#which is a pity as I didn't know this was such a passion project for him (I didn't realize how involved he was until the credits...

[homiro]

#all weebs should be legally required to read about japanese imperialism both inside and outside the country that is now labeled as “japan”

Couldn't have put it better if I tried, prev.

The Ainu have not intentionally forgotten their culture and their language. It is the modern Japanese state that, from the Meiji era on, usurped our land, destroyed our culture, and deprived us of our language under the euphemism of assimilation. In the space of a mere 100 years, they nearly decimated the Ainu culture and language that had taken tens of thousands of years to come into being on this earth. ~Kayano Shigeru (1926-2006) Our Land Was a Forest: An Ainu Memoir

[televinita]

Monkey Man was...not good.

[who-is-page]

I've seen (typically older) therians talking about how they feel that their subculture as animal-people and nonhumans is slowly disappearing. This is a point that, in all honesty, I'm inclined to agree with-- although I think I'd perhaps frame it less as "disappearing" and more as just "changing."

Because let's be honest with ourselves here: is the subculture actually vanishing, or is it just evolving into radical new dimensions as excited newbies join and find different focal points for their nonhumanity? As they express themselves in whole new dimensions and ways, as they explore a digital landscape that didn't exist ten, twenty years ago? As the older members lose touch with the newer members, and no one bridges that gap between the two?

I think I'm also extra frustrated because when I see these discussions go down, a lot of the time they're either 1) self-pitying, or 2) finger-pointing.

It's not bad or wrong to look around and realize that the community you found comfort in has changed in ways you could have never predicted and which leave you feeling off-kilter. But approaching these changes with a complete lack of curiosity, with an absolute woe-is-me sort of perspective, where you drag your feet and glare bitter daggers at everyone else, isn't the way to do anything.

And going around trying to pin blame on whoever happens to be at hand is an even worse way to approach it. "It's the furry fandom's faults!" "It's the alterhumans' faults!" "It's the humans' faults!" Who does this approach realistically help? What does this do, beyond ostracize people and make whoever is saying it feel temporarily vindicated in their solitude, in a vicious cycle where they never step out of their ivory tower and always use how alone they are as "proof" that they're right?

I think having discussions about the ways the subculture has changed is extremely worthwhile. But I think that they're at their best when enthusiasm over sharing takes a main, central point. When you see people excitedly telling others about Werecards for the first time, or when you get to introduce someone to the concept of personal websites and webrings, or when you link someone who's only just starting to learn that there's others like them to old and new groups and forums alike. These are the ways you keep those traditions alive, these are they ways you get people both informed of and really excited about them.

And like, maybe I'm just cheesy and optimistic, but building bridges is way more fun than building walls! And more than that, I also think it's fundamentally something that's significantly more helpful and productive. I'm always so hype when I see community projects taking off that involve connecting many different people, especially if they're centered on a specific group or identity, but I also think that those sorts of things are how we keep a community healthy and moving, how we avoid things getting stagnant and rotting away.

I've said it before in past essays I've published and I'll say it again: alterhuman communities survive through their internal momentum. We're still around and kicking because we're a bunch of opinionated, passionate animals and objects and entities and people and concepts and and and-- this is what we are! This is how we all, both together and individually as separate groups, continue to be around. We write. We argue. We dance. We leave tracks. And then others see all those things, months or years down the line, and they know they're not alone. They know that it's okay to join in around the campfire, and they end up leaving their own tracks, and the cycle repeats.

So I guess what I'm saying here is that I'm not just beseeching people to create, but I'm asking you to create with others. To extend that paw towards the people around you in your immediate community spaces and wider, and to realize that yeah, the digital grains of sand and time might erode and change the landscapes we're all in, but we can still have a damn good time exploring the new nooks and crannies around us and showing others our old hidey-holes and favorite spots to watch the sun set.

[stargazer-sims]

I honestly do not know how I feel about finishing my main story. I want to be happy and proud of myself for actually finishing something, but mostly I think I just feel... deflated? Finishing it was anti-climactic and I didn't get the "Woo.. I'm done!" rush of self-congratulation that I kind of expected. I'm not sure why, but anyway...

I know a lot of people who follow me probably ignored this story because the text-to-picture ratio was really high (and there were no pictures at all for the last 13 parts), and that's totally okay because I was writing it for myself anyway. But the thing is, now I feel like I don't want to share any more of the writing that I'm doing for myself. And I don't mean that in an angry or self-pitying way either.

I've loved writing so much for the past couple of months, ever since I stopped trying to force it into being a "sims story" when it never actually was. Ironically, once I stopped trying to make it be sims-related content. I also stopped stressing about people not reading it. It's kind of amazing, the difference that being authentic and creating without constraints can make to one's attitude about their creative product.

This may not mean a lot to most people, but to me it's been a huge revelation. Forcing any aspect of creativity is bad. It can ruin your passion for things that you love. Forcing myself to connect my writing to The Sims was doing that to me. I hated every second of having to do screenshots and make everything somehow sims-related, and it was no longer fun, yet I couldn't seem to stop. It was like a compulsion, and I kept doing it even though it caused so many negative feelings.

And now that I'm less concerned about "making content" and more focused on writing the way I want to write, sharing it doesn't seem like it's that big a priority any more. I've started working on The Art of Redemption again, and if I do decide to keep posting it publicly, I might just move it and any future projects over to my writing side-blog (which I made a while back and never actually used).

So, huge THANK YOU to those of you who did actually read The World, According to Victor and Yuri. I appreciate each and every like and comment that I received on it. If you stuck with me through the entire thing, you deserve a gold medal. Thank you!

[plan-d-to-i]

This fandom is starting to really dispirit me. Before, there were the jc/jgy stans and wx antis that we had to run from in order to enjoy any fanwork, be it meta, fic, art... but when you found ppl who disliked them or were really fans of the work, you were set. Like finding a little oasis to enjoy the work as the author intended, it was a small space, but it was there. Now suddenly there is this wave of victimizing wwx to an extreme? I don't understand the point in making him such a poor baby who was scared of everyone. He was a victim in the novel, but he never was this woe-is-me uWu. He fought and endured and surpassed the trauma and abuse, and I'm not saying that it's wrong to bring attention to the things he went through because ppl deliberately ignore it in order to prop they fave or pretend the story is something it's not, but. I don't know how to explain the way they're trying to make him into this pitiful thing, that should be bitter and hateful against everyone. It genuinely looks like what jc/jgy stans do.

