#an original thought-tracing production

[thought-tracing]

A. G. Cook stuns in new Instagram photos.

britpop.online

[fruitjoos]

be a good girlfriend

part one

contains: smut, please do not read if you are a minor!

—

you and patrick were spending the weekend in art's dorm for a much anticipated movie night.

patrick had excitedly brought back a supernatural film he'd been raving about, and the plan was simple: you'd handle the popcorn, and art was supposed to get the drinks. of course, art had grumbled about this arrangement. "why do i have to do anything when it’s my room and my tv we’re using?" he'd complained, rolling his eyes.

as art flicked the light switch off, signaling the start of the movie, you resolved not to nag him about neglecting the drink duty. however, the popcorn quickly turned into a dry, choking hazard. barely able to swallow, you coughed and spluttered, forcing art to pause the movie before the production company logo even appeared.

“babe,” you whined, your voice rasping, “i’m so thirsty! the popcorn is killing me. please, i'm begging you.” you clutched at art’s shoulder with desperation.

patrick groaned dramatically from the other side of art. “we’re never gonna watch the fucking movie,” he muttered.

“shut up,” you snapped, turning your pleading eyes back to art.

art sighed theatrically and rose from the bed. “fine, i’ll go get some drinks from the vending machine,” he conceded, grabbing some bills from his wallet and tossing it onto his desk.

“i love you!” you yelled as he closed the door, mumbling a yeah, yeah in response.

“okay, we’re alone,” patrick said, turning to face you with wide eyes and raised brows, “let’s make out.” he smirked.

“no, you freak. he's right outside the door,” you tossed a few pieces of popcorn at him. undeterred, he crawled toward you on his hands and knees, his eyes smoldering with desire. “like that’s ever stopped us,” he murmured, kissing your lips. “you’ve jerked me off while we were sleeping in the same bed,” he mumbled against your mouth, the heat of his breath mingling with yours. “so stop pretending to be the good girlfriend you’re not.” his words stung, a sharp contrast to the softness of his touch.

“what?” you retorted, stopping his chest before he could lean in again, momentarily stunned by his brutal honesty. the weight of his accusation hanging heavily in the air between you.

he quickly retracted to his original spot, your heart pounding as the door creaked open. glancing over at you, he saw the confusion in your eyes as art spoke. what had he said wrong? his mind raced, replaying the words he thought were witty, the ones he was sure would make you smile and call him stupid, maybe even laugh. but now, doubt gnawed at him, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.

"okay, blue gatorade," he said, forcing a smile as he tossed the bottle to patrick, who caught it effortlessly. "and water for my sweet girl," he added, his voice softer. he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before placing the cold bottle in your lap.

"thank you," you mumbled, barely audible, your eyes avoiding his as you leaned back against his pillow.

as the movie flickered across the screen, you shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position on his full-size bed. finally, you settled on laying flat on your stomach, your legs lightly kicking against the headboard. your head rested in art’s lap, as he sat in the space between you and patrick leaned against the wall. the blanket sprawled across them.

you were a good girlfriend, you kept reminding yourself, the thought looping in your mind like a mantra. he’s just a bad friend. okay, maybe you had jerked him off that one time, but it was just once. a mistake. girls make mistakes sometimes. who was patrick to tell you what kind of person you were? the irritation flared within you; patrick, who could barely tell his left from his right, had no right to judge you.

the movie’s dialogue faded into the background as your thoughts consumed you. you could feel the warmth of art’s body, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your shoulder.

you are a good girlfriend.

you slipped your hand underneath the blanket covering art's lower half, your fingers tracing a delicate path up his thigh. the warmth of his skin sent a shiver through you, a thrill that made your heart race. art cleared his throat, the sound almost imperceptible over the movie's dialogue, but you felt the tension in his body.

he grabbed a pillow, placing it strategically between himself and patrick, creating a makeshift barrier to shield your actions from view. the intimacy of the moment was intensified by the secrecy, a silent agreement hanging in the air between you and art. his leg muscles tensed under your touch, and you could sense his effort to remain composed.

he tried to make sliding down his gym shorts appear casual, making it seem like he was smoothing out the perfectly unwrinkled blanket. you pulled your hand back out, and brought it up to your lips, spitting out a gob of your sticky saliva right into your palm, cuffing your hand to be sure you don’t spill any of it.

your hand found its way back to his shaft. he jumped at your cold touch as you pumped his dick at a steady pace. the thick meat warming up between your fingers. you gazed up at him, his eyes glued to the screen. “you like the movie?” you whisper. “mhmm,” he gulped. you squeezed him in your palm, “fu–yeah, i love the movie.”

patrick's attention was abruptly drawn to the weird exchange unfolding beside him. his gaze drifting towards the subtle, yet unmistakable, rustling beneath the blanket. as he cautiously lifted his eyes, they collided with yours. you were already staring at him, a mischievous smirk plucked at the corners of your mouth.

he silently scoffed, turning back to the movie. small whimpers left art’s throat as you tugged on his now rock solid cock. up and down. shlick, shlick, shlick. now that patrick knew what was going on, you could be as wild as you wanted to be, making it known that he wasn’t apart of the fun.

you ducked your head under the comforter, slapping his thick, hot cock on the heart of your tongue. spit drooled from your mouth as you swallowed him through your supple lips. art’s mouth hung open with his eyes closed, not caring how crazy he looked to anybody else watching. his brows furrowed from the pleasure of your warm, velvety tongue slurping him up. you licked and slobbed, making a popping noise as you came up for air.

you pushed the blanket from both you and art. exposing his glistening boner, covered in spit. he scolded you, shouting your name, embarrassed as if neither of the people in the room haven’t already seen it.

“what the fuck?” patrick said, shaking his head. irritation rather than confusion etched across his face. he wasn’t confused at all. “shut up,” you straddled art’s waist, kissing and rocking your clothed pussy against his bare cock, “i need to fuck you so bad,” you breathed out, tilting his head back to kiss his lips.

“patrick’s in here,” he clenched his teeth, pressing down your hips to stop your movement. “he can join if he wants,” you smirked, leaning back on the bed to pull off your shorts and underwear, giving patrick a clear shot of your sopping cunt. “or he can sit there and watch. like the good friend i know he’s not.” you said, mocking his words from earlier, climbing back on top of art.

you and art both waited on his response, breathing heavily.

[rwbyangst12]

I would like a fanfiction that combines the original premise of Oz with Dorothy being a young child (8-12 since it's her book ages and her movie age) and instead of 1900 it's like in the original book it's 1939 and Wicked. Dorothy is worried for aunty Em and Uncle Henri because not only is it the Great Depression and part of the farmhouse is here with her but she's worried because they're have been talks of a potential war (the movie came out in August 25th and the war started in September 1st) but she's worried that her Uncle Henri might be drafted and her aunt might go with them cause what if they think she's dead)

While walking down the Yellow Brick Road Scarecrow asks why Dorothy keeps saying they need to ration they're things? Asks why she's so worried about food? Why is she so insistent on not buying a new dress? You've already re sewn and cleaned those same clothes for the past month. Boq is made of metal and has no clothes, the lion is a lion and therefore does not need clothes, and I'm a scarecrow I can't take my clothes off.

Down the road he begins to realise that this child isn't as okay and innocent as she seems with all of her skipping and dancing with the way she looks out the corner of her eye behind her pigtails or re checks her basket Incase they dropped anything.

Imagine because of all the interruptions, being attacked, the road itself, and then the wizard being a fraud she takes longer to get home. Perhaps instead of two-three months in Oz she's there for two-three years. The shoes don't work and Dorothy believes she's just killed two women even though it wasn't her fault at the time(Elphaba is alive but she's still in hiding with Fiyero) and got kidnapped and locked in a basement and almost burnt alive. She thinks that now she's never going to make it home. But you have fresh food and clothes here do you really want to go back. She can't help but think to herself before snapping out of it reminding herself of Aunty Em and Uncle Henri.

Or if Dorothy does make it home her Aunt and Uncle somehow end up sending her back because not only has World War ii begun but now that America is a part of it and Kansas was essentially a training ground for USAAF bombers and fliers so when she's back in Oz she looks for Fiyero or Galinda and Explains what happened.

Fiyero didn't know a potential war was on the horizon in Dorothy's home world. If he had known would he have sent her back or would he have kept her in Oz even if it was against her will. He takes her to Elphaba and explains what happened and they managed to reach out to Glinda and help give her a proper education, she gets taller thanks to a proper diet, she's at least somewhat healthy thanks to available medicine and hygiene products in Oz. She's lived longer than she thought she would have in Kansas and a lot longer than she thought she would have here in Oz. A LOT longer.

Also potential Dorzma and realising that Oscar Diggs is a name of a guy that went missing a few decades ago that her parents and guardians talked about with their families because this guy with a hot air balloon disappeared in a storm and no trace of him can be found. Obvious propaganda against a coloured women and a selective group of people because I believe Aunty Em not Uncle Henri would've raised her that way. She still wants to meet the wizard in hopes of going home but she's still suspicious because of how she was raised in this au.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (4); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 10.8k+

Chapter Warnings: protected sex, fingering.

part 4

The morning sun softly filters through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across your room as you and Jungkook begin your preparations for the long day ahead of you guys.

The slight weight of last night still gnaws at Jungkook, but he tries not to think about it as he gets ready and for now, the focus shifts to the excitement of exploring Daegu with your brother, Taehyung and his fiancée, Miyeon.

You, on the other hand, are positively beaming, your excitement palpable as you finish drying your hair. Wrapped in your lilac satin bathrobe, fresh from the shower, you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, observing yourself.

As you focus on your skincare routine, you sense Jungkook entering the bathroom. His presence is familiar, warm, and comforting, but it always has the power to make your heart skip a beat.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest. You feel his chin resting in the curve of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin. The closeness never fails to make your pulse quicken.

“I’m so excited.” you say, your voice light, almost giddy as you continue applying your moisturizer. Your movements are slow and fluid, the soft scent of your skincare products mixing with the feeling of him being so close. "Me too." he mutters. His chest presses against your back, the beat of his heart a soothing rhythm that matches yours.

Jungkook’s lips suddenly trail soft, lingering kisses along your neck, the sensation making you giggle as it tickles your skin. Your breath catches, but you can’t help leaning into him, offering him more access as his kisses grow gentler, more tender. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his affection wash over you.

“You smell so good.” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, his voice low and intimate, as if it’s a secret meant only for you to hear. His words send a shiver down your spine, and despite the playful nature of his kiss, there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes your heart swell.

The rhythm of his kisses slows, each one lingering a little longer, pressing not just against your skin but deeper into your thoughts, leaving a warmth that seems to settle in your chest. As his lips part from your neck, he rests his chin on your shoulder again, his breath brushing against your collarbone.

Jungkook’s gaze shifts to the mirror, his dark eyes tracing the gentle curves of your face, the way your lips curl slightly as you focus on your skincare. There’s something tender in the way he observes you, as if he’s capturing this moment to keep forever.

A smile tugs at his lips, small but genuine, and he unconsciously pulls you closer, his arms tightening around your waist as though anchoring himself to you.

“You’re so beautiful.” he says softly. His voice carries a depth that makes you pause, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Your cheeks warm under his affectionate gaze, and you feel the weight of his emotions in those simple words, grounding you in his embrace.

You smile back at him through the reflection, reaching up to touch one of his hands around your waist. “You make me feel beautiful.” you reply, your voice just as soft, your heart swelling at how easy it feels to be vulnerable with him.

Soon enough, you and Jungkook finish getting ready, both opting for outfits that exude comfort yet style. You’re wearing a white midi dress, paired with a baby pink cardigan to keep you warm. Your hair falls naturally, framing your face, and your minimal accessories, a simple necklace and a pair of stud earrings.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is effortlessly cool in a pair of loose, distressed jeans and an oversized black T-shirt that drapes perfectly over his frame. The subtle graphic design on the shirt adds a hint of personality without being overwhelming, and the short sleeves expose the tattoos that snake up his arm. Paired with clean sneakers and his usual easygoing aura, he looks like he’s stepped out of a fashion editorial without even trying.

He's also carrying his camera, ready to capture every moment of the day. The thought of exploring Daegu, experiencing new adventures, and creating memories fills him with excitement. He wants to immortalize these moments, knowing they’ll be treasures he can revisit and cherish in the future.

As you lead Jungkook out of the house, the driveway comes into view, and you immediately spot Taehyung and Miyeon waiting in a sleek, open-top jeep. Its bold matte black finish gleams under the morning sun, and the large off-road tires give it an adventurous, rugged look.

Taehyung and Miyeon hoot in unison as soon as they spot you, their cheerful voices cutting through the stillness of the morning. They wave enthusiastically, their energy infectiously bright. Jungkook notices how different they appear compared to last night’s formal elegance.

Gone are the sharp suits and graceful gowns. Today, Taehyung sports a relaxed look with a sage green patterned short-sleeve shirt unbuttoned over a white tank top, paired with loose cargo pants and casual sandals. Miyeon is radiant in a flowy floral sundress, her hair pulled back into a carefree ponytail, and oversized sunglasses resting on her nose.

Their smiles are wider, their laughter lighter, and there’s an undeniable air of freedom around them, as if they’ve shed the polished sophistication of the previous evening and embraced their truest, most vibrant selves. Jungkook can’t help but admire the stark contrast, realizing that behind the poised personas they wore last night lies a carefree couple who revel in the simple joys of life.

“Finally!!!” Taehyung calls out, grinning mischievously as he leans against the driver's seat. “We were starting to think you two were going to keep us waiting all day!”

Miyeon laughs, waving you over. “Come on, we have so much to do today." she says. Jungkook chuckles softly, glancing at you. “They seem... a lot different from yesterday.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “This is their true form.” you reply, as the both of you giggle, approaching the jeep. You open the door to the back seat and slide in while Jungkook takes his seat next to you.

As the jeep rumbles to life, Taehyung adjusts his sunglasses and gives the steering wheel a playful spin, earning an exaggerated eyeroll from Miyeon. You settle comfortably into the back seat, Jungkook’s hand resting warmly in yours.

“So, what’s the itinerary for today?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, your curiosity piqued as the jeep hums down the driveway and into the city.

Miyeon turns to glance at you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, we’ve got a packed day planned, so I hope you two are ready!” she begins, her enthusiasm almost contagious.

“First, we’re heading to the Daegu Art Museum. They’ve got this incredible contemporary art exhibit on display right now, and I thought it’d be the perfect way to ease into the day.”

Taehyung cuts in with a grin, momentarily looking at her before turning his attention back to the road. “And there’s this cute little café right next door with pastries that are chef’s kiss. I’ve been daydreaming about their croissants all week.” he smiles.

Miyeon rolls her eyes playfully. “Of course, someone’s more excited about the food than the art.” Jungkook chuckles from beside you, his camera resting on his lap as he mentally prepares to capture the day’s highlights.

��After that...” Miyeon continues, her voice lifting with anticipation, “We’re heading to the aquarium. Jungkook, you’re going to love it there. They’ve got an interactive touch pool where you can pet rays, and the jellyfish exhibit? It’s like stepping into a... dream.”

“That sounds amazing... wow.” Jungkook murmurs, already envisioning the tranquil glow of jellyfish floating gracefully in their tanks.

Miyeon’s excitement peaks. “And it only gets better!” she exclaims, turning in her seat to face you both. “Next stop, E-World theme park. And...you’ll love this, Jungkook.. we’re renting school uniforms! The three of us used to do that a lot when we were in university.” Her bright grin is met with yours and Taehyung's knowing laugh.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “School uniforms? At a theme park?” The concept is new to him, and he leans forward, curious.

“Yes!” Taehyung interjects, a broad grin lighting up his face. “It’s a thing here... makes us feel like carefree high schoolers again. It’s silly, but it’s so much fun.”

“It might sound cheesy...” you chime in, nudging Jungkook gently, “But trust me, it’s an experience. And, you’ll look adorable.” you wink. His shy smile in response sends warmth through you. “Well then, I guess I’ll have to trust you on that one.” he teases.

“After the theme park...” Miyeon continues. “We’re heading to this restaurant nearby that my uncle owns. They make the best bibimbap you’ll ever have.”

“Oh my god, I’ve missed that place!” you exclaim, recalling how you and Miyeon used to frequent it after school, sharing plates of gimbap and dumplings while gossiping about your days.

“And for the grand finale...” Taehyung announces with a sense of pride. “We’re heading to the beach. Our family’s beach house is right there, so we’ll end the day by the water, watch the sunset, and stay the night.”

Your eyes widen in delight at the mention of the beach house, fond memories flooding back. “Oh my god, that sounds perfect. It’s been ages since I’ve been to the beach house.”

Miyeon beams, her excitement matching yours. “Right? Remember how you, me and Tae used to play hide and seek with your cousins, Joon and Jin??”

You nod, a warmth spreading through your chest as you think back to those carefree weekends, the sound of laughter mingling with the rhythmic crash of the waves. “And do you remember that one time Taehyung threw that huge party while we were in high school? Your parents found all the alcohol bottles the next morning and grounded him for a week!” Miyeon adds, bursting into laughter and clutching her stomach as the memory plays out vividly in her mind.

“Oh my god, yes! That was legendary! I still remember his face when mom stormed into the house holding that bottle of vodka he had hidden by the fire place like it was some evidence from a crime scene.” you recall, laughing.

Taehyung groans dramatically, shaking his head as a sheepish grin creeps across his face. “Okay, in my defense, I didn’t think mom and dad would be back until the next week! And besides, it wasn’t even my idea to bring alcohol... it was Joon’s!”

“Sure sure, blame it on Joon.” you tease, smirking at him. “But you were the one who decided to stash some bottles right under the deck where dad always went to smoke... you were basically digging your own grave.” you say and Miyeon agrees.

Taehyung chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay, that part was my bad. Slightly tragic at the time, but looking back... it is kind of funny.” he says, fixing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he continues driving.

“Kind of?” Miyeon echoes, wiping a tear from her eye as her laughter subsides. “Baby, it was hilarious. The best part was you spending the entire week sulking while your mom made you clean the house from top to bottom.”

Jungkook, quietly listening to the exchange, grins at the camaraderie between you all. “Sounds like the beach house has a ton of memories.”

“Oh, you’ve got no idea.” you say with a laugh, squeezing Jungkook’s hand. “We went there, literally any chance we got. Sometimes just our family or sometimes with our cousins or some of our friends." you explain. "But I’m sure by tonight... you’ll have your own stories to add to the mix.” you add, grinning.

Taehyung glances at the rearview mirror, catching Jungkook’s amused expression. “Just as long as you don’t stash anything under the deck, you’ll be fine.” he jokes, earning a fresh wave of laughter from everyone.

Jungkook leans back, his gaze shifting between you and the cheerful couple up front. “Well, I can't wait.” he says, his smile growing as he turns to look at you. You grin, leaning closer to him. “I can’t wait either!” you say, shimmying your shoulders playfully. Jungkook laughs, finding your energy irresistibly endearing.

The day unfolds with Taehyung expertly navigating the bustling streets of Daegu, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the cityscape.

There’s an air of anticipation in the jeep, laughter spilling freely as Miyeon teases Taehyung about his questionable sense of direction, which he adamantly defends. Jungkook, seated beside you, fiddles with his camera, his fingers itching to start documenting the day.

At the Daegu Art Museum, the group is immediately immersed in the tranquil beauty of the exhibits. The contemporary collection is striking, each piece inviting interpretation. Jungkook, however, finds himself more captivated by the group than the art.

His camera clicks softly as he captures a candid shot of Miyeon leaning against Taehyung, her expression alight with curiosity as he dramatically interprets an abstract painting. Another snap catches you standing near a minimalist sculpture, your head tilted in quiet contemplation, the sunlight streaming through the museum’s large windows creating a halo around you.

“Caught you.” he whispers with a playful smirk when you notice the camera pointed at you. You roll your eyes but smile, leaning slightly into his frame as he snaps another shot.

The visit ends with a trip to the café that Taehyung had mentioned, the aroma of freshly baked pastries beckoning them inside. Taehyung gleefully orders a tray full of treats, and Jungkook doesn’t hold back either, his plate stacked with croissants, tarts, and a rich chocolate éclair.

“This is heaven.” he mutters through a mouthful, his eyes gleaming with delight. You nudge him with a laugh as he reaches for yet another pastry, his appetite seemingly endless.

The aquarium is a stark but enchanting contrast to the museum. As they step into the dimly lit space, Jungkook is immediately drawn to the serene beauty of the jellyfish exhibit. The creatures drift gracefully in glowing tanks, their delicate forms illuminated in hues of blue and pink.

“They look like they’re floating in space.” he murmurs, his camera raised to capture the ethereal scene. His voice carries a quiet reverence that makes you smile.

Miyeon and Taehyung are already at the touch pool, their laughter ringing out as they tentatively pet a ray gliding beneath their fingers. You drag Jungkook over, and though he hesitates at first, his cautious touch quickly turns into an exhilarated laugh when the ray’s smooth skin brushes against his hand. “I think it likes you.” you tease, earning a playful nudge from him.

