-Fi. I want it to be the classic lower quality and lower frequency sounding music. I have a grudging respect for Lo-Fi and what it can represent, so I want to have my own take on it. The other project would be a proper album for once I get the hang of it all. I plan to call it "Celestial Wishes". I so far only have the plans for it to be Pop Punk and be very angelic sounding. I want it to be like heaven answering my wishes to finally do music. Obviously I won't sing about that-! I want it to carry the story of Ponies living life and miracles happening in various ways. How many songs ? God knows! It's only an idea thus far, and will take shape later. Right now I want to focus on making a couple of singles, maybe having one done in December still even. That and focusing on the overall theming and style I want for "Hear my Voice! (Existence)". I'll post all of these on a new Youtube Channel I've created, StardustJessie Music! Subscribe for when I start posting some!

YOUTUBE VIDEOS

I don't know how aware you are, but I do have a Youtube Channel. I primarily post Video Game Analysis Essays. I'm extremely proud of the ones I made this year, those being Deus Ex 2 and Amnesia: The Dark Descent. Well, I have two more videos planned out! The first, POKEMON SUN & MOON ARE GREAT AND HERE'S WHY; Which I'm very ambitious and passionate about this idea. Everyone was very quick to defend Sword & Shield, Sun & Moon didn't get that same treatment. I want to be one to defend Sun & Moon, which I have a lot of argument for, and have a lot to say about its history and the state of pokemon in that age. I actually really hated S&M when I first played it and deeply regretted buying Ultra Sun (Which I still do.), so it's almost like a redemption arc for me! I'll have to gather up a shitload of footage though. Pokemon Red, Silver, Sapphire, Ruby, Diamond, Black, X, Alpha Sapphire, Red Team Rescue, Explorers of Sky, Gates to Infinity, Super Mystery Dungeon, Sword, Violet, Rescue Team DX, Sun, Ultra Sun, and more! These are just the pokemon games I'll have to record! Not to count other games I bring up as a precedent and examples like Persona 4 which is some 60 hours of gameplay! So yeah. It's a lengthy project. Thankfully I'm purchasing a 4TB HDD this week so I should be able to gather that much footage without a worry. I imagine I'll only have this done in a year or even 2025! It's a tough project. However; I want to also work on another video! MORROWIND WALKED SO SKYRIM COULD RUN (AWAY WITH MY MONEY); I really despite Skyrim for a lot of reasons. But I really love Morrowind. A lot of the things I see people praise Skyrim are things I genuinely believe they'd have a better time and enjoyment of those aspects if they played Skyrim. I believe I can actually get this video done in 2024 as these games are waaaaaaaaaaaay shorter than all the shit I have to play for a Pokemon project! But even then, Skyrim would be some 30 hours and Morrowind some 15, not to mention any other games I talk about. It's a great topic to analyse and I'll be very ambitious. I should get to write it sometime and have a W.I.P project in mid 2024 so it'll be my annual essay.

BOOK PROJECTS

I'm very interested in writing my own book honestly. Ever since I read Dracula I've considered writing a story that touches on similar themes and ideas and can evolve them further through the lens of 2024. I'm slowly taking shots at it. Sometimes I write a sentence or two. As any Tumblr Writer knows, it's very tough. Be on the look out! Once I have anything concrete I'll definitely post!

I believe this would be it! I don't have many individual projects, but they are ambitious and time consuming projects that I want to have done next year or have something substantial to show in 2024! There are more projects, like my Game Project which I'm very passionate about and have 74 pages of documentation of and still working on it! Since it's on very early planning stage I rather not talk too much. But maybe 2025 roadmap ? Thank you for reading this if you have at all! I just want somewhere to put all my ideas. Who knows. It'll be interesting in 2034 to look back to 22 year old me being so ambitious, while 32 year old me has those ambitions fully realised and onto new projects. This is almost like an archival of my personal artistic ambition and my passion for the crafts of Writing, Visual Arts and Music.

[theatrum-tenebrarum]

An update, academic burnout and how I want to use social media

Hi everyone, long time no see. As some of you already know, I've been going through a lot of personal things, transformative things, weird things. I am currently in the long process of getting my degrees, which has been challenging to say the least. The whole process has now prolonged even more, as my life has had taken a completely different turn the last couple of months. I went through some very tough life events that were full of heavy emotions, but they were also deeply transformative. They marked a culmination of something that had been unraveling in me for a long time, something that began sometime when I was around my 3rd year of University.