There is such bitterness and condescending self-righteousness in these takes, idk. The latest wave of it brought so much Lan hate, and even ppl who claim to be wx/wwx stans are starting in even on lwj, comparing him to yzy/jc and claiming he was abusive and wwx was rightfully scared of him, afraid of being hurt because he justifiably subconsciously equated him with his abusers, and he did everything he could to keep his distance due to fear of being physically attacked and killed. It's such a wild thing, but it seems like wwx stans feel a sort of validation into ripping onto other characters, into making wwx the only good one and that lwj should grovel and be grateful, and it feels like the only ones they don't drag are the wen, but, in a very dehumanizing way? like they consider them just an accessory or part of him, just another thing to use as a weapon against other characters and I feel like the only reason they don't rip them too is that they're dead and thus easily idealized non-entities to project on (and wn is treated like he is wwx little puppy who will defend him no matter what, as wwx deserves). That's the feeling I'm getting, these people are projecting hard on wwx and changing him with excuses of reading and interpreting the novel. I don't think they even realise that, though, especially the wen thing.

sorry for the huge incoherent rant, it's just really draining the enjoyment for me, it feels like nowhere is safe to enjoy it anymore, ppl who used to delight in the novel now are just another flavour of jc stans, changing the story and wwx to fit their victim narrative, and it's so fucking sad.

(The ask mentioned here earlier)

YES. ALL OF THIS. Every line of this.

I talked about it here, but I had to cut out so many other blogs (& ppl) bc even when they had decent opinions on jc, jgy etc. they started veering into ~make WWX a victim~ territory. Even the Lans are bad >:0, LQR is evil, LXC is terrible, he never wanted LWJ to have friends! He told LWJ to talk to WWX because he was trying to keep them apart! 🤪 He looks down on LWJ! LWJ is bad too! for not cutting his fam out for WWX (even though WWX never wanted this) and going off to live a happy farmer life w WWX...Which is hilarious as only the most absurd takes can be, bc WWX wasn't even able to do a day's worth of farming in HIS DREAM. He just wants to live his life w LWJ, he didn't suddenly develop a passion for horticulture.

And your description of how they portray the Wens finally,beautifully put into words what I could't put my finger on.

I wanted to post THIS ask too before I answered this, bc it illustrates what's being talked about.

[radellama]

oh i almost forgot. DO LEON AND WESKER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE also ayla for fun

Leon S. Kennedy

First impression

Ayo… He's hot…

Impression now

Ayo… He's REALLY hot…

Favorite moment

Hmm… I don't feel like I can pick a real favourite so. Take this one scene that I love a lot

Idea for a story

Serious or silly?? I would love to write a story about Raccoon City and life there, but if the zombie outbreak didn't happen and Leon joins the RPD. And it's all normal boring nice stuff. You know me, I love the boring stuff…

For something more serious tho, I think it'd be cool to write something about Leon between the events of 2 and 4, how he was essentially held hostage by the government so that he could keep Sherry safe, how he starts to get more jaded as he also becomes more competent… that'd be pretty cool…

Unpopular opinion

Um? Leon dyed his hair blonde, he's naturally a brunette. Re2make he got it freshly done for his new job at RC, RE4 he hasn't had time to touch up his roots, and by RE6 he's given up :P

Favorite relationship

HIM AND ADAAAAA. ITS MYSTERY ITS INTRIGUE ITS BETRAYAL ITS SECOND CHANCES ITS MORALLY GREY ITS VARYING LEVELS OF EXPERIENCE ITS SECRECY ITS MUTUAL RESPECT ITS MUTUAL RESERVEDNESS ITS HOT ITS SEXY!! 

I know a lot of people don't like him with Ada in a romantic way cause the dynamic is interesting, but I think it's great, romantic or not. A lot don't seem to like how Ada used him in re2, but I don't think it's that bad, and its soooo good seeing how their relationship grows more complicated as it progresses… its just good and I like it >:) Maybe Ada/Leon is my unpopular opinion lol

Favorite headcanon

Even when he's dilf mode and so so jaded by all the shit he's been through, he will always be that rookie cop that just wants to help people… Despite having to go through shit over and over again, and he get so tired he loses his passion for it and just wants to give up… deep down he will still try to do the right thing, which is why he keeps on fighting.

//

Albert Wesker

First impression

>:)

Impression now

I LOVE THIS STUPID BITCH SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!! I UNDERSTAND HIM, I SEE AND PERCEIVE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favorite moment

Tie between this and this (<- the first 20 seconds or so, that line cracks me up and I spent a good 20 mins dicking around to make Wesker do the gay little twirls on my first playthrough just like that)

Idea for a story

OK SO. I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER. I HAVE A GREAT IDEA ON HOW TO FUCKING MAKE ONE (1) GOOD ADDITION TO THE PITIFUL RESI SCREEN LEGACY. LET ME MAKE A WESKER TV SERIES!!!

Starting with Project W and his days training under umbrella. learn all about him and get to see his honestly tragic backstory unfold as you follow him into his eventual shift into STARS and his betrayals… Mystery, drama, thriller, suspence, everything you'd fucking want to see shit go down. LIKE!?? WESKER PREQUEL SERIES YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT AND YOU KNOW YOU WANT ME TO BE MAKING IT!

Unpopular opinion

While I fucking enjoy the re5 Wesker so so much… he was such a characature and the end of that game…. Not worth it. I don't know if honestly he should've stayed a more lowkey 'background' villain or what, cause I like his 'powers,' but capcom didn't really know what to do with him and handled him pretty poorly tbh!! (Like they've been poorly handling most the main cast tbhhh!!!!!) Maybe he should've stayed dead the first time!?

Favorite relationship

Him and Chris. They hate each other so much that it gets fucking ridiculous. Imagine having fucking powers from viruses and shit and this guy who used to work under you gets super fucking jacked just so he can punch you, and he becomes an almost equal match to you just to get in your way? Just manly men things

Favorite headcanon

While he's always had his own interests at the forefront of his mind, he used to care a bit more about others around him when he was younger. I think he genuinely cared about his future as a virologist, and that he came to really care about William Birkin when they were training together. But when he found out more about himself, and Umbrella, he slowly began to shift… He locked himself out mentally and became more self centred as his hatred boiled on inside of him, and he was fully ready to throw everything away for whatever was in his best interest. I don't think he cared all that much about STARS, or maybe he did and it made him feel conflicted, so he stayed distant on purpose. After his first 'death,' it all just snapped into place. He struggled to find reasons to hold on to his previous mindsets, and I bet after finding out what happened to Willy B, he didn't want to try anymore. The world was his, and it was almost time to become god.

//

Ayla

First impression

OOOH STRONG LADY!?

Impression now

SHE IS SO FUCKING BRILLIANT AND UNDERRATED I LOVE HER SO FUCKING MUCH!!!

Favorite moment

Honestly? A tie between her iconic 'Win and live. Lose and die. Rule of life. No change rule' line and her REAL CAVEMAN PARTY that included a BINGE DRINKING COMPETITION AGAINST A SPUNKY TEENAGER

Idea for a story

I would honestly like to write something that explores her being chief; what that means to her, to her people, to her enemies. What it took to rise to power that way, the stresses she's under to keep the respect of her people, diplomatic tensions between Ioka and Laruba since they're on almost opposite ends of the spectrum in the way they live life. What is it really like to be Ayla, chief of Ioka?

