#but if this used up all my remaining art juice i consider it a job well done

[yunisverse]

Happy holidays! 🎄📅🐀📀 @chongoblog

#mad rat dead #long post #scribbles #mad rat monday #art fight went on pause bc i realized it was an important time of year #but if this used up all my remaining art juice i consider it a job well done #happy mad rat monday #body horror #gore cw #spoilers

[twistedtummies2]

Artists in Wonderland - Opening & Rules

Ladies and gentleman, June is coming to a close, and July is once again upon us. For those who do not recall, July 4th will not only mark American Independence Day, but International Alice in Wonderland Day. Once again, I wanted to do some sort of special event for the occasion, and after considering some possibilities swirling around in my head, I finally picked something: why not take a look at the original “Alice” books for a change? After all, the classic books have been printed and reprinted time and time again throughout the decades; the story itself has never been out of print since it was first published in the late 1800s. After more than a century and a half of existence, and with how deeply entrenched in popular culture the stories have become, it stands to reason that Lewis Carroll’s “Alice” books would be inspirational to artists everywhere. Something interesting about the original books, when actually read, is how LITTLE Carroll describes his characters. Carroll never really tells us what Alice looks like, herself, and when it comes to the other characters, his descriptions are vague and minimalistic at best. We know the Caterpillar is blue and smokes a hookah, but that’s all; we know the Hatter wears a hat, but that’s all; we know the White Rabbit has a waistcoat and a pocket watch, but - you guessed it - that’s all. In fact, in several places, Carroll deliberately leaves it up to the illustrator to show us what characters or creatures look like: for instance, instead of telling us what a Gryphon is, he tells us to refer to the illustration in case we don’t already know. This minimalist approach makes Alice virtually impossible to read WITHOUT illustrations of some sort, and dozens - probably even hundreds - of different artists have taken a stab at Wonderland throughout the ages. While certain ideas and elements remain constant through nearly every artist’s take on the characters and scenes from the stories, each artist also gives their own unique spin on things, since the nature of this world allows for great creative juice. Carroll’s words are the backbone on which all things rest, and the artists interpreting it have the job of breathing life into the wild worlds Alice adventures through. I decided, for this year’s upcoming July 4th, to pay homage to some of my favorite artists who have taken a stab at Wonderland over the decades. So, starting tomorrow and lasting until the 4th of July, I shall be doing a short event in which I will be counting down my Top 10 Illustrators for Alice in Wonderland. Now, a few rules have to be set: one, I will specifically be looking at the ORIGINAL “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland;” most artists who illustrate the first book also illustrate the second, but this is not always the case. So I’m looking particularly at the first book as my stance of judgment, since that’s the more popular one of the two and has most of the more familiar characters and scenes from the stories. Two, I will not be counting abridged copies of the story. It has to be the full novel. Three, sort of tied to the previous point, I won’t be including artists who have only done cover art for the books; sometimes you’ll find cases where the illustrations are not done by the same artist who does the cover work. It’s what’s inside that counts; if they did both (which is usually the case), then great, but that won’t be as important as the inner workings. Four, this will be for the ACTUAL “Alice” novel by Carroll; I will not be counting sequels, reimaginings, and so forth, so don’t expect to see “Pandora Hearts” or “The Looking-Glass Wars” here. Fifth and finally, similr o the abridged copies rule, I won’t be counting graphic novel or comic book interpretations; there’s actually a few out there, and while some of them are very good, I want to specifically focus on illustrations for the novel, not comic reworkings. With all those rules told, tomorrow I begin with my Tenth Favorite Illustrator for Alice in Wonderland. Welcome, one and all, to Artists in Wonderland!

#countdown #list #4th of july specials #top 10 #best #favorites #alice in wonderland #lewis carroll #alice's adventures in wonderland #art #artists #illustration #illustrators #artists in wonderland

[dreamii-yume]

Since we know that canonically Rook is indeed a stalker.(and has the pics to prove it) Do you think he would watch his Darling...........*cough* masturbate? *cough*

The way your form looks from afar, writhing on your bed as your fingers busies themselves by playing with your own cunt is simply a marvelous sight to take in! A naughty girl, not even bothering to close the curtains, practically asking him to gawk at you. Rook is not complaining nevertheless, even if the sheets were closed, he’d still find ways to take in your beauty especially at this state. Like he always do. Still, to think that this’ll be the gift that he’ll have the pleasure of receiving from you, this could certainly be the best birthday he’d ever have!

Your face is flushed as a rose, eyes closed with tears dripping over your long eyelashes, and moans you try to hold back as you bit into your hitched up shirt. Aah, how blessed was he to be able to experience such precious moment? His ears could qualify for a great wonder, he can hear your luscious moans and groans, overwhelming with pleasure. It makes his own body feel all hot inside, most notably the squelching sound your little weeping hole makes every time you would bury your fingers deep inside. His pants tightened in anticipation but non, he must resist the torturous urge to touch himself, this fine show that you were giving is a masterpiece, truly something that will be considered a crime for merely blinking his eyes close.

...He can hear those too, you know? The names you’re calling out loud in such a seductive tone, hungry for just about anyone at this point. Rook heard his name once, which almost sent his instincts into overdrive, mistaking such lewd tone into a sweet melody. But alas, though he wishes that it was just his name that you were moaning out for, then came in the next names to replace his, all familiar in memory. Don’t worry, he doesn’t exactly dislike it at all, non, this...lascivious side of yours is also beauty in itself.

Then came in the final act of your performance, Rook’s favorite part as he could hear you getting louder and more agrressive to yourself. Your eyes rolling back with how rough you were being with your own pussy, all impure thoughts that have been running in your head must’ve been let loose. You were determine to abuse even your own just to bring yourself into a satisfying conclusion, that was the part that Rook loves about you the most, the dedication.

He bit his bottom lip in anticipation, his observant eyes eager to see what you will become from his point of view beyond your windows. Rook could feel his own cheeks heating up in pleasure, a chuckle escapes him as he realized that he was actually using his everything to resist the urge to just burst in inside your room, to finish your job long before you could. You were amazing, he thought, you weren’t aware of his presence and yet, you hold the ability to make him feel this way. To make him feel this...excited. It’s simply something that can’t be put into proper words.

Rook’s grip on a tree bark had gotten tighter the moment that he heard you let out a high pitched voice, signalling your inevitable climax. His breath hitched for a second as he saw you widened your hole to give way for your dazzling juices to be put on a display, it was like he was watching a work of art. Your body spasm at the intensity of your orgasm, fingers circling your little sensitive bud to motivate your body to let everything out. It was far too beautiful for Rook to see that he doesn’t feel all too worthy of seeing it, almost to the point of bringing him into tears.

What a performance, a beautiful representation of pureness and impureness merging as one. Rook gulped down his excitement as he finally found the will to move after a long time. With something as maginificent as that, how do you expect him to just walk away? He must pay your credits for a job well done, this new-found admiration and respect for someone shall not go unnoticed. It was beauty that Rook seeks in this world and without it, everything else is meaningless.

That’s why, he can’t just turn a blind eye into all of this. It was beauty that you have provided, therefore, allow him to give you his thanks.

You settled down after a few seconds, chest heaving up and down as you slowly pulled your fingers, slicked with your nectar out of your core. You winced at the remaining sensitivity that left you, mind feeling a little light-headed with what you just done. You felt dirty and satisfied at the same time, but didn’t really bring yourself to care any more than that. You were about to close your eyes, finally exhausted enough to call it a night when suddenly, you felt another pair of hands engulfing your own, it was colder than air.

“Non. I would prefer it if you shouldn’t fall asleep so quickly just yet, mon chére fleur.” You looked down with widened eyes to see the Vice Dorm Leader of Pomefiore himself, Rook Hunt on the edge of your bed, entertwining his fingers to your slick ones. “Your beauty can be compared to the fairest one of all, but you still yet to declare your role as a princess.”

It took you a while to actually react, gasping immediately and was about to scream loud when Rook pulled you so abruptly. He was quick to slam his lips over yours, enough to silence you with shock. The kiss was for Rook himself to indulge in, savoring your taste until the very end as he pulled away to see your adorable reactions. “Pardon...I didn’t mean to startle you like this, but I just couldn’t help myself.” He was lying, to see you this shock and speechless was something Rook had definitely intended. “I was just so captivated by the show you put on for me that I need to personally pay you my respects.”

“Eh...?” You barely croaked out, still trying to process where this man came out. You didn’t even hear any door or window creak open in this battered dorm, let alone the sounds of his footsteps! His presence had been completely erased until he took hold of your hand too, just what was going on here!? However, Rook could only smirk at your bewilderment, bringing your hand close to his lips, the same hands that you used to play yourself with. You quickly heated up in embarrassment and tried to pull yourself away but he kept a gentle yet strong grip, further increasing your panic as he went and lick your fingers one by one. “Eek...! No, d-don’t do that...!”

“Mm, délicieux...You taste as fine as I imagined you to be...!” Rook moaned out, leaning closer as you could only stare at the lovesick expression in his eyes with anxiousness. You flinched as he brought your hand down this time, your breath hitching up as he stopped dangerously close to that concerning bulge on his pants. Your eyes shifts between his face and your hand, not really sure if what he wants is what you think he wants.

“Aah...Can you feel it? My excitement?” You gulped, cold sweat dripping down your forehead rather ominously, but it only encouraged Rook’s smile to widen. He leaned towards your ear, his voice soft yet hypnotizing, irking you to do something that you were sure you’ll never forgive yourself for. “It’s calling out for you, mon chére.”

“This may be what you call ‘audience participation’ of some sort?” Rook chuckled as he began unzip his pants. When he saw how pale you look, that cold sweat was basically glistening against your skin, he pulled out an expression that resembles a puppy. Something that he knew would definitely tug on your heartstrings. “I know it’s a bit sudden and I dread of the thought of making you feel this way, but would you forgive me just this once?

Now, he was using guilt against you. He’s good at acting and is putting out a really convincing act and maybe if you weren’t aware of how he really is, you could’ve believed him. Still, it’s scary to think that it’s somehow working, despite knowing that it’s all an act. “In a few hours, my special day would be over and I have yet to wait another year for the next.” He was right, though it was an act, what he was saying was true. Maybe that was the fact that was working out for you. “Therefore, don’t you think we’d be allowed to sin just this once?”

Then, comes back his smirk, simultaneously startling you as he pulled you quite roughly, disrupting your balance. Coincidentally, or deliberately perhaps, your face landed between his legs. You widened your eyes as he got his cock out, standing tall and inches away from your face which froze you on the spot. Your breath hitched as you realized how unexpectedly huge he was, it wasn’t just in your angle either, you don’t think he was going to fit in any of your holes without hurting like hell.

“...After all...” You squeaked as you felt his hand on your bare ass, snaking it’s way to your cunt, still wet from earlier. “You, yourself was committing such an act too from earlier, weren’t you? So naughty, even moaning out other guys’ name despite not even being your special day.”

You flushed red at what he said, embarrassed that he even documented what you have said and done before. It was adorable in Rook’s eyes, earning you another chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at all. It was still a good show regardless. Though this time, would it be too much if I were to be the only one in your mind tonight?” He guided your hands towards his erection, moaning slightly as you clasped your fingers around him. “Aah~ Trés bien...! Just your soft fingers alone is enough to send pleasure through my system! Boutén!” He moaned as you glanced up at him with confused and slightly disturbed eyes, wondering how easily sensitive he was.

Still, you felt his fingers moved to play with your folds, startling you to move in your spot, grasping his cock tight. Rook chuckled as he looked down at you, feeling as if he just discovered a new function in a toy. You, however, couldn’t help but close your eyes in embarrassment, glancing slightly at your senior, who was eagerly waiting for your next move. His fingers had barely entered your pussy, and somehow, that alone felt better than how you did in your own. You can’t help but be frustrated, he was definitely using your own pleasure to use against his own, a reward system of some sort.

You give out a breathy sigh, finally sucking up your pride and going closer to his dick. His words from earlier carried a point. For now, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to entertain him for a while.

...Or whatever that means.

It’s surprisingly really fun to write for Rook since he’s already like...lowkey yandere in the game lol Aah, I just wish we know more things about him! ( ；∀；) He’s really careful to not reveal anything about his past lol

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere #yandere rook hunt #rook hunt #Birthday Crumbs

[gretchensinister]

Little Souls and Careless Gods: An Exploration of Worldbuilding in Toy Story

Sid did nothing wrong.

Or, let me clarify. The things Sid did wrong were: taking his sister’s toys and modifying them without her permission. That’s it.

Hi, my name is gretchensinister and I have a lot of thoughts about the worldbuilding in Toy Story.

I should admit at this point that I haven’t seen Toy Story 4, only talked about it with someone who has, so if some of my questions are answered by that movie or if it torpedoes some of my speculations, that’s just—that’s just an imperfection of this essay.

I barely know where to begin, but, I started with Sid, so I’ll keep going with Sid. Sid is a kid. Sid is a jerk to his younger sister, but she’s freely yelling across the house tattling on him, so it doesn’t seem like she’s suffering irreparable damage from this. Other things Sid does: wins a squeaky toy for his dog in a claw machine game, blows up toys with fireworks, takes toys apart and joins them to other toys to make new toys. Burns a toy with a magnifying glass.

None of these things is an immoral action, for a person who, through all lived experience (until the toy attack) understands that toys are objects. It’s not bad to give your dog an object to chew on. It’s not bad (morally) to blow up an object with a firework. It’s not bad to take objects (that are yours) and make them into new, different objects. It’s not bad to burn an object with a magnifying glass. From the toys’ perspective, Sid is a sadistic mad scientist type, but from everything he could possibly know, his “torture” of Woody is messing around with an object! His object! That he got from a claw machine! The pretend torture as a choice of play is worth questioning, but it’s not so uncommon as a media trope that an average kid would never have seen anything like that in an action-adventure context. And it doesn’t predict how Sid will treat actual living beings!

(As an aside, I’m firmly of the belief that if you own an object, you should feel free to do whatever you want with it. Set it on fire, take it apart to see how it works, use it as raw materials in a craft project, etc. And yeah I would make exceptions to this rule for like, privately owned culturally significant art or scientifically significant artifacts…but if they’re that significant…they shouldn’t be privately owned.)

So yeah. Sid gets traumatized because he treats objects like objects, and the objects don’t like that. Because they’re actually alive and have now promised to constantly surveil him.

And let’s be clear: Andy doesn’t know toys are alive, either. He never does. He just has a different play style than Sid, and more of an interest in keeping his toys intact. Andy has no empathy with Woody and Buzz, because he is not aware that they are beings that he could empathize with.

All right. Beyond Sid, what I really want to talk about is the nature of a toy’s mind/soul in the Toy Story universe. I will call this the toy’s animus. Much like with the soul and mind of a human being, the animus raises several questions. How is the animus created? Where does the animus reside? Is the animus a tabula rasa, or does it possess innate knowledge? Where does this innate knowledge come from, if so? Is the animus mortal or immortal?

The Toy Story universe offers various pieces of evidence to answer these questions, and they are all extremely worrying if toys and humans are both morally significant beings, though humans do not know this about toys.

Is a toy mortal or immortal?

In the Toy Story movies it is clear that toys believe they can die. Sufficient destruction of the body would cause a toy’s death. Sid’s plan to blow up Buzz Lightyear with a firework threatens his life. In Toy Story 3, the toys in the trash incinerator clearly believe that burning/melting will kill them. But, short of catastrophic destruction of the body, toys are immortal. Jessie suffers, but does not die, from withdrawal of her owner’s love. Stinky Pete was never played with by a child, and he’s alive as any other toy. Additionally, human-mimicking toys are not killed even when damaged in ways that would kill a human, though this does affect their ability to communicate. In the tea party scene in Toy Story, the headless dolls wave when they are referred to. (This raises more questions—how does a headless doll experience the world? They can still hear, but how? Also, why doesn’t the headless teddy bear move? Perhaps they simply don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on with Woody and Buzz.)

I think, according to what we see in the movies, the animus is divisible, and each part of the divided animus contains only a portion of the cognitive ability of the whole. Moreover, the animus is not centered in the head, but rather dispersed throughout the body. I would further argue that splitting the body/splitting the animus, is traumatic, even when reversible. Consider that Buzz’s mental breakdown coincides with the detachment of his arm.

What does this mean for Sid’s creations? Well, it would explain why they don’t talk. The baby-doll head with the spiderlike erector-set body (aside: is this a reference to The Thing (1982)?) really has no reason to be mute, if a toy simply must have a mouth to speak. Its form is unconventional, but, I would say, still “complete.” But if the head only carries an incomplete animus, and the erector set parts carry no animus of their own (an assumption which will be questioned later) then the whole toy would not have enough animus for verbal communication.

Janie the doll and the pterodactyl, with their switched heads, suffer significant disruption of their animi. Would their fractured animi eventually merge to form a new animus for each new body, with a different personality than Janie or pterodactyl? What part of the “Barbie” personality lingers in the animus of the toy crane with Barbie legs?

There is an exception to the concept of the fractured animus, however, and that is Mr. Potato Head. Mr. Potato Head exists in several parts to begin with, and mere separation does not fracture the animus. Curiously, though, some parts of Mr. Potato Head do not appear to contain any part of his animus, such as his plastic potato body. He retains all of his personality and ability to communicate when he has to put his features on a tortilla (?—don’t remember this part well) even though he is from an era of Mr. Potato Heads where his features are only meant to be put in the plastic potato body, not random foodstuffs. (Another question here: what would happen if an even amount of Mrs. Potato Head and Mr. Potato Head features were put on one plastic potato body? Do both animi retain coherence?) It is impossible not to wonder how far apart the features of Mr. Potato Head could be spread and the animus remain whole. At least as far apart as different buildings, as shown in Toy Story 3, but how much farther?

Creation of the animus and innate knowledge.

We are now about to embark on the specific topic that fills my thoughts now when I think about the Toy Story universe. I believe I will first fix myself a vodka cranberry (note: not just vodka and cranberry juice. To make it properly you must also add a splash each of orange juice and lime juice) and read a synopsis of Toy Story 4. Forky’s creation is a deep source of trouble here, and I must fortify myself to face it.

Where do I even begin? Okay. Bonnie, a kindergartner, creates Forky from items salvaged from the trash and names him. He comes to life after being named. According to the synopsis Forky then suffers an existential crisis because he believes he his trash and not a toy. So in this case, the animus appears to arrive after naming, and the animus is not a tabula rasa. The history of the materials appears to have some effect on the animus? (What this might mean for Rex or the plastic army men is especially concerning here.) It doesn’t make sense for Bonnie to think of Forky as trash, so this conviction has entered Forky’s animus from somewhere other than his creator. Also Bonnie has created sentient life without being aware of doing so, probably before being able to write a full sentence.

That’s troubling enough, because, to the eyes of adults or even older children, Forky is garbage. I project Forky’s lifespan of play to be that of months. And he won’t get passed onto other children. Depending on how Bonnie’s community disposes of trash, he may linger with an intact animus, at a landfill, for longer than Bonnie’s own life. It boggles the mind. (And invites hoarding in the empathetic.) However, despite all this, I would be cool with it if this was the only way toys became animate: being owned/named/played with by a child. That could be a complete worldbuilding conceit.

But that’s NOT how animi are generally formed in the Toy Story universe. Let’s back up to Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear has a personality and memories of his history as a space ranger right out of his box. And as we see in Toy Story 2, every Buzz Lightyear comes with that same initial personality. A commercial in Toy Story shows aisles upon aisles of Buzz Lightyears. Something has enabled the creation of thousands, if not millions, of identical animi. There is no direction this can go that isn’t kind of batshit.

Buzz Lightyear and the story that forms his memories were designed and created by adults. It was someone’s (and probably a team’s) job to design a toy that would be popular for a specific demographic, with (if I remember correctly) a cartoon that elaborates on the story and can basically serve as a long-running commercial for the toy. There were probably team meetings, and focus groups, and brand analysis to come up with the name “Buzz Lightyear.” And in such an endeavor, while I would like to imagine that there were some truly creative people involved who cared about the design and story, the people involved would not be the ones playing with the toys as toys want to be played with. And this is where every Buzz Lightyear animus comes from? But how? A manager or director approves the name and then…what? Is there a wellspring of animus that forms? Is it tied to the prototype? The factory workers in Taiwan don’t care about Buzz Lightyear the way Bonnie cares about Forky, and yet their actions in completing Buzz Lightyears call the animi to the plastic bodies. (And the animi are there, without a child’s touch. Stinky Pete was aware in his unopened box. Other toys opened a new Buzz Lightyear and got a living Buzz Lightyear.) And even leaving aside how the animi get into the Buzz Lightyears, the fact is that with millions of Buzz Lightyears out there, we have to conclude that the process that created his animus/animi is orders of magnitude more powerful than what Bonnie did to make Forky. Even assuming some personal care held by Buzz’s designers towards their design, it gets weird. The imaginations of adult toy designers are that much more powerful than a little girl creating and naming her own toy? NOT the way I would expect such a story-world to be set up, but the evidence is there.

And what if the designers of Buzz Lightyear weren’t particularly passionate? What if their boss just said “space is popular now, make me a space toy” and that’s the only reason why they did? That could very well be the case for a different type of toy in the series: the claw machine aliens. Those toys were not designed as a soulful passion project. I’m trying to write this to not be mean to designers who work in not-so-great places, but seriously. We have all seen generic toys in claw machine games before. They were not made to be immortally loved. (And yet! This is what the animus of a toy inherently desires!) Now, the claw machine aliens do seem to have much less backstory than Buzz Lightyear, and have personalities (or maybe just personality)/culture based on the nature of the claw machine. That makes sense, since they wouldn’t have been given a backstory with creation. The point is, though, that they still have animi. In the process of creating these cheap, cheap toys, by the dozens and hundreds and thousands, somehow their bodies were invested with full, identical animi. Adult, corporate creation somehow gives more life to toys than individual, child-led creation.

There are more questions to ask. If adults still have the power (and MASSIVELY MORE power) to invest toys with animi that they also possessed as children, then what can be invested with an animus? What are the limits of toy-ness in the Toy Story universe? Is it the name? I don’t think it’s the face, because there’s Woody merchandise in Toy Story 2 with Woody’s face on it that doesn’t talk. And I think that some faceless toys are shown to move independently/have an animus (possibly including things like LEGO—are the bricks a hivemind? Do the minifigs live inside sentient structures? Can they communicate with these structures? Also, if so, the erector set legs on Sid’s spider baby toy should have added to its total animus. But that’s not the corporate intent, so they’re still voiceless.). Christine (1983) could fit into this universe if the name is of primary importance (movie backstory for Christine, not book). But this would also mean that literally every boat and ship was sentient, but secretly so.*

If the name isn’t the important thing, is it the intent that the object be played with as a toy? In this case, that would mean that Bo Peep’s animus was not mass-produced, as she was originally part of a lamp if I remember correctly. Child-created animi would therefore be more common among non-toy objects than manufactured toys. I also want to bring The Brave Little Toaster (1987) up at this point. In this movie a group of appliances behave similarly to Toy Story toys in some ways, including being played with by their owner and then missing his attention to a high degree when he goes to college. However in this film all appliances and cars have animi, and I personally do not want my vacuum cleaner to feel any kind of way about me, or ever think I have played with it, because I hate vacuuming and would neglect it to death if feasible. (That being said…roombas in the Toy Story universe can hardly avoid being invested with animi, I imagine, no matter the details of the worldbuilding structure.) I bring this up, though, because Wikipedia notes that the original members of Pixar worked on The Brave Little Toaster. Toy Story was released in 1995 and was Pixar’s first feature length film. There is a connection, is what I am trying to say.

I think I have to go with: intent of the object to be a toy and/or being played with as a toy invests a toy with an animus. If it was the naming, then many, many public statues would be as alive as Woody and Buzz, and the people of Denver I’m sure have enough to worry about without Blucifer (Jiménez, 2008) galloping around. Bizarre to say that the least troubling option places mass production on a higher level of investing power than a child’s imagination. And I mean what I say about the mass produced animi being somehow more powerful than child-created animi.

Let’s go back to Sid’s creations. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they able to communicate like Forky? Possibility 1: Sid just doesn’t have the creative power that Bonnie does. I don’t like this because, as I said at the beginning, Sid is not doing anything wrong by making these chimera toys. He’s treating objects as objects, and the difference between Sid’s chimera toys and Forky is that Forky’s component parts were not originally part of mass-produced toys. So, (from a worldbuilding/Watsonian perspective), I have to go with possibility 2, which goes like this: mass-produced toys are imbued with animi because they are toys. Sid’s chimera toys suffer from their animi being fractured when he alters them. But these fractured, mass-produced animi retain enough coherence and power that Sid, a child, cannot replace the fractured animus with whatever he imagines for his new creations. He’s an imaginative kid! But the corporate animus cannot be expelled. The factory animus is the underlying animus and cannot be removed once the toy is a toy. It can develop with memory and experience, but it will always be the toy making corporation that brought the spark of life, not the child that actually plays with the toy.

And this actually corresponds to Sid’s toys’ decision to rebel and help Woody and Buzz. Their animi are more loyal to the corporate intent that first created them. Sid made them into something new, presumably plays with them, and yet they are not Sid’s. They are meant to be read as broken and tortured (Sid has changed them from their factory-created wholeness), not as new beings. A factory-created, owned object, is meant to be held with the same level of care and maintenance of coherence as a living being in the Toy Story universe. What a child imagines about their own toys has less creative power than a distant designer who’s been told to come up with something appealing to put in a claw machine. Children only have animating power for their toys when they make them out of raw materials.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to say that of course the toys aren’t Sid’s, they’re their own people—isn’t that what having an animus means? But Woody, for example, find it very important that he’s Andy’s toy—a possession—“a child’s plaything.” Andy writes his name on him and this is very important to Woody, enough a part of his identity that when Andy’s name is painted over by the restorer in Toy Story 2 the scene reads as an erasure of something important to him, not as a restoration of his autonomy. Time and again we see that toys want to be owned by children.

This is another place where things get weird. First, I raise the question: What do toys need to keep animus and body together? Not much—only a certain baseline of bodily coherency. They don’t need to take in anything from their environment. More interesting, though, is that they don’t need anything from the children they bond to. Shelved, boxed, and forgotten toys suffer, but they don’t die from these states. No toy will ever find a toy’s corpse the way a human could find a human corpse—whole in every way except for the absence of the animating spirit.

So: toys as entities need little. The next question is then, what do toys want? Toys want to be owned and played with by a child (I say child and not children, because the communal state of the daycare in Toy Story 3 is clearly not desirable to the toys). Woody relishes his place as favorite and most played with toy at the beginning of Toy Story. In Toy Story 2 Jessie grieves when her child outgrows her. Stinky Pete was ignored by children for years, causing him to develop the abnormal belief that it would be better for the Woody’s Roundup toys to be preserved in a museum.

