#how rare and beautiful it is to truly exist. what it is to be alive and get to be here and live with other people. with those we love.

[hxhhasmysoul]

Are we now policing what people get moved by "using a formal tone when discussing a specific topic". The response is spot on, I dare say. I'm not sure what age group is the most represented in the user base but it doesn't matter. Both writers and readers hone their taste and thus their preferred writing style throughout life at their own pace.

What may be banal to you, OP, may be novel and eye opening to others as, and I will allow myself to say something truly obvious and banal, they are at a different point in their art appreciation journey and your experiences, journey and context* are not universal. 

There is no shame in being moved by art, any art. That's what art is for, to move, to exist in that moment when it's perceived by others. While OP may have devoted more time in their life to acquaint themselves with less popular titles, not everyone has and there is no shame in that either. To make some more banal observations:

We all have only so much time and we prioritise it how we need or in ideal situations want to.

As long as we’re alive, our relationship with art will morph. 

Outside of western canon I will mention the Pillow Book by Sei Shounagon. It’s a work of aesthetics as it is a work of meaning. I don’t find all the insights in it deep but I find the work supremely beautiful and enjoyable purely as an aesthetic experience and then there’s the added level of meaning. I read some other nikki and they also had this aesthetised quality, though Pillow Book hits different for me because I subjectively feel the author much more than the others. 

As someone who beta reads as a hobby, I can share my experience of that. Editing, for me, is an exercise in removing my ego and trying to best serve the author and their work. That means meeting them where they’re at, helping them pull out the most out of the style they currently use even if it’s not to my personal taste. Recently I was beta reading for a zine and one fic just felt like it wanted to go the full aesthetic route. Like it needed to become this short vivid snapshot full of descriptions that are there more to paint a picture than to convey ideas. Some of it was purely beautiful and moving in that sense and there was no deeper meaning to it apart from the fact that beauty was being experienced by coming in contact with the surface level of the text. And I’m sure not everyone experienced it the same, not everyone resonated with this kind of beauty enough to have an experience at all. But some did and that’s a job well done. To continue my banal insights, no art is for everyone and art that is not for us has committed no crime, we do not need to justify our disinterest. 

Another experience I will share is of there being a period in my life of working with small film festivals, reviewing films and watching like 80% of what was being released in my country regardless of how niche it was. Including watching quite a lot of so-called “arthouse” cinema and indie films. What I’ve learned from that is: “rare” means “rare” ; it has no bearing on quality. Some of those texts* were truly interesting on many levels. Some of them were: I went to film school and read philosophy 101. But while I found the latter tedious, especially after seeing so many of them, I know others resonated with them. To each their own.

In my country secondary school is this semi-prison, where I was locked for 6-9h a day with the same people without much variety, because I was assigned to a class which was made up of particular people. And I remember there being cliques based on interest and in those cliques there were these internal rules who was looked down on and why. Some of that was based on art (in the widest sense of the word) people enjoyed. Things like: we’re all listening to this music now, reading these works now, watching these films and those who don’t, those who don’t know them, those who don’t see how great and deep they are? Those are the other, the lesser, the unwashed and uneducated masses who “keep latching onto writing that has the superficial signifiers of depth and quality while lacking them on a deeper structural level“. Those who don’t understand and are unfit or too lazy** to understand. 

Some of this mentality continued into higher education.

What the two experiences I described above, and several others, gave me was the freedom to thankfully mentally leave my secondary and higher education and move on with my life. 

Tumblr users yearn for good writing; well used language that conveys a meaningful message. 

I will also allow myself to communicate my point in a more understandable manner, as formal and bitchy passive-aggressive and condescending seems to be the tone of this discussion. 

The fuck you know what “Tumblr users yearn for” or consider as “good writing”. Citation fucking needed on both these fucking claims. You want to do an understated “ad academia” with this “deeper structural level” shit?  Where’re your statistical analysis bitch (gender agnostic use) of “Tumblr user yearnings” and the corresponding literary analysis of examples of what they perceive as good writing mapped to the “yearning” statistics. What methodology did you use to come to these conclusions? What was your framework? May I chance a guess that it was your subjective observation of a tiny snippet of Tumblr that you experience in your daily usage of the site filtered by your bias to see only the examples that confirm your opinions? 