Unpopular opinion

AYLA IS FUCKING SMART. ITS NOT AN OPINION, IT IS A FACT. SHE IS NOT ONLY ABLE TO KEEP UP WITH TIME TRAVEL ADVENTURES AND FIGHT ALONGSIDE EVERYONE WITH NO WEAPON OTHER THAN HER FISTS, BUT SHE IS DOING SO ALL IN A SECOND LANGUAGE. SHE IS INCREDIBLY INTELLIGENT, AND HER BEING STRONG AND SEXY SHOULDN'T NEGATE THAT FACT.

Favorite relationship

It's a three way tie between all the millennial trio. Her with Chrono? Fucking bros they are best buds they get up to all kinds of shit and challenge each other to be better and stronger and have so much fun getting up to shit together.

Her with Lucca? Amazing homoerotic brilliant so fucking good. They could have in depth conversations about whatever intellectual bullshit they wanted all night and still be discussing ideologies past sunrise. And look. Potential for lesbianism is off the fucking charts they'd be the most girlfriend ever they are so smart and beautiful they'd be unstoppable…

Her with Marle? Such a cute friendship, she would be so happy to be the older girl friend Marle needs in her life, and would enjoy Marle being the younger girl friend she needs in her own life. Like, just talking about life and boys and their bodies and politics and everything… nothing is taboo between them, they could be so open and share such a beautiful kinship because there is just SO MUCH they can relate with each other to.

Favorite headcanon

It's not so much hc as it is a fact that people forget… but AYLA IS SPEAKING IN HER SECOND LANGUAGE. By the way it's implied, the reptite tongue is what became 'English' for the future humans, she literally names Lavos after the word for fire in her language. ALSO to build upon that, when she talks to the Laruban tribe elder, they're both conversing in the reptite-english, which implies that Ioka and Laruba both have their own languages, and they talk in reptite-english to communicate. Like!? SHE'S SO FUCKING SMART!!???

[spideyspeaches]

Gold Rush ↬ t.h

Gif by @parkeraul :)

A/N: I'm in love with that song 🙈 also here's my super late contribution of professor!tom 😋 cause I've been procrastinating on the wandavision au (in my defence though, it's taking a lot of brainstorming 😂) anyway here you go-

Wc: 2.6k+

Warnings: lemme know if you find one :)

Summary: He taught British History and you chastise yourself for not auditing for that subject earlier.

Pairing: Professor!Tom x Student!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Waking up with a start, you groan at the shrill sound of your alarm. With a sigh that was more of a grunt of annoyance, you tried to reach for your phone at the side table, hissing when you felt the corner of your elbow hit the table, pain shooting up to your shoulder. 

Great, you weren't even up yet and your day was already going shitty. You just hoped that your professor won't be grumpy about you being late for the millionth time this semester. 

You hated cultural architecture. You had nothing against the course, but You hated your professor with a passion and wished that you could burn your textbooks for all you cared, right in front of your teacher's eyes, watch him writhe in fear as you banished the very existence of your material. 

You were being dramatic, but in your defence, your professor was an old bastard who never left an opportunity to reprimand you, going as far as letting you know how uneven your margins were on your latest project. 

He wore birkenstocks with a three piece. You wouldn't trust him with your assignments. 

Getting out of your dorm room was work, hard work. But you got out, brushed your teeth and wore what you hoped were presentable clothing. 

"You look hungover." Your roommate, Stacy, commented, spitting in the sink as you scowled at her. 

She was straightforward, outspoken and somehow managed to look like one of those Victoria secrets models that you loathed, even at seven in the morning. You hated her. 

(You didn't.)

"Thanks, I hope I smell too. Want that son of a bitch- what's his name, Wilson, to suffer for giving me that C minus on my thesis." You grumbled, rubbing your hands through your hair to flat them out. 

"You really hate him, don't you." She snickered, popping off her shirt. You tried not to look, not wanting to come off as a pervert, but damn, she was fit. You contemplated her words, frowning at your own reflection. 

You looked disheveled, the dark eye bags under your eyes very apparent as you tried to mask them with foundation, setting your hair for the millionth time. Oh well, you were presentable enough. Sweatpants would have to do for your only class today, you could binge Netflix after this wretched class. 

"I do. I hope his third wife divorces him and he loses his thermos of coffee in the subway." You said, adding your look finally before wearing your shoes. 

"That's cruel, didn't know you had it in you." She snickered, patting your back and following you as you closed the door, "Well I have to go to my boring science lectures now so, see you later hun." 

"Yeah, enjoy your chemistry period with your boyfriend!" You cheered sarcastically, rolling your eyes and hugging her to tell her that you were only joking. Your relationship was this, of jokes and hugs and kisses. You considered her your best friend. 

Rushing towards the gates of your university, you hastily tightened your loosening hair tie, adjusting the straps of your bags. You were pretty sure you had broken your record of being late to your class. You may hate the professor, but you actually enjoyed the subject. 

Wheezing as you ran past the late comers, you nodded at the receptionist, hastily signing yourself in. You would blame your clumsiness for what happened next, because one second you were fixing your sande on the foot of the fountain, and next thing you knew you were crashing into a firm body, your nose hitting the random stranger’s chest.

"I’m so sorry! I’m kinda late to class and I wasn’t looking and- whoa, ow.” You rushed your words, groaning when you felt blood rush from your head to toe, nose throbbing with double vision, a reminder of your clumsiness. 

“Whoa, hey calm down, it’s okay, I wasn’t looking either.” The stranger said, his thick South Western accent snapping you out of your self pity. 

You felt blood rush to your cheeks instead, not anticipating your face in a flush this early in the morning, when you got a good look at the stranger. He was good looking, in his black high turtleneck and brown checkered pants. He had a small leather satchel clutched in his hands, face looking as flushed as you felt when you realised that you had been gawking at him.

He was probably no older than his mid twenties, making you wonder what he was doing in your university. He was too old to be a student, and too young to be a professor. But then again, you wouldn't judge him for joining college late.

Right? 

"S-sorry, you um, you must be really late, you should go." He stuttered, your heart fluttering at his dimpled chin and thick accent. His eyes were gleaming in the morning sun, captivating in a way that left you in awe. 

"Um yeah, I am." You nodded, composing yourself, hoping that you didn't look too sleep deprived or disheveled, "where are you going, if you don't mind me asking."  

"Um, the architecture wing?" He said, unconsciously stepping besides you.

"Oh, I'm going that way. Is it your first time coming here? Haven't seen you around." You asked, trying not to stare at his sharp jawline and the way the morning sun hit him just right, illuminating and accentuating his curly brown hair. 

"Yeah, it's my first lecture, so um, looks like I'm late too." He smiled. It was infectious, you noticed as you mirrored his expression. 

"Oh, you're a student?" 

"Actually, I'm a professor. Just transferred from UCL." 

So you were right, he was a professor. He looks so young though. You thought, nodding at him, your thoughts interrupted by his laugh. Looking at him with confusion, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, everyone says that. I started right after finishing graduation so, I guess I'm not much older than you." He smiled, kicking the small pebbles littered around the set grassy ground. It had just rained, the smell of wet ground still fresh. 

"I said that out loud didn't I?" You smirked, ducking your head to hide. 

