#all of it such haunting and beautiful works because it truly comes from the soul and isn’t a cash grab

[super-nova5045]

sylvia plath, todd anderson and virginia woolf (aka ACTUAL tortured poets) watching taylor “im breaking up with my boyfriend for his intense depression and blaming it on him, im dating a racist who enjoys watching woc being brutalized and harasses young woc artists, i sent my fans out on a hate train to attack a young woc actress for a line she had to say as part of her job to show how mentally ill her character was, im dating a maga supporter, i refuse to say anything about a current genocide despite being the most influential person in the world right now, i am a billionaire, i fly 13 minute flights and have the highest carbon emission of any celebrity, i am a known white feminist who only speaks about issues when it affects me and has constantly let my fans get away with extreme racism and even encouraged it by associating myself with known racists” swift call herself a tortured poet (her writing sounds like a bunch of thesaurus words slapped over gabba hanna and rupi kaur-esque poetry that was created purely as a trinket for an edgy pinterest board)

[moonshadowmystique]

The Right Person at the Wrong Time - A Reflection on Timing and Connection

All our lives, we have heard stories that involve the right person turning up at the wrong time. This concept is jarringly alarming because it layer-peels the facade of finding the right individual in regard to love, connection, or relationship. This indicates, if explained better, that two people fitting for each other might fail to emerge when the various elements of life are against their coming together.

What does it even mean to meet the right person at the wrong time?

The Complexity in Timing

Timing is an invisible force that shapes the connections we make, often in ways of which we are barely aware. You might meet your dream person, that person who checks all the boxes or sees the world through a filter instituted by your soul. But with you not being emotionally available, probably still recovering from injuries of the past, or perhaps in the middle of some personal crisis, such connection might just not blossom. On the other hand, it could be them who is dealing with troubles at this stage, which means they cannot also be fully present.

This is extra challenging because, by nature of things, there is tension between what we feel and what reality presents. There is almost something tragic in the beauty of having found someone incredible but at the wrong time. You're forced, then, to think that love and connection are about more than logical matches, but two lives crossing at a certain point where access and readiness are aligned.

The 'What If' Paradox

That is the question that will haunt when the right person shows up at the wrong time: What if things were different? It's such a haunting thought, and then you are left to wonder how, in some other world, maybe it would have worked between the two of you. You have a vision of how this might have been the case with another chapter of your life. You could run yourself into sleepless nights with 'what ifs' and yearn for something that may never be resolved.

But harboring such questions in one's mind forever would render living in the present light of day an impossibility. It is very human to reflect on the paths not taken, but living in the country of 'what ifs' blinds you to the new opportunities staring you in the face.

Growth, Timing, and Readiness

It might be that meeting the right person at the wrong time sometimes serves a great purpose. Sometimes such experiences will teach us more about ourselves, or perhaps are a reflection of where we need to grow or what we need to let go of to be truly ready for a meaningful connection in the future. Other times, the person you meet is but a mirror reflecting the work yet to be done on yourself.

That person may remind you that deep love is deserved by you, even if at the time that is not fated to be with them. They may provide a catalyzing agent that impels you to align your life through means that serve to better prepare you in the future for a relationship be it with them or someone else.

Embracing Imperfection

One of the most painful things we may learn is that imperfection meets us around every corner in life, and love is no different. Yes, even when we think we have found that person who fits every category on our ostensibly perfect list, it's not as if the universe necessarily plays a role in ensuring that all that lines up. That's just part of the mystery—and frustration—of being human.

But perhaps, other than cruel fate, that is the profound message: love is not about everything working out perfectly. It means the understanding that connections, no matter the depth, sometimes do not come out with fairy tales. It is about embracing the will-o'-the-wisps, beautiful moments for what they are and not necessarily needing them to last.

Moving Forward with Ease

So, what happens when you are in this situation? There isn't some simple answer to this proposition, nor is a one-size-fits-all solution for anything. Some can hold onto the hope that one day, in the future, the timing shall be right and the stars align. While others let go, realizing that even while a connection was powerful, yet it simply wasn't meant to be a permanent fixture in our lives.

Both are correct. The key is to move with elegance. Life, with all the moments of its unpredictability, is a journey that's really full of twists and turns. That person at the wrong time could have been one chapter in your story, but it need not define the whole narrative. Every experience in life adds to your growth, even the bittersweet ones.

Ultimately, the concept of meeting the right person at the wrong time invites us to consider what love, timing, and self-awareness are all about. It reminds us that not everything is about chemistry but about being prepared—about two people meeting at the crossroads of their journeys in life, ready to take that step together. And sometimes, such journeys are meant to meet only briefly, leaving an indelible mark but no permanent union. In those moments, we can only respectfully acknowledge the bond for what it was and know that each interaction—every human contact—is a part of our development and continues to shape us into who we are and who we will become.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle (Here!), Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Azul Ashengrotto

Fortune. Azul is one fortunate soul. At least, not he thinks himself to be.

and to think that it's because of sheer luck. He did not work for you. He did not climb or claw or plan for you. He did nothing.

No, you chose him. You saw him at his lowest and decided that he was worth becoming friends with. You actively sought him out...just to spend time at his side. Regularly. You enjoyed Azul's company

and over time, he grew to enjoy yours. Immensely. Like a giddy school-girl, his heart fluttered at the thought of you and all his notebooks were covered in doodle hearts.

This was it for him. Azul is a one and done kind of man. It’s you or it’s no one. Which means that it obviously is going to be you because hello??? Azul is not a quitter.

During your younger years as students….he may have been a bit too ambitious. In other words, Azul has proposed many times

And in turn has been rejected. Many. Times.

It began passively. He’d mention here and there his future plans for after schooling. Try to talk himself up, yeah? He’s going to be a big business man, isn’t that just perfect husband material? He can take care of you easily so there’s no need to stress.

Naturally you pushed off these moments as daydreaming and casual joking. Nothing serious. So he ups his game. It just so happens that he mistakenly got a bridal magazine in the mail…oh, look at these dresses and suits! So fancy. So beautiful…oh, you would look absolutely darling in one.

….oh sweet merciful seven please take the HINT. He is LITERALLY throwing himself at you

He ups his game. Again. A romantic candle lit dinner for two. The works. Jazz music, slow dancing, good company, and the casual proposal y’know just your average date.

You have to be doing it on purpose

In your defense. He did not flat out say “will you marry me,” because he chickened out. Instead he asked if you’d like to live with him after graduation as…roommates.

The world is out to get this poor man. It is. It truly just wants him to crash and burn in embarrassment. The way you laughed and went “I think we’re a bit more than that, don’t you think?” HAUNTS him

He screamed into his pillow that night. For hours. Floyd still gives him shit for it

Life continues this way. For reasons unknown…he just couldn’t bring himself to be direct. Which is so unlike Azul considering he spent years toughening himself up.

Maybe deep down he did fear that things wouldn’t work out. A merman and a human…what if you did not want to lige in the sea? What if his body could not sustain human form for long term? Maybe he wanted you to take initiative and prove him wrong. Eventually he did give up.

At least until you both aged into the “roommates”he dreamed about. There were trials and compromise. He never thought to have two homes, one by the ocean and one literally inside of it. Life was perfect….just without the title. And on one random night, Azul thinks “One more time,”. No elaborate ruse. No trickery to get you to ask him. Just….

“Will you marry me?,” Azul whispered into your shoulder. You both lay together in your shared bedroom with nothing but the sound of crashing waves coming in from the outside. Your steady breathing halts, proving that you heard him. With a sigh, he reaches to massage your scalp, “I do not know if you have realized by now…no, I am sure of it. No one is that dense. I won’t pry for why you have ignored my past attempts…all I ask is that you answer this. Will you marry me, (Y/N)? Having you at my side has truly made me the most fortunate man alive,”

{ A black pearl over a gold band. One of the most ultimate displays of wealth. Azul is well aware that this is not the traditional pathway. He could have easily acquired a ‘genuine’ Pearl, perhaps a diamond - but no. You are a rarity. A true jewel. Only a ring worthy to reflect that is worth buying. You were the most unexpected thing and are now the most cherished. This ring represents that,}

Jade Leech

The want caught him by surprise one day, which is rare. Jade is never thrown off guard. At least, not easily.

Then again, you have always been the most difficult person for him to predict. Something he finds very charming since there is always an upbeat atmosphere wherever you go. If his days were a dimming flame, you would be just the right amount of Co2 to spark some fun - not that he would easily admit to it.

Albeit so, Jade is not blind to his emotions. He hides them well underneath a polite smile - but they are there. He is aware of them.

Which is why he snatched you up early on. A relationship was the last thing he thought to find on the surface (or in general, honestly), but Jade knows what he wants when he sees it.

He merely asks you on a date with confidence. You accept, and the process repeats until an unspoken bond formed between the two of you. Not a soul in the nearby vicinity would dare make a move on you with his lingering presence. Jade was pacified, entertained, and happily content with your circumstance.

A circumstance that Jade gets maybe a bit too comfortable with. Just like surprise, it takes a lot for Jade for feel secure. The only person he has truly felt that with is his brother. This lack of overbearing responsibility, where something is being unspoken. No ulterior motive or underlying tone in your actions that make him have to over-analyze.

In the beginning he thought of your bluntness as an extra entertainment factor. Something that he could count on to make those brief unpredictable situations amusing. Yet, as time passed he notices that it's comforting. When he's with you, Jade turns his brain off. Not entirely, of course. He still needs to throw in witty quips and fluster you at LEAST twice per day.

but it's different. It's a different comfort than what he feels with his sibling or with his friend. It's new, and strangely similar to how he feels when he forages while hiking. Perhaps finding peace in another person...maybe there is merit. Hah. Yet another surprise.

On an evening long past curfew, Jade was tending to his botany collection and miniature greenhouse. You sat on his bed, watching videos on your phone. It was almost like you weren't there with him, yet not since he felt your presence. However, there was no pressure to talk or be attentive. He found himself enjoying your presence alone, and it slipped.

"If this is how our days will be when we live together, then perhaps sharing one life is not as inconceivable as I once thought," he said amidst trimming one of his herb plants. Jade turns curiously when he hears a thump from behind, and sees you gawking at him. You had lost your grip on the cell phone, and it fell to the ground.

He eyes you suspiciously. What's startled you? He doubts that any video could render you speechless.

....he spoke aloud, yes? Not in his head. Now it's Jade's turn to lose his composure.

Another surprise, but this is his own doing. Jade has not had a slip of the tongue since his childhood. Even then it was rare. He's never experienced this kind of mess-up...yet, you don't appear appalled.

Jade places the clippers down, and coughs into his gloved hand, "well, it appears I have gotten a loose tongue. It must be from your influence, no doubt". He stands, and moves to sit next to you on his bed, "I've never spoken out of place before, you know. Do you know what this means? I've become weak...and perhaps it it is time you take responsibility for these newfound emotions. I fully intend for many moments like these to happen, and for you to not leave my side. When it is time to leave this place, I believe you will join me. No, I am certain of it"

{An eye of lapis. A reminder that he is always watching - waiting, to see you again. The gem is not see-through. It’s a tough stone. Yet it is beautiful and is appreciated nonetheless. Enough said}

Floyd leech

At first, you believed him to have an obsession. Many did, actually.

The judgement isn't uncalled for either. Floyd's emotions towards you are very strong. With the way he loves to tease and follow you around - he's got a deep attachment. He's always demanding your attention, pulling you from your duties, starting trouble, and nosy. Floyd is oh so nosy and into everything in your life.

You're a toy. His little Shrimpy. The plaything that he absolutely adores and loves to watch. You're the Friday night sitcom to his late-90s grandma.

That's how you see it because that's how he portrays it. With others in agreeance, it is easy to overlook the small undertones in his actions. Especially since he's a touchy and emotional person normally.

Somehow, Floyd had himself tricked as well. He didn't akin his emotions to obsession, but he did think that you were a toy that he would

eventually out-grow. At the start, it really was just a game for him. He liked your reactions and therefore decided to keep you around.