(At this point, I spot another thread to follow. It seems that for a toy, the most important relationship in their existence is meant to be toy + owner. In Toy Story Woody is very invested in making Buzz understand that Buzz is a toy and not a space ranger—Buzz is supposed to stay with Andy. In Toy Story 2 the consequences of not being owned by a child are grief and violence. But at the end Woody tells Buzz he’s not worried about Andy outgrowing him, since they’ll always have each other. Now, Toy Story 3 builds up Buzz/Jessie and in Toy Story 4 Bo Peep returns and Woody leaves Buzz and the other group of Andy’s toys for a life with her, but Woody also leaves the toy + owner life to be with Bo. Toys aren’t made to have an independent existence, yet this is how they end up, also acting as matchmakers to help lost toys find new owners and enter into new toy + owner relationships? THERE IS A WHOLE OTHER ESSAY HERE.)

To stay within just one rabbit hole here, however, I must focus on this: Toys want to be owned and played with by a child. They bond with child owners who do not deliberately alter their bodies (I add this because again, Sid’s toys do not appear to be bonded with him). But within this framework, there must be essential pain within a toy’s existence. Toys are immortal unless destroyed. Toys will experience actual play with a child for, let’s say, ten years, maximum, and that’s if the toy is given to the child when the child is very young and the toy is more classic/versatile than most. That’s way shorter than the best human friendships and familial relationships, and at least human beings can often reasonably hope to have lifespans that are of comparable lengths. Oh yeah, and among human beings people are usually AWARE of the relationship that’s taking place. So toys want to form deep bonds with their children and want to have these relationships last. But the relationships can’t last. I’ll gladly state that play, in some form, is necessary for humans to thrive throughout their lives, but the kind of play that the toys in Toy Story find ideal is a childhood phase of play that that most people naturally outgrow. And even if a human did engage in play ideal for toys throughout their entire life, toys are immortal unless destroyed. All toys will lose their owners, and usually after a pretty short handful of years.

The aftermath of the owner + toy relationship is always painful for the toy. What are the options? To remain owned, but not played with: perhaps the “best” option, but it still leaves the toy with only a memory of a full life. Is a shelf life really a life? This is what was facing Woody, I believe, if Andy had taken him with him to college. Another option: to be outgrown and forgotten. This is what happens to Jessie, and it is a deeply, deeply painful experience for her. She develops claustrophobia from being stored in a box. To be donated or sold at a garage sale: also a source of trauma and panic for the toys, but still better than the worst fate, to be thrown out. But toys that have been separated from their previous owners are so often grieving and/or bitter in the Toy Story series.

This is troubling, to say the least, but it also loops back to questions about the animus and memory. Toys are not tabula rasa. Buzz has a strong personality and memory set from his unboxing. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head do not need to court each other. Tour Guide Barbie will act as a tour guide in the absence of children. But with time, and accumulation of true memories as a toy, the toys will develop their own personalities, even if the animus starting point can often remain a strong influence. In Toy Story 3, however, we learn that certain toys, such as Buzz Lightyear, can be returned to the original animus state through a factory reset. I hardly know what to do with this. It wasn’t a permanent reset; Buzz’s memories and the personality he’s developed do come back. (But now he also has access to a “Spanish mode” that is…sexier (can such a word apply?) to Jessie than his English mode. Also other toys can put him into his mode against his will. There are so many worms in this can. Sexualization of Latinx people, can a toy expect bodily autonomy from other toys, etc.?) But not every toy has a reset button. Woody doesn’t. Slinky Dog, Rex, Mr. Potato Head, etc. don’t. Does the threat of a reset only affect toys with bodily components that could be considered brain analogues, i.e., microchips? But the animus is not the “brain” and neither does the “brain” store memories/personality. I really, really don’t know what to do with this, except it seems once again to assert the ultimate strength of the adult/corporate-created animus.

The point is, toys can lose their memories, but when we see that in the movies, it leads the toy to go back to their earliest state.

Now: a mystery. In Toy Story, Woody has developed enough memory and personality that he is well aware of being a toy and is involved with the life of Andy’s room in ways that neither his sheriff role or Andy’s imagination reasonably encompasses. (Consider the “Plastic Corrosion Awareness Meeting.”) All right. This would be of no concern if Woody was a generic wild west doll, but he’s not. He was made to represent a character on the Woody’s Roundup TV show in the 1950s. He would have had an animus strongly imprinted with that backstory just like Buzz Lightyear had his strongly imprinted space ranger backstory. Well, then maybe this means that Woody just never lost his memory. That would be the best explanation. That’s why he has a personality mostly free from this imprinted backstory, having been Andy’s favorite toy for some time. But Woody has lost his memory. In Toy Story 2, Woody learns (learns!) that he’s a representation of a TV character. He meets Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete without knowing who they are at all. Woody has somehow completely forgotten his origins. He experienced memory loss that brought him farther away from his animus starting point.

Okay, so there are multiple kinds of amnesia for toys; I was wrong in my earlier assertion that memory loss tends to the origin animus. But I want to keep poking at Woody’s memory issues because of something else that Woody’s timeline leads me to conclude: Andy is not Woody’s first owner, OR Woody was boxed up and forgotten for DECADES before Andy. Actually, he’s probably spent a significant amount of time in storage or on a shelf regardless of whether Andy is his first owner or not.

Toy Story was released in 1995. If the story is set in the present, then Andy is very close to my age. Now, Woody is “an old family toy” according to Toy Story 2, and Al, as a toy collector, was so thrilled and astonished to find a Woody at a garage sale that he stole him when he learned he wasn’t actually for sale. This leads me to the conclusion that Woody toys aren’t in continuous production. Woody was probably only manufactured during the height of Woody’s Roundup’s popularity, in the 1950s. So there’s two options for Woody’s ownership history. I’m also going to presume in both cases that Andy’s father was the parent that previously owned him, though there’s no reason why his mother couldn’t have been the owner.

So, option one: the young parents/young grandparents option. If Andy’s grandparents had his father when they were about twenty, and then Andy’s parents had Andy when they were about twenty, then Andy’s grandfather could have gotten Woody at ideal playing age and then later passed him down to Andy’s father and then Andy’s father would have passed him to Andy. I don’t think this is the case, though, because Woody still has his incredibly rare hat and a functional voice box. If Woody had been played with by a child at ideal playing age at the height of the popularity of his character’s show, I think it’s likely that he would have gotten played with so much (and taken to places so much) that he would have lost his hat and his voice box would have worn out. Woody didn’t start off life as a collectible, and play causes wear and tear on toys. And if Woody was originally the grandfather’s toy, then he would have gone through another round of play with Andy’s father. Woody’s condition is too good for that. Unless, that is, Andy’s whole family is made up of people who are unusually careful with their toys? That’s sort of an intriguing idea, since it means that Sid’s actions look even more horrifying by contrast, and generations of “ideal owners” for Woody obscure the bizarre nature of the life of a thinking, feeling toy. However, the Toy Story universe keeps raising questions in Toy Story 2-4 about what it means to be a toy, so there doesn’t seem to be a motivation in the series for such obscuring. This is despite the fact that Woody’s amnesia does obscure some things about the nature of a toy’s life, at least in the original Toy Story. (I know the Doylist perspective answers all this easily—this isn’t what the audience is meant to think about, Woody’s backstory as a toy from a 1950s TV show isn’t important in Toy Story, and in fact this backstory didn’t exist until Toy Story 2 was created.)

Regardless, I don’t think the young parents/young grandparents option is the right one. Instead, I choose option 2: the slightly older parents option. Woody’s Roundup is a TV show from the 1950s. It was popular enough to lead to a lot of merchandise, not just the dolls of the main characters. Brief research shows that in the 1950s television Westerns were incredibly popular, and there were Westerns made for kids and Westerns made for adults. The question I’m trying to get at here is trying to figure out how Andy’s grandparents would have known about a kid’s Western show. But, it’s really not that difficult. In this timeline I’m building now, Andy’s father would have been born in the 1950s, making him in his early-mid thirties when he became Andy’s father. Given this timeline, it’s overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s father has siblings, including older siblings, that might already watch Woody’s Roundup. Or, even if Andy’s father was the oldest child, it’s also overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s grandparents’ friends had plenty of kids of their own and probably talked among themselves about what kids liked. The significant thing in this timeline is that Woody would have been given to Andy’s father when Andy’s father was very young. Perhaps too young for a Woody doll, but perhaps also with the assumption that Andy’s father would grow into the doll. So Woody is unboxed and waits on a shelf for a couple years while Andy’s father grows a little. My theory is that Woody’s Roundup was no longer on television by the time Andy’s father was at the right age to start playing with a doll of Woody’s type. This would have two consequences. One: Andy’s father would have been unguided by the TV show in regard of how to play with Woody, meaning that Woody would have formed many memories unrelated to his original animus in this early stage of his life. Two: even though Woody was played with, he never was Andy’s father’s favorite toy, which is why he was able to be passed down to Andy in good condition (and still with his hat).

In this option 2, which I feel is more likely, Woody has probably spent at least 25 years on a shelf or in storage. So why is this important? I think it’s important because Woody doesn’t act like he’s been through the decades-in-storage experience, or the experience of having an owner outgrow him. He sympathizes with Jessie after learning her story, but he says nothing about having experienced anything like it himself. And as far as the movies are concerned, his worries about Andy outgrowing him are new worries. But they can’t be new! He’s already been outgrown at least once before! I mean, with Andy he’s a favorite toy, so that’s a unique owner + toy relationship status that he (probably) didn’t have before. Maybe that amplifies what he’s going through this time?

But there’s another aspect to Woody’s experiences that I want to touch on. All the other toys he would have known as Andy’s father’s toy are gone. There are no other “heirloom” toys in Andy’s room, or at least there is no evidence of this. All of Andy’s other toys seem to have been purchased just for Andy, and purchased new. There is no reference to garage sale trauma, previous owners, or anything like that. And as we’ve seen from other toys throughout the series, toys remember that kind of thing! But Woody doesn’t. His animus is one that shows years of experience building over his character backstory, but he never acts like he’s experienced being outgrown or losing all his toy friends.

Or at least he never says anything about such experiences.

I think it makes sense to read Woody’s amnesia as genuine. But I also think it would be reasonable to read his character as one that has undergone traumatic experiences and has responded by burying them so deep within his mind that he has no conscious access to them, even though they influence his current personality and life. (It’s impossible to know, but do toys in every household respond to birthdays and Christmas with such intense monitoring—with the desire for even the slightest early warning of replacement? Woody is the one who worries most about these celebrations, extremely anxious of his own status as favorite toy.) That the ending of Toy Story 4 removes him from the cycle of ownership and outgrowing can’t be ignored. Better to not have an owner than to experience losing an owner again, and again, and again?

But I do think there is one other possibility: Andy’s ownership of Woody caused him to lose all his memories of Andy’s father. A child may not be able to give a manufactured toy a new animus, but by possessing a toy in a play relationship (as opposed to a collector relationship) a child may be able to overwrite any memories of the toy’s previous owner. The process doesn’t happen instantaneously, as Andy’s toys don’t immediately forget him upon being transferred to Bonnie, but it would certainly explain why Woody makes no reference ever to a previous owner, even though he was most likely manufactured at least 35 years before coming into Andy’s possession. However, Jessie’s story argues against this. While she is happy among Andy’s toys, there’s nothing to show that she is forgetting her own past.

The possibility of a new child owner driving out all thoughts of the previous one is interesting, as it puts some degree of power over the toy’s animus back with the child. However, in the Toy Story universe, it’s clear that if this is the case, it’s not an instantaneous process. And if it’s not an instantaneous process, then it becomes overly complex. What memories would be driven out? For toys less adventurous than the main characters of the Toy Story movies, their whole lives are centered on their owners. They live in their child’s room/house. Anything that took place there would have to be forgotten to not bring up thoughts of the previous owner, including conversations with other toys that were friends of that first toy. At this point we approach a state of complete memory loss before the claim by a new owner. A gradual process would at least allow continuity of personality, since new memories under the new owner would be continually being made. But then, some new memories would have to fade, also. For wouldn’t a toy talk about their past while they could still remember it? And wouldn’t their new friends maybe bring up their past in conversation sometimes? They might even talk about the process of forgetting. That process would be noticed and known among toys. No, after thinking about it, I would say that there is no inherent forgetting process. Memories will mostly tend to stay, with whatever pain and joy they bring. And there will never be any transition process that is easy for the toy.

Woody’s amnesia remains his own, and remains his best defense against the trauma of being outgrown and shelved or stored for many years.

Toys have a strange and painful lot in life, semi-immortals being made to be silent companions to the briefest stage of a mortal lifespan. They live because they are made for children, but for most, in this world of mass production, children do not create them. Their animi are the spawn of creators who have no intent to create thinking, feeling beings. Escaping the stamp of such thoughtless creation means living long enough to know the deepest loss a toy can experience. Sometimes the only way to move forward from such loss is to forget. And yet, there is little will for most toys to move beyond this cycle. Toys overwhelmingly retain their roles as objects. I’d like to say that maybe this means that play is worth it, that temporary joy is worth it. But maybe it’s just the nature of being a toy. After all, if there’s any intent in their creation, there was the intent that they should be objects.

*I would never leave a dangling asterisk. My previous point was about ships and boats, but, if seagoing vehicles live because they are named, then there’s no reason why land vehicles would not do the same. It might be possible to argue that the Cars universe came about after some cataclysm wiped out humans and left only named vehicles behind.

Other avenues of investigation that were beyond the scope of this essay:

1) The situation between the Diamonds and every other gem in Steven Universe is highly analogous to the situation between humans and toys in the Toy Story universe, save for the crucial difference that the Diamonds have no excuse to not know that the other gems are complete feeling, thinking beings and to treat them as such. It was actually parallels I saw between Spinel + Pink Diamond and Jessie + her owner that got me thinking about aspects of the Toy Story universe in ways that I know are meant to be ignored. Also Pink Diamond bringing all those little pebble people to life just by crying on them. That’s a lot of responsibility coming from a solitary expression of emotion!

2) I’d be curious to know if a hugely popular series based on the agency of objects has had an effect on fan culture at all. Or it might at least be a way to examine actions taken on behalf of characters. Fictional characters, after all, don’t feel any kind of way about the situations and relationships people envision them in. They’re mental objects like toys are physical objects. In the real world is anyone going to argue that putting the faces of dolls or action figures together and making kissing noises is something to worry about? Is anything about putting a naked Barbie on top of a naked Ken a harmful act? In the real world I would say no. Also, with full awareness that this is a can of worms, what is the impact of such things in the Toy Story universe? Obviously this wouldn’t be addressed in any canon. But the Toy Story universe is supposed to be like reality with one big secret so there are kids that are definitely using their toys to play out love stories and stories including a vague understanding of sex. And another aspect to all this…if you’ve seen Booksmart, consider one of the characters’ uses of her childhood stuffed animal. I understand that this is not uncommon.

All right. I think I’m done now. And that I will probably go get another drink.

(I had a few baby dolls as a child that included their own toys as accessories. H—how would THAT work?)

#I've been out of school for YEARS and yet I was still compelled to write a long and slightly deranged essay in mid-December #Toy Story

[missinghan]

countless skies upon me ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : fantasy; action; fluff; angst 

❖ word count : 16,5k.

❖ warnings : explicit language, mentions of blood + violence

❖ summary : when you stumble upon the notoriously skilled swordsman of Kalmburg, your heart finds itself wanting to get closer to his.

❖ a/n : this is the full extension of this blurb that I wrote impulsively after rewatching an old anime, please give swordsman minho a whole lot of love 🖤

prologue.

Minho’s wooden sword gets knocked out of his grasp, landing onto the floor with a loud series of clattering noises. The little boy widens his eyes when the tip of another wooden sword hovers over his stomach and he looks up to be met with the stoic gaze of his mentor. 

“What did I tell you yesterday, Minho?” 

“That I need to make more progress on improving my reaction time,” he answers grimly and rubs his forearm, head hanging low in shame. “I need to know the timing of the enemy like the back of my hand and use my own timing in which they don’t expect.”

His mentor retreats his sword swiftly, humming, “You got distracted, you weren’t observing my stance before I lunged at you. By narrating the enemy’s preparation, you can partially map out their movements, when and where they’re aiming for. That’s why you were taken aback and this allowed me to disarm you with little effort.”

“But master!” Minho pries stubbornly. “It’s not very fair if an opponent can’t fight with their sword, is it? A sword is supposed to be the coil of a swordsman’s strength. It’s all we’ll ever have.”

A fatherly smile dances on his mentor’s lips this time. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things,” he places a warm hand on Minho’s shoulder, speaking softly. 

“And it doesn’t matter if you still have your sword or not, fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

one.

Market stalls crowd the route, selling sacks of nuts and dried fruit, grilled meat hanging on lines after lines of roasting skewers. Powdered spices lay in rust red and dusty yellow and bright green piles spill from sacks as large as feed bags. Mixed and familiar scents cut through thin air, people bumping into each other, toes trodden on. Lovers stroll hand in hand, casually browsing whilst housewives hustle and bustle, hollering over background noises for the best price.

Minho ends up walking through the entire market before getting to work that day with an apple in his stomach, silently like a phantom, blending into the sea of people effortlessly. 

To him, work is just like another day in the market for stallholders, another pile of weapons needed to be honed and repaired for blacksmiths and another batch of bread to bake early in the morning for bakers. 

Except his job is somewhat… questionable and considerably dangerous for a guy who looks nothing like a warrior. At least that’s what he’s been told. Rather pretty-looking eyes being hidden under his long fringe, a high and slim nose bridge, sharp philtrum. He’s not that tall either and doesn’t necessarily have as many muscles as he initially wanted. But the swordsman doesn’t listen to his muscles to fight, he listens to his mind and becomes one with his blade. 

There’s no need for a shield or armor, for he thinks they’re doing nothing but getting in his way and slowing him down during combats. Minho draws his sword with no more qualms than a middle-aged lady gossiping about her irritating neighbors and slashes his enemies while thinking about what he’ll be making himself for dinner that day. There’s no joy for him in violence, but he takes extreme pride in a good clean kill. He has a reputation to maintain and that reputation keeps him safe in this world. 

A man approaches Minho from behind, leaning himself flat against the wooden bench that the swordsman has situated himself on for the past hour. The guy never makes the first move, that’s what he’s been told. 

“Twenty thousand units,” the masked client speaks up, his voice mellow and slightly muffled. “If you can bring back the head of a shadow wolf that’s been lurking around the Dunst forest these days, I’ll double the price. Silver-white fur, brown eyes. Make it quick too, and you can have sixty in total. He’s been eating up one too many of our sheeps already.”

His lips twitch subtly and he crosses his legs, keeping his tone low but clear, “Shadow wolves can’t handle the cold that well, why would one roam around a place with such tremendous decrease in temperature at night?” The sound of coins crashing against each other in the leather pouch suddenly irritates him. 

“C’mon, Black Swordsman, how would I know these things? I’m just merely a guy who’s trying to get by in life,” the man chuckles lightheartedly but Minho isn’t finding anything funny. No one ever gets the upper hands in a deal with him. “Look, I heard you’re good at your job and you sure look like you know what you’re doing so why don’t you just take the mon—“

 Minho stuffs his hands into his pocket and sighs, “Don’t think so lowly of me, I don’t accept deposits. I’ll only get my money once I’m done with the job. Meet me here tomorrow at noon, sharp. And if I don’t show up, consider locking your sheeps inside.” And with a grin through his flat lips under the mask, the cryptic client leaves Minho alone by the bench, fully satisfied with his attitude and reactions. 

The brunet gazes at the space ahead for a good ten seconds, thinking rather deeply about this before waving his hand absentmindedly, calling out to the errand boy who’s been hiding behind the ugly tree. “You can come out now, Jeongin. Did you catch any of that?” he asks without turning around. 

“Every single word,” Jeongin cancels the spell that’s been his cover during their entire conversation before stepping out, pursing his lips together. “A guy who’s trying to get by in life but still has twenty thousand to pay you beforehand? Sounds absurd to me.”

“Enough with the brainless chatters, you know what to do,” Minho pushes himself off the bench when his muscles start growing sore on the hardened surface. “If you do a good job, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Now run along, Chaeryeong is probably looking for you, don’t be late to class.”

Jeongin holds him back by the sheath of his sword, “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” 

“If anything, I might bring his head back instead of the wolf’s,” Minho replies monotonously, and Jeongin lets his hand fall to his side. The swordsman turns on his heels to see concern laced in the younger boy’s eyes, this prompts his voice to soften. “Don’t worry, a single wolf can’t hurt me,” he ruffles his hair before slipping into the crowd again, making his way towards the mountains to enter the Dunst forest. 

He wouldn’t mind dying alone, actually. It’s not like he has any regrets.

two.

The city of Kalmburg has it that no one has ever surpassed Lee Minho when it comes to the art of swordsmanship. 

“If you’re going to take on a guy who can parry a crossbow bolt with his sword as he’s contending against five other men, it’s time to re-evaluate the direction of your life—preferably while running away as fast as you can.”

The man walks up to the center of the town square every single day at the crack of dawn, his figure fully covered in a big black cloak, the hood thrown lazily over his head. All you can see is the strides he takes with his black combat boots. He almost belongs, but not quite. Kalmburg is known for its dashingly ornamental architecture — a white granite surface with serene spires can be seen from the castle at the top of the hill, soothing atmosphere and generically nice residents. Some say no beauty can be compared to its sunrise due to the dashing sight of a lake situated before the town square’s gate. 

Whereas, Lee Minho gives people a stark contrast with his dark aura and the black sword hung firmly on his back. He easily takes in everyone’s attention with a single sweep, his midnight orbs setting on nothing before he leaves as expressionless as he’s entered. His purposes and motives always remain hidden; hence the allure. Though it’s not hard to see how he’s making a good living on a daily basis. 

For one, he slays monsters; and for another, he deals with people. Outsiders might be surprised at how many units the Nobles are more than willing to pay him as long as he comes back alive, with the beast’s head limp in his hands. There were times when he’d come back covered in a sea monster’s gastric juice, other times he could barely walk back to the town because his spleens got severely damaged. But most of the time, he’d return as though he just got back from a stroll, outstretching his palm to collect the payment. 

Dealing with people is far more troublesome than those deadly creatures, Minho constantly tells himself so. It’s true, after all. Because when careless juveniles aren’t able to snatch their parents’ spare change on the dining table, they decide it’s a brilliant idea to challenge him for a duel. If they win, he’ll have to follow their request without receiving a single penny. But if things go the other way around, they will most likely come home crying for their mother. Such a nuisance. 

Today is no different. 

Moving into the morning dew is a shadow wolf. His paws kiss the earth not gracefully, but rather with evident difficulties and there’s a ray of exhaustion in that pair of bronzed eyes. The wolf has seen better days. His silver-white fur is thin and it clings to his frame like an old cloak in a gale. Even from several yards away, Minho can count each rib as they’re sticking out, he sees dejection in his movements as if he’s gonna let himself tumble to the ground any moment. 

Minho carefully inhales, pulling out a silver dart from the back of his belt. He raises his hand and aims precisely for the pine tree, just a strand of hair away from the wolf’s ear. When he exhales, the weapon comes flying past the creature before embedding itself to the wooden surface. 

The wolf whips his head towards the swordsman, locking eyes as he lets out a mere cry of pain, crimson dripping down on the side of his head. As Minho pulls his hood off of his face, slightly dubious that the creature of darkness will turn into a wisp of black smoke to take flight deeper into the forest, the wolf shakes his head before lying down on the soil, unable to coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his bloodied paws, he closes his eyes. He’s giving up on his life. 

“Something’s wrong. Shadow wolves’ blood isn’t supposed to be red,” Minho holds his breath in utter disbelief, taking a step backward. He’s got the wrong target. No, that client scammed him. 

A branch snaps. 

Minho reaches for his sword when the sound of thin air being ripped apart rings inside his eardrums, two blades coming in contact with each other and he has to squint slightly when tiny sparks of flame come to life between the weapons. Instead of looking at the raider, he quickly deflects their slash again. Hypothetically speaking, there are two possibilities: the first is that both swords are too weak to withstand the pressure of the blow, so they’ll simply break - in the exact same fashion. The second is in which case both blades are durable enough to field the contact, they will bounce right back. But his unwanted guest seems to detest him so much to the point they keep their sword grinding against his until their weapons slip against each other, creating a wave of grating shriek resonating through the woods, dust being thrown in the air. 

He stumbles backward, the sole of his shoes tearing the leaves below into bits. His vision shakes a little from the sudden attack before trying to focus on the figure before him. The first thing that he sees is the white wolf on the button of your silver-accent cloak. That’s the royal guards’ emblem.

“You,” the female voice catches him by surprise. “Lay another finger on that wolf now, I dare you.” You know all too well who this man is, and like hell you’re going to let him do what he wants just because of some cheap units.

Minho’s fully aware that his beating heart is thundering inside his chest, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline flowing in his veins or those round eyes glaring at him from under the sunlight. He sees the grip on the hilt of your rapier being tightened and that’s when he regains his composure, taking in a deep breath. If he gave up now because of a pretty face with a deadly blade, he’d damn his reputation as a swordsman.

“Oh that wolf is all yours,” he smiles at you fakely, wiping the beads of sweat on his cheekbones away. “But you’re going to have to do better than snooping around on people.”

Minho steadies his grip on his sword, trying to keep himself together in the deafening silence, “So, who’s making the first move now?” The tonal mockery in his voice irks you and he seems to notice that too by the slight smirk tugging at his lips when the muscles on your face twitch. 

One. Breathe in.

You’re getting into your stance sideways, your blade eye level. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. 

Two. Breathe out. 

Minho isn’t letting his guard down this time despite being slightly impressed with your skills. Usually, there aren’t many girls who take up sword fighting, at least not in his hometown so he thought you’d be sort of a novice. But your dexterity is beyond incredible, he can hardly see the tip of your sword. 

Three. “I am.”

You charge first by swinging your rapier at him from above, Minho receiving the clash with the flat of his blade. He circles away from you, keeping his sword in motion while constantly changing his stances and attacks. Rapiers aren’t very suitable for slashing or slicing since the blade is so long and thin, it can only allow its owner more speed, more precise stabs and thrusts but greatly lowers their defense. So if he can just catch you off guard…

When the tip of your sword grazes just above his clothed ribs, Minho’s reflexes kick in and his blade knocks yours away almost immediately. With the bewildered look on your face as a signal, he dodges as you attempt another stab at his left ear. This causes you to trip on your heels, your balance quivering the moment his sword slashes at the button of your cloak rather than your neck. To prevent yourself from falling, you jump and do a backflip safely, breath’s fraying as the piece of clothing is completely ditched by a tree. 

