stained canvas

(seen 00:57) persephone:

i was never a god.
the promegranates you gave me
were soaked in the ichor none
of us wanted to admit was there.
i have swallowed plenty;
it has been flowing in my veins so rapidly the blood was spat out,
reborn. when you stain the canvas
with gold it forgets the crimson
is still under.


(seen 1:00) hades:

you were always a queen. i only polished your skin

—  it has been glowing since. is it the fruit? (demi ev.)
Rose Glow

Originally posted by kaimikachan

Character(s): Reader X Wonho, Minhyuk

Genre: soulmate!au, cheesy floof, smut

Warning(s): possessive!wonho, praise!kink, edging, kindof!exhibitionism(?)

Length: 5.5 k

Summary: Wonho doesn’t like Minhyuk. Never has, never will.

requested by the sweetest @honeyheonie (aka the softest soft to ever soft the planet)


Your mother tells you stories when you’re young, of spring blossoms and fluttering hearts and ticking clocks on your wrists. Of soulmates and the parts of you they complete.

When you first meet your soulmate, your wrist will show a clock that counts down to your first kiss.

Keep reading

Sometimes Being the Villain is Fun

this is inspired by a post between me and @what-even-is-thiss, which you can find here

Summary: Virgil really likes pranks. Like a lot.

Pairings: none

Warnings: some minor controversy on things that are supposed to smell like vanilla, but otherwise nothing

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @holdnarrytight @whatin–tarnation @love-sanders-sides @demonickittykat @milk-withtwosugars @lizziepopanime @musicphanpie-b


Virgil was a prankster. He loved to pull pranks on the other sides, most specifically after they did something to irritate or hurt him. Regardless of whether or not it was an accident, they would be sorry.

The first time that Virgil pulled one of these stunts was after Roman broke the anxious side’s headphones. They were the one thing that protected him from the outside horrors of society. Yet, here was Princey, borrowing them (without asking, mind you) and then returning them completely broken. Like, sound won’t even come out of them broken. It was an actual nightmare, and said nightmare would be transferred to Roman.

During one of the fanciful side’s daily adventures, Verge snuck into the creative part of Thomas’ mind. In one hand he had the most disgusting lotion he could find. It was greasy feeling and didn’t even do it’s job well and smelled godawful (faux-vanilla scented anything was already bad, but this was somehow worse). Why Thomas had bought a lotion from Etsy was a mystery, but it was here, so he was going to use it for something at least. In his opposite hand, Virgil was holding a bright red marker.

Now, sitting on Roman’s bed, Virgil was squirting a heavy amount of lotion straight into Roman’s boots. Beside him, he had every single one of Roman’s jackets with various vulgar words inscribed on the front. It felt so evil, but at the same time, so good.

Keep reading

LUST. (M)

Jungkook x reader 

Inspired by Kendrick Lamar.

 Warnings: serious infatuation…

Lust was all it ever was.  

Keep reading

Watercolor

I am restless today,
he tries to
draw me,
watercolor fingers
that mean business
busy on the white sheet,
I look away
distracted
by their meticulous
intensity,
worried that he could
get some of
my mood
onto the paper,
who wants to feel that
vulnerable?
I heave a sigh,
my mind plummets
down thoughts,
I am caught entangled
in a mesh
and I cannot come up
for air,
I dissolve
slowly, painfully
until I am only water
that will stain his canvas,
or maybe, I will pour
like rain
over every last line,
and, my soulful black eyes
will be charcoal shaded
blurs
that reveal
(too) much
too little
of what I feel.

