#you draw every character so perfectly and beautifully

[masquerade-of-misery]

@malleleothreesome ERICA, COME OVER HERE, YOU MUST SEE THIS!!!

Leona 8. A party outfit

From this ASK MEME

yknow, aside from taking two months to follow up on this, I nearly lost this file entirely and all the backups thanks to a technical problem, so you (whoever u are) can imagine how livid i would be if it didn’t recover

let’s pretend i knew what i was doing

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[sugarygetoo]

red.

-> pairing: rengoku kyojuro x fem! reader.

-> summary: kyojuro once loved red.

-> cw/ tw:  major character death, mentions of demons (duh!), blood, mentions of torture(?),

-> wc: 1.6k (i'm cooking so hard at 3 in the morning omg)

-> an. supriseeeeee i told you guys i was coming back with an angst this came to me while driving back home from a bbq party (i wasn't driving) so i really don't know what that says about me lmao

i lowkey just pulled this one out of my ass lmao, i have so many noted down ideas i need to write and i decided to write one that i came up with on a whim...

also, call me a sadist but i love when people comment about how they feel about my works, like i love it when they tell me how sad it is like yessss sufferrrr <3333

!! this fictional work contains many descriptions of blood, please proceed with caution, we as creators are not responsible for the content you choose to consume!!

main masterlist. | kimetsu no yaiba masterlist.

✎ xoxo, yena

kyojuro loves the color red.

it was a beautiful color, with meanings just as beautiful to go along with it.

a fiery red burns with passion. it’s bright and bold, always standing out from a crowd. it was a color that was made to make the person wearing it shine. like how his hair and eyes were always drawing people’s attention. 

a soft red, or some might know it as pink, carries gentle feelings — feelings, like love and “home”. it was a color that made kyojuro think about you. you whom he loves with every atom in his body.

red has always reminded kyojuro of you. 

you, who is forever always so lovely and shone ever so beautifully in his eyes. you, who engraved her every existence into the deepest parts of his very soul. you, who always whispers sweet nothings into his ears after a long day of work, telling him how much you’ve missed him and how proud you were of him and his accomplishments. you, who always burned with passion and kindness, like a flame that refuses to die down in the rain. you were home to kyojuro in every sense of the way, from your sweet, sweet words to your lingering kisses,  you were always so perfect in kyojuro’s eyes.

kyojuro had always loved the color red on you.

it was a color that was crafted to perfectly suit you. from the way it compliments your features to the way it made you shine brighter than anyone else around. red was a color that suited you like nothing else.

kyojuro loved the color red.

red, that reminded kyojuro of the time he brought you to a field of roses, where you smiled like a child and let out laughter coming from the deepest parts of your heart. where you kissed him and he was able to taste your favorite strawberry lip balm. where you stuck a rose behind his ear, thanking him for bringing you here while he sat and stared at you as the sun hit your back making you look like an angel that was sent from the heavens above to take him away (and he’d let you).

red, that reminded him of the time he proposed to you with a ring that was encrusted with a red gem similar to the color of his eyes on it. it reminds him of the way your eyes turned into a soft red as tears gathered in your eyes, as your soft pink lips start to tremble and a small gasp leaves you. the way you ignored the expensive jewelry and threw yourself onto him while he was on his knees, where you knocked the both of you over, sending both of you to the ground, the way your warm tears flowed out of your eyes and lands on his face, your soft, gentle lips leaves kissed all over his face. starting from his eyes, then to his forehead, then his cheeks, his nose, his chin, then finally, his lips. it reminds him of the way you replied to his question with a breathless yes after a breathtaking kiss. 

red, that reminds kyojuro of the carefully handcrafted wedding dress that the two of you were choosing. how it fitted around you like a second layer of skin. how the colors brought out your features and made them shine. it reminded him of how excited you were to pick out the dress that you were to wear in a few weeks time, how you would spend hours upon hours choosing between two shades of red (that he couldn’t tell the difference of), then decided to try them both on, only to pick a third option. it reminded him of you asking him for his opinion only to dismiss it as the only reply he could come up with was “you look beautiful in anything, my love” (which was true in his eyes).

kyojuro loved red.

red, that was the color of passion. the color that reminded kyojuro of himself so much. it was the color of the tips of his hair —  his hair that looked like the brightest of flames. it was also the color of his eyes. his eyes that always shone with pride and passion. eyes that you loved kissing and staring into. eyes, that you loved complimenting, always comparing them to the sun. 

“they’re the most beautiful pair of eyes i’ve ever seen. they remind me of the sun, kyojuro. they always shine so bright, even in the darkest times. they remind me of hope, of longing, your eyes give me strength, my love. you are the sun in my life, my light.” 

kyojuro once loved the color red.

red, that was the color meaning of danger, a color that was bright like a warning to those who sees it. red that meant anger and violence. it was a color that he sees often when he is sent out on missions. from red ornaments thrown around a house to red clothing scattered and in tatters, red was never a good sign. if anything, red always meant something was wrong.

red, that was the color of blood. a color that kyojuro often see while doing his job. it was a color that often stained his sword and clothing, making it hard to wash out. it was a color that kyojuro often hoped to never find while searching for a demon for if it was evident, it never meant good for the people that was once near the area. 

red was a color that kyojuro dislike while working.

red, that was the only thing that he could see. red that burns in his eyes, as his breath grows heavier and heavier and his world begins to move slower and slower. his eyes felt as if they were burning and he cannot feel anything. in the far distance, he could make out muffled voices and sounds of swords clashing, but he couldn’t move.

red, like the blood that came out from the multiple wounds that the demon sustained. the wounds that kyojuro himself tortuously carved into the demon’s body. red, that stained his clothing, his uniform and the haori that you painstaking made for him. he remembers every word you’ve said as clear as day, “here, my love, a gift from me.” you’d then help him put it on, layer it comfortably on top of his demon slayer uniform “i hope this haori can protect you, whether that’s warding the demons away from you or to protect you from the rain, i hope this haori can remind you of me”. kyojuro can only continue his attacks towards the demon, each swing of the blade planned carefully to never hurt the demon to much to the point of killing it. kyojuro wanted it to suffer.

red, like the color that sprouted from your body, staining the otherwise spotless white dress that you were adorning. you were on the ground, turned over, your stomach on the ground with your back facing him. you were unmoving as he closed his distance, his steps getting heavier and heavier as he got closer and closer.

from where he was standing, he could see you as you laid on the floor, your body unmoving as he called out to you.

“y/n?” he’d call out ever so softly, as if he was afraid you’d wake. “i’m back, my love.”

as he crouched down, and laid his hands on your shoulder, he could feel his breath leaving his body. you were so, so cold. he turned you over and—

all he could see was red.

red. 

red. 

red.

red, like the color that stained your white dress.

red, that dripped from your arm as kyojuro picked you up from the ground, that stained the floor of your shared home, that made the mansion smell like rust and metal.

red, that was the color of the flowers outside of his home, the roses, the poppies, the chrysanthemums, and the spider lilies. the color that dripped from your lips onto the white lilies that were planted closest to the porch, tinting them forever.

red, that dripped onto kyojuro, that still had some lingering warmth. 

red, that tinted kyojuro’s lips as he kissed you ever so carefully, from your closed eyes to your forehead, then your cheeks, your nose, your neck, then carefully, he kissed your lips. they were bright shades of red, like the lipstick that was gifted to you from mitsuri but rarely used since you didn’t think it looked good on you. your lips no longer tasted like the strawberry lip balm that you loved using, but instead tasted of rust and metal, a taste that kyojuro knows he will never be able to forget.

red, like the gem on the ring that was left on your  finger, that was stained with your blood. the gem shines against the moonlight as kyojuro could do nothing but hold you closer to him, cradling your head into his neck as he rocks the two of you back and forth, his eyes watering as he hums a tone you once loved. 

as the sun rises, kyojuro kisses your forehead again, then lifts your lifeless hand to his lips as he kisses the cold ring left on your finger, a promise to you for revenge. he closes his eyes as the first ray of light enters his eyes, the sun finally showing itself to kyojuro. 

tears finally fall, as he realizes that you are gone. that you’ve gone to the moon to join the stars and he was left in this world as your sun, to be damned to shine alone.

kyojuro kisses you one last time, as he could no longer contain his sobs of sadness.

kyojuro hates red.

@ sugarygetoo, all rights reserved.

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[cabi-leodrann]

Cabi! Big fan Joffrey here!

I wanted to ask, every time I see your art not only am I stunned by the quality, but also by the sheer uniqueness in style and character design. I've never seen a lamb designed quite like yours, it's so perfectly yours. What went into the inspiration behind the characters design, especially facially? Did you try and mimick a real lamb, or was there a more fantasy-element that you veered toward?

I can't specifically put my finger on it, but it gives me vague Warframe vibes. It's such a beautifully odd design and I can't get enough.

Love your work, love everything you do, can't wait to see what's next!

Hope you're well, stay safe, take care!

First of all, your ask is one of the biggest compliments I ever had in my life, I will keep it forever. You're an absolute chad! Second of all, those are very interesting questions, and I will be very happy to answer to them!

It started more or less with this drawing I made *look at the date* 2 years ago apparently. Way before I even thought of an AU- I didn't had much in mind, beside doing something that looked cool tbh.

I was very happy with the flow of it, and how it came out. And when I drew the Lamb again, I would try to nail THIS design.