“You are strong, just like the rumors,” you breathe out a stoic comment, chest heaving up and down rapidly. 

“You aren’t too bad yourself either,” Minho grins; he hasn’t felt this much eagerness to fight someone other than monsters before. In other words, he’s never faced someone who knows what they’re doing with a sword as skilled as you are. 

You cock a brow at him, confused, “Why are you smiling?” 

“I don’t know, actually,” he shakes his head and hearty waves of laughter bubble up inside his stomach. The brunet sheaths his sword with a loud ‘clunk’, walking towards you to place a warm hand on your shoulder. “But good fight, you really know how to hold a sword.”

“Wait… aren’t we going to finish this?”

Minho picks up your cloak from the ground, outstretching his palm, “You seem like a person who knows what it takes so I don’t think that’d be necessary anymore. But I’d be glad to take you on again?”

This man is baffling you, and not in a good way either. Nonetheless, you still slide your sword back into its sheath and accept his handshake. “So you’re gonna leave that wolf alone right?”

“Only if you tell me what happened to it,” Minho replies firmly, receiving a nod of approval from you. He actually seems like a solid person. Perhaps you can trust him. 

“That’s my brother, Chan.”

three.

The forest hums with life all around you. You lift your head ever so slightly when the sunlight slips through the green leaves and branches, lighting up the dirt path ahead decorated with outgrown roots and wildflowers. You gaze up at the fluffs of clouds, searching for the birds that are singing sweetly. Minho trudges on before you a couple of steps, finding the natural fragrance of the current surroundings rather soothing. It’s making his eyes droopy.

“What happened to him again?”

He stretches his limbs tiredly and yawns like there’s no tomorrow, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. He’s not even paying attention to you. It’s been at least an hour since you’ve mounted an unconscious Chan on your horse — Noir and accepted this cryptic stranger as your guide for now. You’ve never been to this forest more than once so it’s best if you follow him—an experienced individual in order to get your brother back safely. 

You frown at him, giving the back of his neck a firm slap while your other hand is holding onto the rein. “Ow, what was that for?!” he yelps. 

“You weren’t listening, were you?” 

“Remotely,” he hums out a reply, “I didn’t sleep that well last night.” And that’s when you notice the dark spots under his eyes, the occasional tears whenever he squints his eyes under the sunlight. The job’s more draining and demanding than you thought. 

To be fair, slaying monsters and getting your hands bloodied might not be the best thing to do to a degree of morality but you really can’t judge him when you’ve only known him for a few hours. Minho’s far younger than you’d expected too. You’ve had your strolls downtown from time to time with your fellow royal guards and it’s not hard for rumors to fly. People were gasping and bouncing on the balls of their feet talking about this mysterious swordsman who’s dressed completely in black, a single one-handed sword, no shield, and no armor. They really had you thinking he was an old man in his forties who has no regrets, just trying to get by in life no matter what it takes. 

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him charming the moment you saw that handsome face under the big cloak. 

“He was recovering from a business trip so our mage decided to treat him with a special potion,” you nibble on your bottom lip, looking over at your worn out brother sideway in concern. You’ve wrapped his injuries up with some of the cloth that you’d packed before leaving this morning, he should be fine. “I guess something went wrong; hence, he’s magically turned into a wolf, panicked and bolted out of the castle. And you know how cruel people can be sometimes…”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Minho feels a big lump in his throat when you secretly toss a glare at his direction. “I should have known something was off the moment he started bleeding red.” He shakes his head, highly disappointed in himself for mistaking Chan as a shadow wolf. His professional etiquette forbids him ever repeat the same mistake. 

You stop dead in your track, cocking your head at him in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

Wait, no, something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. It can’t be that simple. “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” His steps come to a halt, only a few feet away from you and before you can even tap him out of it, Minho snaps his head back, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Tell me, when you first entered the forest, did you encounter any wolves? Even just one?”

“N-No, I don’t think so,” you stutter, slightly flustered at the sudden decrease in proximity. But you soon shake the heat on your cheekbones away when he lets go of you, pacing back and forth to think hard about something. “Uhh- what are you-”

“Shh shh..”

“Did you just shush me-” The wind whistles in your ears and you stumble backward when Minho draws his sword, the blade coming in contact with something hard and deflecting it successfully. Your jaw is locked at the sight of an arrow sticking to a tree not very far off. That could have been your head instead...He just saved your life.

“Someone’s coming, take cover.”

Minho carefully tugs your horse over to a nearby slope when you hop off the main pathway, waving him over to a big tree. You both get down on one knee as the sound of armors crashing against each other grows louder, dreadful footsteps becoming more detectable. Swiftly, Minho notices the color of your bright blue cloak can easily be detected right through the bush and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He unbuttons his black coat, silently draping it over your smaller figure. For a second there, you widen your eyes at him but soon ensconcing yourself obediently under the leather fabric. 

Stepping into your vision are two familiar faces, Minho’s breath almost hitches in his throat when he realizes they’re clothed in the same blue and white uniform as yours. Both equally emitting the same hostility and mettle—as expected from the astute royal guards. 

“Hyun-”

You stagger backward when Minho clasps a firm hand over your mouth, shaking his head while you’re giving him a ‘what are you doing?’ look. The moment you manage to peel yourself away from his grip, your fellow colleagues are nowhere to be seen. They must be looking for you since you left the castle this morning without a proper announcement. “What was that about?! They’re my friends, now if you’d excuse me-”

“They aren’t the most trust-worthy people right now,” he lets out a sigh. “Think about it. They’re parts of the few people who could possibly see Chan the day before he turned into a wolf. And I’m sure the royal mage wouldn’t have such a reason to spike the commander of the guards. I don’t see how it’d benefit her if Chan was to take a break from his position. On the other hand…”

Is he accusing one of your friends of harming your brother? And for what too? A higher rank in the team? Preposterous! “Why would I trust you then, Black Swordsman?” 

Minho cringes inwardly at the nickname because good gracious, it’s so unoriginal. He’s heard about plenty of Black Swordsmen before during his wandering all over the Continent. They’re basically cryptic-looking swordsmen dressed in black...people really need to come up with more colorful monikers.

“Because I just saved your life from those people whom you called ‘friends’,” he blinks at you bluntly and the hand resting on the hilt of your sword tenses up. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly considering his deductions. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point but you don’t understand as to why Hyunjin or Changbin would want to overtake your brother, they’ve only become a part of the royal guards four years ago. You might not grow up together but after going on plenty of adventures and living in the palace, you’re practically family.

Still, humans are made of greed after all.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you exhale. “You’re going to help me figure this out for throwing a dart at Chan’s ear. But if you even think about hurting him or make a single move that prompts me to think you’re doing something behind our back, I’m going to tear out your spine with my bare hands.”

Minho chuckles at your threatening tone, slightly scared for his life, “There’s no need to worry, miss…” You raise a brow at him when he trails off rather flusteredly. “Ma’am? No- uh, vice commander? What about lady…”

“The name’s Y/N,” you can’t help but break into a fit of giggles, amused at his sudden discomposure. Seems like this man has been chit-chatting with monsters more than having civil conversations with other human beings for his whole life. “And would you get your hands off me now? We don’t have to hide anymore.”

His chest swells a bit at that if he’s being honest.

four.

“Aren’t we supposed to be at the castle?” Minho looks at the log house before his eyes questioningly. Not that he’s complaining, he doesn’t think it’s the best idea for him to show up in front of royalties either. 

You pull off your hood and say, “No, the royal mage doesn’t live there.” After a few knocks with your knuckles on the wooden door, hurried footsteps are audible from inside the house—whoever’s in there must be dying to see you, Minho thinks. 

“Yeji, how are y—“ The door flies open and a figure thrashes against you faster than a lightning bolt, their arms wrapped around your torso, rubbing your back tenderly. You’re slightly taken aback but smile nonetheless knowing that your friend was worried sick like she’s always been. “Hello to you too, stupid.”

This prompts Minho to avert his gaze away awkwardly, the grip on Noir’s reign tightening evidently and your horse lets out a small neigh, nudging her nose against his side like she’s attempting to appease him. He murmurs a small ‘thank you’, hand reaching upward to brush through her shiny black coat. Shaking his head, he snickers at himself for talking to a horse. 

Yeji mumbles against your neck in relief, like someone’s just lifted a weight off her shoulders, “Good gracious, Y/N! Are you okay? You just left without saying anything. Changbin and Hyunjin said they couldn’t find you in the woods and Chan’s gone missing for a few days now and I got so worried I-”

“Slow down, Yeji,” you give her a firm squeeze in reassurance, chuckling. “It’s barely been a day. I did manage to find Chan, surprisingly, thanks to Minho, well, partly.”

“Who’s Minho?” she pulls away to get a good look at the man standing next to your horse, eyes widening in surprise. Dressed in black, one-handed sword, no shield, and armor. “Is that the Black Swordsman? Like the Lee Minho? He’s the real thing?”

You grit through a stiff smile, “As real as it can get.”

“Huh, and I thought he’d be some old, balding man in his forties,” Yeji comments while eyeing the swordsman up and down, making him somewhat uncomfortable. “He knows how to use a sword, is young and quite the looker too. Ohh I see what’s going on here..”

You warn her with a clap on her forearm, “You’re embarrassing me in front of that jerk.”

However, she ignores you and pushes the door open, motioning for Minho to carry Chan inside. “Move quickly now, Black Swordsman, I suppose Chan’s condition must be critical, his heartbeat and the blood flow in his veins is increasing at an alarming speed.”

Minho looks around in awe when he steps into the log house—there’s not much for him to say about the house. Furniture is self-explanatory enough: a single bed, a comfortable chair made with what seems to be one of the finest materials, a wooden shelf above the fireplace with an array of potions with different shades and colors, windows completely covered with curtains. It’s not much, but it does feel homey. He would be able to find a place like this with ease if he hadn’t wasted all of his money into information dealing and weapons trading.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? The house, I mean.” 

Yeji’s question snaps him out of it. And he looks over at the table where Chan’s lying, immobile and his bronzed eyes droopy and his breaths mingling. There’s a strange, bright light pulsing from the mage’s fingertips when she hovers her palm over Chan’s bloodied ear. Minho watches as the light flickers from a shade of white to blue, enveloping the open wound and heals it completely. He meets Yeji’s eyes before she pulls her hand back, her eyes glowing gold before turning back into a deep brown. The art of magic is truly fascinating. 

Minho manages to blurt, slightly flustered, “What?”

“You said the house’s nice, I simply agreed with that statement for it is true,” she briskly reaches for a flask, inside holds a soft green-colored liquid with golden specks floating around. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he frowns at her when she brings the rim of the flask to Chan’s mouth, pouring the odd-looking liquid down his throat. 

You speak up from behind her, arms crossed in front of your chest, “Yeji, stop reading people’s mind that’s creepy.”

“Okay I’ve got everything I need for the potion that’ll manage to turn Chan back into his human form,” Yeji tells you while rummaging through her wooden cabinets filled with bottles after bottles, grabbing some along the way as she comes back to the table. “But I’m missing some crystals. And I’m not talking about those fake ones that you see at the stores, the ones I need are way towards the north, in Drachens Hohle, on the Restless Cliffs.”

Minho hums, brows knitted together, thinking rather thoroughly about this. “Drachens Hohle is pretty far off, it might take us an entire day to get there, and then another day climbing those cliffs...we might need to pass by a store of a friend of mine to pack some stuff since I suppose you won’t be returning to the castle anytime soon. We’ll get moving as soon as possible,” he mumbles and nods to himself, satisfied with the plan. 

“Let me just make one thing clear here, Black Swordsman…”

He screws his eyes shut when air suddenly gets ripped apart, only opening them slowly after and almost flinches at the tip of a dagger pointed directly at his nose; one wrong move and his eye will be gone. Minho doesn’t know what should startle him more—the blade gleaming with a bright shade of yellow or the dark look in Yeji’s eyes when he meets them. He’s seen Chaeryeong do it many times before—incorporating magic with weapons, to better the damage output while maintaining the defensive factors. 

“If you lay just one single finger on my friend, I'm going to turn you into a mere, pathetic, little sparrow and lock you in a cage along with other pieces in my collection.”

Minho panics, feeling nauseous at the thought, “What collection?”

The mage withdraws her knife and laughs it off, “I was messing around with you, there’s no collection. Look after her for me, she can be quite clumsy sometimes.”

“The clumsy one here is you,” you mumble bitterly in the corner, extremely embarrassed for the sake of your friend. You might as well dig a hole and bury yourself in it.

Unexpectedly, the wooden door is once again pushed open, two men barging into the log house abruptly. You and Yeji remain still in your current positions while Minho touches the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “Don’t bother, they’re friends,” you wave at him absentmindedly before pushing yourself off the chair, walking over to the front door. 

“Y/N, where have you been?!” 

“Hello to you too, Bin.”

Changbin pushes past Hyunjin and jabs his index finger at you, eyes filled with both rage and concern. “What were you thinking? If you’re going to find Chan, we’re going with you. We’re a team and he’s our brother too! Don’t you remember? That was an irresponsible and childish action to do, you’d better have a good explanation for this. If you’re going to do something, at least act your role in the team more properly.”

Hyunjin pulls him back by the arm, shaking his head, “Changbin, stop. There’s no point in arguing. What’s most important is she’s gotten back safely.”

You eye both of your teammates back and forth, skepticism and uncertainty rising from the pit of your stomach. If what Minho said was true, then the culprit must be one of them. Or was he lying to you, trying to mess with your mind in order to achieve a personal goal of some sort? After all, you’ve only met him today yet you’ve known Changbin and Hyunjin for years now, why would you even hesitate to choose your friends over a total stranger? 

“I wasn’t alone.” Changbin pauses at your words. “He was with me, this is-”

“Lee Minho.” You gape at your friend in disbelief. 

Minho’s hand pulls away from his sword, a strange glint flashes in his eyes for a moment there. “It’s good to see you’re doing well, Changbin,” he says with difficulties, clearly not knowing how to act. 

“Why were you with her?” Hostility washes over the atmosphere when Changbin croaks out, fists clenching in anger. “Y/N, what were you doing with a scumbag like him? Haven’t you heard enough rumors about this guy? People like him only care about themselves, they’ll just end up hurting you in the end. There’s no good in letting him stick around.”

When you squint your eyes at him, Changbin takes long strides towards you, grabbing your wrist and attempting to pull you away. “Yeji, please take care of Chan for the time meaning and we’ll be heading back to the castle. Y/N can’t just leave when we need her the most.“

Minho tugs you back towards him and voices firmly, “I’m sorry, but your vice commander belongs to me now. I’ll be responsible completely for her security and escort her with all my respects. You’ll simply have to make do without her for some days.”

Changbin lunges for Minho’s collar, anguish seething inside his chest. “Insolent bastard! On what basis do you think you have the right to protect her? You might not be a threat, but you’d better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” He shouldn’t have said that. 

Hyunjin looks rather concerned, rubbing his friend’s shoulders, “Changbin, we should go.”

“Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin,” you step in between them in disquiet, shoving Changbin away. “As vice commander of the royal guards, I will be coming with Lee Minho in the next few days on an important trip and I stand by my own decision. If my absence causes the team any trouble, I’ll be more than happy to receive the punishment from our superiors. You two are to return to the castle until further notice, continuing on with your service for the king and queen.”

“As we should,” Hyunjin smiles at you sweetly before walking over to Chan, giving the wolf a small pat on the head. In return, Chan lets out a displeased growl but it’s too small to notice. Minho watches the guard from afar, suspecting the strange glint in his eyes. He decides to say nothing about it.

“I’ve already warned you about him, don’t come crying for me when things go wrong.” With that, both of the royal guards excuse themselves out of the log house—Changbin shutting the door angrily after Hyunjin bidding you goodbye with a hug. This makes your heart heavy for not being able to trust them. You still don’t understand as to why, but you have a sudden faith in Minho, your intuitions are telling you that you should trust him. 

Softly, you ask, “You know Changbin?”

“He’s an old friend, we haven’t talked in a while,” Minho shifts uncomfortably in his chair, finding the topic rather awkward to talk about. “We didn’t get along that well back then either. Glad to see nothing has changed.”

You shouldn’t have asked him in the first place. 

five.

A wide variety of shops lined the streets of downtown Kalmburg: antique and art stalls, jewelry, and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest wares in the area. Tourists flock to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drift through your ears as they amble by. 

You follow Minho to the very end of the streets with your cloak draped over Chan’s limp body. No one needs to know why there’s an unconscious wolf on the back of your horse. Alas, you both arrive in front of an old wooden door, the mahogany color fading as a result of time. He told you that he needed to pass by a friend’s place but doesn’t this place look a bit fishy-

“Five hundred units for ten bags of Philenor powder, and you’re good to go!”

A blond-haired boy peeks out from a client behind the counter. “Well if it isn’t my least favorite customer,” he voices cheerfully. 

“That’s because I’m smart enough to not buy any of your shit, Jisung,” Minho walks in with a grin, pitifully eyeing the dreadful-looking man who’s taking heavy strides out of the shop. He’ll learn someday. “Still running your greedy business as usual I see.”

The dealer named Jisung returns the sarcastic remark with a gummy smile, bumping his fist against Minho’s in a brotherly way. “Don’t speak so ill of me, will you? This greedy business is housing you,” he retorts, “I suppose you’re going to hog my place tonight as you always do, Black Swordsman?” So turns out he spends his night slumbers in this old crusty shop, no wonder people think he sleeps in the woods since they’ve never run into him outside of the town square before.  

“Actually, I won’t be in town for tonight,” Minho’s answer catches Jisung off guard. “I’m heading north, to the Restless Cliffs.”

“Another life-risking business trip huh. You’re going to need warm clothes, some supplement, and probably some medicine too,” Jisung hums to himself. “Hey, Felix! Get your butt over here and sharpen a sword!”

You detach your rapier from your belt and take a few steps forward before placing it onto the counter. “Uhh, can you perhaps do the same thing for my sword? I’m coming with him,” you try to appear as friendly, not wanting to startle him. 

But to your dismay, “Y-You’re one of the th-the royal guards!”

The younger boy looks over at you, utterly bewildered when he sees the emblem on your uniform. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their socket any second now. As if to fuel the fire, Minho jerks his head towards the direction of Noir, speaking casually, “Also, ask Chaeryeong to take care of the wolf and the horse for me. Tell her to be gentle too, the wolf is hurt and confused. Don’t let him drink potions that aren’t tested beforehand.”

“You brought injured animals to my shop?!”

“One more thing, I need to see Jeong-”

Jisung has to manually shut him up by swinging an arm over his neck, forcing his friend to tumble over the wooden counter, their cheeks pressed against each other. He’s practically spitting into Minho’s face at this point. “What in the world is an outcast, stubborn-headed of a loner like you doing out here with a royal guard?! Didn’t you say that having other people coming along would only get in the way? I thought you worked alone! What’s the deal man?”

“Ahaha, it’s a long story. You see-”

“Excuse my discourtesy for I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” Jisung stops and averts his gaze over to you, soon letting go of Minho when you flash him a crooked smile. “My name is Y/N, second in command of the royal guards and I’ll be stuck with this dimwit for a while, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jisung reciprocates your bow, the look in his eyes softening a bit, “And I’m Han Jisung, freelance dealer, single, I’m looking for a—“ Minho finds it irksome how his friend is already out and about, starting a proper conversation without almost getting killed by you so his fist moves on its own, jabbing against the blond’s stomach, forcing air out of his mouth with a low grunt. 

“Don’t mind him,” he turns sideways to reassure you, holding back the twitching muscles on his face. “He’s a decent person, despite how creepy he can be sometimes.” Jisung then elbows him harshly as a payback, making a scene when they start wrestling with each other like a bunch of toddlers. This makes you snort involuntarily, the Black Swordsman isn’t as fully-fledged as what’s been told around the public.

“Kids, that’s enough,” you tell them after making a grab for one of your pouches on Noir’s back. “Minho, why don’t you go meet up with the blacksmith? And Jisung, do you perhaps have a kitchen that I can borrow?”

While Minho’s mumbling something under his breath, hugging both of his and your sword to his chest to make his way behind the counter, Jisung nods at you, lifting a curtain next to a shelf full of weapons, gems, crystals, and potions that leads you down a dark, narrow hallway. “It’s not much,” he says and lights a candle so none of you would trip over each other. “But I hope it helps.”

“Don’t even, doing all of this for a stranger like me is incredibly generous of you,” you say humbly, not wanting to take anything for granted. “I’ll definitely return the favor when I come back.”

Jisung stops walking all of a sudden, causing you to almost bump into his back. “Is that so? Then, uhh…” he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “How do I say this..? I know Minho can be irrational sometimes, loves pretending like he doesn’t care, and always runs into fire. So please..” His throat starts growing dry as he lowers his head a bit, attempting to bow at you.

“Take care of him for me, will you?”

You smile at the blond-haired boy, warmth flaring through your rib cage like butterflies, “I assure you he’s in good hands.”

six.

That night, you and Minho spend the whole night, the next morning, and the afternoon walking barefooted from Kalmburg to a small village at the base of the Restless Cliffs called Drachens Hohle. And it’s anything but Kalmburg. Rustic cabins dot the grassy hills as trees stand up like spikes, zigzagging the border of brick roads and unpolished homes. Rivers stream through deep valleys. The town is as complex as the heart, the streets are the veins, paved with red stones and the people are the heart. They look like they don’t own much, but are willing to share everything and anything. It’s the smiles on their faces, the way they greet each other, the sound of weapons and breastplates being pounded into shape that shows you just how alive this small community can be.

The motel Minho chooses looks like one of those places where men with beer guts would be snooping around with their neighbor’s wife, paying by the hour; a place where random hookers and drug-dealers would thrive. There are external wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, the second row of doors, that looks like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job. You insist on finding a better place than this rat-hole but Minho said you don’t have to waste a couple of extra pennies just so the beds can be softer.

After dinner, you both receive your own keys before going upstairs to your respective rooms. A dingy place like this isn’t able to provide much when it comes to furniture anyway so there’s only a plain bed with pillows and a blanket, a nightstand with a pitch of water, and a small candle beside it. You sigh while casting your eyes around the room one last time. It’s just for one night.

“Y/N,” Minho gives your door a few knocks. “Are you asleep yet? I have something to tell you.”

You’re still halfway done with unpacking your stuff so you try to yell back without turning on your heels, “Not yet, just come in. I didn’t lock the door.”

He hums as a response before pushing against the wooden surface, closing it with a small ‘click’ after. “I just ran into the mayor downstairs,” Minho starts speaking and that’s when you finish putting your sword away, turning to look at him. And your cheeks inevitably grow hot since the first thing you have to lay your poor eyes on is his collarbones. This bastard really has the audacity to keep his buttons anywhere but a degree of appropriation. 

“Hey, focus,” he snaps his fingers as an attempt to knock you out of your trance, not noticing how he’s obviously the distraction. “It took an hour for him after rambling about his childhood and his love for the village to finally spill something about the kind of crystal that we need. At least pretend like you’re paying attention, will you?”

“I was paying attention,” you mumble loud enough for yourself to hear it. What a white lie. 

Minho quirks a brow and leans himself against the wall, looking amused, “Hmm, sure you did. Now, where were we? Ah! The mayor said those things aren't very hard to find, the only problem is that the field where they grow is right in front of a dragon’s den. No one has ever made it back in one piece. Chances are there might be other random monsters on the way…” 

Suddenly he stops talking, confusing you. “What’s wrong-“

The stiff look on his face seals your lips almost immediately. Faster than a lightning bolt, Minho turns the doorknob and rushes outside. “Who’s there?!” he snaps at the hooded figure running towards the end of the dark hallway, reaching for the sword on his back only to realize it’s not there. “Shit, this isn’t good.”

“Someone was eavesdropping. We’ve got ourselves a spy.” You close the door again after Minho walks inside, facepalming himself onto your bed dreadfully. 

He supports himself upward on his forearms and runs a hand through his hair, “Look, I’m not saying this because I’m doubting your abilities, I just want to guarantee your safety as much as I can. Their motives and patterns are getting pretty much unpredictable.” When he looks straight into your eyes with his warm, brown ones, your heart dips ever so gently. “Would you mind if I were to spend the night in your room?”

Your lips grow agape, your jaw almost drops to the floor. No one has ever asked to spend the night in the same room as you, not even Ryujin—your closest friend out of all the royal guards. Heck, you’ve barely known this man for a good three days yet why is it that your heart didn’t even hesitate? Are you scared? Most definitely not. Then what is it? What’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that’s been stirring inside your stomach for who knows how long?

“.....fine, but don’t try anything.”

Your heart is being weak again.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You place your hands on either side of your hip when Minho comes back from his room with his pillows and blanket scattered all over the floor, organizing them neatly with his sword leaning against your nightstand. He flickers his eyes upward to look at your judgmental ones, slightly shaking from the cold and nervousness. “I’m getting comfortable?” he tells you, blinking innocently. 

Shaking your head at Minho, you snatch the pillow from his hands and situate it on your bed, right beside your own. “Hurry up now before I change my mind,” you decide after some time of consideration. The floor doesn’t look necessarily clean, and it’s not like Jisung would pack any extra clothes for him to change into. You’re just being nice like any normal, civil human being would. You’re sharing a bed with a stranger, nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho scratches his head with a sheepish smile. “The floor is fine for me.” Although the cheap material of the mattress does look more convincing than the hard, cement surface. 

You squint your eyes at him skeptically, “Are you sure?” He then puts his hands up in defeat as though you’re pointing a knife at his throat and motions for you to scoot over with a wave of his hand. You both shuffle around after he slips into the blanket with you, shifting until you’re facing the wall while Minho’s staring awkwardly at the front door. Well, this is kinda nice, he thinks to himself when your back brushes over his every now and then. 

“Uhh, sleep tight, I guess?” Minho says before leaning over the nightstand to blow out the candle. 

“Goodnight to you too,” you spew out your last words of the day, deciding to keep your lips close before you embarrass yourself any further. Okay...maybe one last thing before you completely pass out. “Uhm, Minho?”

He replies softly, “Yeah?” Seems like he can’t fall asleep either. 

Minho tosses himself over the moment you move your body and this causes your faces to be inches apart, his warm breath fanning your cheeks. Although you can’t see him clearly due to the limited source of light, those round eyes are definitely piercing right through you, leaving your heart pounding faster than usual. 

“Can you tell me…” you nibble on your bottom lip hesitantly. “What happened between you and Changbin? You guys weren’t being very civil for old friends.”

When he shifts slightly again to face the ceiling, his arm brushes against yours but he does nothing about it. He likes the lingering warmth from the tips of your fingers. 

You watch in awe as Minho stares up at nothing, broken bits of sadness floating softly inside his irises like an unwanted scar from his past; it’s tragically beautiful. “It was years ago when this whole monster hunting thing started,” he starts calmly, finding it hard to not look at you. “I wasn’t alone, Changbin was there with me too.”