Yet, he never got bored. Eventually the fun events around you stopped being what he found interesting, and instead he liked you alone. Floyd being Floyd instantly tried to confess this, not wanting to waste another minute. Yet you never believed him.

He brushed it off. You'd come around. Not a day went by without him by your side. To the average onlooker (and you, to Floyd's dismay) this still appeared normal. Weeks past by like nothing.

Only the people closest to Floyd see the small giveaways. Like how he glares holes into the mirror portal every morning, or gets snappy with customers if you take too long to visit the Monstro Lounge at night. There's a booth saved, every evening with no student brave enough to go near it unless they want their head chopped off.

When he gives you a 'squeeze,' he never wraps his arms around your stomach. He instead smothers your head and goes tightly around the shoulders. Your squeezes are special. He loves them.

or the name 'Shrimpy'. How he says it to you in public, but in private he occasionally lets your real name slip out. This normally happens during moments when he feels "bored,"(i.e has nothing to talk about) or lighthearted (the rare moments when you get him to relax). Floyd has never said that name with anything other than a positive emotion, despite his mood swings. Shrimpy is his calling card for you, and only his. Yet your name is different. He feels a tummy-twisting kind of weird when he says it.

but the biggest change is Floyd's attitude towards danger when it comes to you. Before, he thrived on it. He liked to hear your stories and be part of the fun. He took joy from the scary adventures you got wrapped into; heck, he was one of them.

Now he gets morbid. Not like how he was before, with eerie threats and a suspenseful aura. He never actually acted unless told to do so, since the over-blots and delinquent students were your problem, not his.

One afternoon, you didn't show up to have lunch with him. That already made him irritable since you know better than to no-show. Did you want a squeeze? Huh, Shrimpy? He'll give you one later.

Then two students come in, all snickering and acting suspicious. Strike two. Now Floyd is upset AND annoyed. Others in the area can feel the animosity in the air.

"Did you see their face? Psh. That'll teach some snot-nosed no-mag to act all mighty. If they know what's good for them, they'll go back to whatever sh*t-hole they came from alrea-" The no-face couldn't finish his sentence. Not with one of the infamous Leech twins gripping his arm tight enough to snap bone.

Floyd smiled, "oh~ So you're the reason my little shrimp isn't eating lunch with me, aren't ya? So. What'd ya do? C'mon guys, I want to know what 'lesson' ya taught, " as Floyd spoke, his grip gradually tightened and he stared straight into the other student's eyes. Each word came out harsher than the last.

They broke quick, as he suspected. With a rough shove Floyd pushed them aside to find you. He had their faces memorized. Let them live in fear for a bit until he collects due payment. For now?

Floyd finds you at your home. He doesn't bother to knock and bursts through the front door, only to see you nursing a black eye on the couch with some ice. He wastes no time in taking it and kneeling in front of you.

Floyd holds the ice to your eye - a bit too harsh- and clenches his jaw when you wince. You won't meet his eyes and it only pisses him off more, "Oi. Look at me," and you do with your one eye. "Why didn't you call me. Why'd you not show up," You sigh and reach a hand to cover his, "because I knew you'd be pissed... I handled it, okay? No need to fake the whole 'I will protect you, my little Shrimpy' scenario. We both know that's not your thing, "

You're wrong. It's not a scenario. You can dismiss his flirting all you want, but even Floyd has a limit. Do you not see how absolutely wreaked overhearing those airheads made him? He's going to do worse than you can think. He won't kill them. No, he'll make sure that no one messes with you anymore. You can't see it, but on the inside he is over it. Done. Finished. Officially has 0% patience.

"Did you know that every time you spout crap like that, it pisses me off? I don't 'act,' because that's boring. I'm not lyin' when I say I like you, and you better start believin' it because I'm over the niceties. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. You're in deep (Y/N) and I'm not letting go, so wait here while I handle some little pests. I love ya. I act this way BECAUSE I love ya. Quit denying me already,"

No one will ever mess with you again. Not with the sparkly little gem on your ring finger, tying you to one of the largest and most threatening groups in the undersea world to date.

{ An aquamarine tear. In all honesty, Floyd did not put much thought into his gem. It sparkled. It is the color of his hair streak (or close to it). He imagined it on your finger and thought that it would stand out - ensuring that anyone and everyone could see it. He thought of your possible expression upon seeing it, and was sold}

[extant-exhaustion]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "extant-exhaustion "?

Well, first of all, thank you so much for your patience! I know it took me seven weeks to reply to this Ask! I agonized over my list (also, the holidays happened, which kept me busy). But I finally narrowed it down, so here we go, in no particular order:

My Top 10 Favorite Fanfics

In Another Life by LittleLuxray Haikyuu!! | T+ | 23k | Bokuto/Akaashi | angst, sickfic | It's famous for a reason. Truly one of the best pieces of writing I've ever read, including published works—I've rarely cried so hard or been moved so much.

died in my dreams by MTrash Haikyuu!! | T+ | 10k | Ushijima/Tendou | futuristic/cyberpunk AU, opposites attract, reluctant work partners to friends to lovers | fantastic characterization, really cool conceptually, a story about trauma and healing and finding your person

the weight of water by wordstruck/@redluxite Haikyuu!! | M | 6k | Iwaizumi/Oikawa | angst | Painful, soul-crushing heartbreak, but so, so beautiful. As someone who's experienced loss and grief, this story is visceral and the accompanying art haunts me.

Come and get lost with us by boxofwonder Haikyuu!! | M | 150k | Hinata/Kageyama, Daichi/Sugawara | action/adventure, Medieval AU(?) | unlike anything I've ever read before or since; a really masterful integration of an enormous cast and a plot that unravels with absolutely zero fluff or filler

shimmer in your shine by zenelly/@zenellyraen Hunter x Hunter | T+ | 91k | Leorio/Kurapika, Killua/Gon | American roadtrip AU | This story made me cry over a fist fight between Leorio and Illumi in the parking lot of a Red Lobster in Arkansas.

The Myth of Mankind by MistressEast/@mistresseast Promare | T+ | 63k | Galo/Lio | action/adventure, romance | masterful worldbuilding, kickass fight scenes, intrigue galore, falling in love while preventing mass murder? yes, please

A Second Chance To Say by KazimaKuwabara/@kazimakuwabara Yu Yu Hakusho | M | 92k | Yusuke/Kuwabara, Youko Kurama/Kuronue | action/adventure, hurt/comfort | ft. Kuronue's eternal sass and unwavering friendship, the slow burn of reincarnated already-in-love KuwaMeshi (because Kuwabara doesn't remember it), somewhat menacing levels of intrigue, and Hiei finally winning MVP of emotions on Team Urameshi

Don't Blink or You'll Miss It (Lift Up Your Head) by umisabaku/@umisabaku Kuroko no Basuke | M | 81k | Kagami/Kuroko, Kasamatsu/Kise, Midorima/Takao, Himuro/Murasakibara, Aomine/Momoi | super powers | This story and its accompanying series are so cool and so unique. The characterization is amazing and the worldbuilding is stellar.

neither fish, flesh, nor foam by twoif interactive on Twine Kuroko no Basuke | Kagami/Kuroko | angst, Little Mermaid–esque, interactive storytelling | incredible, but also devastating; a story about how sometimes our doubts can destroy not only ourselves but the good things we build; one of the coolest things I've ever interacted with as a story, a true tour de force

Transient Shadow, True Light by seafoamist/@seafoamist Kuroko no Basuke | M | 322k, WIP | Kagami/Kuroko | angst, hurt/comfort, time travel, historical (Edo Period) | If you talk to me about this story, I will go absolutely feral, because it is my current obsession and the only WIP that is on this list. I'm straight-up insane about its quality and depth. I can't even put this story into words. It knocks the wind out of me.

And lastly, my URL doesn't actually have a story behind it! It's basically just my life, haha. “Extant” is an adjective meaning “ongoing/still in existence” and “exhaustion” is pretty obvious. Essentially, I like alliteration and thought it sounded better than "tired 100% of the time."

[satlun]

Forsaken

Pairing: priest!john constantine x fem!reader

Genre: Angst

Trigger warnings: Priest kink? I don't think so. The relationship between a priest and his ex-lover. Mention of God and religious things in rebellious ways. So, if you're a religious person, I suggest you skip this.

Summary: Haunted by the past and a love that challenges the bounds of faith, a seeks console in the confessional. Father John, your ex-lover, is the only person you have left. But as both of your secrets and desires collide, your fragile world unwinds, revealing a battle between faith and forbidden love. A heartbreaking story of loss, longing, and the final betrayal.

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's note I: I’m not a Christian, I might make some mistakes/ misunderstood, feel free to correct me. I apologize in advance; I don't mean to offend you or anything and I don't mean to disrespect your beliefs either. It's just a fanfiction.

Author's note II: This is the most difficult writing I have ever written, the dialogue and the plot seemed vague and I needed to work hard on it. The more I think, the more I find weak points in this fanfiction. :/ The story is complicated to be honest. Anyway, I hope it comes out good and does not have any weak points that I missed.

Author's note III: English isn't my first language. Feel free to correct me.

My archive of Our Own account.

‘Everything you've ever done, you've only ever done for yourself.’

‘Self-sacrifice, belief.’

‘No. You will live, John Constantine. You will live. So you will have… the chance to prove… that your soul truly belongs in hell.’

‘You’re fucked.’

…

Your fingers are dipped into the vessel of Holy Water near the entrance before tracing the sign of the cross, from your forehead, chest, left shoulder and right shoulder. Speak in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

‘I have arrived with purity inside my heart, my body, and my soul. With respect to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,’ you recalled.

The crisp sound of your shoes clicking on the marble floor of the Catholic church which can be heard echoing through the silence of the atmosphere, the sun can barely reach into the hallway except for the dim lights from the yellow chandeliers. In front of you is a huge religious painting with frescoes, reflecting the shadows of the candlelight, waving all over the painting, including the statues of Jesus and Mother of God that were placed above the altar.

…

The folded hands of you are holding under your chin, reminding you of the respect you have while confessing your sins in the confessional. The darkness is filled inside this wooden box, there is only the yellow light from the other side of the room. The yellow shadow from the other room reaches into your face, reflecting many tiny details of the confessional grille. One obvious thing is that your breath can be heard easily here since it's wholly silent.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession…” Conflicts and grudges, mixed together with misunderstandings are expressed on your face. Your eyes stare at your folded hands before glancing up to the confessional grille. Your breath seems louder and clearer when no one is speaking. You came here to confess your love so called your, sin for him fourteen times in the past two months.

The gap between your confession and his answer is rather too long, you hardly hear anything behind the confessional grille, not even the sound of breath. So, you decided to continue. “There is something wrong with me, Father… Something damned.” There is pressure behind your beautiful eyes, as if you're holding your tears or perhaps carrying your painful heart. The air was sharply inhaled by your nostrils, to contain all of the feelings which are fighting back against one another inside your mind. Why is it difficult to speak when you have done this for fourteen times, it seems to be harder to speak each time you come to confess. Maybe because of his fourteen-time denial of your desire.

“Why does my heart still yearn for him day in and day out while he fully becomes a priest, a servant of God?” Your voice is raspy and somewhat whispery. Even though using the ‘him’ pronoun means indirectly speaking to him, he is able to guess who you are talking about anyway, by your similar voice at least. You have blamed yourself for missing him, for not stopping coming here to confess. You shouldn't have come, but it is not easy at all to just ignore his presence or to forget him in two months after five years of being his lover.

You swallow your saliva before asking for his guidance. “What is wrong with me? Tell me, Father. So maybe I can figure it out. I don't want to end up like this for eternity, it hurts…” You pretend as if you don't know the answer, as if you haven't asked the same question over and over. As if this is the first time you confess your sin to him. And the answer is always the same, it is because of the love that you have always had for him, and you know damn well about it.

