#and if you cannot make the joy? Survive until you can.

[vt-scribbles]

Hey! I just wanted to like. personally thank you for your tags on that post about being 13-15. I’m 20 and I’m just. I don’t know. It’s really nice to know that there’s no rush to get my shit together. You don’t have to post this if you don’t want, but from one stranger to another, thank you. I hope the future is kind to us both.

You are /more/ than welcome Anon.

I know when I was around 17-20, I wish someone would have told me that. I wish someone would have reassured me

"You're not an '''adult''' by 30. In fact, the idea of 'becoming an adult' is a lie. Everyone is a child, slowly figuring things out.

You'll be 25 and be 10 in maturity in some places, and 45 in others. You'll be 19 and be as mature as a 28 year old. 60 with the maturity of a 12 year old.

Age is a lie, maturity is a slow process, and everyone should always be growing. The idea that you become 'a mature adult' at a 'certain age' is a paradox, and is not helpful to you when you're young and scared and figuring yourself out before you can figure your LIFE out.

Your art will get better. Your friend group will get bigger. You'll laugh more, write more, reach out to your role models and realize they're all just people like you. Figuring things out. Fucking up. Being scared. We're all a little bit scared. But we all figure things out despite the fear.

So long as you take things at a healthy pace, you'll be okay. You'll feel like 'it's the end of the world' so many times, and you'll get through them. And it's worth it to stick around."

There's never a rush to get your shit together. Most people don't have their life together, or figured out. We're all just kids with back pain and bills. But, y'know. We get to watch the movies we want and eat the food we like, so. It's not so bad. <3

[ahmedbm]

📍🚨please don't skip that 🚨📍📢

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #275 )✅️

Hello dear friends and potential saviors. My name is Ahmed Totah, I am 21 years old, my father is 67, my mother is 55, and my sister is 19 and my brothers Mahmoud 26 and Abdallah 24 and My grandfather is crippled and can't do anythingWho is 91 years old . We now live in the northern Gaza Strip.

Since the beginning of October 7, 2023, and now we are more than 12 months into the war, my family and I have lived a life of relentless violence and suffering after being displaced from our home, more than 10 to 11 times. We have been displaced to schools and relatives, and we are currently living without shelter, and we suffer from food shortages that have forced us to eat animal and bird food due to high prices. Winter has come and we have no blankets or shoes to warm my family. I want you to help me provide for my family's needs and protect them from the bitter cold in winter, and the harsh mud that floods our lives under the rain.

And our suffering in transporting water for drinking, and when it is provided, it is not pure. Diseases, especially rashes, epidemics and pollution, are spreading, while we struggle to survive without proper food, water or medicine. There is no place for anyone, especially children, but

And when it is provided, flour is hardly available through aid (trucks - bershtat) and one day my foot was run over by a truck because of an attack by people and this is because of the lack of flour.

This is all we have. Before the war destroyed our lives, I had just moved to my home in northern Gaza. It was supposed to be a moment of joy, but our happiness was short-lived. On October 7, everything changed. The day started like any other, but soon the sky darkened with smoke, the ground trembled beneath our feet, and the air was filled with the sounds of terrifying explosions. The bombing was continuous, and my family gathered together, praying that we would survive. When the dust settled, nothing was the same. The bombs continued to fall. Every day, my family and I in Gaza wake up to a living nightmare, in a race against time as the war strips us of any sense of peace and normalcy.

My father and mother kept the key to their house in the hope that they would return to it. My father was shocked by the news of the bombing and explosion of our house that held our memories. Here, our dreams of home were displaced and everything was destroyed.

Our lives are in constant danger, and we are desperate to find a way out - a chance to protect my family and rebuild our future safely. But we cannot do it alone. We need your help to escape this nightmare and start over abroad. My profession before and after the war Before the war, I was proud of my work, I studied Hakim at Al-Aqsa University and built a future for myself and my family. I had a thriving career and a home that I worked hard to establish. But everything disappeared during the war. After the war now, everything has disappeared. My work, my tools, and everything I worked for turned into rubble. The war took everything from us, and now my family lives in a tent, and we struggle to survive. We live in fear, trapped in war, everything we had disappeared one day. Our home is destroyed, our community is in ruins, and the constant sounds of explosions remind us that there is no safe place.

My family and I are trapped in Gaza, living in fear and panic as the bombs fall closer and closer. Every night, the walls shake, and we wonder if we can make it until morning. We have lost everything, and we know that our only chance of survival is to escape this war-torn land. But we can’t do it without your help. Please help my family, my friend. The money raised will go directly to cover the costs of my evacuation and that of my family. This includes:

1. Travel expenses – fare, documents, transportation for me and my family.

2. Temporary shelter – a safe place where we can rest, recover, and begin to rebuild.

3. Basic necessities – food, clothing, and medical care upon arrival.

4. Support to rebuild our lives – access to education, healthcare, and job opportunities in a new country.

My family is made up of 7 people, and we know that we will need $10,000 per person to cover these critical expenses. Why your help matters Can your support make the difference between life and death for my family? Every donation brings us one step closer to leaving the devastation and fear behind, and starting over in a place where we can finally find peace. We cannot do this alone, but through your kindness, we can give our family a chance to live – a chance to rebuild, to dream, and to live without fear. From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for being a part of our journey toward safety and hope. Please help my family escape death and the danger of life. Please help my family.

That's why I'm begging you to share my story and post the link to help my family survive.

#Free Palestine #Free Gaza #All eyes on Palestine #All eyes on Gaza #The war in Gaza @asexual-levia-tan @timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @transmutationdice @sawasawako @appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @turtletoria @tortiefrancis @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchameleon @dykesbat @komsomolka @notallmensheviks @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @stuckinapril @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @rooh-afza @shesnake @emil @stuckinapril @side-sidecast @brokenbackmountain @paper-mario-wiki @turian @buttercuparry @littlegermanboy @imjustheretotrytohelp @90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu @a-shade-of-blue @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: oh god this man is doing things to me...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFJ or ISTJ

Ravenclaw

Lawful Neutral to Neutral Good

Sagittarius Sun, Cancer Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You're the rider of Silverwing, the glorious, graceful and maternal dragon who watches over you wherever you go.

・When you were young, it was very difficult for your mother because Silverwing would sweep you away and take you to her nest. Making you one of her own.

・You knew about the Hightowers, and how close Alicent & Rhaenyra were. You were very jealous, but weren't the kind of person to bump shoulders just to be included.

・So your best friend was a dragon. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

・Your connection with her is incredibly strong. Almost telepathic at times. She can feel what you feel - like two one soul in two bodies.

・And when you become of marriagable age - she did not like any of the suitors. So she was there, right by your side, huffing and puffing (putting your white cloaks on edge...)

・Just like Rhaenys the Conquorer, you flew further and further with your mount.

・You weren't the sister of Rhaenyra, but of Rhaenys. Your parents were Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon. And they had you when they were very, very old. Your birth was a miracle.

・And your sister, who was many years older, became a mother to you. As your two parents died.

・Your marriage was put forth by Viserys, well, Otto mainly. He knew his daughter would become queen and yet he was still full of ambition.

・Rhaenys saw straight through this. And your sister did everything she could to stop the marriage.

・But Viserys would not be persuaded...

・When you first met Gwayne, your initial opinion was that he was an ass. A pompus, arrogant, rude, ass.

・He had kissed your hand within the first two minutes and let his eyes linger on your own for far too long.

'I hate him already.' You thought and Silverwing snarled in agreement.

・But the dragon did not deter the Hightower man. He simply smirked and bowed his head.

・As time went by, your cemented walls were slowly knocked down one by one by Gwayne.

・But it wasn't until you offered to take him flying that you truly bonded.

・Clinging as tight as he could to you, Silverwing did every trick in the book to make him faint; straight diving and pulling up at the last second, twirling over herself over and over etc.)

・The whole time you were laughing, not just at his reaction but laughing with pure joy. Your fiance feeling what you feel.

・After that Gwayne looked at you with a newly found gratitue. You were true friends.

・But when Rhaenys started to speak to you about what marriage was really like - you didn't want to hear it.

"...my love, he may stray and sometimes you cannot stop it."

The words had hit you like a boulder to the heart. No, you could not endure such a betrayal.

"Sister. If he dares, then Silverwing will have the most royal feast she has ever had."

・But you need not ever worry about Gwayne's attention turning to another. You are all he needs. All he wants.

・He shows it to you through the way he speaks; the charming, soft voice that makes your knees tremble. The ever so gentle brush of his hand against yours.

・It drives you insane.

・And you never, not once in a nillion years, thought you would say this.

・"Gwayne, please. Let's just marry. Now. It needs to be now or I'll explode."

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Forced Proximity

"I'd do anything for you." (Gwayne) x "As you should." (You)

Survives because of pure luck (You) x Is the pure luck (Gwayne)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Let It Happen by The Midnite String Quartet

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Your first kiss was ... passionate. The hesitation of your lips before one another caused such heat you could not comprehend.

・You consummated your wedding night. Over and over and over again. Until Gwayne said, "my heart I cannot handle another round. I do not think I can move."

"Oh husband," you said while rolling onto your side. "You are going to have to get used to this. There's fire in my blood after all..."

・His eyebrows rose and his handsome face was covered in amusement.

"Well, wife. I guess I'll have to train harder," and with that he gripped your waist and flung on top of you.

・It is well known that the two of you cannot keep your hands off each other. You always do it when no one is around - but somehow someone always sees.

・But it's very difficult when he whispers in your ear all the things he thinks about. The things he wants you to do to him. Where he wants you to touch him.