© SoulReserve 2017

Submission: As The River Rushes On

(This starts off a little angsty, but it gets better I swear.)
Exhaustion crept over Shisui’s bones as he ran through the woods, the blood loss from the wounds Danzo inflicted making him feel dizzy and cold. His sole remaining eye had faded back to black hours ago, with barely enough chakra to keep himself alive, the Sharingan was out of the question.
He stumbled, tripping over a stone he hadn’t seen in the deepening twilight, and swore harshly as he fell, feeling the white-hot pain of a broken ankle lance up his leg. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘I’m never going to make it back to the compound in this state. Danzo’s probably already sent his goons after me, and I’m in no condition to fight them off… I’m sorry Itachi, you’ll have to do this on your own.’
The harsh calls of carrion crows echoed around him, and Shisui sighed weakly and tried to hide himself in the shadow of a tree. When the darkness overtook his vision, he let it sweep him away.
- - - - - - -
“Kid. Hey, kid, are you okay?” Someone was shaking his shoulder. Shisui opened his eye with a groan and saw a woman with dark hair and old-fashioned armor leaning over him. Her brown eyes were wary, but not cruel or dead, a welcome change from the eyes he had grown used to seeing.
He opened his mouth to reply, but his jaw felt sore and his throat burned like he’d swallowed hot sand. With a pained grimace, he traced the kanji for 'water’ in the dirt beneath his hand, and was rewarded with a waterskin pressed to his lips, which he drank gratefully. “T-thank you, ma'am…” he rasped, and the woman gave him a sympathetic look. “You won’t be thanking me in a few minutes, kid. I have to take you back to the Senju camp, either for information or for leverage.”
Shisui’s brain stalled at that point, before helpfully supplying him with an image of this woman from a biography he’d read years ago. “S-Senju Touka,” he said quietly, realizing that his chances of survival had dropped drastically.
Touka frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, kid.”
'I have, only she’s still wearing living skin…’
- - - - - - -
The tent where the Senju kept their prisoners was… basically like every other tent in their camp. Heavy, dull-colored canvas with stains and patches, with a battered post and torn flaps. Shisui was best acquainted with the post, which he was chained to in such a manner that any escape attempt would render him so much bleeding meat on the ground. Top-notch work, really. And he still had next to no chakra.
Across from him his current interrogator sat with a displeased expression. Even as a teenager though, Senju Tobirama was terrifying. 'And,’ a part of Shisui’s brain helpfully noted, 'he’s also your age and rather attractive’. Not that he thought he had much hope of seducing the Senju. The albino shinobi seemed to have the emotional capacity of an ill-tempered brick, and Shisui didn’t think his own heavily bruised and pallid body was pleasant enough to look at to ever catch Tobirama’s attention on its own.
So, he resigned himself to praying that the Senju would dismiss his flushed face and stuttering as embarassment, nervousness, or a fever.
Apparently, his prayers were to fall on deaf ears.
- - - - - - -
“Anija.”
Hashirama looked up from the scroll across his cot, surprised by his sibling’s arrival. “Tobirama, you look distressed.”
A scowl twisted across the younger male’s features. “The prisoner is attracted to me, but he has not made any attempts to use it to his advantage. He’s also either stupid or suffering from amnesia, because I can’t get any useful information from him and I can tell from his chakra - minimal as it is - that he’s not lying. What do I do?”
Hashirama stared at his brother, doing a rather thorough impression of a carp. “You’re not joking. Gods save us…”
“ANIJA.”
- - - - - - -
Being woken every morning by a minor Suiton jutsu to the face was losing its novelty rather quickly. Shisui tried to keep his expression bland as Tobirama gave him an unreadable look.
“You’re attracted to me.”
Well, that was… blunt. And Shisui’s hopes that his crush on the white-haired teen would go unnoticed were dashed to pieces. “… Yes,” he said after a moment, looking down at the sandy floor of the tent.
Tobirama’s eyebrows quirked slightly. “You assume I don’t feel the same?”
Shisui’s expression was incredulous. “Why would you? I’m far from attractive to look at in this condition, and I’m a prisoner. You being attracted to me would be a liability.”
The Senju’s lips twitched faintly. “It would be a liability if you were a potential threat. But something tells me you intend no harm to me and mine.”
“I told you that days ago,” Shisui pointed out, unsure where the conversation was actually going. He was not expecting the chains around him to go slack.
“You did. And I believe you. But I don’t believe I ever got your name.”
Shisui sighed. 'I have nothing to lose,’ he thought glibly. “It’s… Uchiha Shisui.”
Tobirama’s eyes widened, but then his expression turned sympathetic. “For an Uchiha to lose their Sharingan… It must have been terrible…” the albino murmured quietly, reaching out to brush his thumb across the closed eyelid.
Dumbstruck, all Shisui could do was nod.
Leaning in, Tobirama gently brushed his lips across Shisui’s forehead. “Stay, Shisui… Please… Let me keep you safe from now on.”
Remaining eye widening in shock, Shisui felt the telltale sting of tears. “T-Tobirama…” he murmured softly, feeling much older than the fifteen year old he actually was. “I’m a shinobi… Even you can’t protect me forever…”
“I can try,” the sixteen-year-old replied, hugging Shisui tightly.
Grateful and stunned, Shisui hugged him back. Things seemed just a little bit brighter now, and he smiled to himself. 'I have a second chance,’ he thought happily. 'I’m not going to waste it.’

Credence Barebone x Reader- Warm Hugs and Cocoa Mugs

Credence Barebone x Reader- Warm Hugs and Cocoa Mugs

A/N: My first Credence x Reader imagine! This was actually really fun to write, and this may be one of my favorites so far. I may do a part two in the future but let me know if this should happen for sure. You are all fabulous and amazing people :) Enjoy!

Warnings: Mentions of pain and angst (Credence is a cinnamon roll protect him) also mass quantities of fluff :3


Credence breathed in his new surroundings. Mary Lou had decided to move some of the meeting spots for the Second Salemers in an attempt to gain a fractal of support for their cause. Instead of looking out onto the busy street of New York, his eyes were focused on a smaller café downtown, the type that had little potted plants on the windows and welcoming fragrances of scrumptious treats sailing through the breeze.


But that wasn’t the only thing that caught Credence’s attention. You caught his eye one day as you stepped out to bring the chalkboard that promoted a sale on biscuits in to shield it from the rain. The cloudy weather only made your bold persona stand out more to him. Your hair was only slightly drenched, but it still looked perfectly styled. Your apron had tiny little coffee stains dotting over its canvas material, most likely from spilling a few orders. Your notepad was tucked loosely inside one your pockets and its pair the pen rested gently behind your ear. Your smile wasn’t the kind of malicious grin that he was used to seeing, but instead it was almost warm. Insults did not spill toxically, but instead sweet compliments of customers’ hats and ushering welcomes poured like silky honey. He was utterly enchanted, captivated, intoxicated with you and your wonder. He just wanted to know you a little more.


“Credence.”


Credence turned back towards the voice that summoned him away from you. Mary Lou’s had a strict look etched on her face. Her scowl said what words didn’t need to. He was slacking again, he knew he was but he couldn’t help it. His heart wasn’t in this, it wasn’t his choice to stand outside with papers all day.


“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said while tipping his hat back town as he proceeded to try and pass out flyers.


Little did he know, you glanced over at him just as much as he did towards you. At this moment you were collecting leftover plates and cups to take to the back room to be washed, but you couldn’t help but notice that Credence was back in front of the building again. Every day he came down with the Second Salemers to pass out more useless flyers, or attempted to at least. At first you didn’t know his name, but you soon picked it up when you hear the older woman yelling at him for absurd reasons. You found him mysterious and hidden, but at the same time mesmerizing and sweet. His dark hair didn’t appear to match his gentle personality you had seen him exhibit when around the other kids. You picked up the last of the dishes and glanced once more out the window before returning to your shift.

Hours past the day and slipped into the night when Credence found himself outside again. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be out right now, but he couldn’t stay. Mary Lou had beaten him again, with her reasoning being that he ‘stared too much at people without giving them flyers.’ He looked down as his torn hands. They were bruised and aching from the searing cuts of open flesh. Battered, bruised, and broken, he sat in the streets on a curb. Like his hands, his heart laid mangled and aching in his chest, desperate for acceptance.


He was a freak he decided. An outcast, a freak, a useless piece of nothing that would surely fade away out of existence soon enough. Like a dandelion in the wind, his hope and joy had disappeared and scattered far too high and fast to stay with them.


