#axxailant

— ( @axxailant ) —

Wesley would be anything but good. He could reduce himself to the brink of tears, pain, or even insanity — but never good. Being good was boring. Being good was mundane. Being good was lackluster. Being good, my friend, promoted insipid lifestyle. And that was not a way to live. 

(Then again, he solely believed his deeds of malice would gradually lead to a world of prosperity, meaning his intentions were considered good beneath the pretense of what came off malefic. In this sense, Wesley could be classified as a ‘good’ man under his own standards— alas, society would beg to differ, conclusively deeming him ‘bad.’)

“Judging by the content of your character, you seem to believe that being bad is… well, a bad thing.” 

He had ultimately overestimated the boy. Jongin Kim has done far less than what had been expected (little to his knowledge), seeming to suppress a substantial amount of humanity within the heart catered by a cage of bones. The slightest tint of disappointment ran along his countenance upon realization— that very expression was essentially arrogant, yet he refused to seethe white falsehoods from his bare teeth, as pure they might have been. Lies were musical poetry, but white lies were tasteless and out of fashion. Surely the attorney would refrain from participating in such vapid activities. 

— € for a bad memory that still haunts them 

starter for @axxailant

“Would you mind if I..used you as my muse? For the sake of art, of course.” 

Alec quietly lets himself ponder about Gadreel’s request of him, fingers turning amongst each other in his lap as he struggles against the nerves building underneath his skin. 

It’d all begun when earlier that day Alec had decided to spend some time visiting the local art exhibit not too far from his apartment. He’d politely taken a small pamphlet, turned off his phone ringer, and toured the lengthy halls lined with paintings and murals. There were a few pieces he’d already seen before, and a few pieces that allowed him to stop and pause just for a little bit. It wasn’t so much that the art drew him in, it was more of a peaceful past time. 

Near the end of his tour he’d spotted an unfamiliar gathering around what seemed to be a mini display of artworks belonging to an up and coming artist. Alec’s curiosity had of course been piqued, his feet forcing him along just to take a closer peek at what everyone else seemed to admire. Little did he know that he’d soon run into his good friend Gadreel, who would later turn out to be the artist behind the museum’s new exhibit- much to Alec’s surprise. As usual their conversation had begun small ( a bit shy even ) and progressively bloomed into what would become the reason for Alec’s presence in his friend’s home. 

The room is cozy, but the mutant feels out of place amidst the vast array of opened paint canisters, charcoal dust, and wide sheets of paper that he assumes must be for rough sketches. There are pieces on the walls that appear to be only halfway finished, and on one side of the room he can see a lengthy table smothered with brushes and paint pallets. It all screams Gadreel in so many ways; even the clutter is uniquely his and his alone. 

Despite his slight apprehension, Alec thinks he can feel a little thrum of warmth from being able to experience such an intimate space. This is where Gadreel’s passions are born; this is where his ideas take body and Alec knows he’ll be more than just lucky to witness such creation take place. It’s a first for the mutant, whose life has often been characterized by a consistent theme of solitude.