・Is this not what married life is about? Being so incredibly obsessed with the other that your whole body hurts whenever they aren't near?

[rheakira]

I've come to temporarily break my hiatus to bring up something deeply important. Because after a recent event, if I have to go another day without talking about it, I don't know what I'll do.

Fandoms have an enormous issue when it comes to bigotry and people feeling comfortable enough to be openly bigoted.

And I want to make it clear: everyone is capable of it. In fact, most people do it more often than they don't. But because this strange myth has been built up that if you aren't "blatantly saying slurs" or "killing others" it can't possibly be bigotry, we have done nothing but become dangerous behind closed doors.

If your friend has odd beef with a person of color in the fandom and holds them to standards they don't hold their white friends to, that is bigotry. If your friend feels some sort of way about the trans person in your friend group and tries to come up with reasons for why they specifically can't stay, that is also bigotry. If your group insists that a person with a personality disorder is making it up just for attention and uses that as a reason for why they can't be around them, that is bigotry as well.

I've never been upfront about it because... why do I, as a human being, need to be upfront about my identity when people randomly decide what I am? But I am in fact a person of color who is queer and disabled. Whenever I join a fandom group that is mostly white people, I am liked until this is discovered. And then I watch as people get brutal about things I do or say. Things that they don't do to other people in the group, and I also watch as they take my words and either twist them for convenience or ruin my reputation for it.

As a marginalized person, both in fandom and out, you are held to a unique standard that does not apply to other human beings around you. It makes doing what you love very difficult, because unfortunately as a marginalized person, people will always subconsciously side with the person trying to oppress or attack you. This has happened to me my entire life, from school to work spaces to even internet spaces claiming to be safe places.

People will say that they care about you and like you and even form a friendly bond with you, but the moment a person of privilege decides they do not like you very much, they can and will side with the other person even without proof of their issues with you. It's exhausting and ruins lives in places that should be fun and safe.

I am on my umpteenth experience with this exact cycle and I would be lying if I said it didn't make me feel like I couldn't live or breath in places I should be allowed to be involved in. It's a very real problem that refuses to end because no one has the courage to challenge it. I am speaking not only on my own experiences, but for the many other people of color or queers or disabled people who simply cannot join these so called "safe spaces" because of our identities conflicting with people who have been taught that we are lesser and not worth love or care.

If this is a problem you face, please know that I see you and I love you. It's hard to keep surviving in a world that wants to hurt you and leaves you abandoned and alone. I want you to know that the world is scary, but we all exist. You should be allowed to experience joy and fun without feeling like you're being suffocated and wanting to die.

You matter. The people around you that make you feel like you don't are nothing by comparison. You matter and I truly hope that we'll one day find each other and become the safe space that we deserve.

The marginalized people in your fandom are more important than your fictional characters and plotlines that you put above us. We're here and we're not leaving. Learn to live with us and protect us.

If we're truly your friends, you would care when your privileged "friends" want to remove us.

Additionally, please do not take this rant and make it only about white people who are part of these marginalized categories. This is a post about EVERYONE. Including the people of color around you. Do not remove us from this conversation. Care about ALL OF US if you support this at all. Thank you.

[quarterlifekitty]

Imagine an AU for cod— inspired Haunting Ground, but with a few twists.

Like a princess, you were born in a castle— one with many secrets. You didn’t know it then, but your father was a homunculus— the first to successfully be made with the alchemical essence of life, azoth. This gift was passed down to you, born when he fell in love with a human woman. When you were young, your father and mother fled the castle with you, and from then on you lived the normal life they’d wished for, losing almost all memory of the castle as time went on. Eventually, you regard it as a dream. Until the day of the accident, you and your parents in the car. You wake up in that same castle, with no escape in sight.

Phillip Graves fills Ricardo’s role. He’s the one that kidnapped you from the scene of the accident. He grew up with you for the short time you lived in the castle, feeling robbed when your parents took you away. In his mind, you were always promised to him. He’s a homunculus without azoth of his own, a failure. But now that he has you again, to keep at his side and breed, he can use your azoth to ensure his line continues.

König takes the role of Debilitas. A homunculus made with both human and a bit of wolf dog— he’s never been quite right in the head, but has more than enough mass and muscle to make up for it. He has precious little in this life, as a lifelong servant to the castle, but he does have a small cloth doll he carries with him everywhere. One you happen to resemble. He pursues you relentlessly— wanting to take you in his arms, precisely where his doll should be.

Ghost is in the role of Daniela. He knows not what he is, only that he is incomplete. He is not a full man, he cannot feel things the way a man should. He views you with a spiteful jealousy— you are a complete, beautiful being. You got to live outside, when he has spent his life in service of this castle, never knowing love or companionship. He sees how full of life you are— the glow of your skin and the shine of your hair and the joy in your rare smiles. He wants that to himself. If he is not complete then perhaps owning, mating with a complete being will make him so.

Soap is your Hewie. A man captured, like you, but for the purpose of alchemical testing. (He’s got some dog in him now because it’s my AU and I get to be insane). You see him locked up when you awake, and come across him later in the courtyard, his leg snared in a bear trap— his pain and weakness from being kept prisoner make him unable to free himself. You help him, and he becomes your loyal companion, shoving himself between you and any danger, defending you with his new teeth— those of a predator. The dog in him is in love with your scent, and easily bonded to you from your compassion. You’re his mate now— and he’s going to keep you safe at all costs.

Which leaves Price as Lorenzo. Watching you go through the castle, helping you and giving you warnings, ensuring your survival. He is another iteration of the alchemist who built this place, keeping himself alive and reborn through alchemy over centuries. He seeks eternal life and the endless pursuit of knowledge. He sees your intelligence and quick wit through how you solve the puzzles, navigate the labyrinthine castle, and evade capture again and again.

He was there when you were young, and even then he knew you were special. Now you’ve blossomed into something perfect and beautiful. You’re not meant to live outside of these walls, among the ordinary. He wants you here, with him, nestled into his side and apprentice in his research. He’ll even let you keep Soap, since you’ve grown so fond of him. Being born into this castle made you a part of this family, and he’ll be damned before he’ll see you separated from him again.

[kanmom51]

This one is kind of personal and a lot mushy

(And as I'm writing this, a bit of a rant as well)

*Be advised.😅

Been a bit.

Well, I was kind of busy. On one of those 'once in a lifetime' trips you take to celebrate a big one, this one being my 30th wedding anniversary.

And while I was on this trip (and I am sure to share some pics, cause why not, seeing we got some spectacular ones) I got to thinking about Jikook. Because, who doesn't think about Jikook on their 30th anniversary trip, right?

Let's be real for a sec. Who doesn't think about Jikook ALL THE DAMN TIME?

Obsessed much?

Hell yeah!!!😂

Proudly admitting it!!

Look at those two:

Can you seriously blame me?

Nah, but seriously.

I couldn't help but think about who I am, where I've come from, how my partner and myself came to be, our love and respect for each other, how we fought through everything life swings at you and how our love not only survived all of it but seems to have flourished even more. I can honestly say that I love my husband today even more than I did when we got married. It's a different kind of love. A mature love. A love that survived many trials and tribulations. Some you know of when you tie the knot but many more you don't expect.

And thinking of us I couldn't help but think about those two young men and how they met, what brought them together, how they connected, how they have been through so much together, the hardships, the struggles, the amazingly good and the terribly bad, all making their bond even stronger.

There are those that cannot fathom how 2 young beautiful talented men could be in a committed relationship when they have this whole smorgasbord of beautiful people just wanting to lay a hand on them. Everyone wants a piece of them and here they are in a committed relationship with each other? A long term committed relationship? How ever could that be?

When you love someone to the core, which is exactly how those two feel (people can deny it all they want, but it won't change the facts, these two have chosen each other every single time over anything and anyone else), when you get to know that one person and fall deeply in love with them, know their ins and outs, know their flaws and issues, seen them at their best and at their worst. When they are happy or sad, healthy or sick, elated or furious, and find them attractive through and through, still want to be by their side.

No.

Need to be by their side.

Want to be there when they are happy, share their joy, but also be there when they are sad or down and stand by their side to support them through it (even with and despite all those flaws and issues and difficulties that at times can also infuriate you and basically make you want to ring their necks at certain points in time) there is no love (between partners) deeper than that.

I do know, we all should, that what they experienced and how they are living cannot be compared to us regular folk. Their circumstances are such that they have to deal not only with an industry and society that deems them as 'wrong' (that includes a big chunk of their own fandom btw), but also a lifestyle that is nothing like the one we know or have experienced. The hours, the cameras in their faces close to 24/7 (up until their break and hiatus and even prior to that during the pandemic - which btw is one of the reasons people have gone mad at that point given we stopped getting an influx of BTS content for such a long time), growing up and maturing in the limelight, enjoying the fame and exposure at first and then fighting for privacy and 'anonymity' when you realize there is a price to that fame. None of us have experienced that. Yes, we can find the similarities and by extension make conclusions about them, but at the same time we always need to remember that their lives are different than ours and that we cannot always hold them to the same standards of behavior that we are used to in our own lives and relationships.

This is beside the point that every relationship is different. I will just say this. A healthy long term relationship is built on 2 or more (I ain't judging) individuals that stand as their own person and chose to be with the other/s. They don't necessary have to have the exact same interests or likes. What they do need is to love, respect, trust each other and understand that part of that is allowing your significant other to do what they love, even if it means doing it without you. Even if it means doing it with someone else. You all know where I'm getting with this right? Going out with others, travelling with others, drinking with others, spending time with others, choosing to spend time alone without your significant other, none of them diminish from your relationship if indeed it's building blocks are solid. And brace yourselves (well, those that are in long term relationships know this already...), but all of the above actually helps maintain your relationship. Can make it better and stronger.