Then, he continues, not knowing that you’re widening your eyes at him, “We were in an assault team, traveling all over the Continent and making a living out of slaying those creatures. We didn’t have much back then, but we had each other. Unfortunately, everyone has their own secrets despite our promise of not hiding anything from each other. Changbin was planning on leaving the group to go on a different path, and I...I would secretly sneak out alone every night, throwing myself into danger, thinking that I wasn’t good enough…Truth is, I was just being selfish.” His voice trails off, trembling as if each word pains him, like a thousand arrow wounds straight into his heart.

Bitter. Unforgiving. Pain. 

“I knew that I was lying to them, that I should just leave without saying anything,” Minho swallows hard like someone’s stepping on him, forcing air out of his lungs mercilessly. 

“But I never belonged anywhere, they were all that I had—my only family. I longed for that warmth, that feeling of being at ease so I just, I couldn’t leave. One day, we were hired to clear out a dungeon through an anonymous letter. It raised some skepticisms in my head since I’ve gone there before, there was nothing, no monsters, no nothing. Even so, I was held back by my own cowardice, I was afraid they might question me. I didn’t stop them when they accepted the job, it was good money.”

Your voice fails you when you open your mouth to say something, so you wordlessly slips your hand into his, hoping that you’ll be able to convey some of your heat to his cold fingers. As if feeling encouraged by your action, he doesn’t push you away and regains his composure. 

“Turns out, my intuitions were right, we got scammed,” Minho says. “A group full of criminals attacked, wanting to keep all of our money for their own. We cooperated and gave them everything, yet that wasn’t enough. They needed to seal our lips for good….Only Changbin and I made it out alive, three mobsters from the gang died under my blade that day. I confessed to Changbin later on, he didn’t forgive me. I couldn’t forgive myself either, the only family I’d ever have was gone, my arrogance and pride killed them.”

Silently, you pull him towards you, caressing the back of his head like he’s gonna fall apart the moment you let him go. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees you wear a smile on your face, your starry eyes twinkling when moonlight slips through the crack of the wood-lined window, pieces of glass chipping off on the edges. You’re breathtaking, unearthly. 

“I’m not going to die, I know that you’ll protect me just fine.” There’s a wide-eyed expression on his face, his lips falling open but his words die in his throat. A tear unknowingly rolls down on his cheek, consequently blurring his vision with waves of sadness that only the broken would encounter. You let him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his fists grabbing at your shirt until his knuckles turn white. 

Minho cries into your chest unceasingly, “I don’t have any real strength. Without my sword, without the anonymity that has been casting terror and curiosity on people, I’m just Lee Minho, the coward who only ever knows how to run away and hide behind the shadow of the Black Swordsman. Changbin was right, I don’t have any right to even think about protecting you.”

“My father used to tell me,” you stroke his hair gently as choked sobs punch through him, pulling him back from the opening arms of his grief. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things.” 

He stops for a moment, nostalgia hurling him back to the memories of two decades ago when he was still just a boy, training hard with his wooden sword while someone watched him from afar, a pleased look lingering on their lips. Tears pool in his eyes again when that person’s face flashes inside his mind but the hollow space inside his heart isn’t the same, there’s a ray of joy that’s managed to make its way through a crack of his walls. 

“And I don’t care if you’re the Black Swordsman or not, I only know the cryptic-looking guy who crossed swords with me and wasn’t willing to back down that day. I knew, I just knew that even without a sword, you could have beaten me. Because fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

His tears can’t extinguish what has happened, yet only carry him forward until a time comes when that searing pain is distant enough to forget rather than remembering. And maybe one day, it might erase itself from his conscience for good. So perhaps it’s not much of an oddity to thank the salty liquid streaming down on his cheekbones. They’re a living proof for his morality, a barrier to save him from becoming a monster—indifferent to suffering and sorrow. 

Minho sees the fatherly smile on his mentor’s face, just like the old days. And then he sees you through his blurred vision, momentarily breathless at how close you are. 

“After all, I have a promise to keep,” you tell him but it comes out more like a reminder for yourself. “I won’t let you die even when I’m no longer capable of picking up my sword and I mean it. As vice commander of the royal guards, you have my words, Lee Minho.”

An ignited desire wells up at the bottom of his heart, and it baffles him. Lee Minho, a coward who’s willing to turn his back on everyone just so he alone can exist. A bastard who betrayed his only friends, who didn’t even try to plead for forgiveness, who coldly walked away from those painful memories. Such a self-absorbed being like him doesn’t deserve a simple ally, let alone something much more intimate than that.

Then he starts to remember why he’s here, with you. Your smile. Your voice. Memories are flooding back into his head about this girl who made her way into his life abruptly yet so easily. And before he knows it, she’s all that’s on his mind. 

So instead of giving in to his nightmares like he would every other night, Minho stops reminiscing his bloodied past, surrendering under the sense of familiarity radiating off your touch.

seven.

You both stand in awe as the great mountains loom before your eyes, cold grey crevices holding the blood of the fallen. While the lower passes wear a cloak of greenery, the peaks are crowned with a headdress of ice. As though the earth has a pulse, it rises through the mountains, creating their bold silhouette. From carved rocky outcrops, waterfalls drifting like skeins of white lawn, and in the fields, you can see the amber glint of the rivers and the occasional mirror-like flash of the lake. 

The mountains soar upward like they wish to plant a soft kiss on heaven, wanting to have a taste of the horizon all around. The path ahead winds as effortlessly as a blanket laid on a bed, yet each step feels heavier than the previous one, draining your energy. It only gets steeper and narrower as you make your way closer to the top, but giving up is not an option. You’re willing to go to the other side of the world barefooted, searching for every corner, every edge of this planet if it means bringing your brother back. 

A gust of wind howls in the distance, piling up snow in drifts, blinding your eyesight with ice-white dust. You try walking, bending over against the cold, protecting your eyes with your clothed forearms. Everything looms into your vision before vanishing completely, swallowed in white. “Minho?” you call out to him after a few minutes of not looking forward, waving one of your hands around until it can feel something. 

Another hand reaches for yours, and you snap out of your daze when the coldness on the tips of his fingers is clasped against your palm. “You’re as slow as a baby turtle,” he comments lamely while staring ahead, not letting you see the coral shade scattered across his cheeks. “Let’s just hurry up and get back, I’m hungry.” 

Breath pale against the numbing air, you blink thoughtfully while gazing down at the sight of his fingers being intertwined with yours as the frost patiently kisses your face. He’s still wearing the same old pair of fingerless gloves, no wonder his hands are freezing. But you suppose it’s because he doesn’t want the grip on his sword to slip. 

“Oh, I actually have something for us to eat,” you retract your hand to fish it inside your bag, already missing his warmth. “I guess we should have lunch, either way, we’ve been walking before the sun even rose.”

Minho makes a noise of confusion before bringing his steps to a halt, turning his head to see you pull out something being wrapped neatly in paper, giving it a slight jerk towards his direction when he continues to stare at you blankly. Wordlessly, he takes it and sighs, eyes widening when the smell of grilled meat invaded his nostrils. Inside the wrapper is a sandwich made from thinly sliced bread, generously stuffed with meat and vegetables. The peppery aroma inevitably makes his stomach rumble and without another word, Minho chomps on his lunch portion like a hungry child; the sandwich is long gone before he realizes it. 

“It’s...good,” he licks his lips to clean up the remaining sauce in the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t look any different from the ones he’s seen inside restaurants but the taste is what reminds him of something he ate as a kid, he almost teared up while inhaling it. “Where did you buy this? I’ll make sure to pass by the place when we get back.”

“I didn’t buy it,” you stride ahead of him to hide the giddiness in your stomach. “I made it yesterday at Jisung’s place. That’s why the bread got a little soggy if you couldn’t tell already.”

Minho fixes his collar and his hearty laughs echoes through your eardrums, stirring up feelings inside your stomach unabating. “You would make a fortune out of these,” he tells you while trying to catch up, following your steps in a hassle. “But now that I‘m thinking about it again, you shouldn’t do that, I’d hate to see people getting to enjoy the same food as me with some cheap units.”

You blush (out of anger) at his statement and attempt to cover it up by stepping onto his toes. This causes him to yelp while stumbling backward, almost falling onto his bottom. “Why did you feel the need to do that?!”

“I can just make you more if you like it that much, you jerk,” you murmur mostly to yourself but he hears it nonetheless. 

A smile makes its way to his lips, and a fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside his stomach. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s not complaining, really. It’d be nice if he could have the same delicious meals when he’d retired, dozing off while watching the sunset with his significant other and his own kids in his arms. It’d be nice if he could have a place to come back to when he needs a break, a shoulder to lean on and someone to tuck him into bed. It’d be nice if… He looks at you again after those shameless thoughts and immediately, embarrassment dusts his cheeks pink. His face feels hot despite the puffs of cold air escaping his lips. 

“Hey,” Minho pulls you to a stop by the hand, suddenly giving it a squeeze. “I just wanted to say thank you…” A glint of anticipation gleams in your gaze when you both lock eyes, prompting him to look away. “Thank you, for...the meal, it was nice. I might as well bother you a little longer to eat more good food.” Lee Minho you coward. 

“Do you only think about your stomach?“ you almost gawk at him, raising your hand to give him a slap in the face but Minho grabs your hand before you can do so. The next thing you know, his other hand is on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. 

He tells you and trudges on, grinning to himself, “Let’s get moving, we’re wasting time.”

“....Minho?”

“Hmm?” he turns around with a lovesick smile on his face but that’s not what you’re paying attention to.

“You might want to look out for that…”

“For what-“ 

Minho swallows heavily when he sees an enormous figure overhanging his shadow on the white snow. Slowly, his gaze follows the sound of faint yet sturdy footsteps and he holds his breath, eyes twice as white as before. 

“Just to be clear…” he asks breathlessly. “Dragons are nocturnal, right?”

“Correct,” you subconsciously take a step back. “And we might have woken it up.”

Minho takes notice in the thick stripe of black streaking down on one of its claws, and his face morphs into a frown when his surroundings reek off the smell of fresh blood. “No, someone else did.”

The dragon’s scales gleam dashingly in the sunlight, they are its pride and delight, violet streaks blending into a deep blue at the end. Its teeth so cold and sharp like icicles, they can easily rip any armors into mere ribbons of skin and bones. In its chest holds a hearth of ever flickering flame although the remorseless heart remains rime. Eyes with a shade of crimson as deep as the liquid that’s coursing through your veins, nourishing you; those eyes are seemingly endless pools of wisdom and intelligence.

But once those red pupils dilate and focus on the two mundane mortals before themselves, a glint of gold is suddenly evident, almost alarmed. The dragon takes off into the air with its wings stretched leathery like a bat, sending a small snowstorm flying towards the both of you. Minho squints his eyes hard while you’re shielding your vision with your forearms, coats fluttering as wind whistles into your ears.

Minho calmly takes a step forward, flashing you a smile sideways. What is he doing? 

Then, he spares you one last glance before drawing his sword. As though triggered by the sound of metal scraping against the leather sheath, the dragon flaps its majestic wings and inhales, heaps of glowing embers come swirling in midair, twirling towards Minho with a fiery dance. He’s just simply there, feet planted firmly on the ground as though challenging the creature’s deadly breath. 

“Minho, what are you doing?!” you yell at him, trying to keep your balance as the ground begins to tremble. “Get out of there!!”

Pretending not to listen to your warnings, Minho gets into his stance, blade angling low with his knees. What happens next downright baffles you. The blade of his sword glimmers with a shade of purple, his feet taking off towards the plume of fire that soon engulfs his figure completely in your vision. 

You squeeze your eyes shut not just because of the heat but also because you can’t bring yourself to see it. Once the air around you cools off, your eyes flutter open again to see Minho angling his head over his shoulder, throwing you a wink in the process. Did he just counter a dragon’s breath with his sword?

“Chaeryeong taught me that. Neat trick, isn’t it?” he says with a grin while you’re blinking at him in utter shock; he looks almost proud of successfully deflecting that breath attack. “I use magic more often than you’d think. Nothing major, only the basic things. Enough to keep me alive.”

“I still think we need to run first.”

Minho looks at you dejectedly, “Don’t you have a better plan?”

With a howl as loud as any sky-born thunder, the dragon flaps its wings more vigorously this time, flinging the layer of snow under your feet into a blizzard—a swirling storm of screaming silver, a primal force than conquers until its core explodes. Everything around you is almost white-out as you bat your hands around helplessly in the middle of this snowstorm. After a while, you can no longer feel your legs, it’s like the storm just sweeps you off your feet. You’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or-

What the…?

You widen your eyes in a panic; you’re falling. Your perception of time distorts, your surroundings slow down until there’s nothing, only you, the sky above, and a hole that’s only a few hundred feet away from where you were standing previously. Your hand reaches out to the canvas above, grasping the endless crevasse of blue. 

Everything’s a blur, a blur that swirls out of existence. Suspended in the air for a few seconds, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting your tense muscles relax. You won’t die from the fall since there’s a likelihood that snow’s already covered the pit. But you can’t just let yourself fall freely, that would cause minor, unnecessary injuries. So you reach for your sword, planning to jab it against the rocky surface as an attempt to go against gravity. 

Once the metal comes in contact with the side of the pit, tiny flares of fire flutter in the air as if the sword is being sharpened by a blacksmith, an ear-piercing sound hisses against your eardrums. The stab is strong enough to slow gravity down from pulling you downward any faster but it’s not enough to make you stop completely. 

Chan, you think while screwing your eyes shut, every cell inside your body is shaking, every muscle is aching. You can’t give up now, not when you’re still in one piece, and Chan’s hanging on the edge of not getting his old life back. You can’t give up not knowing who’s the culprit, not just yet. 

And you’d rather be cursed than making out of this place alive and leaving Minho behind. Your conscience won’t ever forgive you. 

When that thought crosses your mind, you grit your teeth and suddenly the sword stops sliding down, leaving you dangling midair on one arm. The rapier is too slender, it won’t hold on for long, and it’s not like you can climb all the way up to the top. 

A mighty, fearsome roar blares through your brain like wildfire so you flutter your eyes upward to see the dragon with its wings folded on both sides, diving at an immaculate speed into the hole, in your direction. 

There’s my ride. 

eight.

Once the blizzard settles down, the setting sun comes with a sky of fire, the orange of every wintry hearth. The color stretches far and wide along the horizon like a reflection of the dawn that comes after the velvety night. 

That’s when Minho sees them. 

The crystals have grown as something alive may do, thriving over the ages, through many generations. As such they become a rainbow sea made of perfect rocks, the shoreline ever-present and still with colors that shine in the brilliant light of a richness that only nature can bring. Minho might feel bad when he snaps off a piece, it’s like cutting a single, healthy rose in the middle of the thorny garden. But if it’s for Chan, he’s certain that you’d do anything at any cost. 

Minho sheaths his sword and sighs, turning around, “Y/N are you okay?” All that he’s met with is a muffled silence, the cold wind whistling into his ears, the hollow space before his eyes white-out and empty.

“Y/N?” Nothing. 

“Y/N!!” No one answers. “Y/N!!!”

No, he lets out a choked whimper. No, no, no.

His legs tremble inside his boots, his lips quivering, his fists clenched, his fingers turning cold. And the thing that terrifies him most? His heart feels like someone is grasping on it so tightly as though they’re going to crush it with their bare hands. 

A seed of fear suddenly grows inside his rib cage, thriving at an abrupt pace, branching out, gripping onto every cell, every muscle inside his body. He can’t breathe. This can’t be it, he tells himself, tumbling backward a bit. He promised not to let this happen. He swore. Yet his biggest nightmare is only one step away from becoming a reality. 

Minho wants to cry your name aloud over and over again until his vocal cords are torn apart, he wants to be vulnerable for once and let himself fall. How is he going to face Chan? And Changbin? And his own conscience? He might as well run his own sword through his heart because what would be the point in living if you’re no longer here?

All of this was a grave mistake. If only he didn’t throw the dart. If only you didn’t come with him. None of this would have happened. None of this would have happened if he didn’t accept that damned offer. He could have easily flipped you off the second that duel was finished and gone on this trip by himself. And face the scythe of Death alone, by himself, like he always does. He should have died alone, he deserves to die alone. 

But this time, he didn’t make the right decision and the consequences are horrendous. He gave in because of your stubbornness, your determination, your bossy nature. He let you in and his walls came down tumbling one by one, his stern and trained facade shredded into pieces. His head is a mess whenever he sees your smile, his heart can permit you to tread on his boring life. And because of those merely unguarded moments, he’s killed another person that he truly cares about other than himself.

Wait, something clicks inside his head. He almost forgets the most important thing of all. The culprit. 

Minho regains his composure and snaps his head back towards the crystals. The sun might be going down but its limited source of light is more than adequate to cast a shadow onto the snowy white surface. The shadow of a person, a person that’s not you. The shadow that sets a silent inferno inside his chest, the flame spreading by the ticking second. 

“I have been waiting for you,” he turns on his heels, reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

The shadow visibly flinches before stepping out, a hand outstretching from the black cloak to pull down the hood. When Hyunjin’s face comes into view, Minho’s muscles tense up, anguish making his head a little dizzy. But he maintains his cold front, not letting his opponent see how much this is affecting him. 

“I’ve got a feeling that you’d already figured it out the moment I visited the cabin,” Hyunjin says slyly, his facial expression rather relaxed. “And I was so close to silencing you little errand boy for good too, but I’ll admit, the little brat is well trained, he ran off before I could catch him. So tell me, Black Swordsman, where did I slip?”

“Your eyes,” Minho grits. “They weren’t staring at Chan with what’s supposed to be concern or relief. You were looking at him like a predator watching its prey from afar. If I weren’t keeping an eye on you, who knows what you would have done to him. He didn’t sound pleased when you touched him either.”

Hyunjin drops his cloak to the ground, laughing under his breath, “You are sharper than I’d expected.” He takes a few steps closer forward, craning his neck tiredly before drawing his sword, causing Minho to do the same. “Now, now, vice commander, an innocent man is about to be killed because of you.”

Minho can only snicker at the statement, “I’m not planning on going down easily.”

“So am I,” Hyunjin gets ready in his stance, glaring at his opponent. “I wasn’t really planning on dealing with you. I would rather end her and let you take the blame. Actually, that sounds like a better plan! Don’t you agree? No one would put their trust in you—a low, damned being who lives off the upper classes’ bloodied pennies.”

With his blood boiling hot, Minho inhales and exhales deeply to keep his voice calm. “End her?” he repeats after the guard. End her. Hyunjin hasn’t made a single move yet he feels like someone just stabbed him in the gut. How could he?! You trusted Hyunjin, you went through so much with him, you trained him. And now he’s just going to turn around and bite the hand that fed him? Traitor. “Over my dead body.” 

Hyunjin lunges forward, his feet sprinting quickly and he brings his blade up from a lower angle while Minho attempts to clash him from the head down. Both of their swords get knocked away on different sides from the harsh contact. Before Hyunjin can raise his weapon again, Minho sword slices at him sideways but he luckily deflects it in time—the reflexes and muscle memories from his training are kicking in. 

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you her friend?”

Minho’s sword aims for his head once again; however, Hyunjin steps to the side and makes a grab for his hand, holding his weapon down. This makes Minho lose his balance for a few seconds while Hyunjin tries to cleave his neck. He stumbles on his heels at the last second, only getting away with a small cut on his cheekbone. The pain isn’t even there, he’s been beaten up ten times worse before, this is nothing. He’s practically numb by now. 

“Friend?” Hyunjin drags his sword against the ground before bringing it up to stop a slash at his chest, throwing snow into Minho’s eyes. He groans agonizingly when the white matters’ coldness burns his skin, blurring his vision. “She and Chan only care about themselves! They are the ones who get all the praises and recognition after a mission. Little rumps like me and Changbin?”

He angrily tightens the grip on his weapon, dragging a long slice downward, “We didn’t have any title, we’re merely just two faces amongst a hundred of the other guards. We get treated like we don’t even exist!”

“Did Y/N ever treat you that way? And Chan too?” Minho heaves after dodging the blow by rolling on the ground. He’s circling around the guard, trying to keep his mind clear. “From what I’ve seen, she seems to care about you and Changbin as much as she does about her brother. 

Hyunjin swings his sword at him, and Minho receives the hit with the edge of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against each other is pricking at his eardrums but he can care less, he won’t be dying today. “So you can break my soul,” Minho pants before both of them stagger backward, switching their initial position. “Take everything away from me.”

“Beat me up.” Another blocked blow. 

“Tear me into pieces.” Anger almost tears through his mind again. Anger towards Hyunjin for betraying Chan, you, and his entire team. Anger for falling into his trap. Anger for not being able to keep you safe. He wishes he could just unleash all of his hatred and rage on the guard. But what can he do? He’s one to blame too, after all. 

“Or kill me, even.”

Hyunjin catches up to Minho when he starts sprinting away to regain his vision, the two of them running side by side, in between the lined up crystals. Thrusting his sword at Minho in various directions, Hyunjin’s stabs are getting messy because of the limited amount of space. 

“But I will tell you something, you’d better listen to me and listen to me for good.” Minho’s sword strikes at him but he blocks it in time, their faces inches apart and their weapons threatening to snap each other into half. 

“Touch Y/N.” A low grunt escapes Hyunjin’s lips when Minho jabs his fist against his stomach, forcing air out from his lungs. “And I am going to give you a taste of hell. I have been there before, and you know what? You would be begging me for a painless death by then.”

When the guard falls onto his knees, his weapon dropping by his side with a loud clangor, Minho directs the tip of his sword on top of Hyunjin’s head. “Think about it again, do you think that all of this is really worth it?”

A sinister laugh echoed through his ears and Minho’s eyes grow alarmed when the blood trickled down on his cheek starts to harden a little. No, something’s wrong. “You spoke too soon,” Hyunjin tells him with a devilish tone, the corners of his lips being tugged up into a smirk. 

What is this? On the tip of his fingers reveals a dark shade of blue, it almost reminds him of the royal guards’ uniform. Suddenly his body collapses, he can’t feel his muscles, he can do nothing. His sword is so far away from his grip, he can’t even move his fingers. Paralytic poison. “You bastard!”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the ground, holding his sword by the hilt when the tip is faced downward. “I suppose this is the end. Our encounter is rather short but it was a pleasure to cross swords with the infamous Black Swordsman,” he raises it, chuckling. “Goodbye, Lee Minho.”

Minho locks his jaw, his muscles tense but he can’t move, his eyes are shut while he braces himself for the contact. But it never comes. A growl as loud and frightening as a clap of thunder rumbles through the sky and that’s when Minho opens his eyes to see the shadow of a dragon flying not too high above. Next thing he knows, a figure jumps off, falling rapidly like a lightning bolt. 

Your foot slams onto Hyunjin’s shoulder, causing him to fall back while you land on the ground safely. Before he can register the situation, your rapier is drawn to yank his long sword away. “Hyunjin?” you grit with tears brimming in your eyes. “Why?”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond, instead, he takes a few strides towards you wordlessly. You don’t raise your weapon nor retreat it, simply keeping it limp by your side. But he lifts the blade of your sword with his hands and swiftly runs it through his stomach, blood splattering everywhere. His arms are weak, yet he still tries to put one of them around your back, pulling you closer and leaning his head on your shoulder. “Congratulations, vice commander,” he taunts into your ear. 

“You’re a murderer.”

nine.

Chan finds himself waking up on a plain bed, a white blanket draped over him, and a cold towel on his head. All the mayhem from the past week comes crashing down on him like a tsunami, banging against his temple. He tries to push himself up but his limbs are too wobbly—it feels foreign, it’s like he’s inside someone else’s body and not his own. With every move, his head pulses in agony, and his muscles ache.

The pain stops when he sees you sleeping soundly against his bed, your head rested on your forearms. Another figure is present too, on the couch staring blankly at the flickering fireplace. Opening his mouth to speak, Chan scrunches his nose in pain as he accidentally strains his vocal cords but no words come out, only incoherent sounds. 

“...Chan?” you rub the sleep away from your eyes, yawning tiredly. 

“Ah..ah..ah,” Chan can only lift his arms, calling out to you in desperation. His eyes grow stingy at the sound of your voice and before he knows it, tears are already rolling down in his cheeks relentlessly. 

“Chan, it’s alright,” you hush him softly, slipping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Everything’s fine now, you’re safe. You’ve done enough.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, that way he won’t be able to see your glassy eyes. This isn’t the time to cry in front of him. 

The door closes with a sharp thud.

Chan only convinces himself that he’s still alive, and back to his human form, not being buried six feet under the ground somewhere when your fingers graze the dull lines that his tears leave behind. A sense of relief washes over him the moment he sees your smile, though insomnia has been carved into your features over time. You’re safe, he closes his eyes. You’re not hurt. 

That’s all that matters. 

“Wait for me here, I’ll call Yeji in,” you give his hands one last squeeze. Chan pulls you back for a second there, a faint frown adorns his face. “Just leave the rest to me, we’re going to be alright.” 

With Chan’s weak smile as an approval, you dash outside, finding Minho standing like a soulless being at the front door of the cabin. He can’t bring himself to face you after what he did. His body is tired, his mind is a mess, and his heart is filled with sorrow. Even his sword seems too heavy for his existence, it’s weighing him down, making him not be able to move. 

“This was all my fault, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer him and instead outstretch your hand, letting your fingers tug at the sheath of his sword. “Minho, it’s no one’s fault,” you mumble with your head hung low. “I dragged you into this. If anything, I’m the one to blame.”

“No!” His sudden outburst makes you flinch; hence you pull your hand back with a wide-eyed expression on your face. “If I hadn’t thrown that dart, we wouldn’t have met. If you hadn’t followed me on the trip, nothing would have happened! None of this would have happened! You almost died back there, Y/N. Do you know how much it scared me?”

“So you’re just going to leave me like this?” you raise your voice, trying not to snap at him. “After everything, you’re still going to turn away from me? Just like how you did to everyone else?”

“I-“ 

“Lee Minho, if you claimed to care about me so much-”

“I should stay away from you, I will only cause you more trouble. Even worse, I will get you in danger. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you.” His heart clenches at his own words as his shoulders shake, arms tense on his sides. 

You reach for his hand, and huff in determination, “Stick to your words and protect me then.”

ten.

It’s been a week since the incident happened. Hyunjin has managed to live after the fight, yet he wants to keep his lips sealed for a while as to why he intended to harm the commander of his team in the first place. For now, he’s being kept in the dungeon while the king and queen permit you to do whatever. After all, he didn’t cause the kingdom any trouble. And if you were being honest, you would forgive Hyunjin without a second thought just so things can be normal again. It’s not as easy as you’d hoped. 