"You did." 

Entering the building, you realised that you hadn't asked which subject he taught, crossing your fingers and hoping that he would replace the old bastard that taught you cultural architecture. 

"I forgot to ask, which lecture do you teach?" You asked, looking for your class in the end. The hallways were empty, it was way past your first lecture and all the students were already in the auditorium. 

"Oh, uh, British History." He answered. You didn't let disappointment show too much on your face, smiling shyly before gesturing towards the class, "that's you." 

"Oh, um thank you." He smiled, pursing his thin lips together as he walked towards the class. You could hear screaming of the students as you both neared the classroom, you still standing by the door, "I didn't get your name." 

His question snapped you out of your disappointed gaze, 

"Oh, it's Y/n. Y/n L/n." You said with a smile. 

"Pleasure to meet you Y/n, I'm Thomas Holland, but you can call me Tom." He said awkwardly, before turning back to his class, who had yet to notice him.

"The pleasure's all mine Professor." 

For the first time in your college life, you didn't feel like tearing your hair off during your lecture, your thoughts wandering around. You wanted to berate yourself for not paying attention, but your thoughts kept going there. 

It was funny, how you met him not long ago and he was already taking up residence in your brain. You could not control your feelings after all. Something akin to nausea or excitement eased into your stomach when you pictured his smile, his black turtleneck that accentuated his biceps and pectorals. The little rebellious eyebrow and the tiny scar above it. 

It made your heart flutter, everything seemingly seemed to stop around you. It scared you a bit, how You had managed to envision the little details of his face in your brain after such a short duration. 

You didn't realise that you were smiling until you felt a nudge on your side, making you nearly jump on your seat. 

"What?!" You hissed, scowling at your classmate. 

"Who're you thinking about?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned towards you. You had known her long enough to know her name but never bothered learning, and you were too scared to ask now. 

"It's none of your business." You muttered, glancing up to see your professor scowling at a student as they stood up. 

"Well okay, but did you hear about the hot new professor? Apparently he's teaching British History, I regret not taking that as a subject now." She said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. You furrowed your brows, feeling a pang in your chest at the realisation that you were probably just another girl with a stupid crush on the hot professor, that there were already girls who would die to feel his touch. 

"How do you know about him?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as you try to act nonchalant. You weren't being subtle, apparently, because you could see her snapping her bubblegum with a smirk, leaning forward as if trading secrets. 

"You kidding right? Everyone knows about him, you got a crush on him or something?" She suggested, scooting close enough to make you squirm. 

"I literally just met him, and ew, he's a professor, why would I see him that way?" You whisper, willing your heart to stop palpitating at the thought of said professor, your gut twisting in anticipation. 

"I don't know girl, he's hot and young and so much better than this bastard." She sighed, leaning on her palm with a fake dreamy expression. 

You went back to ignoring her after that, noticing how her notebook said 'Eloise'. At least you didn't have to ask her her name now. 

Your class went surprisingly well, or maybe it was because you weren't paying attention and thinking about him again. You really needed to get a grip on yourself. 

Walking out of your class, you decided to go to the cafeteria, your stomach begging for your attention.

Setting your things on a table, you took out your phone to scroll through Instagram, before switching it off and looking around the cafeteria. You didn't know what you were expecting to see, but your stomach was gurgling with hunger and nothing made sense when you were hungry. 

Walking to grab something to eat, you pick up your bag, hanging it over one of your shoulders before getting in the line. 

Just as you were about to turn with your bun and cup of coffee, you crashed into someone for the second time that day. Cursing your clumsiness, you heard a familiar British accent curse not very colourful words, making you stumble over as you tried to wipe off the hot coffee off his shirt.

"Hey, it's okay." He said, stopping your frantic gestures by holding your wrist with his to cease any movements.

"Professor Holland! I'm so sorry, it's like, I'm just clumsy. I have no excuse." You sighed in resignation, mentally facepalming at spilling your coffee at the hot professor. 

"It's okay darling, I've had much worse spilled on me." He smirked, his hand still holding on to yours. You had started walking away from the location, and yet his hand didn't let go, "You know, I used to babysit during my college days." 

"Oh, babysitting, right of course." You chuckled awkwardly, chest heaving with the sudden close proximity with the professor, dissipating the not quite PG thought that just occurred in your mind at his words.. 

"Sorry for-" You said in unison with him, chuckling. 

"You go first." He said.

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on You, it must have hurt and I ruined your shirt and now there's a big splotch of coffee right in the middle!" You said, circling your fingers around your palm as you walked with your back to the exit as you walked out of the cafeteria, food forgotten and him following your pace. 

Before you could continue your awkward blabber, you were standing in the garden outside, leaning against a pillar with the garden in your view looking golden in the setting sun. He was standing in your view, the shadows around his jaw making it look sharp enough to cut glass. 

Taking a breath, you looked up at his smiling form with confusion when he didn't answer, instead leant onto the pillar next to you.

"You were... gonna say something?" You reminded, smiling awkwardly as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Oh? Oh! Oh yes yes, You know, I was kind of disappointed that you weren't in my class, Mister Wilson talks very highly of you." He said, folding his arms on his chest, it made his biceps bulge. 

"He does?" You looked at him with surprise, guilt panging in your chest when you remembered yourself bad mouthing the professor not long ago. 

"Yes, says you're a bright student with a bright future." He answered, leaning his head back so that his neck was exposed, Adam's Apple bobbing as he gulped, his hair falling into place perfectly against his forehead. The arch of his neck was beautiful, tracing it with your eyeballs as you imagined which other curves of his were as beautiful, immediately dismissing those thoughts, chastising yourself for thinking such a way of a professor. 

"That's… sweet of him. I've never heard him compliment me once in the two and half years I've been in his class." You chuckle, leaning your elbow on the pillar to get a better look at his side profile. 

"Hmm, he says he's hard on you because he wants you to do your best..." 

You stopped listening past that, your breath growing more erratic the more he talked, his smooth voice washing over you like warm honey with a squeeze of lemon. Swallowing a sudden lump in your throat, your heart leaping, leaving you nauseous and in a dream like trance. 

Tom noticed immediately, noticing your slouched posture as you stared at him with a small smile, the upturn of your lips so inviting that he almost dived in, wanting to know the feeling of them what they felt like against his. 

He wasn't the kind to date his students, in fact, he rarely dated after joining uni and becoming a professor. 

He strictly believed that student/teacher relationships should end in only a professional non romantic set up. That was all up until he crashed into you that morning. 

You had been in his mind all day, stirring him crazy as he imagined your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your subject of interest, the say your fingers fiddled with the ring you wore on your index finger. 

He wondered if this feeling would last forever or become a vague memory, an attraction of hearts that didn't last but felt good till it did. If he was rushing, or if you even felt the same way. 

He was smart, of course that's how he became a teacher, but he still couldn't place your feelings. 

So when he saw you staring at him, his heart leaping in his throat at your adorable smile, the only logical answer his brain gave was that you liked him too. Temporary attraction or not, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in it's mouth. 