I've been lurking a little on SM, even while away, only to find that once again, or should I say still (surprise surprise... NOT) there are those that are doubting the bond that these two young men have. It's solos and cultists trying to create an alternative universe in which JK and JM are not close and even distanced (some would love for them to actually hate each other - good luck with that psychos). Or it's once again those insecure 'Jikookers' that seem to need that constant affirmation from a real life queer couple that most certainly will not be giving them that. I keep asking myself why is it that a couple like JM and JK need to constantly prove they are together (all while they actually can't come out and say it due to their circumstances - industry and society they live in), when a heterosexual couple, say Zendaya and Tom, for example, are not expected to? How come a blurry clip (which I still say is fake) released at a very suspicious point in time, together with other obviously edited clips and serious claims of misconduct that are clearly made up and were intended to cause JK harm, have more of an impact on them than years and years of interactions, talk, actions (including just before the clip was released and after it as well)? And now another blurry clip that people are going all crazy over. Like seriously, what is wrong with people? Is the lack of content driven them mad? No drama so we need to create it? Well, thing is that when you are in a healthy committed long term relationship there is not much drama. That's the way it is when you are settled and happy and know who you are and who you love and know that they feel the same about you. Arguments, disagreements, bad days - sure. That's life. But at the end of the day if people want drama they should go watch one on TV.

So, how do I put it to make is as clear as possible?

These insecurities we get from some of the fans, they work like clockwork. Every single time, in the past, when we didn't get much from the two there were these whispers and question marks regarding their relationship. Not even if they are still together, but down to the core of their bond, as to even question if they are close or friends. This phenomenon goes way back.

But since end of 2021 beginning of 2022, when they were on their break and later the hiatus into 2023 it blew up like a full on hydrogen bomb.

This got worse after they were assigned their own 'personal' IG accounts and went on their break.

The misconception by many that these accounts were somehow their private accounts that they use to interact with each other, I can't call it anything other than delusional. Sorry not sorry. And if people did not realize that themselves if only from the lack of posting or interaction with whoever, then we had the members themselves telling us that they regularly interact within their own private chat groups. That photos shared on IG with us have been previously shared with the others in those groups. These IG accounts were created to maintain contact between the members and their fans, knowing that the group is going into hiatus and that they will each be promoting their own individual solo projects. Yes, the group Twitter (X) account could be used for that, but there was an attempt to create a more 'personal' connection between each member and Army. These accounts were work, as simple as that, and them reacting to other members or talking with each other through these accounts was not an indication what so ever to whether they were in touch or not otherwise.

At the time, back in early 2022, when people were reeling over the lack of interaction between the two on their IG accounts I tried to explain that a. not seeing something most definitely does not mean it's not there (something those two made sure to prove time and time again over the past couple of years), and b. that the lack of interaction can actually be an indication to them spending most of their time together, as there is no need to comment on another's post when you are right there to tell them whatever it is you want to tell them to their face. Not to mention, and this part is all me, so take or leave it as you will, but some of said IG posts, well, how do I put it? I guess I just say it as it is... some of these photos posted were either taken by the other or they were right there or really near by when it was taken. There. I said it. In any case, the fact that these were the only two not to interact with each other in front of Army's face, out of the whole group, that, to me, meant they were the ones spending most of the time together.

Oh, and let's just address the whole fanservice stupidity surrounding those two once and for all.

If they were all about fanservice, how is it that since that during the break in 2021-2022 and then during the hiatus and their solo endeavors, we were robbed of said fanservice? Wouldn't you expect that the fanservice couple, the scripted couple, be pushed during each other's promotions? How is it that we have seen during these periods of promotions every single other coupling other than JM and JK. Even JK visiting JM during his rehearsals was heavily edited. How come, if we are being sold a fake bond? No JK being forced to go visit JM when performing at the music shows. No JM being forced to do the same with JK. JM paired with Suga for an add for Busan (? that one was really an odd one for me). When did we see them? So yeah, people can scream fanservice all they want, but deep down inside they know it's a crap claim. I won't even go into JK's lives. There was not one ingenuine bone in his body, and that excitement seeing JM's comments, that coquettish behavior while interacting with him (especially during the bed live, OMG!!!), the reactions to the JM centered content he CHOSE to watch during those lives, none of that is scripted nor acted. It's all JK. All him. And JM's reaction when JK shows up at his documentary viewing live, that little butt wiggle in his chair (reminds me of Bam when happy to see his dad/s, as shown by JK), the face lighting up, the genuine worry on his face talking about JK working hard (during another couple of lives), again, not faked.

So yeah, not fanservice.

I digressed, I think.

Let's get back to 2022 why don't we?

On their break these crazy stories of heartbreak and breakup and hate and suffering and god knows what, only all to be thrown out of the window as soon as we got to see the two together again during the Seoul concerts and then LV. Oh LV. That was a wild ride.

Then BTS went on hiatus and the solo era began. And we were getting less and less ot7 content, and once again the insecurities. These ups and downs (you know, the whole JITB party stories about them not being together - that was countered by the BTB that followed a while after), then Busan concert's high, then 2023's downs and ups and downs and ups and fruck it all, I'm sea sick from this stupidity.

Same exact stories were repeated in 2023!!!

Especially after THE CLIP "which shall not be named" dropped.

SAME EXACT TO THE T STORIES!!!

But again, I digress.

Insecurity regarding the two and their bond (seeing they aren't in the public eye) followed by realization that everything is as it was (if not even better and stronger) once we see them together again. And the reason we don't see them together while on break... wait for it... is because they are a private couple living their everyday life, not for the cameras, not for Army, but for THEMSELVES.

Who would have thought.

And when they are together, as in working together, either filming or shooting or performing, well their bond can't be hidden, as much as they might have to wind it down at times (which is mainly not when they are on stage hyped up on adrenaline, lol), seeing that this is still Kpop, with fandoms that feel ownership over them, not to mention them being a queer couple. You know. All the usual reasons.

This idea people have that these two owe us something. That they constantly have to prove their bond, their connection, their relationship. What utter bull.

Anyway, what a slap in the face (for some a good wake up call, for others a well deserved one) the news of them choosing to enlist together was for so many.

Bottom line is, repeated for the millionth time, that these two young men have shown us time and time again that when push comes to shove they will chose one another!!!

I feel like I'm all over the place here. Came to talk about my trip and ended up talking about fanservice and insecurity and god knows what. I guess it's the jetlag (yeah, let's go with that and blame it on the jetlag).

In any case I will go with my favorite saying as of late:

Why this whole long word vomit, you may ask (or you might not ask, who knows, lol)?

What the hell does this have to do with my trip?

Nothing...?

Probably, lol.

But I am going to try to connect the dots. Even if they did make sense in my mind when I first started writing this post and no longer do...

How about the fact that the two chose to take these trips together?

See how I did that? Connecting the unconnected?

Not even going to ask the egg-chicken question here, as I am quite positive it was always about the trips and the show/content for army was the excuse that allowed them to travel 'for work', and a little bonus of content for army when they are away - not to mention perhaps even an opportunity for a soft outing, who knows.

They wanted to spend this time together before enlistment.

We know of at least 3 trips. Connecticut, Jeju and Japan (the Jeju trip may or may not be part of that 'show').

We are yet to know what exactly this 'show' will be. Will it be an actual show, style BV or ITS? Will it be a Vlog? Will we be getting actual episodes or several minute clips? But one thing for sure. Whatever we get, it will be a drop in a lake of the time they spent together. They went on these trips to be together. They shot this 'show' to allow them to be on these trips. This 'show' will give us a glimpse, no more than that, of what they got up to while together. Bottom line - it's about them, not the show and definitley not us.

So yeah, tripping together (lol, as in traveling, just felt like using that fun word, which can mean so much more as well) is something couples love to do, and going on said trips prior to a huge life changing event (let's be real here, going into the military for 18 months, especially knowing that to be able to enlist TOGETHER, they will be placed in one of the harsher units and environments, knowing that even though they will be together they most certainly will not have the freedoms they enjoy prior to enlistment), well that is something they would do as well.

To sum this whole rant up:

I came here to show off some pics from my trip...

If Jikook are allowed to (and god help them all if we don't get that show eventually...), then so am I...

The scenery...

And the wild life

So there you have it.

I managed to talk about my trip and about Jikook all in one long ranty post.

To those that managed to work their way through it I have this to say:

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: PAST SUICIDAL IDEATION, attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

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[snowyslytherinowl]

Joyous Nightmares - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x (Professor) Reader

SUMMARY: A year after surviving the Second Wizarding War, Severus Snape begins to have joyous nightmares where he dreams of having a wife and a daughter. These dreams bring him nightmares because he doesn't believe that he'll ever get married or have a family of his own. So what happens when the wife in his dreams is revealed to be you?

Warning: Nothing heavy, but there are some mentions of death. Angst and nightmares are also featured.  This is my first fanfiction for Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy it!

Part 2 | Part 3

*GIF isn't mine

Severus has had nightmares for as long as he can remember. As a child, he dreamt of his parents arguing and his father hitting him when drunk. Then his nightmares focused mainly on his rejection from Lily, and Potter and Black bullying him. Sometimes they would trip him in the hall, causing his trousers to fall off, and other times Potter would make him kiss the ground and eat the dirt while Lily watched. As he grew older, he dreamt of Lily’s death. After the Second Wizarding War, he relived his near-fatal attack by Nagini almost every night. But about a year after the war ends, Severus starts to have nightmares about a much different topic. 