The E-World Theme Park is next, and the group wastes no time renting school uniforms to fully embrace the whimsical spirit of the day. In the changing room, Jungkook adjusts the blazer over his crisp white shirt, feeling both amused and oddly nostalgic.

When you step out in your uniform, a pleated skirt, a neatly tucked blouse, and a navy ribbon tie, his breath catches for a moment. You twirl with a grin, the skirt flaring slightly, and he can’t help but think about how adorable you must have looked back in your high school days.

“Is this how you looked back then?” he asks softly, his gaze warm. You laugh, tugging playfully at the hem of your skirt. “Something like this, but way less put together.” Jungkook smiles, his eyes lingering on you. “You look... perfect.” he admits.

Taehyung bursts out of the dressing room, dramatically flipping his blazer like a cape. “We’re officially high schoolers again! Let’s relive our glory days!” he exclaims and Miyeon playfully rolls her eyes once she spots her man acting like a child.

The park is a whirlwind of excitement. The four of you tackle roller coasters, shrieking as they plummet down steep drops, and Taehyung wins a giant stuffed bear at a ring toss game, which Miyeon promptly claims as hers.

Jungkook’s camera is always ready, snapping a shot of you mid-laugh on the bumper cars, Miyeon feeding Taehyung a piece of cotton candy, and even a self-timer group photo with everyone posing cutely in front of the carousel.

Soon you find yourselves near the ferris wheel. You and Jungkook share a gondola, the city sprawling below bathed in the bright sunlight. He turns his camera to you, capturing a candid shot as you gaze out at the view, your hair gently tousled by the breeze.

When you notice, you nudge his arm with a teasing smile. “Caught me again?” you ask. He grins, lowering the camera. “Couldn’t help it. You’re just... breathtaking.”

//

Once you guys reach the beach after a hearty lunch at the restaurant Miyeon's uncle owned, the sound of the waves is rhythmic and soothing, the orange sun hovering over the ocean casting its reflection across the water like a painting come to life. The moment feels surreal, the kind of serenity that makes you want to pause time.

After some playful banter and fooling around on the shore, Taehyung claps his hands together. “Let me grab a few blankets so we can sit and watch the sunset.” he suggests. “I’ll help!” you chime, skipping after him towards the beach house that isn't far away from the beach, the two of you leaving Miyeon and Jungkook alone by the water.

Jungkook stands barefoot on the cool sand, the tiny grains rough but grounding beneath his feet, anchoring him to this serene moment. His camera dangles loosely around his neck, as he holds it, contemplating whether to capture this stunning view or let it remain untouched, a memory etched only in his mind.

Beside him, Miyeon hugs her arms around herself, the salty ocean breeze tousling her hair as it carries the faint scent of the sea. “So... how was your day?” she asks, her voice breaking the tranquil silence. Her tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, a genuine curiosity.

Jungkook tears his gaze from the horizon to glance at her. There’s a faint smile tugging at his lips, one that reaches his eyes. “It was... amazing.” he replies, his voice low and sincere. “More than just amazing.”

Miyeon nods thoughtfully, a knowing smile gracing her face. She looks back at the waves, the way they lap against the shore in a rhythmic pattern. After a brief pause, she turns to him again, her expression gentle but serious. “I’m so glad Y/N has someone like you by her side.” she says, her words careful and heartfelt.

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard by the sudden depth of the conversation. A warmth spreads through his chest, not unlike the glow of the setting sun. “That means a lot.” he murmurs, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

“Honestly... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her like this.” Miyeon continues, her voice tinged with a quiet fondness. “So free, so happy, so... content. You know, I’ve known her for years, seen her navigate through various relationships. She’s been with guys who were kind, others who weren’t so kind... but none of them... none of them... made her smile the way like you do.”

Jungkook feels his heart clench, her words landing heavily yet sweetly. A soft, almost bashful smile curves his lips. “She makes me feel the same way.” he admits. “Like I’ve found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

Miyeon watches him closely, her gaze assessing but kind. “I know this world... like this society... her family... they might feel a bit... different to you.” she says after a moment, her tone shifting slightly. “It’s not always easy. The way things work around here, the way people talk... there’s gossip, judgement, expectations, a lot of noise. It can be overwhelming.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his brows knitting together slightly as he absorbs her words.

“But...” Miyeon continues, her voice softer now, her smile reassuring, “I hope you hang in there. It’s going to be hard sometimes. It might even feel like too much. But in the end, it’ll all be worth it, because I know Y/N thinks the world of you. And... I can see why.”

Her words settle over him like the ocean breeze, warm and steadying. Jungkook looks at her, his gaze earnest. “Thank you.” he says quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his gratitude. “For saying that. For trusting me with her. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make her happy... always.”

Miyeon’s smile widens, and there’s a twinkle of approval in her eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

For a moment, they stand there in companionable silence, both of them gazing out at the horizon as the sun sinks lower, dipping closer to the water. There’s an unspoken understanding between them now, a connection forged in their shared care for the same person. It’s not just words... they both feel the gravity of this conversation, the weight of the promises Jungkook silently makes to himself as much as to Miyeon.

And in that golden, fleeting moment, Jungkook lets out a small breath, feeling more resolute than ever, his heart full as he watches the scenery in front of him.

"We're hereeee!" you sing cheerfully, your voice carrying over the rhythmic crashing of the waves as you approach Jungkook with a soft blanket draped over your arms. Taehyung trails behind you, balancing another blanket and a small basket filled with snacks.

Together, the two of you spread the blankets across the cool sand, smoothing out any wrinkles as the orange hues of the setting sun paint the world in warm, dreamy tones.

The four of you settle down together, side by side, with the endless expanse of the ocean stretching before you. The sight is breathtaking as the sun dips lower, casting golden ripples across the water, while the breeze carries the faint scent of salt and the distant call of seabirds. It’s as if the world itself has paused to revel in the beauty of the moment.

“This is... incredible.” Jungkook murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. He sits with his knees drawn up, his arms resting casually atop them, his eyes glued to the horizon. He looks peaceful, his sharp features softened by the warm light.

“I knew you’d love it.” you say, leaning slightly into him, feeling the calm settle deep into your bones as your head rests against his shoulder. “The sunsets here never disappoint.”

The laughter is easy, and the conversation flows effortlessly as the sun continues its descent. Time seems to stretch and condense all at once, and before long, the golden hues fade into dusky pinks and soft purples, the first stars twinkling faintly above.

When darkness finally settles over the beach, the four of you decide it’s time to head inside. With the blankets folded and snacks tucked back into the basket, you rise to your feet. Jungkook brushes the sand off his jeans, his gaze lingering on the ocean for just a moment longer before turning to follow the group.

As you approach the beach house, Jungkook slows his steps, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight before him. The mansion stands tall and proud, its sleek white facade glowing faintly under the moonlight.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offer glimpses of the warm, inviting interiors, while the soft hum of ocean waves behind, adds a touch of serenity to its grandeur. It’s luxurious yet somehow intimate, a perfect blend of opulence and comfort.

“This place is... wow.” Jungkook mutters, his voice tinged with awe. “It’s home.” Taehyung says with a shrug as he steps ahead to unlock the front door. “Well, our getaway home.”

“Show-off.” Miyeon teases, bumping his shoulder as they step inside. Jungkook chuckles with you as the two of you walk in as well.

“Anyways... I’m gonna be cooking!” Taehyung announces as he kicks off his shoes and strides towards the huge open kitchen. Miyeon raises an eyebrow, following him. “Cooking? Or burning down the house? Let’s be honest here.”

“Excuse me.” Taehyung counters, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “I am a man of culinary talent. You’re about to witness greatness.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.” she deadpans, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes as she moves to help him anyway. You watch them for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips. Then, turning to Jungkook, you grab his hand. “We’ll go freshen up.” you say, tugging him towards the staircase.

Jungkook follows without protest, his gaze flitting between the elegant interior decor... polished wood floors, soft, ambient lighting, and walls adorned with tasteful artwork and family photos. “This place feels like it belongs in a magazine.” he murmurs as you lead him upstairs.

“It’s nice, right?” you reply with a grin, pushing open the door to one of the guest rooms. The room is cozy yet sophisticated, with large windows offering a stunning view of the moonlit ocean. You turn to face him, your smile softening. “Make yourself at home. This is going to be our room for tonight.”

Jungkook sets his camera down, his eyes scanning the space before settling on you. “It’s perfect.” he says simply, and the warmth in his tone makes your heart flutter. “Yes.” you agree with a smile, grabbing a towel from a nearby closet. “Now, go freshen up. You’ve got sand everywhere.” you say. He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the towel and presses a swift kiss on your cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once both of you finish freshening up, you head downstairs hand in hand, the light hum of voices and clattering utensils drawing you towards the kitchen. The moment you step inside, however, you can’t help but gape at the chaotic sight before you. Flour dusts the countertops, vegetable peels are scattered across the cutting board, and an unwashed pot sits precariously in the sink.

"Tae..." you groan, running a hand through your hair. “What on earth happened here?” you ask, looking around with wide eyes. Taehyung spins around, a sheepish grin plastered on his face as he holds up a spatula like a weapon of defense. “Creative process.” he declares with an exaggerated flourish.

Miyeon stands beside him with her arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “He calls it cooking. I call it disaster art.” She says, shaking her head. Jungkook chuckles beside you, stepping further into the kitchen. “Looks like you need some backup.” he laughs.

Despite the mess, Taehyung manages to pull it all together with everyone’s help. Miyeon takes over the salad, Jungkook expertly handles grilling the bread and meat, and you focus on setting the table. Laughter fills the air as Taehyung insists his sauce recipe is “family famous" while Miyeon claims she’s never once seen him use it before.

Eventually, the chaos subsides, and the kitchen smells divine. You all step back to admire the dishes laid out on the table... steaming pasta, a crisp garden salad, grilled meat, garlic bread and a bottle of red wine that Taehyung proudly uncorks. The dining room is just as dreamy as the rest of the beach house, with large windows framing the ocean in the distance.

Dinner begins, and the atmosphere is light and cheerful. Conversation flows effortlessly, with Miyeon and Taehyung throwing playful jabs at each other, their chemistry contagious. Jungkook, usually guarded in such settings, surprises you by opening up more than you’d expected.

He talks about his life in New York, recounting funny anecdotes about his university days and how Yoongi had been his unlikely but steadfast guide and best friend back then.

“And then...” Jungkook says, chuckling as he leans back in his chair. “Yoongi told me to ditch the midterm and come to his band’s underground gig. That was the first time I ever heard him rap live and he was fucking incredible.”

“Damn.. Yoongi sure is one of a kind.” you say, smiling at him as he speaks. His enthusiasm is infectious, and your heart swells as you watch him completely at ease.

As the night progresses, the conversation shifts. Taehyung leans back, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. “By the way, my cousins and friends are hosting this insane cruise party for my bachelor party next week. You should totally come, Jungkook.”

Miyeon nods enthusiastically. “Oh my god, yes and I’ll be taking Y/N and my girls to Jeju island for my bachelorette party on the same day. So, you two will have to separate for a while, but trust me Jungkook, you're gonna have an amazing time.”

Jungkook looks at you, his gaze steady but searching, like he’s silently asking for reassurance. The kindness and warmth radiating from Taehyung and Miyeon overwhelms him, though not unpleasantly so. You give his hand a gentle squeeze under the table, your fingers intertwined. Your soft smile is all the encouragement he needs.

He returns the smile, his dimples peeking through as he turns to the couple. “That sounds amazing... I'll definitely come along, thank you so much for inviting me.” he says earnestly.

//

The wine bottle sits empty on the table, and the laughter that once echoed through the house has softened into a cozy silence. The night carries a palpable sense of contentment, the kind that comes after hours of connection, shared stories, and easy companionship.

As Taehyung and Miyeon bid you goodnight, their faces glowing with joy, you watch them disappear into their room, their quiet murmurs fading into the background.

Jungkook’s hand finds its way to the small of your back as you turn towards the staircase, his touch steadying you a bit. You glance up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can’t help but smile... a tired, genuine smile that speaks of how full your heart feels. He mirrors it and together you begin your ascent to the guest room.

The house is quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the wooden stairs and the distant whisper of the ocean beyond the windows. You’re a little light-headed, not quite from the wine but from the overwhelming warmth of the day. Each step feels like you’re carrying the weight of the happiness you’ve collected, and it’s a weight you don’t mind at all.

Jungkook keeps his pace slow, matching yours as if sensing your dazed state. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low in the stillness. “More than good.” you reply, your words slightly slurred with exhaustion but laced with sincerity. “Today was… perfect.”

“Yeah, it really was.” he agrees, his lips curving into a small smile as he watches you. There’s something tender in his gaze, something that feels like home.

Reaching your room, you push the door open and immediately throw yourself onto the bed, sprawling out with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally.” you mumble, arms spread wide as if you’re trying to take up the entire mattress.

Jungkook closes the door behind him, watching you with a fond smile that slowly morphs into mischief. “You look way too comfortable.” he teases.

Before you can even respond, he lunges forward, jumping onto the bed with enough force to make the mattress bounce. You yelp in surprise, laughter spilling out of you as his weight settles over you, warm and solid.

He rests his head on your chest, nuzzling closer like a content cat. The gesture is so tender and unguarded that your laughter softens into a smile, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his hair.

“You’re such a baby.” you mutter, running your fingers through his soft, dark strands and gently patting his head. “And you’re my favorite pillow.” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your shirt.

The room is dimly lit, the sound of the ocean faintly audible through one of the open windows. The cool breeze carries the salty scent of the sea, but all you can focus on is the warmth radiating from Jungkook as he clings to you. His arms wrap snugly under your waist, and you feel his breaths even out as he starts to relax, his day catching up to him.

“You’re heavy.” you complain half-heartedly, though there’s no real protest in your tone. “I’m perfectly comfortable.” he retorts, looking up at you with a playful pout. “Plus, you’re the one who hugged me first.” You laugh softly, shaking your head as you lean forward and peck his lips. “Fine, I’ll allow it.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling against your chest as he rests his head back against you. The room falls into a peaceful silence, the kind that only comes when two souls are completely at ease with one another. As you bask in each other’s warmth, Jungkook suddenly breaks the quiet, his voice gentle. “So… bachelor party, huh?”

You smile, continuing to run your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes. “Mhmmm.” you hum. “I guess the guys have something chill planned for the cruise.” you add.

Jungkook lifts his head again, resting his chin on your chest to look at you with skeptical amusement. “Chill? Baby, your definition of chill might just be very different from mine. I’m imagining a massive, over-the-top cruise with a DJ, crazy lights, and maybe even fireworks.” he teases, his grin boyish.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out as you shake your head. “Okay, fine, it might be a little extravagant. But seriously, if you feel uncomfortable or overwhelmed, you don’t have to go. I can always stay back with you. I really don’t mind.”

At this, Jungkook slowly lifts himself with his elbows, looking down at you. His gaze is filled with a mixture of gratitude and fondness, making your heart squeeze. “No, baby.” he says softly but firmly, his voice filled with conviction.

“Never. I’m so glad your brother invited me. Honestly, I was nervous, especially yesterday. I kept overthinking that he might not like me or think I wasn’t good enough for you. But Taehyung and Miyeon? They’ve both been so kind, so welcoming. It sure is… overwhelming, but in the best way possible.” He pauses, his fingers reaching out to softly brush your hair away from your face. “I’m honestly so happy to be here. With them... and especially with you.”

Your chest tightens with emotion, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “I’m glad.” you whisper, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the curve of his chin. “Because... I can tell they love you already. And so do I.”

Jungkook leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to seal the moment. “I love you too.” he murmurs softly against your skin, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket.

As he slowly pulls away, your gaze meets his, the world fading until all that exists are his deep, expressive eyes. Your attention flickers to his lips, a spark igniting within you. Gently, your fingers trail to the nape of his neck, tugging him closer with a quiet urgency. Closing the space between you, you press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, the moment steeped in tenderness and unspoken emotion.

Jungkook loses himself in the kiss, a content sigh escaping his lips as he presses closer, his body melting against yours. His weight feels comforting, as if he belongs right there in your embrace. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, holding him close.

The kiss deepens naturally, his lips moving in perfect rhythm with yours, filled with affection and desire. When his tongue softly brushes against your lips, seeking entrance, you welcome him, the intimacy drawing you both deeper into the moment. His touch is gentle yet electrifying, every movement a testament to the connection you share.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing gently as he continues kissing you with fervor. When you pull away for a brief moment, both of you catching your breath, Jungkook's gaze lingers on you. He takes in the sight of your dazed state... your swollen lips, your flushed cheeks, and the way your chest rises and falls with each breath.

A soft smirk plays on his lips as he shifts his weight. Still keeping you beneath him, he sits back on his knees and, in one smooth motion, pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the floor. The sight leaves you momentarily speechless. The soft glow of the room highlights every curve and dip of his toned torso, his skin kissed by faint shadows.

Your eyes can’t help but follow the intricate trail of tattoos that snake down his shoulder and arm, each detail drawing you in further. No matter how many times you see him like this, you always think his body is literal art, raw and captivating, and you feel the warmth rise in your cheeks as you bite your lip at the sight. The playful glint in his eyes suggests he notices your reaction, and it only makes your heart race faster.

He shifts, getting off you with an effortless grace as he begins slipping out of his pants. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room, and you take it as your cue to rise from the bed and start undressing yourself as well.

Once you’re completely bare, Jungkook’s eyes roam over your form, his gaze darkening with raw admiration and longing. You can feel the intensity in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. The faint rise and fall of his chest mirrors the rhythm of your own unsteady breaths.

The way your eyes meet his, vulnerable yet filled with desire, sends a shiver down his spine. He lets out a low, shaky breath, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, almost reverent.

Stepping closer to the bed, each step laden with anticipation, Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. He climbs onto the mattress with fluid grace, his presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. Hovering over you, he gently urges you to lean back until you’re resting against the soft sheets. His body settles perfectly between your legs, the weight of him sending your senses into overdrive.

You’re enveloped by his warmth, the firm press of his chest against your breasts, igniting a slow burn that spreads through you. He captures your lips in a kiss that’s deeper this time... hot, messy, and unrestrained. The languid slide of his tongue against yours sends shivers down your spine, the intensity of it leaving no room for anything else but the two of you and this moment.

Letting go of your lips, he trails a path of kisses down from the curve of your throat, over the slope of your chest until he reaches the swell of your breasts. He claims them as his with suckling and teasing bites, eliciting a soft moan from you. A flush blooms over your skin from the sensation, making you tingle all the way to your toes.

He lavishes the same attention to your other breast, teasing and marking you as you squirm under him, the friction of his body between your thighs sending hot sparks through your nerves. As he hears the sounds that escape you, his lips return to yours, like he misses them.

He kisses you deeper, his tongue sweeping and curling against yours as you run your hands up the taut muscles of his back and into his hair. Your fingertips thread through his silky strands, pulling gently at the roots.

Jungkook lets out a low growl against your lips, the vibrations of it sending another rush of arousal to your core. He rolls his hips slowly, grinding against you, the hard length of his shaft pressing against your wet folds. The sweet pressure of it makes you arch against him, moaning into his mouth.

You feel so alive, the pleasure of his touch making your body sing. Every brush of his fingers, every sweep of his tongue, every press of his lips sets your nerves on fire.

You’re hyperaware of him, in the way his muscles tense beneath your hands, the way his hips rock against yours, the way he groans against your mouth as he grinds between your legs. You know the moment he reaches his limits when his kisses turn desperate and rough, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself from taking you right then.

You feel like you’re melting into him, your body molding into his, fitting against him like the missing piece of a puzzle. His hands map every inch of your body, his fingertips tracing your skin with reverence, making you shiver beneath his touch. His chest heaves against yours, his breaths growing harsher with every kiss, with every shift of his hips.

And then Jungkook pulls you up suddenly, and you find yourself straddling him as he settles back on the mattress. Your hands slide down his chest, over the hills and valleys of his torso, his muscles jumping under your fingertips. Your fingers dance down the length of his abs to wrap around his hardened length.

Jungkook groans at the feel of your hand around him, his hips jerking up as you softly stroke his member, your lips still melting with his. His arms circle around your back to support you, one hand resting against your nape as they reach your hair at the back of your head, tilting you to deepen the kiss, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You break away from the kiss, panting heavily, and he trails his lips down the column of your throat. He licks and kisses the sensitive skin over your pulse, murmuring sweet nothings that you can't quite decipher at the moment.

Your hands continue to stroke his shaft, and his hips buck up against your touch, seeking more. Your eyes open slowly as you enjoy the sensation, and as you tilt your head back, your gaze falls upon the enormous floor to ceiling windows by the wall.

As you observe the scene ahead, you watch the inky blackness of the night sky stretching above the endless expanse of the ocean that glimmers like diamonds under the light of the moon. The sight of it makes something stir in you, and you bite your lips as an idea sparks up in your mind.