Next thing he knew your lips were crashing onto his, your chest pressed against his firmly as your hands reached up to the base of his neck. 

Your fingers were soft, tongue swishing against his as he opened his mouth to let you enter. His hands automatically reach for your waist, holding onto firmly as he slammed you against the pillar. 

The sun was nearly down, the last of the rays hitting the garden, lighting you both up in a golden glow that left you breathless with a fire raging in your souls. 

"What do you say that I audit for British history? I'd like to learn more lessons from you, Professor Holland." You said, breathless against his chest, hiding your nose against his sternum, blood rushing to your ears as his warm hand burned against the bare skin underneath your shirt. 

"That would be great darling, anything to see your pretty smile every morning." 

A/N: let me know what you think! :)

[secretsandwriting]

Hanahaki au with a very open ending because I didn't know how to end it.

Beta Read - No

Word Count - 1,216

Gotham Academy had decided to try a new fundraiser. An art gallery filled with art by its students. However, in true Gotham fashion, it couldn’t be normal. Students were paired off 2. Each pair had to have 4 pieces that worked to a theme of their choice.

You were blessed, your partner was Damian Wayne. A perfectionist with artistic talent. Therefore the pieces would probably be good. There was a downside, he’s a perfectionist with artistic talent that doesn't sugarcoat no matter what he’s talking about.

A pretty rich boy that was used to getting his way and having people throw themselves at him, no matter the gender and for almost anything. The lack of dignity nowadays was worrying.

He didn’t even consider your ideas until you finally broke down and told him he either at least listened to you or you wouldn’t do anything and he would have to do all four. He started listening, then immediately shot them down and pointed out all the flaws. It wasn’t until you mentioned you wanted to do something about animals. Then he wanted to hear it, and then he added to it. So your theme was chosen. Then came working on it. The chosen medium? Painting.

Then the slight downside went to fully cursed in the time of a month.

First was the crush, based mostly on his looks. Seeing him up close showed the small scar on his nose, the wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiled, the love in his eyes when he talked about things he was passionate about. Then the glimpses of his lock screen, which he happily showed when asked, his cat, dog, turkey, and cow. He had more but they wouldn’t sit still enough for a picture.

Then it grew. At first it felt like you were getting sick, the slight pain when breathing, the tickle in the back of your throat. It was there, but it was ignorable. Then the first petal came up. Refusing to accept it, however, that didn’t last long when you decided to ask Damian what his favorite flower was. A Desert Rose. When you looked it up the bright pink stared back at you.

Everyday the amount of petals went up, after a week the first full flower came up. Then there were multiple. Your parents begged you to tell them who it was or at least confess. You wouldn’t even make it another month at this rate, there was no time for surgery. You would be dead before you could even go.

Instead, you skipped school. Trying to finish your half of the project so Damian wouldn’t have to do it all. It was easy to pretend over the phone. Where no one could see the petals that laid around your room or stuck to your clothes after a bad coughing fit.

In one last attempt, your parents took you to the doctor to see if there was anything that could be done, all he could do was prescribe pain meds through injection. It was about keeping you comfortable, they didn’t even think a confession would help, the plant in your lungs growing too large too fast.

Then Damian started questioning more, he kept asking where you were, why you weren’t meeting up to work on the project, why you didn’t attend school anymore, and why you refused to talk over the phone and had switched to texting. You managed to keep him off your back until he stopped asking.

The injections helped but there was only so much it could do when a plant was growing in your lungs. Every breath felt like it was ripping your lungs and by the end of the 7th week you were hospitalized. The nurses and doctors looked at you with pity, a few tried to get you to confess.

It was the last day according to the doctors, that last day you would be alive, it wasn’t even like you were alive anyways, the only reason you were still breathing was because of the tube they had managed to get into your lungs from your throat.

It was that morning your mother decided to try one last thing.

“Mr.Wayne, there’s a lady on line one that insists she talk with you. She said it was something concerning her daughter's life. She refused to talk with anyone else.” Bruce sighed as he sat down at his desk, calls like this weren’t uncommon and most of the time it was too late.

“Bruce Wayne.” He could hear a slight sniffling and the sound of a heart monitor and maybe a ventilator.

“Hello, I’m M/n L/n, Y/n L/n’s mother. She and Damian were working on a project for school together.” Damian had been talking about it for weeks, it was the first time any of them had seen him interested in working on a project with someone other than Jon.

“Yes, he’s talked about. He mentioned Y/n wasn’t going to school and starting to stop talking with him and recently he hasn’t heard from her in a week. Is everything ok?”

“That’s actually why I’m calling, Y/n has hanahaki.” The hospital noises made sense. “The doctors said it would be a miracle if she lived longer than today. I’m almost positive it’s Damian, I know it probably won’t do anything but if you and Damian would be ok with it, I’d like to try.”

“What type of flower is it?”

“Desert rose.”

Quickly ending the call, he canceled everything for the next few days knowing no matter how this went, it would affect Damian and he would need to be there. He called his other kids and let them know. All of them agreed to keep an eye on him and take over his patrols for a little while.

Damian was waiting in the office and stepped out when Bruce pulled up. He was clearly confused about it as Bruce hadn’t given any explanation to the school so they hadn’t given him one. “Y/n’s mother called today. Y/n stopped going to school and talking over the phone because she has hanahaki.” The shaky breath told Bruce all he needed to know. “Desert Roses… We’re going to the hospital, but the doctors don’t know if it would help at this point. Either way, maybe it will cure yours.” Damian stiffened. “I’ve seen the f/f petals in the trash, your throat has been sore for a week, and you seem to be completely smitten with this Y/n.” The rest of the car ride is silent.

When they get to the hospital they’re ushered into an elevator by a nurse. One of the nurses had heard the phone call and with permission from your mother, they had been keeping an eye out, ready to bring them to your room as soon as possible.

Damian wasn’t ready. Just two months ago you had been a force of life, ready to kick his legs out from under him when he teased, talking about stealing his pets and that your part of the project would be better.

But now, you were laying in a bed, tubes and wires coming out. The chances of your survival were almost gone, but there was a chance.

[morbidly-malicious-muffins]

What Kind of Music Slashers Would Vibe to Headcanons♪

This little thing popped into my head. Fyi, the canon timelines are thrown out the window for this so... Yeah.

Bring forth the bop~

RZ Michael Myers

"Let my weapons be your children, let my armies be your damned. Try to suffer on in silence, try to stop me if you can." --- This Cold Black by Slipknot

I think he'd really enjoy metal in general. I can totally see him unknowingly stomping to some Marilyn Manson and Meshuggah, though the lyrics and message probably will just fly over his head.

He listens to some heavy shit, but probably all the more mainstream bands/artists.

The loudness and organized chaos of the genre fills the void in his soul and reflects the state of his mind, despite his stoic and non-verbal outer demeanor.

Someone please do everyone a favor and introduce Michael to some death metal. Admit it, it really fits his aesthetic.

This is just based on speculation, but I suspect a 70% possibility of RZ Michael resonating with Cannibal Corpse. Fight me.