Severus is sitting on his bed when he hears crying. He walks down a hall in a house, one that looks much different than the one in Spinner’s End, to the source of the crying: a baby. He opens the door at the end of the hall and sees a small infant flailing around the crib. Gingerly lifting the baby from the bed, he cradles the baby in his arm and places their head on his shoulder. He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows that the baby is a girl and that she’s his daughter. He gently bounces her up and down and sits in a rocking chair. 

“Hush now. Daddy is here,” he whispers and kisses her forehead. “You have nothing to fear. I will always protect you.” He holds the little girl closer to him, and soon she falls asleep in his arms. 

Severus wakes up in his bed in his private chamber at Hogwarts. Although he has dreamt of much more horrific, much more gruesome things, this dream leaves him feeling immensely worse. He has been bullied and seen death in the real world, so seeing it in his mind’s eye at night is no different than experiencing it. But dreaming of cradling his own tiny baby girl? That leaves him with a gaping hole in his heart, a hole he cannot mend because he will never have a family. Pathetic, greasy-haired Severus, forever condemned to loneliness. 

He pulls the covers back up his chest, turns on his side, and closes his eyes. No matter how much he tosses and turns that night, he can't fall asleep until dawn. 

XXX

Several nights later, Severus has a similar dream. 

He’s back in the same house. With a quick peek through the window, he can tell that this house is in the countryside with its green, sprawling valley. Severus turns to the little girl in the highchair, who is now eight or nine months old. He dips a spoon into a jar of baby food and tries to feed it to his daughter, who purses her lips and turns her head.

“Do not be picky. This is delicious,” he says and puts the spoonful of baby food into his mouth. No, he was lying about the delicious part. “Perhaps it does not taste good, but it is good for you. My Half-Blood Princess must grow to be healthy and strong.”

Even though his daughter giggles at her nickname, she still refuses to eat the food. “Fine. I did not want to fall into temptation, but you are forcing me.”

Severus takes a small cauldron from the cupboard, which is no bigger than a large bowl. He puts the jar of baby food and spoon into the cauldron and uses his wand to make steam rise from the cauldron. He swirls his wand over the cauldron, pretending to stir it, and casts a fake spell of gibberish words. 

Severus’s daughter breaks into a giggling fit and bounces up and down in her high seat. Severus can’t help but smile and laugh at her joy. He uses his wand to lift a spoonful of baby food from the cauldron and towards the little girl, who finally opens her mouth and eats. 

He never thought himself much of a fatherly figure, but these joyous nightmares have made him realize how desperately he wishes to have a family of his own. Every time he visits Hogsmeade, he stares at the small children accompanying their parents at shops or playing in the playground. Even though he doesn’t show much love to the people around him, he somehow knows that he would shower his own child with love and affection. 

Severus decides not to go back to sleep. There are two hours until he must make his way to the Great Hall and he still has essays to grade. Anything to get his mind off the baby, though a small cauldron in the corner of his room ensures that the hole in his heart remains open.

XXX

Over the next few months, Severus has dreams about his child almost every night. In every dream, he watches her grow up, even if it’s by a month or two. Nothing particularly profound happens; they merely participate in average daily activities. Once he dreams that she plays with a toy wand set that emits tiny colorful sparks. Another time she sits on his lap as he reads to her and wrestles his hair from her tiny fingers. That one makes him feel especially pained as he’s always felt insecure about his hair, and he can’t imagine a baby happily playing with it. 

After a particularly hard day of disciplining dunderheads and spilled potions, another person joins his dreams. 

Muggle baby strollers are quite the invention, Severus thinks as he pushes his sleeping daughter around the main square of the nearest town. Stores here display all types of clothes, as well as chocolate boxes and snack bags; however, he doesn’t see anything suitable for his wife’s birthday. 

Finally, Severus spots a beautiful dark green pendant through a jewelry shop’s window. An idea pops into his mind about how he can transform this simple Muggle pendant into something enchanting for his wife.

He buys it, then spends the rest of the day locked in his study working on magically connecting the pendant and a journal. He charms the pendant to heat up and display messages Severus writes in the journal. This way, Severus can send short messages to his wife no matter where he is. “I love you,” he writes in the journal and watches it slowly appear on the green gem. 

“What do you think?” he asks his daughter when he enters the living room. She giggles and grasps the chain of the necklace, which Severus takes as a yes.

“One day, I will give you one of your own, my Half-Blood Princess.”

A wife. A wife whom he loves. A wife that loves him, too, even if he has no proof to support his theory. A wife who he loves enough to have a baby with. A wife who he knows he will never have. 

Since he started having these joyous nightmares, he has recognized that the existence of a wife would appear at some point. Though when she finally does, he’s caught off guard. He thought that as an adult, he would finally grow out of the nervous, insecure person he was as a child. But he’s thought wrong; a fist squeezes his heart as he thinks about how lonely and unlovable he is. His hand wanders to the pillow on the other side of the bed as he imagines a wife lying beside him. He wishes that he could hold her, kiss her, and love her. But who would ever be attracted to his oily hair and sallow skin, or not be appalled by his deeds as he served the Dark Lord? 

Tears have threatened to spill after waking from his past dreams. This time, though, the tears overtake him and sobs wrack his body. 

XXX

Steps sound from around the corner. Severus prepares to berate the student he catches, but he stops short when he spots you. “Hi Severus, you can go to bed. It’s my night to patrol the corridors, remember?” 

Severus doesn’t have many friends at Hogwarts, or anywhere for that matter. But out of the few people he can rely on, you are one of them. You frequently eat lunch with him and sit beside him for meals. You’re always there for him to talk to, though you aren’t pushy. He appreciates you more than you likely appreciate him.  

“I know,” he says a little too harshly. “I thought I should help since I could not sleep.” Do not want to sleep is more like it, he thinks. 

You don’t take offense to his harsh tone. “That’s nice of you. Are you having nightmares, perhaps? Are the ghosts in your dreams giving you too much grief?” You give him a gentle smile and Severus feels a warmth spreading over his body. 

“I consumed too much caffeine,” he lies. 

“Don’t I know the dangers of drinking too much tea before I go to bed.” 

You two patrol the corridors as he listens to your stories of catching students out of bed and making fools of themselves in class. He rather enjoys being in your presence, a warm welcome from his joyous nightmares. 

It seems too soon when your patrol is over and you head in different directions to return to your chambers. Determined not to fall asleep, Severus spends the rest of his time until breakfast grading essays. He has never physically seen his dream wife; he only writes to her or prepares dinner or breakfast for her. Unfortunately, his eyes feel too heavy and he eventually succumbs to sleep. 

It’s a beautiful day and Severus chases after his daughter, who runs through the valley outside their house. He finally catches up with her when she drops to the ground, picking at something. “I got you!” he yells after he grabs his daughter and lifts her into his arms. 

“Daddy!” she giggles and presents him with the flowers she has picked. “For you!”

He takes the bundle from her dirt-stained hands and smiles down at her. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He places her back down on the ground and kneels beside her. “How about you pick some for Mummy?”

“Okay!” His daughter runs around a little more until she picks the largest flowers in the valley and gives them to her dad for safekeeping. He lifts her back into his arms and walks towards the house. 

In the distance, he can see a woman by their house. He knows that it’s his wife, but the light from the setting sun and the shadow from the house blocks him from seeing her features. Severus uses one of his hands to shield his eyes from the sun glaring into his eyes and tells his daughter, “Wave to Mummy!”

Severus checks the time and jumps to his feet. He strains to discern the identity of his dream wife based on his memories of the dream but to no avail. He arrives at the Great Hall, takes his seat beside you at the High Table, and attempts to compose himself as he digs into his food. Why are you living under the delusion that this dream woman is a real person? Severus tells himself in his mind. If you ever see what she looks like, she will be an imaginary woman who only lives in your head. 

For a split second, Severus peeks at you from the corner of his eyes and imagines you as his wife blinded by the light from the sun. Deciding that it’s a dangerous path to take, he snaps out of it and goes back to nibbling his toast. 

You catch him looking at you and you ask, “Are you alright, Severus? You look like you didn’t get any sleep!” Oddly, he enjoys the concern in your voice and the furrowing of your brows. 

“I am fine,” he brushes off, but you’ve already poured him coffee and waved your wand at it. 

“Take this. It should get you through the rest of the day.” Severus grunts thanks and takes a sip. Normally, coffee makes him feel shaky and nervous as he unwittingly recalls his joyous nightmares. This coffee tastes different; it's sweet and makes him feel like he will stay awake and alert for the rest of the day. 

You talk to each other about your plans for the day until you finish your food and stand from your seat. “I’ll see you later!” you call from behind. For some indiscernible reason, Severus is looking forward to that. 

[cipheramnesia]

The "movie about a movie that kills you" is a surprisingly robust genre of horror. There's a wide range of approaches, but one key factor is the question of how good the deadly film in a film is, on its own. Some approaches are keeping the faux film entirely unseen, use brief clips, or make it real short.

Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made goes in for a high risk approach and delivers a complete finished film, ostensibly made in the 70s and never released, framed by brief opening and closing info bites to set the stage of it.

Somehow this thing was completely off my radar, which means I was taken fully off guard as an ominous warning about the content in white text on black appeared on screen, giving a thirty second count down to leave if I wanted.