"Kook…" you manage to mumble softly, as your breath hitches at the feel of his teeth nipping at your skin. He's too immersed in what he's doing to hear you. You call out for him again, louder this time. "Kook…" you say and he hums against your skin, still marking you.

"Fuck me… fuck me against the windows." You breathe out, your words low and sultry, husky with arousal. Jungkook's eyes snap to yours, his pupils blown wide. He sucks in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "Fuck…" he mutters as his hips thrust up hard into your hand as he hears your request, struggling to regain his control.

He's quick to move, though, catching you off guard as he flips you onto the mattress with ease, your back now pressed against the soft sheets again. The sudden shift leaves you breathless, your hands slipping away from him in surprise.

His gaze is steady, his movements purposeful as he leans over the edge of the bed. Reaching for the discarded pants on the floor, he retrieves his wallet from the pocket. The rustle of fabric fills the quiet room as he pulls out a condom, his eyes flicking back to you. The intensity in his expression makes your heart race, a mix of tenderness and raw desire that has your pulse thrumming in anticipation.

You watch him with rapt attention, the way his fingers move with ease as he slides the condom onto his length. He's hard, his dick a deliciously heavy weight in his hands as he looks back up at you, the tip of him glistening.

Once he's done, he reaches for you, a small smirk on his lips as your eyes widen, wondering what he's about to do. Your heart leaps into your throat as he lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist to keep yourself secure.

The feeling of his hands on your bare skin makes you shiver, goosebumps peppering your flesh. His grip tightens on you, fingers digging into your thighs as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

You're barely settled before he moves, swift and silent as he crosses the room with you in his arms. The cold glass against your back makes you gasp, your eyes wide as Jungkook presses his lips against yours.

You arch into him, pressing yourself as close as possible as you meet his kisses with fervent eagerness, your lips opening up for his tongue to slide in. You moan into the kiss, your hips rocking gently against him. Jungkook groans in response, the vibrations of the sound against your mouth sending shivers down your spine.

You're so lost in the feeling of his mouth against yours that you barely feel him let go of your thighs before your feet hit the floor. He holds you for a moment, making sure you're steady.

A whimper escapes your mouth when he lets go of you entirely, but the feeling is short-lived. The chill of the glass against your skin makes you gasp as Jungkook swiftly turns you against the window, your breasts pressing against the glass as your head tilts to the side.

He presses his chest against your back as he dips his head to trail wet kisses on your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin, and you moan softly, pushing yourself against him, dying to feel more of him. You hear him chuckle before his teeth nips the sensitive spot below your ear, sending shivers coursing through you. His hands skim over your stomach and hips before one slides between your legs, his warm palm pressing against your wet folds.

You moan, pushing back against him, rubbing yourself against his erection with your ass as his hand continues to press against you. Your own fingers curl against the glass, your mind hazy with the feeling of him like this.

Jungkook's other hand slides around your torso, teasing the underside of your breast with his fingertips before slipping underneath. He cups you gently in his palm, his thumb flicking against your nipple, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

"Kook…" you murmur, the sensation driving you insane. He groans softly, the sound vibrating against the back of your neck. You can feel the heat of his mouth on your skin as he trails it lower to your shoulder and your back. His teeth nip against your skin, and his hand presses harder against your wetness, the pressure sending ripples through your body.

You arch into his touch, your body so desperate for him as you feel him move his fingers against your core. He spreads you apart with his fingers, his palm still pressed against your clit.

You're so wet that you can feel your juices slightly dripping down your inner thighs as he moves his fingers against you, pressing and rubbing in slow circles. He teases you with leisure movements, your gasps filling the room as he massages you.

"I love how wet you get for me." He whispers into your ear and you moan in response, feeling him push you harder against the window. The feeling of his hot breath against your skin and the coldness of the glass, sends a shiver through your body as his other hand grips your breast harder, thumb flicking over your nipple once more.

His other hand continues to rub against your swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body with each passing second. He gradually presses a finger against your opening, your legs trembling at the feeling before he carefully pushes it inside. You gasp as his finger slides deeper into you, your body tightening around him instinctively.

He hums softly, as he feels you throw your head back against his shoulder while he starts to move his finger, pumping it in and out of you. Your fingers curl harder against the glass as you arch into his touch, pushing against his hand with your hips. You let out a soft moan as his thumb rubs against your clit, sending shivers through you.

"Baby..." you pant, your head resting against the window again, your breath misting on the glass as he moves faster, his digits spreading you apart to slide deeper inside you as he pushes in two more fingers. You feel the cold glass on your breasts and stomach, and the heat of his body against your back. His hand on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into you as he slides his fingers into you again and again, his thumb violently rubbing against your swollen clit.

Your legs tremble as your orgasm approaches, hitting you like a tsunami as you struggle to stand straight. He chuckles from behind you and carefully pulls his fingers out as your head drops against the cold glass once more. "Look at me…" he whispers as he turns you around to face him, your chest still heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. His eyes run over your flushed face, your flushed cheeks and quivering lips.

"You're... so perfect." He coos as he reaches out to brush your hair away from your sweaty forehead. He gazes down at your swollen lips and kisses them softly, feeling you lean into him, your hands running over his arms as you rest them on his shoulders. He runs his hands down your torso and lifts you up, catching you by the thighs and making your legs wrap around his waist again.

You gasp, feeling his hot length pressing against you. His eyes darken as he looks up at you, watching you bite your lip, your nails digging harder into his skin. "Fuck… " He murmurs softly as he pulls you closer, his cock pressing against your entrance. You bite your lip, whimpering at the feeling, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel him rubbing it against you.

His fingers grip your waist tighter, pushing you back against the glass. Your breath hitches as he uses the opportunity to slide into you, instantly groaning at the feeling of you around him. "Oh..." he moans, closing his eyes as he takes a few seconds to enjoy the warmth around his length.

He holds you there for a moment, before opening his eyes again. They flick to yours, watching as he pushes himself deeper into you, feeling you moan at the way he stretches you out. "This what you wanted baby?" He whispers against your lips as he begins moving himself in and out of you, his pace gradually increasing.

Your back squeakily rubs against the window as he fucks you, your moans uncontrollable. You try to hold yourself back, worried Taehyung and Miyeon might hear you from downstairs, but the way he's making you feel right now doesn't let you think straight.

"This... This is what you wanted baby? For me to... for me to fuck you against these... these windows?" you hear him ask between thrusts as he slams himself into you over and over again, each time harder than the last.

You nod, closing your eyes as you try to catch your breath when he picks up his pace. "I... I love you... fuck." he grunts, catching your lips in a messy kiss as his hand expertly reaches between you, rubbing at your clit in quick circles.

The sensation is utterly overwhelming, pleasure surging through your veins in ways you never imagined possible. Every touch, every movement, every way he claims you as his feels almost otherworldly... a divine symphony of passion and connection.

Your head spins, a haze of ecstasy clouding your thoughts as you surrender completely to the moment. You let the bliss wash over you, allowing it to consume every part of you, leaving no room for anything but the pure, unbridled intensity of him inside you.

He suddenly moves away from the windows, his gaze locked on yours while his member still resides inside you. The cool sheets meet your back as he lays you down on the edge of the bed. Continuing his thrusts, you feel his length twitch inside you, indicating that he's very close.

Your fingers curl tightly around the sheets beside you as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your body responding instinctively to his. Jungkook groans deeply, his voice raw and breathless, the sound igniting something primal within you.

His movements become more erratic, each thrust deeper and harder, the intensity building between you. The rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, as both of you chase your highs.

Your second orgasm washes over you just like the waves crashing against the shore outside and you clench around his length, sending him over the edge as he feels his release spill into the condom between thrusts.

A loud gasp escapes his lips as he falls on top of you once he's done chasing his high, breathing heavily as he basks in the lingering euphoria. His body feels warm and weightless, every nerve still alive with the aftershocks of pleasure. He carefully pulls out of you, shifting his body to lay on the bed, right beside you.

The room is quiet except for the soft sound of your mingled breaths, a serene stillness settling over the both of you. "That was..." you breathe out, your voice laced with exhaustion and lingering bliss, your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Amazing." he finishes for you, a soft, contented smile gracing his lips as he turns his head to look at you. His dark eyes hold a glimmer of affection and satisfaction, his arm instinctively reaching to hold you. He pulls you closer as you turn your head to meet his gaze, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips. "You're amazing." you murmur, your voice filled with sincerity.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, his voice carrying a tenderness that makes your chest ache in the best way. Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You’re not so bad yourself." he teases.

You chuckle in response, the sound light as you inch closer to him, your body naturally seeking his warmth. He shifts slightly, propping himself up just enough to reach for the blanket at the edge of the bed. With careful movements, he drapes the warm fabric over the two of you, cocooning you both in its comforting embrace.

Settling back down, Jungkook pulls you even closer, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath fans against your skin, and he inhales deeply, letting out a contented sigh.

To be in your arms like this, to hold you so intimately, to be able to make love to you so passionately... it all fills him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. He feels blessed, as though the universe conspired to bring him to this very beautiful moment.

"I love you so much." he confesses softly, his voice low and raw with emotion. He presses a series of tender kisses along your collarbone, each one a silent vow of his affection. You smile, your heart swelling as your head sinks further into the soft pillow. Gently, you run your fingers through his hair, patting the back of his head with affection. "I love you too." you reply.

Jungkook hums softly at your response, a sound filled with pure contentment, as his eyes flutter close. His grip around your waist tightens just slightly, as if even in his sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go. You smile at the gesture, your fingers lazily tracing circles on his back, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into serenity.

“Goodnight, love.” you whisper, though you’re not sure if he’s awake enough to hear. He mumbles something incoherent in response, his lips brushing your collarbone, and you chuckle softly, planting a kiss on his hair. And just like that, wrapped in his warmth, with the weight of his love holding you close, your eyes finally drift shut.

//

“I’m gonna miss you.” Jungkook pouts, gently swaying you in his arms, his hands resting securely on your waist. The playful pout on his lips tugs at your heart, knowing you’ll be apart for two whole days.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” you reply softly, meeting his gaze. Around you, the bustling port hums with energy... men laughing, luggage being hauled onto the cruise ship, and the distant rhythm of waves lapping against the dock. The cruise ship towers above, its sheer size making Jungkook shift nervously.

“That thing is... massive.” he mutters, glancing up at the ship. “I don’t think I’m ready for whatever madness Taehyung has planned.” he says. You chuckle, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’ll survive, babe. Just... don’t let Tae drag you into anything too crazy.” you tease.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in close so his lips graze your ear. “Only if you promise not to out-party me in Jeju.” he says. “Deal.” you laugh, nudging his chest lightly. His dark eyes sparkle, a mix of amusement and longing in them, as he pulls you even closer.

“But seriously…” Jungkook murmurs, his tone softening as his thumb gently brushes over your waist. “Text me as soon as you land, okay? And make sure to send me lots of pictures… especially…” He pauses, leaning in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“Especially in that pink bikini.” he says, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. You burst into laughter, playfully swatting his shoulder. “Kook…” you say, your tone half-amused, half-scolding.

“What?” he feigns innocence, shrugging his shoulders as he holds you. “I’m serious, okay? Two days without seeing you is way too long, so I’ll need something to look at.” he says, puckering his lips. You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.” you reply, shaking your head. “And you love me for it.” he counters with a wink, pulling you closer once again.

Suddenly, a man’s voice cuts through the moment, booming over the bustling port. “Everyone, please assemble by the dock and begin boarding the cruise!”

You sigh softly, glancing back at Jungkook. “Looks like you need to go.” you say, your voice tinged with a mix of reluctance and understanding. He nods, his lips pressing into a small pout before pulling you into a warm hug.

The embrace is tight, his arms lingering around you as if he doesn’t want to let go. “Have fun, baby.” you murmur, patting his back gently. He hums in response, holding you for a few more seconds before finally pulling away.

As he starts to follow the group heading towards the dock, he turns back briefly, waving at you with that bright, boyish smile that never fails to melt your heart. “Love you!” he calls out, his voice carrying over the commotion.

Before you can even respond, he’s already turned around, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a fond smile on your lips and a tiny bit of emptiness because you miss him already.

//

The thumping bass of the music reverberates through the air, blending with the excited chatter of random people. The scene on the cruise is wild. An elaborate DJ setup blares upbeat tracks while men mingle with women dressed in swimsuits that leave little to the imagination. Some of them might even be strippers hired to amp up the party’s extravagance.

Jungkook sits at the bar, nursing a drink in his hand. The cool breeze from the open ocean tousles his hair as he gazes out at the endless expanse of water. It feels surreal, almost like the cruise is floating in the middle of nowhere. For a moment, he lets himself get lost in the stillness of the horizon... a stark contrast to the chaos of the party behind him.

“Crazy party, huh?” a voice breaks through his thoughts, pulling his attention back. Jungkook turns, his brow furrowing slightly at the sight of an unfamiliar man standing nearby. He raises his eyebrows, silently prompting the stranger to introduce himself.

The man catches the hint, letting out a soft laugh as he steps closer. “Oh, I’m Wooyoung, by the way. We haven’t met before, but you’re Y/N’s boyfriend, right?” He extends a hand towards Jungkook, his expression friendly yet curious.

Jungkook’s brows knit slightly as he takes in Wooyoung’s easygoing demeanor. The man seems unbothered, almost too casual, and it only adds to Jungkook’s confusion. Slowly, he accepts Wooyoung’s handshake, his grip firm but cautious.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Jungkook... but how did you know that?” he asks, his voice edged with curiosity. The question lingers in the air as he watches for any hint of malice in Wooyoung’s expression.

Wooyoung chuckles, releasing Jungkook’s hand and leaning casually against the bar. “Well... word travels fast around here.” he explains with a slight shrug. “You’re a photographer in New York, right? I heard a few people talking about you earlier.”

Jungkook wets his lips, his tongue briefly brushing over his piercing as he processes the information. Gossiping wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially after that tea ceremony. He figures it isn’t anything unusual, but there’s still a twinge of discomfort at being a topic of conversation among people he hasn’t even met and doesn't even know.

"Right..." Jungkook mutters, his gaze drifting over the bustling scene before him as he takes another sip of his drink. The sharp, familiar burn of the alcohol doesn't quite mask the unease brewing inside him.

Wooyoung, ever the picture of confidence, flashes a grin before turning to order himself a drink. As the minutes tick by, Jungkook watches him carefully, feeling the weight of the silence between them. "So, you're Taehyung's friend?" he finally asks, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity. Wooyoung nods, an easygoing smile playing on his lips.

"Sort of." he replies replies, his voice casual, almost nonchalant. "But I’m actually closer to his cousin, Seokjin."

Jungkook nods, absorbing the information, but the conversation quickly takes a turn. Wooyoung shifts in his seat, his posture relaxed, yet there's something in his tone that makes Jungkook wary. "So... Y/n's family... they're something different, huh?" Wooyoung remarks, a subtle glint of amusement in his eyes.

Jungkook’s expression shifts slightly as a faint, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corners of his lips. There’s something about the way Wooyoung said it, as if he’s probing, testing. "Yeah... I guess." Jungkook replies, unsure of where exactly this is going.

"But honestly..." Wooyoung suddenly says. "I didn’t really... expect this." he adds, his voice trailing off. Jungkook tilts his head, confused. "Expect what?" he asks, feeling the unease in his chest grow.

“Well, you know...” Wooyoung begins, his eyes glinting as he speaks. “Y/n bringing home a guy all the way from New York... A photographer, at that." He pauses dramatically, letting the words sink in, then adds with a smirk. "I honestly thought her parents would marry her off to some trust fund kid or... some corporate heir. You know, the usual path."

Jungkook’s lips press together in a tight line, his pulse quickening as the words hang heavy in the air. As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Wooyoung shifts in his seat, nonchalantly accepting his drink from the bartender. He takes a sip, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook.

"Like, Taehyung and Miyeon... well, that was inevitable." Wooyoung continues, his tone now more reflective, like he’s letting his thoughts wander. "Y/n and Miyeon were childhood friends, and Miyeon’s family owns this insane billion-dollar restaurant chain. So... I guess that's how they were very accepting of this marriage. I just didn’t expect Y/n to settle for something so... unconventional."

The words, laced with a certain insinuation, seem to linger in the air, thick with meaning. Jungkook's fingers tighten around his glass, the quiet tension palpable. Wooyoung’s casual demeanor doesn’t help the weight of the conversation, and Jungkook can feel the undercurrent of judgment, whether intentional or not. Still, he stays quiet, his gaze never leaving Wooyoung’s face.

"Unconventional." Jungkook repeats, his voice low, almost as if he’s contemplating the very word.

Wooyoung takes a slow sip from his drink, his gaze shifting to the ocean before settling back on Jungkook. "Yeah, like..." he begins, his tone carrying an edge of amusement. "Especially after how her mom was crazy about wanting us to get married three years ago."

The words hit Jungkook like a sharp gust of wind. His head snaps towards Wooyoung, disbelief etched across his face. "What?" he questions, his voice tinged with confusion, as though he had misheard.

Wooyoung leans back slightly, as if savoring the moment. "Yeah." he continues, his smirk deepening. "Her mom wanted her to settle down here, thought I was a 'suitable match,' you know? But Y/n was just so... hellbent on moving to New York to pursue her... fashion designer dreams or whatever."

Jungkook’s grip on his glass tightens, his mind racing to process the information but he already hates the tone of this man. "Wait... so you and Y/n were... supposed to get married?" he questions, the words coming out slower, like he’s trying to wrap his head around the idea.

Wooyoung chuckles, the sound low and deliberate, dripping with satisfaction, like this is exactly the reaction he was aiming for. "Yeah." he replies smoothly, swirling the liquid in his glass, his gaze never leaving Jungkook as if savoring the moment. He takes another slow sip, the pause calculated to build tension, before finally turning back to Jungkook with a look of feigned innocence.

"She didn’t tell you this?"

<- part 3 // part 5->

series masterlist

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First image shows large falafel balls, one pulled apart to show that it is bright green and red on the inside, on a plate alongside green chilis, parsley, and pickled turnips. Second image is an extreme close-up of the inside of a halved falafel ball drizzled with tahina sauce. End ID]

فلافل محشي فلسطيني / Falafel muhashshi falastini (Palestinian stuffed falafel)

Falafel (فَلَافِل) is of contested origin. Various hypotheses hold that it was invented in Egypt any time between the era of the Pharoahs and the late nineteenth century (when the first written references to it appear). In Egypt, it is known as طَعْمِيَّة (ṭa'miyya)—the diminutive of طَعَام "piece of food"—and is made with fava beans. It was probably in Palestine that the dish first came to be made entirely with chickpeas.

The etymology of the word "falafel" is also contested. It is perhaps from the plural of an earlier Arabic word *filfal, from Aramaic 𐡐𐡋𐡐𐡉𐡋 "pilpāl," "small round thing, peppercorn"; or from "مفلفل" "mfelfel," a word meaning "peppered," from "فلفل" "pepper" + participle prefix مُ "mu."

This recipe is for deep-fried chickpea falafel with an onion and sumac حَشْوَة (ḥashua), or filling; falafel are also sometimes stuffed with labna. The spice-, aromatic-, and herb-heavy batter includes additions common to Palestinian recipes—such as dill seeds and green onions—and produces falafel balls with moist, tender interiors and crisp exteriors. The sumac-onion filling is tart and smooth, and the nutty, rich, and bright tahina-based sauce lightens the dish and provides a play of textures.

Falafel with a filling is falafel مُحَشّي (muḥashshi or maḥshshi), from حَشَّى‎ (ḥashshā) "to stuff, to fill." While plain falafel may be eaten alongside sauces, vegetables, and pickles as a meal or a snack, or eaten in flatbread wraps or kmaj bread, stuffed falafel are usually made larger and eaten on their own, not in a wrap or sandwich.

Falafel has gone through varying processes of adoption, recognition, nationalization, claiming, and re-patriation in Zionist settlers' writing. A general arc may be traced from adoption during the Mandate years, to nationalization and claiming in the years following the Nakba until the end of the 20th century, and back to re-Arabization in the 21st. However, settlers disagree with each other about the value and qualities of the dish within any given period.

What is consistent is that falafel maintains a strategic ambiguity: particular qualities thought to belong to "Arabs" may be assigned, revoked, rearranged, and reassigned to it (and to other foodstuffs and cultural products) at will, in accordance with broader trends in politics, economics, and culture, or in service of the particular argument that a settler (or foreign Zionist) wishes to make.

Mandate Palestine, 1920s – early '30s: Secular and collective

While most scholars hold that claims of an ancient origin for falafel are unfounded, it was certainly being eaten in Palestine by the 1920s. Yael Raviv writes that Jewish settlers of the second and third "עליות"‎ ("aliyot," waves of immigration; singular "עליה" "aliya") tended to adopt falafel, and other Palestinian foodstuffs, largely uncritically. They viewed Palestinian Arabs as holding vessels that had preserved Biblical culture unchanged, and that could therefore serve as models for a "new," agriculturally rooted, physically active, masculine Jewry that would leave behind the supposed errors of "old" European Jewishness, including its culinary traditions—though of course the Arab diet would need to be "corrected" and "civilized" before it was wholly suitable for this purpose.