That is the time when I reached peak academic burnout. Up until my 3d year of uni, I had been bathing in inspiration each day, as I got to learn about art and human culture and all the things that make me understand existence better and love life better. I was studying hard, my grades were amazing, but physically I was not doing good at all. Very soon my mental health started to decline as well and nothing was the same. My 3rd year of University was the time where I came around and realized that I was pushing myself way above my limits, so naturally my body and mind said no more. I love art, history and folklore with all my heart and I am so grateful for being able to study those topics at such a good University and for having such great experts teach me so many invaluable things. However, studying there was very hard, often unreasonably so, and many things have happened to me there, things that were very unfair, and that is to say the least. I realized I had been pushing myself in order to attain certain ideals and to fulfill certain expectations, which definitely weren't mine. That's the perfect formula to get to burnout, which is exactly what happened to me.

Staying up late in order to memorise each and every term perfectly, having 3 hours of sleep, having health issues in the morning, acing the exam then feeling numb. Rewriting sentences indefinitely just to get them "perfectly right", to create "the best essay/seminar ever" and to create something that's gonna be..different. Rinse and repeat.

This way of functioning translated over to other parts of my life as well, even into my lovely project/blog 'Theatrum Tenebrarum', which is supposed to be a safe space for myself and others. I envisioned Theatrum Tenebrarum as a place for me to share what I have learned, in the most simple and interesting way, to inspire others to look for deeper meaning behind the things we love in popular media, and frankly to just have a space for me to express myself. Without being aware of it, righr away I started to become very meticulous about my words, my sentences, my topics I'd like to write about. This habit of wanting to create "perfect" texts/"perfect" content had engulfed me, and I stopped posting altogether, because that is too much for me, and I don't want the safe online space I created to be another "University course" to me.

So from now on, 'Theatrum Tenebrarum' is going be what it is supposed to be, and that is a safe space for learning, for creativity. A space that celebrates the mystical, as well as the mundane, as they are intertwined. I will still be writing texts about the cool things that inspire me, but they won't be the only thing I post. Since my other passion is video making, I decided to open a YouTube channel where I plan on posting vlog-style videos and sharing the things I learn about. I'd also like to focus a bit more on slow, magical living, mindfulness and journaling, as those were of great help when I was figuring out how to heal from burnout. I'd also like to film about how I commonplace information about the things I learn about, while talking about folklore, art, mysteries, and all of those topics. If that is something you think you'd find interesting, be sure to subscribe to my channel :) (I'm putting the link below). This is my way of stepping into authenticity and sharing the things I want to be sharing, and how I want to be sharing them. Thank you for reading, if you've come this far, and thank you for being here.

My YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/@theatrum_tenebrarum?si=zOv74vojhPbs9dxt

Here are some winter vibes from my hometown, house, local magical fairy hill, and a photo of my visit to one of the most magnificent gothic cathedrals in the world, the Chartres cathedral, that I visited in early spring.

-Heidi (@theatrum-tenebrarum) 🖤

[dragonnan]

Fanfic Year in Review - 2022

This year was a tough one for writing. Art is much easier - thus the heaps of fanart I was able to create. Writing, though, demands so much more mental energy and with everything going on in my personal life, I often had too little in the tank to use in stories - not that the DESIRE to do so wasn't high!

So, all that aside, here is what I accomplished.

Completed Fanfic:

The Holiday is Over Rated T (Sherlock) 1,231 words The moment the heavy door was wrenched open a bucket of ice water was thrown inside – drenching him and pulling a gasp from his chest. He tried to scramble away but Miroslav simply grabbed him by the hair and his upper arm and dragged him from the cell. Once outside, in the narrow hallway, two other soldiers clamped the shackles on his wrists and he was mostly dragged onward towards the room that stank of his blood.

The Home Visit Rated G (Doctor Strange) 6,450 words His exhale carried visibly through the air – the chill setting off a shiver and making him miss his robes – the cloak in particular. This wasn't the sort of adventure where a cloak was needed, however, beyond warmth of course. In fact the only arcane item he'd brought with was his sling ring. He could be anywhere in the world in seconds, if needed. So why was he walking? Certainly Wong had been the small voice in his head asking the question for the last five minutes. But, truthfully, he needed this time. He wasn't certain what sort of welcome he'd find, at the end of his walk, and if he took enough time, there was always a chance he'd be summoned back to the Sanctum well before he arrived.

He wasn't sure if that wouldn't be better, overall...