Wonderful showmanship and canny filmmaking that got me right in the mood to enjoy what followed. While I wouldn't call it a scary movie, I found it almost delightful in the atmospheric dread and devotion to its aesthetic of low budget 70s films. Nothing in it feels like a curse on its own, but it does feel like the sort of movie that could easily prompt psychological distress for anyone under psychotropic influences, pre-existing emotional vulnerability, or prone to delusional states. Not through anything supernatural, more because it works hard to keep the viewer in constant doubt over what is and is not real for the characters in the film. Combined with the framing device of it being a movie somehow able to influence the real world of the viewer, and the use of fractionally visible flashes of occult symbols on the screen, it generates an intense feeling of unreality which for me was an almost drug-like high and an immersive pleasure.

The premise of Antrum is simply a brother and sister decide to dig a hole to hell, and the movie plays out around this event by surrounding it with disturbing sounds and imagery, as well as real world dangers that weave the protagonists between the supernatural and mundane while keeping them in a state of terror and madness that grows until it becomes unrelenting.

In a certain sense it also feels cursed, like the kind of film where there are elements that feel very transgressive - in particular the opening scene which to my mind evoked Un Chien Andalou - not the infamous eyeball slicing scene, but the use of rotting animals. The few and very basic visual effects remind me as well of the early Survival Research Laboratory devices engineered by Mark Pauline.

However, the core question for me is also always what is the movie about besides the plot. If I had to identify some rough themes, I would say it's trying to explore the idea of understanding death and violence through the eyes of children who do not yet have the psychological tools for processing such matters, but who have been left on their own to do so regardless.

Many of the unusual elements in the movie can relate to death rituals poorly understood, starting from the very premise of digging a hole into the earth. And the same act is surrounded by strange rituals unclear in their origin, ideas which might be logical drawn from watching words recited over a grave without having a connection of purpose. Their encounters with other people are fully without possibility of communication as none of them speak the same language, and these mundane threats feel at times akin to a satanic Alice in Wonderland, rituals and violence whose meaning cannot be understood by the protagonists.

Likewise the supernatural is full of unprocessed images of death. Demons with black skin who look like mummified corpses. River crossings and empty chains dragging through leaves. It's as if death itself has manifested through the ambient world, surrounding the two children and refusing to let them leave its circle.

In combination with the intriguing use of sigils inscribed throughout, it creates a movie that is for me a joy to watch. An absolutely perfect Halloween spook for next year, but your mileage may vary between finding it full of pretentious nonsense or maybe the scariest film you'll ever watch. It can really come off either way, and I'm honestly not quite sure why my reaction was actual joy in the watching. Not to undercut the severity of the subject matter, but I just can't stop thinking about how happy I was to watch the movie at work mechanically, to enjoy the well oiled pieces fitting together, and then all topped off with the delicious extra treat of the framing device. Surely worth 90 minutes of your life.

[cosmiccrushes]

What If

Solas x Lavellan | 1.5k words

What if Solas had told her the truth when he meant to?

Solas exhales a deep breath, one he might have been holding since before he led her into this glade. Since before he made the decision to bring her here. Since he held her hand up towards the sky to wield a magic she should not even have. 

He relishes the way the moonlight dances across her freckles and vallaslin. In the beginning, seeing those markings on her had only brought him a detached sort of sorrow, having seen them adorn the faces of many Dalish over his long, endless centuries. If there existed a vallaslin for Fen’Harel, he wondered what he would feel if she had chosen it. Would she choose him now, when she knew the truth of her peoples’ Old Gods?

Over time, as he came to know her, those markings had tapped into a deep well of rage within him- and shame. Unbearable shame. He was the reason she wore those markings on her face with no idea of the heinous past they truly represented. He was the reason she bore an ancient magic upon her hand that would eventually kill her. He was the reason her sky was torn open and every day of her life was a fight to survive now. He was the reason and she deserved so much better. 

Thus, she was the reason he was standing in this glade about to make a choice. A choice that would forever change his trajectory. A choice he cannot decide if it is brave to make or incredibly selfish of him. 

But she changes everything. He tried to resist it but with her every curious question about the Fade she worked her way into his heart. With every act of compassion she showed towards spirits, she embedded herself deeper until he found that she had lodged herself next to that well of emotion he had not drank from in centuries. Suddenly he felt. He felt fear and anger, joy and hope, grief. He felt it all, with her, for her. Solas realized it like a bright, clear sunrise dawning on him after centuries of clouded night. He loved her. And if he loved her, the only way to show it was with the truth. 

That truth, well, it may be the last conversation he is ever privileged to have with her. But she deserves it and he needs it. He needs to know if he has been…wrong. If there is another way that his pride prevented him from seeing. The path he walks, the Din’anshiral. It is one he would protect her from at all costs. But perhaps…it is not one he needs to walk at all. What if… What if this feeling blossoming in his heart… What if this seed of possibility sprouting roots inside of him… What if it meant everything was allowed to change? What if he was allowed to water it, nurture it into a future he had never considered before her?

“I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” Solas says to her. 

“That’s not necessary, Solas. You’re my…” She trails off, a question in her eyes. Her brows scrunch together and his fingers ache to reach out and smooth them down, to remove any weight of doubt from her mind about what she means to him. 

“That is the question, is it not? For now, the best gift I can offer is the truth…” Solas braces himself against the spike of fear. Would she still want to name what they are to one another after this? Would the only name to suffice be monster or enemy? 

“You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me - more important than I could have imagined.”

“As you are to me,” she responds, her eyes sparkling. 

“Then what I must tell you… The truth.” 

She watches him expectantly. Her fingers reaching out to lace with his own. Her touch sets off a sparking current of desire through him. He forces himself not to pull her closer and to look into her eyes as he says, “I am not who you think I am, vhenan.” Her lips part in confusion. “Or,” Solas continues gently. “I am not only who you think I am.” 

“Solas,” her fingertips brush his cheek. “What do you mean?”

Solas briefly clasps her fingers against his jaw before drawing her hand away. He swallows hard at the look of hurt that flutters across her face, but she did not know whom she touched. Not yet anyway. 

“I have spoken to you of the knowledge I have learned of through spirits in the Fade. And that is the true origin of some of my knowledge. The rest…” She nods slowly up at him, encouraging him to go on. “I was there, vhenan. Many millennia ago, when what your people call the Old Gods walked the land.” 

“Solas, I don’t…” she shakes her head, takes the smallest step away from him that threatens to shatter his resolve into panic. 

“Solas came first,” he says. “Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, came after.” He watches her so closely, studying her reaction like she is the Fade he has spent centuries of his life devoted to understanding. 

“Fen’Harel,” she whispers the name, his name. Then she takes another step, this time towards him, and it is the most important step in Solas’ long life. “Tell me, Solas. Tell me everything.” 

And so he does. The words spill from him, painting a picture of his life across a canvas that she watches with the curiosity and compassion that he has come to love her by. She does not flinch away when the colors grow dark and the shapes become jagged. Does not reach out in grief to shred the portrait of a false god that undoes every single thing she has been taught. 

When he tells her the truth of the mark upon her hand, she squeezes his own with it, the mark pressed between them like an oath to own this mistake as one. When he finally lifts his brush, his words running dry, she steps into him. Her hand lifts to cup his face again. Tears glisten in her eyes, falling silently down her cheeks. 

“Ma vhenan, we will carry this together.”

There is a fire in her voice that warms the icy waters of numbing grief Solas has drowned in for so long. It is a gift, her words. A gift Solas cannot believe he is worthy of receiving. A magic he did not know if he dared to wield. But she changes everything. And she can, they can.  

He reaches out, wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he tells her. One last truth, as he weaves his hand into her hair, tilts her face up to his. 

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she responds, a glorious smile alighting her features.

Solas captures it in his mind, then with his own lips. A hunger breaking free of the reservoir he has kept it bottled within, eager to be quenched. She meets his passion, her arms winding around his neck. His hand roams down her back, pressing her tighter against him. She gasps his name, Solas, against his lips and he is undone. She exists and she sees him and she is choosing him. 

He pulls her to the forest floor with him. As her hands brace against his chest, her hips bracketing his own, his hands tangle in her hair as she hovers over him… As her lips crash down over his and Solas experiences a jubilation he is not sure he has ever known…

The Dread Wolf wakes up. No weight against his body. No warmth against his lips. The frigid well of his regrets, his shame, his grief, are his only company and absolutely no relief for the thirst her absence parches him with.

This dream comes to Solas often. Haunts him with the ghost of a choice he almost made, but did not. In another world, perhaps he would have known her love like that. She would know all of his names and he would give all of his heart. Despite the pain this dream afflicts him with, he cannot bear to will it away. He does not believe Fen’Harel deserves her love, because she does not deserve the hurt it would lead her to. Solas had a choice once to envision a different path. This dream reminds him of that. Though it tortures him, he believes this, Fen’Harel, does deserve. He had planned to tell her everything then, regardless of whether it was brave or selfish, because she deserved to know. He did not, so perhaps he deserves to suffer for it. 

Solas stares into the darkness of his room for a moment more. Letting the memory of her lips whisper a what if against his soul. What if he had chosen to trust her? What if he had let himself love her? What if he had let her love him? What if he was not so alone? What if he had done what she deserved from him? What if he was wrong?

He gets up. The time for what if’s long past. Solas had not done what she deserved and the Dread Wolf has work to do.

[sweetblinginrose]

𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕,

(Jonathan Byers x PlayboyModel fem!reader)

summary: Jonathan's first job in California is not what his friend promised, being a little more... dirty.

word count: 3,3k

warning: +18 small age difference (Jonathan is of legal age), nudes, porn magazine, embarrassing erection, blowjob, cum on face.

a/n: well, like, what can i say about this? obv, i wasn't inspired by anyone. it just popped into my head while thinking about another fanfic. ig it's like a headcanon that Jonathan used to work as a nude photographer or something. idk, just enjoy, ig lol ;p

masterlist

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

He was holding the letter with a mixture of hope and nervousness. The rough texture of the paper contrasted with the smoothness of his fingers, which caressed it almost unconsciously while his mind wandered between the possibilities that letter represented. It was more than just a piece of paper; it was the key to a future he longed for, a job in California that could change his life and that of his mother, Joyce, forever.