Falafel was further endeared to these "חֲלוּצִים‎" ("halutzim," "pioneers") by its status as a street food. The undesirable "old" European Jewishness was associated with the insularity of the nuclear family and the bourgeois laziness of indoor living. The קִבּוּצים‎ ("Kibbutzim," communal living centers), though they represented only a small minority of settlers, furnished a constrasting ideal of modern, earthy Jewishness: they left food production to non-resident professional cooks, eliding the role of the private, domestic kitchen. Falafel slotted in well with these ascetic ideals: like the archetypal Arabic bread and olive oil eaten by the Jewish farmer in his field, it was hardy, cheap, quick, portable, and unconnected to the indoor kitchen.

The author of a 1929 article in דאר היום ("Doar Hyom," "Today's Mail") shows unrestrained admiration for the "[]מזרחי" ("Oriental") food, writing of his purchase of falafel stuffed in a "פיתה" ("pita") that:

רק בני-ערב, ואחיהם — היהודים הספרדים — רק הם עלולים "להכנת מטעם מפולפל" שכזה, הנעים כל כך לחיך [...].

("Only the Arabs, and their brothers—the Sepherdi Jews—only they are likely to create a delicacy so 'peppered' [a play on the פ-ל-פ-ל (f-l-f-l) word root], one so pleasing to the palate".)

Falafel's strong association with "Arabs" (i.e., Palestinians), however, did blemish the foodstuff in the eyes of some as early as 1930. An article in the English-language Palestine Bulletin told the story of Kamel Ibn Hassan's trial for the murder of a British soldier, lingering on the "Arab" "hashish addicts," "women of the streets," and "concessionaires" who rounded out this lurid glimpse into the "underground life lived by a certain section of Arab Haifa"; it was in this context that Kamel's "'business' of falafel" (scare quotes original) was mentioned.

Mandate Palestine, late 1930s–40s: A popular Oriental dish

In 1933, only three licensed falafel vendors operated in Tel Aviv; but by December 1939, Lilian Cornfeld (columnist for the English-language Palestine Post) could lament that "filafel cakes" were "proclaiming their odoriferous presence from every street corner," no longer "restricted to the seashore and Oriental sections" of the city.

Settlers' attitudes to falafel at this time continued to range from appreciation to fascinated disgust to ambivalence, and references continued to focus on its cheapness and quickness. According to Cornfeld, though the "orgy of summertime eating" of which falafel was the "most popular" representative caused some dietary "damage" to children, and though the "rather messy and dubious looking" food was deep-fried, the chickpeas themselves were still of "great nutritional value": "However much we may object to frying, — if fry you must, this at least is the proper way of doing it."

Cornfeld's article, appearing 10 years after the 1929 reference to falafel in pita quoted above, further specifies how this dish was constructed:

There is first half a pita (Arab loaf), slit open and filled with five filafels, a few fried chips [i.e. French fries] and sometimes even a little salad. The whole is smeared over with Tehina, a local mayonnaise made with sesame oil (emphasis original).

The ethnicity of these early vendors is not explicitly mentioned in these accounts. The Zionist "תוצרת הארץ" "totzeret ha’aretz"; "produce of the land") campaign in the 1930s and 1940s recommended buying only Jewish produce and using only Jewish labor, but it did not achieve unilaterial success, so it is not assured that settlers would not be buying from Palestinian vendors. There were, however, also Mizrahi Jewish vendors in Tel Aviv at this time.

The WW2-era "צֶנַע" ("tzena"; "frugality") period of rationing meat, which was enforced by British mandatory authorities beginning in 1939 and persisting until 1959, may also have contributed to the popularity of falafel during this time—though urban settlers employed various strategies to maintain access to significant amounts of meat.

Israel and elsewhere, 1950s – early 60s: The dawn of de-Arabization

After the Nakba (the ethnic cleansing of broad swathes of Palestine in the creation of the modern state of "Israel"), the task of producing a national Israeli identity and culture tied to the land, and of asserting that Palestinians had no like sense of national identity, acquired new urgency. The claiming of falafel as "the national snack of Israel," the decoupling of the dish from any association with "Arabs" (in settlers' writing of any time period, this means "Palestinians"), and the insistence on associating it with "Israel" and with "Jews," mark this time period in Israeli and U.S.-ian newspaper articles, travelogues, and cookbooks.

During this period, falafel remained popular despite the "reintegrat[ion]" of the nuclear family into the "national project," and the attendant increase in cooking within the familial home. It was still admirably quick, efficient, hardy, and frequently eaten outside. When it was homemade, the dish could be used rhetorically to marry older ideas about embodying a "new" Jewishness and a return to the land through dietary habits, with the recent return to the home kitchen. In 1952, Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi, the wife of the second President of Israel, wrote to a South African Zionist women's society:

I prefer Oriental dishes and am inclined towards vegetarianism and naturalism, since we are returning to our homeland, going back to our origin, to our climate, our landscape and it is only natural that we liberate ourselves from many of the habits we acquired in the course of our wanderings in many countries, different from our own. [...] Meals at the President's table [...] consist mainly of various kinds of vegetable prepared in the Oriental manner which we like as well as [...] home-made Falafel, and, of course vegetables and fruits of the season.

Out of doors, associations of falafel with low prices, with profusion and excess, and with youth, travelling and vacation (especially to urban locales and the seaside) continue. Falafel as part and parcel of Israeli locales is given new emphasis: a reference to the pervasive smell of frying falafel rounds out the description of a chaotic, crowded, clamorous scene in the compact, winding streets of any old city. Falafel increasingly stands metonymically for Israel, especially in articles written to entice Jewish tourists and settlers: no one is held to have visited Israel unless they have tried real Israeli falafel. A 1958 song ("ולנו יש פלאפל", "And We Have Falafel") avers that:

הַיּוֹם הוּא רַק יוֹרֵד מִן הַמָּטוֹס [...] כְבָר קוֹנֶה פָלָאפֶל וְשׁוֹתֶה גָּזוֹז כִּי זֶה הַמַּאֲכָל הַלְּאֻמִּי שֶׁל יִשְׂרָאֵל

("Today when [a Jew] gets off the plane [to Israel] he immediately has a falafel and drinks gazoz [...] because this is the national dish of Israel"). A 1962 story in Israel Today features a boy visiting Israel responding to the question "Have you learned Hebrew yet?" by asserting "I know what falafel is." Recipes for falafel appear alongside ads for smoked lox and gefilte fish in U.S.-ian Jewish magazines; falafel was served by Zionist student groups in U.S.-ian universities beginning in the 1950s and continuing to now.

These de-Arabization and nationalization processes were possible in part because it was often Mizrahim (West Asian and North African Jews) who introduced Israelis to Palestinian food—especially after 1950, when they began to immigrate to Israel in larger numbers. Even if unfamiliar with specific Palestinian dishes, Mizrahim were at least familiar with many of the ingredients, taste profiles, and cooking methods involved in preparing them. They were also more willing to maintain their familiar foodways as settlers than were Zionist Ashkenazim, who often wanted to distance themselves from European and diaspora Jewish culture.

Despite their longstanding segregation from Israeli Ashkenazim (and the desire of Ashkenazim to create a "new" European Judaism separate from the indolence and ignorance of "Oriental" Jews, including their wayward foodways), Mizrahim were still preferable to Palestinian Arabs as a point of origin for Israel's "national snack." When associated with Mizrahi vendors, falafel could be considered both Oriental and Jewish (note that Sephardim and Mizrahim are unilaterally not considered to be "Arabs" in this writing).

Thus food writing of the 1950s and 60s (and some food writing today) asserts, contrary to settlers' writing of the 1920s and 30s, that falafel had been introduced to Israel by Jewish immigrants from Syria, Yemen, or Morocco, who had been used to eating it in their native countries—this, despite the fact that Yemen and Morocco did not at this time have falafel dishes. Even texts critical of Zionism echoed this narrative. In fact, however, Yemeni vendors had learned to make falafel in Egypt on their way to Palestine and Israel, and probably found falafel already being sold and eaten there when they arrived.Meneley, Anne2007 Like an Extra Virgin. American Anthropologist 109(4):678–687

Meanwhile, "pita" (Palestinian Arabic: خبز الكماج; khubbiz al-kmaj) was undergoing in some quarters a similar process of Israelization; it remained "Arab" in others. In 1956, a Boston-born settler in Haifa wrote for The Jewish Post:

The baking of the pittah loaves is still an Arab monopoly [in Israel], and the food is not available at groceries or bakeries which serve Jewish clientele exclusively. For our Oriental meal to be a success we must have pittah, so the more advance shopping must be done.

This "Arab monopoly" in fact did not extent to an Arab monopoly in discourse: it was a mere four years later that the National Jewish Post and Opinion described "Peeta" as an "Israeli thin bread." Two years after that, the U.S.-published My Jewish Kitchen: The Momales Ta'am Cookbook (co-authored by Zionist writer Shushannah Spector) defined "pitta" as an "Israeli roll."

Despite all this scrubbing work, settlers' attitudes towards falafel in the late 1950s were not wholly positive, and references to the dish as having been "appropriated from the [Palestinian] Arabs" did not disappear. A 1958 article, written by a Boston-born man who had settled in Israel in 1948 and published in U.S.-ian Zionist magazine Midstream, repeats the usual associations of falafel with the "younger set" of visitors from kibbutzim to "urban" locales; it also denigrates it as a “formidably indigestible Arab delicacy concocted from highly spiced legumes rolled into little balls, fried in grease, and then inserted into an underbaked piece of dough, known as a pita.”

Thus settlers were ambivalent about khubbiz as well. If their food writing sometimes refers to pita as "doughy" or "underbaked," it is perhaps because they were purchasing it from stores rather than baking it at home—bakeries sometimes underbake their khubbiz so that it retains more water, since it is sold by weight.

Israel and elsewhere, late 1960s–2010s: Falafel with even fewer Arabs

The sanitization of falafel would be more complete in the 60s and 70s, as falafel was gradually moved out of separate "Oriental dishes" categories and into the main sections of Israeli cookbooks. A widespread return to כַּשְׁרוּת‎ (kashrut; dietary laws) meant that falafel, a פַּרְוֶה (parve) dish—one that contained no meat or dairy—was a convenient addition on occasions when food intersected with nationalist institutions, such as at state dinners and in the mess halls of Israeli military forces.

This, however, still did not prohibit Israelis from displaying ambivalence towards the food. Falafel was more likely to be glorified as a symbol of Jewish Israel in foreign magazines and tourist guides, including in the U.S.A. and Italy, than it was to be praised in Israeli Zionist publications.

Where falafel did maintain an association with Palestinians, it was to assert that their versions of it had been inferior. In 1969, Israeli writer Ruth Bondy opines:

Experience says that if we are to form an affection for a people we should find something admirable about its customs and folklore, its food or girls, its poetry and music. True, we have taken the first steps in this direction [with Palestinians]: we like kebab, hummous, tehina and falafel. The trouble is that these have already become Jewish dishes and are prepared more tastily by every Rumanian restaurateur than by the natives of Nablus.

Opinions about falafel in this case seem to serve as a mirror for political opinions about Palestinians: the same writer had asserted, on the previous page, that the "ideal situation, of course, would be to keep all the territories we are holding today—but without so many Arabs. A few Arabs would even be desirable, for reasons of local color, raising pigs for non-Moslems and serving bread on the Passover, but not in their masses" (trans. Israel L. Taslitt).

Later narratives tended to retrench the Israelization of falafel, often acknowledging that falafel had existed in Palestine prior to Zionist incursion, but holding that Jewish settlers had made significant changes to its preparation that were ultimately responsible for making it into a worldwide favorite. Joan Nathan's 2001 Foods of Israel Today, for example, claimed that, while fava and chickpea falafel had both preëxisted the British Mandate period, Mizrahi settlers caused chickpeas to be the only pulse used in falafel.

Gil Marks, who had echoed this narrative in his 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food, later attributed the success of Palestinian foods to settlers' inventiveness: "Jews didn’t invent falafel. They didn’t invent hummus. They didn’t invent pita. But what they did invent was the sandwich. Putting it all together. And somehow that took off and now I have three hummus restaurants near my house on the Upper West Side.”

Israel and elsewhere, 2000s – 2020s: Re-Arabization; or, "Local color"

Ronald Ranta has identified a trend of "re-Arabizing" Palestinian food in Israeli discourse of the late 2000s and later: cooks, authors, and brands acknowledge a food's origin or identity as "Arab," or occasionally even "Palestinian," and consumers assert that Palestinian and Israeli-Palestinian (i.e., Israeli citizens of Palestinian ancestry) preparations of foods are superior to, or more "authentic" than, Jewish-Israeli ones. Israeli and Israeli-Palestinian brands and restaurants market various foods, including falafel, as "אסלי" ("asli"), from the Arabic "أَصْلِيّ" ("ʔaṣliyy"; "original"), or "בלדי" ("baladi"), from the Arabic "بَلَدِيّ" ("baladiyy"; "native" or "my land").

This dedication to multiculturalism may seem like progress, but Ranta cautions that it can also be analyzed as a new strategy in a consistent pattern of marginalization of the indigenous population: "the Arab-Palestinian other is r­e-colonized and re-imagined only as a resource for tasty food [...] which has been de-politicized[;] whatever is useful and tasty is consumed, adapted and appropriated, while the rest of its culture is marginalized and discarded." This is the "serving bread" and "local color" described by Bondy: "Arabs" are thought of in terms of their usefulness to settlers, and not as equal political participants in the nation. For Ranta, the "re-Arabizing" of Palestinian food thus marks a new era in Israel's "confiden[ce]" in its dominance over the indigenous population.

So this repatriation of Palestinian food is limited insofar as it does not extend to an acknowledgement of Palestinians' political aspirations, or a rejection of the Zionist state. Food, like other indicators and aspects of culture, is a "safe" avenue for engagement with colonized populations even when politics is not.

The acknowledgement of Palestinian identity as an attempt to neutralize political dissent, or perhaps to resolve the contradictions inherent in liberal Zionist identity, can also be seen in scholarship about Israeli food culture. This scholarship tends to focus on narratives about food in the cultural domain, ignoring the material impacts of the settler-colonialist state's control over the production and distribution of food (something that Ranta does as well). Food is said to "cross[] borders" and "transcend[] cultural barriers" without examination of who put the borders there (or where, or why, or how, or when). Disinterest in material realities is cultivated so that anodyne narratives about food as “a bridge” between divides can be pursued.

Raviv, for example, acknowledges that falafel's de-Palestinianization was inspired by anti-Arab sentiment, and that claiming falafel in support of "Jewish nationalism" was a result of "a connection between the people and a common land and history [needing] to be created artificially"; however, after referring euphemistically to the "accelerated" circumstances of Israel's creation, she supports a shared identity for falafel in which it can also be recognized as "Israeli." She concludes that this should not pose a problem for Palestinians, since "falafel was never produced through the labor of a colonized population, nor was Palestinian land appropriated for the purpose of growing chickpeas for its preparation. Thus, falafel is not a tool of oppression."

Palestine and Israel, 1960s – 2020s: Material realities

Yet chickpeas have been grown in Israel for decades, all of them necessarily on appropriated Palestinian land. Experimentation with planting in the arid conditions of the south continues, with the result that today, chickpea is the major pulse crop in the country. An estimated 17,670,000 kilograms of chickpeas were produced in Israel in 2021; at that time, this figure had increased by an average of 3.5% each year since 1966. 73,110 kilograms of that 2021 crop was exported (this even after several years of consecutive decline in chickpea exports following a peak in 2018), representing $945,000 in exports of dried chickpeas alone.

The majority of these chickpeas ($872,000) were exported to the West Bank and Gaza; Palestinians' inability to control their own imports (all of which must pass through Israeli customs, and which are heavily taxed or else completely denied entry), and Israeli settler violence and government expropriation of land, water, and electricity resources (which make agriculture difficult), mean that Palestine functions as a captive market for Israeli exports. Israeli goods are the only ones that enter Palestinian markets freely.

By contrast, Palestinian exports, as well as imports, are subject to taxation by Israel, and only a small minority of imports to Israel come from Palestine ($1.13 million out of $22.4 million of dried chickpeas in 2021).

The 1967 occupation of the West Bank has besides had a demonstrable impact on Palestinians' ability to grow chickpeas for domestic consumption or export in the first place, as data on the changing uses of agricultural land in the area from 1966–2001 allow us to see. Chickpeas, along with wheat, barley, fenugreek, and dura, made up a major part of farmers' crops from 1840 to 1914; but by 2001, the combined area devoted to these field crops was only a third of its 1966 value. The total area given over to chickpeas, lentils and vetch, in particular, shrank from 14,380 hectares in 1966 to 3,950 hectares in 1983.

Part of this decrease in production was due to a shortage of agricultural labor, as Palestinians, newly deprived of land or of the necessary water, capital, and resources to work it—and in defiance of Raviv's assertion that "falafel was never produced through the labor of a colonized population"—sought jobs as day laborers on Israeli fields.

The dearth of water was perhaps especially limiting. Palestinians may not build anything without a permit, which the Israeli military may deny for any, or for no, reason: no Palestinian's request for a permit to dig a well has been approved in the West Bank since 1967. Israel drains aquifiers for its own use and forbids Palestinians to gather rainwater, which the Israeli military claims to own. This lack of water led to land which had previously been used to grow other crops being transitioned into olive tree fields, which do not require as much water or labor to tend.

In Gaza as well, occupation systematically denies Palestinians of food itself, not just narratives about food. The majority of the population in Gaza is food-insecure, as Israel allows only precisely determined (and scant) amounts of food to cross its borders. Gazans rely largely on canned goods, such as chickpeas (often purchased at subsidized rates through food aid programs run by international NGOs), because they do not require scarce water or fuel to prepare—but canned chickpeas cannot be used to prepare a typical deep-fried falafel recipe (the discs would fall apart while frying). There is, besides, a continual shortage of oil (of which only a pre-determined amount of calories are allowed to enter the Strip). Any narrative about Israeli food culture that does not take these and other realities of settler-colonialism into account is less than half complete.

Of course, falafel is far from the only food impacted by this long campaign of starvation, and the strategy is only intensifying: as of December 2023, children are reported to have died by starvation in the besieged Gaza Strip.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord; donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund; buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

Equipment:

A meat grinder, or a food processor, or a high-speed or immersion blender, or a mortar and pestle and an enormous store of patience

A pot, for frying

A kitchen thermometer (optional)

Ingredients:

Makes 12 large falafel balls; serves 4 (if eaten on their own).

For the فلافل (falafel):

500g dried chickpeas (1010g once soaked)

1 large onion

4 cloves garlic

1 Tbsp cumin seeds

1 Tbsp coriander seeds

2 tsp dill seeds (عين جرادة; optional)

1 medium green chili pepper (such as a jalapeño), or 1/2 large one (such as a ram's horn / فلفل قرن الغزال)

2 stalks green onion (3 if the stalks are thin) (optional)

Large bunch (50g) parsley, stems on; or half parsley and half cilantro

2 Tbsp sea salt

2 tsp baking soda (optional)

For the حَشوة (filling):

2 large yellow onions, diced

1/4 cup coarsely ground sumac

4 tsp shatta (شطة: red chili paste), optional

Salt, to taste

3 Tbsp olive oil

For the طراطور (tarator):

3 cloves garlic

1/2 tsp table salt

1/4 cup white tahina

Juice of half a lemon (2 Tbsp)

2 Tbsp vegan yoghurt (لبن رائب; optional)

About 1/4 cup water

To make cultured vegan yoghurt, follow my labna recipe with 1 cup, instead of 3/4 cup, of water; skip the straining step.

To fry:

Several cups neutral oil

Untoasted hulled sesame seeds (optional)

Instructions:

1. If using whole spices, lightly toast in a dry skillet over medium heat, then grind with a mortar and pestle or spice mill.

2. Grind chickpeas, onion, garlic, chili, and herbs. Modern Palestinian recipes tend to use powered meat grinders; you could also use a food processor, speed blender, or immersion blender. Some recipes set aside some of the chickpeas, aromatics, and herbs and mince them finely, passing the knife over them several times, then mixing them in with the ground mixture to give the final product some texture. Consult your own preferences.

To mimic the stone-ground texture of traditional falafel, I used a mortar and pestle. I found this to produce a tender, creamy, moist texture on the inside, with the expected crunchy exterior. It took me about two hours to grind a half-batch of this recipe this way, so I don't per se recommend it, but know that it is possible if you don't have any powered tools.

3. Mix in salt, spices, and baking soda and stir thoroughly to combine. Allow to chill in the fridge while you prepare the filling and sauce.