Minho, on the other hand, has been praised tremendously by everyone in court for what he did. His name has been cleansed and every flighty rumor or gossip about him has been cleared out. He doesn’t like this at all, journalists are starting to snoop around Jisung’s place, leaving him no choice but to stay at Yeji’s log house for some time. His reputation was what used to keep him safe, now everything’s being flipped upside down. 

He stares at his own reflection in the mirror from across the room. Minho can’t tell if it’s because he’s only worn the color black for the longest time or he’s being irrational, but he thinks the white loose shirt and matching pants that the mage brought back last night from the castle just don’t look right. Is his own moniker messing with his head? Probably. 

Glancing sideways to catch a glimpse of his sword on his bed, he exhales dejectedly. I look like a joke, Minho thinks to himself. 

“I never knew the Black Swordsman would look this dashing in white,” Chan enters his room with a dimpled smile on his face, Changbin following him suit. He’s recovering from the past week of living his life as a wolf, it’s still quite hard for Chan to walk so Yeji forced him to use a wheelchair for the time being. 

“Don’t you guys have any clothes that aren’t so flashy?” Minho cracks a crooked smile, feeling unfamiliar being dressed in such a bright color. “I look ridiculous.”

Chan chuckles wholeheartedly and shakes his head, “Actually, that’s one of our less flashy ones. Don’t worry, you look great.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Minho’s question isn’t necessarily directed towards Chan, but rather the person standing behind him. “If you want to curse me for the things I’ve done, then fine, I accept it. I will leave Kalmburg and move to the other side of the Continent. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Changbin steps forward, and with a deep breath, he says, “Thank you, Minho.” 

Minho can’t believe his ears, did he just—

“Thank you,” Changbin says again; this time more firmly, and the look in his eyes softening. In those brown orbs, Minho can once again see the look he used to be met with five years ago, no hatred or anger, just warmth. He missed this. A ‘thank you’ has never sounded so nerve-calming before. It’s genuine, it’s real. Heartwarming, almost. 

“When you told me that you would protect her,” Changbin continues, gaze cast downward. “I almost believed you, I knew you weren’t lying. It felt like that day after we both got out of the dungeon all over again. My anger always got the best of me and I just burst. I never gave you the chance to explain yourself, I never got to know your reasons. I am sorry because I didn’t care about you enough, as a friend.”

“I am sorry too,” Minho rises from his seat on the bed, suppressing the happiness inside his ribcage. “I’m sorry I bailed on you that day, I think about it all the time.”

He pauses for a moment and sees Changbin outstretching his hand, the familiar broad smile dancing on his lips. Minho accepts his friend’s warm handshake and reciprocates his grin. “You’d better stay alive first before apologizing.”

Minho widens his eyes, “Of course I am alive!”

“No, I mean,” Changbin waves his hand dismissively. “I was going to ask you to join us since there’s a good chance that His Majesty won’t turn you down, but then I’d figure, you’re too reckless for us to handle either way. So if you’re planning on going out here and throwing yourself at monsters, you’d better stay safe or I wouldn’t forgive you again. And Y/N would never forgive herself.”

Chan eyes the small box sitting neatly on Minho’s nightstand, and teases, “Speaking of Y/N, when will you tell her?”

Minho scratches the nape of his neck with glowing cheeks, he can physically feel the pink tint darkening by the second. “I don’t know, but soon. I still need to have his permission first,” he leans over to take the box in his palm, opening it carefully. 

The sight of the silver band resting nicely inside makes his chest swell, his beating heart doing its best to not implode from joy. It might be too early, but he’s scared that if he doesn’t do this now, fate is going to be one step ahead and take you away from him forever. 

“Minho!” Yeji calls out to him from behind the door. “Y/N’s here!”

“I wish the best of luck for you then,” Chan tosses a wink in his direction.

eleven.

“No one asked you to come, Han.” Is the first thing Minho spats out when he closes the front door with his bag slung over his shoulder. Jisung’s welcoming grin falls flat on his face at his friend’s cold remark. He really should have got used to these things by now. 

“I did,” you tell him with crossed arms, releasing your grip on Noir’s reign. “Yeji said she’s running low on some herbs so I introduced her to Jisung’s place.”

Minho rolls his eyes to the moon. “Aren’t there more trust-worthy stores for the royal mage? Why would you refer her to that dingy dumpster?” And this statement prompts Jisung to give his knee a harsh kick followed by a mere glare from the younger boy. 

“I actually like his place, it’s cute,” you scoff. He’s just acting out since Jisung always shows up unannounced. 

“Why? It’s a rip-off.”

“Minho, you were living there for free!”

“I’m going to leave you two love birds alone now,” Jisung pushes past you to shoot Minho a mischievous smirk, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything weird to her or Chan is going to cut your arms off.” Actually, you’re fully capable of cutting his arms off yourself if he dared think about doing something damned. The swordsmanship runs in the family after all. 

Your face morphs into a frown when Jisung finally enters the cabin, your head tilted to the side in confusion. “What is he talking about?” you ask but brush it off nonetheless; it’s Jisung, you can’t expect anything less from him. “Forget it, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Minho answers while petting Noir, your horse nudges her nose against his face in return—she’s always been keen on seeing him since day one. “How is your father these days? Last time I’d asked, you told me that he’d retired.”

You nod, resting your palm on the hilt of your sword, “He’s good. He said he’s already too old to train soldiers and he’d rather stay at home. Though he’s getting bored these days since there’s not much to do anymore. He’ll find a new hobby soon enough, he will need to take a break from everything eventually. Father has never let himself rest after our mother passed away, constant work distracts him.”

Minho hears you let out a small sigh and takes another step, his hands finding their way towards yours, collecting your fingers between his, giving them a firm squeeze. 

You give in after a few moments to face him completely, concern is flashing in his eyes while a small smile blooms on his lips. He looks a little tired, probably didn’t get any sleep for the past few days while you’re resolving all the problems in court. Minho never fails to stun you nonetheless, from the curve of his lips to the fullness of his eyelashes and the adoration in his warm eyes for you and only you; they make you feel at ease. 

“Like father, like daughter,” he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and jokes. “You’d better be eating well and getting enough sleep, vice commander.”

You snicker, “Speak for yourself, Black Swordsman, you look terrible.” That’s a lie, he looks absolutely wondrous it’s unfair. 

“I like this color on you,” you giggle after noticing his appearance today. They really don’t have any dark-colored pieces of clothing in the castle. “Look, we’re matching. You’re just not matching with your sword anymore.”

“Y/N.” The merry tone in his voice suddenly drops and Minho looks away, his muscles loosening. “Can I ask you something? But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

You’re suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”

“On the day that the incident happened….,” he trails off nervously. “Why didn’t you run away? You could have just left me there and got home safely. There will always be another way to help Chan. The chances of surviving that fight were too slim, there’s no telling what would happen. Why would you—”

“Lee Minho, are you even hearing yourself right now?” you cup his cheeks so that he’ll look at you. “Are you assuming I’m some sort of lowly being who will run away while their partner is in danger? I’d rather die with someone than let that person die in front of my eyes. Especially when it’s you! I would never forgive myself if I ever did that to you. So why are you saying such things?”

Minho reaches for your hand and melts into your touch, exhaling heavily. 

“I don’t know...I’m sorry I think I’m losing my mind. After everything, I’m scared that I might lose you. All I want to do is run away with you, from all of this, from everything. We can live together in someplace far away, where no one can find us,” he clenches his eyes shut. 

“I just- I don’t want you to be in love with someone who always has hell hanging by his doorstep, who gets his hands bloodied for a living, who—“

You place your index finger on his lips and shake your head. “Do you even know who I am in love with? Hm?” you question. 

“I’m in love with the most caring, kindhearted man that the world could ever ask for. Whose heart is so warm and fragile, he’s afraid to let anyone in because of his tough past. Whose will is so unwavering he didn’t even think twice about fighting off a dragon alone. But what makes me fall so stupidly for him, is the fact that despite his wounds and scars, he’d always prioritize other people’s needs before his own. Because he’d rather believe and regret than doubt and regret.”

“Y-You’re in love with me?” he studies your delicate feature in the daylight, his heart going on a rampage. 

You chuckle to yourself, “Yes, more than I should be because you’re a pain in the-“

Minho presses his lips against yours and inhales every word, sealing the nagging in until you respond to the kiss. Your hands find their way up to his soft hair, weaving themselves into the dark locks and dropping to caress his face after. He latches his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his so he can have more control of your movements. You’re drowning in his existence as he tugs and nibs at your bottom lip, trailing small kisses down your jawline before pulling away completely. 

“I guess this means you’re in love with me too?” you ask to distract yourself from the heat that’s flaring through your nostrils, setting your heart on fire. 

Your question has him stop for less than a moment, realizing that maybe he is in love with you as much as you are with him. And maybe you want him just as much as he wants you too. 

 He nods curtly, breath shaking, “Yes, yes I am.”

For the longest time, Minho used to forbid himself to cry, smile, and laugh like any sane human being would, as he thinks expressing his emotions is being strong, is protecting himself. But in reality, he’s just running away from his own problems instead of finding ways to solve them. 

Now, he will let himself fall, he will let himself cripple, he will let his tears run freely for strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things. He will fight for what he believes in, protect what he cares about and run on his bare feet through the entire galaxy if it means he gets to see you at the end of it, if it means you can dive into his arms, safe and sound. 

Then, Minho thinks of what’s inside the little box, making the thing thundering inside his chest skip a beat. “Will you stay by my side forever?” he blinks. 

“Is that even a question?” you convey between labored pants. “Even if fate pulls you to the other side of the universe, I will find you, do you hear me? I will find you and fall in love with you all over again.”

“Very well then,” he holds you by the shoulders; the eagerness in his eyes lights up a curiosity inside you. “Y/N, let’s..” But it’s gone before you can even register. “Let’s get going, we’re going to be late.” It’s not quite the right time yet. He still needs to meet someone before tying you up with him for eternity. 

Because Minho too, will always find you and fall in love with you all over again. If fate has a problem with that, then he won’t be giving a damn. 

#stayshub #skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids fluff #stray kids lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #lino fic #lee minho #minho fantasy au #lee know fantasy au

[tortleofwar]

Valentine's Cherub Pt. 2

The noises from trucks clearing the road, I can sleep through that. Sunlight blaring through my eyelids, I can easily turn over. But the smoke of a cigarette catching in the back of my throat is something I can't ignore. I bolt upright pounding my chest as I cough up the carcinogens. Smoke stings my eyes as a fresh puff is directed towards me.

"Good morning my little warrior." She took another drag and blew away from my face this time. "I assume you aren't a smoker then?"

"You got me." Finally settled from my coughing fit I roll off the bed and walk to the bathroom. My bladder was close to bursting and a conversation was the last thing I wanted to have right now.

"I guess I can't call you little after your display last night." She let out a school girl giggle as she walked into the bathroom. The cigarette was absent from her hand. She reached a hand out and held me as I ejected my urine into the posh toilet. "Got some power behind this thing. Wish I could have exclusive access to this."

"Not gonna happen." I forced it out to get her hand off of me quickly. "Last night I was snowed in and my cards were all declined. I'm thankful for your help but what happened last night was a fluke."

I skipped the shower hoping to get away from her before something else was instigated. She turned it on and walked out behind me. Her hands wrapped around my waist to grab at my dick again. This time I stopped her and proceeded to my clothes.

"If you are going home you're gonna need a shower." She gave my ass a swift slap and licked her lips hungrily. "Besides, your bar tab hasn't been paid off yet. Last night was the release I needed after my recent dry spell. But that was only the tip. I bought your drinks and provided you a room."

My heart dropped at the realization that she was right. This hotel was top notch. Red carpet throughout the room, a bidet in the bathroom, and the thread count was higher than my monthly salary. I could end up indebted for a while. Sky wouldn't like it so I had to find a way out of this. I swiped to my bank app and checked the balance. My check cleared and $1850 was showing. It wasn't much but it would cover the rinks I had.

I turned to find her on her knees mouth open and eyes closed. The hormones and attraction couldn't be denied but this was wrong. At least last night could be blamed on the drinks and need for a place to stay besides out back by a dumpster. But now was entirely different. I could walk out right now and leave her on her knees as I shut the door.

"I don't normally offer this to anyone." As I was looking at the door her eyes looked up to me and it felt like my soul was ensnared. As she stood her hand trailed up my thigh to cup my balls and then get a firm hold of my hardening shaft. "We get dirty while getting cleaned up and then I will consider us square. No money, just sex."

My answer should have been hell no, all caps with about five exclamation marks behind it. However those eyes and that plump booty slowly walked me to the shower and I was stuck. My tears washed away by the shower as I surrendered to her once again. I could say it was to square the debt but I honestly wanted more.

As we kissed images of my wife flashed in my head. The good times, the bad, and the sex. True, experience was one hell of a teacher but my heart could never betray her. My mind arguing that this was just a release, purely physical. But the betrayal was there.

I dove into the deep end, pulling her closer and adding carnal passion to the kiss. I began to kiss down to her neck and she whispered into my ear.

"Use me. No limits just go crazy." Her voice husky with desire. "Please."

I'd pressed her against the wall and teased her with one hand while nibbling on her tit. The harder I bit the slicker she got. True to her words she didn't deny anything as I chomped down with force. Her yell turning into a muffled moan as she bit her bottom lip. My finger finding her inner folds while my thumb strummed her clit had her body trembling. This was something Sky relished and hated with a passion.

This woman welcomed the body trembling climax as I kissed my way down ignore the plea in her eyes. I scooped her up onto my shoulders giving full access of her lower extremities to my mouth. My goal was to keep it going as long as possible and possibly even give her another. Licking inside and out made her thighs squeeze as she pulled at my short dreads. Denying her the release of rolling my tongue along her clit until I felt her juices flowing down my chin.

An explosion went off in her body as I applied steady pressure to her clit. Her nails scratched at my scalp and her thighs blocked all sound as she locked them over my ears. As her climax came down she released her vice grip on me and breathed heavily. As I back away I flicked her clit one last time and felt her back away.

"Was that resistance?" A wicked smile spread across my face as she looked down sheepishly. I grabbed a towel from the rack and grabbed her hands. "I hope you can cover the damages."

I ripped the towel into several strips and soaked them with water and the hotel provided soap. With each one I would slowly slide them over another erogenous part of her body. I decided against the soap for the final strip. Opting instead to blindfold her with it. As I stood admiring this soapy piece of art I'd made her hands reached out for me. I sidestepped them and whispered into her ear.

"Not yet my pet."

She froze in place as the stream of water rained down on her. I quickly grabbed a cloth and bathed her body gently. Cleaning her from the neck down. She relaxed the longer this went on until she could no longer feel my touch. I watched as she tilted her head to listen for the faintest sound of me, searching for the smallest notion that I hadn't abandoned her.

As she reached for the blindfold I bound her hands and quietly shushed into her ears. These were the things I'd wanted to do with Sky but she didn't trust me to care for her this intimately. But here was this stranger willingly surrendering herself to me. Rubenesque body presented to me with no hesitation. I took her hands and placed them on my cock moving her hands to instruct her to stroke me.

I placed a hand on her shoulder and she instinctively went to her knees. Her face hovering inches away from me I pushed forward penetrating her lips. Her warm tongue swirling around my dick as I pushed in and out of her mouth.As her rhythm became steady I pulled back, forcing her to lean forward for me.

My deep chuckle was drowned out by the water. Her nose was pressed into my naval as she choked on my length. I forcefully pushed her off of me and watched as the water cleaned the spit and saliva from her face. I turned her around and pushed her onto all four. The water pounded on my back as I slowly eased inside of her. Building a steady motion and feeling her push back into me.

As I took over grabbing her hips and slamming into her the wet sounds echoed inside the bathroom. As much as I was enjoying this I needed to remember why I was doing it. I focused wholly on busting my nut and raising up out of here. Her clenching helped speed the process up and she could tell. She began to beg me not to pull out and I complied.

Exhausted I stayed in place as the water washed over me. I slowly pulled out cleaning my shaft as it shrank back to its flaccid state. I untied her and removed the blindfold. She eagerly fetched a washcloth to clean me up. I stood in place as she moved around me cleaning every inch. When she tried to get me hard again I swatted her hand away.

"That should square up our debt. And this hopefully remains a secret." I was rushing to get dressed and out of this blissful nightmare. "Please don't come looking for me."

"That's going to be hard considering how good pets are at finding their masters," she joked. "But I understand."

I winced at the nickname and bolted out of the door. With cleared street I cautiously steered to my home shaking my head at what I'd done. It couldn't be justified and I would be damned if she left me because of this. As I pulled into the parking garage a familiar powder blue Pontiac drove by me. The shirtless passenger was laughing as he turned to leave.

Shaking it off I walked through the halls of the apartment complex and fished out my keys to the door. Slow music could be heard through the door and the smell of fresh candles could be heard. I scrunched my brows in confusion because this was her post-coitus routine and I wasn't here last night. Then the realization hit me. He was here last night, snowed in with Sky, and we had just had our biggest fight ever.

My keys dropped to the floor as I slid down the opposite wall in dismay. I shook my head with doubt but the evidence was there. I couldn't accuse her after what I'd just done but for her to sleep with MY boss was a whole other level of betrayal. That smug bastard would probably be smiling every day just thinking about this. The rage took a hold of me as I forced myself up.

Shoving the key into the door I burst through it and saw her look of joy. It slowly faded as she saw the anger on my face. Her confused expression only made me feel worse.

"So I just saw Michael on his way out." Her realization didn't show as I began to explain. "He looked extremely happy considering he was snowed in 45 minutes away from his home. Any idea why that is?"

"He probably knows someone else who live nearby. I did tell you I saw him a few times in the neighborhood while I was out."

This brought up another realization in me. He was on lunch calls for two hours on those days. My apartment was 15 minutes away. Those lunch calls started when I got my promotion four months ago. She quit her job because I didn't want her to have to work again after she put me through college.

"I have all the addresses and contact information of all of his associates and sneaky links. None of them live near here. What was he doing HERE?"

Her face lost all expression as she shook her head. "You were gonna find out one way or another. Michael and I have been seeing each other and I think it's time you moved on as well."

There it was. The dagger through the heart I'd been waiting for. I clinched my fists as I paced through the front room. All the while she stood there with no expression or words. The tornado of thoughts going through my head landed on hurting her but I held it in. Looking back at her I could only ask one question.

"Why?"

"You're too nice to me. I need a man who can handle me, put me in my place and treat me how I want to be treated in private," She explained walking to the door. "He spoils me in public and uses me in private. Something a BOY like you wouldn't understand. And that's what I need in my life. Not someone who worships everything about me or is my every beckoning call."

"So I treated you like a queen and this is what you've wanted all along?" I slumped onto the chair shaking my head. The smile on my face scared me. "All this time and you said nothing."

"You're a great guy. And I'm sure someone out there would love to be with you." A bit of fear had entered her voice as she noticed the smile. "But I'm not the one you need. I'll be by to get my things later."

"So you hurt me and you're not even going to apologize?" I asked looking up at her.

"I'm pretty sure after last night we both knew this was where it was heading." She looked at me with a sly smile. "Although I may have broken you for the next poor girl."

The door closed behind her as I sat shaking my head. Her laughter should have done something to me, made me feel anything, but I could only think about the cougar. How I could use a stress reliever at this very moment. At that moment my phone buzzed. I sighed as I checked the notification.

An ad for therapy made me laugh to myself. After all of this I could do with some venting to help me get back to normal. I scrolled down and my jaw dropped. Dr. Clarice WIlliams had a picture of brunette hair flowing down to her shoulders and a pair of captivating green eyes hidden behind glasses. Was God sending me help or was the Devil tempting me? I shrugged and turned on my PS4 to play Paladins.

#AndreWrites Stories

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 8

Back at it again with Tim trying his hardest and Rhys somehow getting sucked into their problems! I’ll probably do a follow-up to this part, so more soon! You can read part one here

“It’s not going to work, Rhys,” Tim said, throwing a contract down on Rhys’ desk. “They’ve been fighting me for you to take that wording out.”

“I will not,” Rhys said indignantly. “Atlas prides itself on being state of the art. If we take that wording out, they can use cheaper materials, and it’ll lower the quality of that line of weapons.”

“I hear you, I hear you,” Tim said, thumbing through the pages of the contract. “Alright, buy me a little time on it. Push the meeting back a day or two. I’ll see if I can’t hide it somewhere else with more clever wording.”

It was a little scary how good Tim was at things like that. Then again, he’d been trained to negotiate and write up contracts by Handsome Jack, so Rhys supposed it was scary but not surprising. 

“I can buy you at least a day, but I’ll push for two or three,” Rhys said, writing a note to get right on that after Tim left his office. “Now, onto the next thing. Which is...uh…”

“Analysis of those trials,” Tim said, digging through a folder to pull out reports. “I had them send the reports to me and glanced them over earlier. Haven’t had a chance to look in-depth yet, but it seems like everything is going well.”

Tim passed some papers to Rhys. As Rhys organized them, Tim helped himself to some of his coffee, courtesy of Lorelei. 

Lorelei had taken a liking to Phoenix, so in an attempt to win him over, she often brought coffee for Tim and juice or soda for Phoenix. Right now, he sat reading in the corner, nibbling at a cookie she’d gotten him from a local bakery. 

He looked up, opened his mouth, then shut it and put his head back down. Rhys kicked Tim under the desk and nodded to Phoenix.

“Need something, pal?” Tim said.

Phoenix turned his book around. “Dunno this word, dad. Can’t sound it out.”

“Bring it closer. Dad’s only got one working eye,” Tim said, gesturing him over. 

Phoenix got up, frowning at his hands because one had the book and one had the cookie, leaving no room to grab his bear.

“Cookie in your mouth,” Tim offered.

Phoenix brightened, sticking part of the cookie in his mouth so he could grab his bear. He went over to Tim, who took the book to free up one of his hands.

Tim lifted Phoenix into his lap. “Which word? This one?”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said. “Dunno that word. I tried to sound it out but I still can’t get it.”

“Well, at least you tried. The word is ‘weather’,” Tim said. 

“Oh!” Phoenix said, pushing his cookie into Tim’s hand so he could take the book back. “Don’t eat that. Weather. Weather.” He spoke it slowly, tracing it with his finger.

He’d really dedicated himself to learning how to read. Rhys had bought him several books to practice with when Tim left him in the office. He was getting noticeably better, but he still struggled with longer words.

There was a knock on the door. Phoenix tensed up, but Tim just gave him an easy smile and ruffled his hair, passing his cookie back to him.

“Come in,” Rhys called.

The door opened and in came a woman Rhys knew, but not well. Tim’s easy smile turned to surprise, and he looked flustered as he tried to straighten his shirt a little.

“M-Moxxi,” he said. “What, um, what are you doing here?”

“Checking on you, sugar,” Moxxi said, winking at him. Tim’s face heated up. “I had some business with a supplier in Promethea so I’ll be here for about two days. I wanted to see how you were doing. Plus, Ember asked me to check on the two of you.”

“We’re good,” Tim said, pointing lamely at Phoenix’s book. “He’s working on his reading skills. And I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had time to, uh, you know, drown in trauma or anything. Mostly.”

“Rhys, how’s he doing?” Moxxi said.

“Fine,” Rhys said honestly. “He’s been a huge asset to Atlas. He’s a hard worker and he’s good at his job. Kind of a pain in the ass and socially stunted, but we’re working on it.”

“I was in a casino for seven years!” Tim said, glaring at him.

“How’s the hand?” Moxxi asked, sauntering over and taking Tim’s cybernetic hand, running light fingers over it.

Tim’s face grew even redder. “O-Oh, it’s, um, it’s good. Works fine.” 

“Maybe you can show me sometime,” she said, smirking at the dumbstruck look on his face. “I could use help moving some crates into transport.”

“Right! Right, moving crates. I can move crates,” Tim said weakly. 

“And how are you doing, Phoenix? Your mom misses you,” Moxxi said, giving him a surprisingly kind smile. “She always gets excited for your daily calls.”

Phoenix looked at her with such distrust that it bordered on hostility. Rhys was surprised to see the expression on his face, especially considering that as far as Rhys had gathered, Moxxi was the whole reason Tim and Phoenix survived and escaped the casino.

“Hey, she asked how you’re doing,” Tim said, nudging him.

Phoenix didn’t respond. He just tensed up, gripping his bear tighter, never taking his eyes off Moxxi.

If it bothered Moxxi, she didn’t let it show, the smile staying on her face. “Well, Ember said you two are still working on socializing him. I won’t press him. It is good to see you though, Phoenix. You look much healthier.”

“I’m teaching myself how to cook so I can feed him better meals. He’s gained some weight and gotten a little bit taller,” Tim said. “It’s good. He was always worryingly small. Hey, uh, maybe I could...cook you dinner while you’re here? Catch up.” His face heated up again. “You can tell me about the casino.”

“Sure, sugar,” she said, back to the seductive smile. “I’d love to hear about your life here, too. Mind coming to talk with me for a moment? In private.”

Tim immediately stood up, setting Phoenix down in his chair. Phoenix tried to cling stubbornly to him, but Tim pried his hands off.

“I’ll be right back, pal,” he promised. “Stay with Rhys. I’ll just be in my office with Moxxi for a few minutes.”

“Dad!” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm again. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

“Phoenix,” Tim said, slight exasperation in his voice. “Rhys is here with you. I’ll be in my office. You know where I am if you need me. We just need to talk for a minute, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Moxxi put a hand on Tim’s arm to guide him out of the room. When the door shut, Phoenix glared at it.

“She doesn’t work here,” he said, that surprising hostility back. “Can’t you make her leave?”

“She had a visitor pass,” Rhys said in confusion. “She’s authorized to be here. Phoenix, what’s wrong? Didn’t she help save you and your dad?”

He glared at Rhys now, hugging his bear to his chest. “It’s her fault dad lost his hand. He hid until she showed up. Then he got caught and he almost died.”

“But from what I understand, Moxxi was trying to help him escape,” Rhys said. “And he only had to cut his hand off because of Jack’s protocols.”

“I don’t like her!” Phoenix said stubbornly. “Make her leave, boss guy. She doesn’t work here. She’s not Atlas.”

“But why don’t you like her?” Rhys pressed, sensing there was more to this. 

For as distrustful as Phoenix was, he wasn’t usually hateful like this. And he’d been getting better with everyone trying to help socialize him. So this whole thing was baffling Rhys.

“She’s gonna take my dad!” Phoenix said.

“What? No she’s not. She’s the reason you and your dad left the casino,” Rhys said. “Why would she take him back?”

“Nu-uh!” he said, shaking his head. “Dad likes her.” Frustrated tears rose in his eyes, but he choked them back. “Dad’s s’posed to like mom. Not some clown lady.” He hugged his bear even tighter. “He’s s’posed to like my mom!”

Oh. Rhys wished he hadn’t pried for an answer.