His cries echoed in the empty streets as flickering street lamps were the only sign of movement. He didn’t belong. He didn’t belong with a family, he didn’t belong with Mary Lou, and he didn’t belong anywhere at all. His form shivered slightly as his breath shook and seeped out like smoke in the night. Broken, he sat still, bawling quite loudly with little sniffles from time to time.


When he put his head down again, he heard a faint voice beckon to him.
“Are you okay?” it spoke. Credence froze in his spot and looked up to see your e/c eyes staring back at him. He wondered why you of all people were out here, but then he realized where he was. He was simply on the side of the café that he was previously standing near earlier and you must have been working still. Your hair fell past your face and you gently reached out one of your hands to him.
You spoke once more, but quieter this time, “You don’t have to be alone out here, it’s pretty cold. Do you want to come inside?”


His sobbing had softened to a mere trickle of tears, but he happily obliged and took your offer. Wordlessly, he accepted your hand as you led him inside.


The interior was extremely different than his own home, if he could even call the hellish place a home. The inside was coated on a yellow glow, most likely from the dangling lights along the walls everywhere. Each seat had a slight cushion to them, and each was more comfortable than his own bed. Much like a soft hug, the smell of baked goods and various types of coffee nudged him into a state of serene comfort, a feeling he was foreign to. You sat him down at one of the tables before you left back to the kitchen. Credence instantly began to worry. He was alone again, for the café was past closing hours. He wondered if you would come back, or if you would leave him like everyone else did.


However, these thoughts subsided briefly as you came back out from behind the tall counters. Your flowing walk came back into view as you held a tray of two mugs and some scones, more items that credence was unfamiliar to having. You set the tray down smoothly as if you were trying not to scare him before talking to him once more.


“I brought you some Cocoa and sweets, they aren’t as fresh but I thought it would help you feel a little better.“


Credence looked hesitant. No one had offered him something like this before. He imagined you as caring, but this confirmed his assumptions. You were wonderful.


“T-Thank you, um..” he trailed off, guilt searing him once more like a knife as he regretted not knowing your name.


With a small giggle you responded, “It’s Y/n, Credence.”


He stopped sipping the warm mug in his hands. How did you know his name?


“I hope you don’t find it odd that I know your name, but I have heard that other woman say it a few times. I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.”


He was touched. The empty hole of his missing heart suddenly felt a little warmer. He wasn’t sure if it was the drink or your care, but he definitely felt different.


“Do you want to talk about why you were upset?” you asked, not wanting to pressure him. He looked down at his hands, mentally debating as to whether or not he should show you. You had offered him food, a drink, a place to sit, and most importantly, your loving kindness. Now it was his turn to add to the exchange, by giving you his trust. He never did this, as he was often hurt or laughed at in the end, but you were different. He could just tell. With a heavy sigh, he lifted a closed fist onto the table, and opened it up. It was like watching a flower blossom, he was giving himself to you, to trust and accept, to let you into his heart.


However, he instantly panicked when you gasped. He was sure he had let himself get too close to you, for now you were scared. His hideous hands had frightened you, and it was all his fault. His hand sealed in shame while he tried to hide it from your sight, but your soft ones opened it back up again. Confused, he looked up with more tears brimming his eyes. His eyes locked with yours, his own tears mirroring yours as they slipped down your pink cheeks.


“D-did the woman do this to you C-Credence?”


At this, he broke. He let out all the pain that had stayed with him for so long. He had no one to seek safety with for all those years, and now, you were staying with him. You noticed his state and asked if you could hug him so you didn’t scare him. Once he gave you permission, you wrapped your arms around him, just letting him cry and tell you what was wrong. Credence needed you. He just didn’t think you would like him; he thought you would run away or bully him like the others.


Once the majority of his sobs left his body and he had calmed down a bit, you passed him back a scone and his mug. You brushed his hair with your hand and let him hold you. By now the two of you were on the floor of the café, but you didn’t care. Credence needed someone to hug and hold, someone who would give him comfort.


“Y-Y/n?” he whispered out.


“Yes Credence?”


“Thank y-you for not running away from me. I know I’m a monstrous freak.”
You stopped him immediately. “Credence you are not a monster, far from it actually,” you whispered as he gazed up at you.


“You just need someone Credence, someone who will treat you right because you’re special. You are special Credence. Very special and very sweet and very sensitive and you need someone who won’t scare you anymore. All you need is a little love Credence.”


He questioned you again, “Y/n?”


“Yes?”


He sniffled before going on with his thought, “D-do you love me?”


You looked down at the trembling boy who was obviously in shock with what had just come from his mouth. He thought about how much he was weirding you out, how strange you must think of him as now. No one could love him.


“Yes Credence, I do love you.”


You were right, all he did was need a little love. He never expected the innocent and sweetheart who served people drinks all day would be the one to say it though. A few more tears slipped between the two of you as your comfortable held one another still. He knew he should be home or Mary Lou would be cross, but he knew he needed you more. You two remained sitting close to one another as you whispered sweet words.


Credence, for the first time, felt was love and care was like. It was soft like your hair and kisses on his forehead, sweet like the scones and cocoa you brought out, and warm like your comforting cuddles. You radiated a calming kindness that he had never known so well prior to this night. Love was in your heart, and now, it was in his own as well.

Part 2: http://unscriptedtimetraveler.tumblr.com/post/155658563121/credence-barebone-x-reader-warm-hugs-and-cocoa

Won't You Listen
Too Close To Touch
Won't You Listen

Are you happy? Do you hear me?
Did you feel our hearts breaking slowly?
Maybe all you care for is all you see, shut our hope in a bottle and cast to sea.
It’s perceptions of what could have been, what might have been,
what should have been. 
Through these veins, out the pen, Stain the canvas every night.
I’d be lying if I said I’m fine somewhat. It’s hard to breathe when it’s tight sealed shut.