An old, similar voice of an old man speaks through the confessional grille. “Father John isn't here, my child.” Your eyes widened; you didn't expect to meet Father David, one of your closest priests in this church. However, you aren't scared or shocked, either. Father David is comparable to your real father; you trust him with your whole heart.

“He knows you will come at this time every Monday and Friday.” This is not the first time he has heard about the relationship between you and John. However, it's my first time hearing about your confession or inwardness. He always knows that you always come to confess your sin to John, but he had no clue what sin it was. Father David even knows about how and why John became a priest in the first place, but since John requested Father David not say anything, he hasn't mentioned it with you.

Genuinely, this is quite an embarrassing moment when Father Davin hears all your confessions. However, at least that makes you realize that John is aware of your presence from time to time; he knows you will come every Monday and Friday. Yet he doesn't wish to meet you. He disappeared before you even came. Perhaps he has had enough of your confession. “Father–” Before you can say anything further, he interrupts.

“Try, my child. Try. You must not let your love betray the rules of God.” This might be the real guidance for you—the real guidance that is difficult to understand and accept. You did try; you did try everything you could, but that doesn't work; it doesn't help at all. To let go of him to the hand of God, you should be pleased with him, but it betrays your heart as well.

Your face crunches up and your jaw tenses up before muttering. “Oh, rules…” Say in an irritated tone. You know well what rules he is mentioning here, the rules of priests for not having lovers, marriages, and sexual relations. So-called breaking off from any kind of romantic relationship because this is the core of the priesthood’s role as pure servants who dedicate themselves to serving God.

Your sharp eyes, which are mixed with hope, aim through the confessional grille. “Father. David,” There must be a better resolution to this, a better way to overcome this pain and dilemma. Why everything seems to rely on you alone, why you're the only one who has to deal with this grief when all of these situations happen because of his own choice. You unintentionally blame John for a second for letting this happen to you.

“I can only provide this guidance to you, my child. The point is your heart.” He said it with a hopeful tone in his voice, hoping to help you figure out the situation.

‘My heart? What is wrong with it? What's wrong to love someone or what's wrong to not be able to let go of this love feeling? My heart isn't wrong at all. Why?’ Your betrayal thought slowly consuming you inside. Your head recalls the statement you said earlier when you entered the church. You come here with purity and respect for the people of the church and the Lord.

“My child. Listen.” Your face turns up as your ears listen attentively. “God has a plan for us all.” After Father David gave you the last sentence, he left you alone with thoughts in the confessional. The darkness slowly creeps into the box when the other side of the wicket door shuts. Your hands are released before they are placed down on your lap while your eyes give a blank stare to the confessional grille.

‘God’s a kid with an ant farm, y/n. He’s not planning anything.’ Once John said this when you were having a simple dinner at a street vendor. He always has his rebellious attitude against the higher power. However, you agree with him this time because if God has a plan for us which means everything happens for a reason. Then, what's the reason for this difficult circumstance? To be downhearted? To be depressed? Is this his plan? Why? Perhaps, you got a rebellious attitude from him as well.

God doesn't have any plans for us all, he’s not planning anything. Your hand grabs the handle of your bag, ready to leave with an ungrateful thought. This isn't you at all, you think. This kind of attitude has never happened before, and you despise it as well. You turn your whole body around before the other side of the room’s door cracks open again, you stop suddenly. The movement of someone entering the confessional box makes you have hope. Hope it is John. The yellow light reaches through the grille immediately when the wicket door is opened. The bag in your hand is placed aside before you sit down once again, whereas both of your hands are placed on the confessional grille. “John?” Sometimes you don't call out his name with the word 'Father', which doesn't mean you don't respect him. On the other hand, you just cannot accept his role, his role which makes you feel far away from him. As if he is above you, close to Lord, meanwhile you're a regular human who lives on this earth, just to survive another sad day of your stupid life.

There is no one answering your call at all, and that moment, you're positively sure that it is John. If this is another priest, he must say something.  “I've missed you…” You said with your wobbling lips while your breath seems to be shaking. Your eyes look through the many tiny holes of the confessional grille, determining who it might be.

John is already there for the whole time, behind the confessional box, listening to your confession for the fifteenth time in the past two months. “You shouldn't have come.” His voice is different from usual, you barely recognize this tone of his. Your heart sinks to the bottom when he finally answers, the answer that you don't wish to hear much. You know you shouldn't have come. Why? Why does it look so easy for him to ignore your existence, to ask you to not come again. Why? Hasn’t he thought of you sometimes when he is alone? The question you wish to ask, but you don't have enough courage. The question that you wish he would answer the same as you, the apartment that you used to live with him seems more lonely and less vivid, the bed that used to look so small when he was around, the bathtub seems bigger when you are in it alone. You wish he would think the same or at least, when he prays, does he think of you or say your name in his prayers sometimes?

Your hands slowly trace down to the edge of the grille while your gaze moves to your hands as well, trying to speak without a shaky voice, which seems quite difficult right now. “I know. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have confessed and I shouldn't haven't missed–” 

He interrupts abruptly. “Please [stop].” His sudden speaking catches you unawares. Your eyebrows frown as your eyes looks up to the grille, recalling what he said earlier. You didn't hear it wrong; he needs you to stop. Obviously, he doesn't want to hear it anymore. As if your heart is torn by his words into pieces right in front of him, pieces that you are sure will take much longer to put together. Even though, it already does.

“John… Why does it seem so easy for you to ignore my existence?” You ask because you are curious. Is it easy to ignore your whole existence? Is it easy for him to live his life without you? Is it easy for him to leave everything behind, even you, to the hand of God? Is it true? Meanwhile, every breath you take is difficult without him.

His soft sigh can be heard from the other room. “Please don't [ask me that].” How could you ask such a thing, it's not appropriate at all. This is not the kind of questions you are supposed to ask priests, and you know that well, but your obedient heart still made you ask it anyway.

“I’m sorry. I just wish you would understand me.” You wish since how hard you have tried; it remains the same. Nothing changes, nothing can make him come back to you. Even yourself still seems to be difficult.

“I do, y/n.” How long haven't you heard him call your name? For months, eight weeks to be exact. For a long period of time, you haven't heard anybody call your name since you have no one left in your life. You grew up alone, you ate alone and, you slept alone before you met him. He used to fulfil your life in a way you didn't think he could. It was much better when he was there with you. Much better than you could imagine.

The tired tone of your voice makes him frown. “You don't. Really…” He is hurting you; he knows. He even asked himself, does he really mean it when he said he understands you. Does his heart mean it? The two completely different feelings conflict inside him. He cannot even say he means it. Then you think, if he truly understands you, he wouldn't ask the question in the first place. For a moment of silence, you speak again. “Oh, please…. John…" Your heart needs him so much that it cannot be put into words. Your love remains the same as it is. He becomes a priest; doesn't seem you feel love him less at all. You certainly need him back, need him back to your embrace, to your love he deserves. You wish you could take him back from the hand of God.

His movement takes your attention, speaking through this grille it is difficult to understand each other’s emotions when you barely see each other. All you can do is guess by the sound of their voice and movements. “I cannot love you anymore. I am a priest.” Two weeks after disappearing to come here and hearing this word from his mouth. A priest, a priest and a priest. Over and over. You despise it inside to be honest. “I wish you would understand me.” He added. Even though he already became a priest, his attitude is still the same. He made you miss the old days when you both playfully argue over little things. You laughed and you cried with happy tears.

At this moment, we are asking for each other's understanding and the fact that you both get nothing back. You don't really understand each other, even though you pretend to. You both know it well, but you cannot easily say it away. As if, you walk from different places and try to meet halfway on your path, but you both never really meet each other. You think you meet, but the truth is, you don't.

“Is it because of him? Is it Lucifer?” You finally mentioned one of the names he dislikes. “What is your reason?” You finally asked what you have always thought. Your firm voice makes him try to look for you behind the grille, but he sees nothing. It is too dark for his vision. “There is no need to become a priest, John…” Your hand is placed on the confessional grille as one side of your face nuzzles to it. You desperately want to hear his answer or at least his movements. “You don't have to.” You ended the sentence sharply before trying to breathe, holding your tears. “Why did you leave me?...” You try hard to find any possible reason you can think of, what and why. You haven't asked him like this before until you have had enough grief. All you can do is wish, wish he will finally explain something to you or change his mind.

It has been three months since the tragic incident, three months for the loss of his apprentice, three months for the scariest moment of him when he thought he would lose you and three months after Lucifer gives his new life which he has never asked for. It's unfair.

‘Everything you've ever done, you've only ever done for yourself.’ Once Gabriel said to him after he explained what he had done to earn his way back into his good graces. Then, that was all she said. He will never forget it. It is all about impossible rules, endless regulations. Who goes up, who goes down and why. This is all bullshit. Why? He didn't go to church enough; he didn't pray enough? They eventually can find any possible and fucked up reason for people who unaware with their own past to goes up to heaven or goes down to hell. Then, what is the true regulation when he finally sacrificed himself for you but they still did nothing to stop Lucifer when he interfered on his way to heaven. In the end, here he is, having his new life which he has never asked after almost having his chance to heaven. This all does make no sense for him. Did heaven have no right to help him at all? At least, it should have power over the devil. Why? Why and why? Many ‘why’ questions have been in his goddamn head for months. Or because he hasn't served him enough? Here, becoming a priest is one of his reasons. He needs to know if he does become a priest, he will be able to get to heaven or not. If the last answer is no, he would rather be a heretic.

‘No. You will live, John Constantine. You will live. So you will have… the chance to prove… that your soul truly belongs in hell.’ One thing about Lucifer is that he loves fucking h; hem up, made him live just to prove him that he is no longer belong to heaven, but hell. No matter how hard the devil tries to convince him, he does not belong to hell anymore. Self-sacrifice is enough to guarantee his entry. Why does he have to continue to live, live without knowing what day Lucifer will appear and drag him to hell again. John has no clue about it. Questions and questions without true answers for what he wishes to hear. All he desperately needs is to go up to his good graces, to end these things, to become as ashes and to finally experience peace in heaven. He needs anything rather than to live since he has experienced the things he never asked to see, listening to their screams every fucking night and seeing them roam around him. It is right that he was unaware back then when he was a teenager, he did the wrong thing. A gift Gabriel called it, is not a true gift to him. He lives with it day by day just to use it as his tool to earn his way back. Finally, he did. Then, Lucifer came and took that from him in a second. He has listened to these bullshit lies all of his life, long enough to leave everything behind and even you. He hopelessly needs to go to heaven. This is all a loop, so called a trap until one day he decides to give up.

John changed his path, becoming a priest was the first thought that came into his head. Being a priest would be an expensive ticket for him to earn his way back this time. To help people, to pray, to listen to their confessions, and then to guide a right path for them. He still works as an exorcist, the difference is he is in a priestly form, serving under the church. In order to help people who need his help under the name of this church, to guarantee that he is no longer performing exorcism for himself alone. To finally prove to Lucifer since he hasn't stopped messing up with him. Hell is no longer in his soul; he needs to tip the scales of good and versus bad more decisively in favor of his unaware behavior in the past.

For the whole three minutes, John remains silent. “Say something…” You said as your face still nuzzled on the grille, carefully listening to his answer. John gets back to reality when he hears your beautiful voice.

One minute passed, and he still remains nothing. Why? Doesn't he wish to talk anymore? Your eyebrows frown as your throat starts to become dryer, you barely have energy to speak when the other person goes silent. “John… please…” your voice is so soft as if you're whispering, the fact is you just almost died right there when he remains silent because you cannot know what he is thinking or what he is feeling since the grille blocks between you and him. Just like how religion obstructs you both.

“You wouldn't understand.” His sharp voice cut through your heart. Is that all? All the silence he made earlier; makes you wait just to hear this? This is not the answer you need at all.

“You haven't explained anything, why would I understand?” Your last two words are quite as if you're ready to cry. Maybe, you're. You miss him, but at some point, you hate him for not explaining anything and just leave. Leave without any excuses. He has never told you why.