__________________

*I identify as a linguist, contexts is everything, everything is text

**see point one in my list of banal thoughts above, plus fuck me classist and ableist much. maybe a little intersectional leftism to spice up your analysis, some stepping beyond your comfort zone, expanding that methodology?

Tumblr users yearn for good writing; well used language that conveys a meaningful message. And yet your average tumblr user's idea of "good" writing is very secondhand. They know roughly what it looks like, what it feels like, but not really what it is. So they keep latching onto writing that has the superficial signifiers of depth and quality while lacking them on a deeper structural level

Just think of the prose that make tumblr users say "these lines go hard". All the poetry that tens of thousands of users treat like the most moving thing they've ever read. So much of it is nothing more than excessively elaborate and ornate writing (often with some crude Bathos thrown in) used to communicate ideas that are painfully banal or plain incoherent. Juvenile word spittle shaped in the mould of half remembered quotes from Shakespeare or Melville or Milton that most of this site just eats up because they don't care for any media beyond pulp-quality commercial works and the fanfiction derived from them.

We don't even need to touch on the painfully Anglocentric nature of this site's userbase because it isn't just ignorant of media in other languages, but of most works in English itself. And there's little point blaming the US* education system because even confined to the chauvinistically narrow body of work placed within the accepted "Western Canon", it's not difficult to find writing that "goes" much "harder" than Seven Deadly Sins Squidward

*where the majority of this site's userbase is from

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[soulofapatrick]

Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he���s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

[ghostlynightpanda]

so I see u do demon slayer.. and as you might start figuring out, I love all the ugly or weird characters... would u ever do gyokko/gyutaro from demon slayer..? 💔

The Demon in the Shadow

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

A/N: I've never really thought about writing something for one of them, but I tried to come up with something for Gyutaro. I hope you like it, and if you have any specific requests regarding them, just let me know!

Synopsis: In a life suffocated by the glimmering chains of the Entertainment District, a courtesan trapped in a golden cage finds an unexpected escape in the form of a demon, Gyutaro. She's faced with the choice of living a life of misery or surrendering to his darkness.

warnings/content: Gyutaro x fem!reader, angst and fluff, 3.584 words

The air in the Entertainment District was thick with the scent of perfume and sake, masking the quiet desperation that lingered beneath the laughter and music. The streets were alive with festivities, men stumbling arm in arm, their voices slurred with intoxication. Silken lanterns bathed the district in a warm, flickering glow, illuminating painted faces and fluttering kimonos as courtesans entertained their wealthy patrons. From the outside, it looked like a paradise—a place of pleasure, indulgence, and dreams spun from gold.

For them, it was a night of ecstasy.

For you it was just another performance. 

You moved gracefully through the halls of the oiran house, your every step measured, every smile calculated. It was second nature by now—the subtle tilt of your head, the flutter of your lashes, the gentle lilt in your voice as you played your part. You were admired, desired, and envied—a flower in full bloom, perfectly cultivated for the pleasure of others.

And yet, beneath the layers of silk and practiced charm, you felt nothing.

No matter how many admirers whispered sweet nothings in your ear, no matter how many gifts were placed at your feet, you were not free, nor would you ever truly be. You were a bird in a golden cage, wings clipped, waiting for the day you would wither like all the others before you.

And when that day came, what cruel fate would await you?

If your beauty faded, if you became too worn, too sickly, too weak to serve, you could only hope that some wealthy patron would buy your freedom and take you into his home. But for women like you, that was rarely the happy ending it was promised to be. More often than not, it was just another form of servitude, a quieter misery behind closed doors. And if that fate didn't find you, then the streets would. There was no in-between, no escape.

But there was something you didn't know.

There was something lurking beyond the glow of the lanterns, something unseen yet ever-present. Watching. Waiting.

High above, from the crumbling rooftop of a forgotten alley, he watched you.

Gyutaro's sunken eyes followed your every move, his sharp fingers twitching against the wooden beam he perched upon. He had no reason to be here. No reason to care. But still, night after night, he came. He had seen countless women sell their laughter, their touch, their time, but you… you were different. Though he couldn't quite explain why.