If you do not plan to fry all of the batter right away, only add baking soda to the portion that you will fry immediately. Refrigerate the rest of the batter for up to 2 days, or freeze it for up to 2 months. Add and incorporate baking soda immediately before frying. Frozen batter will need to be thawed before shaping and frying.

For the filling:

1. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Fry onion and a pinch of salt for several minutes, until translucent. Remove from heat.

2. Add sumac and stir to combine. Add shatta, if desired, and stir.

For the tarator:

1. Grind garlic and salt in a mortar and pestle (if you don't have one, finely mince and then crush the garlic with the flat of your knife).

2. Add garlic to a bowl along with tahina and whisk. You will notice the mixture growing smoother and thicker as the garlic works as an emulsifier.

3. Gradually add lemon juice and continue whisking until smooth. Add yoghurt, if desired, and whisk again.

4. Add water slowly while whisking until desired consistency is achieved. Taste and adjust salt.

To fry:

1. Heat several inches of oil in a small or medium pot to about 350 °F (175 °C). A piece of batter dropped in the oil should float and immediately form bubbles, but should not sizzle violently. (With a small pot on my gas stove, my heat was at medium-low).

2. Use your hands or a large falafel mold to shape the falafel.

To use a falafel mold: Dip your mold into water. If you choose to cover both sides of the falafel with sesame seeds, first sprinkle sesame seeds into the mold; then apply a flat layer of batter. Add a spoonful of filling into the center, and then cover it with a heaping mound of batter. Using a spoon, scrape from the center to the edge of the mold repeatedly, while rotating the mold, to shape the falafel into a disc with a slightly rounded top. Sprinkle the top with sesame seeds.

To use your hands: wet your hands slightly and take up a small handful of batter. Shape it into a slightly flattened sphere in your palm and form an indentation in the center; fill the indentation with filling. Cover it with more batter, then gently squeeze between both hands to shape. Sprinkle with sesame seeds as desired.

3. Use a slotted spoon or kitchen spider to lower falafel balls into the oil as they are formed. Fry, flipping as necessary, until discs are a uniform brown (keep in mind that they will darken another shade once removed from the oil). Remove onto a wire rack or paper towel.

If the pot you are using is inclined to stick, be sure to scrape the bottom and agitate each falafel disc a couple seconds after dropping it in.

4. Repeat until you run out of batter. Occasionally use a slotted spoon or small sieve to remove any excess sesame seeds from the oil so they do not burn and become acrid.

Serve immediately with sauce, sliced vegetables, and pickles, as desired.

[cutieeva]

My Sweet Little Girl

Female Reader

Warnings : Abusive and toxic relationship. Murder. Attempt Murder. PTSD. Revenge porn.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :

Is moving on with life is possible when haunting dead is hot on heels and mind ?

Her finger tips is cool to the touch of the sliver frame that is design in circles like of a bent soft feather could be, beautifully arch and terribly divine. Her (E/C) eyes felt familiar to the beauty, sight following the center of the frame that is wrapped around. A neat huge mirror where her reflection stare back, bearing her nose, her skin, her mouth and eyes and hair. Even her sombre expression that she almost forget she was staring at her own self not at another sad woman she refuse to know.

Her eyes lift to the very above where the mirror's frame hold a diamond— a frown settle on her brows, uncertain if it's real or unsettlingly false from the shine and beauty. Then her eyes stare lower to the mirror, the height of the oval mirror is taller than her own, reminding her of someone. Someone close, dear to her heart once. He might have been perfect tall for the mirror unlike her. He always was she guess.

Her fingers continue to trace the dusty frame, feeling the metal and subtle changes when she caught the feeling of a paper beneath and look to find a white price sticker attached. She titls her head at the one word. Free.

Odd word. She thought. For such a ancient, timeless beauty this should have been placed to sell in an expensive auction at the first place not in an small antique shop let alone be brought free. "Unless something is wrong with the—". Her thoughts cut off.

"Nothing is wrong with the product". His voice startled her, flinching away from the frame and step back a little from the aged grinning man, his slender hands laced behind his back. "The free is because of the one who sold the mirror. Actually the original price of this product could not compare to my humble shop and the car I have brought from loan. Something only filthy rich can buy to show off not common civilians like us..." Grumbling the man said, distasteful in his voice. "But the lady was grieving saying someone close to her heart died belonged the mirror which was one of many things and she wants them to be out of sight however not have the heart to throw them into the trash nor sell them to other uncaring people. So, her only solution was to send all of her expensive products to many antique shop hoping only pure antique lovers would take care of the things that once belonged to her beloved dead". He finished and she raised her eyebrows still unclear why the free tag if it will be eventually sell to the people from antique shops instead of completely zero amount. But she had a hint.

The man notice and cleared his oak throat. "She did not want price attached to the products, the very reason she decided to sell to me, or more like given to me". As she expected, she nod.

"Well, good because I need it". She decide, leaving the part out for her fresh moved house. The man doesn't need to know such private information. The owner's grin wider, nodding and enthusiastically walking to his desk for the package and calling his worker to delivery the fragile mirror.

She step back a little, her red heels shimmers under the golden rays. Face shadowed by a hat as she watched the male worker holding the mirror carefully. It would be a lie if she is buying such fancy thing for mere decoration or in need, rather because deep inside a side of her always love to see the history of an ancient product, touching them, finding the little changes over the course of years. It was fun to collect until it wasn't and so one and half years after she moves to an unfamiliar town along an unfamiliar house leaving her family, friends behind.

She suppose the least she can do is recall her past self. The self she erased and moled into someone her love had loved.

"Mam !" She look at the aged man.

"Yes".  Soft her voice was.

"Please write your address where we can delivery". (Y/N) nod, holding the ball pen between her fingers to write quickly, away from the man's curious eyes, away from the sun's rays, away from everything if possible.

"Here". Hurried she let the pen fall and slide the paper towards him to hide her trembling hands below the wooden desk before his glinting eyes could spot. The man took it and smiled.

"Oh ! What a wonderful place you live in. Only people with enough money can live in Vallancia estate". His smile wider. "No wonder I felt like I didn't saw you in this town because you belonged there". He added causing her to swallow how sharp the man is.

Then she frown. Wait, why is so desperate to hide the fact she is new ? It's not funny. She knows it isn't so does she knows why she is so desperate to hide because she is afraid to be scammed and tear to pieces by the local in name of kindness. She is afraid they will take advantage of her unawareness around here.

She is terribly, terribly scared. All alone. Her chest rose and fell fast and breath heavy. "I-I will take my leave then. I will wait at 2 pm for my product unscathed". Not waiting for his answer she left, patting her chest to calm and hiding her face from the sun by her hat. It's ridiculous, truly is at how little things she has come to be afraid. Little things she loved to befriend once.

━━━━━━━

The mirror stood tall at her bedroom corner, beside her closet. It's magnificent she must compliment. Her eyes slide to the newly hanged clock over the wall. At perfect 2:00 pm did it arrived in it's cleaned glory. A smile lift her lips and that years later proud feeling bubble within her chest.

Still a smile over her lips, she went to unpack the boxes. Sitting on the red carpet on the white tiles beside the boxes, her fingers went though many things she had forgetton like her photo album, her collections of sea shells, her camera and so more. Skimming though the things she once knew feels like an foreign objects now, something she is gliding her eyes for the first time. Like she is knowing a self he had once. Like all her closest people had.

Now all is remain of her past self is hurt, broken and incomplete. Grim at the loathful thoughts she push the box and decide to unpack some other day. She has lots of time in her hand. Standing she went to the bathroom.

"I should take a relaxing bath". Mutter to herself, she choose a loose pair of cloth and enter inside nude, sliding inside the warm bath.

Warm bath are always her favorite, water trickling from her skin, his humming calming her thoughts, smile plaster on her lips she can't remove. Eyes close in the bliss when her legs were pulled, her eyes flutter open watching him holding her tender feet like fragile glass and messaging them. Her smile wider, his grin too.

Slowly little by little her smile wide further at the ticklish sensation of his fingers roaming up to her wet body. She waited, feeling up his childish play how he trace to her thigh, dangerous close to her private part— a part that was not unseen by him, then at her navel he loves to pepper kisses so much, her ribcage his palm always squzze a little before resting on her breast— his favorite to fondle and caress and her buds to engulf within his pair of lips then his fingers went up to her collarbone where the golden necklace of his gift lays. The letter R shines at the light then his fingers slide up to her neck he often licks and finally caress at her chin. Where he often than not lean in to kiss like now. Her ears ignore the splash sound of his leaning to her from the water of his other side to blend their lips one.

For eternal, for now— "Ah !" Her lips grasp and eyes wide open in fear. Shaking pupils stare at the end of bathtub where she felt like her legs were tugged. Slightly. She suppose ? Inhaling deeply she run her fingers in her hair and shake her thought. "I am going crazy". A little her voice echo at the lonely bathroom before she spring up realizing how cold the water had become and numb her body.

Shivering from the cool breeze brushing her skin she wrap a towel around her body, walking to the sink to wash her face clean. Her eyes stare at the mirror for a long time before applying the facewash and splash the water to her face.

A breath of relieve escape as she lift her face to the mirror and a scream tore her lips at the sight of a shadowed tall figure right behind her.

In fear she bent to the sink, tremble her entirety, breath heavy and blurry her vision became. "D-Deep breath. Deep bre-ath". Lifting her face again, slowly, utter slowly and her eyes close in relieve of no one standing this time. Not the shadow figure or anything close still her heart pound.

Stress must be affecting her mind. Wiping the escaped tears and continue her deep breaths, her fingers slide to the vacant neck.

━━━━━━

Fresh aroma of dish travel to the bedroom awakening her eyes as she snuggle more in the comfort of her morning, sliding further to hide away inside the soft blanket, pillow and his spice smell with hint of light cologne.

"Wakey. Wakey". Teasing his creamy voice was, drumming his finger tips over her bare shoulder. "Wakey". He repeat, voice softer at each word and she giggle at his kiss on her skin like he can't get enough of her. Something that always success in fluttering her heart at the new relationship they share.

"Hmm, dear majesty isn't waking up..." He tailed off, acting like he didn't heard her giggles and his finger on his chin. "Let's then—" She waited, closing her eyes in pretense of sleeping when a yelp left her at his sudden attack of fingers ticking her stomach. Her most sensitive part from beneath.

Laughter and chuckle fill the serene silence room. "Okay ! O-okay ! Stop I am wake !" Choked laugher let out, pushing his hands away the more he is nearing. "Stop ! I am awake !" She cries and he laughs, laying on her back, facing her meanie boyfriend. A man who loves to tease her, a lot.

"You are bad". Pouting she said, looking away in act. He tilt his head, smiling on his charming face she still remembers how flustered she had became upon their first meeting.

"Am I ?" He snuck his hands beneath her body to embrace and rest his chin on her chest.

"Yes you are". He made a oh sound.

"Then..." He tail off, climbing over her "If I am bad. I am your bad boy". With his contiguous laughter he begin pepper kisses over all her face, pulling pure happiness out of her. "Don't you love this meanie, badie boy ?" He peck on her eye lids, nose, cheeks, forehead, chin. "Don't you ?"

She wrap her arms around him, pressing their bodies together. "Yes, I do !—

(Y/N) open her eyes to silence. No birds chirping nor the clock alarm she set yesterday.

Beep. Beep. She is earlier than the clock. Unusual for someone who disliked waking up early in the morning. Guess, people grow up and change. Sitting up, her stomach growl. Her feet slide to her slippers, walking to downstairs the open kitchen.

Alone the house is as it should be and her hands open the upper cabinets to reach the box of rainbow cereals she manage to unpack and keep. Within minutes she found a cleaned bowl along cleaned spoon and only bottle of milk in the fridge reminding her to do groceries and begin eating it, leaning her body to the sink and listening to her own munching sounds apart from eerie silence.

Her eyes lay on the kitchen, drafting to the past.

"What did you made ? Masterchef Rylanox" Joking she add the title despite him aiming to become one and to her, he always will be the best chef.

"Nothing much. Egg sandwich, bacons and some salads and milk". She nod, picking the spoon he provide and ate in hurry she almost burned her tongue.

"Ah !" She yelp causing him to near her and caress her cheek.

"Calm down, no one is going to snatch your food away". Rylanox said, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek and brought a tiny piece of ice to put in her mouth. "Swirl around it until it melts or if feel too icy then spit it out. Understood ?" (Y/N) nod like a good girl she was earning a smile.

"My sweet little girl". His favorite endearment to use as if he was older when they were around the same age. 21.

"Ah !" In daze she burned her tongue, spilling the food out in the sink and drinking cold water to numb the pain. She suppose one thing didn't change, her carelessness. She grim hating how if she changed why not change for the better entirely. Sighing she throw the remaining she didn't have appetite to eat anymore.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! (Y/N) turn her head to the living room, in front of the sofa is the house telephone ringing. She walk fast to pick and put on her ear.

"Hello". She greet. Silence she heard and she waits and waits for the other person in line to speak. "Hello ?" She gulp hearing nothing apart from silence. "Hello ? I am hanging up if you have nothing so say" She said about to hang up when a loud static ring so hard near her ear she slammed the phone down.

"Goodness". Little buzzes she felt on her right ear. Angrily she wonder who in the earth is pranking so early in the morning. "Must be the little kids". Aren't they little demons as much as little angels.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! (Y/N) flinch at the unexpected ring of telephone again. Her (E/C) eyes watched the shivers of red phone as it continue to buzz, filling in the air. Ring ! Ring ! She finally pick up, holding it near her ear without uttering a word, waiting for the other side to say.

However not a single sound came. Not a breathing, not even a breeze of wind and she slam the phone down.

"What was that ?" Her heart skip a beat. Kids these days are becoming bolder she swears.

Ring ! Ring ! Ring ! And the last ring about to close when her fingers pick the green telephone near her ear. "Hello !" She greet knowing already who the otherline was despite silence greeting her.

"You don't have to act when it's October. You know, I am fully aware this is you not some random or Billy Loomis from scream". Leaning on the counter her finger twirl the cords hearing his chuckle.

"Sweetie, you are no fun. Too smart to fool". He compliment, blushing her and stroking her ego.

"I know". Smirking she said.

"Narcissist much ?" She could already image mirth playing around his sky blue eyes.

"No, confident much". She replied earning more of his melody deep voice she loves to hear. "Then..." He tailed off, (Y/N) continue to not pay attention to his words, eyes lift to the kitchen window watching the full beauty of moon, smiling and drinking the fog clouding the night.

"Boo !" Her heart leap and scream tore from watching a figure pop on her window as she fell on her back. "Ah !" She whine, rubbing her back and heart pumping blood to veins faster as eyes look up, little over the counter to see her boyfriend standing, holding his smartphone near his guffaw mouth.

"You bastard !" She cursed.

Standing (Y/N) scan the piles of boxes debating where to unpack now or later. And she decide to procrastinate walking to her laptop sat on the glass tea table.

Comfortably she sit on the lush sofa, pulling the device on her lap, pressing the on button and the moment it lit up, she regret a little staring back at her own alone self, standing while holding her graduate degree in the photo with a forced smile under the scorning sun. Her thought draft to how he should have been beside her, holding his chef degree however he didn't and it satisfy her for hidden reasons.

━━━━━━━

Soft touches brush against her neck. Feather light and gentle they are and awful familiar too. Soon her close eyes discover they are hands, and the fingers hold her soft and (S/C) skin. Tender they were before tighten they become. She whimper at the feeling, breathing hitch and brows furrow as a weight lay over her body, huge than her, deepen the darkness further and the grip tighten, tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter until she couldn't breath, strangled cries let out, eyes barely open as water fill them. Nails harshly scrape the unmovable force, still she dug harder and it tighter, the more she fight, the harder it become that she felt herself floating suspended in a sea of terror.

Cries and tear bleed together.

She open her eyes and...

Nothing.

No tall midnight figure, no distorted monster, no human. Nothing but darkness with hint of moonlight sweeping through the drawn curtain windows. In mist of swallowing her dry throat and restricted chest, her fingers tap the switch of light and her sight glide around finding nothing lurking even under the bed only to rest upon the mirror and for some reason an uneasy feeling slit her stomach.

The more she stare at her self from the bed the more the feeling increase as if entrance she can't look away—. 

I know you. I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

"What ?" She utter, heart picking up again at the song playing inside her house from downstairs she assume.

And I know it's true, that visions are seldom what they seem

The song continue to play. (Y/N) begin crying again in fear, watching the closed door when a fleeing thought came. Did she lock the door ?"

But if I know you

What if she didn't and the intruder come in ? Someone is in her house. Fist clenched and tears roll down silently she close her eyes and count to three to one to ran.

I know what you'll do

Three.

Two.

One.

She sprinted in silence, her feet pounding the ground, and grasped the golden doorknob, twisting and locking it with a desperate urgency. As she caught her breath, two stark realities dawned on her: the oppressive silence had replaced the sweet serenade, and she was holding her breath in terror.

Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes, exhaustion and fear threatening to consume her. But before she could find solace, a faint whimper pierced the air. The doorknob began to turn, resisted only by the lock's fragile hold. Someone was pushing against the door, their body weight straining the wooden frame, threatening to splinter it.

She recoiled, her back peeling away from the door as if scalded. Turning her face, she clamped her palm over her lips, stifling the cries that trembled on their way out.

You'll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

The song begin again. Her favorite song she listened with him as they dance, bubbling their little world where only they existed. Him and her only.

(Y/N) quickly pick her phone from the drawer, biting her hand to hold the fearful cries, calling the emergency. "Pick up ! Pick up ! Pick up !"

But if I know you

I know what you do

The haunting melody and the persistent banging at the door transported her back to a day she long tried to forget. The memory of that agonizing wait, clutching her phone as it rang incessantly, with no reassuring voice on the other end to save her, came flooding back. Today, like then, desperation clawed at her soul.

"Please, please, please," she whispered, her pleas lost. She wasn't sure who she begged– the universe, a higher power, or perhaps herself– but she clung to the fragile thread of hope.

You love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream.

"Hello, this is 911. What's your emergency ?" And the ray of hope stretch it's hand from darkness. With a relieve, she cries.

"S-someone, I-I don't know. Som-eone is trying to o-pen the door". She cries, her ears peeking how the song stop, only her strangled cries and the polite mam's voice flowing in.

"Okay, mam. I understand, I will dispatch police cars right away but you have to share your address". The lady's voice went over her head as fears consumed her. Again, again that night repeated the cause of her moving away, staring fresh. "Hello ? Mam ? Please calm down and stay in the line. Please share your address". She cries harder not knowing if she even did the simply task.

━━━━━━

"(Y/N) open the door ! (Y/N) open the door ! (Y/N) open the fucking door". Banging threat to tear the door and she tremble, fearing for her life, hand coming to touch her neck and wince, recoiling her hand when recalling how painful it was. "God damn (Y/N) ! You can't always stay in the bathroom. Come outside I am sorry, it was my fault. Come here darling. I am sorry".

His raging voice scared her more she wanted to yell, but didn't, her back touch the cold wall and she cries silently hoping, praying for him to go when her sight caught the mirror in the bathroom. Her eyes wide in surprise and lips part staring at the mixture of blue and purple hue around her neck. She didn't know how bad it looked, slowly her steps forward to the mirror, fingers gazing to touch because it feels surreal. Not true.

Her boyfriend, her sweet boyfriend that never even raise his voice when angered did this to her is pure nightmare, she isn't ready to face the reality. She isn't. No. No. No. No. No. No. It must be a accident, it must be. No way.

The banging and his voice become a white noise she was too lost to stop her doubt creeping in. Questioning is this his true self ? Is this how he was ? But it slipped ? Evil voices merge together so much when she caught the tall figure right behind her. It was too late, she screamed in horror and tried to ran past him but he was stronger, faster holding her in the place he desired.

She blindly punched, kick his legs, screaming in hopes of someone hears her when Rylanox groans, slamming his hand over her lips and caging her between his body and the sink.

"Shuu". He hushed her, holding her tightly as she cries louder. "Shu ! Shut up ! I am sorry, I am sorry (Y/N), I am sorry I was bad. It was an accident I swear". Apologies in his tip, uttering thousand times that it lose it's meaning now.

"Calm down ! FUCKING CALM DOWN !" He yell, flinch her and scaring her so hard, she stopped, her hands limp on her side and legs stand wobbly, wailing turn to sobbing. "Sorry, sorry. I was angry. I am sorry. Good, my sweet little girl, stay like this". His sweaty palm comb her locks out of face, wipe her tears as the other remove from her lips.

"I am sorry. It was an accident. I was drunk—".

"So you strangled me ?" Angrily she utter, cutting his nonsense to which he deeply inhale.

"I am sorry, okay ? I fucked up. I know that, the alcohol in my system just mess up my brain so—". He pause searching words she knew wasn't enough to justify his actions. "—I am sorry, I truly am". He settle on those words in last.