Perhaps to let it be like this is better than knowing the truth. When he said that, you wouldn't understand what he truly meant. You will find any possible reason to make him come back but that is not how it works; there is nothing to guarantee him since heaven cannot do anything to Lucifer when he has the chance. If it were easy, like you said, he wouldn't become a priest in the first place. He hopelessly needs to go to heaven. “Please, don't come again... I beg you. At least, do it for me.” He doesn't know why he said that, but he finally did. Not seeing each other would be the cure for the pain—to forgive, to forget, and to let go. Frankly, every confession you have made and every word you have ever asked him to go back, he doesn't want to listen to them anymore because it is hard for him to sit there and remain silent or reject you. You have no clue how much he wants to go back, to love you, to kiss you; you have no idea about that, and the worst thing is, you have no clue how hard he tries to ignore your whole existence on this earth. He wants to do those things, but he knows that no matter how much you try, his heart still can't. All his heart needs now are to finally go up to heaven. His life comes with the gift, which he hatefully lives with until death takes him away. He doesn't want to see or hear those creatures anymore. He is so desperate, and he wants to go.

Meanwhile, all the real reasons that have been on his mind, you will never know. The true reason for him becoming a priest is that he will never tell you, and you know damn well that his existence will haunt you forever because you realize he is still alive in this world, but he can't love you, and you can't live with him.

Your lip turns red since you bite it, just to make you feel something more than numbness. Tears slowly pour down your cheeks as your brain keeps repeating his words without your permission. ‘At least for me.’ Why? Isn't it enough? Isn't it enough to let go of him to the hand of the Lord? To let him dress as a priest, sitting back there behind this tiny grille, just to let him serve God or to let him not be able to love you. You do everything for him, and he still asks you not to come, at least for him? How could he say that? you think. Has he never known how much you sacrifice yourself for him or how much you try? You think this is ridiculous; you have always thought that only heaven can take his love from you, and it seems to be true now. While you're losing your mind, the door from the other side is opened. Your eyes switch in the direction; all you see is that his black shadow fades away unhurriedly with the echoing sound of his clerical shoes hitting the ground. They sound far away with every step he takes. He doesn't even wait for your answer.

“Come back… come back to me…” Your voice is light which you can barely hear yourself. You don't understand why you cannot say it out loud. Perhaps, there are too many things you wish to say and you cannot just put them all in at once, you hesitate with all of them and you end up only saying that. He is finally out of your sight, leaving you here all alone with your unforgiving thoughts, while your chest physically feels painful. So, this is how it is like when you hurt so much? You haven't believed that heartbreak can cause physical pain in your chest until now. You clench your hand into a fist before pounding it against your chest, trying to make it stop hurting you. Your cheeks are now full of tears, you eventually can't hold back anymore. Crying and sobbing echoing inside the confessional. You cannot hear anything except your own heartbeat, beating fast in your ears. As if your heart is ready to explode. All you do is try to calm yourself down and think, you feel betrayed by your heart because your heart will do it again for him. At least, for the last time. You hate yourself so much because you do everything but you get nothing in return.

You used to pray and pray. You prayed to God to bring him to you, to make him come back to you, and to help him change his mind. ‘Why Lord? Why do I eventually get nothing at all? Why don't you make him come back to me… I pray but I get nothing back Why?

For a moment of thinking and weeping, you uncontrollably let your rebellious thoughts win. This must be the most rebellious thing you've ever done, you think, as the cross necklace you always wear since he gave it to you in order to prevent unpredictable harm is now taken off by your hands. In this moment, you let your rebellious thoughts consume you deeply. You believe that the divine God and heaven are one of the reasons why he is taken away from you. After these things happened, you might say you lost the faith in God. You pray or do everything you can, and nothing is given to you. You get nothing at all. You are a religious person until the moment you place the cross necklace down on the edge of the confessional grille, and you leave forever.

END

...

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© SATLUN, 2024

[woodpengu]

In order to truly improve oneself, I had to learn what I did/didn't do that stood in the way of growth... and face it. Not what others did to stand in my way. Not what my environment was doing to hold me back. I had to learn the underlying structure of my own coping mechanisms and dismantle each individual gear/cog/bolt until the whole thing could tumble. And that was scary... because those were my emotional support coping mechanisms that withstood the test of the traumas that built them. Also, I'm sentimental and a magpie, so I'll hold onto the things that work, even if I only use them once (or I used to, anyway; it's gotten better-ish). Taking them apart seemed to go against all instinct... except I didn't need them anymore. Once, they were beautiful, protective strategies that aided my survival and helped me through truly heinous experiences. Now, they were rusty structures gumming up the works, because I outgrew their necessity.

Old me would venture into "self-improvement" journeys often, and always meet the first real obstacle with avoidance rather than courage. I had to learn the hard way that the rough patches and dark legs were to be endured if I were to move forward. Instead, I would loop, burying fear and grief underneath the conviction [denial] that "Healthy = Easy". Except I had to get to Healthy, and my foot was nowhere near the first step into that state. The once-beautiful guardians of my soul were now rusting piles of illness blocking forward progression. Clearing the path to improvement meant sitting down and learning how to undo what I built on self-preservation instinct in a massive hurry. It brought up memories of why I built it in the first place and what it protected me from. It made those memories feel like active threats to my psyche even though I was physically so far removed from those environments.

The hardest lesson I needed to learn from looping through the self-improvement track over and over again...:

I could not move forward until I unburied my grievances and came to terms with their sources. I could not go anywhere until I dismantled what I had built because of traumas. I could not become that "best version of self" until I realized the cage I built around myself for protection was now a self-imposed prison I needed to let myself out of in order to feel the sunlight on my face.

Make sure that your journey to self-improvement is not, in fact, a burial of your grief. That graveyard will come to life and haunt you every time you try to move forward, and you have to truly lay it to rest in order to move on.

[esote-rika]

Once Upon a Dream | Spencer Reid

o. introduction and prologue | next chapter | series masterlist

Extended Introduction:

In the soft, fleeting hours of the night, Spencer Reid finds love.

It comes in flashes. 

Honeyed hair and a low, feminine voice. The scent of cinnamon and amber, deep and dizzying. In his dreams, she feels real. How else would he be able to hold her or know that her hands are cold?

He sees her in dizzying detail, from the roots of her hair (which is growing back brown), to her nails (painted a different shade of pastel), down to the crescent birthmark on her ankle. The detail deceives him into believing she is real. 

At one point, he thought she was Maeve, because of the blonde hair. However, he has heard Maeve before. For months, the sound of her voice was the only thing he truly knew about her. 

This ephemeral being in his dreams does not sound like Maeve.

Certainly, she reminds him of Maeve, with the way she slips away before he can get a good look at her face.

Oh, the things he would do to get a glimpse of her face, to see her beyond his dreams.

New York City is loud. 

Everyone is doing their own versions of spells here, prayers and meditations and manifestations late into the night. Everyone is trying to be something, someone, and it all rings in a near painful cacophony of desperation and drive.

Jet Clarke has learned to tune it out, learned that surrounding her bed with salt and wearing black tourmaline helps give her a moment of peace, especially in the night when she's trying to get some sleep.

Somehow, he still manages to slip through. Who? She doesn't know. She's more concerned over the fact that he keeps getting past her protective spells than she is about his identity.

Sure her defenses weren't top notch (she had never truly paid attention to the defense lessons from her aunts), but for the most part, they work. It had been able to block the coven of overeager teen girls down the street who are still testing the limits of their gifts. 

So she doesn't understand why she continues to dream of eyes that look like liquid gold, and flashes of purple fabric.

When Jet's sister becomes a person of interest in a series of murders, she goes back to her quaint hometown in Massachusetts, only to find herself face to face with one of the FBI agents handling the case. 

The very same man who's been haunting her dreams.

Face claims (because I'm extra and I already made them, might as well post. feel free to ignore though lol)

Matther Gray Gubler as Spencer Reid "If your spells always feel like this, then never stop casting them on me."

Carey Mulligan as Jet Clarke "It's not fair, Spence, having eyes like yours; they're their own kind of magic."

Claudia Jessie as Lenore Clarke "For a couple of smart people, you're both pretty idiotic."

Prologue:

Once upon a time—or so how most fairy tales begin. With a princess, fair and lovely, in a castle. Or some small children in the woods. Fairies. A talking animal. A witch in an old cottage.

—A curse.

Ah, yes. Gamble your name, your first born child, your very soul, in order to escape a marriage, or for a chance at gold and riches. Maybe you've been cruel to an old crone who's harboring a secret power, and got turned into a frog, or a strange beast. 

Maybe you were the unfortunate girl tasked to save the creature, change them back into a handsome young man through your love, or, a simple but pure kiss.

Or, perhaps your parents pissed off a powerful fairy, or your beauty threatened a witch and one wrong move would send you into a hundred years of sleep.

—But the eldest Clarke daughter isn't cursed in that way, oh no. Hers had begun as protection, passed on through the eldest child of every generation of their family. 

A cloaking spell, given to one of their ancestors centuries ago, to keep the young maiden from being tracked down by a rich man who wanted her for his wife. The woman grew paranoid and desperate, elevating the spell until she became undetectable unless she herself gave up her location. 

(Because, contrary to some belief, consent is, and will forever be, attractive.)

So strong was the spell that she inadvertently passed it onto her descendants, the oldest child in each family, for she too was the oldest among her siblings. 

A spell given with no ill intentions, merely to protect. 

In the modern world, it meant that Bridget Clarke can't ever be pinned on location tracking apps, nor can she be stalked. Which would be helpful if she were ever susceptible to stalking, but between her and her sister Lenore, the younger one was more likely to have stalkers, being as popular as she is. 

But it also meant the Jet could escape whenever she needs to, without the fear of someone ever finding her when she isn't ready to be found yet. 

(Once upon a time, there was a little girl who forced herself to stop hiding out of the fear that everyone would eventually grow tired of looking.)

A/N: I adore this story, but the initial idea for a practical magic inspired Spencer Reid fic is from my beloved @g4rvez-r3id <3 finally found the time to post it on here as well. I'm going for some magical realism, so there's no complicated magic systems, just some cozy witchy vibes with magic that simply exists in-world. If you're not into that or believe in it, please be respectful, I don't want anyone disrespecting the practice. If there ARE people who practice witchcraft in any shape or form, and see that I've written something inaccurate, please let me know. I'm doing research as well, but it won't be super in-depth, so any kind corrections are welcome Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think :)

[cherry4ecstasy]

The real meaning of vampirism.

(A reading from the point of view of a mortal nestled in the arms of a vampire lord)

🦇¶Whether or not a vampire retains any memory from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once pure feelings become twisted by undeath.¶🦇

Angst.

Losing myself in his stiff, marble-like embrace, I wish only to quiet the ceaseless torrent of paranoid thoughts that swarm his mind.

His arms, cold as stone, might offer a brief reprieve from the agony of knowing what he truly is, what he has become. My heart aches with a grief I can never express, a sorrow born not just from what I feel for him but for the cruel fate that shaped him into this hollow, haunted figure.

Cazador Szarr was not born a monster. He was cursed to become one.

The weight of that curse is evident in every calculated movement, every smile that never quite touches his eyes. His emotions, once perhaps rich and complex, have withered under the relentless strain of immortality. I know that somewhere, deep beneath that cold exterior, there was once a spark of humanity; now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Being undead doesn’t just strip away life, it distorts your very soul. What once was friendship becomes jealousy, love becomes obsession, desire turns to possession and beauty shifts into lust.

I have to remind myself that his cruelty is not the result of some sadistic game he enjoys playing.

No, it’s simply who he is now.

His emotions, like everything else, have decayed, leaving behind nothing but twisted shadows of what once was. To expect warmth or tenderness from him would be to ask the sun to shine in the dead of night. He is a product of centuries of loss, of a life that can never be reclaimed, and in that realization lies the tragedy of my feelings for him.

Despite knowing all this, I still long for him. I long for that cold embrace, for a fleeting moment of stillness where I could pretend that beneath the monster, there is something, anything, of the man he once was.