Money had always been a delicate subject at home. Joyce, with her job, managed to make ends meet, but always just barely. Jonathan wanted more than just survival; he wanted to live. That's why when Argyle, his long-haired friend with a scent of cheerful herbs, suggested that he apply to that photography agency, he didn't think twice. Argyle, who knew more about plants than people, had seen something in Jonathan, a creative spark that deserved to be explored and shared with the world.

The letter was from 'California Play-graphy', an agency unknown to the boy, with an incredible eagerness to know the answer it contained. Jonathan remembered Argyle's words: "Brother, your photos tell stories that words cannot. You have to show that to the world." And so, with a resume full of dreams and a letter that weighed more than gold, Jonathan found himself on the threshold of his future.

With a deep sigh, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The first words danced before his eyes: "Dear Jonathan, we are pleased to inform you...". A shout of joy escaped his lips, resonating in the small room, where Willy and Jane were also making a school project, and surely in the heart of Joyce, who eagerly awaited a package in the kitchen. Jonathan had landed a job, and with it, the promise of a fresh start.

The days leading up to Jonathan's first photo shoot at the agency passed slowly, each second filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. As the appointed day approached, Jonathan's nerves intensified, and he found solace in the company of Argyle, his friend and mentor in the art of calm. Together, they sat on Argyle's old leather sofa, which creaked under their weight, sharing stories and laughter. In their hands, a joint, which they lit with the solemnity of a ritual. Smoke wafted in spirals, carrying away some of the tension Jonathan felt. Argyle, always the philosopher, told him, "Relax, brother. Photography is like this plant, you have to let it flow."

And so, with the background sound of Peter Tosh singing about freedom and struggle, Jonathan allowed himself to let go. The lyrics of "Legalize It" or "Equal Rights" filled the room, and for a moment, everything seemed possible. Argyle, with his street wisdom and heart of gold, reminded Jonathan that life was more than just worries and that every photo he would take would be a reflection of his soul.

When the day finally arrived, Jonathan rose with the dawn. The first rays of sun filtered through the window, bathing the room in a golden light that promised a new beginning. With his camera hanging from his shoulder and the rest of his equipment under his arm, and a nervous smile, he bid farewell to his brother and Jane. He stepped out, and there was Argyle, the one responsible for bringing him to the studios and bringing him back. They drove while Argyle smoked until they reached the giant buildings, causing the long-haired guy to take off his sunglasses and lazily look up with his red eyes, seeing a giant Playboy logo, but since he was so high, he didn't pay much attention.

When they finally arrived, Argyle got out and started looking around, completely taken by the desserts of half-naked women, giving Jon a friendly pat on the back and telling him, "Go and capture the magic, brother."

Jonathan entered the gigantic building, having to go through two checks by giant security guards, reaching his destination. The room Jonathan had found was the epitome of minimalist elegance. The walls, painted in immaculate white, reflected the artificial light emanating from the wide spotlights, creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. There were no paintings or decorations; the beauty lay in the simplicity of the space.

In the center, an asymmetrical velvet sofa stood as the centerpiece of the room. Its modern and daring design invited contemplation as much as rest. The light gray velvet seemed to change with the light, adding depth and texture to the environment. Despite its luxurious appearance, the sofa promised comfort, with soft cushions that seemed to embrace the body. Next to it, on a low glass table, rested a transparent cube. Inside, a pile of bright red cherries, each one a little balloon of sweetness, awaited to be enjoyed. The simplicity of the cube contrasted with the richness of the cherries, creating an intriguing and tempting focal point.

To the right, a producer stood, his gaze fixed on you, the woman who would be Jonathan's model, quite beautiful. His posture was that of someone accustomed to making quick and precise decisions, and his presence commanded respect. By your side, you shone like a golden vision. Your long, flowing robe cascaded from your shoulders to the floor, the golden fabric capturing the light and making you sparkle with every movement. The elegance of your attire contrasted with the informality of the producer, but together, they formed a dynamic and complementary duo.

Jonathan knew that this room, with its atmosphere of calm and careful aesthetics, was the perfect place for his first photo shoot. Here, his art would come to life. Or so he thought.

The producer, with his refined air and delicate gestures, glided through the room with the grace of a dancer. His eyes lit up at the sight of Jonathan, and with a warm smile, he approached him. "Bonjour, mon cher Jonathan," he said with a French accent that enveloped each word like a hug. Their cheeks met in a traditional greeting, two gentle kisses, one on each cheek, that resonated with a resounding muah.

As he spoke, his hands floated in the air, drawing shapes that accompanied his words. "Your talent is magnifique, and we are très excited to work with you," he continued, mixing French with English in a way that seemed almost poetic. Jonathan, although surprised by the effusiveness of the greeting, couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable.

The producer, with his silk shirt and matching pocket square, was the embodiment of Parisian elegance, even thousands of kilometers away from France. "We are going to create art today, do you understand?" he declared confidently, guiding Jonathan to the set while continuing to give instructions, his voice a melodic murmur that promised an unforgettable session. "This work should be a dream come true for a jeune homme hétéro like you, no?" he laughed as he pointed at what Jonathan had to do. With his watch marking the rhythm of a busy day, he apologized with hurried elegance. "My apologies, I have an urgent matter to attend to," he said in his charming mix of French and English. With a gesture of his hand and one last approving glance at Jonathan, he slid out of the set, leaving behind a trace of his distinctive perfume and the promise of returning soon.

Jonathan and you, a few years older than him, with your golden robe, were left alone, surrounded by the pristine whiteness of the room. The absence of the producer filled the space with expectant silence. You turned to Jonathan, your eyes shining with a mixture of surprise and complicity in the unexpected situation. "I guess it's just you and me now," you said, with a smile that exuded confidence and grace. Jonathan nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. However, your calmness and imposing presence gave him strength.

"We are going to make this session memorable," declared Jonathan, adjusting his camera with steady hands. You nodded and took your position on the set, your golden robe reflecting the light as if woven with threads from the same sun.

Jonathan began the session, with a sense of normality, although he sensed that something was not right. Suddenly, you raised a hand, requesting a pause. "The session is without the robe," you said in a soft but firm voice, quite seductive. Jonathan stopped, a little surprised, but nodded in understanding, thinking that you would be wearing an outfit underneath. You gracefully slid out of the golden robe, revealing your fully exposed chest, as well as your entire torso, wearing only a transparent thread-like fabric that 'covered' your intimate area, if that can be called covering.

In the warmth of the light emanating from the spotlights, your bronzed skin and your generous breasts merged into an illuminated tone, with no trace of bikini lines to disrupt the harmony of your smooth and sinuous skin. Every curve of your body was carefully sculpted, leaving no room for imperfections. The absence of hair left your skin impeccable, highlighting its smoothness. Your generously sized breasts stood proudly, crowned by pink nipples that contrasted perfectly with the tone of your lips. Jonathan, captivated by the vision of this goddess in front of him, could barely tear his gaze away from your abdomen, slowly descending until it met the tiny thread-like thong that barely covered the essentials. Without showing any hint of discomfort, you approached Jonathan with overwhelming confidence, asking him if he was truly prepared for the photo shoot.

Without waiting for a response, you reclined on the sofa, unleashing a wave of anticipation in the photographer. Every movement you made was calculated, every pose was a game of seduction meant to ignite the viewer's imagination. Your breasts, as they moved gracefully, seemed to whisper secrets to the wind, tempting the camera to capture your provocative essence.

Jonathan's tent, unable to contain his growing excitement, began to rise, oblivious to his will. Desperately seeking a way to hide his agitation, he crouched slightly, justifying the gesture as an attempt to improve the angle of the shot. In that moment, amidst the visual ecstasy, he was lost, unsure of what to do to conceal his growing desire.

His choice, palpable against his thighs, was a blazing reminder of his desperate need. The absence of female companionship for so long had heightened his desire, leaving him in a state of almost uncontrollable excitement. Jonathan's labored breathing did not go unnoticed by you, your attentive gaze, who, concerned about his sudden distress, placed a soft and elegantly manicured hand on his shoulder. The slight brush of your hand against his skin sent waves of electric sensations through Jon, moistening his underwear slightly with the pre-cum escaping from the tip of his sensitive bulge. The slight friction against his underwear only intensified his ecstasy, plunging him into a state of overwhelming pleasure.

From your point of view, Jonathan seemed on the verge of fainting, a concern that soon became a reality as the boy lost consciousness due to overexcitement. Skillfully, you held him as best you could and placed him on the sofa, watching him with concern as you considered your options. The idea of seeking medical help crossed your mind, but before you could act, something caught your attention. As you stooped to pick up a fallen object, you inadvertently exposed your buttocks and inner thighs close to the photographer's face. A nervous cough escaped from the boy's lips as he pretended to be asleep, trying to hide his growing excitement. However, once again, his tent gave him away before your eyes, who now faced an uncomfortable and tense situation.

After the awkward moment, you chose to act as if nothing had happened, aware that these situations were quite common in your profession. You decided to give Jonathan a few minutes to calm down, although you noticed that this boy was different: shy, charming, and respectful, as he made no comments about your body, which you quite liked.