The thing is, with time, I had a really big problem: Lamb looked way too young when I thought of them more as an adult. I had too much of the original game design guiding me, making a Lamb that was too cute and childlike for what I wanted. (And also, the head did not go well with the rest of the body holy shi-)

Came those drawings! I was happier with the look, Lamb was older! And I found the colored design quit nice! (I used a sheep picture as reference, but I don't think I used it well, compared to now. I used the reference for details, when I should have gone for overall shape first.) I still wanted something simpler to draw tho. The colored design was nice for an illustration, a one time gig, but I got pretty annoyed pretty fast at trying to nail the face every time. And from those attempt, you get the sketches on the right. (I also wanted to get away from other artiste's interpretation of Lamb, and at the time of those drawing, I didn't felt like I was away enough)

From those previous sketches, the idea for THaB started to emerge. I also still had problem with Lamb's design. Especially the hair. I was inspired by black hair, which is usually not a problem, but I was never happy with how it looked on Lamb specifically. I can draw black hair, I can draw black characters, but this mother-fucker would never feel satisfying to draw or finish 👀

And one day, as THaB was solidifying in my mind, I made a series of sketches that I posted! And one of them was the most important in Lamb's final design. This lil guy! (this design didn't came out of nowhere tho, Lamb was evolving into this as I kept trying. But I wont show those sketches, because those are spoilers =3)

And soon after, I made a comic that was supposed to only be a one shot, just a POV of Lamb and there reaction to Nari' telling them to die for him. But you know, things got out of hand lol

As I continued the comic and doodles on the side, I finally made myself a reference board, with real life images that were close to the vibe of this head drawing. (And I cannot stress enough how those references solidified Lamb's design as a whole. Draw with references, it is life changing. The more reference you get, the more your visual library will get diverse, and the more interesting detail and shape you will add to your art in general.) (I'd also add this: understand what you are drawing, make research and stay curious for every bit of info on everything. You never know when these nuggets of knowledge will help you as you create)

As I kept drawing the Lamb, they evolved! Things changed, slowly, like the shape of the nose, the shape of the eyes, how the hair flowed. You see those change at the face, but also on the body! As the idea of THaB's Lamb got clearer, the design got more specific. (I also got better at drawing! This comic make me draw way more often then before, and it shows)

Something before I finish: the other Cult of the Lamb character's design are way more inspired by their animals, when Lamb is more in the human spectrum. I thought of changing Lamb at some point, to make it fair/coherent, but I loved the design too much to change it again. This AU is something I do for fun, and even if it would have been more logical to change them... I don't want to-

As for the vague Warframe vibes: I play the game! And I found the character design absolutely stunning. So I am definitely influenced by the game without knowing it lol

Thank you very much, again, for your kind words! I also wish you the best, and see you next post =D

TL;DR: Lamb design, at first, wasn't inspired by much, beside the game and my style at the time. But as I retried to make them, added more intent, they got more refined. What really nailed the idea was to have real life references on the side.

[kairiscorner]

guys i had this thought now it's driving me crazy

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

imagine watching howl's moving castle with noir.

"a moving castle?" he'd ask himself with a head tilt as he'd adjust his glasses to see the title better. you nodded. "i promise you, it's an amazing film, peter." you'd beam. he'd shrug, and smile. "well, if you say so, love." he'd say as he sits back on the couch as you put the movie on. at first, peter believed this was another, probably childish and whimsical, children's movie that you somehow found nostalgic. he doubted that it was as amazing as you claimed it'd be, but he stood corrected. he was already in awe at the different kinds of colors there were on the screen--all kinds of blues, greens, reds, oranges, and yellows--they all blended beautifully and perfectly, in ways he had never thought would fit together.

he loved the witty dialogue from the characters, his most favorite character being calcifer. "poor little flame," he'd whisper as you two watched the scene where sophie was pressing the pan down on him to cook breakfast. he disliked howl at first, he seemed like quite the womanizer. "oh, if i were sophie's father, i'd never let her leave without me." he'd say as he'd lean forward in his trance as he watched. you giggled as you leaned against him on the couch, his arm wrapped around you as you rested your head against his shoulder. "and why not?" you asked with a smile. peter glanced at you and chuckled. "well... i'd never want my own daughter's heart to be eaten." he said as he adjusted his glasses again.

"you know he doesn't actually consume hearts, he just..." you trailed off as peter held you closer to him. "i know, i know; it's metaphorical. but no matter what..." he said as he placed his hand under your chin and slowly turned your head to look at him as the movie continued playing.

you looked so stunning all the time to peter, every little bit of you shone, literally and figuratively. but here, in the dimly lit living room you two shared--with you looking deep into his mesmerizing eyes--with the light of the film's ending playing out in the background as you two swam in the expanse of each other's eyes for a second or two, you looked breathtaking.

"now... it might just be a movie and all, but... i'd never let anyone eat your heart." he said with a slight chuckle as he took your hands in his, a blush coming on his face as the tips of his ears turned a bright red, along with the bright red and pink on his cheeks. "it sounds weird, i know, but i'd never live with myself if i knew someone else would be capable of stealing you away from me, much more a womanizer like that... howl pendragon. i know how you look at him." he teased as he nuzzled his nose into your cheek.

you chuckled. "he's a drawing, peter..." you responded. "yeah, but... i want to be the guy that makes you feel pretty even on a bad day, a guy who'd make you fall for him over and over and over again even if we've known each other from long ago. the guy who you'd... you know..." he said as he moved his face closer to yours. "...the kind you'd... wanna marry one day." he'd say as your eyelids fluttered, tickling his cheeks.

at that moment, you felt like you were sophie hatter; the humble love interest to the most perfect man in the world, peter parker, who was sort of like howl in the movie. he was witty, he was charming, he was emotional at times... and he loved the real, rawest version of you. even if you believed to yourself you were ugly, you were getting older, that nobody would look at you with such pure love that you didn't believe the world could ever give you--peter was always there to prove you wrong. he was there to prove you were perfect, stunning, and most of all: you were beautiful no matter how old you got, how bad your day was, or how tired you were. you were always, always beautiful to him, that much he knew, and that much would never change--ever.

"i love you, my dearest... you're so beautiful. you're too beautiful for my heart to handle, love..." he'd murmur as you planted a kiss on his soft lips that only wished to kiss and be kissed by your own. be it with lipstick or none, with tears coating them or dry and chapped, be it in the morning, noon, or night--your lips are the only ones he'll love kissing, over and over and over; even when an eternity would pass, he'd still remember and fall in love with the shape, the softness, and the loveliness of your lips--for they are the lips of the most beautiful person peter has ever met, and ever will meet.

"that's my girl." peter muttered as he pulled away, blushing fiercely after you kissed him. "you're red..." you pointed out as you pulled him in for another kiss, with him mumbling out some answer that was pretty much a compliment within a compliment for you. the movie had ended, but your night with peter had just begun.

a/n: gonna leave this here for y'all to be delulu about what you two do after <33

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @sabcandoit @binibinileonara @connors-cumslurper @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @fictarian

[tenebris-lux]

(Warning: this post has a lot of gushing.)

I enjoyed the way Graham Rowan read Hennessey’s letter, and how Felix Trench screamed as Renfield; the latter was interesting to me because if I hadn’t known the context, I wouldn’t have known it was him. Screaming distorts voices, more so if one’s angry like Renfield was.

Btw, I’m not good with UK accents, so I’m curious what accent Hennessey had. Was it Yorkshire?

Oh, the hoarse way Seward begins his diary. Before he even said the line “I am too miserable,” I could tell he’d been crying or struggling not to. Then the way he grated out the next lines… OH, that grief. It’s so perfectly done, I can easily empathize with the feeling of talking through a cramping chest. Mr. Sims, how did you execute that so beautifully? Also love how he pauses and breathes slowly to center himself before continuing. I am not sorry, but I am LOVING that first paragraph.

And Van Helsing’s quiet, soothing tones to Holmwood as he brings him into the drawing room. I’ve said before that I think Van Helsing talks way too much, but it was very comforting to hear the way Alan Burgon delivered his lines. Lots of sympathy there.

In fact, every line in this entry was uttered so well. The way Seward says, “Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last,” with forced energy as he shoves his grief aside for later. He’s putting on the tough act, but we all know how emotional he is privately.

By the way, the music shifts are wonderful without being melodramatic, as Lucy shifts back and forth between herself and the vampiric state. And the way it turns chilling when Van Helsing says, “Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!” The music and line deliveries work well together, like harmony.

I enjoyed Van Helsing’s monologue to Seward as he practically begged him to keep trusting him. Mr. Burgon delivered those lines with such deliberation and force, that I never realized in reading the book before that Van Helsing was desperate for Seward to keep trusting him through these strange and apparently useless and grisly next steps. I also like it because of yet another issue I have with the character of Van Helsing—he tends to overtake the spotlight, in my opinion. He talks so much and directs the flow of who talks and when whenever he’s in the room (this is just how it seems to me when I’m reading it). He’s got all the knowledge (apparently), yet holds it back until he decides everyone else needs to hear it. I have issue because, when I read it as text, it just seems too controlling. And that’s why I appreciate the way Mr. Burgon said those couple paragraphs. It showed me that there are things he can’t control and has to ask, even beg for: his friend’s trust. And Jack’s trust means a lot to him.

Er, tl;dr—good job, everybody. This episode was awesome. I loved it.

[thestrawberrygirly]

thoughtful things you can do for your partner 🧸🍓

💌 gift a cute drawing drew by you of the scenery of your first kiss with them 💌

it doesn't has to be very perfectly drawn if you aren't an amazing artist, all matters is the efforts of yours for them. it will be a very beautiful memory to treasure in future for both of you .

💌 writing letters on birthday 💌

now this is little different kind of letters, let's suppose your partner is turning 20 y/o so you have to write 20 different handwritten letters for them. you can also combine these pages together making it as a card. decorate it according to what colour or any favorite character your partner admires. now if you are like confused thinking "what should i write in these 20 pages?" then let me give you few ideas; you can write poem in one page along with cute doodles and drawings, write a love letter for them pouring your heart out with all heartfull compliments and how much you love them, write about a memory you both admire alot and many more and I bet your partner will be overwhelmed!!!

i have a solution for the ones who are in long distance relationship, you can make the thing I said above in google docs and gift them as pdf <3

💌 gift a garden 💌

instead of gifting your lover a bouquet of flowers which might hurt the plants :( and also flowers might die afterwards, you can plant a bunch of flower seeds beautifully and take care of it daily and once it is a beautiful flower garden, you can decorate the garden, search on pinterest for ideas. once everything needed is ready, you can surprise your partner taking them there and spend time together. you can hangout in your garden together and make numerous memories.

by gifting a garden to your love not only strengths your relationship but also shows how much patient you are with them and how much loyal you are, it shows how much you love them <3

💌 sweet messages 💌

sending sweet messages to your love every day is like giving them a big hug with words! don't keep your love to yourself; share it freely! compliment them to make them feel good about themselves. the more you do this, the stronger your love will grow!

💌 paint together 💌

painting together with your love in a garden is like creating a masterpiece of memories. feel the brush strokes dance on the canvas as you both laugh and enjoy each other's company. with every stroke of paint, you're adding colors of joy to your relationship, making it more vibrant and beautiful. It's a sweet moment to cherish forever.

💌 cook for them 💌

make their favorite meal! just follow the recipe step by step. cook the food until it's perfect. serve it with a cute note or letter and enjoy eating together!

💌 memory book 💌

make a scrapbook or a cute photo album with pictures of the best times you've had together. you can put in photos of fun things you both did and happy moments you both shared. it'll be a nice way to remember all the good times you both had.

[littleststarfighter]

Hi! I'm pretty new to using Tumblr for anything other than favoriting fanart haha, so I apologize if this is not the right place for this. I just wanted to tell you that your art is AMAZING--like, seriously SO gorgeous. I came across it through the Kylux fandom, and although there are tons of very talented artists out there, I would be lying if I didn't say you were my favorite. Every time I see a link to one of your pieces in a fic, I know I'm going to love it. I'm a fan of more realistic styles of art (just my personal preference), and yours is not only so detailed and beautifully colored, but it always captures the emotions of the characters so well--their body language, their expressions, their affection.