He hates classical music with a burning passion. Back in Smith's Grove, they played Bach's Air Sul G on tap. (its canon in the first movie lmao) He hates it. Mikey no likey.

Freddy Krueger

"No stop signs, speed limit, nobody's gonna slow me down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it, nobody's gonna mess me around." --- Highway to Hell, by AC/DC

Freddy listens to classic rock, period.

This guy is ngl a supporter of music taste discrimination. You listen to pop? Disgusting. You listen to Jazz? Disgusting. Classic rock is the epitome of all music.

He'll call you music-related slurs you never knew existed.

As stubborn adamant as Freddy is, he does harbor some guilty pleasures, including 70's hair metal and glam rock. Pshh. What a heckin hypocrite.

Some of his all time favorites are Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and AC/DC.

(Basic bitch)

*Hip thrust movements to go with his 'The Sprinkler' dance moves, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N' Roses blasting in the background*

OG Michael Myers

He doesn't listen to music, but if he did, he would probably enjoy Jazz.

Michael only listens to Miles Davis because he enjoys his music and can't be bothered to discover more artists.

Oml Michael I know Miles Davis is amazing but don't neglect other iconic artists plzzz. Someone please make him listen to some Teddy Wilson and/or Dave Brubeck.

I imagine him sitting stiff-straight on a rocking chair (he just likes how it moves), knife in his lap, rocking and zoning-out relaxing to 'Blue in Green'. (I love that piece)

#AfterHeFinallyKillsLaurie

#RetirementGoals

He also hates classical music because of the same reason as RZ Myers. Seriously, if either of them so much as hears the opening chord of Air Sul G, expect the speaker to be stomped to a pulp in a split second.

Bubba Sawyer

Alright let's all be honest with ourselves... 70's pop and country is Bubba's shit.

Look me in the face and tell me he wouldn't adore ABBA, The Jackson 5, and Dolly Parton. Thats right you can't

Everytime 'Dancing Queen' starts playing on the radio, Bubba will drop everything and start busting down.

Ain't nothing and nobody stoppin him. Drayton is powerless against the supreme sovereignty that is ABBA.

But let's also appreciate the fact that our Bubster can motherfuckin get down. *wipes sweat from forehead + heart eyes*

He would also do passionate lip sync with his heart and soul, to Dolly Parton's 'I Will Always Love You'.

50% chance of him starting to cry right after he finishes his earnest performance.

*Holding Bubba in your arms, rubbing comforting circles on his back as he bawls hysterically, incoherently babbling on about how much he loves you*

I also feel for some reason he'd really like Joan Jett & The Blackhearts.

Thomas Hewitt

"For one moment, I wish you'd hold your stage, with no feelings at all. Open minded, I'm sure I used to be so free." --- Citizen Erased by Muse

Y'know what I have a hard time imagining the type of music Tommy listens to. Kutos, Mr. Hewitt, you have defeated me.

siKE

(This is where I yeet the timeline out of the window y'all)

Thomas enjoys Muse, Evanescence, and Radiohead. (Fight me)

He just loves how emotional their songs are. He'd have one earbud in as he works away at his projects for hours. The music helps him concentrate, it is also a source of emotional support to him.

Hearing the heart-wretching lyrical content of 'Lost in Paradise' performed so beautifully by Amy Lee's angellic voice is really comforting to him. It's like hearing about another person's experiences. It makes him feel less alone in dealing with his emotional and mental turmoils and burdens.

The first time Thomas heard 'Creep' by Radiohead, he almost cried.

He also listens to My Chemical Romance sometimes. He only knows the Black Parade album, but he loves it. If 'Creep' didn't make him cry, listening to that entire album from top to bottom sure did. He started sobbing half-way through 'Famous Last Words'.

Tommy is emotional boi 🥺

Brahms Heelshire

C l a s s i c a l

No matter how stinky Brahms is, you can't tell me that he's not classy.

Schubert is his bitch. Schubert's style tends to be quite majestic and/or dreamy, (generally) and can change color/sound very abruptly yet appropriately. (This is just my opinion based on experience with Schubert's pieces, but then I only know his piano pieces soo) (let's still cue that maestoso to scherzando transition)

But of course, Schubert isn't the only thing he listens to. He prefers the romantic period, so Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Shostakovich, Brahms, Schumann, you get the gist, all the staples. Oh yeah Elgar too. To be a proud English lad.

*Brahms swaying in the living room with the grace of a baby giraffe, engrossed in the beautiful melodies in Schumann's Kinderszenen.*

(Oml please check out 'Von fremden Landern und Manschen' and 'Kind im Einschlummern') (For those who play piano, they aren't that difficult too totally recommend) (Ok sorry I'm done now)

Brahms would totally waltz around alone to Chopin's waltzes and nocturnes.

Oh yeah apart from that classy shit, he likes to jam to meme songs.

"Hey now, you're an all star, get your game on, go play---"

*cut to Brahms passionately fortnite dancing*

Listens to The Strange Man Who Sings About Dead Animals for a good laugh. (Please, all of his songs are gold)

Vincent Sinclair

He'll have 'emo' and 'classical' with a side of metal, thanks.

I headcanon that Vinny McWaxy is an INFJ, so the boy is likely prone to crippling existentialism. It would make sense for some aspects of his music taste to reflect that.

*cut to Vincent sitting rock-still on his workbench/stool, hands hover in mid-air, staring straight ahead, some John Cage piece playing*

You'll never hear this from Vincent but he enjoys sexy-time music. He has this whole erotic playlist he listens to while working. (Boy likes to feel sexy on the job, I respect that.)

I think its pretty much canon that Vinny loves MCR. (Hello fellow emo piece of shit 👋) His favorites are everything by them really. A hardcore fan. He used to have MCR, P!ATD, and 30 Seconds to Mars posters plastered everywhere in his workshop until he had to remove them all to add to the intimidation factor of his waxy hell for passer-bys. For the record, he is very gay for Frank Iero.

On the metal part of his spectrum is mostly classic metal, groove metal, and thrash/heavy metal.

Rammstein, Pantera, Vildhjarta, new and old Metallica, Dream Theatre, Coheed and Cambria. His bitches.

He also uses music to scare victims when bringing them down to his workshop. *cue horror movie soundtracks*

*KI KI KI MA MA MA*

Is a whore for the dramatics when in a good mood.

*Lacrimosa by Mozart plays as he makes a point to bring the wax painfully slowly down toward a drowsy and petrified victim*

A lament for your upcoming death, pitiful human.

Bo Sinclair

"The day has come for all us sinners, if you're not a servant you'll be struck to the ground." -- Beast and The Harlot by Avenged Sevenfold

Bastard boy is into dad-music™. (same)

Dad rock, classic rock, pop punk, punk rock, old school pop, his shit.

He listens to a lot of the same bands as Freddy, but Bo (generally) doesn't discriminate and explores a more diverse variety of music.

Its a fandom canon that Bo loves Avenged Sevenfold. I totally agree.