(Y/N) look away, a shudder ran her body at the image of his crazed eyes loomed over her, haunting her mind's eye—the same eyes that had once gazed at her with affection. His hands, once gentle, grasped her neck like a vice before he was simply kissing her, being sweet to her only to spiral into someone she couldn't recognize, couldn't see for the tears flooding her eyes and black, colorful dots dancing in her vision as she was fighting for her life to the man she thought would fight for her, not from him.

She regrets opening the door when he was drunk, regrets walking the straved lion to her bedroom to sleep together when he push her on the bed gently, she giggled unaware of what about to happen as he press kisses, hands roaming around her body, all at once before gazing at her neck and leading to this.

"(Y/N) ? (Y/N) ? (Y/N) ? Please look at me—".

"Miss. (Y/N) !" She look at the pair of cops in front of her in daze, wrapping the shawl tighter feeling the brown hair-red cop from the black one was gazing at her too intimately.

"Yes". She replied to the black haired cop.

"We searched your entire house and property but unfortunately we found no one". (Y/N) nod hating the distant sound of it. "So, we think it might be the mischief neighbor children". (Y/N) frown, gazing at him.

"How children could easily come in and do such terrible things ? The phone ring—".

"The phone calls ?" He question, hand on his waist belt.

"Yes, today morning I had continuous phone calls but whenever I picked up, no one talked". He nod and she could imagine him believing entirely it's the children unlike her and she hated it.

"So—". The brown haired cop drawls. "—do you live alone ?" Her heart sink to her stomach, his eyes glinting is too familiar to him when he first asked her name. That amusing and excitement locking her in dilemma to say truth or lie.

She listened to her gut feeling. "No. My parents are out of town". She lies watching the glint melt. Police were never her first choice anyways rather she dislike them for not doing their duty that civilians pays taxes for them to keep. It's infuriating.

"Oh". His voice drop and the black haired cop scoff lightly.

"Well, then if anything happens do not hesitate to call us again. We will look out too". Those revised words she excuse she heard when cops can't do anything, watching them leave from the window before drawning the curtains. She could have asked, even pled them to stay if the brown haired cop was not bearing ill intention or at least flirtatious thoughts.

Why men are so greedy she wonder. Always want more than they can chew and she wants to die, wishing to disappear from the surface of the earth if it meant free from the pain, agony fill memories and regret. She wish she had told her parents, friends. Even his parents the truth. She should.

Sitting on the carpet, her eyes roll to the music box the song was haunting her and she went to pull the plug out when something else caught her corner of eyes. The telephone plug. It is not plugged.

And her mind reel and breath halted away. No. No. No. No. No. No. It can't be. If the phone is not plugged then how could it ring— ? It's not possible. It simply not possible. Maybe mice or some animal did it after it rang. Yes, that's the thing right ?

Aside from that there is no evidence how a unplugged telephone ring twice. (Y/N) nod, convincing her because otherwise.....the blood in her veins turn cold.

He isn't dead ?

No. No. No. He has to be dead. Because she with her own bare hands killed her boyfriend Rylanox.

━━━━━━

"You are trying to break up with me ? (Y/N) can you hear yourself ? You, trying to break up with me, Rylanox Slade". He grip her chin hard, daring her to bore her gaze into his angered ones. "And you were fool to think that I would agree and let you fuck someone else !" She cries, pushing him away in disgust of his thought.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you ! How more disgusting can you be ? Rather than trying to know the reason or even understand why we are breaking up, you care more about who I will have sex with ?" Tears swell her red rimmed more yet her voice horse like she cried for hours.

"Of course I will when you are mine !" His large palm hold her wrist tight she wince. "I do care who you fuck and not, whatever nonsense you are coming up to break up with me when we are happy !" He screamed, angering her further.

"Happy ? You say me crying and applying pounds of makeup everyday to hide your little accidents is called happy ? And you say that reasons are nonsense ?" The voices of his sound distant like she can't believe who the person is saying in front, not her beloved boyfriend she knew because he would never, he even swore in their first date to always be there to listen to her, protect her. Not hurt her. But if this is her boyfriend then she was a fool to not notice how a monster he was.

She was also a fool to come to a party of their mutual friend thinking he will not be here after she cowardly in phone announced their break up after that fateful night of him choking her to death. After that she feared for her life more than she loved him. But how ? How did he even know she would be here ? She was not a party person and her thoughts tangled when his grip on her wrist brought her back.

"I am talking to you !" He rest his forehead, jaw clenched and alcohol reek from his mouth she almost turn her head if not for his fingers holding her chin in place. "Look at me. We are not breaking up. We aren't. We never will be". His pled overshadowed the faint loud music from the living room, her (E/C) eyes stare into his teary blue ones and she almost saw the boy she fell for, not the monster that held her.

She swear, she was close to agreeing, close to embracing him and giving him a second chance and turn a blind eye however his words circle around her mind of how not once did he sincerely apologize for his mistakes, acknowledge them as messed up for better and try to be better instead of uttering them when needed and finding justification. If not for her then at least for his sake they need to break up.

She realize she loves him more than she can hate him so she decide to—

"Let's break up". Because if he truly loves her as he says then he will be better and she will take him without a second thought, forgive all his sins.

"What ?" However he did not share the same thought, his eyes disbelief and the grip loose. "What did you say ?" His voice barely above a whisper like he is afraid to hear it himself.

"I said let's break up for real". She repeat, her own heart breaking apart. "We can't stay together. Not when you are like this". Her voice crack in the end and a lonely tear slide. She glance at his clouded face, frown deepen and she move forward to rest their forehead as a unspoken goodbye. "I am sorry". She truly was and with that she walk away as he let her.

Her palm on the doorknob rest, twist it about to open.

"Ah". A moan halt her actions. "Harder ! Harder !" (E/C) eyes wide at her own voice, shamelessly moaning and her warm body turn cold, the air of outside whiff inside.

"Ah !" She moan again, louder than previous. (Y/N) can't believe her ears, her heart heavy, heart ratting like a rat against her cage. Behind her footsteps came, a hand from behind brush past her skin to gently push the door shut with a click.

He stood holding the phone— the source of her nightmare, of all girls horror while he tower over her like he had the power, smirk like the devil incarnation hug her waist. "You can still break up if you want. Unless of course". He chuckle like a joke it was to him. "You want to be the face of whores". Tears descend from her eyes. How low could he go to trap her ? chain her ?

"Aww," he cooed, his voice dripping with false tenderness as she sobbed. "Don't cry, my sweet little girl. I didn't record it secretly to take revenge or exploit you. You know me." His words reeked of insincerity. "I love you too much for that. I just wanted a token of our love, a reminder for when we're apart."

His voice cracked with amusement, sending shivers down her spine. "But who knew it would come in handy?" The laughter that followed was like a devil's chuckle, echoing in her mind, relentless and haunting. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

The sound was like an irritating mosquito buzzing in her ear, a constant reminder of his betrayal. Pain and anguish swirled inside her, threatening to consume her. She had trusted him, loved him, and this was how he repaid her ?

SLAP!

Rylanox's face jerked to the side, his cheek flaming crimson from the force of her blow. The sex tape in his hand seemed to fade into insignificance as her chest heaved with rage, her eyes blazing with betrayal.

"How dare you!" she thundered, her voice shredding the air. "How dare you try to blackmail me? Manipulate me into being your puppet?" Her palm throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anguish and vulnerability ravaging her soul.

"I loved you," she spat, each word laced with venom. "I gave you everything – my heart, body, and soul. And this is how you repay me? recording our intimate moments without my permission and using them against me?" Her scream tore through the silence, veins bulging in her skin, eyes wide with disgust and hurt. For an instant, Rylanox's expression faltered, revealing a glimmer of remorse.

But anger quickly clouded his face, hardening his features.

"You forced my han—". She cut off his nonsense.

"No ! You fucking coward ! You forced my hand to break up ! I want you to know that we break up is because of you ! And you and you only !" She screamed. "And you know what's funny ? The video serves more prove why I should separate with you". She bitterly laughed at his face. He flinch at the tone. "Upload it. Upload for all the people to see and you will find my dead body to touch". At the word dead red painted his vision so his better judgment.

The next moment all happen in a fleeing motion, (Y/N) was pinned against the wooden door, her back colliding with it so forcefully that a strangled gasp escaped her lips as his both palms wrapped like a venomous snake around his neck, tighten at each passing second. "You know what my (Y/N) ? I want you dead than not being with me. So let's die together". Her eyes wide in that and his smirk grew, loving the fearful power over her. See, it doesn't make sense for both of them to live especially her apart from him let alone with someone else showing such cute expressions that belongs only to him.

"Ah !" With a frightening scream her eyes wide open, grasping for air in her lungs. His wicked smile imprint on her mind. Her eyes roll around finding herself engulf in darkness as her body lay on the carpet of the living room where she saw the— memories flash inside her mind making her crawl back to the wall, staring straight to the innocent unplugged cord. Sweat glisten at the peering moonlight and hand found her flipped smartphone, holding it and surprise to find a day pass since the cops came....yesterday.

She slept a day away ? More like faint.  Confusion greet her as she rarely slept since that day— the day she shut her mouth about despite all know the unhidden part of truth. Not the cloaked part of his dirty, nasty self she choose silence. It's alright thought, as long as her recording none know. She will take to her grave where she was the villain and he was the angel.

Standing up in the shaky legs she went inside her bedroom, locking the door and meeting the mirror and a suddenly doubt made her step towards it. If she carefully think, the moment this mirror grace her house all her paranoi—

Ring! Ring! Ring! The shrill sound pierced the air, shattering her fragile calm. Her thoughts snapped back to reality, and dread washed over her like a cold wave. Her lips quivered, and her eyes snapped shut as if to block out the unbearable truth.

He's not dead. He's come back to haunt her, to claim her as his own in death.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Each ring grew louder, more insistent, and she covered her ears, desperate to block out the cacophony. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

But it was the impossible truth that made her stomach churn with terror: the telephone was unplugged. Yet, it rang on, a maddening, otherworldly sound that defied logic. This was no ordinary call. This was a summons from beyond the grave.

Silence. The abrupt cessation of the ringing left her breathless. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the eerie stillness that enveloped the house. The sudden quiet was oppressive, heavy with anticipation.

A pin drop would have been deafening in the vacuum of sound. Her ears strained, hyper-vigilant, and then she heard it – the faint click of someone picking up the phone.

The sound was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting her fear. Her heart skipped a beat as she waited, frozen, for the voice on the other end.

The pause seemed interminable, stretching her nerves to the breaking point. And then, a low, raspy breath echoed through the line.

"(Y/N) ! What the hell did you mean in the text let's break up ? Who do you think you are ? Out of nowhere writing something dangerous to get my attention ? This is so petty from you". That same deep voice of his sch the house. She stilled, unable to process how on earth is it speaking the same words he did when she announced their break up on phone following the horrible phone ringing on her house phone as she blocked him on her own. Yet it was before the storm. That incident.

She recalled the terror vividly, like it was yesterday. Days of relentless calls from unknown numbers, forcing her to change phones, only to have him breach the new barrier, invading her landline. "I said what I said, let's break up". The same words he heard to be angered.

"You !! This is about that night ? Isn't it ?" He sounded so, so angry and wounded she wanted to smooth when she was the cause.

"Yes". Said honestly. She heard him exhale.

"Please don't do this to yourself. To me. To us". Pleading his voice, dangerously edge to crying she recalled herself crying with him.

"I'm sorry. No." She whispered to the darkness, tears streaming down her face as remorse and anguish consumed her.

Memories flooded back, transporting her to that fateful day. She relived the horror of holding the phone as he slammed it down, the sound echoing in her mind.

"I'll watch how," his menacing voice still lingered, sending shivers down her spine.

The sudden slam of the phone shattered the silence, making (Y/N) jump. The ensuing stillness was oppressive, a haunting reminder of her isolation.

The silence she had craved now felt suffocating, a desperate loneliness that echoed the terror of being trapped with him in that room. No one to weep to, no one to beg for help.

"I told you we're meant to be together." (Y/N)'s pupils dilated in terror as her legs buckled, sending her crashing to the floor. Her eyes locked onto the mirror, where a dark, bottomless figure emerged, its hand reaching out like a specter.

Her mouth hung agape, frozen in horror, as she stared into the face of death itself – a monstrous, inhuman form that twisted the reflection of her former lover.

Despite her desperate attempts to move, her body remained paralyzed, rooted to the spot like a trapped animal. The darkness seemed to seep from the mirror, step into her bedroom. That's when she sprinted for her life, adrenaline fueling her desperate escape. Once again.

In an instant, the dark figure grasped her body, spinning her around with inhuman strength. (Y/N) crashed into the wood, the impact reverberating through her bones.

A rage-filled slam pinned her against the surface, the air knocked from her lungs. The figure's grip tightened around her neck, a merciless chokehold.

(Y/N)'s vision blurred, her thoughts racing as she struggled to break free. The figure's grip only tightened, its intention clear: to unalive her. Tears dripping and her entire visage red. Lips wide open to earn any or at all air possible as she continue to tug her nails on it's hand finding indeed soft flesh almost like his palms. She cried more at that. Swimming to the past of how twice she is in the same place, suffering for other's anger.

"I fucking hate you!" she screamed with her last shred of strength, defiance burning in her eyes. The figure's response was a grotesque, inhuman screech, its lip tearing apart like ripped fabric. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

"I fucking hate you !" (Y/N) scream loudly not giving the satisfy that if a afterlife exist they will be reunited. Fuling his anger as he screamed, using his force more and tears swell in his own eyes like he was hurting to do this.

(Y/N)'s vision blurred as Rylanox's grip tightened, lifting her off the ground. Feets deattached from the ground as she wailed, kicking frantically, desperation clawing at her chest. With a final burst of strength, she inhaled deeply and launched both legs into his chest.

Rylanox stumbled backward, landing hard on his back, his head thudding against the phone's edge. A groan escaped his lips. (Y/N) crashed to the floor, coughing, gasping for air. Her eyes locked onto a nearby lamp, and with a surge of adrenaline, she seized it.

With a primal urge, she brought the lamp down upon Rylanox's head – again and again and again. Blood splattered across her sky-blue dress, mirroring the hue of his eyes and tainting her (S/C) skin of hands, face. The blows continued, fueled by rage and terror, until his face was unrecognizable, a battered, pulpy mass.

Click— the door opened revealing the terrors painting her friend's and father's face who came to pick her when she didn't pick his calls.

(Y/N)'s feet dangled in mid-air, suspended by the figure's unyielding grip. Her eyes snapped shut, and she kicked wildly, blindly flailing. Her hands swung at the faceless void, desperate to connect. In a flash of hope, she turned to the wooden wardrobe beside her. With a surge of adrenaline, she pushed against it, shaking the sturdy frame, it rattled, teetered, and finally touch the frame of the mirror beside it to collapsed, shattering on the ground.

The figure vanished into thin air, releasing its hold. (Y/N) crashed to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath. Her stomach churned, and she vomited the remains of her last meal, retching violently.

As she stumbled backward, away from the wreckage, she gazed at the shattered mirror. The cracked glass reflected her own fractured reality, a testament to the horror she'd endured.

Cops were called, red and blue highlight her features as the police drag her, handcuffed. Her father furiously speaking to the head cop as she in daze clench his phone on her pocket watching her friends standing with palms pressed on their lips, unable to believe what she was capable of. To be honest so is she.

At the station she utter nothing of the motive, nothing of tale to tell only words echo "Self-defense". The female officer stare at her disheveled self, doubts creeping on her eyes of the possible explanation and her father'a hush money to the higher ups were enough to bail her however when she still painted in her lover's blood was slapped across her face by his mother's sorrowful hand.

"How dare you wretched girl took my son away so terribly ! I thought you were a good girl". Indeed, she was sorry for doing so, his mother was nothing apart shown kindness when introduced to her, always noting her allergies, sliding with her on fights that she almost forget that she wasn't her mother, rather his mother.

So all she did was choose silence, remaining on her father's grip on her shoulder and watching the woman break down to the ground with her husband holding her together, his eyes red and clouded with hatred she often seen held for the murderer of Innocents. But he was no far from one.

Not even when his funeral was held and his father's weeping speech portrait him as one. She watched from the slidelines inside her father's car as her mother hugged her saying "I believe you did that to protect yourself". Without a doubt her mother did when she wasn't known to his abusive side nor her friends who still stood by her side despite being in dark. (Y/N) was so grateful and felt foolish for feeling that way, afraid of if she said to anyone of his behavior they would curl in disgust, stare at her like she was a clown.

Or worse, tell her a liar because as much as she was fooled by him, they were too. All deeply adored him, cared for him and loved him that's why the stares of the university hall felt so heavy, so scary to she endure until she was shallow from the inside holding the degree she needs to run away.

And like a coward she did to another small town she was unknown, leaving behind her loved ones to protect herself.

From the growing guilt of hiding, regret of never revealing, disgust of her nativity and scared of their faiths on her. She really really didn't want to be alone at least left alone in this house with a haunted mirror bringing all the bittersweet memories.

Sometimes a bottle can't keep overflowing water so when one tries to close the cap from dripping down. It has no choice aside from busting like a bomb unless....

"I let the cap lose and spill the water all". Some secrets aren't just meant to keep and she should have known that as she keep her phone and finally called her parents, friends and all the people who have faith of her innocence til the end. She needs to say the cloaked truth. The dirty, nasty truth of how she survived and that was the busting point.

━━━━━━

"And that's why I just smash it again and again and again". She stare at her loved ones, silent tears flowing. "Until he become the mess I always saw". Mother's grasp her mouth, tears of regret roll down.

Little droplet of water fell from father too who is looking at his little daughter and finally saw how big she has become to endure such horrific experience. "My child. This is not your fault". He hugged her tight and she after a long time cried laying herself bare just like the days of childhood when she cries without hiding the reason.

Her friends hold her hands. "You should have told us ! I knew you always had a reason". Rosie, the one who opened the door that night to be witness. "I knew from the sheer despair of your face that someone appalled you to ! But I didn't knew..." She halted, kissing her back of palm.

"It's alright. We are here. Nothing is your fault and will never. He deserved it if I dare say". Jasper said, wiping his tears.

"I know right. I should have at least punched him". Edie, expressed swallowing and leaning on the sofa, drinking the information.

"My child, I am sorry. I failed to protect you". Mother kiss her forehead. "Always remember I love you and always choose you before anyone". She said the oath (Y/N) knew was truth.

Finally the overflowing water from the bottle spill without busting. And to be honest it felt good. Light even.

"This mirror..." (Y/N)'s weary eyes locked onto Rosie's voice laced with a mix of curiosity and dread. "Didn't it belong to... the bastard ?"

The words hung in the air like a revelation, and suddenly, the puzzle pieces fell into place. (Y/N)'s expression transformed from confusion to shock.

She wasn't haunted nor possessed by him. It was the memories that she remember but tries to repressed hard leaving her everything behind to start fresh and when she layed eyes on the mirror. It all begin again surfacing— the feelings, the memories, everything even the emotion of familiar to the beautiful mirror. After all, it was the mirror of Rylanox she always saw, the first thing in his bedroom.

After ending Rylanox's life, (Y/N) mistakenly believed it would bring closure, an end to her suffering. But in reality, it marked the beginning of a new, arduous journey.

The scars he left ran deeper than she imagined. Nightmares lingered, and everyday encounters triggered memories of him: light tugs in the bathroom, shadow figure of the bathroom and the phone rings, door banging, music playing. Each incident convinced her that Rylanox's ghost haunted her. But the truth was more complex even the final, suffocating grasp was not his, but her own recollection. The mirror, once a symbol of elegance, she forgetten had become a portal to her darkest recollections.

Breaking it shattered the cycle she didn't want to face, but true healing required more. Killing Rylanox eliminated the problem, not healing. (Y/N) needed to confront the scars, acknowledge the hurt, and face her emotions head-on. Healing demanded honesty and vulnerability, not just eradication of the source. It was time for (Y/N) to take the first step forward, to confront the shadows and begin her true journey toward recovery.

Ha, even after dying he left her in misery. What a joke because indeed after calling the owner of the antique shop for the name of the grieving lady is Rylanox's mother who couldn't bear to stand his things nor throw heartlessly.

Soon (Y/N) moved out of the house from the uneasy feeling to her parents' house where they took care of her, even her friends come to vist whenever they can if not daily. After few weeks she took the advise of Jasper to see a therapist for the better.

Never once did she met the Slade family thankfully because she doesn't know what to utter. To be honest she still get nightmares but they are much easier and processing in a way she feels light.

She will heal. If not in one year or so, one day she will and that will be the sweetest revenge to him from her. Getting better and live her life without him like he feared and she wants.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◜⌜ 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⌟◞

[ender-girl-13]

Thoughts on Palworld

Leave it to the internet to miss the entire point of people disliking Palworld. It's not because they are taking money from Pokémon. It not because they think Pokémon but with guns is stupid. IT'S ABOUT ARTISTIC INTEGRITY AND ORIGINALITY! Some of the Pals are just blatant rip-off's/fusions of existing Pokémon. If people try to steal Pokémon's designs and actually sell that as a commercial product that may give the impression that it's ok to steal others art and encourage it! If all of the Pals they made were original I would love to play it!