I've been trying to get better at actually telling authors/artists when I love their work instead of just hitting the like/kudos button, so I apologize that this is like a year overdue from when I first came across your stuff, but better late than never, I supposed haha. I could go on, but suffice it to say that you are SO talented and I am truly grateful for all the obvious effort you put into the pieces you've done. They are absolutely appreciated :).

Hello ♥ Oh please don't apologise. It’s perfectly the right place for it, and it’s getting messages like yours that makes an artist's day. Well it certainly made mine. I could send you so many hugs right now but I don't want to smother 💕🤗 I’m chuffed to bits that you like my kylux work. I shared the ship with so many talented people who kept me drawing everyday. I miss the fandom and the people in it, but well, I never say goodbye to any fandom and may visit it anytime. I miss drawing the Lads. And I’m very happy you like my more realistic work. I’ve had so much hate in the past over it that anyone who likes my style really just brings out the joy in me. I love drawing people and capturing how they look. Even if it's hard and even if sometimes I don't quite get it right. I just love trying to capture what makes them, them! in my eyes.

Again no apologies and many thanks and hugs ♥

[kaija-rayne-author]

Some thinkee thoughts about 'the scene' and Solas's Romance. Spoilers for DAI Dragon Age Inquisition.

Okay, so, I've finished the base game part of the Solavellan playthrough. I've read a fair bit of responses to it all by now. But there're a few things I haven't yet seen. It's possible I just haven't discovered them, but I found some very salient character/story things in Solas that I want to share.

Please no spoilers on Trespasser or the books. I haven't gotten to them yet. My Inquisitor is non-binary like me, but because of how I RP her, I still use she/her or they/them pronouns for them.

For context, my real life job is an editor, and I'm a multiply published author.

The Solavellan Romance is an absolutely stunning example of a star-crossed lovers relationship. It's incredibly obvious they love one another, but due to Solas's plans and beliefs, they can't be together.

In the line 'in another world' you can sense his longing to set down his burden and just love her.

I can clearly see that it's this world, and this enby he's falling more and more in love with. But she will disappear when he works his plan. He's already in too deep. He just doesn't understand that yet.

That is the chef's kiss of star-crossed lovers. The longing, the subtle desperation, the knowledge of your love, and the deeper knowledge that you can't have it. That the stars are crossing the path of the love and severing any possibility of continuance.

All of that is beautifully crafted into Solas as a character.

I have so much professional and heartaching praise for this perfectly executed star-crossed lovers set up. Patrick Weekes deserves all the props for that. Star-crossed isn't easy to write. I know because I often write it. I have a deep weakness for star-crossed lovers, so I read it a lot too. This one was perfect.

I have to admit I don't understand all the fan reactions hating on Solas or acting as if he doesn't actually love the Inquisitor.

I mean, love or hate him, I don't personally care what people feel about him because it's a very personal thing. I just know how he makes me feel (and thus, my inky too).

But why are people questioning whether he cares about, loves, the Inquisitor? It's written all over him! Every gesture, every facial expression. Every tiny hitch in his breath.

I don't think I've seen his fear mentioned anywhere. Again, I just may have not run across it yet, but for such an integral part of that break up scene, you'd think people would be talking about it. He's running scared, utterly terrified. He's not leaving her for anything else.

Think about it. He's (likely) immortal, or at the very least nigh-immortal. Some estimates of his age are in the 5000 year bracket. From his perspective, he wakes up from a really long nap to find out the world he loved; the world in which he rebelled against the powers that were (who were possibly even his family) to save his people, only to find it has turned into something so unrecognizable that he feels honour bound to rectify his mistake. Honour is a heavy and incredibly important thing to Solas. You can see that in his reaction to Blackwall's revelation.

Solas is ashamed, grieving, planning to fix it but not sure he can. Alone, because he can't count on anyone else. (And his greatest fear is dying alone!) OF COURSE he's scared of falling in love. NOW IS NOT THE TIME must be ringing through him.

Hell, many many people are afraid of falling in love and they don't have a spot on the Dread Wolf's baggage.

Lavellan makes him feel. For a mortal. She draws his fascination away from the fade. Something he's said straight up is something that's never happened and he didn't think was possible. She jeopardizes his plans, yes. But if you've never experienced that kind of love, one thing I will say about it is this... if you fall deeply enough, there is very little that's unthinkable in reaching a place where you can have that love. That's the crux of his motivation in that scene.

That's what made him suddenly break it off. You can see it in the moment he pulls back from the kiss. He's blissed out when he's kissing her. The curve of his eyebrow and the way he has his eyes closed show that clearly. But then it hits him... he can't do this. His eyes widen just a fraction and you can see the moment he realizes he will absolutely lose himself to Lavellan. He would go down the path he's likely seen hundreds of thousands of times, falling in love. So deeply in love that he’d give up everything else for the path that would see him accept the world as it is, something he finds anathema, so he can stay in her arms, keep her, keep her freely offered love. His honour could never allow that.

Our wolfy boy is so terrified he turned tail and skeddadled with said tail tucked between his legs like the wolf he is.

I don't think I've seen even a peep about his fear. The reason he would tell everyone (and himself) for breaking things off with inky is that if his plans succeed, she won't exist anymore. There's foreshadowing on this in his personal quest with the spirit.

He believes so strongly that he needs to fix what he broke that he is cutting his heart out and leaving it on a silver platter because his people need him more than he needs his heart. That's his bedrock belief. And he can't let anything get in the way of that.

He's telling himself he has to let her go because of his plans, but that's just his excuse. Apparently, even immortal elven gods lie to themselves about love.

When he breaks it off with Lavellan, it feels like a shock because it's a shock to him as well. He took her to the waterfall to tell her the truth about himself.

His voice hitches just a little before he switches paths to tell her about the Vellaslin. I'd bet he was going to tell her who he is. But at the ultimate moment, he chickens out.

Wish I could draw better, I've got a hilarious image in my head of Solas as wolf covered in chicken feathers running full tilt away from Lavellan. Who has a silvery leash from her heart to his throat. The guy is lost already, he just doesn't know it.

He surprised them both. The depth of his feelings for her scare the shit out of him. He suddenly knows that he would give up everything for this love. He panics, and he's running scared from committing to the enby he loves.

There's an interesting bit of coincidence in that theme, and it's been used in Dragon Age before. Soilers for DAO

If you ever managed to piss off Alistair in DAO on the kingship path, (I managed it without trying hard 😅) he breaks up with you for much the same reason. His dialogue there includes 'I could get lost in you'. And that is what has sent our wolf running for the hills.

Solas has so very obviously never been in love before. He's hinted at that several times in his dialogue. TBH, I get 'virgin in the real world' vibes from Solas.

He may have had relationships with spirits, he may have done as Blackwall hinted and 'gotten frisky with a spirit in the fade'. But Lavellan is the first time (and Dreadwolf may very well prove me wrong) that Solas feels actual romantic love on the mortal plane. And for a mortal nonetheless! At the WORST possible time.

Another thing I don't see people talking about much, if at all, is how heavily neurodivergent coded Solas is.

I mean, nerdy research expert type dude who has eons of knowledge. (Walking encyclopedia thing, anyone?)

Esoteric artist using ancient methods?

Extreme reaction to an innocuous beverage like tea? (Taste/texture sensitivities anyone?)

Always on the edge of things?

Knows far more than he says?

Always observing, always learning.

He even stims in the cut scenes several times. He's heavily coded as either autistic or ADHD or both.

I've seen complaints that Solas isn't very emotive. But to me, he's screaming emotion with every gesture, every breath. Especially in the dawnlit and waterfall scenes.

I'm not even sure what to call it, animation? Modelling? What kind of name can you give moving artwork like a modern video game? Anyway, whoever took the writing part and made the visuals for Solas, I think, understood neurodivergency and enacted it perfectly.

His emotional tells are there. But, like the character himself, they're subtle.

Given how many complaints I've seen about that topic, I have to then wonder if I can see it better because I'm neurodivergent and my family is too. I'm used to reading neurodivergent people.

That's... that's not me being arrogant. Neurotypical people cannot read autistic and ADHD people very well, if at all. Our body language and facial expressions are so subtle or different that we're often accused of being angry when we're having a good time or are just deep in thought. Heard the term 'resting bitch face'? Yup. That's a common (soooo common) marker for an autistic or ADHD or autistic/ADHD person.

He's heavily neurodivergent coded, maybe that's why I don't have any trouble reading him? Are people just not picking up on all the details I do? (There's no judgement or fault in this. It's just fact. A lot of autistic and ADHD folks can't read NTs either. I can, but it’s something I learned to do vs anything innate. We're wired so differently and speak completely different non-verbal languages.)

During the waterfall scene, before the final part, he's got so much love and awe on his face and in his body language that it's so so obvious he loves Lavellan. I just can't grok the questions of does he or doesn't he. If he didn't, he'd have acted much differently.

It's just as obvious by the end of the scene that he's convinced himself he can't have her. That they can't have each other.

I've absolutely joined the Solavellan hell carousel 😆. I desperately hope Dreadwolf offers some sort of positive closure for Lavellan and Solas. I hope bioware believes in happy endings.

Aaaand my opinion is subject to change after I play Trespasser. I don't know very much of what happens in that, so I may have to eat these words.

[lcndonboysstuff]

do you have any favourites?

Yes! All HRs

"Lord of Scoundrels" by Loretta Chase : This one is easily a classic. You are gonna love the heroine, Jessica Trent. She absolutely takes no nonsense, and is very witty, very take charge heroine. The hero is very intimidating to others but not to her, and haha it's hilarious. Loretta Chase weaves every element perfectly - hilarity, wit, love, some sadness. Pls read this. Jessica is one of my most favorite heroines out there. There are multiple iconic scenes, but the scene where they meet, and the glove scene and the rain scene, and many others are my fav.

"What I Did For A Duke" by Julie Anne Long: This book is a delight! There is a very very very beautifully executed love triangle, so if that's not your thing, then absolutely fine, but love triangles aren't my things either (and I think I picked up this one cause I didn't know beforehand that there was going to be one). But this book is too good to worry about that. The hero, Duke of Moncrieffe, is a mature bastard (and I say that lovingly), and the heroine is smart herself. There's a scene where she lays down the hero's plan piece by piece to him, and he's like yeah, I planned to do this but now you know! Haha! This is one of those books where the heroine finds her voice too.

"Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake" by Sarah McLean: The heroine, Callie, is a spinster and one of impeccable character (no scandals!), so she goes on to list down 9 things she'd like to experience, like kissing someone, going to a tavern etc😂. So she went to her crush's house (crush of 10 freaking years!) and asked him to kiss her🤣. Well, you know the rest. Most Sarah McLean's books aren't quite historically accurate tho, but her writing is superb and draws you into the story, which are fun to read.

"A Wallflower Wager" by Tessa Dare: God this is hilarity incarnated or what! Heroine, Penny, is what you call quirky. She is awesome, and I'm biased towards her cause she's vegetarian, like myself, lol. She is an animal lover, and despite being an earl's daughter and living in the middle of Mayfair, she keeps like a dozen of animals (there is a list of animals she has rescued and given shelter in her home, and the hero is abso-freaking-lutely flummoxed after seeing that). One of the animals or birds is a parrot called Delilah, and IS SHE A CHARACTER! The hero is so sweet, too. He arranges a ball, and sets only vegetarian dishes on the menu, cause of her!!!!!!!!!

"10 Things I Hate About the Duke" by Loretta Chase: I love Loretta Chase. The heroine, Cassandra, is feared by all. She has a scathing tongue, and will not hold back. The hero, Duke of Ashmont, is a rake as rakes come. He is unhinged, in a funny and lovable way, and there was an incident at the very beginning, after which he's always like "Will you just for the love of God marry me?!" And she's like, "No, wtf! Absolutely not. My life will be miserable." And he's like, "Yea that's always great to hear😒." There's a scene where they were out at night together, and she needs a distraction to get inside her house, so he pretends to be drunk and sings a bawdy song outside.😂

Read the one (or multiple ones👀) that resonate with you the most! Then do tell how you liked or disliked it.♡

i think the first one is speaking to me the most.

not the second one because i cannot stand most love triangles. i feel like in the majority of them it’s so obvious which one the girl actually likes so what is the point lol.

[calciumcryptid]

Calcium's Crime Series Tier List

Years back I said I would do this because I watch way too many crime shows, so here is my tier list but of course, I can't just leave it at this so allow me to explain some things. Now, obviously, not every crime series is on there because Columbo would be among my favorites.

MY FAVORITES

Pysche is the best crime show ever, it is comedic, heartfelt, and probably the one that has aged the best (not perfectly). I could gush about it, but tallstheintrovert has a whole three-hour video essay about it on YouTube, and sums everything up beautifully. To put it simple: Ninety-nine percent of the show is a fake psychic annoying the police by solving their crimes for them. Also, it costars Karim Dulé Hill who is one of my favorite actors.

Cold Case hasn't aged as well, but the concept is unique and episodes will make you cry. As the title states, the entire concept revolves around solving cold cases, both recent and old, with flashbacks to the crime and giving people modern-day closure. Not only that, but it will showcase how bigotry and police corruption prevented cases from getting solved (although how well that age varies from episode to episode).

CSI NY is a spin-off in the CSI (Crime Scene Investigator) series so it is all about the people in the labs. Is it accurate? No, but it is still cool to see how evidence connects back. It hasn't aged well in many regards but I enjoy it greatly, and I think it has the best main lead.

OTHER COMMENTS

CSI: Crime Scene Investigator is the first in the CSI franchise. In my opinion, it is the best one on a technical level with a really solid cast of characters (I just like New York better).

White Collar and The Mentalist are good shows, especially because most of the show is dedicated to annoying the police. Sloan Stowe has a YouTube video about the Mentalist that I think is a good watch even if it contains spoilers.

Bones and NCIS are on here mainly because I have fond memories of them, not because I think they aged well or are good but because I watched Bones with my oma every day after school and NCIS with my parents so I am rather fond. I'd recommend Bones over NCIS, because it is more comedic and has a great cast of characters but someone once called it the Glee of Crime Shows and I hate I can't disagree with that assessment.

Castle is fun to watch, and has aged surprisingly in many cases at least compared to other crime series. For example, in the first seasons there is an episode about Vodun but treated with actual care and dignity or at least as much as crime series can manage. The main draw is not the main duo, the main draw is the relationship between the male lead and his daughter.

Law and Order SVU is a Law and Order show so it deepthroats the police every chance it gets, but it also has Mariska Hargitay as Olivia Benson and Ice-T as Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola, so...

Criminal Minds is tricky because it hasn't aged the best, and the show is known for its heaviest episodes to cause nightmares. Regardless, I think it is worth a shot because the cast is brilliant even if it is hard to watch most of the time.

Rizzoli and Isles is an interesting watch, but I wouldn't recommend it because it is very much a hit-or-miss type of show. The friendship between the two leads is a heavy draw though.

Chicago PD opens on a corrupt cop beating a man's face in and stealing his car. That is the main lead, who was an antagonist in Chicago Fire. Why did they do this? I don't know. Don't watch it. Watch Chicago Med instead if you have to watch something.

Blue Bloods is conservative. Don't do that to yourself.

[peterstamatin]

Corona Australis, Tension, and the Sisters

(by caspiancomic)

After spending 35 cycles and several real-world hours in the Void, harvesting Colour, feeding Sisters, and murdering Brothers, the Spirt fills himself to bursting with Colour, achieving a state of Turgor, and performs the Rite of Devotio by drawing the Glyph of Breakthrough on a Sister with four open hearts, ascending her to the Upper Limit. The Sister, nude, floats up and out of the Void. The Sleeper, responding to this transcendence, vomits up the last of its Colour in either an involuntary muscular spasm or a deliberate childish tantrum, and dies. What follows is a ghostly trek through the Upper Limit, modified to reflect the Colours of the chosen Sister, in the earliest stages of adapting to her presence and becoming the world she was destined to create. Over this tantalizing preview of the new world in its infancy, a narrator reads us a single verse of poetry. Then: credits. This is the ending of The Void. True to the game that preceded it, it is almost impenetrably opaque, will make precious little sense to a first time player, is open to a great deal of interpretation, and will have different significance to every player.

The verses that are read are by Maximilian Voloshin, a 20th Century Russian poet who even receives a “poetry” credit. They are from his Corona Australis cycle, verses 2 through 12 of 14. Exactly what they mean in the context of the game is delightfully unclear, although the consensus would suggest that each verse is meant to be interpreted as an abstract representation of the world created by the ascended Sister. Let me put my cards on the table right away: I disagree with the consensus. Although I think elements of the verses can be interpreted as being of particular relevance to the ascended Sister, and may in some cases serve as an abstracted description of their own worlds, I believe that the true significance of the verses is much broader than that.

It is my belief that Voloshin’s Corona Australis cycle represents the earliest germination of the ideas that would eventually become Tension. I think that a critical analysis of the poem will reveal that someone from Ice-Pick Lodge almost certainly was inspired to create the game based on the contents of the poem, and returned to the poem many times for guidance during the creation of the game. The plot, the characters, the tone, even the mechanics of the game can be found in a foetal state in Voloshin’s poem. People have tended to interpret the verses individually, and as reflective of the end of the game. It’s my belief that the poem is best interpreted as a whole, and as reflective of the beginning of the game- not the start of the narrative, but the very inception of Tension. To that end, in this article, I will be taking the poem’s utilized verses and be attempting to suss out how they manifest themselves in the finished version of the story and game.

But, let’s be honest, that would only be a partially complete article. Although it’s my belief that Corona Australis is best understood as the inspiration for The Void, it would be academically negligent to ignore the fact that the verses were selected to be read over the finale of the game, and that individual verses were assigned to specific Sisters. And besides, certain verses of the poem align themselves beautifully with their associated Sisters, so perfectly that they cry out for critical analysis. As if that wasn’t enough, many verses of the poem contain very little content that made it into the finished version of the game. So, for the purposes of this article, I will be analyzing the verses of the poem one at a time, attempting to determine either their affect on the finished game, their relevance to their associated Sister, or if I can manage it, both. I originally planned on performing both spheres of analysis on every verse, but my intellect was simply not up to the task. If you have a piercing insight on how any given verse relates to either the game as a whole or a Sister specifically- in other words, if you can pick up where I left off- I’d love to hear your ideas in the comments.

Before we begin properly, a point of clarification. Since my central thesis is that these verses served as broad sources of inspiration for The Void, any analysis of them is going to be a bit all over the map. Many of the verses will seem to be about one particular recognizable element from the finished game, before shifting gears entirely and describing something unrelated, sometimes in the middle of a sentence or even the middle of a line. Some verses will contain lines that seem to have nothing to do with the finished game, others will have lines that seem to encompass every facet of the game. It’s important to keep in mind as we progress that these poems are not about the game, of course, but merely inspired it. For this reason, while some poems will seems to have an almost prescient knowledge of The Void, others will seem thematically muddy or unclear, and others still will seem totally unlinked. Inspiration is a strange thing, and if Ice-Pick Lodge’s team was inspired more by one element of the poem than another, or if one line inspired many elements of the game while another inspired none, then that’s what happened and it couldn’t have happened any other way. I will do my best to keep the analogies between the poem and the game as clear as possible, but in some instances the connection between the two will be vague or incomplete. Please don’t interpret this as my excuse for being incompetent as an interpreter of poetry.

Right then, let’s get down to it.

We never heard again once we departed. The sinner’s prayer is sound and discord. An earthly god’s communion is reward from priests in temples never started. The dreams of madness change our saviour. We are as bees abandoned by the hive. Like the men of fallen Troy we now strive and flames predict the time of our failure. By breathing gusts we are lead in dissolution, long paths unfolding, roads we’ve never walked we stroll in blindness as a herdless flock, rolling thunder, earth and lightning fusion exploding fires of doubt and disdain- our dream’s meaning, the world will never gain.

This verse has two major driving themes that are relevant to The Void: religion, and abandonment. The two not only operate autonomously, but also fuse into each other to form a discrete third theme of religious abandonment. The religious imagery is reminiscent of the dogmatic Brothers, whose fanaticism is the core of their organization. Almost all of the Brothers’ interactions with the Spirit are coloured by their religious beliefs, and most of the time the Brothers only deign to speak to the Guest when he has broken one of their arbitrary taboos. Abandonment is probably expressed most clearly in the absence of Colour at the beginning of the game. Since we know Colour is sentient, its absence from the Void could be said to be tantamount to a purposeful abandonment- although, in fairness, it is unclear whether Colour chooses not to appear or has become incapable of appearing. Since Colour in its Lympha form is worshipped by the Brothers, Colour’s disappearance from the Void also ties into the specific religious abandonment themes in the verse.