Perhaps it was the way you carried yourself—graceful yet distant, as if the world you lived in was not truly your own. Or maybe it was the way your eyes, so full of life when you laughed, darkened with something hollow when you thought no one was looking.

He understood that emptiness.

He had never known beauty, never been wanted or adored. His existence had been one of filth, pain, and hunger. People looked at him with disgust, their gazes filled with revulsion. They averted their eyes, turned their backs, pretended he didn't exist.

But you…

You were something delicate. Something untouchable.

And yet, Gyutaro found himself drawn to you, unable to look away.

Night after night, he hid in the shadows, a grotesque specter haunting the rooftops of a world he did not belong to. A world he despised. A world that would never welcome someone like him.

And yet, a part of him wished that you did.

Like every other night, the evening air carried the scent of incense and spilled sake, mingling with the low hum of shamisen strings and drunken laughter. The night stretched on as it always did—long, hollow, endless.

You played your part well, smiling when expected, nodding in feigned interest as another patron droned on about his wealth, his exploits, his self-importance. His breath reeked of alcohol, his fingers twitching impatiently as they rested far too close to your wrist.

"Such a rare beauty," he murmured, voice slurred. "I could keep you all to myself, you know. Buy you from this wretched place… wouldn't you like that?"

His grip tightened, nails digging into your skin.

Your smile did not waver. You had been trained for moments like this, to remain poised no matter how your stomach churned, no matter how the bile rose in your throat. Your fingers flexed under the table, nails pressing into your palm.

"Such kind words, my lord," you replied smoothly, voice honeyed but distant. "Shall I pour you another drink?"

A distraction. A moment of reprieve.

But tonight, he was not so easily deterred.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I don't think you understand… When I want something, I always take it."

There was no mistaking the threat in his tone.

You had endured much in your time here. The stolen touches, the empty promises, the greedy hands that thought they owned you. But this—this was different. The way he looked at you, not as a woman but as an object to be possessed, sent a cold dread curling in your stomach.

And you realized something then.

You could not do this anymore.

Not tonight. Not ever again.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you shoved his hand away and stood, your breath unsteady. A murmur rippled through the room, a few courtesans casting you wary glances. The madam, sitting nearby, narrowed her eyes. You knew the punishment that awaited you for acting out of turn—but for the first time, fear of that did not outweigh the fear clawing at your chest.

You turned and fled.

The stunned silence behind you was soon broken by the madam's sharp voice. "Catch her."

Panic overtook reason.

You lifted your skirts and ran, shoving past people, through narrow hallways, past startled girls who called after you in confusion. The wooden floors were cold beneath your bare feet as you burst through the side door, stepping into the chilled night air.

The district was alive, glowing with lantern light, but the streets ahead were winding and dark. You ran without a direction, without a plan—only the desperate, all-consuming need to get away.

Behind you, shouts rang out. Footsteps thundered against the ground. The brothel's guards. They would catch you. Drag you back. Punish you for this insolence.

You turned sharply down a secluded alleyway, your breath ragged. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood filled your lungs as you pressed yourself against the wall, heart pounding wildly.

Silence.

Had you lost them?

A shiver crawled up your spine. The darkness here was different—thicker.

Something was watching you.

A chill ran through you as you turned your head, eyes adjusting to the dimness. There, standing just beyond the reach of the lantern's glow, was a figure.

But not a man. No, it was a demon.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He was tall and gaunt, his body twisted and sickly, his skin mottled with deep scars. Stringy black hair fell over sunken green eyes that gleamed like a predator's in the dark. He did not move, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, pinning you in place like a moth trapped in a web.

A sound escaped you—a choked breath, a half-formed scream.

Gyutaro tilted his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. He had seen you run. Heard the way your heart pounded in terror. He had watched you night after night, always from the shadows, always from afar. But now, here you were.

In his world. Within his reach. 

His lips pulled into something that might have been a smirk—or a sneer. "Now, what's a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here?"

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, each inhale sharp against your lungs. The cold night air stung your skin, but it wasn't the chill that sent a tremor through your body. It was him—the figure lurking in the darkness, half-hidden in the decayed alleyway, his sunken eyes fixed on you like a starving predator.