Updated WIPs:

Sed Diabolus Rated T (Avengers) 38,282 words so far The great epic has begun. They say history is recorded by the victors. Well history, then, has yet to be written. Heroes have fallen and the world is a ruin of chaos and self-destruction. The time of the apocalypse has come. Who, then, will stand and face the Devil?

Thanos left an indelible mark. What was undone was far from erased and the world is the poorer for the losses he brought to bear. But he is not the only being of power looking to claim Earth as its throne. The enemy from the heavens was defeated. But it is the enemy from the darkest and deepest places who may prove to be the final death knell for the universe.

And yet... hope comes...

Like the ringing strike of a hammer against iron...

WIPs with In-Progress Chapters (chapters not yet completed):

The Fire in Which We Burn - Chapter 3 1,119 words so far Excerpt:

Anthea squeezed her arm before retrieving her phone and giving Ali another pat.

After she was out the door, Molly turned back toward the tea kettle and poured a cup for Sherlock as well as an additional one for herself. She tucked the bag, with its remaining pastries, under one arm and made her careful way to the couch. Sherlock stood and met her halfway – taking both cups until she could settle on the cushion.

Once sat, however, she had no idea what to do next. Though she had anticipated Sherlock being the first to speak there was only silence on his side of the couch. Molly, rather, watched the ripples settle in her cup. She didn't actually want the tea – having taken it out of habit more than anything else. She still held the bag of pastries so she set that on the coffee table. Well that was done. And now to ponder the next inconsequential move. Perhaps tapping a finger on the rim of her cup.

It was beginning to look as though she'd have to make the first move – and didn't that just define every aspect of their nonexistent relationship. She breathed in and turned to the side.

Sherlock was staring at his feet – his own cup just as ignored in his hands as her own. His trembling hands. Small spatters of tea had pebbled on his fingers but he'd made no move to wipe them away. Quickly Molly set aside her cup before, carefully, reaching to extract the mug from Sherlock's hold.

Once his hands were empty Molly paused for only a moment; then slid her hand over the arch of his fingers and taking hold of one shaking hand.

Sherlock's breath stuttered but he made no other move – no other sound.

So Molly held his hand, and Ali dozed between them, and time counted down – tick by tick.

Fic Ideas Developed (Unposted):

Faun Sherlock Story 2: 2,084 words so far Excerpt:

Time blurred into table settings, moving heaps of food from one resting spot to another to still another; and throughout it all Sherlock had yet to find a moment to steal away and change form – a move that would necessitate stripping out of his human clothes. And though younglings did not typically wear clothing in faun form until their sixteenth year, Sherlock still didn't want to strip down in the middle of the dining hall.

Finally, though, he was able to escape under the, actually true, excuse of needing the toilet.

Choosing the loo near the servant's quarters, and thus the least likely to be in regular use, Sherlock took care of business before stripping down and carefully folding his clothing (he didn't want to face Mummy's wrath if he wrinkled his suit).

Tail flicking in happiness, he bundled his clothing and darted back out into the hallway. A large wardrobe, near the front entrance, served for stowing his clothes and shoes. Around him, various relations chatted and sampled the nibbles set out on a long board in the dining hall. Sherlock snatched a handful of acorn biscuits before making for the double doors leading back outside. Much as he wanted to indulge in some justified scowling at the required punishment, he couldn't manage to erase the spark of glee at finally being able to set his hooves in the soft green lawn.

Munching the sweet treat, he skirted the edge of the green whilst keeping a wary eye out for Mummy. Which, of course, meant that he was startled enough to drop his last biscuit when a firm hand clamped on his shoulder.

“Mycroft! Let go!”

“And who said you could shift form?”

Squirming until he could wrench free, Sherlock fought against baring his teeth. He really would catch it were he to show such uncouth aggression – and towards a family member, no less.

“Shut up! Mummy told me it was okay!” She hadn't, as such, but she also hadn't unequivocally required he remain in human form; which may well have been a ringing endorsement.

Mycroft, however, had already turned his attention to the other guests while Sherlock retrieved his dropped biscuit – frowning a moment before dusting off the bit of dirt and stuffing it in his mouth. He noted, and ignored, the disapproving glance from his brother.

On the far side of the lawn, more guests were emerging from the house – primarily elders but a handful of younglings darted out to play.

“Ah, some friends for you to play with.”

Sherlock curled a lip – all too aware that Mycroft was anything but sincere.

“I'd rather lick a lead pipe.”