And right now, in his crushing embrace, there is no heartbeat to match my own, no warmth to cling to; only the cold void that fills the space where life once thrived.

The silence between us is deafening, an emptiness in perfect, chilling harmony with the fragility of my weak, mortal body. His nails brush through my hair, each movement precise and deliberate, but the tenderness is overshadowed by the sharp, lingering sting beneath my scalp. Pain flows through me, but I stay still, letting it root deeper, because this is the closest I will ever be to him.

As I look into his eyes, gleaming red like embers that never truly die out, my tears fall without restraint. They are warm, alive, in stark contrast to the frozen depths of his gaze.

If only those salty drops, filled with the essence of my vitality, could somehow wash away his eternal damnation. My sorrow wells up not only for what he has lost, but for the terrible truth that nothing in this world, not even my love, can lift the curse that binds him.

I will never be his sun, for my light would reduce him to ashes. But still, I ache to be something, anything, in his world of perpetual night; a small place of warmth, where my fleeting mortality might offer him a taste of what it is to live again. Perhaps in the brief brush of my fragile life against his immortality, there could be some small solace for him, even if it is fleeting, even if it is hopeless.

His beauty is unlike anything else, so unnatural yet deadly charming. He is my favourite painting come to life, a work of dark art perfected beyond mortal comprehension. His black hair, sleek and lustrous, falls like liquid night over his broad shoulders, a cascade of shadows that only heightens his mystery. It frames his face perfectly, parting just enough to reveal the tips of his elven ears and the gleam of silver piercings that catch the dim light, adding a touch of cold elegance.

His pale skin is flawless, like marble brought to life, each feature chiselled with such precision it feels unreal, as if sculpted by the hand of a master artist who knew no limits. The sharp angles of his jawline, the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the curve of his lips; they all speak of an otherworldly perfection that haunts my every thought. He is a living statue, a vision of untouchable grace, and I can’t help but yearn to be as perfect as him.

Yet, I know that beneath that perfection lies the curse, the darkness that twists beauty into something cold and unreachable. But still, I am drawn to him, captivated by his deadly allure, willing to lose myself in that darkness if it means being near him.

Entangled in the heavy silence of the night, the occasional howl of the wind and the distant hoot of an owl are the only witnesses to this moment. His cold, undead lips brush against my forehead in a gesture that feels both reassuring and possessive. It's a quiet reminder, unspoken but understood, that I belong to him and him alone. No words pass between us, because none are needed. In this stillness, we share something deeper than speech; a connection forged through the burden of survival that weighs on both of us.

For him, it's the endless existence that strips away the warmth of life, leaving only the icy necessity of control. For me, it’s the fragile, fleeting mortality I cling to, even as I feel myself drawn deeper into his world. Together, we are bound by the quiet, eternal struggle against the loneliness that haunts us both. In this moment, we are neither predator nor prey, just two souls navigating the shadows of an existence that no one else can understand.

Under the nocturnal sun, I search for a word to describe this complex relationship. A bond that defies the simplicity of love, or even obsession. It is more like a rare flower, one that only blooms in the dark hours, hidden from the world and nourished by shadows. It thrives in the quiet, unseen spaces between us, delicate yet resilient, beautiful yet dangerous. A love tainted by survival, where tenderness and terror intertwine, feeding off each other in a way that is as intoxicating as it is destructive.

Perhaps there is no word for something so paradoxical.

It is simply us.

((Paintings, Schiele - The embrace; Munch - Love and Pain))

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I want to be pristinely clear that while "The Melody of Love" critiques patriarchy, it doesn't promote the war or tension between sexes, this deep soul wounding, or encourage the de-centering of men. While I understand what women who participate in this movement are trying to do and I agree that there is a dire need for women to stop obsessing over men and generally become priorities in their lives, when you listen to those who promote this movement, there is a haunting hollowness of hidden, unaddressed hurt and pain at the root.

That's why the "de-centering men" movement would never be part of my mission. Far from it. I like to get to the root of the reality—which is deep in the body and not out there. And yes, you should be at the center of your reality, at the center of your universe, the "de-centering men" movement puts a wedge between men and women, instead of bringing us all together, including non-binary people. As usual, I find myself not being part of typical polarized ways of thinking, and more present in a nuanced 3rd lane which has been the case for most of my life. When the handy man comes over to work on my home, if I'm in that movement, I would not consider giving him some tea, juice, or water to quench his thirst. While this gesture from me is not necessary, it does show kindness to someone who enters your home and will feel thought of and move around your space with good vibes due to your hospitality. Such beautiful energy shared between two people and emitted out into an aching world.

Through my critiques, I am making a much larger point about the level of harm these systems-patriarchy, capitalism, and Abrahamic religion do to us because they live in our bodies. They cause breast pain, pelvic pain, back pain, pussy pain, period pain, blood clots, cysts, tumors, and the like. These systems ferment like sauerkraut into our breasts/hearts, hips, bellies, tailbones, and spines and impact our wellness like our moon cycles and experiences with menopause. They negatively influence how we breathe, how we think and perceive, how we make love, how we regenerate, the care and attention we cook a meal, and what we receive and attract. They trigger us to value production over getting a good quality of rest and not staying up late at night. These punitive systems do the work of keeping our nervous systems locked into flight or fight and survival states on a daily basis. Only healthy relaxed women engage the most openhearted passionate love and yield healthy families and healthy communities/villages.

But I don't just critique like an academic. I am rootsy, braless, barefoot, and revolutionary to my core, therefore, I channel practical solutions that lead readers towards healing their bodies and truly evolving their lives into bliss.

The melody of love movement is about deep spiritual repair and care: the strength and capacity of love, the truth of our soul and destiny, the intimacies and passion of the body meeting earth, and the regenerative qualities of the female body and how they favorably impact her quality of well-being and abundance. Essentially my work brings your body into a state of love that allows you to masterfully maneuver beyond these wicked systems as an embodiment of love, one of the highest frequency, a reclamation of your original sovereign template that taps you into the inexhaustible reservoir of energy that lives inside your female body, this spark of creation. After we build up our energy and increase our capacity, it is my vision that we will then lend our bodies over to being of service to something larger that favorably recalibrates our global world into greater harmony.

There is actually a deep yearning present inside my own heart to witness more men truly rise into a more healthy honorable expression of themselves on the planet. To de-center men, no matter what your sexuality may be, yields great harm to the feminine heart. I’m not sorry to say this but-- a real woman could never do that. She would die sorrowful...deeply heartbroken. -India Ame'ye, Author

[persephonememes]

* (  THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR /  SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ i was just really, really sad. ❜

❛ dead doesn’t mean gone. ❜

❛ i thought i was going to die too. ❜

❛ it only felt like dying because, actually, i was still alive. ❜

❛ to truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them. ❜

❛ we can’t count on the past. ❜

❛ we think we have it trapped in our memories, but memories fade. ❜

❛ you’ll find it much quieter out here. ❜

❛ any of us could die at any moment. ❜

❛ she/he was my anchor. ❜

❛ i’m a lot braver than people think. ❜

❛ nothing holds, and all things change, given time. ❜

❛ change does not often announce itself. ❜

❛ all things fade. ❜

❛ time takes all things. ❜

❛ it is the way of the world. ❜

❛ the past recedes, memories fade, and so, true, does the spirit. ❜

❛ everything yields to time, even the soul. ❜

❛ there’s a difference between feeling good and feeling alive. ❜

❛ funerals are for the living. it’s up to the living to decide what they can and cannot bear. ❜

❛ i don’t know why brilliant young women are always punished. ❜

❛ you don’t have to lose yourself to find happiness, you know. ❜

❛ i was having the strangest dream. ❜

❛ what have you got when your back’s against the wall when there’s nothing left for you but faith? ❜

❛ sometimes, right can seem wrong, and wrong can seem right. ❜

❛ do you know what life is really all about? ❜

❛ save them all if you can, but put your own oxygen mask on first. ❜

❛ death is something to mourn, not fear. ❜

❛ i wasn't going to ask you if you're alright because i don't like being lied to. so, what's wrong? ❜

❛ everyone is exhaustive. even the best ones. ❜

❛ we are meant to die. it's natural. ❜

❛ every living thing grows out of every dying thing. ❜

❛ that's where all it's beauty lies, you know, in the mortality of the thing. ❜

❛ one day at a time is what we've got. ❜

❛ one day at a time is what we've got. it's what everybody's got, if you get down to it. ❜

❛ if you can't feel anything, then i'll feel everything for the both of us. ❜

❛ but no one is going anywhere, okay? ❜

❛ you shouldn't be thinking of losing each-other at all. ❜

❛ don't let that loom over your happiness right now. ❜

❛ it is rare what you've got. ❜

❛ what is the catch? ❜

❛ i’m not running, from anything and it hurts me when you say that. ❜

❛ perfectly splendid. ❜

❛ you have to promise me that you’ll stay in your room. ❜

❛ none of us are blameless. ❜

❛ on a scale of zero to american, how would you rate her? ❜

❛ it’s such a draining thing, dealing with children. ❜

❛ i have an inquiring mind. ❜

❛ we both know you don’t make mistakes. ❜

❛ let me guess, you are to be our very own mary poppins? ❜

❛ i hope she haunts that fucker forever. ❜

❛ why should anyone hate a lake? ❜

❛ let me show you just how beautiful you are. ❜

❛ it’s just you and me then. ❜

❛ look at you all flush. you’re pretty when you blush. ❜

❛ being with him might be scary at times but, it’s also exciting and fun. ❜

❛ and for the first time in my life, that little voice in my head saying i’m not good enough has disappeared. ❜

❛ i’ve never felt so alive. ❜

❛ i swear, you’re such a bore, and you don’t know when the leave well enough alone. ❜

❛ sometimes people just need to be alone. ❜

❛ i couldn’t sleep. i feel like i can never sleep again, frankly. ❜

❛ haven’t we done this already? ❜

❛ i have a surprise for you. ❜

❛ i have a surprise for you. ❜

❛ don’t leave your room at night. ❜

❛ the past is always present. ❜

❛ the stories we tell each other have a way of changing. ❜

❛ love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered and i fear i never will. ❜

❛ no good ever comes from dwelling on the worst. ❜

❛ you can’t choose who you love. ❜

❛ ghosts do not have to be scary. they can be comforting. ❜

❛ the heart is a fragile thing, and it can break in many different ways. ❜

❛ people often fear what they cannot understand. ❜

❛ we are all haunted in some way, by the things we have lost or the things we have done. ❜

❛ death is not the end, it’s just a door we all have to go through. ❜

❛ the past cannot be changed, but it can still hurt us. ❜

❛ the things we bury have a way of finding their way back to the surface. ❜

❛ some people are born to be alone, and others are born to be together. ❜

❛ ghosts are memories, and memories are what make us who we are. ❜

❛ the dead don’t really leave us. they live on in the memories we have of them. ❜

❛ the more we try to run from something, the more it chases us. ❜

❛ we all have a shadow self, the part of us that we don’t like to admit exists. ❜

❛ the world is full of secrets, and some are best left buried. ❜

❛ the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes that can be a terrifying thing. ❜

❛ every relationship is a dance, and both people need to be willing to take a step forward. ❜

❛ life can be cruel, but it can also be beautiful. ❜

❛ we are all just playing a part, but some roles are harder to shake off than others. ❜

❛ the past is written, but the future is still unwritten. ❜

❛ the greatest tragedy in life is not death, but the things we leave unsaid. ❜

❛ i do not like this game. ❜

❛ i'm actually pretty in love with you. ❜

❛ no one should ever need that much help. ❜

❛ you let me handle this part. ❜

❛ the wrong kind of love can fuck you up, follow you and make you do some really stupid shit. ❜

[gay-dorito-dust]

hey if you’re still taking billy bateson requests could you do one where him and reader are already dating but then he meets his mom and shows up at readers window crying and it’s just lots of hurt/comfort

Honestly didn’t know how to end this fic.