After some time, you returned to face the camera, but this time the session took an unexpected turn. You incorporated cherries into your poses, strategically placing them on your nipples, causing the pink juice to seductively slide down your skin. With sensual movements, you bit the cherries and slid them over your abdomen, even above your intimate area. For Jonathan, this was completely different from what he had imagined photographing, but at the same time, it was exciting and fascinating. You, without averting your gaze from the camera, began to lightly touch yourself with the cherries, asking Jonathan if the image looked good. Unable to articulate a coherent response, Jonathan simply nodded with a "uhu" between his slightly parted lips, completely absorbed in the tempting vision before him.

Jonathan's excitement drove him to want to explore further, so he proposed to you to strike more provocative poses he had seen in old magazines. You readily accepted, but it soon became clear that you did not understand Jonathan's instructions, leading you to ask for help. With some hesitation, Jonathan approached you and asked permission to touch you, eliciting a playful giggle from you. No one had been so considerate with you before. With delicate, long hands, Jonathan positioned himself between your thighs, gently parting them to leave you fully exposed. With his other arm, he tilted your torso slightly towards the sofa, causing your buttocks to inadvertently brush against his erection, which was now vigorous again. You made no comment, as you were not at all displeased with the size, on the contrary, you began to find it attractive, especially now that it was positioned this way for the photos.

Jonathan lamented with great embarrassment, moving away from you.

He was preparing to take the photo when you removed the scant fabric covering your intimacy, leaving it completely exposed in front of Jon, who felt all the tension in his body melt away. The intimacy shared in that moment created a special bond between you, a connection that went beyond the photo shoot.

Confused but intrigued by your proposal, Byers asked you what you were doing. With a mischievous look and a suggestive smile, you responded that you wanted to experiment even more and find out if Jonathan was really the best. This statement ignited a spark in Jonathan, who let the camera rest on his neck and approached you, his palpable excitement filling the air. "What do you mean?" he murmured.

Your response unleashed a wave of desire in Jonathan, whose breathing became faster and shallower at your passionate touch on his tight and erect jeans. His hips instinctively moved closer to you, eager for the intimate contact you offered.

Far from rejecting him, you responded to Jonathan's desire with equal passion, touching and kissing every inch of the fabric covering his manhood. However, a question lingered in your mind: Was Jonathan just another virgin?

Without wasting time, you began to caress Jonathan's thighs, ascending from his knees to underneath them, causing an overwhelming sensation in Jonathan, who was on the verge of exploding.

With deliberate slowness, you proceeded to unfasten Jonathan's worn-out belt, while licking your lips with anticipation and watching him from below, enjoying the expression of desperation on his face, craving more of your expertise.

Finally, Jonathan's pants fell to the ground, revealing boxers stained by the pre-cum escaping from his overflowing excitement. The feeling of constriction around his member was evident, so you didn't hesitate to lower them, freeing Jonathan's thick cock.

Jonathan couldn't believe it. He was going to be sucked by a girl with a scandalous body.

His cock was firm and throbbing, generously sized, and adorned with prominent veins that marked its vigor. The head was swollen and glossy, dripping with the essence of his uncontrollable desire. With each beat, it seemed to throb with a life of its own, eager to be caressed and adored by the goddess before it. Some spasms caused the cock to rise slightly.

With a lustful gaze, you leaned forward, bringing your face closer to Jonathan's thick cock. Your breath became irregular, anticipating the taste and texture of the throbbing member that was about to be explored. With deliberate movements, you wrapped your lips around the swollen tip of Jonathan's cock, savoring the prelude to his excitement. The sensation of warmth and moisture enveloped every inch of his member, sending waves of pleasure throughout his body.

With expert skill, you began to slide your tongue along Jonathan's long shaft, tracing tempting circles as you slowly descended towards the base. Each suction was a promise of ecstasy, each movement of your lips an invitation to deeper pleasure. Jonathan clung to the sofa, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations that engulfed him.

When Jonathan's cock disappeared completely into the warm cavern of your mouth, a guttural groan escaped from his lips, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Your movements were expert and coordinated, alternating between gentle sucking and quick thrusts that made Jonathan quiver with pleasure.

Time seemed to stand still as you continued your work, bringing Jonathan to the edge of the abyss of pleasure. Each stroke of your tongue, each passionate suction, brought him closer and closer to the precipice of orgasm.

And then, just as Jonathan felt he could no longer hold back, you intensified your movements, bringing him to the most glorious climax. With a muffled cry, Jonathan surrendered to the wave of pleasure that overwhelmed him, releasing his load of ecstasy into your mouth, gripping your head tightly, restricting your movement. In that moment, he didn't think about Nancy or any other model, only about you.

With skill, you received every drop of his cum with devotion, allowing Jonathan's essence to slide over your tongue and fill your mouth with its intoxicating flavor. But when it seemed to be all done, Jonathan shot another stream onto your face, causing a mischievous smile from you, thinking that it would be the perfect moment to take a photo, finding yourself damn sexy.

And when Jonathan finally finished, you moved away slowly, allowing your gaze to meet his, your faces bathed in the And when Jonathan finally finished, you moved away slowly, allowing your gaze to meet his, your faces bathed in the shared ecstasy of a moment of unbridled passion.

"You've got a good cock, photographer," you whispered, giving him a spank, winking at him, and wiping your face with your golden robe, leaving it covered in traces of that hot liquid.

—> Plus.

"Brother, look at the cover of the new PlayBoy!" exclaimed Argyle, entering his van and throwing a magazine at Jonathan, surprising him. "I just stole it from the gas station attendant while he was peeing, so we should go now..."

On the cover, your lustful eyes stared directly at the camera, while the liquid rested on your face, causing a familiar sensation in Jonathan's pants.

"I should have asked for her number before I got kicked out for fucking the model," Jonathan thought, sighing and throwing the magazine back. The page opened to a photo taken by him, where he played with the cherries and they dripped on your nipples.

[cvlutos]

HE KNOWS!!

✡︎ | May.02nd.2023 | 0.7K | Discord Req: @bby-sparkler

✡︎ | Jade Leech | Gn!Reader

✡︎ | Unrequited Love | Angst | Jade v Floyd | "Cheating" |

✡︎ | Synopsis: Humans are cruelly fascinating.

Humans are fascinating creatures.

The way they walk, talk, eat, breathe. How you see the world through your eyes is unique. The way your heart beats, when you feel different emotions, and the ways you breathe, the way your lungs expand and release. It’s interesting. He finds you interesting, entertaining, amusing, much so that you bring out a side of him that he’s certain didn't exist when he was back in the coral sea.

To have the time to explore, to partake in interests, and to love. Before there wasn't time. Far too worried about surviving—killing others before they kill you. A life often fast-paced and dizzying, yet you. You bring a certain calm that lulls him, that makes him relax. That makes him sit a little easier, and that makes him observe more than act rationally.

He likes to keep such an emotion close. He likes to keep you close, enjoying the customs of closeness, the feel of your hand in his, the feel of your lips against his. He loves the ease as much as he loves the unpredictableness. He loves you.

Yet, there's a certain look in your eyes.

One that you only share with his brother. A certain look that no matter how long he watches—observes in silent curiosity, that he can't slightly understand. A look that you in no sense share for him. That it always seems to go away when his brother is not there. That vanishes quickly as the wind when his twin is carried off by whatever it is that captures his attention.

That's simply how Floyd is.

Yet something about his personality fills you with such utter joy, that there are moments Jade's conflicted. And whatever ache in his chest doesn't cease when you grab his hand, call his name, kiss his lips, lead him where it is you desire for the day. When you spend time in his company, when you proudly proclaim yourself to be his partner.

Yet the ache doesn't leave.

Simply because you don't look at him the same. And surely happiness is objective, the way people act with others changes, but it's as if the shine in your eyes utterly disappears when Floyd isn't in your vicinity. As if living isn't worth it without him. When he isn't talking to you, leaning against you, rambling on about his—everything. And you, shamelessly, give him your undivided attention.

He knows it isn't love...

It couldn't be love...

Yet Jade can't help but feel unneeded in your presence when his brother is there. Unable to fill whatever desire you need; he cannot do it no matter how much he tries. Yet you're his? That should be enough, it should. Yet you don't desire him…. You don't crave him.

Jade doesn't make you feel like how you make him feel. He brings you nothing.

“I truly wish to understand.”

Even in your cruelty, there is a part of him that cares for you. That should simply brush off this moment and be understanding, yet he won't. He’ll drag out this painful game, being the perfect boyfriend, catering to all your needs like no other. Drowning you in his unwanted love, until you say it. Until you say the truth with tainted lips, kissed again and again by his brother.

He watches from afar, watching you lean too close, yearning to be closer, yearning for his brother to hold you. He knows. He knows. He knows. It hurts. Yet what satisfaction can he get out of letting you go, what should Jade gain from letting you go and letting you be with him, when you so desperately desire it. He won’t. Not unless you say something. Not until the words spill from your lying lips that you fell out of love—when you never loved him to begin with—he wants to watch you struggle. Forcing out the words with guilt. He wants you to hurt. He does. He does. He does. Yet it hurts him to hurt you.

He knows.

He does.

It hurts.