The drive and ambition of an Aries burns deeply inside of you,
Leaving your skin rusted from hard work, and your bones burning from the fire,
You’re a phoenix that flourishes in the flames
You’ve learned to dance with the devil in the heat, causing any symphony of an ice cold heart to melt away like liquid gold.
The beauty of a Taurus is painted on your face and body
Your eyes glow like deep sapphires, I didn’t know blue could be such a warm color until I met you,
The strong mountains and thick trees are a resemblance of your strong limbs and how you carry yourself,
You’re lips taste like the finest wines, and are made out of cashmere and velvet
The energy of a Gemini rings like bells in your voice,
Your tone is ever so uplifting and bright, it adds color to my black and white day
The melody you sing and the tune you hum is like a hypnotic and gorgeous siren resting in the waves
I want you to pour your hopes and dreams into me as you hold me in your arms
Your core and soul is graceful and gentle has a Cancer
The water pools in your heart and waves calmly like a glass lake
When you hold me I feel the energy of a cascading waterfall reaching inside of me, and quenching my thirst for you
You love like a golden lion of Leo,
Passion and euphoria drips out of your golden eyes,
You are the lover that sparks lighting bolts through my veins
You are the lover that reminds me of spilt black ink on a white dress
Memories being stained on a blank canvas that is my life
Before I met you, I’d only make art in black and white
Now I paint in color
The sun falls into Virgo which shines purely upon your face
You remind me of fresh white sheets on a Sunday morning
You remind me of sleepy morning sex after we’ve drank our coffee
You strive for perfection, you want to fit in, you seek approval
If you only saw that you are perfectly imperfect in my eyes
The sensual beauty of a Libra posseses strongly over your 5 senses
The sight of you is like staring at a beautiful marble sculpture at the finest museums
The sound of you is like listening to a string of hypnotic melodies
The taste of you is like earthy beauty and sweet dreams
The touch of you is like running my fingers through a river of silk
The smell of you is like smelling the atmosphere at sunset on a lake
The cosmic sexual energy runs through your blood hot with lust and cool with love
You leave the colors of a galaxies across the planes of my neck
The way you make yourself at home inbetween my legs makes me feel brighter than the sun
Staring into your eyes is like staring into two deep blue twinkling nebulas
I wanna hide forever in your heart
I want to explore you’re body and soul like a Sagittarius would
I could plant kisses across the valley of your body
I want to climb the mountains of your heart
And swim in the ocean of your soul
I want to discover the coldest and darkest parts of you like Capricorn’s Saturn
To take the coldness you feel in life into beautiful ice crystals
To turn the bitterness running through your blood into pure untouched love
To turn the icy breath you breathe and make into fire
I will love you past your flaws like the heart of an Aquarius
I will trace imagenary drawings across your transparent stretch marks
I will feather kisses across the scars on your stomach from when you had cancer
I will rub the knots out of your sore back, and build towers made of kisses up your spine
You are loved, from the inside out;my sun and stars
I want us to make art out of each other like a Pisces would
I could paint my beautiful perception of you out of the richest oil paints
Spending days to get just the right shade to match your stunning ocean eyes
You could write poetry about me at 5:06am
Letting every ounce of emotion you feel towards me flow through the ink like a stream and onto the paper.o
—  The 12 signs live in your heart
109.

“I don’t -”

Bucky resolutely stared at the grass under his feet, kicking at the clump with the heel of his shoe until dusty dry earth stained the canvas of his sneakers.

“I don’t get how you’re so open about it,” he said, finally.

Clint was sprawled backward across the bleachers, one foot on the bench and one on the ground, his shirt rucked up a little and his fingers scratching idly across his belly. Bucky looked back down at the ground quickly.

“Who gives a shit?” He said, and the harsh words shouldn’t be said so casually. They should hurt more, and their very ease in Clint’s mouth kinda suggested that maybe they’d hurt too long to be anything other than familiar.

“I always thought everyone would,” Bucky said, running his finger under the strap of his prosthesis in an awkward, familiar motion.

Clint shrugged, his shirt hissing against sun-warmed metal, squinting up at the sun.

“Can’t remember the last time my dad checked into the real world,” he said, “and my brother -”

He made an oddly elegant gesture, dismissive, like his brother had been disappeared by magic. Everyone knew the Barton boy was in jail, though. It was one of the more pressing reasons why Bucky was the only other one out here. Well. Aside from the obvious.

“Don’t you bother about what people will say?”

Clint laughed, and tapped behind his ear.

“Don’t have to hear ‘em,” he said. He pushed himself upright, his muscles obvious under rolled up sleeves, and Bucky bit his lip and - for maybe the first time - didn’t make himself look away. Clint ducked a little to catch his eye and grinned.

“You know you don’t have to tell anyone?” He said. “You do you.”

“I’d rather do you,” Bucky said, and curled his mouth into a grin he’d been practicing in the mirror.

It was worth the bellowed laughter that rang across the field, worth the Hell he was gonna catch from his mom for skipping class, for the instant of shock on Clint’s face, the flushed cheeks and bitten lip and wide eyes.

hardyhufflepuff  asked:

I love love LOVE how you go about texture in your pieces! Do you do that with overlays and such, or is it more hand drawn textures?

Excellent question! To be honest I use a combination of quite a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll list and detail them:

1) Photo texture of materials such as paper, cracked walls, etc. I used to horribly abuse this resource, though. If I am to use phototextures I will set them to a 10-20% opacity or something. They should support the piece’s aesthetic, not drown the ugly parts in the illustration (which is what I used them for)

2) For hand-drawn textures, grab a painterly brush, crack the flow down to like 10% and paint with abandon, using your pen’s pressure to place either hard or soft strokes everywhere, like you are staining your canvas with this brush. The painterly effect should give a very organic effect to the mess you are making in your layer (which is what we want!). Try different layer modes such as multiply, overlay or saturation. By painterly brushes I mean sets like these: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/KJa2W

3) Photo texture of geometric patterns. I learned to love these quite a bit with my Dragon Age Tarot Card commissions. The visual noise of repeating patterns against something that looks hand-drawn creates massive contrast and is pleasing to look at. It doesn’t have to be a super complex pattern, triangles work best. 

4) Playing with your textures by using masks. On top of layer modes, slap a mask on that layer, grab a brushy brush of your choice and paint black areas in the mask. By removing the uniformity of the pattern you give the illustration a sense of wear, it looks really, really nice!

