#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

...

Likes, comment and reblogs are really appreciated.

© 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.

[dreuuubullets]

When Life Falls Apart

Plays "Fix You" by Coldplay

Hi everyone. It's 10:04:00 PM 9/13/24. In the middle of doing adhoc tasks at work. Here in my unfurnished apartment in Pasay.

There’s a special kind of peace on a cold, quiet night tonight. The air is crisp, the sky is a deep blue, scattered with stars that twinkle like tiny diamonds. It’s so quiet that even the smallest sounds feels amplified, as if the world itself is listening. The stillness is comforting, a gentle reminder of the beauty in solitude and the magic that a quiet night can bring. And this made me decide to write something here tonight. About what? Struggles.

If you’re reading this, the title of this post somehow, got your attention. You might be going through one of those moments when it feels like everything is falling apart. Maybe you’ve just failed at something you were deeply passionate about, lost someone you loved, or find yourself struggling to trust anyone because so many people have let you down. Life can be brutally challenging, especially when your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million pieces, and the pain seems like it will never end.

I know this feeling all too well. I come from a complicated family background. My mom is still technically married to her husband, but they haven’t been together in years. My dad, on the other hand, is in a relationship with his wife and already had three kids by the time I was born. It was a messy situation, to say the least. I grew up mostly alone, spoiled by the financial support my parents provided, but lacking the emotional stability of a traditional family.

So, at 16, when I met my 2nd girlfriend, I was determined to create the family I never had. I wanted to experience the warmth of a close-knit family, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my own family be broken like the one I grew up in. I swore I’d be a responsible husband and father. But life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. I was cheated on and led on five times before I finally decided to choose myself. It was soul-crushing, and at one point, I even contemplated ending my life.

I fell into a dark place, turning to vices, women, and alcohol, trying to numb the pain. I became someone I didn’t recognize—flirting for fun, pulling away the moment things got serious, too guarded to let anyone in. In my attempt to protect my heart, I forgot how to truly love. And when I did finally get into another relationship, I didn’t handle it well. I hurt people, became arrogant, and lost sight of who I was. My past mistakes haunted me, and it took years to recover from the self-inflicted wounds.

Eventually, I made a promise to myself: if I ever found myself in a relationship again, I would be the best version of myself. I would give that person the love and care they deserved, the understanding and passion I once had. And I did—I met someone, fell in love, and for a while, it felt like I was finally getting it right. But after two years, I got cheated on again. It was a painful reminder of why I guard my heart so fiercely. I love deeply, and when I get hurt, it takes me a long time to heal.

But this time, I refused to let heartbreak destroy me. I focused on healing and becoming a better version of myself. I met someone else, and although it didn’t work out, I’m okay. I’ve learned to find peace in the journey, even when the outcome isn’t what I hoped for. I’m still lucky. Life might not always go the way we plan, but I believe we have the power to decide how we respond, to pick ourselves up, and to keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible.

[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.’

[at0micc0la]

Surprise meet up

a/n: I had a dream where I was Quackity's classmate and we walked around the city together, my friends tried to forced me to "confess my love for him and he completely ignore me. So I ended up daydreaming about this

Relationship: Quackity x hispanic!reader

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Creating a community is a complicated work, working your ass off and somedays feeling like is not enough hurts more than one wants to admit, but your hard work allowed you to make friends and acquaintances along the way, and fortunally for you one of those is Quackity, an energetic Mexican boy who seems to want to kiss any man who walks in front of him.

Your friendship started in a Minecraft server called Squidcraft Games where you were teammates and had the mission to finish the different task the "God's" gave the participants, and you two bonded with your dramatics

"I need a priest to confess some things I regret" you screamed looking at your ceiling, fake crying

"Wait wait, let me" the man fixed his mic and added reverberation to his voice "I'm her for you, tell me all your sins" he giggled and tried to read the spamming chat

"FATHER! I've been naughty" you shifted looking at his character "I was the one who tried to push Rubius so he would die first when we were in the chainsaws" your fake tears entertained

"Eeehhh" the norwegian protested, everyone ready for the drama "You disgusting rat!" the man punched your character while you tried to escape and Quackity following

"Don't worry, child. I would also do it, old first" Quackity cackled, starting a fight with the older man.