A7x is the perfect amount of cynical, political, and shred for Beauregard, (I hc that ge hates his full name so plz don't ever call him Beauregard)

He listens to the radio whenever he's at work. Whatever that might be.

Will NEVER admit it, but he thinks Vinny's music taste is dope as hell.

He'll turn off the radio just to strain his ears to listen to Vincent's music downstairs. No one will ever know that though. You don't.

Actually likes classical music too. Its not one of his main genres but there's one piece he really likes, Second Movement of Shostakovich Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Major.

He never thought he'd enjoy this type of music. Its so.... Calm. He discovered that piece from Vinny's playlist. When he first heard it on his brother's speaker, he fell in love. It was one of the extremely rare cases in which he'd be committed enough to ask Vinny the name of the music.

Tiny shuffle for man-kind, huge fuckin step for Bo. Good job Bo, we're proud of you.

Also pleeeeeaaase message me or request stuff, I'm bored and have little inspiration 🦊

I might do a pt2 of this, since I didn't write many of the boys and gals🤷‍♀️

Also sorry if I've neglected some genres/artists (Like i've neglected non-piano classical pieces.... Bc ya girl is just a pianist), a person can't know everything😗

---Zali 🖤

[nezoid]

"The three sisters": the reconquest of lost paradise

Christian Saint-Pierre - Collaborator

February 28, 2020 - Theater

René Richard Cyr rubs Chekhov for the first time by directing Les trois soeurs au TNM. The director chose Noémie Godin-Vigneau to play as Olga, the teacher, the benevolent, Évelyne Brochu to camp Macha, the incandescent, the passionate, and Rebecca Vachon to interpret Irina, the dreamer, the enthusiast.

The three actresses remember very well their previous Chekhovian experiences, all the more founding since they all took place in a school context. While Evelyne Brochu prepared a scene from The Bear , a one-act play by the Russian author, to enter the Conservatoire d'art dramatique de Montréal, from which she graduated in 2005, Noémie Godin-Vigneau played Éléna in Uncle Vania , under the direction of Alice Ronfard. “It was in 1997, at the end of my training at the National School, she remembers. I had learned a song in Russian and I was accompanying myself on the accordion. I had been deeply moved by this great ballet of human beings, a vibrant portrait of society. "

As for Rebecca Vachon, the meeting occurred before she entered the National School, from which she left, diploma in pocket, in 2016. It was in a school in Minsk, in Belarus, when she was 17 years old. It was there that she embodied for the first time Irina, the character with whom she reconnects these days. "At first, I didn't find it exciting," she admits. It is by rubbing shoulders with these characters, this universe, by discovering what is really going on there, in depth, that I fell seriously in love with Chekhov. "

So much so that the actress played in October 2018 in La place rouge , a text by Clara Prévost inspired in part by Uncle Vania , and that she will play next May, at the Rideau Vert, in Vania and Sonia and Macha and Spike , a play by the American Christopher Durang which has its source in La mouette and La cerisaie.

The right tone

With his beautiful and nevertheless pitiful characters, both tall and short, we know that Chekhov's theater can withstand the most contrasting readings, from comic to tragic, from classicism, advocated in particular by Yves Desgagnés, derision, adopted between others by Wajdi Mouawad. What can we expect this time? "René Richard makes a theater that resembles him, spontaneously launches Brochu, that is to say vibrant and generous. "

It should be noted that the director himself composed a text from different French translations made between 1954 and 1993. Favoring an orality that is similar to that of the Quebec language, without giving in the joual, his score is also rid of what some might have thought of as lengths. We are therefore told a show of one hour and thirty-five minutes. "It's full of humor," says Vachon. Despite their situation, the characters are full of spirit, never short of distributed. I am thinking of Koulyguine by Frédéric Paquet, Natacha by Émilie Bibeau, Tousenbach by Benoît McGinnis and even Verchinine by Éric Bruneau. They are really funny. "These passages act like breaths of fresh air," says Brochu. They are essential in the play as in the life of the protagonists. "

Sorority and solidarity

The three daughters of General Prozorov, who died a year ago, have a dream in common, that of leaving the countryside to see Moscow, the city where they grew up. "They are ardent women," explains Brochu. They are combative, like Tremblay's sisters-in-law. It is necessary to live, it is a formula which they often use. They are always in a tension between the past and the future, between regrets and hopes. "

“These are three women who stand, thinks Godin-Vigneau. They help each other a lot, we feel a great solidarity between them, a sorority that has something eternal, from a historical point of view, and which, however, strangely, is fairly little portrayed in the theater. "Brochu continues:" Women are often put in opposition, even today, when this antagonism seems to me created from scratch, without foundation. In my opinion, this is a Betty and Veronica-style marketing campaign, a construction that we would do well to get rid of. "

How to explain that the three women never find Moscow? "It is their childhood, recalls Vachon, it is paradise lost, carefree, idealism, the place of all possibilities, a reality that they can never regain. As René Richard wrote in the evening program: Moscow does not exist and no train can get there. "

"This is what allows spectators to project what they want on this Moscow," said Brochu. Everyone has a lost paradise. It is an intimate but also a collective issue. As a society, how is it that we don't make the right choices, that we don't tend towards an ideal, that we don't mobilize around a vision? Why do we prefer to give birth to a continent of plastic? "

You have to stand up

"Once the trials of life have crossed us, specifies Godin-Vigneau, that we are very disillusioned, that we have multiplied the compromises, that we may even have been defeatists, it is necessary that the we get up and continue to move forward. In this sense, I find that the show gives courage, that it encourages lucidity, love and tenderness. "

"The characters in the play often say that you have to stand up," explains Vachon. You have to know how to get up, have high moral standards and stick to them. It is the most difficult and at the same time the most important. "As Verchinine puts it, reminds Godin-Vigneau: there is no happiness, there is only the desire for happiness. The main thing, then, may not be to go to Moscow, but to make sure that we always look in his direction ...

[enigmaincrimson]

"You know... for a self-professed Sith Lord, I would have expected you to be able to back up your boasts with a little more fire." Spoke a feminine voice from under the hood... as they ignited their lightsaber with a flourish, the glow from the blade illuminating her face with orange hues. The sound it made was distinct, a resonant hum that was familiar, yet distorted like it was held underwater.

The dark side user let out a scream of anger and charged that them in a violent fury, right before being yet again repelled with nothing more than a flourish of the wrist, the reaction of their blades making contact with one another resulting in a violent explosion that threw them backwards and slamming them hard into the nearby wall like a ragdoll shot out of a railgun.

Yet... she remained, standing and unphased by what had just happened, her stance stable and patient, advancing ever closer regardless of their own desperate struggles to fight back or flee.

"Didn't you know? Passion for passion's sake does little, purposeless and without goal, it burns all it touches until there is nothing left, not even itself." Continued the female stranger, her lips raised into a demented grin more fit for a hungry beast than anything she might resemble, like staring at the event horizon at the yawning abyss of a black hole, right just before they might be pulled in and consumed by the very things they might desire.