Let’s begin making sense of some specific lines of the poem. Who is “the sinner?” According to the verse, it would have to be a character who prays. The only characters who pray are the Brothers (to Colour) so it is interesting that here they are categorized as “sinners”- by all accounts they hold everyone in the Void but themselves to be the “sinners.” The next two lines, I believe, refer to the Spirit’s relationship to the Sisters. Here the Spirit is both the “earthly god” (possibly supporting the theory that the Guest came to the Void from above) and the “priest,” and his “communion” would be Colour. In Catholicism at least, communion is believed to be the body and blood of Christ, which draws a direct parallel between Jesus and the Taboo Breaker- the Sisters and brothers both refer to Colour as being his “blood”, and it is stored in his hearts. The “temples never started” would then be the Sister’s chambers- just as the Sisters exist but are not yet alive, their chambers both exist and do not exist, as the Void is prelife and afterlife simultaneously. Since the line about communion has conflated Golden Eyes with Jesus Christ, that would mean the Spirit is the saviour who is changed by “dreams of madness.” The Sisters are often referred to as being the Sleeper’s “dreams,” specifically dreams of the surface. If we believe Master Colour’s assertion that Golden Eyes is the soul of the Void, that would mean the Void itself is changed by the Sisters, and is complicit and even an active participant in its own change- although quite why they are considered “mad” is unclear, if that element of the verse even manifests itself in the final game.

After this we begin to see the themes of abandonment take over from the religious imagery. We have established that the entity doing the abandoning is Colour, so the remainder of the verse would describe the effect Colour’s absence has had on the Void, as well as giving us a better sense of what Colour truly means to the Sleeper. The Nameless Sister refers to Colour as being both food and fuel, but here the verse suggests that Colour used to be so much more. It was the “hive” that has abandoned its bees- not just an external force harvested for its nutrients, but actually an element that permeated the entirety of the Void, so tightly linked to the very environment that its citizens could be said to be living “in” or at least “among” Colour. This makes its disappearance that much more devastating. In this verse we also have the first mention of “blindness,” which here we will recognize as being a clear reference to the Brothers. Again, the Brothers’ perception of themselves is challenged by the verse: first though they consider themselves saints, the poem suggests they are the sinners; here they consider themselves the Sisters’ shepherds, but the poem instead calls them the flock.

Our dream’s meaning the Earth will never dash when morning murmurs meld in single chorus, and silken dawns dissolve before us. The foul scythe will then be burnt to ash, the rippling grey will crush to diamond dust, the regrets drowned in the silent ocean, our spirits liberated by devotion. The false sun’s glitter will fade at last. We are neither stunned by midday desert splendour nor to the jewels our will surrender, no; we are dead for golden coin’s sake. And robed in silken moon rays we are dressed, by suns that shine at midnight we are blessed, and at the darkest hour… we are awake.

Sister Ava’s verse seems tailored to her character, particularly those elements of her personality she seeks to obscure from the Spirit, and maybe even herself. In my last essay regarding the Sisters, I alluded to Ava having a deceptively deep personality as evidenced by the presence of candles in her Soul Obscura, and her verse seems to support the theory that Ava hides a more vulnerable part of herself. Her candle fixation is here expressed as recurring fire imagery, especially solar images. Interestingly, the poem with the strongest fire imagery has been reserved for Ava, not Una. Fire is not all that links this verse to Ava, though, there is also a recurring theme of treasure: Ava’s richly (arguably garishly) decorated alcove is almost uniformly gilded, and draped in rich silks. Finally, as I hope to demonstrate, Ava’s verse seems to deal with what happens to the Sleeper after Breakthrough. The Void itself is obliquely referred to by many previously unused nicknames, which seems to be possible thanks to Ava’s taste for violet’s inspiration.

Almost immediately in the poem two elements of Ava’s personality are fused into one with the description of “silken dawns” dissolving. The four lines that follow this appear to have some relevance to the fate of the Void after Breakthrough. Here both the “rippling grey” (grey being absence of colour, ie, the Void) and the “silent ocean” could be read as references to the Sleeper. It is “crushed to diamond dust,” destroyed by the act of ascension, and in it regrets are “drowned.” Whether the “regrets” are Ava’s fellow Sisters, or whether this line refers to Ava’s own regrets being left behind so that they will not impare her on the surface is up for interpretation. After this, it is also possible to interpret the “false sun” as being representative of the Void: after all, the Void does “fade at last” after Breakthrough. I believe the lines that follow represent Ava discovering hidden depths of strength: the “midday desert splendour” could be the Void (Nameless Sister even calls the Void a “desert on the threshold of death”), and the “jewels” are Colour, and that these lines represent Ava casting off her more materialistic impulses and lethargic nature. Although the line that follows immediately about being dead for “golden coin” seems to suggest she has retained some of her materialism, here it is important to remember that gold is in the Void the Colour of trust.

The final line I want to draw attention to is “our spirits liberated by devotion.” Here the “spirits” could be either the Spirit himself, or specifically Ava’s spirit, or even the spirits of all the Sisters. What is most interesting though is the mention of “devotion,” which for our purposes is equivalent to the Rite of Devotio. This line can be most straightforwardly interpreted as the Sisters being freed from the Void through the Rite of Devotio, which is probably how this line manifests itself in the game. It also, however, lends itself to the interpretation that somehow all the Sisters are positively affected by Breakthrough (the pluralized use of the word “spirits” allows this), or even that Breakthrough will somehow “liberate” the Spirit rather than kill him. Sister Yani makes an allusion to this as her hearts are opened, suggesting that even after performing Breakthrough, the Guest “won’t die forever.”

By suns that shine at midnight we are blessed. Keen rays descend through mortared spires, the universe’s race is paced with fire. The nebulae, the stars, the voided depths, from Canis Major to Vega and to Beta, to Ursa Major and sad Pleiades, they cross the skies as sage deities, creating planets like divine excreta. Oh dust of worlds, oh pure holy swarm, I measured, checked, adapted, scaled, and formed, gave names, drew maps, and specified the order, but starry horror will not let us go. It makes us call to foul, primal woe, when will we know the bliss of Lethe’s waters?

Like Sister Ava, Uta’s poem seems both suited to her personality and a lens through which we can see elements of her character she didn’t reveal during the game. Uta’s poem is appropriate for her due to its strong astronomical focus, which is reflected in Uta’s stargazing frigidity. The verse highlights both the external relationship Uta has with the stars (and her peculiar cycloptic moon), as well as the hitherto unseen internal significance the celestial bodies hold for Uta. Uta’s intense skyward focus has been difficult to fully interpret before now: in my previous article I suggested her little staring contest with the moon was the result of her oppression at the hands of Brother Mantid, which may yet be true, or a part of the truth. Now, though, we can see that Uta has an almost scientific fascination with the stars. The verse not only mentions by name several real constellations and star systems (and gets one wrong in the process: here I’ve corrected the reference to “Canis Major” that the game mistakenly and artlessly calls “Alpha Dog”), but also refers to the process of categorizing and organizing the star systems. This fascination also cycles back into Uta’s potential motivation at the hands of fear, though, suggesting “starry horror will not let us go.” Although she puts up a brave face through the game, Uta is followed by fear wherever she goes.

Uta’s fascination with the stars is interesting enough at face value, but is even more telling if her stargazing is interpreted as a longing for the surface. If her longing for the stars is extrapolated into an otherwise unexpressed desire to see the Upper Limit, we learn even more about Sister Uta. Already we have seen how the subtle differences between her physical form and her Soul Obscura have suggested that Uta is more alert and invested than she lets on. Now, we can see how in spite of her apparent ambivalence, Uta may truly desire to achieve Breakthrough. Quite why she would hide such an intense desire is unclear, but it could tie into her desire for emerald. She has hidden away and protected her true desire, for whatever reason. Fear of repercussions from her tyrannical Brother? Shame? Uncertainty? Perhaps she is afraid the Spirit will not select her for Breakthrough, and so decides against revealing her desire to him?

The final line of significance is also somewhat telling: “when will we know the bliss of Lethe’s waters?” In Greek mythology, Lethe was one of the rivers of Hades, and drinking from its waters caused complete forgetfulness. Why should Uta, who spends her every waking hour ceaselessly categorizing the constellations of the Upper Limit, so desire to forget?

Why don’t I know the bliss of Lethe’s waters? Why does my spirit cry into the night? It knows not the taste of burning spite. It pleads not to Satan’s wily daughters. The circle is broken, and the chants dispelled, while everyone is bathed in brilliant rays rejoicing in the wine of passing days we’re drawn to lights beyond the blue sky’s shell. The rustling grass, the shimmer of the swamps, a lazy wind plays out a vain romp and carries the shade of Persephone to the hundredfold glowing, who gazes through the gust. Yet my spirit has a sad mistrust, crying as I contemplate antiquity.

Appropriately for cryptic Sister Echo, this verse of Corona Australis is difficult to understand as either an influence on the finished game or a send-off to its assigned Sister. With regards to Tension, there are some ideas that could be said to be analogous to concepts from the finished game, but the connections here are at their most tenuous and broad. And as a companion piece for Echo, it is ambiguous and unclear- probably exactly how Echo would like it.

Echo’s verse is deeply reflective, as summarized by the final line about “contemplating antiquity.” My attention is drawn first to the lines which begin “the circle is broken…” This, it seems to me, can be interpreted as a reminiscence on the Void as it used to be, apparently from an outsider’s perspective. I came to this conclusion through the mention of “wine,” which for our purposes is almost certainly Colour, and since it is accompanying “rejoicing” in “passing days,” these lines probably refer to a period when Colour was plentiful. But, our narrator is “drawn to lights beyond the blue sky’s shell.” Rather than partaking of the wine (wine imagery will crop up again, so keep it in mind), our narrator yearns for something more. For our purposes, this yearning could only possibly be for the Upper Limit.

Does this suggest that even before the Void’s death, there are Sisters who desired ascension all the same? There are Sisters who it is easy to imagine would be comfortable in the Void if not for the famine of Colour- hedonistic Sister Ava, or headstrong Sister Eli, for example. But maybe other Sisters strive for improvement or perfection regardless of their objective circumstances. That Echo would desire Breakthrough in and of itself, not merely as a means of escaping the Void, is reinforced by her wandering nature. Echo could be said to have wanderlust, desiring to move on and explore not just because her circumstances are dire, but because it is a part of her very personality.

There are a few more things I’d like to make note of before we move on. The first is the reference to Satan. We’ve seen that the poem analogizes the Spirit to Jesus, so who could be Satan? The Brothers? Although the Brothers’ relationship with the Sisters is complicated, the Sisters are never suggested to be their children (neither literally nor metaphorically.) Perhaps Master Colour is Satan, and his daughters are the individual Colours? Colour is “pleaded” to by the Brothers, after all. But, as we have seen, Colour is an unambiguously masculine presence. What is most likely is that this reference has many indirect, but no direct, manifestations in the game. Second, there is an error in the game’s narration of this passage. The narration reads “a lazy wind plays out a vain romp and carries the shade of Persephone to Pleiades.” Above, I have corrected the line to read “the shade of Persephone to the hundredfold glowing.”