He leaned back in his chair. Tim didn’t speak about it much, but from what Rhys had gathered, Phoenix was the result of Tim and Ember having a few near-death experiences that all ended in frantic adrenaline fueled, unprotected sex. Tim had specified that they’d always been good friends, but never a couple. 

As far as Rhys knew, the two were perfectly happy remaining friends instead of being a couple. Ember planned to stay working in the casino, and they’d agreed to have Tim raise Phoenix for now so the boy could finally grow up outside of the casino.

“Phoenix, your mom and dad were never a, um, a couple. I know Timothy likes your mom. Just not...not as anything more than a friend,” Rhys said awkwardly, unsure if Tim and Ember had ever had this talk with Phoenix.

“He can’t like the clown lady! She’s not my mom!” Phoenix argued.

Rhys supposed it was best to wait this out and let Tim talk to Phoenix about it. But Phoenix was growing anxious like he did when he feared Tim was in danger, so he tried a different approach.

“Doesn’t your mom work with Moxxi? So I’m sure she likes Moxxi,” Rhys attempted. “That must mean your mom would trust her with you and your dad.”

“Dad can’t like her,” Phoenix repeated stubbornly. 

Well, this was getting nowhere. Rhys sighed.

“We can talk about it when Tim comes back. Finish your cookie,” Rhys said, picking up his paperwork. At Phoenix’s look, Rhys gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, I promise we’ll talk about it when he comes back. Or you two will talk about it. I still don’t know how I keep getting sucked into all this.”

Phoenix glared at the door as he finished up his cookie. He tugged at the ear of his bear instead of pacing.

It was a bit before Tim returned. “Moxxi had to get to a meeting. Sorry about that. Just haven’t seen her in a while, you know?”

“Boss guy,” Phoenix pressed.

“Yea, I know!” Rhys said. “Timothy, Phoenix...doesn’t like you talking to Moxxi.”

“What?” Tim said in confusion. “Why not?”

“‘Cause she’s not my mom!” Phoenix said.

Tim looked pained for a moment before going over to his chair. He lifted Phoenix up so he could sit, settling Phoenix into his lap.

“Phoenix, I love your mom. She’s one of my best friends,” Tim said. “But we’ve talked about this. Your mom and I love each other, but we aren’t in love. We’re always going to raise you together, but we’re not going to be a couple.” 

Phoenix’s eyes watered again and he looked away from Tim. “But I miss mom.”

Tim hugged him tightly. “I know, Phoenix. I’m sorry.”

Phoenix began to cry harder. “I want you and mom. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”

“Shhh, I know, pal. I really do,” Tim soothed. “I was raised by a single parent. I know it hurts sometimes. I’m sorry you haven’t seen her in so long.”

“If you marry the clown lady then what if I never see my mom again?” Phoenix whimpered. 

“Hey, no, no way. We’d never do that to you. And your mom loves you too much to let anyone keep her away from you,” Tim said, kissing Phoenix. “C’mon, pal, why don’t we go for a walk and visit Lorelei? And when you’ve calmed down a little, we can call mom so you can talk to her.”

“I miss her!” Phoenix said, burying his face against Tim’s shoulder and clutching at his shirt. “I miss my mom! I want my mom and dad! It’s not fair!” 

Tim looked heartbroken at his son’s distress. He rubbed Phoenix’s back, kissing his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Phoenix.” He stood up with Phoenix in his arms and glanced at Rhys. “Do you mind if I take him outside for some air? I’ll be back in a few minutes. It’ll give you time to read those reports.”

“Go,” Rhys said. “Take your time. Go home early if you need to. I can manage, Timothy.”

“I’ll be back,” Tim promised, carrying his son out.

Rhys felt awful seeing the kid cry like that. Phoenix was so attached to Tim that he’d never really considered whether or not the boy missed his mom. 

Rhys sighed and grabbed his ECHO, connecting a feed. He was probably going to regret this, but he’d grown too attached to Timothy Lawrence and his son.

“Something I can do for you, Rhys?” Moxxi answered.

“I know Timothy said you had a meeting, so I’ll make this quick,” Rhys said. “Any way you can help me plan a surprise to cheer Phoenix up?”

He and Moxxi spoke for a bit before hanging up. Rhys picked the reports back up, hoping like hell he was helping and not about to make things even harder for the family.

#borderlands #timothy lawrence #borderlands rhys #dad tim & uncle rhys #borderlands au #My writing

[high5nerd]

Vorfreude

Aay, my first (at the time) Pitch x Reader one-shot!

Don’t fook your professors, folks.

“When understanding the root words of our modern day languages, it can be daunting to fully comprehend the detail such a language as English can be intertwined with a multitude of other languages long forgotten,”

Dr. Pitchiner was certainly entrancing when he spoke at the podium, flourishing a hand at the list of most common prefixes and suffixes used in today’s modern English, along with a surprise list of obscure ones you knew you had to take note on. Dr. Pitchiner wasn’t one to give easy exams, the last exam was so gruelling someone almost passed out from a panic attack at the multitude of pages.

Despite enjoying writing yourself, you weren’t as invested in English as he was, which was a given, hence the reason his PhD in English as well as a degree in Latin Translation. Many times he’s journeyed to Italy to help assist scholars in finding new information on the lost civilizations of Rome, Sicily, and Pompeii, and that credit alone was the sole reason he got the job at this state college. He should have been employed at universities like Harvard or Yale, or even Oxford or Princeton, but yet here he was, teaching at your simple state college with an acceptance rate of 93% and the highest transferring stat in all of your state.

   Not a lot of students found him attractive like you did. Certainly there was more than a couple handfuls of girls, pockets of them, who’ve admired his lithe figure, his graceful movements and that firm ass that was way too snug in his black slacks. Most of them admired his physique from afar, some even daring others to get closer to flirt with him shamelessly, and usually that ended up with a bad memory for the attempted action, as well as the girl who tried to drop the class out of utter embarrassment at such a call out after class that could be heard around the hall.

   Dr. Kozmotis Pitchiner took no bullshit from anyone, and that’s the main reason your heart fluttered at the thought and sight of him. This class wasn’t the first time you two had met face to face either, shockingly. Quite hilariously, the first time you two met, you didn’t even like him.

Three years ago, you were an itty bitty freshman just like the ones that recently arrived this semester, and to the best of your luck, you scored almost five hours of total free time on Mondays and Wednesdays before your Intro to Biology class and Intro to Psychology course after lunch.

Why not explore the gorgeous campus during those five hours? It would get you more acquainted with your surroundings and in small cases, make new friends! Grabbing a can of fruit juice and a danish from the dining hall, you munched as you explored the massive quad before discovering where the art gallery was, venturing towards the art and theatre buildings you’d be in the next year for your art perspective requirements. You found yourself meandering in the photograph-covered walled hallway of the English department, unknowingly headed towards the campus’s own local newspaper headquarters when a voice startled you from your entrancement with your journey.

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going?” a voice matching the texture of velvet came.

You turn around, frowning at the sudden startling noise. There just feet away from you, emerged from his office was a man dressed in what you would consider funeral appropriate attire, a smooth black suit with a basic black tie, and shiny black dress shoes that looked like they could reflect sunlight and somehow cause a car accident if he walked outside.

“I’m exploring. Where do you think you’re going?” you shot back, taking a long sip of your fruit juice.

You were mildly surprised to see a smirk cross his devious lips, his silver-gold eyes narrowing at your sass. He almost looked amused at your attitude, even enough so that his tensed shoulders relaxed, but his arms still remained folded over his chest.

“At the moment, I’m going wherever you think you’re headed, which should be in the opposite direction you’re headed.”

Ooh, he likes playing word games. You took another sip and then took a big bite of your danish, not caring about how childish you were coming off to him. You pointed towards the hallway, “Why can’t I go down there?”

He gestured his head in the same direction, “It’s merely copy rooms and computer labs meant for the Daily Mascot Oracle. Nothing worth checking out.”

“Oh. That’s a shit title.” you commented.

He barked out a heartwarming laugh. You grin at him, glad he finally was capable of taking that stick out of his ass and be a decent human being. Almost three times so far in just two days you got two people to really dislike your presence and your sassy attitude, someone named Bunnymund and another elfish looking kid named Jack who’s definition of fun didn’t match yours at all.

“I certainly didn’t agree to it either, but the editor in chief made sure my vote was outnumbered,” he hesitated, thinking quickly before glancing at you, “Are you a freshman?”

You nodded, knowing what he would ask next, “Majoring in psychology with hopefully a minor in alternative medicine and therapy.”

He looked genuinely impressed, “I must say, it’s quite refreshing to have a new student under that field. Not a lot of freshmen choose that whilst entering for their first year. What makes you like that field of study so much?”

You shrugged with a smile, “I like the whole concept of the human mind and how it functions on an emotional state. It’s interesting how certain actions and emotions can create feelings inside us, and I especially love the study of dreams and fears and hopes. I want to do a project on dream therapy for my senior thesis when it comes time to that, but I doubt they’ll let me. Professor Oren didn’t like hearing me say that at orientation.”

Dr. Pitchiner nodded, “Oren doesn’t really believe in the science behind dreams, and certainly not the spirituality behind it if you believe in that sort of thing. I certainly do.”

“You do?” you were genuinely surprised, literally taken aback. You wouldn’t have considered such an eloquent, smooth and finely dressed man to believe in a spirituality. He reeked of realist to you, you certainly weren’t expecting that.

He nodded again, “Of course. It’s only natural for the human psyche to become understandable to a certain degree, and it’s been proven through many other cultures that such things exist, like the sixth sense or empathy or precognition. Why not in dream analyzation? It’s fascinating, I’m glad you’re interested in it. If I wasn’t an English professor I would immediately return to college to take advantage of that.”

That’s when you realized how gold his eyes were, how they sparkled like the richest coins ever discovered in the vastness of the sunken world of ships at the bottom of the ocean. His eyes gave away intense wisdom, feeling and intellect that you felt the need to learn from. You needed to unlock every part of him to see beyond that gaze he gave you with that strange upturn at the corner of his devilish mouth.

Sure enough, you eventually found yourself in his class a couple years later for your required English Analysis course, and the both of you took advantage of that. You found yourself wandering back to his office between classes and office hours, knowing full well no one visited him nor had the courage to due to his harshness in class and strict code he sticks to in not forming attachments to the student body. For you, somehow you were able to break that barrier and see a different kind of man than what people upfront knew him as.

Your friend Katherine is your first and only senior friend at the university, and from her story when you signed up for his course at the beginning of the year, he was known to be callous and strict, such a polar opposite to leniency that even if you were sick with proof of illness, he wouldn’t accept that as an excused absence unless you flourished a medical note from a doctor to him. Everyone feared him, but admired him from afar since he’s the only professor to actually cut down on the bullshitters and slackers in class, and is one of the most respected professors there because of his adventures in Italy as a historian as well as a translator.

You, however, knew him as a sarcastic, good humored intellect with an avid thirst for learning the unknown, and unlocking skills he’s never attempted. From the times you would visit his office or bump into each other in the hallways and have small talk, you learned that at one point in his life he was just as brash, brazen and impulsive as you are now. Before he considered becoming a professor, he was eager to study what you were studying in now, especially the study of phobias and humans’ reactions to certain fear-triggering events or objects. You were the only one that’s ever heard him snort at a god-awful joke you would attempt at, and the only one that’s ever seen him grin at you in such a way it made your stomach flip and flutter.

Perhaps you exposed yourself too much to him, or perhaps he was just so relatable you felt like you sometimes felt like you were talking to a part of yourself you’ve never discovered before. It slightly scared you how much he knew about you and it wasn’t even the end of the fall semester, but you trusted him in ways you’ve never trusted another before. He always promised you absolute confidentiality with your confessions to him, most out of pure merriment and in the goal of a strengthened friendship, like when you told him when you were fourteen you tried blending into the popular clique but still found yourself drawn to the nerds and theater kids once more. He once gave you such a dubious smirk at the notion of you once being the stereotypical geek, with what you claimed to be the unattractive flat hair, braces and awkward gait.

“I can hardly believe that of you.” he chuckled.

“Why? You can kinda tell, don’t lie.” you winked teasingly.

He tilted his head in his hand at you, looking your figure up and down so slowly and languidly that it made your face heat up with a sudden thrill you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Whoever you were before has grew into a fine young woman, that’s most of what I can see.” he looked at you seriously, his eyes hard with truth.

Ever since that you realized that the idea of him being closer than what you two already were was something else you wanted. You thirsted for it, like an obsession. Unhealthy, you weren’t sure, but you were careful not to give yourself away to him, in fear that it would destroy that friendship you two already had. Without anyone’s knowledge but his, you both called each other by your first names. You called him Koz, and he called you by the nickname you wanted him to call you.

Even just watching him write on the board, hearing his voice wrap you lovingly in it’s deep musical tones made your legs tighten in excitement. You furrowed your brows, trying to ignore the incoming thoughts of his voice saying your name like a mantra as you wrote down everything being scribbled on the board.

The guy next to you noticed your discomfort, and nudged his elbow with yours. You looked at him, affronted, “What?”

“You look pissed. You okay?” he looked suspicious.

“Shut up, I’m fine.”

“(y/n).”

Your blood froze, looking up at him in pure fear at being called out in front of class. His hands were folded behind his back, his eyes lingering on you and only you. The class stared at you, nearly a thousand eyes focused on your nervous leg bouncing and the pen in your hand being crushed by the amount of attention drawn onto you.

“I see you have already started to discuss with Stephen,” you could swear to the moon above he smirked ruefully, “Would you like to tell us what the definition of vorfreude is?”

You gulped quickly before looking down at your paper, noticing that the last couple notes were not even notes, they were sinful descriptions of what you wanted him to do to your mouth and in between your thighs. Your face grew incredibly red to the point it prickled your skin as you stood up. You never broke eye contact with him. You can’t be weak now.

“Vorfreude is a German word to define a type of intense anticipation of imagining future pleasures.”

He nodded, his smirk subsiding to something even darker at the moment you uttered the word ‘future’, “Excellent. Glad to see you’re still paying attention despite your distractions.”

Some people snickered at your red face deepening in color as you plopped back down in your seat. By now Koz was shuffling the exams collected last week, freshly graded and corrections that could leave someone in tears if not taken lightly.

As he passed around the graded exams going over the class’s weak points and what to look forward to for the next midterm, you doodled a bit more in your notebook and wrote more lines of absolute sin into a poetic verse, something E. E. Cummings would be absolutely proud of.

You read over your lines, admiring the visual rhymes as well as the absolute clear imagery of being locked into him, his arms like a vice as he would pull your hair and bite at the sensitive parts of your neck, and even now you squirmed at the daydream of such a carnal act going on in his office. More than anything, more than just impressing him with your knowledge and sharp tongue would be for him to pin you to the desk and make you cry out his name in ecstasy as your legs would quiver with release. You bit your lip as you tightened your grip on your sweatshirt, trying your damn hardest not to accidentally make a noise.

That’s when you noticed the shadow lurking over you.

You froze. Your entire body became still with horror and your blood turned cold as Koz read over your carnal poem and observed your lewd doodles with a casual eye as he handed you your exam. You reached out for it with a shaking hand and slowly placed it over the notebook page, knowing it was too late to hide the damage.

“Please see me after class about your note-taking.”

You nodded, trying to fight tears from the utter embarrassment as he finished handing out the exams. You close your notebook in disgust with yourself. Koz continues the class until 5:45, the usual time it ends when everyone wastes no time in dilly dallying and immediately leaving, most if not all heading to the dining hall for dinner. You, planning to indulge in just a minor dinner consisting of cereal or soup out of embarrassment and sadness, packed up slowly.

“(y/n), a word please.” he beckoned from his podium.

You refused to look at him as you stepped down from the lecture hall stairs to the podium, your backpack slung over your shoulder and your confidence crumbling even further as you waited with baited breath as he finished shutting off the projector and computer.

“You have quite a knack for poetry for someone who says English isn’t their forte, as well as for a psychology major.” he calmly noted, hardly glancing at you.

You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t hold it in anymore and let it burst from your chest, all your thoughts jumbled into a single rambling mess, “I swear I didn’t intend for you to see it, I just-I just-I don’t know why I did that and I know I messed up our friendship, it’s all my fault and I’m really really sorry, I seriously wasn’t thinking and I just can’t help but feel these things and it just makes it worse when I think about you, I don’t know what to do about it-”

A hand crept around the back of your neck and forced your head up, and without even a single warning you felt warm, wet lips enveloping yours, biting sweetly as well as fervently. You couldn’t help but make a noise of startlement at the sudden action, but before you could even have time to melt into the kiss, he pulled away, a smirk on his face.

“It’d be inappropriate for me to do such things, but more inappropriate for you to act on it as well. Yet, I know you are wise enough to not pursue it like you want to.” he stated, his eyes resembling molten gold.

Your gaze flattened, “Koz, what the fuck was that if you say you’re not ‘pursuing it’.”

He grinned, “Your confirmation of your feelings, as well as a promise of patience.”

“Patience?”

He smirked again, tilting his head and embracing the feel of superiority again, “You have nearly one more year left. I wonder if you have the patience to stick it out-”

That pissed you off. You grabbed his black tie and pulled him down, startling him as you kissed him hard. You pulled away just as quickly, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as well as slight bewilderment at being cut off from gloating.

You smiled innocently, smoothing down his tie as well as the front of his jacket, “Nice to know I’m not the only one enjoying the feeling of vorfreude from now on. Have a good day, Professor.”

Without a second backwards glance, you confidently strode out of the lecture hall, leaving Koz impressed as well as out of breath at your grand exit. He didn’t realize he’d be aching for you just as much as you ached for him.

It’s only a year, right? Not too long…

Boy were you two wrong.

#pitch black #pitch black x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic commissions #fanfiction commissions #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardian fanfics #university au

[meditativeyoga]

Zazen: The art of just sitting

We are of the viewpoint that equilibrium is needed so that our lifestyle doesn't lead us to exhaustion. We wish to discover the ways to change our way of being so that every aspect of our living interact. And we prefer every one of this to occur 'naturally'-- not with pressure of initiative, yet with emphasis and also tranquility. Being Zen people, we balance the fee of day-to-day living with moment-by-moment existence, and also the key to doing this is meditation.

Zazen is the Japanese name for seatsed reflection-- the term approximately implies, 'resting still, like a mountain.' It is the one typical practice that unifies essentially all Eastern philosophies.

In the West, meditation has been adjusted for Western sensibilities. Jon Kabat-Zinn, for example, has actually established Mindfulness Reflection for use in healthcare facilities. He's taken Zazen from Buddhism, [or the Buddhism out of Zazen!] and is getting excellent outcomes with individuals recovering from cardiovascular disease, surgeries, stress-related illnesses, et al.

This Western method has its focus on using reflection as a 'relaxation tool.' It is therefore an 'include on,' made use of to combat a disease [a dis-ease] Mindfulness Meditation is a little bit like a 'pill wherefore ails you,' as well as is doled out to assist hyper active individuals run also faster.

Our point of view is definitely extra 'typical.' We see the problem as 'imbalance'.

Our view is that 'fast repairs' do not address the deepness of the issue-our propensity to disregard ourselves, and also to bend ourselves right into knots-- in order to fit some pre-conceived idea of just how adults need to act. We get captured in a loophole of excess, and also after that seek ways to respond to the damage.

We think about Zazen to be the structure from which whole, existing, involved, as well as enthusiastic living springtimes. From this perspective, balance is vital, and also being centred takes priority over excess.

In order to understand equilibrium, let's talk Qi [energy]

Qi can be found in two flavours-- Yin and Yang. Right here are few qualities:

Yin is feminine, easy, dark as well as deep.

Yang is manly, energetic, light and shallow.

Qi is like a coin. It cannot aid yet have 2 sides. A coin is 'balanced.' Each side is precisely the same 'size' as its opposite, as well as each represents one 'dynamic' of the whole. It is impossible to assume of [or have!] an one-sided or unbalanced coin. Qi is constantly looking for balance.

The distinction between us and also a coin is that we have the option of exactly what we emphasise, and also since of this, are often un-balanced. In the 21st century, the standard is Yang-ness. The emphasis gets on reasoning, doing, power, aggressiveness. Yin-ness-- intuiting, showing, and depth is frequently viewed of as weakness.

Initial explorations of Qi originated from the Taoists

The name Qi was picked for the 'unnameable, unknowable pressure' that brings the World right into being. When Qi remains in balance, all is well. Understanding as well as focus is required so that equilibrium is maintained.

From this viewpoint, each particular 'flavour' of Qi discovers its balance in the various other, i.e. dark/light. As for energy itself, the activity of yang is always sustained by the deepness and also fluidness of yin. Yin, in the background, offers the framework for all activity, much as a whiteboard [yin] holds exactly what is created [yang] Not a really Western suggestion in any way. The passive 'whiteboard' is considereded as 'simply a device' for the essential stuff. Because of a determined lack of focus on depth and tranquility, individuals operating from this 'modern-day' understanding are often candidates for tension relevant illnesses.

The option is NOT to slap on the 'Band-Aid' of a little bit of meditation. Our company believe it's to re-balance our top priorities by connecting with the circulation of our power itself-- to intuit its nature as well as to alleviate it via any type of blockages. Zazen is a fine method to do this. We sit to establish an unified body/mind/spirit. Zazen is not goal drivened-- it's not actually a task per se-- it's a means of being.

Two misunderstandings concerning Zazen

Zazen is not concerning quiting thinking: That's impossible. Besides, our assumed procedures in and also of themselves do not get us right into trouble. Consider it by doing this. The activity of our mind is to produce ideas, simply like the task of our pancreatic is to create insulin. Assuming is an all-natural task. Difficulty comes when:

We perplex our thoughts with truth, and

When we cling to our thoughts.

Zazen, then, has to do with sitting with our thoughts, without either evaluating them, or clinging to them. Thoughts become like clouds drifting before a blue sky.

Zazen has no point: We do not rest to achieve something. There's an old Zen tale about the trainee who states, with satisfaction, "I have released thinking!" His master replies, "No let go of believing that you have released thinking!"

We sit in order to rest. We take a breath to breathe. As thoughts arise, we watch them float by. If we discover ourselves distracted, we go back to 'simply resting.'

There is no objective. It's not regarding discovering an 'answer,' and Zazen is not a competition. At any time we set up an objective, [the length of time we sit for, exactly how 'advanced' we are, exactly how 'deep' our thoughts are, etc.] our entire emphasis ends up being thinking of our 'score.' We get shed in the act of contrast, even if we are just contrasting ourselves to ourselves.

Here's how to do Zazen

Briefly, there are 4 methods to sit, plus remaining on a chair-- however, chair sitting, to my point of view, is just for the infirm.

The rest of us remain on pillows or benches. In a post of this length, I actually can't define the poses adequately, or reveal you exactly how to use cushions or a bench.

So below's a video explanation including me!

What I can tell you is what every one of the 'poses' have in common

Zazen is a technique, as well as to complete what it achieves, you do the following:

You sit upright. Not ramrod directly, however with a 'stacked back.' Your shoulders are over your hips, as well as you are not tipped back and forth or front to back. In the video, I show you a simple method to accomplish this.

Your head is a little down, eyes open, looking 4 feet in front of you.

Your right hand is hand up in your lap, your left hand is palm up in your right-hand man, as well as your thumbs are touching lightly.

You are breathing with your nose, quietly.

Your attention is 'simply there.' As you sit, you are aware of noises, temperature, physical feelings, etc. You understand as thoughts arise. The key: as you bring your focus on any type of one thing, simply have a breath, and allow go of thinking of it.

you fixate on something [you will!], bring your attention back to 'simply resting.'

If you desire, you could count breaths. Start counting each out and in breath. As you observe you are believing as opposed to counting, go back to counting, starting at "1." You could then start counting simply the out breaths.

Walking meditation

Simply walk slowly, in an upright stance, meticulously placing one foot, then shifting your weight, and also placing another. Hands are folded up across your heart. The concept is to transform your focus to each action, and return to this as your mind wanders.

Living meditation

Meditating on a mat is one point. Living your reflection is one more, and also taking your reflection right into the world is what Zazen is all about.

Once you have practised a little bit, you will observe that your body/mind/spirit reverberates with resting. This vibration could be strengthened by bringing presence right into day to day activities.

Cook: You might, for example, prepare a dish mindfully. When chopping veggies, cut veggies. As your mind wanders, bring it back to the action of 'knife with veggie.' Maintain your mind focussed just on the step of the process that you are doing.

Eat the exact same means. Change to eating a dish a day with chopsticks. Or, if you usually utilize chopsticks, change to one meal with knife as well as fork. Decrease. Eat. Taste.

Do your job in this manner. When doing just what you are doing, quit acting you could multi-task and do one thing. With complete interest, with calm breath.

Eat an orange

Select an orange. Set the orange down before you. Take a look at it. See how the light mirrors off of it. Consider the colour, appearance, and also all the little pores. Actually look.

Now, scuff your finger nail along the skin, and hear the noise. Pierce the skin, as well as start peeling, and direct your attention to the audio of peeling off, then to the sound of separating the segments.

Go back to looking-- seeing how the orange items look.

Bring the skin to your nose, and also scent it. Set it down. Bring a section to your nose, and also smell it. Give it a little press and smell again.

Squish among the sectors in your fingers, and also actually feel the pulp, juice, as well as any type of seeds or pith.

Pop a section into your mouth, and also eat it gradually. See if you could take 5 mins to consume one section. Actually preference it!

Take one more sector, and also rub it on your arm or leg, or simply get imaginative, as well as utilize your body to really feel the orange section.

Now, stop, and go either wash or tube off. [I'll wait till you come back ...]

Think about your experience

These basic games call us to presence-- they aid us to be in our bodies, engaging our power, and sensation intimately what it resembles to be alive.

From this location of visibility, living is not something we do, yet rather is that we are.

This integrity modifications everything.

#meditating #meditation #Mindfulness Meditation #walking meditation #Yoga

[appleasing]

Protest First Aid: A Complete Guide

I want to apologize for deviating from the title of “art blog” so quickly, but as you most likely know there are more pressing issues currently impacting our country. 

George Floyd was murdered by officer Derek Chauvin on May 25, 2020. Since then, cities in all fifty states have taken to the streets to protest the senseless brutality shown to Floyd, and countless other innocent black lives lost at the hands of the police.

Police forces have been using violent crowd-dispersing military tactics on civilians despite protests remaining overwhelmingly peaceful. Tactics range from deploying tear gas canisters to firing rubber bullets, and injuries from these weapons have caused life-altering damage. 

As a white person, I do not feel it is my place to tell anyone how to protest for their own equality, especially as their country brutalizes them. However, as protestors, it is your duty to keep each other safe. At most protests there are trained medics able to tend to the injured, and if you are able, always try to seek them out before treating yourself or others. However, in a country where the police are geared for war, I don’t think it is harmful to learn a bit of first aid to prepare for the worst. 