I hope these tips help :)

anonymous asked:

hi, do you know the name of the fic where I think dan was in a hospital and phil was the nurse and he helped dan build a pillow fort?

Black And White (And Screaming Color) (ao3) - the one where Dan is a teenager admitted to the hospital after his lung cancer hits a particularly nasty bump, and he hates it- but a beaming, beautiful, bright-eyed nurse named Phil Lester makes everything a bit better. Dan is shades and layers of grey-black-white, but Phil is screaming color. The world is printer ink on cheap paper, Dan is thick, messy acrylic paint on rough paper, and Phil is pastel, watercolor stains on hot pressed canvas. Everything fades with time, even masterpieces.

- Sam

This is the crash
When the glass shatters
And the crimson flows
Spilling forth its carnage
Tattered and torn
Little pieces of me
Of you & of him
Lay strewn about
The stained canvas

Not a pretty picture -

We all need respite
From this vulgarity
A blanket of protection
From this devastating catastrophe

Hold them close always -

Story Beginner - Should I continue?

“We’re on a holiday they said-” grunted the young girl as she heaved herself up the dangerously unstable cliff’s edge, its texture sandy as the wind and rain ate away at the rock overtime. “We have to climb the mountain they said-” she spat crudely just as the sandy rock crumbled beneath her fingers causing her to haphazardly find a better hold elsewhere on the age old cliff, panic causing her eyes to momentarily squeeze shut as her heart skipped a beat and her back burned mercilessly. “It’ll be fun they said-” she sneered as she strained her arms to pull herself up, her dark auburn tresses falling loose from the messily tied ponytail and blinding her. “We won’t get split up or lost they said–Now look where the fuck I am!” she angrily screamed and blew the hair out of her pale green almost silver eyes. She was done. Oh, so done, and utterly pissed off at this predicament. Taking a deep breath through her nose she looked up and groaned. It seemed the cliff went on for miles. With a deep frown etched onto her face, she slowly scaled the cliff until she finally reached the top ledge. Pulling herself up she collapsed ungracefully on the compact dirt and panted deeply with exhaustion as her back began to dull to a stinging sensation. After minutes to catch her breath she finally mustered the strength to lift her aching arm and check her wrist watch. Two hours. It took her two hours to scale the cliff. She must admit she did well considering it was her first time climbing outside the ‘Outdoors Adventure Park’ where they had grips on the fake rock walls, not to mention harnesses and ropes. But this was the real deal, and with no ropes or harness and barely-there grips, she’s surprised she made it. Perhaps it was stupid of her to not even consider beforehand the possibility of certain death but in her defence, her anger at the situation was her third instigator. And besides, it wasn’t a completely vertical cliff therefore easy to climb with her experience at the adventure park. Working there for five years had basically turned her into a monkey, but she loved it. Ever since she was younger she was obsessed with the outdoors and adventure, fitness and skill, whether it’d be gymnastics or self-defence, she was a pro, this being the second instigator of her poor choice of the day. Pulling herself up slowly, she looked out over the horizon. She made it, the top of the mountain. The sun was setting and view beautiful as the burnt yet vibrant colours faded into darkness. Wait. “Crap! Crap! Crap!” she muttered as dug out her phone from her bra. “No service! Fuck!” she cursed as she held her phone above her head and waved it around in hopes of a bar or two. Nothing. Sighing she lowered the phone and shoved it back in her bra. The whole reason she climbed the damned cliff was to see if she could get service at this height, her first instigator for the climb. With service she could call her friends, or for help. And now, well she didn’t know what to do. Her friends were the ones carrying the camping equipment if the climb took longer than a day to complete, which usually was the case, even for the most experienced of climbers. There were many marked camping sites and even water stations along the path, a logical solution considering the time it takes to finish the climb to the top and back would include a night or two stay. But she, however, wasn’t so lucky as she was charged with carrying the completely irrational equipment, for example, a football, binoculars, a mini hand pump and a freaking snow blanket. A snow blanket. In Australia. On a dry, desolate bush of a mountain. Heck barely even a mountain and more like a large hill that had a very gradual incline to a peak which happened to have the best view around. At least she dropped the dead weight before the climb and left all that useless crap at the base of the cliff, only taking her wallet and phone. To be completely honest she didn’t dress very well for the occasion either. Sporting thick black jeans, a moss green crop top, a thick leather jacket and her trusty leather motorbike boots, well she was boiling to say the least but now as the temperature was dropping fast, she wasn’t regretting her decision as much as she was during the middle of the day when the sun’s rays beat down on her harshly. She looked up at the sky. “What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m a good girl. I did what my parents told me, I was kind to others-okay so I tried to be kind to others, but seriously the ones I punched in the face or kneed in the balls had it coming.” She spoke to the stars, reminiscing all she had done in the past and what exactly it was that karma decided to bite her on the ass for now. Sighing, she turned on her heel and surveyed her surroundings. It was all pretty bleak from what she could see in the dark. Some dried grass here, some faded rocks there, a massive leafy bush right in front of her, so basically nothing to help her situation. “Well I guess the lookout is on the other side of the mountain. Ugh! Could this day get any worse!” she all but screamed into the void of silence that surrounded her. Wait. Slowly revolving she looked left and right with hawk-like eyes, her ears straining to hear something–anything. But nothing, no sounds met her ears. Not the sound of wind, the rustling of trees, or even crickets, nothing. Nothing but empty silence. It was peculiar and didn’t sit well with her, the silence made her uneasy. She was going to brush it off until a fuzzy sensation spread across her back before it started to burn with the rage of fire. No. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Frantically she looked left and right. Nothing. She couldn’t see a thing but bush and the shadow of darkness which covered it. Backing up she knew if anything were to happen she could jump, even if it were to her own death, but she wouldn’t go that far, or more like she hoped not too. “Hmmph.” She grunted through clenched teeth as her back burned harshly in warning causing her knees to wobble unstably. Silence met her ears once again until her heart rate picked up, blood pumping fast in anticipation, the sound filling her eardrums. Swallowing the lump stuck in her throat, she called out into the silence. The void didn’t answer but she knew, she sensed it. Something was there and it was watching her. With her hackles standing tall on the back of her neck she again called into the silence. “I know you’re there, so show yourself you coward!” she spat at the shadow of the bush looming high above her. Her heart dropped and her stomach clenched when the sound of dirt crunching beneath boot met her ears. Slowly and almost sinisterly something or someone walked towards her, but what frightened her even more was the additional footsteps that trailed the first. There was more than one shadow lurking in the dark and she was about to find out who or what they were. Slowly figures stepped out of the bush, slinking towards her with ambitious and determined steps. Like predator stalking prey, and she did not like being the prey. As they stalked nearer her pale jade eyes skittered around for an escape, except there was none, unless she were to take the jump. Her back burned ferociously and with no other options, she slowly clenched her fists and raised them in front of her before taking a defensive stance. “Bring it, motherfuckers.” She muttered as they circled her. She paused taken aback when her aggressors stepped into the moonlight. They were all men. Five men in total. Large, muscular and bearded men. But what were they wearing…? The men all dressed in ancient almost fantasy-like attire. Renditions of the costumes one would see when watching The Lord of the Rings or the Game of Thrones series. Some men even had bows with quivers full of arrows on their backs, while others sported long swords and other smaller blades secured to their person by leather sheaths and binds. “What in the world? Did you nerds get lost? I’m sure the convention is in town and not at the top of a mountain.” She sassed as she scanned their stained raw cotton and canvas shirts, hide and pelt pants, and leather knee-high hunting boots much like her own. “Get her.” One rather handsome blonde haired man grunted as she eyed their rather promiscuous choice in clothing. With only seconds to react she dodged and sprung backwards as two men lunged towards her from different angles. As the first man bent forwards from his former momentum, she stuck him on the back of the neck with her fist which sent him hitting the compact earth, hard. The second man tripped over the first easily allowing her to swing her body and roundhouse kick him in the head, effortlessly sending him to sleep next to his friend. Amateurs. “Sweet dreams.” She mocked with a smirk as she took on her defensive stance once again before flicking an auburn lock out of her eyes. The three remaining men stared at her in stunned silence. No one had ever been able to fight back, not as well as this. She just took out two of their comrades in seconds. The men blanched before slowly drawing glinting daggers from brown leather sheaths at their hips. “Is that a dagger?!” she balked before stepping back cautiously, drawing closer to the cliffs edge. “Pussies! Put them away and play fair!” she shouted as the three giants neared her, blades raised at the ready. “This is fair where we come from, Otherlander!” a mousy brown haired man spat and pulled out a second blade to match the first, its ruby encrusted hilt mocking her with the promise of pain. “Yeah and where’s that? Fucking Narnia?!” She heatedly spat back and raised her fists, her only weapons against these beyond delusional men. Her upper back sent a bolt of fire down her spine a second before the same man furiously lunged at her with one blade first. It sliced downwards through the air towards her before she caught his arm and kicked him in the stomach sending him tumbling backwards. His second blade swung sidelong through the air before he fell completely out of range, but she was faster and dodged it by ducking backwards out of its reach. At that very moment the handsome blonde charged at her from the left and she skidded right before falling into the splits to miss a sidewards swoop of the third man’s, a redhead’s, dagger. Rolling backwards, she sprung up and into action, jabbing the double daggered man in the chin with her elbow before kicking the redhead’s dagger out of his hand and watched as it slid over the cliff’s edge. Not missing a beat, she swiftly whirled and punched the redhead in the face only to be met with the sickening sound of a crack as hot liquid melded between her knuckles. The redhead dropped to the ground clutching his nose and crying out in agony, the blonde then taking his chance to swipe at her, left and right, with his polished dagger. As she dodged the eighth swipe from the blonde, another bolt of fire assaulted her spine moments before the brown haired giant lunged at her from behind. She ducked and rolled sidewards causing the blonde to swipe and cut his comrade across the chest. The brown haired man cried in pain as the blonde withdrew in shock, staring as the cream fabric sluggishly turned crimson. She seized that moment to charge at them but in the midst of her run, her spine stung again as another bolt assaulted her, but it was too late. In seconds she was roughly yanked from behind and something cold was pressed against her throat. “You. Foolish. Little. Bitch!” a gruff voice snarled from behind her a second before she felt a pinch on her neck. Something warm and wet trickled down the side of her neckline and it took her a second to realise she had just been cut, by a dagger. Enraged, she used one of the techniques she had learnt from self-defence and flipped the bastard straight onto his ass before kneeing him in the temple and knocking him out cold. “Fucking prick!” she cursed as her hand went straight to her neck only to withdraw completely covered in blood. HER blood. Fuming at the fact that they were even able to lay a hand on her, let alone a dagger and actually CUT her, she turned to the two remaining men and bared her teeth before charging at them with the intent to kill. The men ran at her with equal determination but slowed as they neared her. Big mistake. She kept up her pace and jump at the brunette capturing his head between her legs. She whirled her body through the air with all her might and flipped him to the ground, satisfied after hearing a crack under the force of her blow. She slowly rose up from the brunette’s quivering body only causing him to bellow even louder in pain. The blonde haired man lifted his dagger almost shakily to meet her as she turned towards him. Good. She loved the fact he felt fear, and for someone smaller and thinner than himself. She was going to enjoy taking the last of these assholes down. But as she took a step towards him she stumbled to the right barely catching herself, her world fusing together and teetering to one side. “No!” she tried to shout but her mouth failed her as her muscles loosened. Ungracefully, she fell to the ground, her body numbing and calming the warning flames on her back. Her vision came too, though blurry around the edges, as the blonde sighed and sheathed his dagger before pulling a blue glowing orb from his person. A bright blue light flashed and the world went white before her eyes finally closed in exhaustion.

�D�M

I Hear You Talk, I See You Speak //Baekyeol//

Pairing: Baekyeol/ Chanbaek

Word count: 1,577

summary: Baekhyun was an artist going blind 


When would the bright colours come back? 

When would his glasses start working again and help him see anything, just anything, but smudges of dull colour?