AU John and Mary Divorce (rather than her dying): Excerpt:

John had his arms crossed - hands cupping his elbows with his feet spaced apart. Even he could recognize the defensiveness in his posture. Across from him, Mary was pulling the strap of the changing bag over her shoulder. Still in her cot, Rosie was playing with her plush bee - waving it above her head and chortling in her own language. John rubbed at the tip of his nose.

“Tell me I’m not going to wake up tomorrow to find that you’ve disappeared with my daughter to who knows where.”

Mary stopped her activity and looked up - eyebrows lifted and a near smile on her face before taking in John’s expression. Then she tipped her head in that way that sent a tiny dig of loss through John’s heart all over again.

“I would never do that to you. And I would never do that to our daughter.” She approached until she could place both of her hands on John’s biceps. “Besides do you truly believe there’s anywhere I could go where Sherlock Holmes couldn’t find me.”

John blinked as he lifted his face - looking beyond her shoulder at Rosie playing blissfully with her toys. Finally he dropped his gaze back down - eyes unblinking on Mary’s face.

“If you took my child away from me, Mary, there would be nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t find you.”

Tony Stark VS Wilson Fisk: Excerpt:

Across from him, Fisk continued speaking. “I have found that I have an over-abundance of pressure on me as I attempt to rebuild what was lost during my incarceration. Aside from the judgement of the good people of this city I also have faced an ongoing assault from a number of vigilantes. This city, for all of its potential, has the unfortunate side effect of breeding these... vermin... faster than the rats that inhabit the sewers. As it is they are beneath the notice of those who claim to protect the people of this city.” His hands stilled – lying one on top of the other as Tony silently turned to the next page. “Too busy protecting the rest of the world, perhaps.”

Tony made himself turn to the next page; his eyes blinking rapidly.

“Of course it isn't in my nature to harm innocents. I find it distasteful to involve women and children in such matters. And, yet, I find that it is, in fact, a child at the center of my current dilemma. Of greater irony is that this child has both power and connections that would, under normal circumstances, place him outside the reach of those who would wish him harm.”

The forth page was a photo – clipped from a newspaper and a duplicate to the framed image that sat on the worktable in Tony's lab. In the grainy image he stood, one arm slung around a young man's shoulders, as the kid received his certification for completing the “Stark Internship”. Tony licked his tongue across his teeth before closing the file once more.

Fisk let out a soft hum. “As it is, prison has a way of creating strange bedfellows. I met someone – a man you may know. Adrian Toomes. After some persuasion he had something very interesting to share with me. Something that, I can only imagine, you would wish to keep out of the hands of certain individuals.”

Tony wanted to clench his hands – his fingertips twitching before he pushed them flat against the wood beneath them. “Just to clarify you're threatening my intern?”

Fisk leaned forward; hands folding tight before him on the table. “I was hoping we wouldn't have to play any games but given your refusal to read the rest of the documents Mr. Wesley provided, I will summarize them for you.” Here he stood; walking to the open doors facing the patio. “I know who Peter Parker is. I know about his aunt. I know the names of his friends, where he goes to school, and where he buys his favorite sandwich every afternoon.” He rested his hands on the railing; squinting in the sunlight. “If he continues to disrupt my affairs in Hell's Kitchen, the consequences could be... unpleasant.” He glanced back at Tony; his face serene. “You realize I'm asking for very little. Keep your new pet leashed and allow me to conduct my business in peace. The child will never have to know my name. Other than what he may learn from news reports; of course.” Tugging his cuffs, Fisk turned to more fully face into the room. “I never wanted to involve you. This is the sort of attention I have spent a fortune to avoid. As it is I find myself in a position where reticence could cost me even more.”

Pushing to his feet, Tony could no longer stop his hands from fisting at his sides – though he managed to control the tremor as he joined Fisk. Side by side, the other man practically loomed over him.

“So you aren't just threatening a kid – you're threatening everyone he cares about. Little bit budget TV villain but you do you I guess.” Pulling off his tinted glasses, he stared up at the other man. “The thing is this little weekly drama you're playing?” he waggled his fingers back and forth, “way above your pay grade. Maybe stick to collecting on gambling debts and playing whack-a-mole with the other lowlifes in your contacts list.”

The smallest of smiles twitched at the corner of Fisk's lips. “I know you're someone who prefers visual aids,” his voice became guttural – losing the soft quality, “perhaps a demonstration would help to convince you.”

A glance to the side, the barest nod to Wesley, and the other man typed into his phone.

There was a moment – silence this far above the city.

And then an apartment complex, three blocks away, exploded into flame.

See my fanart year in review here