You were alredy experiencing a sleepless night when you heard the tapping of knuckles on glass, indicating the desire to be acknowledged and let inside. You probably should’ve exercised caution beforehand but as you tore open your curtains with haste, and exposing the inner workings of your bedroom to the darkness that lurked just outside, all you could clearly focus in on was the tear streaks on Billy’s cheeks.

‘Billy?’ You breathed.

‘Yeah, it’s me…mind letting me in? My fingers are kinda going numb here.’ He replied, his voice wavering beneath the weight of his unprocessed emotions from what transpired earlier on.

‘Oh, yeah. Sorry.’ You said as you opened the window, allowing for a cold rush of air to pass through you, causing you to conscientiously rub at your arms, whilst your boyfriend manoeuvres his way inside until he was able to fully stand inside your room. Yet his stance seemed a little hunched in on itself, he nervously fiddled with his fingers, his eyes were downcast and upset. It wasn’t until that moment that you knew what you were looking at;

A lost boy having been rejected by his mother a second time.

You weren’t given the chance to openly console Billy when he came rushing into your arms, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, where you felt the wetness of his tears streak down to your shoulder, soaking the collar of your shirt but that was of no importance to you when you held the broken fragments of your boyfriend in your arms; praying that your embrace could heal him of all his ailments and make him whole once more. ‘She didn’t want me.’ Billy cried, ‘she couldn’t even bring herself to look at me…’ the more he spoke, the more your heart broke.

‘What’s so wrong with me that she can’t take me back?’ You pulled back, soul wincing when you heard his weak whines as his arms held you tightly, deathly afraid that you were going to walk out your bedroom door, never to return for him. ‘Billy, you listen to me and you listen to me good.’ You held his face in your hands, running your thumbs beneath his eyes to dry away his tears, ‘there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. If there’s anyone who’s wrong, it’s your mother for not seeing you for the smart, sweet and beautiful boy that i see you as.’

‘Then why can’t she see that?’ Billy asked, hopelessly. He didn’t think what meeting his mother would entail, he was more transfixed on the idea of having a family to belong to, that he had long forgotten that his mother was first person to betray him and cause him detrimental effects that haunt him still. ‘Because she’s a selfish woman Billy. She only prioritises herself, no matter how many she hurts in the process,’ Billy’s eyes left your face but you moved your head to keep the contact, knowing that while this may hurt for him to hear it but he needed to hear it none the less, you weren’t going to lie to him, ‘even her own son. She left you for selfish reasonings that aren’t excusable.’

‘You won’t leave me…will you?’ Billy asked suddenly, looking at you like a frighten child and clinging onto you tighter as though you were going to slip through his fingertips like sand. God he looked so broken, even more so with the fractures of his hardened facade finally revealing the boy he truly was, the boy who still aching for his mothers love beneath, a boy who felt undoubtably alone and scared, forced into a life filled with more cold hearted monsters then kind hearted humans. ‘No Billy,’ you told him softly, ‘there’s not a chance in hell there’ll ever come a day where I’d leave you. I’m staying for the long haul, baby.’ You then began prepping his face in kisses, making him chuckle for the first time that night.

‘You wanna stay the night or do you want me to call Victor and Rosa?’ You asked him when you noticed the fatigue of today weighing on his shoulders finally taking it’s toll on Billy. ‘Am I allowed to stay the night?’ He asked almost meekly as his hand grasped at your own that remained stuck to his cheek, bringing it down to his side to fiddle with your fingers before intertwining them together. ‘You’re more then welcome to stay the night Billy,’ you tell him, squeezing his hand, ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to. I just want you to make the decision yourself.’

Billy smiled, ‘okay,’ he says, ‘it looks like I’m staying the night.’

[some-pers0n]

White Noise Telepath

Fandom: WoF

Characters [OCs]: Sol, Miasma

CW: Nothing

Summary: Solstice (or rather Sol, thank you very much) is an explorer who has recently rediscovered the Lost City of Night. However, after looking around a fair bit, he uncovers something...odd. That isn't any NightWing he's ever seen before.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This one goes out to @kratt09. I saw you tag me saying you want to know more about my OCs. Here's my WoF ones. These new ones are silly. I'd love to ramble a bit more about their lore if pressed. Or other OCs too, I guess.

Even when coming here knowing that it would be a haunting sight to behold, there was nothing else even comparable to the beauty of the Lost City of Night. Ruined buildings from an age long forgotten. Abandoned and left to the sands of time. Even the insects and lizards avoid this place, deeming it as too unsafe. Cursed land that remains to this day to be uninhabitable to even the most desperate of scavengers. Not one soul dared to step into such an infernal city.

Meaning it was a great place for aspiring explorer, Solstice of the SandWings, to check out!

Solstice (or rather Sol, thank you very much) was always enamoured by the legends of ancient cities and lost worlds. The forgotten Kingdom of Night and the legends surrounding it were fascinating. Nobody truly believed in it. Some thought that it never existed, while others were convinced that the Darkstalker fellow fully destroyed it. Nobody could agree on how or why he did it. Some said he sunk it into the ocean because he deemed them all unworthy to keep living. Others said he burned it after the queen had slain his lover. A couple of times he read tales of the Darkstalker simply killing them all instantly so their souls will pass on in peace.

Whatever it was, it sure didn't work. The city was still here, albeit in a dilapidated state. That and the fact that the NightWings still roam the continent, so the giant murder plot didn't pan out in the end. At least some stragglers got through.

Sol climbed on top of a fallen pillar, overlooking the landscape. He was staring at what must have been the plaza. The rotting remains of marketing stalls were half-buried in the sand. Through it all, Sol could almost make out the patterning of the stone walkways below.

"Oh, marvellous!" he muttered, pulling out his sketching scroll and jotted down some notes. A good explorer always writes down their discoveries, do they not? He didn't exactly want any other dragon to come around. Queens and their "expeditions" were more like glorified tomb-raiding. What he was doing? Simply marking locations and visiting worlds of the past before going back to write his adventures. He was sure there would be some dragons out there who would love his tales and findings.

The sun shone warmly in the sky, beaming down onto his black and grey scales. He had orange accents that streaked down his neck and claws. It was as though it were a river of lava pouring and streaming down obsidian, following his body and splintering off into sections. Or rather, the ring of light around a moon during an eclipse. Striking and lovely in its own way.

He slipped his inkwell and scroll back into his messenger bag, slinging it back over his neck. He Hopped down and walked around the deserted plaza. The sand was coarse, yet fine and soft to the touch. It was quiet. The air was still and the only sounds were Sol's talonsteps.

Yet...the lifeless city didn't feel as empty as it should. A small, unsettling feeling in his stomach grew as he thought about it more. Perhaps he was being paranoid and a coward, but he couldn't shake it off. He took small breaths to try and calm himself. Yeah, maybe he was just being a bit overdramatic-

...what was that? He craned his neck, facing a seemingly vacant alleyway. It was a tight space. He could fit in it, but with not too much wiggle room to spare. He could've sworn he heard something. Shuffling. The faintest breathing. Something was in there. It had to be.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody there? Am I just going crazy or...is there actually anybody there?"

No response.

"Well, if you aren't going to come out now, it's going to bother me for the rest of time." He stepped forward, readying his claws. This was stupid, yes, but one must prepare for anything when exploring these ruins. Once or twice before he had a close encounter with a dangerous mongoose. Gave him a nasty little bite, that horrible bugger.

He walked into the alleyway. It was even tighter than he thought. His breathing was strained as he looked around to try and figure out where the source of the noise was. Then, he heard it again. Rustling. What's worse is that now he knew where it was coming from.

It was directly in front of him.

He looked down, seeing pale white scales somewhat buried in the sand. It was a long, bulky serpentine body that twisted and shifted around. Right at his feet he could make out the head. Its eyes were a striking red as its tongue flicked out to taste the air.

It was a snake.

"VIPER!" He stepped back, almost tripping over his talons. "Moons above, are you..." he muttered, "no, no you can't be. You're too pale to be a dragonbite viper. Unless you're albino or something." He inched away more. "Please don't kill me... I quite enjoy living, thanks."

The snake looked at him, its eyes unblinking. It slithered closer to him. He was about to try and stomp on it when he heard a voice.

"Tallus! Clearsight above... Gave me a proper heart attack with your little disappearing act."

Sol looked forward. To his surprise, a dragon was standing there. What made him worry was the alien appearance of them. Slender and sharp, almost reminding him of a RainWing. Her scales were a rich, deep purple. It was as though staring at a part of the starry skies above. She had two sets of black horns. One set came from the front. They were small and pointed upward. The other went out from the back and curved around like a ram.

The most bizarre thing were the wings. Four of them. They were thin and translucent, resting at the side. The word "wasp" popped into his head. They were more bug than they were dragon.

She picked up the snake and looked up at Sol. She tilted her head, a confused, yet playful expression on her face. "Oh, hello! You're new." She rested the snake around her neck and approached him. The scales glittered in the afternoon light. He noticed she was wearing a large black hat, little stings hanging from it with beads attached to the end. Her glasses were silver with lavender-coloured lenses. Along her horns and body were tiny accents of white.

Above all though, she radiated a feeling of warmth. Not in a typical sense, but looking at her was fairly calming. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about her though. Well, other than the whole bug-dragon thing.

"Salutations, I'm Miasma. Pleasure to meet you." She held out her talons. "You must be one of these SandWings I've heard so much about. Barb and all."

Sol stammered and stuttered. He stumbled to form the words he wanted to say. He wanted to do something, say anything. Why was she in the Kingdom of Night? Why did she look so strange and nothing like any other dragon he'd seen before?

Instead, he sputtered out, "can I draw you?" He cringed instantly. "No wait! That was the wrong thing to say. Talons and tails, I'm so sorry..."

Miasma squinted briefly before laughing. It was hearty and warm. "Draw me?" she scoffed. "What for? I don't see why."

Well, now that he dug this hole for himself, he might as well keep going. "What tribe are you?" he asked.

"Mh? Oh, a NightWing."

His eyes widened. "Excuse me, what?"

"NightWing. Can't you tell? I would've thought all of you would at least recognize another tribe by their appearance."

Sol stared at the very un-NightWing-like dragon. "...I don't think I've ever seen a dragon like you before?"

"Welp, now you have." She looked him up and down. "So, I gave a little bit of background on me. Don'tcha think you could do the same for me? Not like I'm going to steal your name or anything."

He got up on his feet, dusting off the extra sand. "My name is Solstice. I prefer Sol though." He shook her talons.

"Nice seeing another dragon here at my base of operations. That's what I like to call my home, by the way.

"I can tell."

"Not too often do I see living dragons around here. Come to think of it, I haven't seen anybody in...well, ages! Ah well, I'm sure there are reasons."

"Yeah, there are. There was a curse placed on this kingdom. Dragons being superstitious avoid it, and eventually it becomes a lost piece of history."

"Huh. Odd. I've been around here since I can remember and I haven't heard a thing."

"How long have you been around here for then?"

"Hm...since I hatched? Don't recall too much. Foggy memory and all. Actually, it's all somewhat cloudy. All I can safely say I remember is waking up on the shore with only my name." She shrugged. "Mystery for another day though! Doesn't bother me none." She turned her attention back to him. "So, what brings you here?"

"Huh? Me?" Sol pointed to himself. "Exploring mostly. I've always wanted to come here and find this place. Lo and behold, I do. I've been taking notes and drawing things and then, well, your snake scared me."

"Tallus spooked you?" She laughed, letting the snake coil around her neck. "He's just a big suck. He can't hurt a fly. Literally. I have to go look for some plants for him to eat. Usually, I go over to the big rainforest area and pick berries and such."

"Wait, the Rainforest Kingdom?"

"That's what it's called? Galaxies and geckos, my brain is just scattered," she chuckled. "Regardless, I like visiting there every once in a while. Find some new trinkets and, if I've brought those old goggles, I can chat with the locals. Dead locals, but locals nonetheless."