My spirit cries, entangled by the weeds. They grew from seeds nourished by blackness, their poison stuns they bind in shackles like horrors sealed in the pyramids, but neither fire-born marble nor granite can make a frame immune to the power of the flows of ageless, primal lava, that runs through our veins and fills us with might. The tomb of suns, the urn of dead world’s ash, the corpse of moon and saturn’s lifeless flesh is set in mind and taken by the heart. In dying stars, life is born anew, but spirit’s force is granted to a few who hold life’s transcendent pains apart.

Of course Sister Aya’s verse would follow directly from Echo’s, but what is most interesting to me in this passage is that rather than simply inheriting the end of the previous verse for its own beginning, Aya’s beginning alters the meaning of Echo’s ending. Where Echo’s poem ends with her spirit (or possibly the Spirit) crying as it “contemplates antiquity,” here it is “entangled by the weeds.” The change in wording serves to suggest that Echo’s nostalgia for how the Void used to be has no place in Aya’s emotional wheelhouse. For Aya, looking back on the past is tantamount to falling into a trap, and history is compared to blackness, poison, shackles, and horrors. Aya’s strongly forward-thinking temperament may make her a fine candidate for ascension after all.

More than Aya, though, this verse holds many “seeds,” as it were, of ideas that would blossom in Tension. First, the imagery of “ageless, primal lava, that flows through our veins.” For our purposes, we will recognize this as a reference to Colour, specifically the way it flows through the Guest’s body as his blood. Here it is said to “fill us with might,” which could be what inspired the idea of the Colour in Golden Eyes’ hearts altering his strengths. To fill the Spirit up with crimson is to literally fill him with might, after all.

There is also a glorious zygotic reference to the process that would become Breakthrough in Aya’s verse. Beginning with the line “in dying stars…” we can see a reference to life being “born anew,” the importance of a “spirit” and his “force,” (understood here to be Colour) and the idea that it is granted to “a few” (one, or even zero, although apparently plans existed in the earlier stages of development to allow two Sisters to ascend. Yani has leftover dialogue referring to the process, suggesting that only two Sisters who “share a Colour” will be allowed to live.) Although the idea of the Sisters (and other denizens of the Void) being neither alive nor dead is not present in this verse, there is an early reference to the concept of taking something that is dying and creating life from it. This could have inspired the idea of the dead Void ejecting a living Sister and world into the Upper Limit, or it could have informed the concept of the Sisters existing but not being alive, or perhaps both.

We hold life’s transcendent pains apart. We bear grief and disappointment’s fire. But the banner of our sorrow’s ire flutters in the winds of the departed Let the biting flames poison our spirit! Singing spirits smothered by corpses like Laocoon tangled in knotted snakes, straining to break free, yet keeping silent. But no bliss will ever change this pain, the dignity of this restraint, the tension, this ecstasy of hopeless prison. For the balm of Lethe’s oblivion, we rain a grail of sorrows on the world, we exiles, wanderers and poets!

The first thing that will catch the reader’s attention in this passage is the use of the word tension. This is almost certainly where Ice-Pick Lodge first got the name for their project. In the game, the word “tension” is used specifically to describe Turgor, the state of being filled to bursting with Colour: it is said to be “unbearable tension.” The state of Turgor is necessary for Breakthrough, and although the tension is agonizing, it is through that agony that a Sister will be given the chance to ascend. It is to become a dangerously tightened bow, capable of loosing its arrow clear into the next world, but destroying itself in the process. In Eli’s verse, tension is described as a “dignified restraint,” and a “hopeless prison.” The phrase “hopeless prison” will have some thematic resonance here, as it could be applied to the Void itself. Tension is also tied up (so to speak) with the mythological figure Laocoon, who is famously depicted in a Hellenistic sculpture being captured and assaulted by snakes alongside his similarly punished sons. Laocoon is described here as “straining to break free, yet keeping silent.” Silent Laocoon here becomes analogous to the mute Devastator, so the implication here is that the Spirit wishes to escape the Void himself- and who could blame him?

Also important to note is that there are two mentions of a “spirit” or “spirits” here, which are always worth noting as potential references to the Guest. First there is a reference to “biting flames” poisoning the spirit. In the poem it is an early reference to Laocoon, but its relation to the Void is ambiguous. There are substances said to be poisonous in the Void: each Sister has two specific Colours which will poison her, and the Brothers refer to Nerva as a poison. Neither of these would be considered poisonous to the Spirit, however, so it’s likely that it was merely the concept and language of poisons that made it to the final version of the game. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that an early draft of the game had poisons for the Spirit to be wary of. The second use of the word “spirit” immediately follows the first, and refers to “singing spirits smothered by corpses.” The Guest is unable to sing, since he is mute, but since no other character from the Void sings, this concept is probably unused in the final game. “Smothered by corpses” is interesting, though. The implication in Eli’s verse seems to be that the Spirit desires to ascend himself, so the “corpses” are probably the non-living Sisters, smothering him with their hunger, their need for attention, their reliance on him, and rendering him unable to ascend.

Finally, just something interesting that may have manifested itself as a mechanic of the game. The final three lines of the passage begin with another reference to “Lethe’s oblivion,” the amnesiac waters of one of the rivers of Hades. What is suggested here is that in order to forget, the subject of the poem would “rain a grail of sorrows on the world.” To me, “raining a grail of sorrows” suggests the consequences of painting with Colour. Throughout the game, the more Colour you spend, the more you damage the Void, and as you progress it is possible to actually kill chambers by spending too much Colour. Performing Breakthrough will outright destroy the Void, and is said to require all of its Colour. What I believe this verse is trying to suggest is that after achieving ascension, the Sister will not remember her experiences in the Void.

We exiles, wanderers and poets- who yearned to be but failed to become. Where birds have nests, beasts their lair homes, our lot is a staff and beggar’s hovel. The duty is failed, the promises are broken, the path unwalked, and our doom is nigh. Dreams of such roads drowning in a sigh of songs unsung and poems never spoken. in shards of will it is so hard to find your own true self, so hard to confine the foolish pride, so hard to enter another’s marquee, and to beg for bread- hard for the vanguard’s soul to render alive that never has been truly dead.

Ima’s passage contains within it maybe the most dense collection of imagery and inspiration that would eventually find its way into Tension. Its contents range from the general, sketching broadly what would become the tone and themes of the finished game, to the specific, including phrases used almost verbatim and gameplay mechanics described in almost prescient detail.

Let’s begin with the widest focus and get narrower as we go along. The first line echoes Sister Eli’s verse’s finale, as the structure of Voloshin’s poem has dictated so far. Worth noting here, again, is the reference to the word “wanderer,” one of Aya’s nicknames for the Spirit. As early as the second line the broad strokes of The Void are being laid down. “Who yearned to be but failed to become-” could this line refer to anything but the Sisters, toiling in existence without life? The lines that follow will inform the atmosphere of the Void as a location: “our lot is a staff and beggar’s hovel.” The concept of begging is important to the Void, as the Sisters are required to plead for their sustenance. This is also not the last reference to begging we will find in Ima’s verse.

The lines which follow this are possibly a reference to the concept that the Brothers were originally intended to be proper guardians of the Sisters, but have strayed from their path. “The duty is failed, the promises are broken,” etc, suggest that the Sisters are supposed to ascend, and the Brothers know it, but have “broken their promises” and failed in their duty- devolving instead into self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and tyranny.

From here the verse transitions into more specific phrasing that appear to have made it into the finished product almost totally intact. To begin with, the line “it is so hard to find your own true self” is reminiscent of the endgame quest to collect the Guest’s “one true heart-” the Heart of Breakthrough. It is, in fact, so hard: it is being hoarded by Brother Montgolfier, who will defend it with his life. From there we find lines about entering “another’s marquee” to “beg for bread.” By now we will recognize that any reference to sustenance is necessarily an allegory for Colour. That it is here linked with the concept of begging- mentioned in Ima’s poem for the second time- makes the connection even stronger. Entering “another’s marquee” is related to the Spirit entering the Sisters’ chambers, although interestingly according to the poem it would then be the Spirit who is begging the Sisters, instead of the other way around.

The real heart (so to speak) of Ima’s verse, though, is the final couplet. Here Tension’s true goal, its whole thesis, is alluded to in its earliest incarnation. On the face of it, it is a mention of “rendering alive” something that “never has been truly dead.” To our eyes, clearly a reference to Breakthrough. It helps tip the scales that the entity said to be doing the rendering is a “vanguard’s soul,” or our very own Spirit. Furthermore, specific mention is made of the difficulty of the task, which said by many sources within the Void to be impossible. The most interesting observation for me, however, is the suggestion that the Sisters have never been “truly dead.” This could be an early phase of the concept of the Sisters having an existence without life, or it could also be a comment on the Void’s nebulously defined “afterlife” status.

They’re not alive, but neither are they dead. They’re deaf to words, and their touch is senseless. They’re blunt to smell and their pain is endless. Their doom unaltered by any event, is sealed in darkness, but light-giver Phoebus bestows the blind with overwhelming awe in sight of God, and the concealed cave is turned to Christmas den by holy vortex, the primal night who bore him in her womb. The offspring sent to her by miser father is carrying her gifts to fateful brother, the one by solar rage who was entombed, who has become the toy of fateless play, who is alive, yet destined to be fey.

Una’s poem will by now be recognizable as a clear inspiration for the Brothers, and in fact the word “brother” is used specifically towards the verse’s end. The first line follows Ima’s last, and while in the context of Ima’s verse it seemed a clear reference to the Sisters, in Una’s verse it seems to also describe the Brothers. Also worth mentioning is that “they’re not alive, but neither are they dead” is almost exactly how the Nameless Sister describes Predators to the Spirit. Between the Sisters, the Brothers, the Predators, and the Guest, it seems that the only denizen of the Void not straddlling the line between life and death is Colour, and even Colour seems to be clinging to existence in the Void by the merest thread.

From this point on for a while into the poem, the lines will seem to refer almost exclusively to the Brothers. They can be said to be “deaf to words” because they are zealous and dogmatic, but it is also worth noting that they could be called “deaf to words” because the Spirit is mute. The Brothers’ “pain,” said here to be “endless,” is off-handedly referred to by Brother Tyrant, who suggests that the Brothers’ monstrous forms are a result of their agonizing climb from out of the Nightmare. Following this there is the most direct connection to the Brothers we have seen yet: “light-giver Phoebus bestows the blind with overwhelming awe in sight of God.” The dual reference here to blindness and religious zeal almost certainly directly inspired the conception of the Brothers.