I need to make a disclaimer, I AM NOT A LICENSED OR TRAINED MEDIC, I am simply compiling this list based on my own research due to the mass amounts of misinformation I’ve seen on the subject of first aid. It’s easy for misinformation to spread, so I want this to be a helpful and accurate guide. 

(Each section is organized differently based on the information provided. At the end of each section there are additional links to graphics, resources, and videos with more information.)

TEAR GAS:

As stated by Healthline: “Tear gas is a collection of chemicals that cause skin, respiratory, and eye irritation. It’s usually deployed from canisters, grenades, or pressurized sprays. Despite the name, tear gas isn’t a gas. It’s a pressurized powder that creates a mist when deployed… the U.S. Army adopted it for controlling riots in 1959.”

While tear gas and other riot control weapons can be painful, their primary design is to induce fear. This account of a woman tear gassed in front of a CNN building states "It's more of a panic than anything else... Every time you open your eyes it feels like there's lemon juice in them."

If you plan on attending a protest, it is best to be prepared for tear gas. Large amounts of these protests have become violent, resulting in canisters being deployed. Not wearing makeup, wearing face coverings, and covering as much of your skin as you are comfortable is the best way to protect yourselves from the effects of tear gas.

The IMMEDIATE SYMPTOMS you can expect if you are exposed to tear gas are as follows:

Watery eyes

Eye pain

Tight closure of the eyelids

Burning sensation in the throat and nose

Increased nasal secretions

Chest tightness

Sneezing, coughing and retching

General skin irritation in any exposed areas

If you are hit in the eyes, rinse IMMEDIATELY. Long term exposure can cause permanent damage and even prove fatal. 

TO HELP YOURSELF OR OTHERS WHO HAVE BEEN TEAR GASSED:

This Instagram post by user goldngelic does an excellent job explaining step-by-step how to treat yourself and others when exposed to the gas. 

This video gives a good demonstration on how to rinse someone’s eyes out if they are gassed. In the video she uses a mixture of antacid and water, referred to by street medics as Liquid Antacid and Water (L.A.W.). However, due to lack of testing this mixture is not recommended. I cannot stress enough, the only thing you should be flushing out eyes with is cool, clean water.

ADDITIONAL INFO ON PREPARING TO TREAT TEAR GAS:

ONLY USE COLD WATER to rinse out eyes. There is a solution of baking soda and water that some suggest might be effective on rinsing out tear gas. This is unproven, and only anecdotally helpful. Generally, baking soda is considered an eye irritant, and should not be used as a rinse.

Milk and antacid are also commonly quoted to be good for alleviating the effects of tear gas, but they are untested, and can prove to be more dangerous. The best rinse is A LOT of cold water from a squeeze bottle.

When attending a protest, wear glasses instead of contacts to prevent the tear gas from sticking to them. If the individual you are treating is wearing contacts, ask them to remove their lenses themselves before rinsing.

If you are tear gassed inside a building, evacuate immediately, the gas is much more effective indoors.

---

Video of a former Marine Corps Nuclear, Biological, Chemical Defense Specialist discussing the effects of tear gas (more useful info in the description and on her page):

https://www.instagram.com/tv/CA0aQRdjus6/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Tear Gas FAQ:

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBCDzQ0jODH/

Infographics on tear gas:

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBBseYhpOyC/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBBU4hzAFik/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CBBokhvJQKB/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CAxxlaOgT5L/

FLASH BANGS/SONIC CANNONS:

A flash bang, also known as a flash grenade, flashbang, thunderflash or sound bomb, is a less-lethal explosive device used to temporarily disorient the senses. Much like tear gas, the flash bang is not meant to injure, but rather confuse, scare, and disperse crowds. However, they have been known to cause injury, or even be lethal when shot directly at civilians. 

The ones police officers are meant to use when crowd controlling are aerial flash-bangs, which travel anywhere from 20-30 ft over people’s heads to initiate dispersion. From the wiki on stun grenades: “The flash momentarily activates all photoreceptor cells in the eye, blinding you for approximately five seconds... while the sheer volume of it may also cause temporary deafness.”

Other sound devices to be aware of are sound cannons, or Long Range Acoustic Devices (LRAD). These devices are used to create a high-pitch frequency to disperse crowds. The main thing to know about them is that they are LOUD, and can be incredibly painful to the human ear. 

This New York court document states that LRADs “can project (sounds) up to 600 meters away, produce a maximum continuous output of 136 dBs (decibels)...” For comparison, a fireworks display is usually around 140-160 dBs, and anything above 120 dBs can cause permanent damage to the ear. 

Sound cannons can produce a frequency up to 600 meters away, causing a deafening noise that will disorient the victim. If a sound cannon goes off near you, as this article from NBC succinctly puts it, all you can do is close your ears and run. Ear plugs are a useful tool, but may prove less effective when met with high pitch frequencies. 

Now, flash bangs and sound cannons again are not meant to be deadly, but I bring them up mainly to spread awareness. When you hear a large bang over your head, or a paralyzing high-pitch frequency, you may panic. Keep in mind that these weapons may disorient you, but they should not kill you. The best thing to do when met with these devices is evacuate to safety.  

---

Video describing how to protect yourself from LRADs and more info on the technology:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sqIvak-4Ek&feature=youtu.be

RUBBER BULLETS/LIVE ROUNDS:

Rubber bullets are the supposed non-lethal alternative to open firing into a crowd of civilians. However, as seen in the account of this doctor treating a rubber bullet wound, this is not always the case. In this 2002 study of these non-lethal projectiles used on Palestinians showed that in almost 40% of cases rubber bullets penetrate skin, and when fired closely enough could lead to extreme complications or even death. 

Then there are live bullet rounds, which we know the police have used on civilians during protests. We as American’s are familiar with the impact of gun violence, so it may be beneficial for us to learn the basics of tending to bullet wounds while medics/EMTs are on their way. 

HOW TO TREAT A GUNSHOT VICTIM:

GET TO SAFETY. If you can locate a medic in the crowd, alert them and have them help you get the individual to safety. If not, move away from the crowd. 

INSPECT THE VICTIM. If they are conscious, ask them to sit how they are comfortable. If they are not, put them in recovery position to ensure safety. Depending on where the victim was hit, there will be up to two holes, an entry and an exit wound. It does not matter which is which, treat both starting with the one bleeding more profusely.

STOP THE BLEEDING. There are a few ways to do this, depending on where the wound is located:

IF THE WOUND IS ON A LIMB:

Apply large amounts of pressure to the area. If they are losing blood at rapid rates, do not be afraid to use a knee to lean on the wound. It may be uncomfortable for the victim, but it will save them. 

If available, dressings like shirts, towels, or medical gauze will help to seal the wound. 

NEVER put your fingers/tampons into a wound. It can cause damage by moving around shrapnel, and will mostly inflict pain onto the victim. If the wound is terribly deep, apply mass amounts of pressure to control bleeding until an EMT or a trained medic arrives on the scene.

Lift the limb above the patient’s heart if they are able to help control bleeding.

A tourniquet may be applied to help stop bleeding, but this is a last-ditch effort, as homemade tourniquets are prone to failure. ONLY use a tourniquet if you are treating a limb injury. From Verywell Health:

“Using a tourniquet requires wrapping a cravat (non-stretch material like terry cloth or linen) around an extremity and tightening it with the use of a windlass stuck through the bandage. The tourniquet should be tightened until the wound stops bleeding. If there is any bleeding at the wound after placing a tourniquet, then the tourniquet must be tightened.”

IF THE WOUND IS TO THE CHEST:

Plastic pieces (about 3x larger than the wound), such as seran wrap, should be applied to a bullet wound to the chest to prevent a collapsed lung. Tape down only three sides of the plastic, with one side open for air flow. If they complain about not being able to breathe, or are showing signs of extreme discomfort, remove the seal.

NEVER lift the patient’s legs to treat shock if the wound is to the chest or abdomen. This could cause more blood flow to rush to the sites, causing the patient to lose more blood.

OTHER INFO:

If your victim is unresponsive, give them CPR. This will help provide airflow to their lungs.

Never give your victim anything to eat or drink.

Never try and remove a bullet yourself, you may injure the victim more by shifting shrapnel.

Consider investing in a proper first aid kit. Homemade tourniquets often fail, so investing in a proper one may be useful if you plan on attending a variety of protests.

Celox gauze has proven to be the most effective gauze used to treat bullet wounds.

---

Courses to become certified in treating excessive bleeding:

https://firstcareprovider.org/

https://www.dhs.gov/stopthebleed

https://www.stopthebleed.org/

Treating a gunshot wound:

https://www.artofmanliness.com/articles/how-to-treat-a-gunshot-wound

#BLM #blacklivesmatter #protest #first aid

[rosensilence]

Ficlet - Walk of Shame

Kylo Ren x Armitage Hux (SFW) Words - 1,169 This comes from a meet-ugly list of prompts from a couple of weeks ago.  One of the prompts was the characters meeting while doing their own and unrelated walks of shame.

** Every Sunday morning at 6am, Hux arrived home.

It was the perfect time to come home.  The streets were bathed in a peace so silent that it was easy for Hux to believe that he was the only human that still existed; a thought that held more appeal to Hux than it probably should.

His reason for coming home at such an antisocial hour was not an exciting one.  Hux was an architect by trade and he had been tasked with the design of a new state of the art office building for one of the high street banks.  It was a high profile, high stress and high stakes project and Hux had been working through the night on it for weeks.

He did his best work at night.  There was something about being in the office on his own with only the graveyard shift on Classic FM for company that got his creative juices flowing.  The office was too busy during the day.  He’d tried—several times—to work a regular 9-to-5 schedule, but all that gave him was a stress induced headache and a blank page that stubbornly remained blank.

For most people of Hux’s age, working through the night on a Saturday would not have been acceptable.  They had partners, families, social lives and all of those things that Hux had never managed to maintain.  All Hux had was his cat, and a couple of peace lillies he could barely keep alive.

He was reminded of the emptiness of his life compared to others around him three months into his Sunday morning routine.  

Just as Hux was fumbling for the correct key to open his flat, he heard the heavy stomp of combat boots behind him.  It was his neighbour—Ben Solo—coming home after doing whatever Ben Solo had done that Saturday night.  It soon became routine.  Hux and Ben would both arrive home around 6am each Sunday morning.

Hux had never spoken to Ben beyond the occasional muttered greeting, but he was sure that Ben’s Saturday night activities were more traditional than his own.  Ben was tall and broad, with pretty hair, pretty eyes and an easy smile that was charming in its imperfectness.   Hux had no doubt that Ben spent his Saturday nights in the arms of a lover, he just wasn’t sure if it was the same one each week or not.

As the weeks wore on and Hux arrived home each Sunday morning to find Ben coming home too, Hux started to feel resentful.  Ben always looked completely shagged out; his hair was messy, his steps were heavy and Hux could almost smell the scent of sex clinging to his sweaty skin.  It was another reminder of how everyone else was living their lives while Hux was struggling to make toilet blocks fit a company’s aesthetic.

It took nine weeks of it for Hux to finally snap.

Ben hadn’t done anything to deserve it, not really.  All he’d done was drop his keys and accidentally bump into Hux in their cramped hallway, but it was enough to make Hux’s last thread of patience finally break.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Sorry?” Ben asked, straightening back up to his full height after picking up his keys.

“Coming home every Sunday morning at the same time as me.  Rubbing my nose in it.”

“Rubbing your nose in what?  What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You,” Hux said.  Deep down he knew he was being unreasonable, but he had a lot of anger inside and Ben was a convenient target.  “And your just shagged hair, doing the walk of shame every Sunday morning.”

“What is your problem, Hux?  You’re here doing your own walk of shame every Sunday morning, too.  Isn’t sex supposed to relax you?  Why do you still look like you have a rod up your ass?  Maybe you need a new girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or boyfriend,” Ben added, shrugging his shoulders.

“For your information,” Hux said, taking a step forward and jabbing his finger into Ben’s personal space, “I’ve been working.  Some of us have more important things to do than fuck our Saturday nights away.”

That wasn’t true, of course.  Hux didn’t have to spend his Saturday nights designing open plan offices with tucked away meeting rooms, he just chose to because it was more productive than crying into a bottle of red.

“What’s your job?”  

“Why do you ask?  It’s none of your concern.”

“I guess not,” Ben said, shrugging his shoulders again.  “I work too, by the way.”

“What?”

“On Saturday nights.  That’s where I am every week.”

Oh.  Hux desperately wanted the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole, but he wasn’t that lucky.  Ben worked?  He’d known it was wrong to take his boiling anger and resentment out on Ben just because he’d thought the other man had an active sex life, but now he’d also managed to make a huge fool out of himself.

“Sorry,” murmured Hux.  “I’ve had a rough week.”

“I understand.  It sucks to be working your life away when everyone else seems to be enjoying theirs.”

“It’s no excuse.  I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.  Look at us,” Ben said with a smile, “two losers doing a walk of shame from work.  I’m a doorman, by the way.  At the Nightingale.”

Oh yes, the gay club in town that half of Hux’s Grindr matches always wanted to hook up at.  Hux had never been there, partly due to him being too nervous to ever meet up with anyone from Grindr, and partly due to his complete lack of a social life.  

‘I’m an architect,” Hux explained.  “I’m working on a big project and Saturday night is a surprisingly inspirational time for me.”

“I get that.  Say, Hux,” Ben began, nervously rocking on his heels, “do you fancy getting breakfast at that cafe across the street?  They do a killer full English.”

“I don’t think my stomach could cope with so much grease this early—  Or late.  Or whatever this time is,” Hux replied.  

He’d been speaking honestly, but wasn’t prepared for the way Ben’s face fell from hopeful to disappointed.  Hux realised—rather belatedly—that just maybe, Ben had been asking him out.  Sleep was calling to Hux, but so was something else.

A chance.

“I could manage a cup of tea and some toast, though,” Hux added.

Ben’s smile was brighter than the sun that was beginning to rise.  “Awesome!”

They walked down the stairs and over to the cafe together, swapping anecdotes about late night working.  Ben’s were definitely more colourful than Hux’s, but he didn’t seem bored by Hux’s tales of demanding clients and building legislation.  As Hux sat there, slowly sipping his tea as Ben wolfed down a plateful of sausages and bacon, he had one question burning in his mind.

Would it still be considered a walk of shame if all he did was cross the hallway from Ben’s flat to his own?

#kylux #modern AU #kylux fanfiction #my fanfic

[beowulfs-booty-call]

Lore Dump!

(Block Long post so it doesn’t kill you! I’ll be adding more to this tomorrow when I’m not about to fall asleep LMAO) Background on the summons / characters so far:

Ifrit

Secret power bottom who comes off as a Dom top.

He’s the fire elemental and has been Demi’s “First” demon contract as well as... His source of income. While Demi seldom doesn’t speak about the prejudices of his job, Ifrit, head of the original Wrath district as the demon general later “moved” to Eros because he secretly enjoys the way Persephone built it up as an overall balanced District, as well as to fund the incubus who’s somehow managed to charm him as both a dancer and as a summoner.

His demon form is considered to be very similar to this unfinished concept art I once had where Demi was envisioned as a dancing summoner here:

He is extremely muscular and bulky simply because that’s his preferred form. He finds the human body too “weak” and wishes to be as large as he is because his true persona relishes in pride (This unfortunately leads him to be stubborn in some regards, especially when things don’t go his way, he doesn’t like to opt out.) He can be smaller if he so chooses, but as the former general of a District where war and anger are his tools, he much rather likes intimidating.

Ifrit’s main outfit is a dark navy pinstripe suit and a white undershirt. When summoned, however, his horns appear and the flames burn through all he wears save for what shreds remain / a skimpy thong he insists is meant for combat efficient. (Basically, we have his default favorite as a purple chain thong, a leopard print thong, and your all around barbarian esque fur underwear / rags)

Ifrit means well, though his money is essentially “dirty” money. He’s not above certain tactics being a god of war and essentially one of the few elementals to have fought with Persephone in ages past. As a “sugar daddy”, Ifrit tends to lord his money as though they aren’t much to worry on. For example: He is the funder of Demi’s wardrobe as both his summoner and his “protege” as he puts it, and his clothes are well kept and custom made. Despite this, and his supposed “greed”, Ifrit uses this as a coping mechanism for his time in the wars where capital were short and his followers starved. Now he spends his frivolous amounts of currency towards things he believes worth it. He’s most often then not an anonymous donor to starving artists and the needy because he can “see the fire in their eyes”, but you’ll never see him admit it. He quite enjoys the idea that he’s a snobbish jerk if it means he’s left to his own devices most of the time, unless it’s around Demi.

As an elemental, he knows some very close individuals such as “Ramuh” and of course, Hades, but there is still much he has not revealed, whether because of his hedonism clouding his judgement, or his wanting of keeping his protege in the dark is unclear.

He is currently in a long standing rivalry with pop sensation and body positivity icon: Venus, though in the public eye they are known to grin and bear it, out of the public scene, it is not uncommon to see the two butting heads over their differences and their own ideas of what’s best for the incubus. While he does relent on certain stances he has for Demi’s best (I.E, allowing him time to work due to being under Persephone’s rule and not his.), Ifrit is possessive and wants Venus out of his hair, believing her to be a bad influence on his summoner. On the other hand, Venus believes Ifrit’s and Persephone’s grip on Demi, who was once a fellow human, is outright tyrannical.  This said, it’s not uncommon for Ifrit’s hard-headedness to lead him into saying something that will later bring him to Venus’ feet or fists. Even as a human, Venus has the uncanny ability to masquerade herself (very badly) as others to get close and absolutely beat Ifrit down such as “Afroooo-Dieeee-teeee, Ukrainian swimsuit cover girl, multi ranged diva, and DESTROYER of flames.” To others, though, he has a very adept insight towards their true motivations, and Demi’s is the real reason he has decided to take him in as a protege and summoner.

Ifrit, while the main cause of comedy, actually does care deeply for his summoner, as he sees in Demi the “ghost” of a man he knew long ago in his prime who also was his summoner. During the “Great War” that eventually created the Districts, this summoner died in battle destroying their contract and wishing Ifrit to find peace in life as they both could not in his. Ifrit, driven into rage by this, completely eradicated the enemy presence and encased himself in flames before being petrified by an unknown force and was later thrown into the Districts when the war was over. When he awakened, he was in a land of war, his beloved summoner no where to be found, and his heart empty save for one thing: Revenge and to fill that empty space in his coal-engraved heart. 

Ifrit had many lovers back in his time, but even so, who they are is so far unknown, he claims to live in the present, though, and talks of love do not concern him anymore because of his past. He sees love as a fleeting thing, and something that has left him broken and hungry for the very thing his friend didn’t want: Pain.

Ramuh:

The thunder elemental and “newest” summon so far, a hulking glasses wearing man who’s known to be the sage of lightning and knowledge.

Once worshipped as a god, Ramuh has been in existence long before any of the other elementals (as he puts it) and can remember a distinct mortal existence before becoming “one” with his element. 

This mortal life, was where Ramuh was once a man who lived and studied life as a philosopher, before carelessly tossing it all away when life began to lose its glory in his eyes.

In his words, the ancient war broke out and the mortal he once was, was in view of “The Great Ones” who proceeded to transform him into what he is now, from what was once a man who wished to understand life and its wonders, to a god who was now immortal to study all that he wished for.

His staff, Indrajit, was in his hands when he came to, and with it he can both bring down righteous thunder, as well as mend wounds of the body and the mind.

 Ramuh has himself a fantastical library, filled with ancient writings, scrolls, and books of all natures that he himself has written and copied from ages past. Legend is foretold that he is the divine writer and for every person who has ever written a work, Ramuh has a copy in his library for the hungry to read.

It is also stated, to read from this library, one must offer up knowledge to Ramuh in the form of a skill or an item that they can give to his library, lest they too become a new experiment.

As an elemental, Ramuh is thoroughly convinced his existence overwrote his “previous” self, his personality being starkly different from his darker and cynical past self. He is far more cheerful and guiding, though when overcome with emotion, he is known to stew in his own juices and isolate himself to clear his head.

He is greatly fond of children and young adults (And extremely protective of them as well), claiming they have the most potential of all and is no stranger to blessing any of those who pray to him, whether out of fear or out of need. His favorite question to ask these young minds are their dreams, for it is the one aspect of knowledge he does not have filled yet, and as time goes by and so do creativity and imagination, it has quickly become a mark on his list.

His relationship to Demi is actually based upon my writing of what my interpretation of Ramuh was to Terra in Final Fantasy 6 (Before my hard drive failed and it erased it all). As a demon with roots of humanity still left within him, Demi finds himself frustrated at his existence at one point and flees into a storm and into the dark seas surrounding the Districts hoping to be carried away in the cover of night. Instead, he is called out to by a mysterious voice, and finds himself ashore to a distant, murky but somehow livelier island across the sea to Ramuh’s study.  Ramuh, who felt his presence and empathized with him, welcomed him with open arms as both a fragile mind in need of stability, but also as a foundation of an existence that was never meant to be (He doesn't reveal he knows this to Demi yet.) Taking him in, Ramuh teaches Demi about magic, and how he can use it to the best of his potential under the alias of “Brahma” and a pen name of “Lugh” in his writings. (He reveals down the road that he takes many names, and that Ramuh is considered the name people have given him over the years and it’s become a bit of an attachment.) Later, when his training is complete, and Demi is ready to find his way home, Ramuh explains to Demi that his humanity is not a cause of weakness, nor should he be afraid of who he is, and rather, embrace it. He also is the one to explain what the “Rifts” are, curious portals that are a rip in the space time continuum that allows those who traverse it into other rips into space and potentially time. (This will also be expanded upon, with the inclusion of a Bara Healer I did...!)

As an elemental, Ramuh knows of Ifrit, and is playfully his rival in terms of how opposite the two are. Ramuh is a nurturer, Ifrit is the destroyer, Ramuh studies, while Ifrit takes things at first glance. He also has interacted with Persephone, on a professional level, but likes to believe that they are long over due for another cup of tea together.

Ramuh is very sweet and fatherly, and he spends his time cultivating cacti and small plants as well as having various pets and tamed beasts. Some, such as the Fantastical Demon Anaconda is famed for its dangerous name, but in reality the snake is quite friendly and does not wish to do harm. Ramuh claims this is out of spite for those who condemn his work as a researcher, but the truth is that he enjoys being the root of knowledge, he can bend these things to his will after all.  Also under his fingertips is his talent for Bestiary keeping. Amongst them is some of the most feared monsters like The Art Block and The Fear of Failure.

Persephone:

Queen of Eros and transwoman, she is the proud wife of Hades (Resident jock goth who loves her very dearly) and runs Eros as best as she can and as humanly as possible.

She deeply loves her husband and dresses in the finest outfits she creates on her own, as well as being the most fashion forward of the District.

She was the one who turned Demi into an incubus as he stumbled into Eros, a lone human who was one the verge of turning into a will-o-wisp as most humans do. Bestowing upon him a sacred opal, her gemstones allowed those who wear them to show allegiance to her “Court” and become a powerful demon in their own right. Demi, a special case, retained his humanity and with no memories of his previous life, quickly take up his role as a dancer in Persephone’s nightclub,La Fleur de Grenade.

She is not a demon, and is implied to have once been a human, but now, she is queen of demons and those who accept her rule are considered her children; Having taken the role of District ruler from Hades, she wishes to model the District based on her desires of above ground society. 

She wishes to bring the Underground above ground so the demons could live amongst humans as she does with Hades and so that she can finally feel the sun on her face like she did as a child.

Hades “kidnapped” her before she transitioned after she met him masquerading as a human above ground and became close to him. She doesn’t like to speak on it, but her family situation was not the most healthiest. However, Hades, who understood her, offered her his help and the two held their hands together as they took the fall to his home where she blossomed into who she is now. She does not regret it one bit, nor does she ever regret that Hades allowed her to become who she is today with his support, and with his help. Overtime she’s grown her own magic herself, but she keeps it bottled so as not to initiate war and instead works for peace in Eros, using her nightclub as one of the key ways to ease off the District’s lust effect on its inhabitants. (Stronger demons resist a District’s influence, most however not.)

Her tactics and work method comes off as back breaking and rather excessive, but this is due to her taking up Demi as her pseudo messenger and agent. Humans who have wandered into Eros (Because it is the most “human” of districts and because it’s far too easy to end up somewhere like a huge Traverse Town) need to be taken out of the District before they degenerate into Will-o-wisps and Demi has quickly surmounted himself as a human “rescuer”. But where these humans go after being dropped off to Persephone’s grip, is still yet unknown.

It’s later to be revealed that Persephone, in her wish to bring the Underground above, is essentially using “human” energy to cause the Underground to rise up. Demons and the gods only exist because they have believers to spread their influence like the “God” who threw them down there. So, the more who interact with Demi and Eros, the more belief is given and the closer it is to reality. She means well, and only seeks the best for the demons, but to bring the Underground above... would destroy those above her, and she doesn’t know that (Yet!)

Persephone’s appearance changes almost every time she gets a chance, her style and fashion is most like a drag queen, always revolving around a theme, but her favorite hair style is a sort of curly pixie cut.

#Long post #And what is a wulf to queue? #Lore #OC lore #Ifrit #Ramuh #Persephone #My ocs

[ideocosmonaut]

Would you rather date someone who had a car or a job? Ehh probably job.

What’s the most important part of a relationship in your opinion? Trust, perhaps?

Have you ever wanted to watch a scary movie with someone JUST to have an excuse to be close to them? Kind of

Be with someone cute and a jerk or ugly and kind? ugly and kind

Name a favorite of each: food, drink, color. Steak, Coke Zero, Gray or black

If you married rich and your spouse gave you $100,000 a week, what would you spend it on? Weekly short vacations. Maybe fly to a city every weekend and go on a shopping spree.

Name a favorite of each: book, movie, tv show. Harry Potter, Robocop, Seinfeld

If your best friend liked your ex, what would you do? I dont have an ex

if you had to choose between being blind or deaf which would you pick? Hmm. Maybe blind. I love art and music but my eyes get me into more trouble than my ears.

Name a LEAST favorite of each: food, drink, color. How boring. Onions, water, yellow

What do you spend most of your money on? Bills

What kind of underwear do you prefer wearing? Boxer briefs

If you were sat on a plane beside your favorite celebrity, what would you do? Probably nothing. Why would they want to talk to me? They’re probably really tired and just want to chill on the ride home. I mean, if I feel brave, maybe I’ll say hi and that I really love their work but that’s about it.

What would you consider to be the biggest insult to yourself? Any... insult?

What are five things you absolutely have to have in your dream house? A kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, a ceiling, walls...