 The large, tinted orange sun sunk bellow the trees, like ashes of bright green-grey.  Baekhyun’s hand moved to his cheek, flicking away the tear with a nudge of his gold-rimmed glasses. 

 Closing his eyes, he let the wind brush through his hair and tickle at his skin. A light smile drawing to his lips as the wafting smell of home cooked dinners carried past him in the breeze. 

He didn’t really want to open his eyes. 

 A sigh left his thin lips as Baekhyun fought with a comb; brushing it up along small strands of his hair to fluff it up. 

The brown colour he had died his hair for 180 dollars was now black. Dull and boring, like his eyes and pasty skin. He could barely notice the double eyelids he had coughed up 2000 dollars for when he was younger. 

 He looked so plain. Like a 1940’s TV actor. 

“I want everyone to just…express how they feel!! Let your brush guide your hand” the studio teacher said to the room full of students with wide movements of her arms. 

 Baekhyun stared at the white canvas, then down to the pallet. Blobs of grey tinted greens, reds and blues. Dipping his brush into what looked to be a blue colour Baekhyun began painting the sky, adding swirls of the black to match the sky he had seen the night before.

As the class was packing up, the studio teacher called out to him, stopping him from leaving with the rest of the class. 

 "I have good news!!“ 

 Baekhyun smiled a little for her to continue 

 "A scout from the gallery of Seoul came to see your artworks!!” She said, catching the younger man’s attention. 

“R-really?“ 

“Yes! He chose not one but three of your artworks to put in the gallery!“ 

"Three…?" 

"Yes, remember the one of the tree! And the portrait and the-" 

 Baekhyun’s eyes trailed down from the teacher, connecting with the wooden flooring, dotted with paint. 

 "Sorry, but could you please decline” Baekhyun said, the teacher stopped with a flabbergasted expression. 

“Baekhyun, this is everything you’ve dreamed of. What are you saying?" 

"I’m sorry but…they’re all from last year…" 

"So?" 

"I can’t…” Baekhyun stopped as he remembered the three artworks he was most proud of. The bright colours he remembered that stained the white canvas. 

 "I can’t do that anymore” he said before turning, leaving the teacher in the empty studio, shocked. 

“I like your hair, you seem a little artistic" 

Baekhyun stared at the man sitting across from him. His phone with an article in the large font, forgotten in his hand. 

The college cafeteria was filled with students eating and talking loudly.

The large area causing the sound to echo and pang him Baekhyun’s ears. Though the man’s voice was loud enough the drain it all out. 

“You’re an art student, right?" 

Baekhyun nodded, a light feeling bubbling in his chest. 

"I’m Park Chanyeol. I’m a music student" 

"Do you like it?" 

Chanyeol’s eyes glowed as Baekhyun nodded his head to the music coming through the ear piece. Eyes closed. The base sending delightful shivers through his body as he smiled. 

 "I really like it” Baekhyun said, opening his eyes when Chanyeol suddenly threw himself on to him. 

 "Thanks, Baek. It means so much to me" 

 Baekhyun nodded, cringing slightly at the loud voice right next to his ear. But as he stared at the taller man who clung to him, bubbles of delight and shyness filling his chest. 

Yet something in Chanyeol’s words nagged in the back of his head. 

Why does he talk so loudly?

It was a late evening. The sun was just starting to disappear behind the horizon. The spotlights onto the basketball turned on for the students still dribbling it out. The college art studio was on the 4th floor of the building, however, Baekhyun’s small, personal studio and gallery was placed on the 5th. 

 The light flickered on as Baekhyun stepped in after Chanyeol, closing the door behind him. The taller man looked around in amazement, spinning in slow circles to take in each artwork hanging from the white walls. 

 "They’re amazing Baekhyun” Chanyeol uttered, stepping towards one in particular. 

 It was the quietest Baekhyun had ever heard him talk. 

 "It’s you” Chanyeol smiled at the portrait, patches of vibrate pinks and blues, greens and reds replacing the normal tones a person would possess. A large grin was painted onto Baekhyun’s soft features, one eye shut in a wink. 

“You should smile like this more” Chanyeol said with a chuckle till Baekhyun stepped up beside him, observing the painting with a look Chanyeol almost thought to be hate.

 "I like this one too” Baekhyun nodded softly, contrasting the look in his eyes. 

“It used to be so vibrant but now it’s…not” he laughed bitterly. 

“What do you mean? It’s the most vibrant coloured here” Chanyeol glanced between Baekhyun and the painting. 

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s still obvious what the colour is. But soon it’ll all be the same as the others” Baekhyun shrugged before looking back to Chanyeol who’s brows were furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. 

“I’m going blind, Chanyeol" 

Chanyeol pulled him into a tight embrace. He wasn’t quite sure but Baekhyun thought he felt tears soaking into his shirt. 

“Byun Baekhyun. I’m telling you! your hair was not black! It was brown” Chanyeol argued as he towelled Baekhyun’s hair. 

“I thought it turned black again…” Baekhyun grumbled in defence. 

They were sitting on Chanyeol’s bed, the two cross-legged and facing each other as Chanyeol rubbed the fluffy towel on Baekhyun’s hair. 

A large grin was spread across Chanyeol’s face as Baekhyun began to whine about when he could finally see.

“Okay! I think it’s dry enough. Let’s go!” Chanyeol gleefully leapt from the bed, pulling Baekhyun along with him. 

Swinging his room door open, Chanyeol lead Baekhyun to the floor bathrooms, avoiding Baekhyun from any mirrors on the trip there. All whilst he shouted loudly about how great it looked. 

“It’s good, right?”

Baekhyun glanced to Chanyeol’s rightfully happy reflection, then back to his own with a gaped mouth. 

“It’s pink..it’s really really pink" 

Aside the ugly, orange painted wall behind them,  the pink of Baekhyun’s hair was the only colour not tainted with the dreadful grey. 

“I really really like it” Baekhyun broke out into a smile before turning to Chanyeol, who stared at him expectantly. 

“Huh?” Chanyeol asked as if he had missed something. 