Since then you two spend good times playing with the other streamers every other day he decided to show up. The warmth the mexican radiated helped you considering him a close friend, so when you had the opportunity to travel to L.A you were so excited to finally meet him.

Luzu helped you, since you never knew if he was in the state, having the man to not raise suspicion was amazing, so that's how you two came up with a plan. Luzu was going to invite Quackity to a coffee shop because he needed to give him something and somewhere along the way you would come up to the man pretending to be a fan and ask for a photo and see if he would be able to recognize you.

Quackity wasn't really excited about going to a public place, he barely slept the night before, but the spanish man told him he must go or he would haunt his soul for eternity. The coffee shop was beautiful, there were little to no customers, an old couple, a group of teenagers, two friends gossiping near the window and Luzu sat on the opposite side

"Luzu, friend"

"Beanie duo meeting" the older man hugged him and sat back, but before Quackity was able to sit he was stopped

"Excuse me, Are you famous mexican streamer Quackity? Can I take a picture with you?" botched english reached his ears and he turned around and started apologizing

"Sorry, maybe later, I'm kinda busy" he umcorfortably apologized, his eyes almost close thanks to his 'I'm sorry' smile

"¿No te vas a sacar una foto con tú fan N°1? Se me cayó un ídolo" [You wont' take a picture with me? You are no longer my idol] he looked at you, truly looked at you and his surprised face made Luzu and you laugh at the man who hugged you, the happy smile he had was unforgettable.

Lana (Luzu's wife) recorded the meet up and after the friends stopped hugging she sat next to Luzu, who was laughing at Quackity

"I can't believe you didn't recognize them, their "english voice" is not far off from their normal one"

"Estoy crudo Lusuuu" :c [I'm hungover Lusu]

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

a/n pt2: sorry if it's not that cohesive, it's almost 3 am and I'm having cramps, but a small fluff for my spanish speaking gremlins ♥

[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.

[cherubchoirs]

hi i’m the anon that sent you the robot unicorn ask forever ago. i meant to un-anon but i forgot oops .. i recently saw your Michael post and i was absolutely hornswoggled that you literally cracked him open like a walnut. i thought it was going to be an allegory or extended metaphor el em ay oh

i just wanted to say that i really REALLY love all of the delicate designs you placed in Michael (literally), it evokes the same feeling of looking at a copper statue that’s turned green from weathering. if you haven’t already, i’m so curious as to what inspires you most of the time? a lot of your character designs bring to mind works of zdzisław beksiński if he were girlypop el oh el. i hope you do not mind me but i will be obsessing over your art and ocs for a while lol

guuahhhh thank you!! yea i was definitely being,,,,entirely literal about cracking the poor guy open. michael is an exceedingly broken character as i see him and i wanted that to be manifested in his design - he is the ultimate denier of his own pain, he will forever deflect to god because he can't allow himself to falter, and in his current state that is pushed as far as it can possibly go. how does he still deny it as he rots away, how does he reason through his own decomposition? i wanted to show how bent his mental state is on this, and his body needed to be ruined to do so. plus, there's something beautiful to me in juxtaposing the divine and holy with rot and decay, how they clash but also how they can meld.

it's hard to pinpoint where my inspiration comes from, but it means an absolute whole LOT any of my work reminds you of zdzisław beksiński - his art is haunting and so incredibly emotional while featuring striking, intricate design work that absolutely sticks with you. i will say art in general is very inspiring, and surrounding myself with the work of both professionals and other self-taught/amateur artists does a lot to spark ideas. for michael in particular, i had two major draws - the catacomb saints and elden ring. his design is a direct reference to the former, which were the bodies of christian martyrs taken from roman catacombs and painstakingly decorated with jewelry and the clothing of nobility to represent the riches awaiting after death in the kingdom of heaven. his description and fleshed out (oops) physical/mental state were then inspired by concepts in dark souls/elden ring (and browsing the wiki lol) their lore is incredible to me and hits some of my favorite notes, especially the aforementioned rot of the divine. overall, i wanted him evoking the catholic relic of a saint, but make it 100% existential body horror and an encapsulation of god's ruined kingdom. he is faith taken to corruption, love taken to destruction, michael has lost himself entirely in what god made him to be. he is a foil to gabriel, what he could have become if he refused to follow his questioning, and so is the venerated self-sacrifice revealed for what it truly is.