If you could be reincarnated as any animal, which would you chose and why? Some kind of bird

What is your biggest pet peeve? Being wrongfully accused

Do you still watch cartoons? Sometimes

What movies could you watch over and over and still love? 80s and 90s comedies

Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? A cop. An astronaut

Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? yeah.

First concert? Flogging Molly, for a big name band. But I went to local shows in school

Tea or coffee? i like both.

Do you think you were well raised? Up until I was a teenager

How do you handle stress? not well. 

Do you hide things well? Not really

If you had to choose between having one family member or 5 of your closest friends die who would you choose? I’d rather not. If I had to... family member. I’ve lost almost all of the good ones already anyway. And my friends are a precious few.

Do you see yourself ever being with someone you’ve been with before? No?

Would you rather live in a tiny apartment with 5 other people or a huge house by yourself that you felt was haunted? Huge house... if I didnt have to keep it up by myself.

How many piercings do you have? 0

Do you see yourself as a “good” person? No. No one is really good or bad. People are people. Everyone has their own ambitions. And a basic desire. People change all the time, nothing is set in stone.

Are your nails painted a dark or light color? N/a

Have you ever order pizza online? yes

What color was the last candle you lit? Cream?

Is there something written on your shirt right now? No

Is there a bookshelf in your room? no.

Do you own a treadmill? nope.

Have you ever signed up for a gym membership? yes.

What color was the last fish you had? Orangey

Is there a garbage can in your room? What color is it? Nah

Have you ever read in the bathtub? No

If you play the sims, do you download custom clothes, hair, etc? I imagine I would

Have you ever put ice cubes in milk? no.

Does your animal sleep with you? N/a

What do you use to remove your makeup at night? N/a

Do you have a favorite TV show that actually isn’t on air anymore Umm maybe. I think most of my favorites are still alive somewhere in TV land

Have you ever bought something off of iTunes? i don’t think so.

Have you ever had to wear a hairnet? nope.

Do you know how many pages the last book you read had? nope.

What day of the week does the laundry usually get done? Saturday

Do you use the Facebook chat often? daily.

Do you have any baby pictures of yourself on your computer? Nah

How many favorites do you have on youtube? hundreds

What channel is the food network? i dont have cable

Do you still write in pencil? sometimes

What brand is your foundation? n/a

What kind was the last chip you ate? Uhh doritos i think

Do you eat onion rings? not often but i love them.

When did you last go to the zoo? years ago

How many cardigans do you own? 1

What is your favorite song to play on guitarhero or rockband? none

What flavor of tea did you last have? Milos

Do you own a robe? yes

What was the last video you added to your favorites on YouTube? An upload of the new Puppet Master movie

Have you ever brushed your teeth and then drank orange juice? yeah

When was the last time you had pancakes or waffles? yesterday

Do you know anyone whose birthday is today? my step-mom

If you died right now, how would you feel about your life? I wouldn't exist so I wouldn't feel anything. That’s an upside. Can you imagine how bad you’d feel if you died? It’s a mercy we dont feel anything after.

Was the last person you texted under 18? no I dont believe any of the people ive texted are under 18

How many pairs of jeans do you think you have? like two

Do you like hoodies? yes.

When was the last time you attended a wedding? May?

Have you had alcohol this week? uhhhhhhhh nope actually

What windows are open on your computer right now? You mean tabs? This, FB, another Tumblr, and youtube

Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass? yes Is there anything you are craving right now? affection

What’s the last thing you had to eat? rice and beef

Who were the last four people to text you? my dad, my step-mom, a couple friends

Do you have any morbid interests? nothing habitual

Do you know anyone whose birthday is tomorrow? no.

What was the last thing you found that you thought you lost forever? an earbud cover

Have you ever been to Times Square to watch the ball drop for the New Year? no

If you have a Twitter, do you use something else besides the computer to update your tweets? nope

Do you like potato salad? Ive never had one I liked

Who was the last person that apologized to you? my bff. It’s funny that I say sorry a lot but I dont hear it very often. only from him. hmm.

Have you ever driven and ended up running out of gas? no

When was the last time you uploaded pictures from your camera? months ago

Did you do the laundry today? yes

What was the reason behind the last time you stayed up all night? wasnt sleepy

Did you straighten or curl your hair last? n/a

Have you ever been off-roading? yes

Was the last number you added to your cell phone a guy’s or girl’s number? a restaurant probably

Do you enjoy being a tease? kind of. not too much.

Have you ever had a UFO sighting or a sighting of strange lights in the sky? nope.

Who was the last person you caught lying to you? eh i dont recall

How old were you when you were first pulled over by the police? umm 19 ish?

Do you have a webcam that’s built into your computer or did it come separately? n/a

Was there ever a time that you lived on an island? I am an island. Shut up, Ben Howard.

Have you ever made a time capsule? I did in school

When was the last time you drank out of a champagne glass? long time ago

What was the last casino you went to? N/a

Does it flood easily where you live? kind of

Let’s start out blunt, have you had sex in the last 12 hours? nope.

Are you wearing something that belongs to someone else? no.

Does anything hurt on you? my foot

Do you think someone is thinking about you right now? maybe

Do you look at the keyboard when you type? sometimes

Does it bother you when people respond to you with one word?   not really

Will you be up before 7:00 a.m. tomorrow? yes, many times

Do you like MySpace? i did back when it was popular.

Do you like glitter? its ok

Is there anyone you’d like to apologize to? my mom

What’s the closest thing to you that’s liquid? 

my... pee?

Are your toe nails painted pink? no.

Will you be in a relationship in 4 months? no... I mean, i doubt it? maybe? who knows.

Are you excited for Saturday? I was until I hurt my foot

What are you listening to right now? Game Grumps

What is the most exciting place you have been to this year? Gatlinburg 

The shirt you’re wearing, does anyone else have it? possibly

Are you gonna be home tonight? yes.

Do you feel awkward when strangers say hi to you? not if it stops there

Are you easily scared at horror films? not easily

If there was a large spider in the room, what would you say? Depends on how large and what kind

Do you have good memories with old friends? of course. 

How are you feeling right now? in pain

Have you ever skipped school just because you were tired? oh yeah

How many friends do you have that have never smoked? a few

Is there someone you used to talk to every single day that you don’t talk to anymore? yes.

Are you missing someone? yes.

Did you have a dream last night? probably, i just don’t remember it.

Is it okay if you kiss people when you’re single? of course, as long as they’re single too.

Who did you last talk to on the phone? my dad

Have you held hands with anyone today? no.

Do you drop your phone a lot? nah

Your last ex says they never even liked you. You say? You dont exist?

When was the last time you saw your father? last weekend

Are there certain things that can’t be joked about with you? Hmm. that’s a tough one. I use humor to cope a lot but I always try to remain within certain guidelines around certain people. it’s a lot to keep up with. Me? I can laugh at almost anything. Im pretty numb to most things. It doesnt come from a place of disrespect, but a need to laugh.

Would you say you’re an understanding person? mostly.

How is your life currently? it sucks.

What are you doing tomorrow morning? sleeping

Do you want to see somebody right now? sure.

How many people have you liked in the past 8 months? just the one.

Have you ever done anything illegal? yes

Would you rather spend a whole day with your mom or your dad? mom

What’s currently bothering you? my foot. looming anxiety over possibly being fired. being totally alone.

Have you thought about an ex today? no.

Are any of your friends taller than you? yes.

Did you do anything productive today? yes.

Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? To relive certain things, maybe. Barry Allen taught me not to fuck with the timeline

Today, did you hug a person you have feelings for? no

Do you wish at 11:11? nah

Are you currently in a relationship? no

Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? apparently they are everything

Think of the last person who said “I love you” to you. Do you think they meant it? I guess. 

Have you ever made someone laugh when they were crying? yes.

Is there a person of the opposite sex who means a lot to you? yes

If you could move somewhere else, would you? Depends but im mostly for it

Has a boy/girl called you babe or baby today? no.

How long were you with your last bf/gf? never

Would you ever let a girl/boy put you through hell and back? probably. im ripe for the abuse.

Have you ever gone out with anyone older than you? no

Do you think you will ever be married? probably not

Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? yes. that’s life

Is it possible to be single and happy? temporarily

Last time you wore something that didn’t belong to you? idk

Has anything happened in the past month that made you really happy? aside from food, not really. 

What’s something you’ve always wanted to say to your ex? n/a

How much money did you spend today? $0

Are you a rude person? to people who are rude

Would you ever think about painting your ceiling your favorite color? no. 

What’s something you’re excited for? Cyberpunk 2077

Does cuddling freak you out? A little. I dont like not being able to move

What do you think of maxi dresses? idk

What did the last text in your inbox say? From who? my phone’s in the other room...... >_>

What would you do if you saw a guy hit a girl? Call the police.

Have you ever gambled? yes.

Do you use tobacco products? not anymore

Would you ever go a week without showering? only if i had to

Would you ever date someone with a different skin color than you? Yeah

#survey #asks #but no one asks #so whatev

[asimpadhi]

Creativity and Me

(Those who find this long, can read the first 2 and the last paragraphs)

When I was a child, there have been quite a few instances of me being creative. I had written poems in my mother tongue describing the tallest tree in my neighborhood and its surroundings. I tried to design new board games with my own rules (though inspired from a board game called business). I would make up stories as if they happened to me and tell my mom. I would give speeches mimicking some tallest leaders of the country at that time. While I was proud of myself when I did those activities but kind of embarrassed when people recalled them later when I was all grown up.

It is my intention to describe about Creativity and Myself in this personal essay. Therefore I consider it necessary to start with my earliest memories of dabbling in creative pursuit. However it is true that I did not know that I was being creative at that time. Those instances were more of ways to deal with boredom, lack of access to partners for playing any games. We may call them as necessity leading to creativity. These were all my pursuits when I was not yet at school or just about started.

As life went on and school hours increased and I found friends to play with such creative pursuits were almost non-existent. I do not remember any activity bordering on creativity in my school days up until I reached college. I really do not know whether the rigors of life in terms of attending school, doing home-work and assignment took the steam out or the education system did not allow lateral thinking. I lost touch with my ability to make stories and give speeches and I somehow hated the idea of participating in debates. I preferred writing essays and attending quiz competitions. My achievements in terms of awards and prizes will testify this. Drawing or Sketching of any kind was the most hated activity. As luck would have it, the girl I liked did the best drawing/sketching in the whole school. I was so bad that there have been instances my and her drawing were shown as being in the two extremes of the spectrum. That probably killed any kind of inclination to drawing. I took help my elder brother to deal with any kind of drawing necessary to complete my school work.

As I reached college and entered hostel life, things did take some positive turn. There was no censoring of speech and I could take the help of new found freedom to have fun. I became known for famous one liners and cracking jokes. I also learnt that jokes are always at the cost of somebody living or dead and hence it is better to crack it on one self. However I was too shy to go on stage and showcase my abilities. Essays had given way to technical reports and hence I spent my energy in reading, more specifically towards magazines and non-fiction. There have been instances where I have tried my luck with skits and small acts in college functions.

Post education, my involvement in creative acts has been limited to some small acts here and there. There has been a very brief attempt to learn to play guitar. Corporate work and extensive travelling did take its toll on the energy left. It is a 21 years of hiatus from any kind of creativity. I would have used some creative energy in business but those do not give that kind of ecstasy. They are part of doing a job.

While I have said I have been in a break from creativity but I have remained closely associated with creative energies of my kids. I have tried to push them to better at any kind of fine arts or other creative energy they showed. I have tried blogging but has been irregular to say the least. Those moments have kept my creative juices flowing.

I have again started to take keen interest creative activities. My inner energies pushing me to sketching/painting, photography and graphic design. I am inclined to write and have just started writing a blog from past one week. I intend to continue it this time and give it a structure. I have taken up paid subscription in online skill development platforms. I am spending some time in learning and practicing those skills. These time and money investment and the consequent involvement is providing a lot of joy and stress free environment. I am quite hopeful that I will be a better in drawing/sketching this time around and I will be good enough not to be embarrassed. I will be probably that good to show case my work to the world in whatever mode possible. It is my intention to make my craft commercial whether in writing or in drawing or graphic design. I believe it will take lot of effort to find time and put things into practice so that I get proficient on these creative endeavors of mine. Wish me luck.

Please do leave your comments and feedback on the blog page. It will help me in my creative pursuits

#creativitymatters #blogging

[jeremystrele]

Earthy, Glossy & Glam – Stylist Karin Bochnik On The Latest Trends In Glass Furniture + Accessories

Earthy, Glossy & Glam – Stylist Karin Bochnik On The Latest Trends In Glass Furniture + Accessories

Design Eye

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

Pulpo’s Bent side table and Lyn cabinet bring texture and artisanal details to this modern, contemporary space. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

Pulpo’s Bent side table and Atoll Candle Holders. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

Stylist Karin Bochnik, captured mid-shoot! Photo – Dylan James.

Pulpo’s Alwa Two occasional tables, and Pina Side Tables.

Pulpo’s Alwa Two occasional table adds weight and dimension to this interior. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

Pulpo’s Alwa Two occasional tables. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

The Magma handblown glass light by Pulpo. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

The Magma handblown glass light by Pulpo adds a sculptural focal point to this space. Photo – Dylan James, Styling – Karin Bochnik.

Glass furniture is having a moment – but not as you know it! Far removed from the mass-produced, bevelled edge relics of the 1980’s, the latest glass design pieces are all about celebrating the raw, handcrafted nature of the medium. German brand Pulpo are leading the charge in this realm, with a range of customisable lozenge-like tables, sleek fluted glass cabinets, plus lighting and accessories that showcase the organic, imperfect nature of handblown glass.

For stylist and interior decorator Karin Bochnik, this trend is all about the balance of traditional craftmanship and refined, contemporary design. A reflective glossy glass surface adds a sleekness to any interior, but handcrafted glass, with its irregularities and suspended bubbles, elevates these pieces to one-of-a-kind status – a sculptural focal point in any room.

‘As a stylist and a decorator I enjoy layering different textures and finishes’ Karin explains…  ‘Glass offers the perfect balance of traditional craft and contemporary design – some of these pieces are actual works of art!’.

We recently spoke to Karin for her take on the glass furniture and accessories of the moment!

Hi Karin, could you let us know little background about yourself – how did you come into interior styling?

I remember at a very early age knowing the importance of a home that feels good, and I was constantly redecorating my bedroom. My favourite thing to do was roaming the markets in Israel (where I grew up), shopping for bits and pieces to add to my Mum’s collection. In my early teens a very strong interest in fashion kicked in, and I used to make clothes for all my friends on the weekends so we can go out clubbing in the 90’s! I enjoy anything visually interesting and different.

I actually started my creative career by way of fashion, studying a bachelor of fashion at RMIT. I worked in fashion for a few years but felt it wasn’t truly what I wanted to do. After having my daughters 10 years ago, I decided to go back to RMIT, this time to study interior design and decoration. It didn’t take long for me to realise I had finally found my calling, and I never looked back.

My career started out slow, working mainly as a decorator, but my mind was set on shoot styling and art direction. I had ideas and a passion for bespoke pieces, but more than anything I just felt that coming from a different country and having lots of different influences from places outside of Australia that my aesthetic was simply different. Shoot styling gives you so much freedom to inspire, set a tone and have self expression.

How would you describe your aesthetic as a stylist?

I consider myself ‘comfortably minimal’. I could never be completely minimal, as I love too many things! I’m still highly influenced by fashion, and tend to look at an interior like putting together a fashion show, it can be really earthy and minimal, with lots of beautifully textures that are completely muted and tonal, or it could be a glamorous show stopper with all the bells and whistles. I don’t pick favourites, I love working to a brief and develop a story.

My personal style I would describe as sculptural, material and texture driven and well considered. Not everything needs a function but it certainly needs a place, even if that place feels a little unusual. I like interesting pieces in unexpected places, life’s too short to be so serious!

Your recent styling work highlights Pulpo’s latest range of glass furniture, from DOMO – what is it you love about this collection?

My favourite thing about this range is just how unique and different it is to everything else out there at the moment. It’s the perfect balance of traditional craft and contemporary design – some of these glass pieces are actual works of art!

As a stylist and a decorator I enjoy layering different textures and finishes, and these Pulpo pieces are incredibly beautiful and make such a great addition to most interior styles. I like that for a hand made artisanal product, they have such a refined bespoke finish.

It feels as if glass furniture and accessories are really having a moment – what can you tell us about this trend?

I totally agree, It’s certainly making a comeback and has been getting some attention recently. It’s just an incredibly complex production process, and such an art form in itself. After watching how some of these pieces are made I was blown away at how they come to be, and with the nature of their production no two pieces are the same, which I think is so wonderful.

What’s your advice for integrating glass furniture and/or accessories at home – where do these pieces work best, and what other sort of furnishings of textures would you pair them with?

I’m all about mixing and layering materials, to make a space feel unique and bespoke. Glass can look earthy, and it can have glamour depending on the environment and the style of the interior.

I can see the Stellar lamps and Bent side tables in a moody formal living room with dark walls, dimmed light and lots of velvet – but then also in a bright minimal coastal home, combined with fresh crisp linen, natural stone and ceramics. They offer so much versatility, just have a play and mix things up.

What’s next for you!?

I am really enjoying what I currently do and feel that I’m just getting started! Whether selecting furniture, objects, rugs or a lighting range, my job is creating stories people want to be part of, or conveying a story someone wants to tell. Creating a moment to be immersed in.

I’ve had a good start to the year, Covid has really given me time to rest and allowed my creative juices to flow. I couldn’t be happier with the work I’ve been producing, and the clients and photographers I’ve been working with have been incredibly trusting and supportive in seeing my ideas come to life. I forever have to pinch myself when I realise this is what I get to do for work!

For more than 30 years, DOMO has remained Australia’s exclusive stockist of prestigious design brands from Europe, and across the globe.

With showrooms in Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Brisbane and Gold Coast, DOMO offers a curated collection of classic, contemporary indoor and outdoor furniture ranges that last a lifetime. Their newest showroom is now open at 516 Church Street, Richmond!

For more design inspiration, follow DOMO on Instagram here.

[fnlrndcllctv]

REVIEW: SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium (1999)

When it comes to 2D fighting games during the early/mid 90’s, there’s two names that absolutely dominated the scene with their releases and became household names;

SNK and Capcom.

To this day they remain some of the most well respected and most loved games companies in the fighting game genre, so the prospect of a crossover between the two companies back then was certainly a tantalising thought.

In November of 1999, we got just that in the form of SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium for the Neo Geo Pocket Color system.

While this wasn’t the first time we’d see the brands clash in a single game (that award goes to SNK Vs. Capcom: Card Fighters Clash, released earlier that year), it was the first time they would meet in the setting of a tradition versus fighting game.

The game was a critical success, and was followed up with entries in the genre that many consider to be the best fighting games ever made.

So, with the bar set so high with this historic title, it finally sees a re-release on the Nintendo Switch almost 22 years later as part of Nintendo’s Neo Geo Pocket Color Selection series, alongside games such as SNK Gals’ Fighters, The King Of Fighters R-2 and Fatal Fury: First Contact.

So, does it still hold up all these years later?

Let’s find out…

Gameplay

First of all, there’s a number of different ways in which players can play through the tournament mode (and regular versus mode); you can either go 1-on-1, fight a 2-on-2 battle as a tag team, or as a team of three in an elimination match. This variety of battle styles appeals to players who may be used to fighting in different forms.

Want to play this like a King Of Fighters game? Go ahead!

How about like the Marvel Vs Capcom titles? Play as a tag-team to your heart’s content, my friend!

For a game that utilises just two attack buttons, there’s a surprising amount of depth to how special moves are executed as well. Instead of relying on the four-button approach that SNK based their games on or the usual six-button layout in many of the Capcom fighting games, SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium’s control scheme actually focuses on how long the A and B buttons are pressed.

The longer a button is pressed, the higher the amount of damage it causes (but takes a hit to how quick it is), mimicking the LP/MP/HP and LK/MK/HK button functions in games such as Street Fighter II and Darkstalkers.

It’s a simple system that works wonders, and makes the amalgamation of each games franchise’s special moves work together seamlessly.

The game also boasts three different “power gauge” command styles to choose from too;

AVERAGE - This is similar to the traditional super gauge in the Street Fighter games, where once the gauge is filled up, more powerful versions of normal attacks can be pulled off.

COUNTER - This is a more defensive approach that allows counterblows while evading enemy attacks. It also has an exclusive function in the form of “critical hits”, which do greater damage if they successfully hit an opponent.

RUSH - This one only fills up when chain combos are successfully executed, and although this gauge nerfs your normal attack damage, super moves can be done at any time (as long as there’s enough juice in the tank, so to speak).

So no matter which side of the fighting game coin you land on, there’s definitely a playstyle in SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium that will suit you perfectly.

In the original release, if players wanted to play against each other, a link cable and another console were required, making it something of a inconvenience. Thankfully this new Switch port has 2-player versus available straight away by using the two joycons.

Story

The game’s main storyline centres around a not-so-subtly named fighting tournament known as the “Battle Tournament of Evil”, which promises the victor the title of “World’s Mightiest” and a ridiculously high amount of prize money.

The benefactors and organisers of said tournament? None other than Fatal Fury’s Geese Howard and Street Fighter II’s M. Bison!

This newly formed alliance of nefarious (and powerful) psychopaths has an ulterior motive with the tournament, and intend to create an “immortal military” whose first wave of elite soldiers are to be the captured contestants.

The character stories vary slightly depending on whether an SNK fighter or a Capcom fighter is chosen, and the game’s ending depends on the outcome of a specific match during the tournament where a player faces off against their rival.

Putting together the two “Big Bads” that are synonymous with their respective franchises is a great move and the fact that players can get a “bad ending” through poor performance in just a single match ups the ante somewhat as well.

Roster

SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium’s roster is comprised of 26 different fighters (18 of which are immediately playable, with a further 8 that are unlockable) from across the various SNK and Capcom franchises;

From the King Of Fighters, Fatal Fury and Art Of Fighting games, we get Kyo, Terry Bogard, Iori, Ryo Sakazaki, Mai and Leona.

From Psycho Soldier, we get Athena.

From the Samurai Shodown series, we get Haohmaru and Nakoruru

From Street Fighter II, we get Ryu, Ken, Chun-Li, Guile and Zangief.

From the Street Fighter Alpha series, we get Sakura and Dan

From Darkstalkers, we get Morrigan and Felicia.

The unlockable fighters in the game are from a good mix of the various games series, and there are 4 to unlock for each side.

It’s an impressive roster for a game that was released on a platform like this, and does a great job of bringing together the more familiar faces of Capcom’s games with some perhaps lesser known fighters from the SNK side.

Graphics

SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium’s stylised graphics are one of the most immediate things players will notice about the game.

The character sprites are more cartoonish versions of each fighter’s normal likeness and all strictly adhere to a 3-colour palette. Considering the history of alternate looks for 2D fighting game characters being simple colour swaps, this simplistic look works really well for the most part (well, Zangief might be the only exception here…).

Seeing the fighters in motion is also a joyous thing too, as the movement during fights is fluid and animated to a brilliant degree. Even the animations when characters are idle feel charming in this game!

A large problem with fighting games on handheld systems during this era was that they all too often felt like an attempt at creating a scaled down version of the bigger, more technically advanced games to fit the lower specs of the systems, ultimately resulting in a crappy version of the game.

Games such as this, along with many other titles in the Neo Geo Pocket Color library, always felt like they were made from the ground up to fit the system, so they not only played well, but they also looked very unique in a really positive way.

SNK Vs Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium is arguably the best of the bunch, and it deserves praise for it.

As is par for the course with retro fighting game re-releases on modern hardware, there’s also some extra display options to help things feel like the real deal, but with this (and the other NGPC releases on the Switch), there’s the option to view the game in a mocked up fashion on a number of different Neo Geo Pocket Color models. It’s a nice touch that effectively shows the amount of care being put into this port.

Stages

The stages in the game are essentially a megamix of different locations from several SNK and Capcom games, ranging from the helicopter wreckage in The King Of Fighters ‘94’s Brazilian jungle, the Great Wall Of China from Street Fighter Alpha: Warriors’ Dreams and the crashing rocky waves of Japan from Samurai Shodown to the cloudy Japanese castle of Ryu’s Street Fighter II stage, Morrigan’s spooky Scottish Darkstalkers cave/lair combo and the moving train carriages that pass by Mount Rushmore (over and over again) from Fatal Fury 2.

There’s plenty of references for longtime fans of these games to spot, and they have been recreated perfectly to fit in with the game’s visual style.

I mean, sure, some of the characters in the backgrounds do look a little murky and lack detail in places, but when you consider that the screen on a Neo Geo Pocket Color was a smaller, low resolution affair, it can be ignored for the most part!

Replayability

SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium’s gameplay experience is essentially split into two halves.

One one side, you have the regular versus game modes and a story mode to fight through, as one would expect from pretty much every fighting game. On the other side is the unlocking all of the hidden characters and beating a plethora of minigames to earn new special moves.

This is where the game’s replay value truly shines through, and its nice to see that it’s all present in its original form on the Switch port.

These extra games are known as “Olympic Mode”, and is divided up into separate SNK and Capcom sections. While both sections do share some of the same minigames, such as the 100-round survival match, Time Attack and the “whoever gets connects with the first hit, wins!” mode, there are also a couple of games that are unique to each brand.

On the SNK side, managed by Samurai Shodown’s Rimiruru, we get “Targets” - a shooting game that sees players assume the role of Marcus from the Metal Slug franchise as he shoots down as many aliens as possible. We also get “Blade Arts” - where players take on the role of Samurai Shodown’s Jubei as he slices through as many straw dummies as possible before a timer expires.

On the Capcom side, managed by Street Fighter Alpha 3’s Karin, we get “Ghost Trick”; which sees Ghosts ‘n Goblins’ Arthur having to jump across platforms to collect treasures on each side of the screen while avoiding a pesky Firebrand that pops up between them. The other challenge - “Cat Walk” - is a Dance Dance Revolution-style minigame that sees players have to quickly input buttons as they are announced so that Felicia can dance along.

These extra modes are pretty challenging, and undeniably make the game feel so much more complete, while also showing some much deserved appreciation for other iconic games in both companies’ back catalogs.

Final thoughts & overall score

SNK Vs. Capcom: The Match Of The Millennium is fondly remembered by many as one of the best handheld fighting games ever released, and the Switch port further cements that notion, bringing the series into the modern era.

The visual style of the game still oozes charm, the gameplay system still feels immensely satisfying and the wealth of extra playable content that is packed into it puts many of the more well known titles of the era to shame.

With the features of the Nintendo Switch implemented, the small handful of nagging issues that came with the game’s original release are now completely fixed, making this not only a cool item of interest for fans of either SNK or Capcom, but an absolute essential for any fighting game fan.

For the purposes of this review, a review copy was provided by Renaissance PR on behalf of SNK.

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