“I said!” Baekhyun hugged him “I really really like it" 

“I’m so excited!!” Chanyeol yelled shaking Baekhyun in his arms as they stood on the train. 

“Shhh, Chanyeol you’re too loud” Baekhyun scolded but the taller just continued humming loudly and shaking his hips in some sort of dance. 

Baekhyun couldn’t help but laugh, gazing at the taller’s handsome and amusing face. He wanted to remember. He watched to etch the charming grin into his mind. Caught in a trance till he caught an old lady seated near the door scowling at them.

 "Chanyeol be quite” Baekhyun whispered but the other kept bobbing his head and humming.

“Chanyeol!” Baekhyun hit Chanyeol’s arm, making the man jump slightly with wide eyes as he stared at Baekhyun. 

“What?“ 

"You’re too loud…you can yell when we get there” Baekhyun said and Chanyeol’s eyes dropped slightly 

“Oh, sorry” he chuckled nervously before leaning into Baekhyun and pressing a finger to his lips. 

“Shhhh" 

 Baekhyun laughed and stared into Chanyeol’s sparkling eyes. 

 "You have such a pretty laugh, Baekhyun. I love it" 


They arrived at the stadium the concert was being held in high spirits. Baekhyun laughing as Chanyeol danced excitedly next to him as they went toward the ticket collector. 

 "Seats 245 and 246, stand 3” the ticket man said then pointing his arm to the left where gate 3 was. 

 Baekhyun nodded and headed forward Chanyeol following him quickly. 

“What did he say?” Chanyeol asked 

 "Just the seats…“ Baekhyun said 

 "Ah” Chanyeol laugh “I couldn’t hear him from down there. He was almost as short as you" 

 "Hey!" 

The concert started, the band entered the stage as the crowd cheered. confetti bursting into the stage song after song. 

 Baekhyun was mesmerised, the lights and falling confetti soaking into his brain. The large crowd they were a part of, jumping in time with the beat. 

He had been to concerts in his younger days but not when he really appreciate how beautiful it was. 

As Baekhyun swung his head to the music he looked over to Chanyeol. His large grin falling when he noticed the other had his eyes closed. 

Baekhyun stared at him. This wasn’t what he wanted to remember. but he felt as if it was going to stay with him forever. The tears.

Tears were falling from Chanyeol’s closed eyes as a large smile was plastered on his face. 

But Baekhyun could only stare. 

Chanyeol finally opened his eyes as the song finished and looked to Baekhyun, noticing that the shorter man as staring at him. Quickly whipping his cheeks and laughing, Chanyeol pulled Baekhyun closer and hugged him. 

"I want to remember it, Baekhyun” Chanyeol whispered and Baekhyun felt tears soaking his hoodie as the latter held him tightly. 

“I’m going deaf, Baekhyun”


ilvermorny house aesthetics

pukwudgie: words choked in your chest, burning from the inside out, crawling to strangle your throat, but you scream in the tears leaving your eyes; memories pressed with gentle kisses to a worn journal kept between so many books; a glance of understanding; wildflowers brushing scratched calves; the cool dampness of grass imprinting beneath giddy toes; gentle hands holding a loved face; fingers interlacing with another’s to grip onto hope in the face of despair

thunderbird: photographs taped to mist embraced windows; the whisper of secrets spilling into giggles; a puzzle piece twisting and leaping between absent-minded fingers; the comfort of warm grovel under your back and the brush of a cooled breeze kissing your nose; bottom lip bitten rouge - eyes apprehensive, but curious; the brush of fingertips across my neck; the ache of bruises and scratches, caressed by thoughtful eyes; holding yourself close beneath the comfort of loose yarn over naked skin

wampus: fingers glancing over piano keys; steps echoing on wooden floors; the brush of nerves whistling on anxious shoulders, keeping you in flight for what’s to come; the stretch in your neck while hanging over the back of the chair, evening touching the sky out of the corner of your eye - there’s a thought, but it’s escaped; paint tubes, brushes strewn around stained toes - a canvas stretched wide and loved by happy fingers dancing across her surface

horned serpent: the envelopment of cool sheets on a summer’s night; ankles greeting the ocean waves it wraps around her with cold kisses; melodies lingering even as eyelids shut to the welcome the mind’s dreams; the burning alighting the heart as legs carry you out of the forest and into an abyss of wheat fields; light touches across wrists, over parted lips; warm light filtering through barely there curtains, books stacked, arranged in an orderly havoc; pillows pushed against one corner, blankets with its arms open to a heavy heart

BBRae Week: Day 2 [Primal]

Awkward Moments vs Primal

I went with something pretty different here (it’s an AU). I’m not too happy with it, but eh. 


She watched the young boy struggle in vain.

They slammed him against the wall, his small frame hitting the concrete with a loud, reverberating thud. His cheek pressed hard against the cement, and he squirmed helplessly all the while they held him down. His eyes, the colour of forest trees and glittering jade, locked with hers; a silent plea for help.

He was the last normie left in the project.

The more time that had passed, the more they’d all innocently assumed that not even their cold-hearted captures would have the nerve to weaponize the sweetest, most kind-hearted soul in the place.

Of course, they’d been wrong.

So wrong.

[follow the cut for the rest!]

Keep reading

Instead of initializing my belongings with a sharpie or sewing my name on the inside of my pants, my belongings have their own, different signature; coffee stains. From my canvas bag to every single paper in my backpack, they all have my coffee’s spillage staining them.

This indicates a few things. For one, I love coffee. But, I’m also tired and sloppy and always rushing around. I gulp my coffee like it’ll be my end when I stop and I fill each mug with the intent on finishing and savoring and slugging down each drop. I just need something that’ll drag me out of bed and the smell of roasting coffee is the only reason I wake up at all. It’s addicting. I’m addicted. I’m addicted to excusing my disheveled appearances and my bagged eyes on the fact that I didn’t have coffee. Or rather I only had two cups, I ran out before the third. Do I need coffee to function or Do I need my mind away from the dark thoughts swirling in the cup before I add the milk and sugar? And so I sweeten each cup with sugar and cream and I let the bitter die out with each swallow.

~ Kaylin