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[noctilin]

Hi jez!! ive been a long time follower of yours and your art has been a huge help when i was struggling in school. Hope you dont mind me asking this out of the blue but Im graduating soon and i still dunno if the careerpath i'll be taking is one i wanna take for life. I really like art, but im not really good at it, and i dont rlly have the means to "follow my passion". Im curious, do you do art for a living full time, or are you doing art while also having a quote unquote "real job"?

it doesnt really help that my parents arent very supportive of my art hobbies as of now, especially since im not making any money out of it. Money speaks as they say... LOL

hello!! i answered a question similar to this before you might be interested in. but tldr, i draw for a living! mainly freelance illustration.

commitment to art as a career is such a... complicated topic, i won't lie. even more difficult when you don't really have a sturdy support system like you say :( unfortunately, most people don't realize this is or isn't what they want until they take that leap.

personally, at first, it felt good, affirming to earn a living out of my art, it still does, but after years of it, i realized i would rather not monetize my work. it caused me to develop a complicated relationship with my creative process over the years. it often makes me question if i feel fulfilled with what i do, or if i'm only making this a means to survive. it burns me out constantly. even in the present, i have to continuously recondition my own perception of my process. but i'm currently not in a good position to just switch out my career.

i have been incredibly lucky that my art garners interest the way it does, and i make sure not to take it for granted. but i cannot hide how mentally draining it is to draw because i need to make ends meet instead of drawing because of the joy of it.

i like my art, i just wish i could enjoy it without worrying about a hungry stomach at the same time. 😅

i guess the point i'm making from all this is that money as a motivator in a creative field can be a mind killer. some people can do it, but i've rarely met such personalities... so what i'll say is this: if you want to learn and be around creatives, i would encourage going to art school, if you can. but going to art school isn't the end of it all either if you find it difficult to enroll yourself in one. art is accessible to all nowadays! just take a few google or youtube searches and maybe a little trip to the library, regardless if you want to keep it as a hobby or pursue it professionally. i've met a lot of artists who've landed full time jobs in studios without finishing an art degree. it's just a matter of letting your portfolio talk for you, a little bit of luck, and surrounding yourself with people who spark and uplift your creative spirit.

i know this is all still uncertain, but if there's anything i'm sure about, it's the fact that you don't have to give up art to live. art is living. it can still be your hobby if it doesn't end up as your job. and even if it doesn't become your career now, it's not impossible to have it in the future. i hope you find your way and, for what it's worth, congratulations on your upcoming graduation :)!

[chemblrish]

How I survived pchem

So, the time has come: you have to take physical chemistry in uni. Hell's favorite, the most terrifying of nightmares, the source of emotional damage for hundreds of science students worldwide... Or so they tell you. There's no denying pchem is no field of flowers, but I managed to pass the numerical part with a 4/5 and the theoretical part with a 5/5, so let me just say - pchem is definitely passable. Here's some of my advice.

Go to class

Seriously. I know all of studyblr always tells you to go to class, but with pchem I mean it more than ever. Don't skip lectures. Go see the way your professor links the concepts and explains the necessary math. Please. It'll save you so much hassle!

Abuse office hours

And don't hesitate to ask questions in class. Lab partner and I would stay after lectures to ask our professor extra questions or go see him in his office several times during the semester and it always paid off. They won't be mad! They're here for you! Chances are, they'll be happy a student is invested in their subject.

Be consistent

I cannot stress this enough: consistency is everything. Do not leave studying for a test/exam until the last minute. If you can cram pchem at all, that's impressive. But I don't think you can cram it well. Go over your lecture notes the same day - with a textbook, so that you can fill in the gaps in your understanding of the given topic - it does wonders for comprehension and retention.

Do practice problems

And if you get mandatory exercise sets you need to complete for class, try to do more than that. Looking at somebody's solution and thinking "yeah I see what's going on here" isn't enough. If you aren't able to solve similar exercises by yourself, from scratch, you don't actually understand the topic.

Make friends with a good textbook

Ideally, your professor should be the one to recommend textbooks and exercise books. If they don't, ask! Personally, aside from some Polish textbooks, I read Atkins religiously. The textbook is great. The exercise book is a lifesaver - the answer key has complete, step-by-step solutions *cries in joy*

Understand the material thoroughly

Don't just skim through the chapters - see how every new concept is "stacked" on top of the previous ones and how it complements them (why do we need the second law of thermodynamics? Why is the first one not enough? Why is entropy defined as heat over temperature and not work over temperature if both heat and work are a way to transfer energy?). Similarly, don't just memorize formulas!! See where they come from. Derive them yourself, identify the steps that are unclear and try to understand what happens there.

Less fear, more curiosity

All right, pchem is hard, pchem is demanding, sure. But pchem is also fun. Pchem is fascinating, pchem is beautiful! The intersection of sciences! The chemistry you're already familiar with translated into the universal language of mathematics! Nature explained at a molecular level! Look. Everybody told me pchem would traumatize me, so I decided to prove them all wrong. I tried to approach it with as much enthusiasm as I could and it worked! Yes, I absolutely had to work my butt off in this class, but I enjoyed it! Please, try to do the same.

Additional resources

The organic chemistry tutor - physics (yt)

Professor Derricotte (yt)

Physical chemistry (yt)

The chemistry library - physical and theoretical chemistry

Have fun and good luck!! 🍀💖

[fairy-verse]

I've been curious about this for a while since I read you mentioned none of the firstborns are 'siblings' and left it up to our headcanons, essentially?

What would a relationship between the firstborn of Summer and the firstborn of Autumn look like? How would they have become mates? How would their personalities go together in a relationship?

There are such differences yet similarities, and I'm curious how a relationship between Dream (who is shown to usually stay in his Valley) would go with Nightlight (who i remember almost never leaves Nightmare's area)?

Please do feel free to disregard this ask if you see fit, thank you for making such a truly lovely au, it's always fun to backread again whenever I have the time. Thank you for sharing your au with us :D<3

Before Nightmare’s corruption, a relationship with Dream would have been pleasant and filled with gentle touches and soft poems made of song and dance. They would frolic on the Meadow of the Firstborn as they were free from worry and grief, flying either naked or with flowing silks that made them giggle sweetly. They are different, that is true, but their earliest days were slow-moving and filled with nothing but time and patience, so they slowly drifted closer and closer, until eventually they interlaced and became inseparable… Up till the fateful day of Nightmare’s corruption and the demise of his innocence.

Their relationship would have become gloomy and distant. Nightmare would appreciate the support and love Dream gave him, but his broken soul would no longer be able to fully take it in, at least not yet. He’s split apart, changed, covered in corruption as thick and sticky as tar that he’s not yet mastered full control over. He shoves Dream’s love away, and Dream is left in the growing dark of autumn’s new visage.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Now, you specifically ask for Nightlight, so I will show you how him and Dream end up together and how this development will affect Nightmare.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Dream might rarely leave his valley of summer, but at the arrival of Nightlight, he will quickly begin to make frequent visits to Nightmare’s underground nest. He’s beside himself with delight at the sight of the fragile fairy and he cannot help himself but to weep from joy, grief, and relief. He cannot help the fact that he reacts this way, nor can he truly be blamed for not thinking it all through properly. Nightlight holds the memories of Nightmare’s early days, so his love for Dream is as present and strong as back then, too.

Their embrace completes a puzzle left undone for centuries.

Nightmare is happy at their love for one another. He’s happy that Nightlight is loved in more ways than one, and he’s happy that Dream is smiling like that again. He’s happy with this outcome.

He is happy.

… Then why does his happiness sting in his sockets and hurt so badly in his throat?

Nightlight looks and acts the way Nightmare did before his corruption, so of course, Dream would be drawn to him. He is what Nightmare lost, the pleasant sight of colours of early autumn and the gentle breeze of a cooling wind not yet biting cold. Nightlight is sweet and lovely and pure, and he and Dream are so wonderful together. They’re beautiful.

And that is what hurts so badly.

Nightlight is Nightmare in a way, but he’s a past version of him, the second half of Nightmare’s soul that broke apart and died. Nightmare is what was left, what survived the cruelty done by the Big Folk, the harsher and darker part of autumn that could withstand the defilement brought upon him. Nightlight is the part of him that fit so well with Dream, the part of his autumn that still held onto summer and cherished it as much as summer valued its gentleness.

Nightmare isn’t that. He’s not someone who can be careless and free together with Dream anymore, he’s the wrong kind of autumn for Dream, and he’s as deceptive as half of the season he represents, the one giving false promises of a prolonged pause before the bitter winter cold’s arrival. As such, it’s easy to lie right to Dream’s face as the firstborn fairy of summer cradles his cheeks in remorse and pleading mercy for his sudden reaction at the sight of Nightlight.

Dream realises that he’s gone past Nightmare and straight for his lighter counterpart, and he’s remorseful and sorrowful as he begs for Nightmare’s forgiveness and gives away terrible promises that he’ll stay away if he’s hurt him too badly.

Nightmare loves Dream and it breaks him to see Dream so willing to cast himself down just because he was overcome with joy and love for the rebirth of someone that he’d lost so very long ago. Nightmare doesn’t ever want Dream to feel guilty for expressing his raw and wondrous emotions, so he lies. He lies and tells him that it’s okay. That he wants Dream and Nightlight to be together and that he’s moved on. And he doesn’t even stop to think about offering himself to Dream, too, because he doesn’t think Dream wants him like that anymore.

After all, Nightlight is made of the best parts of him, he’s everything that used to be good about him. Why would Dream want him as he is now… melancholic, sarcastic, stubborn, sullen, withdrawn…

If only he’d asked Dream he would have known that he’s not below Nightlight. He would have known that Dream wanted him, too. But now Dream believes that Nightmare isn’t interested, that he has indeed moved on; Nightmare is too good at lying so Dream doesn’t see the grief in his soul, and with how Nightmare’s grown to endure the pain from centuries of being without half of his soul, he’ll be able to endure the heartache from seeing Dream and Nightlight together.

He will endure it, no matter how much it stings and numbs him.