P.S

Apparently the accusations of them ripping Pokémon models was false. (Sorry about that) But they did basically do the 3D modeling version of tracing which is still bad. Also I've watched more videos on this game and it is very POSSIBLE they have stolen fan Fakemon designs and changed them up a little which is still shitty of them.

Again I will reiterate I would love this game and it's success if it wasn't so creatively bankrupt and plagiarized.

Here are some alternative Pokémon-esce games to play!

Cassette Beasts - Try to find you way out of this land and transform into and fuse Beasts!

TemTem - Very cute art style and can play online with other people! Also has a Nuzlocke/Randomlocke Mode.

Ooblets - Have card dance battles with other Ooblets and have them help you on your farm. You can also run your own shop!

Coromon - You're a newly minted Battle Researcher and your job gets attacked on your first day of work! Track down the invaders and discover the rising threat around Velua! Has different difficultly modes and customization.

Monster Sanctuary - A Monster Taming Metroidvania Sidescroller

Here are some Pokémon fan games to try!

Reborn - Has decent difficulty/One of the most difficult fan games I've come across. Has new Pokémon Forms

Uranium - Original Region and Pokémon

Insurgence - Has an option for a slightly darker twist on the traditional Pokémon story. Has new Pokémon/Forms

Xenoverse - Haven't play or watched it but looks very promising. Originally in Spanish but has a English translation as well.

Phoenix Rising - Still in development and only has one episode. Has new Pokémon Forms and amazing art and visuals

Red Adventures - From what I've seen it seems to be a game version of The Pokémon Adventures Manga

Castaway - Your plane crashes and you are left to discover the secrets of a mysterious island.

Mewyou - A game where you play as Mew!

Axis - You are teleported from our world to the Pokémon world/You're still human

Ethereal Gates - Still only a Demo at the moment/Unsure if they are still making it

I will add more to this list if asked!

[illyabata]

scars are A Thing™ with wriothesley and nobody can convince me otherwise, idc if there is zero mention of his scars or their meaning when he comes out idc it’s my permanent headcanon that scars and their stories are simply entangled with his character idc

so now i give you: wriothesley who is fascinated by your scars

tw: discussion of scars lol, but in no way do i indicate their origin unless it’s stretch marks. however if talk of scars at all is triggering to you, dont read!! it’s sweet fluffy stuff, but that doesn’t matter if it will trigger you. please take care :)

sfw, big brainrot under cut

theyre so much smaller than his, more delicate, just like you. doesnt matter if compared to other people you are big or tall, he’s such a big guy that he makes you feel small no matter your size or height. and no matter what your scars look like to you, to him they are beautiful. to him they are delicate.

he’s enamored by all of your scars no matter their origin—stretch marks, however, seem to intrigue him the most of all. he’s absolutely transfixed by them, and you can never understand why. he’s simply mesmerized by the way the blemished skin stretches as he thumbs and presses it, watching the discoloration flatten itself only to bloat back when he leaves it alone. for some reason he just seems so puzzled by the concept of natural scarring of the body; nothing had happened to harm you for these to appear—they’re simply the product of change, your skin either going through rapid periods of expanding or shrinking. he thinks they’re pretty.

he’d spend so long just running his rough fingers over your skin, absorbed in the feeling of the puckered tissue under his own blemished hands. whether the scars are stretch marks or from something else, he loves them, he loves you.

this might sound weird but i just like to imagine you both spend time gently tracing each others’ scars as comfort, like it sounds weird in words but it makes sense i promise. there is something intimate and fascinating about scars, no matter what they’re from; it’s truly like the language of your body’s history, a record of what has occurred. you can resent them or be proud of them, it really depends on the person and situation—but regardless, scars are always a record, and that is a constant no matter the person.

and if you’re not comfortable with that level of touch or that much attention on your scars, that is absolutely okay. he’s not going to make you uncomfortable, he’ll always ask if it’s okay before he looks at or touches them—or touches you at all, really. he never wants to hurt you. and if you say you’d rather he not touch your scars, he’ll understand and just show you he loves you—all of you—in some other way.

like idk about anyone else or if its just me and im fucking insane but sometimes i get lost looking at my own scars; sometimes the human body at work is just kind of fascinating to watch, and even more so in retrospect. it’s like holy fuck you’re looking at its handiwork, you can plainly see how the skin has been so masterfully rebuilt into this little woven bandaid of cells, carefully crafted to not only rebuild but protect. your body has looked after itself, and it will continue to do so. and thats just kind of a fascinating thing to me idk😭

some extra thoughts about scars, not really to do with wrio; red brackets will indicate the end of it if you want to skip: [[ it usually replaces any feeling of disgust i have because instead of focusing on the bad feeling of remembering where they came from or being sad at the way they look im able to think about how cool it is the way my body recovered and made my skin even stronger; it didnt just wipe it all away and give me a clean slate so i could forget, it pieced the cells together again bit by bit until it had not only replaced the wound but enforced it—so instead of forgetting the bad feelings, they were replaced by wonder. sort of like a sign that says “proof that where once there was pain, now there is strength”. it’s kind of like how they say you don’t just try to quit bad habits, you must replace the bad habit with a good one. you can replace the bad feelings associated with your scars with new feelings, whether they are good feelings or neutral feelings or meh feelings. ]]

before you, he understood scars to be an ugly thing—a source of shame, a show for others to marvel at if he left them uncovered, for them to ogle at and whisper about as if trying to guess the origin of the wounds was a sort of entertainment to them. and then in the fortress of meropide, his scars felt much less like a source of shame and more like an intimidation factor (which wasn’t something he necessarily felt good about, but it was something that he benefitted from as the duke). but when you came along and he began to know you, suddenly they were this beautiful, fascinating phenomenon that lead him to view his own scars in a different light.

he’s a powerful, strong man, yes. he’s intimidating and feared, but he is also loved, and all for good reason—he is solid and safe, an image of reliability to others. and sometimes it could weigh him down when he couldn’t seem to let another help carry the burden.

the way you made him feel, though, tracing his big ugly scars like they were rivers, like they weren’t repulsive—it changed him entirely, and it changed the way he saw himself. in the overworld, he was a criminal brute slathered in the proof of his savageness. in the fortress, he was the rock-solid standard for redemption, and he had to uphold his firm reputation. but with you, he was able to be fragile; with you, the walls he had built to protect himself from both sides of fontaine’s society came tumbling down, because he didn’t have to pretend when he was with you.

if such a small, sweet thing like you could see him in such a kind light with so much love in those eyes of yours, perhaps he was not so bad after all.

everyone else in all of teyvat could believe he was truly a bad guy like he sometimes enjoyed playing at—but it wouldn’t matter, because there you were in his bed every night, held fast in his big arms as you mindlessly traced the long, thin writings engraved in his skin, letting the stories they told lull you to sleep.

[elspethdekarios]

Random Gale Dekarios Headcanons

Hello I'm just thinking about That Man again

These are all SFW and just mundane life-after-tadpole thoughts.

Gale's home is clean but he is messy. The dishes are done, scented candles are lit, linens are laundered, but my man's got shit everywhere. Parchment, books, and quills are scattered in the areas he finds himself working in most often. Potion bottles in disarray. Random trinkets throughout the house. Grooming products cluttering the bathroom sink. He's very diligent about making his bed every morning, though.

Once he and tav have settled down post-game, his favorite thing to do is surprise them with breakfast in bed. He gets up extra early and goes all out on creating a tray of food--making their favorite tea, eggs exactly how they like them (extra butter, though, always), pancakes or some sort of pastry he can whip up quickly, and a vase holding a flower plucked from the window planter. He does this at least once a tenday.

Gale was worried his tower would be in the same depression-mess state as he left it once he brought tav home. He spent the journey home apologizing in advance for the disarray and promising that he's not a slob, he swears, it was just a difficult time. Tav, of course, assures him that there's no need to apologize, and that they'll help him clean the place up once they get there. Once they arrive, he cringes as he opens the front door, only to be taken aback by his home looking perfectly normal and clean. A grin spreads across his face as Tara stretches from her cushion in the window. ("Honestly, Mr. Dekarios, did you think I'd continue to live in such a state?")

He carries around a small portrait of tav in his pocket. Origin of this hc here lol

I know in the epilogue, the orb and all traces of it are completely gone, but I like to think that it left a scar. In certain lighting you can see that it's not just on his skin like a tattoo, but it's almost carved into his flesh, like a scar. I'm sure Mystra could smooth the skin where the orb was like it never happened, but we all know she's a petty bitch, so I think it's reasonable to think she could have taken the scar away, but chose to leave it as a reminder of Gale's mistake. The dark, weaving swirls have turned pale pink and translucent. Tav likes to mindlessly run their fingers over it while they lie in bed at night.

Speaking of, you cannot tell me the orb doesn't leave Gale with some sort of chronic pain, even after it's cured. I'm sure it's not as intense as the arcane hunger he felt before, but there are bound to be days where he's just very lethargic or dealing with lingering pain/discomfort similar to what he felt before the orb was dormant.

On a lighter note--he always has music playing in his home. Whether it's the piano in his study or an enchanted lyre he's charmed to float around in the kitchen as he cooks.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.

Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").

And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.

Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.

Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.

[readychilledwine]

Lose You to Love Me Pt 2

Summary - After running away to the Winter Court, reader has let go of most of her hope that she and Azriel will be able to be together.

Warnings - implied rebound smut, angst

A/n - so sorry this was delayed 💜

Peep Lose You to Love Me here

You sprawled the bed you shared with Kal, eyes shut tightly as you snuggled into his chest and the blanket.

You had left the Night Court three months ago, and were hidden well into the Mountain House. You hadn't originally planned for this though. The feeling of cold fingers tracing your spine, the feeling of soft lips against your forehead. 

Viviane had left him for Mor moments before your arrival, and in a state of need, desperation, sadness, Kal had taken you to his bed. 

And it just simply never stopped. 

In fact, his closet now held half of your things, your body products sat in his bathroom, your scent covered his sheets. 

To be fair, the soft scent of snow and pine lingered on you. His clothing had began to dominate your wardrobe. His voice had become a source of happiness.

You both knew this was nothing compared to the bliss you had with your mates, but it was still bliss. Joy you both had thought you wouldn't find and didn't deserve. 

“Why are you up already, snowflake?” He opened his icy eyes, looking down at you before placing a soft kiss in your head. “I know you are anxious, but Rhysand is coming to speak with us, not to rip you away.” Kallias was observant, you could not deny that. He always knew what worried you, what was on your mind, what you needed. 

“It's not Rhys I'm worried about,” you leaned further into his hard chest, lacing your fingers with his before you continued. “It's seeing Azriel. And you having to see Viv.”

Kal hummed, “Would you like me to distract your mind from that, or do you need to feel?” 

“Distract me.”

Kal had you dressed in a beautiful white gown with gems falling from the bodice to the skirts like snow. You were both waiting patiently, sipping a pear wine as you sat near a fire and he stood staring out a window with his hands behind his back. You almost jumped as the guards opened the doors, allowing Rhysand and Feyre in. Allowing Cassian and Mor in. Allowing Azriel and Viv in. 

They didn't approach you two, not with guards clearly placed for protection. Kal was quickly at your side, placing a hand on your shoulder when Azriel moved to come to you. “I would suggest letting your high lord handle this, Spymaster.” Kal inclined his head to the table, watching as they all took seats and took the head chair closest to you. “Are your questions answered? She is clearly healthy.” 

Rhys nodded, looking you over. “Come home. Please.” He was going straight for it. Mindset on a mission. “Nyx misses you. I miss you.”

“We all miss you,” Feyre said softly. 

You shook your head, finding Kallias’s hand under the table and feeling him give you a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “You hardly even spoke to me in the months leading to my departure.” Rhys flinched at the reminder that he had pushed you away all on his own. 

He would have normally straightened up, kept pushing his wants, his narrative. He would have normally defended himself, but he couldn't. He just nodded. “I know, and I am sorry.” 

You could feel Viv's stare and turned to Kal, “It's okay.” His jaw tightened, eyes flashing to you before going back to her. “Go.” They both stood, leaving the room with the guards behind them to go talk somewhere privately. 

“Does he love you,” Cassian asked quietly. “Does he make you happy?”

“As happy as he can. He cares for me-”

“But he doesn't love you,” Azriel quickly interrupted. “You're settling for a male who doesn't love you.” 

Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Leave.” He turned to all of them, including his own wife. “Go to your chambers for the night and leave us.” 

“No,” Azriel growled. “She's my mate.”

Rhys shot the two of you a look, his eyes wide before staring solely at you. “Y/n, can we go somewhere alone?”

You just nodded, standing and waiting for Rhys to round the table and take your arm. You snuggled into him when he did, but froze as a scarred hand grabbed your upper bicep. “I meant every word,” Azriel dropped his hold on you, sitting back down and tucking his wings around himself like a defensive shield. 

Rhys allowed you to led him to your untouched room. He instantly noted how empty it was, how stale it smelled, how the sheets were fresh, but the bed help no signs of ypu ever having been in it. “Show me,” his voice broke. “Show me every moment where I failed you. Show me how to fix this.” 

You shook your head, teeth holding your bottom lip in place as tears began to fall. “It wasn't just you, Rhys. I felt unneeded and unwanted,” he visibly flinched. “By everyone. You have Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, and Lucien had his own friends. Azriel-” Your throat tightened again. Looking to the ceiling, you took a deep breath and continued. “Azriel had Elain. Amren found Varian. Fuck even Mor somehow stole Viviane from Kallias.”

Rhysand dropped the news that shattered you slightly. “Viv and Mor are no longer together. Viv realized her actions were incredibly stupid, that she loves Kallias, that having been with only one romantic partner wasn't a bad thing. She's here to ask him if she can come home.” 

You nodded. “He will tell her yes.” 

Rhysand moved closer. “Leaving you where, little moonbeam? What does that leave here for you?” The answer was nothing and you both knew that. You knew how deep that childhood friends to lovers to mates bond ran between the two of them. 

The High Lord of Winter loved you, but he would never love you the way he loves his mate, his wife, the queen of his world.

Just as you would never love him the way you loved Azriel. You should never find you soul singing for him the way it did when just the scent of cedar and chilled air floated into a room. You would never have butterflies for him the way you do Azriel. You would never ignite for him the way Azriel made you burn. 

“What happened between you and Azriel?”

The question hung in the air like a noose waiting to destroy you both. “After Solstice we,” you looked up again, caving and dropping your shields to allow Rhysand in. 

His jaw tightened slightly, looking away from you. “He does love you,” Rhysand moved towards the untouched bed. “When our first letters to meet with you were met with silence, and then rejection, Azriel threw himself so deeply into his work Cassian and I began to worry.”

“I love him too,” the confession was silent and instantly met with hands grabbing your upper arms from behind, and a soft comfort scent. Rhysand moved to leave the room, presumably going back to the meeting room. “Did you mean it?”

“Every word. I meant every word. Every kiss.” He wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding tightly as you relaxed into him. “You are my first thought at sunrise, my last thought when exhaustion forces me into sleep. Even there, you haunt me, your voice. Your eyes. Your kindness. Sometimes I wake up, and my mind is convinced you were there and that I can still smell you on my pillows.”

Your heartbeat increased at his words, mind swirling. “Kallias and Viv have not left her chambers, guards informed us we are welcome to head to our rooms, but the High Lord and Lady will not be leaving hers tonight.” You smiled at their happy ending coming back once again. “None of us thought that would last.”

“How could it,” you turned in his arms, moving to lace yours around his neck. “Some things are simply meant to be.”

“Things like you and I,” Azriel held your eye contact, hazel eyes pleading. “Even if one of us was blind to that at first?”

You nodded, meeting him in the middle, knowing he didn't realize what he was doing. “Exactly like you and I.”

Azriel didn't hesitate, pulling you into a deep kiss. One that sealed itself like a promise on both of your hearts.

It was you and him, from here until time stood still.

[thought-tracing]

Porter Robinson for Cheerleader release

(3/20/2024, photo by Aylssa Kazew, source)

[sjweminem]

Baby Academy Hoffman & Professor Strahm (ft. FTM hoffman ❤️) fic FINISHED

18+!!!! 🔞🔞🔞

short excerpt to (hopefully..) pique some interest:

"i'm not stupid," strahm declared, now seated relaxedly in his chair. "and i don't think you are either." mark felt heat rising in his face and prayed he wasn't becoming visibly flushed, but the cheeky smile which spread across his teacher's face suggested otherwise. "but," strahm continued, "you're not exactly subtle, you know that?" mark stood firmly in place. "i don't know what you mean," he replied with all the courage he could muster.

original inspo: this ask

(DISCLAIMER: i am skilled mainly in technical/academic/speech writing and haven't written a fic in like 14 years so please be gentle 😭)

admittedly he was distracted. as usual. mark tolerated most classes in the academy as obligatory lessons to endure in order to, some day, achieve his dream of working in homicide, but for now he was stuck with all the other twenty-somethings learning the basics of police work, seemingly over and over again. well. at least he had something to keep his mind occupied during this lesson in particular. however repetitive the coursework may be, mark couldn't deny the eager anticipation he felt upon entering professor strahm's lecture.

mark could watch those hands for hours, even at the expense of learning whatever new information might unexpectedly, miraculously, be introduced in yet another of his many repetitive classes. he followed those hands- his instructor was one for dramatic gesticulations- and willed himself not to imagine how they might feel on his body. willing, however, not necessarily implying success. no, mark still, despite his best efforts, frequently stared until his imagination led to thoughts of those strong-looking palms at his throat, gripping his thighs, perhaps tracing his lips with a rough finger before shoving the others into his mouth.

suddenly the bell rang, indicating the lecture's end, and, once again, mark realized his complete failure to pay attention or take any notes whatsoever. maybe this little crush was getting out of hand. but how was he supposed to pay attention when strahm seemed to regularly, coyly, meet his eyes mid-lesson, in a stare that felt so unmistakably provocative- appealingly domineering, even- and surely was not wholly imagined, not a product of wishful thinking. no, he was certain that if only they could get each other alone...

"hoffman," an unmistakeable voice cut through the silence of the now-empty classroom, just as mark was headed for the door. there was always something about strahm calling him by his last name that tickled him, although he couldn't fully place why. perhaps it was the possessiveness in his voice. "stay back for a minute or two, yeah?" the request sent a small wave of panic through his body. he swallowed hard; surely he was facing a chewing-out for his increasingly noticeable disinterest in, and distraction from, the course subject matter. his nerves only intensified as he observed his professor rise back up from behind the desk and walk towards the door, at which mark was frozen in place.

his nerves fell away momentarily when strahm closed the door in front of them, replaced suddenly by an onslaught of confusion. however these waves of emotion were superseded by something unidentifiable when he heard the distinct sound of the door being locked. his heart raced. strahm was mere inches away from mark now, standing several inches above him, looking slightly downwards with a smile. "lunch hour," he said in a low, near-whisper. "no one's coming to look for me. or you, i'm assuming." mark shook his head, nervously, in affirmation. strahm looked him up and down, conspicuously, before breaking the tiny distance between them in order to walk back behind his desk. he made a casual "come here" motion with his hand as he did so.

"i'm not stupid," strahm declared, now seated relaxedly in his chair. "and i don't think you are either." mark felt heat rising in his face and prayed he wasn't becoming visibly flushed, but the cheeky smile which spread across his teacher's face suggested otherwise. "but," strahm continued, "you're not exactly subtle, you know that?" mark stood firmly in place. "i don't know what you mean," he replied with all the courage he could muster, trying to maintain eye contact. strahm briefly tilted his head back and laughed before looking mark back in the eye with increased intensity. mark could have sworn there was suggestiveness in that stare. sworn it wasn't his own wishful thinking.

"sure," strahm retorted, dismissively, before making a "come over" motion with his hand, beckoning his student to his side of the desk. mark swallowed hard again, making his way behind his professor's workstation. that flush he had prayed earlier hadn't made its way to his cheeks now felt unmistakably present. that heat in his face only deepened when he felt strahm grip his shirt collar, pulling him closer. with their faces now mere centimeters apart, mark felt a hand on his chin- one of the very hands about which he had spent so many classes fantasizing. strahm held him by the jaw to turn his face to the side. he proceeded to lean in close, lips brushing his student's ear. "don't play dumb," he whispered. "you're not good at it."

mark's lips parted as his breath hitched, a visible shudder running down his spine. strahm took the opportunity, this momentary weakness, to grab him by the sides and pull him into his lap. mark sat, straddling him, legs on either side of his professor's. immediately strahm took the opportunity to run a finger over is needy little pupil's full lips, then pulled mark in even closer to move in for a kiss, but not before biting his lower lip, eliciting from him a half gasp-half moan. mark opened his mouth eagerly, allowing strahm to take full control of the kiss. several times he had to wonder if he was dreaming, however his teacher's hands on his hips and thighs felt all too real.

strahm thumbed at the waistband of mark's pants, brazen enough to undo his belt buckle with one hand. mark shivered despite himself and unconsciously spread his legs further to the sides. his eyes were now closed, but at the sound of a zipper they shot back open. oh shit. shit. he forgot to tell- should he have told? how was he supposed to remember under these circumstances? he shifted nervously but made no attempt to remove himself. he was in it now, for better or worse. a hand- that large, strong hand, god help him- made its way under his now open fly and below the waist of his boxer-briefs. he shuddered, despite himself. a look of confusion painted strahm's face as he reached lower but, to mark's relief, his confounded expression fell away, replaced by that coy smile.