After this, we have a reference to a “holy vortex,” which I believe can be said to be analogous to the Sleeper, and tellingly a mention of a womb. In my Beginner’s Guide to the Void, I hypothesized that the aesthetics of the Void’s “world map,” such as it is, are deliberately uterine, and that the Void as a whole can be said to be a “womb” in which the possibility for life (expressed in the Sisters) slumbers, waiting for a chance to be realized. This line provides a bit of corroboration for my theory, giving it less of a “crackpot” feel, which I quite appreciate.

The final sentiments expressed by Una’s verse are dense and knotty, and I’m not ashamed to admit I have difficulty understanding them. It’s tempting to interpret the “offspring” as being the Sisters, who at least have the potential to be considered “children” of a sort. However, the offspring are being sent to a female recipient, and the Sisters are the only feminine presence in the Void. “Miser father” is probably safely interpreted as an early incarnation of Master Colour, and we will see references to a father figure again in Sister Ole’s poem. The final lines also suggest that the Brothers are “entombed,” and are “destined to be fey.” Most confusingly of all, it suggests they are “alive,” which as we’ve already seen is somewhere between unlikely and impossible. My best estimation is that these sentiments either did not survive the development process, getting weeded out somewhere during the game’s production, or that whatever meaning that is there to be had is simply outside my reach.

Entombed, he is destined to be fey, yet sun’s hot bark is clear to his sight. From sepulchre that arises from midnight he sees the land. Wheat splayed in the rays, mules approach, scythes crop, a flail beats the ear, rafts drift, beasts sleep, flitting birds make nests, and from his shroud’s folds, he sees the fest of days and nights that spill into the years. Without joy, without tears and pain, he watches over human’s idle fates with no black thought, without asking why. Beyond existence, will, or any wish in knowing peace unknown to you and I; for to the earth, we are forever banished.

Ire’s passage is among the more mysterious, as its pastoral and serene imagery seems to be at odds with the barren realities of the Void. More that half of the poem conjures images of hot sun, rich agricultural success, animal husbandry, and industrial locals. However, the only “animals” to be found in the Void are the aggressive Predators, and the denizens of the Void are the stagnant Brothers and the imprisoned Sisters. Surely Ire’s entire verse is falsified. A hallucination, a daydream perhaps, or maybe even a memory or a premonition? It is difficult as well to determine who’s point of view is being represented here. The speaker is masculine, but that only rules out the Sisters. It could be that the idyllic scene is a Brother’s warped perspective of the Sleeper, and that this verse inspired the concept of the Brothers believing the Void to be some kind of paradise.

It is also possible, though, that the verse is related to the Taboo Breaker. This theory is supported by the lines beginning “without joy, without tears and pain…” and continues to the end of the passage. The idea here is that the Spirit watches over the “humans” (necessarily the Sisters), and adheres to his duties without fail. “Without asking why,” because the Spirit literally cannot ask. The Spirit does not seek “peace unknown to you and I,” that is to say, he doesn’t seek to ascend, and desires only to ascend a Sister (although self-ascension is possible, any player hearing this message will have chosen to ascend Ire, so the point is moot.) Most interestingly, the final line suggests both “banishment” and “the Earth.” Whether this is a negative spin on the process of Breakthrough, or whether for our purposes “the Earth” is actually a reference to the Void is unclear.

Its relation to the world of the game is tenuous, and its relationship to Sister Ire is difficult to determine as well. The closest analogue to my mind that can be drawn between Ire and her poem is that it could have inspired Ire’s fixation on gardens and trees. Ire straddles a dead tree in her Soul Obscura, suggesting she has a deep, rich connection with the earth, and it is Ire who teaches the Spirit in detail many of the mechanics behind the planting of gardens. Ire’s chamber- her pond- also has a very strong natural influence, even going so far as to feature seemingly living plant life.

Those, to earth, who are forever hurled, cannot enjoy the vastness of the fields as time’s each passing moment yields the dancing shadows of other worlds. The soul sees the flicker far and vague as on the surface of this ancient regret one tried to read the holy alphabet, but lost the pattern in his own plague. And so he walks the dust of earthly sod an apostate, a self forgotten god. In things familiar he seeks forbidden codes. His flesh, immortal, is shrouded in flames, and to him, even Death does simply nod, him, who saw the dreams, and knew the names.

Yani’s poem seems tailored to her specifically, although in the broadest possible terms it has ramifications for all the denizens of the Void. Although the poem seems to follow her after Breakthrough (seemingly adhering to the popular notion that the poems describe the Sisters’ lives after ascending to the Surface), the attitude it describes has more in common with Yani’s early, fearful, self-denying nature, instead of the relatively optimistic spirit she becomes as her hearts are opened. But, I’m getting ahead of myself: my reasoning that Yani’s verse describes her experiences in the Upper Limit hinges on the first line’s use of the word “earth.” The Upper Limit can be interpreted as “earth,” (and in fact, Ice-Pick Lodge’s own Igor Pokrovsky said as much in an email to me that “the Upper Limit was intended to be our world”) and that the “hurling” being described is a Sister being hurled from the Sleeper to the Surface. However, if we subscribe to the belief that the Sisters came to the Void from above (Yani herself especially has very strong connections to the Upper Limit), it’s possible that “earth” here actually refers to the Void, and that those “hurled to earth” are those spirits who linger in the Void after death (not unlike the Guest.)

Either interpretation, though, transition into similar themes: being unable to adapt to the world because the “shadows of other worlds” leave you uneasy. The connection here to Yani is strong and immediate, for a change, since Yani explicitly complained to the Devastator that she was perturbed by her close proximity to the Upper Limit, and appears to be frightened by the memories of her last visit there. If we interpret the verse as being about Yani’s ascension, this verse becomes tragic: even in ascension, Yani cannot find peace, she still “sees the flicker far and vague.” Selfishly enough, it is probably mere distaste for the idea that Yani would be miserable above that leads me to favour the belief that this verse is related to Yani’s attitude as it was in the Void.

Interestingly, it’s my belief that the final few lines are told from the perspective of the Spirit. During the writing process of this article, I had to reassess and reevaluate my own opinions and theses regarding the meaning of these verses, and one theory I started developing was the idea that the verses were the Spirit’s reflections on the Sisters after they had left the Void. It was an idea I ultimately didn’t follow to fruition, but here I think the idea has a bit more strength. After Yani’s ascension, then, the Spirit would “walk the dust of earthly sod” (here the use of the word “earthly” to refer to the Void would be reinforced), and we see that without Yani’s spark of carefully hidden, delicately protected creativity, the Guest finds himself going about his business with a kind of malaise, seeking “forbidden codes” that might give him some indication of how his chosen Sister was faring in the world above. In the end, I suppose it was a bit too romantic even for my tastes.

The ones who saw the dreams and knew the names, who heard the grasses talking to each other, who learned the will of their ancient father, and listened to the songs of tidal waves, the ones whose souls have been purified, the ones harnessed to the pain of challenge, who lit the mystic candles on the fringe, who became a pure shade of darkest nights, who didn’t squeeze their grape to sinful glass, and didn’t seek the joys of earthly leisure, not in the priestess’ dances, nor in the pleasure, but who descended into hell’s morass to meet their shadow at the very bottom- they don’t expect hearts with love to blossom.

Perhaps appropriately, Sister Ole’s poem is one of the most dense and intensely knotted of the verses. It seems to be referring to multiple parties from the Void, either all at once or cycling through each of them. Again, it is important to keep in mind that the verses merely inspired The Void, and are not directly analogous to the story of the game or the characters in their final incarnations. For this verse to make sense, we have to keep track of the final line the poem is building to: “they don’t expect hearts with love to blossom.” For the purposes of our Void-inspired reading, this line almost certainly refers to Breakthrough. So, in theory, whichever party the verse is about does not expect this process to be possible- or expects it to be possible, but unrealistic, or overly optimistic, or hopelessly unlikely.

This pessimistic outlook could belong to the Brothers, and it could certainly belong to some of the Sisters individually, if not to the Sisters as a whole. From player to player this could also refer to the Guest, as it is possible for him to fail his purpose and either become Brother Doppelganger or ascend himself. If this poem was recited for the Spirit’s ending, I would be particularly open to this interpretation. Since it is read for Sister Ole, though, I think any analysis of this verse will favour the conclusion that it is about the Brothers, but I will attempt to interpret the verse from the Spirit’s perspective as well.

Several lines from the poem suggest that it could be about the Brothers. The mentions of souls being “purified” and “harnessed to the pain of challenge” are reminiscent of how the Brothers describe themselves, particularly regarding their difficult and permanently scarring ascent from the Nightmare. Similarly, relative to the other denizens of the Void, the Brothers are best described as “a pure shade of darkest night.” The most revealing lines of the poem, to me, are those that begin “who didn’t squeeze their grape to sinful glass.” In the context of The Void, “squeezing grape to sinful glass” is analogous to wasting Colour. The “sinful glass” referred to is probably the Sisters in this context, as the Brothers consider it sinful to feed them with Colour. The Brothers also certainly don’t seek the “leisure” of the “priestesses’ dances.” If the priestesses are the Sisters, and their “dances” their reactions to having their hearts opened, the Brothers certainly don’t seek those particular joys. Regarding the Brothers, “descending into Hell’s morass to meet their shadow at the very bottom” probably refers to their relationship with the Nightmare. The phrase “very bottom” evokes the sense of “Absolute Death” the Nameless Sister warns us about, and it is also where the Brothers were apparently born. Finally, the Brothers certainly don’t expect hearts with love to blossom- they believe the Sisters are manipulative, hedonistic infidels, in all likelihood incapable of love, and under their control completely incapable of Breakthrough.

If we interpret the verse with the Spirit in mind, certain other aspects of the poem come into focus that couldn’t make sense viewed through the lens of the Brothers. Immediately, the lines about hearing “the grasses talking to each other” and listening to “the songs of tidal waves” can be understood as the Spirit hearing and understanding the voice of Colour- after all, the Spirit literally hears the voice emanating from the grassy wild sprigs that populate the chambers. The “ancient father” mentioned here probably refers to Master Colour, then, and learning his will becomes tantamount to discovering the Rite of Devotio and the act of Breakthrough. The “mystic candles on the fringe” could refer to the Sisters, whom the Taboo Breaker “lights” with Colour- they are said to be “on the fringe” because they are all of them capable of ascending to the Upper Limit. After this, we get to the lines about “squeezing grape to sinful glass.” In a nutshell, if the Guest does not “squeeze his grape to sinful glass”- if he follows the commandments of the Brothers and does not spend his Colour on the Sisters- he must not “expect hearts with love to blossom.” In other words, if the player decides to ascend the Spirit, he must believe that the Sisters are either unable or unwilling to successfully create the world above. In a Spirit-focused interpretation of Ole’s verse, “descending into Hell’s morass” refers not to the Nightmare, but to the Void: it suggests the Spirit came down to the Void from above.