"I'm sorry what?" Sol asked. "Hold on, hold on. Back up. I'm sorry if this comes off as...well, rude, but can you explain what's going on a bit? Why are you here? What do you mean by all of this? Who even are you? Why do you look like that?"

She blinked. "Well, my name is Misama. I am a NightWing. I live in the now-ruined NightWing kingdom. I do so because it is my home. I collect weird objects and such. They are pretty strange and some have different properties- OOH!! You might know some of them!" She began to walk deeper into the city. "Come on!"

"Still not my name!" he said. Yet, he couldn't help himself but follow. This was a great find. A living dragon in the NightWing ruins. Not to mention such a strange and bug-like form too. Despite her instance, it was safe to say this was an entirely new tribe! Was it dangerous to trust her? Oh, absolutely. Yet, there was a feel to her that was comforting and cozy.

Still, one could never be too safe. As he trailed after her, he watched her movements. He noticed that her wings didn't move too much. When they did, she winced. Were they hurt? He didn't want to pry too much. Regardless, he looked more at the city around them and where she was going.

To his surprise, she led him to the castle. Rubble littered what used to be the garden. Statues of what once were historical dragons were crumbled and eroded. She led him up the dusty ebony stairs and towards the door. "It takes a while to get there. Sorry!" She slipped through the archway and into the castle proper.

Sol ran after her. The interior was desolate and abandoned. The sprawling halls were massive, the ceiling itself stretching farther than what he could have ever imagined. His talons clicked against the black marble floor. The occasional hole in the roof let the daylight bleed through.

Finally, after chasing her down through corridor after corridor and up a long, long flight of stairs, she stopped. "There we go. Hope that wasn't too much of an issue there." She gave a small, perky grin.

"Moons above..." he wheezed. "How do you have so much energy?"

"Here it is though! My little section right for weird objects." She completely ignored him, opening the metal door. "This was actually bolted pretty good before I came here. Can't see why though."

Inside were shelves upon shelves of scrolls, rocks, pieces of jewelry, crowns, sceptres, anything. Dazzling objects of various shapes and sizes. Instantly upon seeing it all, Sol was hit with a wave of disgust and repulsion. Being near these things felt wrong. They weren't supposed to exist. 

Yet, Miasma was unphased. She just walked in like nothing was wrong. In fact, she took notice of Sol's change in attitude. "What's wrong?"

"Moons, how can you stand to be near that?" he mustered, stepping away. "It's awful."

She frowned. "...what?" she asked.

"Sorry, didn't mean to say it like that! I just..." Sol's eyes widened. "Blazing scales, are those animus touched!?"

"Animus?" she echoed. "That sounds familiar."

"They must be animus touched. I've read about them having this effect. Wrongness. Like a distortion in reality." He took another step. "How can you just stand to be in there?"

"I dunno. Nothing really feels wrong. Maybe I'm just used to it." She shrugged. "It's really cool in here though. C'mon! Nothing's going to bite you or anything."

Solstice looked at Miasma, then back at the room. He flexed his claws. He was an explorer after all. This would be a massive find. All of these animus enchanted objects. Imagine what they could do! All of the information he can bring back and write about. 

He flexed his claws and then marched on in. Fear cannot stop him now.

[folkwhore1998]

Meet me at midnight 🕛

She is a legend, an icon, she IS the moment! Midnights let Taylor be bejeweled again for the first time since 2019. She was most definetly shining with folklore and evermore, but she wanted deliver pop and she served it on an ice cold platter.

Midnights took awhile to grow on me. It was another slow burn just as 1989 was. I am by no means saying "it is a bad album" because that is the furthest thing from the truth and I do not believe she has a single bad album. I think what it was for me was it was such a big jump from what folklore and evermore was and I don't really know what it was I was expecting.

Reputation and Lover are some of my favorite aesthetics, but Midnights is right up there with them. The photos Taylor shot to promote the album were beautiful and I honestly believe they match Midnight's energy so well.

The rollout for Midnights was unreal and was so much fun. Midnights Mayhem with Me?!?! INCREDIBLE. It was such a creative way to engage and connect with her fanbase.

Side note: There are people who do not like Taylor and everyone is entitled to their (wrong) opinion. Because of this, they always try to discredit her and minimize her impact by saying "I just don't see the hype" or "I don't get why she is all I see on my social media" and the answer is: Taylor puts in the work to make being apart of this fandom so much fun and does things intentionally to connect with her fanbase. Of course every artist has to do this, however Taylor has made it a mission and priority to do this in a unique fashion that her fanbase truly engages with.

Would've, Could've, Should've (to me) is a song fueled by justified anger and resentment towards someone who took advantage of your youth. It is a matter of stealing and taking advantage of your time, but it is so much more a matter of stealing that innocence and blissful ignorance you have as a teenage girl. And to be honest, some of the lyrics in this song mirror how trauma from past abuse haunts me: (God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind; I regret you all the time; I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep; The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign) I REGRET YOU ALL THE TIME. I cried the first time I heard it.

Here is my ranking of Midnights!

You're Losing Me

You're On Your Own, Kid

Mastermind

High Infidelity

Would've, Could've, Should've

Anti-Hero

Question...?

Labyrinth

Midnight Rain

Vigilante Shit

Maroon

Bejeweled

Hits Different

Sweet Nothing

Karma

The Great War

Snow on The Beach

Dear Reader

Lavender Haze

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

Paris

Glitch

Honorable mentions:

what does the upside down phone mean. please.

me when i'm snapchatting and realize i'm drunk

you're losing me altered my brain chemistry

and when i tell you i sobbed, i'm NOT joking.

it was rare, i was there (on a grainy livestream)

Check out these Swiftie small businesses!

Here is the link to anti-hero wrapping paper! I think this is SO much fun!!! Birthdays, holidays, and just because:

Look at how fun this anti-hero ghost crewneck is! Such a good crewneck for Halloween (or anytime):

You know whats coming... don't forget to vote for me for everything!:

https://vote.gov/

@taylornation. @taylorswift

[a-rum-of-ones-own]

I found you because of Dramione, but I’m staying for the sapphic romances. Been questioning and exploring my sexuality lately, and your F/F pairing stories are akin to a balm. The characterizations pull at my heart and sink into it. The overall themes easily carry and work with the granularities of the stories, and the beauty and skill of your words ties it all together effortlessly. Thank you for sharing your brilliance with us. I sincerely hope we get to read more of the rare pairs from you. I can’t decide whether I like Fleur/Tonks or Hermione/Lavender more and I’d love to have more of these dilemmas. Yes please and thank you again. That said, I’d love to know: what are your favorite sapphic romances or essays/ podcasts about being sapphic?

Thank you so, so much! My f/f stuff kind of sits close to my heart in a special way- obviously, all my writing is close to my heart, but the f/f stuff just resonates with my own life and experience a bit more. Writing straight romance is super fun because it's an opportunity to explore characters as characters, a bit more divorced from me, but the gay stuff always feels like tapping little 16-year-old Rum on the shoulder and going 'you'll be fine, you darling little idiot'. It's just always so lovely when someone likes it 😭

I'm currently working on a Luna/Ginny WIP, if you want to check out the first two chapters that are up already! No fixed schedule, but I'm promising nuns and soft angst and a Big Queer HaircutTM!

Oooooh, my favourite sapphic stuff! Let me get the recommendation bag out, lol. With the usual disclaimer that I don't know everything, have read too little, and am limited by my own experience.

First off, fanfic, because that's how we all got here. There's this one story called Skirt Full of Thorns by montparnasse that I think I first read in....2021? And I love it. I was one of those lesbians who clung to the idea of being bisexual for a long-ass time and against all reason (I was out there dating women and loving it, and dating men and feeling very 'meh' about it, and still didn't realise what that might mean until I was....21?) and this story just captures something about that idea of NOT figuring it out at 15 or 16, about the feelings that come with that. It's also political without being paternalistic, which is something I appreciate SO much in queer fiction. At least for me, queerness was never just about 'I'm into women', there is an entire worldview and way of moving through the world attached to it, a deconstruction of what it means to be female, and I always love it when stories reflect that without beating it into your head with a sledgehammer.

Then, essays! I'm currently reading The Rib Joint by Julia Koets, which is an entire essay collection, lol. I'm not fully done with it, so I can't vouch for the quality of the last bit, but what I've read so far is BEAUTIFUL. It's very haunting and has that Southern Gothic feel to it, and a very lyrical kind of prose. In other published fiction, Orlando by Virginia Woolf did something to my soul when I first read it as a pretentious little teenage twat, but it's...ya know. It's Woolf. It's not a beach read.

I'm not a podcast girlie, I'm afraid, but I AM a standup comedy girlie! If that's your vibe, PLEASE try 'Nanette' by Hannah Gadsby, and anything by Mae Martin. Also, show-wise, I really liked 'Feel Good' by Mae Martin, too.

Sorry if this is getting long, but I wish you the best of luck in your exploration process. If there's one bit of advice I would have liked to have heard back in my 'ohmyfuckinggod, seriously????'-stage, it's this: it's truly all less spectacular and important than you think, but also somehow deeper and more transformative than you'd initially assume. Kissing is kissing and dating is dating and sex is sex, and it's all just bodies in the end. At the same time, the things about queerness that go beyond the simple physicality of 'I have sex with women' go DEEP into your worldview and psyche, and those things are the ones that really shape you after a while. It's not just something you are, it is, to a certain extent, something you DO - a way of interacting with yourself and the world. My best advice really is to kinda....consider the geometry of your soul, in a way? Like, where does it jive, where can it catch onto something? And just try things. In the end, we all can only try.

[jeahreading]

the description reads

A take on Sanjay Leela Bhansali's latest release of 'HEERAMANDI' by SUBHANGIK.... Sanjay Leela Bhansali's latest opus, Heeramandi, is a cinematic feast that intertwines beauty and complexity, drawing us into a world where aesthetics and artistry converge in an intoxicating dance. While body positivity is often associated with the female form, this film poignantly reveals how it equally shapes and shadows the lives of men, particularly those in the creative realm. Artists, the torchbearers of beauty, expression and grace, frequently grapple with societal expectations. Too tall or too short, too heavy or too slight, too dark or too pale — each deviation from the 'ideal' becomes a silent struggle. Add to this the quirks of less hair, smaller eyes, or a crooked smile, and the challenges magnifies. Heeramandi masterfully exposes these subtle tensions, inviting us to re-examine our perceptions of perfection. As we immerse ourselves in the lush narratives and rich tapestries of Bhansali's vision, let us also embrace the diverse spectrum of human form. In this Pride Month, it is fitting to celebrate all body types, honoring the unique beauty that every individual brings to the canvas of life... The love of the artist for their art is profound yet unseen, echoing the inseparable bond between the Atma (soul) and the Paramathma (Supreme Soul), often interpreted as Krishna. Just as the art and the artist are infused, Krishna's wisdom reveals the unity of the soul and the divine. This profound connection forms the essence of existence, guiding us toward our divine origin. In this union, we discover that true beauty and artistry transcends from the physical to the meta physical, resonating with the eternal dance.

This morning when I opened youtube to put on some music to work I came across this beautiful masterpiece. When I started playing it my first thought were the ones out into my head by the society..

"oh my god, how can men dance like this, this atrocious"

but, quickly replaced those thoughts, becuase that's what is poisoning my mind. Since I was young these societal expectations of girls having curvy bodies, fair skins, big eyes and melodious voices were put into my head and I was told men should be strong, muscular or at the very least be the breadwinner of the house, not curvy and expressive like this. Though since long I've changed that mindset it still sometimes haunts the back of my conscious, prodding at me and telling me that men shouldn't be like this and women should do this and that. But I actively try to push it away, because once I did

I saw the beauty and the glow these men emanated. The way expressions and dance flowed through them, strung me into their performance. Even if this performance has no words, it says way more with expressions than it could ever be possible to convey with words.