"well isn't this interesting," strahm spoke in a low, half-whisper. he ran his fingers through the wetness that had by now undoubtedly soaked through the fabric of mark's underwear. his student barely had time to process the sensation before he felt two long fingers push roughly inside him, followed soon after by a third. "never really took you for a whore," strahm teased, "but, shit. this wet already, i don't know what else to call you." he was smiling and looking up into mark's eyes as he slid his fingers in and out. mark's eyes fluttered shut, breathing labored, sounds he desperately tried to suppress now escaping his parted lips. it was already too much, the precision finger-fucking, but when strahm began to thumb at his clit during his efforts mark felt the little control he had left fall to pieces. he gripped the chair's armrests and buried his face in the crook of the other man's neck, more whining than moaning.

"i should report you for this, you know," the young cadet breathed out with all the strength he could muster. strahm laughed, increasing the intensity of his ministrations. "and will that be before or after you come, hm? before or after i fuck you like you need?" there was a brief silence. "i- i guess," mark replied with an audible shudder, "i can... i can wait 'till after." "good boy," strahm praised. "tight little thing, too." mark lost himself; control and self-respect flying out the window all thanks to the skilled hand of his teacher. "i can take it," he insisted. "take you. anything." he couldn't even care that he sounded desperate by this point.

"anything," strahm repeated suggestively. without warning he removed his fingers and inserted them roughly into mark's mouth, nearly gagging him. "clean up this mess you made," he continued, "and maybe i'll think about fucking you." mark didn't need to be told twice. he sucked each finger clean, tasting himself on each one, maintaining eye contact the whole time. once strahm evidently deemed his ministrations satisfactory he abruptly pulled his hand away from mark's mouth, earning a choked gasp from the young man, and grabbed him by the hips. he eased him off of his lap in order to stand up and once again face his desk, which he cleared of papers and supplies with two swipes of his arm, files and teaching tools rattling to the floor. just as abruptly he grabbed mark's waist- much more firmly than necessary- until he had brought him into a sitting position atop his work surface. now the height difference wasn't so glaring, and as strahm once again gripped mark's jaw to bring the eager student into a kiss, it was as though their lips fit much more nicely together. this kiss, compared to the last, was far more desperate, hungrier. overflowing with need from both parties.

strahm deepened the kiss to forcefully push mark back until he was lying flush atop the desk, his teacher's arms braced domineeringly by each side of his head. strahm moved lower to kiss his jawline, his neck, before pulling back to crouch between mark's legs. impatiently he pulled both shoes off in order to yank his pants the rest of the way down, and ultimately off. mark's heart raced from a mixture of anticipation and exposure. his thundering pulse only spiked further when he felt strahm's tongue on his cunt, dragging its way up to tease his clit. mark swallowed the moan rising up in his throat. "i wish we were somewhere more private," his professor spoke quietly between licks. "want to hear you." he buried his face back between mark's legs before the young cadet could reply. truthfully it was becoming harder and harder not to be heard.

despite strahm's admission there was something about the semi-public aspect of their affair that both parties rather enjoyed. yes, the locked door freed them from worry over any intrusion, but it wasn't as though no one could be right outside. at the thought mark became acutely aware of his labored breathing, as well as the moans which insisted on escaping his throat despite his best efforts. his thoughts were cut short by strahm's low voice. "i'm a man of my word, he said. "i thought about fucking you... seems doable." mark gasped briefly. "please" was all he could say.

strahm stood up to hover over his supine student and reached for his belt buckle. mark thought he was going to pass out, but perked back up, hearing the zipper. he felt a sudden heat blossom low inside him as strahm took his cock out, moaning softly at the sight- god help him he was big. mark was already lost in thought over how good he must feel when he felt strahm slide the tip of his cock slowly up and down his slick cunt. mark shivered and arched his back, further spreading his legs invitingly, parting his full lips in an enticing manner. soon enough he felt strahm push in.

mark inhaled deeply at the sensation and strahm wasted no time pushing all the way in. mark buried his face in the crook of his neck, hands reaching up and around to claw at his professor's shirt, fingernails digging into his muscular back. he threw his head back as strahm leaned down to kiss and bite his throat, stopping to put a hand around it, keeping him in place. his other hand gripped mark's upper thigh. mark groaned, barely believing that what he had fantasized about nearly every day had become a reality. he couldn't control the sharp moans escaping his lips as strahm's thick cock hit and dragged against his G-spot with every thrust. truthfully he felt a bit embarrassed- there was no way he could last. not for any respectable amount of time, anyways. fortunately for his ego, judging by his labored breathing his teacher wasn't far behind.

"son of a bitch. i've been missing out on your pussy all this time, huh?" strahm exhaled. "it's only fair," mark retorted breathlessly. "been missing out on your dick, after all." he noticed himself tightening around the cock inside him, desperate to feel anything and everything. strahm groaned at the sensation, lowering his head to plant another desperate kiss on his student's perfect mouth. mark could taste himself again on his tongue and his breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes. he could feel himself getting closer, that unmistakeable, throbbing heat between his legs. "professor... mr. strahm," mark breathed out as seductively as he could, "i'm- i can't," he continued in a whimper. strahm looked him in the eye. "go on, baby," he half-whispered, "hard as you can. let me feel you."

the pet name sent mark over the edge, clawing at strahm's back and burying his face in his neck in an attempt to muffle the noises he was now helpless to control. "that's it," strahm whispered, "that's it. good boy." mark nearly sobbed as he felt the shudder run through the older man's body before he came shortly after. mark swore he could feel the heat of it fill him up and moaned at the sensation. "you like that, sweetheart?" strahm panted into his ear. mark nodded eagerly, unable to even make a coherent sound at this point. he whined again as his teacher pulled out, bracing himself atop his student once more to place kisses on his neck and lower stomach. they both rode out their high as they steadied their breathing together, taking their time. mark couldn't help but smile, placing his hands on strahm's face to pull him in for one last tender kiss before they both redressed. mark would never admit it but he was looking forward to feeling his teacher's cum inside him for the rest of the day.

the tone changed suddenly; strahm backed up with a look of concern on his face. "wait," he began. "you... you can't get pregnant, can you?"

mark laughed at his nervousness and shook his head with a smile.

[thebramblewood]

Lilith and Caleb Vatore's lineage can be traced to Tartosa, from where their forebears emigrated in the early 1800s to establish Willow Creek's first and finest vineyard and winery. The future heirs to the Vatore Family Vineyard (and fortune) were born scarcely two years apart on the cusp of the 20th century. Although lauded and adored by polite society, they quietly resisted cultural norms by declining to pursue courtship well into their young adulthood. Before either could marry, both siblings disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving the fate of the family's accumulated wealth (which grew exponentially during Prohibition when underground operations continued alongside the legitimate production of medicinal spirits) to be hotly contested by long-time employees and distant relations alike. More than three decades later, two curious individuals came forward claiming to be their children. Apparently, the missing Vatores (long presumed dead) had assumed new identities, started families, and gone on to lead private yet unexceptional lives. No one could make sense of why the siblings left their inheritance behind, but the strong family resemblance was difficult to deny. Some even thought the resemblance too strong, but the conspiracy theories that arose from these suspicions were simply too preposterous to consider. The new Vatores promptly sold their ancestral estate and business, instead choosing to purchase a neglected Victorian manor in Forgotten Hollow, a strangely secluded and perpetually gloomy village where reported sightings of the same pair (having purportedly not aged a day) continue. Perhaps the old rumors hold some truth after all. Did they discover the fountain of youth, become initiated into a cult of immortality, or unknowingly stumble upon the dark knowledge of vampirism? Or are the Vatore genes simply so powerful that they persist through generations? The truth may never be known. (But some may say certain conclusions can be drawn from the spate of unsolved murders in the area that seemingly only started upon their arrival.)

- Introduction to Tangled Vines: A Complete Investigation of the Vatore Disappearances

Ran these through ArcaneGAN to make them look more like paintings, and I'm a bit obsessed with the results. Originals for comparison below. Special thanks to @sims4thehoes and @smok3inm1rrors for giving me the vineyard idea!

[dwtdog]

fem dnf week day 3 :P

--

“Hey Dream,” George says out of the blue, leaning forward from where she’d been relaxing against the couch cushions, phone held lazily above her face. Dream’s head is in her lap, her eyes fluttering slowly open when George calls her name. “Oh shit, were you asleep?”

Dream yawns, lips stretching over her oddly sharp canines, before answering. “Mm- no. Was just resting.”

“That’s good,” George smiles down at her, tracing a finger along her hairline. Dream looks to be on the verge of actually falling asleep, and George has half a mind to let her- her girlfriend is always working too hard, rarely giving herself moments to rest. But out of the corner of her eye, George sees the TikTok that had inspired her original thought still playing on loop, and it gives her the conviction to ask. “Do you want to do something?”

“Like what?” Dream asks, tilting her head back against George’s leg to chase after her fingers as they hover just over her. George obligingly pets through her hair, careful not to tug too hard on messy curls. 

“Like you let me do your makeup,” George says, shutting her phone off with a little click. “And you can’t give me any advice.”

That gets a small smile out of Dream. “You just want an excuse to touch my face,” she says accusingly. 

George pokes her eyebrow. “What, like I have been for the past few minutes?”

“Exactly,” Dream giggles. “I think you like me. Maybe you even have a crush on me.”

“Well you’re the freak who let’s me touch her face even if you’ll complain about breaking out. You’re obsessed with me,” George pokes her cheek this time. 

“What, you want me to stop?” Dream pouts, lips comically turned to a frown. “I think you don’t.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“You’re British, you can’t,” 

George huffs. “Fine, whatever. I hate you, and I’m leaving you here. No more pillow. I’ll steal your makeup and use it on myself.”

“Now that I’d like to see,” Dream says, sitting up and freeing George’s legs. “But fine. You do my makeup, no help whatsoever. But you have to let me try your guitar.”

George groans. “Ugh, fine. I guess that’s fair. But if you break it you’re buying me a new one. A better one.”

“What, that’s no fair,” Dream says. “I’m letting you use all my fancy shit with no guarantees.”

“You sound like an advert.”

“You started it!” George shoots back, earning a confused look for Dream as she, as a matter of fact, had not started it. “Whatever, come on. Or I’m going to eat the fancy lipstick you’re always talking about.”

Dream stands quickly, eyes darting between the door to her room and George, who follows suit and stands as well. They’re close, George having stood almost directly into Dream’s chest, which makes both of them blush. 

In a rather devious move, George darts forward, standing on her toes to place a quick kiss on Dream’s cheek, before turning and running for the bedroom door. Dream takes a moment to chase after her, the kiss a suitable distraction, and George gleefully pulls the door open, heading straight for the vanity, and all of Dream’s normally off-limits makeup.

It’s a rarity in their relationship, for anything to be unshared. But Dream is very particular about her makeup, because it’s a collection she’d curated for years- one of the few things she ever let herself spend large amounts of money on. She’d been shy the first time she’d told George about it, as if expecting her to judge the expansive collection. 

But George had been in awe, completely enamored with her girlfriend’s technical skill at the craft, and how cute she got when she talked about things she was passionate about.

Dream had done George’s makeup a million times before- George didn’t like the feel of it all that much, a bit of a sensory nightmare for her, but she enjoyed Dream’s hands and her gentle touch, so she endured. They’d found a fix eventually, something that had started as a joke- Dream would use clean, dry brushes on George, explaining the colors and products she’d use if she really were doing her makeup.

It’s the only basis of knowledge George has for her current endeavor, but she’s hopeful that her determination will make up for her lack of knowledge.

She’s really not even that sure why she’s so driven to do it all of a sudden. The TikTok had been cute, sure, small touches between a couple who seemed absolutely enamored with each other. It was something about the way they’d looked at each other that had made George misty eyed and wanting, and Dream had been right there.

So here she is, in front of the huge mirror that hangs over the equally ludicrous vanity, covered in all sorts of products. She’s already lost, in tubes and brushes that seem indistinguishable from each other.

Dream appears behind her, arms wrapping around her waist- a common position for them. She rests her head on George’s shoulder, swaying them slightly as they look, together, at the display before them.

It takes George’s breath away, to see them pressed together like this. She likes the way Dream’s hands look hooked in front of her stomach, the way their hair brushes in a mix of dark and light. 

But she has a mission. 

“Sit,” she commands, stepping away. Dream whines, but she goes to pull the chair from the desk, spinning it around to sit and still be able to face George. “Good job,” George adds cheekily, nudging Dream’s knee with her own as she approaches the desk, eyes scanning for a place to start. 

She can feel the way Dream is itching to give her advice with the way she shifts in the chair, socked feet pulling her closer to the desk. George grabs a tube of lipstick.

In the mirror, she sees Dream bite her lip, eyes flicking between the lipstick in George’s hand and her face in the reflection. 

George, not one to be stopped by judgemental girlfriends, pops the top off the tube and twists it up, turning to face Dream with her eyes squinted in concentration. 

“Do this,” she demands, pursing her lips like a fish. Dream takes a moment to comply, making a few more pointed glances between the lipstick and some other, nondescript tube that George had written off as irrelevant, before finally copying George. 

George is careful as she smudges the lipstick along Dream’s lips, wary of damaging it for all her teasing. It hardly seems to work, coming out in patchy bits. She frowns, but keeps trying. She can see Dream already trying not to laugh, her shoulders shaking lightly with it. 

When the lipstick ends up on Dream’s skin, just above her top lip, it’s both their faults. George pulls back, frowning at Dream. Dream just blinks up at her innocently. “What? Did you do it?”

“I did- something,” George says, rubbing at the mess with her thumb. It works, surprisingly, and she sets the lipstick down to peruse her other options. “This is harder than I thought it would be,” she announces after a moment, turning to glare at Dream like its her fault George had gotten the idea in her head.

That softens Dream’s expression. “Yeah, it can be a lot at first. Look- do you want me to show you?” Her voice gets all shy, like it did the first time she’d talked about this with George. 

George melts. “Please,” she says, setting down the palette she’d picked up. “Just- walk me through the eye makeup. I always like it when you do it.”

“Okay,” Dream says, beaming. “It’s kind of tricky, but you have a steady hand which is half the battle.”

Nodding, George picks up a different palette, this one all shades of blue. They seem to glow in the light of the room. 

“That’s the palette I used for our first date,” Dream says. “Since you said you were colorblind I figured it would look the best because- y’know.”

“Oh,” George says, breathless. “Can I use it, then? On you?”

“Of course,” Dream scoots closer, until her knees are wrapped around George’s. “But you’ll want to do a primer first.”

She’s a good teacher, walking George through the process with methodical steps. She points out all the products, and explains what they do just like she does when she does George’s makeup, but it’s easier for George to remember when she’s the one using them, touching them, seeing the colors come to life with every touch. 

Her hands are steady, but she does mess up a few times. Dream only smiles, saying it’s a good chance to explain the best way to fix mistakes, and walks her through it. 

Finally, they get to the last step, which Dream says is the most important element.

“You’ve got to seal the deal,” she explains seriously, looking up at George through her lashes, now clumped with mascara. George hadn’t gotten that part quite right, too afraid to hurt Dream by hitting her in the eye. 

“Didn’t we already do the spray-thingy?” George asks, confused. Dream smirks.

“No, that’s not it,” she says. “It’s a special final step, for when you’re doing you’re girlfriends makeup. Super important.”

George wracks her brain, thinking back to the countless times she’d been on the opposite end of this treatment. The problem is, by the end of it she’s usually sleepy and love drunk, overwhelmed by all the small touches used to build the final look, or the pretend version of one. 

“I got nothing,” she admits at last, tapping her fingers against the wood of the vanity. 

Dream stands, and now it’s George’s turn to look up at her. “You seal it with a kiss, idiot,” she says, her tone not at all consistent with her words- honey sweet, dripping from messy red lips. 

George giggles, taking Dream’s hands in hers. She has to admit, the final look is passable, especially from this angle. 

Dream’s lips are warm against hers, the lipstick slightly sticky. George uses their joined hands to pull Dream closer until they’re pressed together, all hot bodies and muffled sighs as George demands more, pressing her lips harder against Dream’s, running her tongue over her lips. There’s a bit of a fascinating almost plastic taste, and George chases it.

When they break apart to breathe, George chokes back a laugh. If the lipstick had been messy before, it’s a downright tragedy now, 

But Dream is laughing too, her eyes fixed on George’s lips. George whirls to see her reflection in the mirror, groaning when she sees her reflection- an equally disastrous look, and she’d managed to get some of the stuff on her teeth.

“You can be in charge of makeup from now on,” Georeg declares, rubbing furiously at her face with the back of her hand. Dream stops her with gentle fingers on her wrist, shaking her head as she guides it away. 

“Thanks baby, and here I was thinking you’d be taking my job,” she teases. George drops her head against Dream’s shoulder, groaning. “But seriously,” Dream adds, bringing a hand up to rest on George’s head. “You weren’t so bad. Really! You have potential.”

George just shakes her head, the fabric of Dream’s shirt soft against her forehead. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my girlfriend and you have to be nice to me.”

“If I had to be nice to you I’d let you win in Minecraft more,” Dream says in the same sweet voice, and George just sighs. She wouldn’t trade this idiot for the world. 

[transmutationisms]

You’ve introduced me to so many topics in theory but there are days when I have no idea what you’re talking about and i twirl my hair and kick my feet while I’m lying on my bed and giggle like omg tell me more

hi megan <3 this is fair also sometimes i am truly talking out my ass and making zero effort to make a thought comprehensible to anyone else lol but i remember you've read some of the 'speculative materialists' so you would probably get a kick out of this:

basically i was mostly just drafting a paragraph explaining how the french 'idéologues' in the 1790s-1810s conceived of sense perception and access to external phenomena, and i used kant as a compare/contrast because he's an easy reference point on this topic/time period:

Idéologie itself was never a singular scientific method, but described a loose methodological family (often referred to by ‘Idéologues,’ such as Cabanis, as analysis) that aimed to uncover the deeper truths and universal laws that structured phenomenal observations. It was this quality that led the historian of medicine George Rosen to describe idéologie as a meeting point of empiricism and the “passive psychology” of Étienne Bonnot de Condillac (1714–1780). For Condillac and his followers, including Cabanis, all ideas of the human mind had their origin in sensations—that is, in the impressions made by external objects upon the sensory organs. Thus, an idea could always be broken down to its component sensations, which could be traced back to their external sources. There were no human ideas or mental faculties that did not ultimately take their source from sensory impressions; human understanding could be studied, corrected, and eventually refashioned by careful application of the ‘analytical’ method. Whereas Kant, whose first Critique was published in 1781, defended a distinction between a priori and a posteriori judgments, the Idéologues considered even an inherited tendency or instinct to be ultimately and strictly a product of sensation. If Kantian transcendental idealism dictated that human observation could never directly access the external phenomena in-themselves, idéologie instead embraced the naïve realist position that the external objects could truly be known and described—but only by precise analysis of their noumenal representations.

and then i was like well condillac died in 1780 and cabanis's most famous treatise was published in 1802 so basically the timing lines up really well for this comparison to kant, and what you would need to do is derive these different attitudes toward things-in-themselves from the political-economic contexts that they're embedded in & patterned on. which would be extremely easy to do on the french side because cabanis was 1) a politician and 2) explicitly openly concerned about the health of the workforce as a means of ensuring the continued production of french national wealth, such that my argument about him is essentially that we should be reading him as espousing proto eugenic positions and as verbalising much of the biopolitical remit of the revolutionary and postrevolutionary french state. like essentially, analogous to the way that c. darwin 'found' capitalist competition in nature, you would say something like, cabanis 'found' (naturalised) the need for management and alteration of the labourer's body & physiology in his medico-philosophical treatises.

anyway i would need to brush up on kant biography stuff but given his interest in physical anthropology and specifically his racial essentialism, it would be easy also to argue that his 'correlationist' thinking derived from how he patterned psychology on a teleological racial-hierarchical view of human biology. which is in turn ofc an economic and political argument. so what i would want to prove here is that both these positions, while seemingly disparate, are ultimately just different bourgeois ideologies & follow superstructurally from the material alienation of capitalist labour relations etc etc. i would do this more elegantly and thoroughly in an actual article but this is tumblr.dashboard :-)