There was no escape... no hope or pity to be found there, only the inevitable demise at the end of all things.

It was a strange vision... one of many, a projection of something beautiful as it was terrible, echoes of a once unending dream in its last days. The meaning of which had as of yet be known.

[vondrakenhof]

Ok so his name is Vellum and he's a tiefling historian. He works in a library in the capital of the nation Nathferann. And he is obsessed with tracking tiefling bloodlines back to the person who made a deal with a devil.

You see, in this setting I've made up, ~1000 years prior the land had been under the rule of a tyrannical dragon. So during the war for their freedom many people sold their souls for the power to fight the dragon and it's armies. So it's generally accepted that most tieflings are descended from these people and as such they aren't regarded with the fear and mistrust the players handbook says they are.

What they are regarded with is pity. Humans will look at a tiefling and think "oh you poor thing, cursed to look like a devil because your ancestor made a noble sacrifice and you didn't even get anything out of it because the first sorcerer queen showed up and slew the dragon and nobody knows who your ancestor even was"

To which most tieflings are like "Fuck you. I look hot as hell. And I can cast thaumaturgy on instinct."

Vellum does not like this pity. He's collected numerous written reports of people who suddenly gained magical ability during the war. So he's researching as many of these people as possible and any descendants they may have had.

At the same time he's tracking his own bloodline backwards, along with those of any other tieflings he can pester into letting him research their family too. He's hoping to link the records from both directions.

I don't know, I like the idea of an NPC who will, especially if there's a tiefling in the party, get distracted away from whatever quest they've been sent to talk to him about with his own personal passion project.

I've come up with what I think is a great NPC for a homebrew D&D setting that I've had in mind for a while. Would anyone like to hear about them?

[sunoorintarou]

❀ Painter!Huang Renjun x reader

❀ Summary: In which an artwork portrays words even the most talented of poets could not.

❀ Genre: Fluff

❀ Warnings: It's 1 in the morning so this is probably going to be very cringy and a bit messy. My writing is trashy as always. Also some self - doubt from Renjun I guess. This has also not been proof read.

❀ Recommended song: Je Te Veux - Erik Satie

────────────────────

The once blank canvas was now the setting of a story of a tale from long ago. The seaspray that foamed over the ocean like clouds in the clear sky proving a great contrast to the setting sun that held the warmth of a mother's touch.

It was frustrating watching Huang Renjun paint. Not because of him or his art, but because of how he denied his talent. The dark haired boy was practically the next Da Vinci but never believed your words. He had a way with paint, as he did with your heart, as one might have a way with words. Every painting of his held a thousand words. A story only revealed to the select few that didn't belong to this world.

The oddly nameless painting he had started on merely a week ago proved that far too well. Every brush stroke held emotion. He poured his heart and soul into every detail. Every leaf, every cloud, every reflection of light. He turned a picture into a story like no one else could. His talent surpassed even those of ancient painters of centuries before yet what held him back most was his hesitation, his self - doubt and pity.

Yet still, Huang Renjun was the greatest thing that happened to you, like art was the greatest thing that happened to him.

The sound of rain provided ambience in the background of the song playing from the speakers. Merry - Go - Round of Life by Joe Hisashi. A favorite shared by both you and Renjun. Renjun claimed it helped him paint better while you claimed it kept you interested in watching him, even though you'd watch him regardless.

Today was slightly different however. The cold had lulled you off to sleep, leaned against a wall away from all the paint. You had decided to sulk after Renjun refused to let you see his newest artwork, but sulking was awfully boring and after a short visit from the sand man, you were done Alice's rabbit hole and far far away from the cramped room of paint, serenity and him.

Renjun had noticed immediately. From the moment your eyes started to droop until your eyelashes finally rested on your cheeks. He felt bad, calling you out like this to keep him company yet he couldn't even bring himself to show you what he was painting. Perhaps it was because this was his biggest masterpiece. The painting he was planning on giving in as his final project for the Art Competition that would make or break his future.

His eyes couldn't help but waver over your sleeping form. His heart threatening to leap out his chest. But he, as he always did, pushed the silly thoughts away. You were a friend, perhaps a close friend at most, and nothing but.

He noted the goosebumps forming on your skin from the breeze that cooled the room. Instinctively, he pulled of his blazer, knowing full well the punishment he'd get from his mother for taking it off, and draped it over your sleeping form, careful not to wake you.

He felt pleased at the more comfortable expression on your face, scanning his painting then you once again. His eyes wondered around the room, looking at all the paintings that hung from the walls. Some had won dozens of prizes, others had been hung on walls and sought after for months. Yet when his eyes once again found you, you were the only masterpiece he saw.

You stood nervously, brushing invisible dust off the sunset colored dress you wore. This one was Renjun's favorite, claiming it reminded him of the evenings he'd spend with his canvases and most importantly you, the colors signifying his burning passion for the thing he loved. Whether he meant you or his art, you'd never know.

This was it. This great painting that Renjun had refused to show you for months was the artwork that would make or break his future. You were nervous, but also calm. Nervous because of the way Renjun had been staring at you the entire competition so far, but calm because you knew he'd win. Renjun was picky and only made masterpieces that would put even Shakespeare to shame. And you believed today would be no different.

All the artists had lined up, their prizes artwork covered by red silk the judges would pull away to reveal their uttermost feelings and desires. The first artwork to be unvailed was a painting. It was simple, made up of various fields of flowers. A classy show of elegant talent to be expected from such artists.

The next was a sculpted pot, much rougher and rawer. It showcased a pot with many cracks all lined with gold and a pair of clay hands holding onto it. A more complex meaning behind it, thickened with blood, swear and tears.

Every other artwork fell into either of those categories or an odd combination of both, but none of the art made you stare in awe. Until finally, it was time for Renjun's masterpiece to be revealed.

Your hands were tightly clenched together and you gave Renjun a reassuring smiled, nothing his odd nervousness. He was never this nervous during a competition. But then again, the stress of how much this weighed could be getting to him. You didn't know.

But when the judges pulled away the silk, you were left speechless and in utter shock. Renjun's painting, his masterpiece, was of you. And suddenly it felt as if it were only the two of you in the room.

The mistakable picture of you on black canvas, the bright colors creating a beautiful contrast, would forever be burned into your mind. Renjun had dyed you in shades of summer suns, spring kisses, cobalt jewels and pure snow. Your eyes held the stars and smile held the universe. His universe.

Every brush stroke stood out. Every small detail from the strands of your hair to the curve of your chin had been done with absolute control. Renjun had portrayed you as every color of the rainbow and all the feelings one get when they fall in love. And it was obvious to everyone in the room. The raw emotion put into this painting was radiating from it, and it was inevitable for it to be announced as the best.

Je te Veux by Huang Renjun. The painting that would be spoken about for decades that had won one of the biggest art competitions in Seoul. Even when they called his name for him to receive his prize, his eyes never left you. Je te Veux. He only hoped you had understood the message he wished to portray. I want You. And once again in a room full of masterpieces, the only one that mattered to Huang Renjun, was you.

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