As for which of these interpretations can be said to be most accurate? Well, that argument is pointless. Since we are talking about pure inspiration, in all likelihood both interpretation are correct, and the verse inspired the characterization of the Brothers and the Spirit simultaneously. Although the two meanings appear to conflict, seeing as how the single verse is unlikely to be referring to two antagonistic parties, it is perfectly likely that the one verse served as an inspiration for both parties. In fact, the line about “descending into Hell’s morass” could be interpreted from the Sister’s perspective as well: certain Sisters imply that they have been to the Upper Limit, and may even be from there (Yani explicates this, and Sister Una claims she wants to go to the surface “again” when her third heart is opened).

So there you have it. Although part of the beauty of the Void’s use of Voloshin’s Corona Australis lies with its ambiguity, part of the fun of the game is attempting to extract meaning from that decision. While I very much doubt I’ve come close to anything resembling an “answer,” (if such a thing could be said to exist) I hope I’ve at least managed to enrich your own understanding of what the poems might mean, or might have meant in their original context, or what they mean to other players. If I slacked off when it came to an analysis of your favourite Sister’s poem, I can’t apologize enough, although I encourage you to let me know if you have anything to add to or challenge in my own little analysis.

This being my final entry in my Void series for now, I suppose it would be appropriate to write some sort of conclusive, ruminating send-off. And yet, it would betray the very nature of Tension to wrap things up concretely and move on, so instead I’ll offer a final nugget of navel-gazery. While The Void is thick with atmospheric misery, crushing bleakness, back-bending and often impossible seeming labour, and a pervasive air of melancholy, it couldn’t actually “depress” me. I have a confession to make: this entire article came about because I thought the traditional interpretation of these verses (as an abstract representation of the Sisters’ created worlds) was too depressing. For no other reason than because it made me sad to think of Sister Ole failing to allow “hearts with love to blossom” or little Yani not “enjoying the vastness of the fields,” I embarked on an eight thousand word crusade of Modernist Russian poetry analysis (frankly, tantamount to self-abuse.) Here’s a question that I could consider from now until rapture and probably never come up with a satisfying answer: how did a game so apparently bleak nevertheless inspire so much care, such a strong emotional investment, so much genuine sympathy, and so much optimism? That particular line of questioning is, for once, left as an exercise for the reader.

[siriuslytproblem28]

can't believe i forgot to update the fact that i finished art heist, baby! a few days ago :(

cw: spoilers for ahb!

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i had the ending spoiled for me, sorta, via TikTok, though i had guesses that reggie would be the one to die due to the constant foreshadowing in the text. but though calloused, I'm a hopeless romantic, so i still delluded myself into thinking something might actually be ok.

the ending was sooo bittersweet, the sweet part coming especially from the fact that this girlie is a brazilian girlie and we're basically never mentioned, unless is to utterly represent the country as a lawless land, or a crazy jungle filled with uncivilized and savage people (basically, with racist colonial and imperialist lens).

but although i cried a lot during reg's death scene, i have to admit i thought it would be sadder. don't get me wrong, it was so heartbreaking, but i think that after crimson rivers, my idea of sad just became so unbearably gigantic that it's probably concerning.

as i did, by accident in crimson rivers, a specific scene became etched with the soundtrack that was playing, and somehow fit perfectly: in cr, epiphany by taylor started playing when monty was dying in effie's arms, and back then, i misunderstood the lyric "watch you breathing, watch you breathing out" for "watch you bleeding, watch you bleeding out". tbh both fit, but my listening just made it even sm sadder and engraved in my memory. in ahb!, as well, i bet on losing dogs starts playing at reggie's death, and especially one line fell SOO beautifully over the text, that now I don't seem to remember, but it will stay with me no nonetheless.

anyways, beautiful fic, liked the characterization pretty well, though i have to admit i doubted pete untill the end, probably as some kind of ptsd from literally every single marauder fic AND original hp books 🤡

absolutely loved the dorlene there

but my highlight HAS TO GO to rosekiller

i had never really read a fic that had it, though i guessed i would enjoy the ship, and idk if it was specifically otrtbs take on those two characters, but i simply adored every single scene, line, literally everything about them. they were sooo funny and unhinged, but also laced with angst and it's just the perfect combination for me. it made me actually want to seek out specific fics where they are the main couple.

okay I'm gonna go back to reading ch 2 of my new giant marauder fic project, that i just started today ( it's desintegration) and I'll be back tomorrow to assess my first impressions, as always

i also want to review ahb! in depth, cause rn i really have to read bc i should actually just go to bed, but i need to address how much reading about so much art made my little heart warm up (i draw and paint, but had kind of a fallout with it all after i dropped out of a visual arts college course) so it was really nice to have the nerdy art discussion sprinkled on the fic.

[ronaldanthony4]

I drew this last year in 2022, and I couldn't wait for December's arrival at that time to draw this artwork. I found myself brimming with excitement as I embarked on a new artistic endeavour. The inspiration for this artwork came from the magical atmosphere that surrounds the holiday season. The vibrant colours filled me with a sense of joy and creativity, motivating me to bring my vision to life on canvas. It was time to create something special, something that would not only capture the essence of my dear friend Lovemarie but also showcase my growth and passion as a digital artist. And so, with a heart full of creativity, I set out to breathe life into another beautiful artwork. 

Ah, there it was, my latest masterpiece dedicated to Lovemarie, a mesmerising pastel fairy brought forth from the depths of my imagination. Her ethereal beauty was unparalleled, and every stroke of my virtual brush seemed to imbue her with an otherworldly charm. To honour her unique style and personality, I drew inspiration from an outfit she once wore in the virtual world of ZEPETO, where her digital avatar caught my eye and sparked my artistic inspiration. The vibrant colours of her ensemble perfectly complemented her radiant aura, and I carefully recreated every intricate detail, from the delicate lace on her dress to the shimmering jewels adorning her hair. As I added the final touches, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that my creation would capture Lovemarie's essence and bring joy to those who laid eyes upon it. 

To add a touch of magic to the artwork, I decided to incorporate a pose that was reminiscent of a scene from the classic film "Barbie and The Nutcracker." In that timeless moment, Lovemarie's fairy-like presence was beautifully juxtaposed with the elegance and grace of Barbie herself. It was as if the digital world and the enchanting realm of imagination had merged into one seamless tapestry. As I painted Lovemarie's avatar, I couldn't help but marvel at how technology had bridged the gap between reality and fantasy. The way her virtual persona effortlessly embodied the ethereal qualities of the film's characters reminded me of the boundless possibilities that exist within the realm of art. 

As I painstakingly worked on each detail, I couldn't help but marvel at the significance of every stroke, colour choice, and texture. Lovemarie's smile seemed to radiate warmth and kindness, making it an absolute joy to create. And then, there it was—the crowning jewel, a dazzling diamond placed delicately in the artwork, representing the virtual currency of ZEPETO, known as ZEM. It was a subtle homage to the digital realm that had brought us together, a symbol of the connections we had forged in the ever-expanding landscape of technology and art.

I stepped back, gazing at the finished creation with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. Lovemarie's digital fairy was now complete, an embodiment of the friendship we shared, and a testament to the boundless possibilities of digital art. She was not merely a character on the screen but a reflection of the vibrant spirit and creativity that danced within us both. As we admired our creation, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the power of collaboration and the way it had enriched our lives. The digital fairy seemed to come alive, almost beckoning us to continue exploring the limitless potential of our combined talents. 

As I shared my artwork with Lovemarie, I couldn't contain my excitement. "Look," I said, "I've created something special just for you—a tribute to your uniqueness and the magic you bring into my life. You are like a fairy, spreading joy wherever you go, and I hope this artwork captures that essence, even in the digital realm." Her eyes lit up with delight as she took in every detail of the pastel fairy, recognising her outfit and the familiar pose. "Oh, this is wonderful! You've truly captured the essence of my outfit, and I'm deeply touched by this thoughtful gift," she exclaimed with a heartwarming smile.

With that reaction, my heart swelled with happiness and a sense of accomplishment. At that moment, I realised the power of digital art—the ability to create, connect, and share meaningful experiences with friends and loved ones, even across vast digital landscapes. As we continued to admire the artwork together, the pastel fairy shared stories of her adventures and the memories she had made while wearing that outfit. It was incredible to see how a simple drawing could evoke such strong emotions and create a bond between us, proving that art truly knows no boundaries. 

As I continued to hone my skills and explore the realms of digital art, I knew that Lovemarie's pastel fairy would always hold a special place in my heart. It was a testament to the magical possibilities that lay within the fusion of technology and creativity—an ever-evolving journey that I couldn't wait to continue, one artwork at a time. The pastel fairy not only ignited my passion for digital art but also sparked a desire to push the boundaries of my creativity. Each stroke of the stylus became an opportunity to explore new techniques and bring my imagination to life, reminding me that there are no limits when it comes to artistic expression. 

[bubbiethesaur]

Hallo! I been wanting to said this for so long and i finally got abit of confidence to said it and i wanna said i extremely love your long road ahead fanfic. Every chapter is beautifully written. All the characters is written so realistically is just i love it alot, sun just being so afraid and have to pretend, even after reader tell them is fine, sun keep bringing back the box thinking reader gonna sent them bac is just painful. Moon also protecting sun while sun also protect moon not letting him see what happening. Both care deeply for each other even though their relationship is kinda shakey for long while. They gone through alot and need to heal which take time and i love how you demonstrate that perfectly. I adore reader's personality too and will do everything to make sun and moon life better while also theirs. Am sorry i ramble too much i just really want to thank you for taking your time to write such a amazing lovely fanfic and i hope you have awesome day and dont overstressed yourself!

(also sorry to ask if is okay to draw fanart of your fic-?)

Oh my goodness, thank you so so much!! You’re so sweet! I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it so far and that you like reader’s personality! I’ve really loved writing Sun and Moon’s characters and how they do truly care for each other, but some hurts are so recent and painful that it takes a while to heal.

I just—jejjsbwhsuanabdbs thank you!!

And for sure, you can totally draw fanart! Create to your heart’s content! My heart just explodes when we I see fanart of my fic.

Have a lovely day and get good rest and remember to drink water!

[Image ID: black and white sketch of Bubbie from the torso up, smiling, wearing a hoodie, with little hearts around them and saying “Thank you!” A small doodle of Moon and Sun are next to Bubbie, grinning. End ID]