This performance was done on the song "Sayiaan Hatto Jao" which translates roughly to "Love, move aside"(Love here means someone you have a romantic relationship with) this song is by far one of the best songs in Heeramandi(The Diamond Bazaar). The new Web series. Though I haven't watched the series itself, I know of the songs because of how popular they are, songs like Sakal Ban and Tilasmi Bahein are amazing too, maybe ya'll can check them out. But this song, and of course the famous gajagamini walk which is said to be the peak fo seduction is truly just something else. The way Aditi Rao Hyadri just brings out the best of the song is amazing.

Coming back to this video, this take of the song, it captures the love men had for Shri Krishna. Artfully showing the affection they had for him while never actually showing it was Shri Krishn but portraying it with the peacock feathers and the signature blue colour.

I think it is fitting for Pride Month. Showing how It doesn't matter to a god whether you are a man or woman. Hindu Mythology often has queer encounters. How Vishnu Ji became Mohini, Ardhanareshwar among others. And the fact that this performance was done by an entirely Bengali team makes me so proud and happy. There is so much I can say about this but I think you'll understand it yourself if you catch the video.

[existentialmagazine]

Existential Magazine’s August Music Roundup

With the month coming to a close, we’re sharing just a handful of our favourite new releases we’ve discovered this August! Sit back, put on our New Music Friday playlist and spend a few minutes enjoying fresh new tunes hand-picked by us.

Tia Louise - lavender fields

Self-proclaimed to be ‘guided by the seasons, moving through light and dark, always evolving with the natural rhythms of life’, the upcoming artist Tia Louise finds herself grounded in all things natural. With an indie-folk sound that’s crafted with fluidity and care, grown and nourished by her hard work, we see some of the most beautiful artistry of this generation — truly all because she bears her heart on her sleeve, and settles for nothing less than the most resonant of experiences. With a title like ‘lavender fields’ for her newest release, you can instantly expect to be put to ease by Tia Louise, swept up in a dreamy cascade of sound that’s warm, familiar, and healing like the presence of a close friend, a cup of tea or pink tinted skies. With haunting drawn-out backing vocal ooh’s, gorgeous acoustic guitar plucks, whimsical chimes and more that lead the soft introductory moments, the slow set-up of ‘lavender fields’ instantly establishes itself to be a respite, an escape from the constantly moving world with transportive visuals of rural countryside scenes and fresh air. Tia’s vocals soon complement the verse, bright in her tones with gorgeously rising and falling lines, all the while her partner’s richer and deeper backing vocals add a friendly comfort behind her — an addition that makes her solitary lines feel less alone, keeping her company with love and reliability throughout. Steady, gentle beats also keep the delicate pacing, pressing forwards with tranquillity at the heart of it all, appreciating the casual magic of the every day without having to be swept up in the world’s constant turning and expectations. Her lines emphasise these details that the sound sets up, singing ‘we hide under linens and love under sheets, wanna soak up your sunshine, live in your dreams, sit on the sofa and do ordinary things like folding your laundry, making you tea.’ Through a slow and easy love, she finds peace, inviting listeners into their world for their own momentary safety and softness in the everyday moments that often pass us by or become more of a burden. While the couple have been navigating a long-distance relationship between the Netherlands and London, their bond is the clearest it’s ever been in ‘lavender fields’, truly showing how you can fall for someone’s soul above all else.

Pigeon Club - Another Year In The Minors

It’s hard not to be drawn to the whimsical works of Pigeon Club, carrying both the softness and rawness of folk-rock into his enchanting releases. Gripping even more of an audience as this LA-based multi-instrumentalist now returns with new single ‘Another Year In The Minors’, a heartfelt anthem that’ll resonate with all the indie, blue-collar DIY artists out there and the unbelievable odds they face amidst the desire to create. The warm-toned sound replicates that mixed feeling well, softly unwinding through steady drum thuds and acoustic guitar strums, paving the way for Pigeon Club’s gorgeous rich vocals. Everything about it is effortlessly easy, like the feeling of being surrounded by close friends, a sunset and a crackling campfire, and hauntingly reminding of the beauty that comes with creating such fluid, audible art. That’s not to say it doesn’t carry the weight of the emotion though, singing ‘maybe today will be the day’ as an ode to the often multi-faceted nature of being an artist in this modern world, delivering both the good and the bad of sharing your heart on your sleeve whether it be heard or not. As the chorus builds with a gravelly but slow electric guitar riff, tumbling drums, soaring drawn-out vocals and shaken percussion, it really illuminates the listening experience like an old-school classic, drawing on that nostalgia we all hold near and dear. Later continuing ‘leave them wanting more’, we feel some of the pressure that comes with being a smaller musician, constantly dealing with the need to market and promote perfectly while simply wanting to deliver music and art that can be appreciated for its genuine nature above all else. Even as a listener that can’t relate, Pigeon Club’s down-beat performance and low-toned vocals make it feel like something we can all feel the cloudiness of, aching on behalf of their experience that’s all-too common nowadays for those working their way up to the top.

Brother Valiant - C'est La Vie

New York based indie folk/pop singer-songwriter Brother Valiant finds inspiration in folk legends new and old, hoping to capture in his sound something equally unique and magical. It’s safe to say he stands out for that too, creating works that are catchy but acoustically ladened, bold but intimate, heartfelt but easy to sing along with, toeing the line between aching and relatable as well as an addictive from the world when you need it most. His newest single ‘C’est La Vie’ is the perfect explanation of how that’s possible, immediately hooking you on gorgeous finger-picked acoustic guitar and soaring string instruments. This delicacy is soft and stirring, an emotional opening that’s only further enhanced by Brother Valiant’s smooth vocal performance that admits ‘I’m six feet under in love’ , literally admitting how much he’s struggling even despite the love he bears. Build up by scattered drum beats and vocal effects, ‘C’est La Vie’ doesn’t stay as something traditional, a little soaked in echoes and quicker-pacing that makes the verse feel ever-changing before the chorus hits. With one epic climax, Brother Valiant pours out the main leading line ‘‘C’est la vie… I swear I tried a million times before’, beautifully wrapped up by clashing drums, groovy guitar strums and powerful leading vocals. As the emotional track chronicles trying to make big changes for someone you care about, many of the lines in ‘C’est La Vie’ explore a difficulty in wanting to grow and be better even in spite of how impossible that sometimes feels: ‘honey I’m trying to keep up the pace, but I still feel lost in the world, I keep making the same mistakes.’ For a soulful but deeply infectious new single, look no further than this must-listen hit in ‘C’est La Vie’.

The Casbahs - Roman Numerals

Hailing from the North East of England, the indie rockers The Casbahs have been hard at work with their memorable, nostalgic tunes. With some time away since their previous releases in 2021 and 2022, the group now return more refined and ready than ever, and their newest single ‘Roman Numerals’ certainly proves it. Immediately warm and inviting with soft, gentle drums, a dreamy acoustic guitar riff and drawn-out electric guitar strums, ‘Roman Numerals’ embraces a palette of easy-going sound perfect to put on and escape to, but not without losing that double-edged aching that resonates below. The vocals are sincere and rich to match, elongating lines and hanging on each word, making sure the listener truly feels the emotion behind every word. With lyrics that go overboard on references, poetry and metaphors, there’s an equal amount of deeper meaning soaked through it all, relying on the relaxed simpler sound to pave the way for their lyrical declarations. Seeming to sing of a struggle to get through life, lines like ‘that’s enough for today, why don’t you just do nothing until tomorrow’ express the difficulties that come with doing the bare minimum when things feel all too much, giving yourself grace for what you’ve managed to accomplish. These themes continue into lines like ‘just trying to get back to the land of commotion’ , yearning to return to normality but weighed down by the difficulties that come with depression and mental health issues. As the chorus picks up with some more intense beats, solitary guitar twangs and echoey backing vocals, it’s hard not to hear and feel the striking hook ‘you’re struggling to let it go’ that’s centre of it all. With so much to unpack and connect to, ‘Roman Numerals’ is a must listen for all.

Athena Joy - MY WAY

Inspired by the likes of Kate Bush, the incredible Athena Joy has been dominating the music scene since way back in 2016, blending painfully real lyrics with a transcendent pop production for something that’s danceable and meaningful in one. Her newest track is no exception, showing resilience from her previous single’s pained admissions and turning forward for a declaration of strength even at her lowest. Aptly titled ‘MY WAY’, it’s clear this song is about taking hold of your life and living it for yourself, letting nothing or no one stand between you and what you deserve. Scattered synth beats and backing vocal echoes set-up the resonant sound, an element of lingering intimacy and residual sadness, but the quickly picking up momentum and impressive vocal reach adds the catchiness it needs to pull you wholly in. As the pre-chorus pops with new layers of quick fizzling beats and clashing drum kicks, ‘MY WAY’ is always keeping you on your toes, epically finding the courage to be bold and unafraid. Crashing into one euphoric wave of chorus instruments, it reins at its most anthemic peak yet, erupting through layer after layer of beats pulsating with their own differing mesh of noise. Athena’s vocals are gorgeous as they raise through it all, soaked in a little reverb and singing the hooks we all need engrained inside of us: ‘I’ve been lost, I’ve been so far away… But I’m finding myself, and I’m finding my way.’ As a real celebration of her survival, ‘MY WAY’ is sure to resonate with all that have been struggling just to get by, offering an escape that appreciates making progress towards a new perspective.

Chowe - West Withrow

Recent college graduate Chowe has found himself drawn to releasing music since his debut in 2022, focusing on music until getting a full-time job, allowing himself some freedom to pour into a passion he’s clearly made to do. His newest single ‘West Withrow’ explores this nostalgia of entering a new chapter in life, showing gratitude for the days and people he’s spent the last few years with, but equally delivering on that ache of it forever being stuck in the past. The slow, gentle sound matches that easy-going nature, far from sad but slow and breezy, grabbing listeners just through intermittent keyboard keys soaked in synth. Things pick up with time, bringing groovy guitar twangs and scattered beats into the gentle palette. With a warm, honey-like voice atop it all, Chowe’s sultry smooth low-tones are completely captivating, bringing a new light to that bedroom-pop vocal sound through his own delivery you just won’t be able to tear yourself away from. The lyricism is poetic to match, beautifully capturing the experience of these wonderful days with friends as he sings‘reckless nights and purple skies… I wish we could keep this going on’, painting vivid pictures for the listeners as the sound takes them away on a dreamy escape. Continuing ‘it just lingers like a cranberry in the sweetness of the memory’ , we really feel how much this experience is set to haunt him for a lifetime, an aftertaste that’s still stuck around long after it was first sweetly lived. If you’re a little stuck in the past, but equally excited for the future, ‘West Withrow’ is the perfect tune to sink away and let yourself feel it all to.

Alfreda - Frankie

Exuding old Hollywood glamour for her highly anticipated debut EP, the spellbinding upcomer Alfreda has quickly become a must-hear alternative pop star. Hailing out of London, Alfreda now shares the fourth track from this warm new collection titled ‘Frankie’, displaying yet another variety of sound and style that leaves her every track feeling utterly unique. As the music video leads in with an introductory explanation that Frankie is the first android popstar, the unsettling slow ballad that spills through ‘Frankie’ becomes all the more poignant, delivering a performance that’s intentionally a little too perfect and a little too planned to a tee. Alfreda’s lyrics elaborate further, turning herself into someone else that she believes men would want, inspired by an experience where a crush of hers forgot her name. Through dreamy slow piano keys, gentle guitar twangs and alluring vocals, there’s something instantly sultry and sensationalised about it all, captivating like a siren would draw in a sailor at sea. Through her breathy lines, impressive range and mesmerising classic, soulful tones, Alfreda feels overtly perfect, a hard to turn down persona. But as things break out of this mould for a 70s disco conclusion, we see a little more of the real Alfreda, letting go of this need to be someone she’s not as the sound dances through fizzling keys, a stunning guitar riff and scattered beats, exuding jazz and rhythm for an ending you won’t forget anytime soon.

Give a listen to these songs and more in our New Music Friday playlist this week, or see our Roundup Recap playlist for every song previously featured in one of our monthly roundups that you might have missed!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

// Some of this coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.