You should have been terrified. Should have screamed, run, begged for your life. But as you stood there, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall, something unexpected coiled within your chest.

Relief.

A slow, creeping relief that settled deep into your bones.

Because if this demon killed you, then it would be over.

No more drunken men pawing at your skin. No more empty smiles, no more suffocating silk and honeyed lies. No more pretending. If he tore you apart, at least you wouldn't have to go back.

Your shoulders sagged, your heartbeat slowing as the realization took hold.

A dry chuckle filled the alley, low and rasping, the sound of something broken yet amused. "Hah… That's funny," the demon mused, tilting his head. His sharp nails tapped against his forearm, eyes scanning you with a glint of something unreadable. "Where's the screaming? The begging? Ain't you supposed to be scared right now?"

You swallowed, but the fear wouldn't come. "I don't care," you whispered, the words barely audible.

His smirk faltered. "What?"

You exhaled shakily and took a slow step forward, the tension in your body unraveling with each movement. For once, you weren't running. "Kill me if you want," you murmured, your voice steadier than you expected. "I'd rather die than go back."

Silence.

Gyutaro blinked, something flickering behind his sickly green irises. The amusement in his expression faded, replaced by something more… curious. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak but didn't know what to say. This was new.

Humans, when faced with death, always screamed, always begged, always clung to their miserable lives with shaking hands. But you—you weren't even trembling. You weren't pleading. You were giving yourself to him.

A slow, unsettling grin spread across his face, revealing jagged teeth. "That so?" His voice rasped, almost teasing. "Ain't that sad? You'd rather let some ugly demon like me tear you apart than go back to your cushy little palace? Must be a real shitty life."

You huffed a bitter laugh. "You have no idea."

Gyutaro tilted his head, watching you the way a vulture watched dying prey. But he didn't lunge. Didn't strike. Didn't kill you.

He stepped closer instead, his twisted frame emerging fully from the darkness. His presence was overwhelming—suffocating in a way completely different from the men you had spent your life entertaining. Those men had always felt like chains tightening around your wrists. This was different.

He wasn't a master looking to own you.

He was a monster offering something far crueler. A way out.

And deep down, wasn't that what you had wanted all along?

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, thoughtful. "Y'know… I could do worse than kill you." His jagged nails flexed at his sides. "Could take you away. Rip you from that rotten place so they can't ever have you again. You'd never have to go back."

Your breath hitched. He wasn't talking about freedom. He was talking about something else.

Something darker.

You should have refused. You should have recoiled in horror. But instead, you held his gaze, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. "…Why would that be worse?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Gyutaro's smile widened, sharp and dangerous.

"Depends." He murmured, stepping even closer—close enough that you could see the hunger in his eyes.

The space between you and Gyutaro seemed to shrink with every beat of your heart. The tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate, and yet, you found yourself drawn to him, not out of fear, but an aching, gnawing longing.

The demon's eyes gleamed with a dangerous curiosity, but something else flickered within them—something that felt almost human. Something that mirrored the hollowness that had festered inside you for so long.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. There was no going back now. You had already stepped into a world you could never leave, not even if you wanted to. There was no escaping the consequences of your choices.

Gyutaro took another step forward, his gaze never wavering. The air felt like it was closing in on you as he stopped just inches from where you stood, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you. His body radiated something unsettling, but at the same time, you couldn't pull your eyes away from him.

The way he looked at you—it wasn't with the usual disdain, the judgment, or the hunger of a man seeking to possess you. It was something darker, something that made your chest tighten, something almost recognizable.

"Y'know," he said slowly, the rasp of his voice sending a chill down your spine, "I'm surprised you still haven't run yet. You've got guts, I'll give you that."

You glanced at the ground, your breath steady but quick. There was no reason to be afraid now, not with him so close. He wouldn't kill you. Not yet.

But the thought of what he might do instead was more unsettling than any death.

You didn't trust him. You couldn't. He was a demon. A monster. A thing born from violence and hatred.

But for the first time in your life, you weren't afraid of what he represented. You were exhausted. Exhausted of playing the part of the beautiful, perfect courtesan. Exhausted of pretending to be something you were not.

And in this moment, in his presence, you finally felt like you could be something else. Even if that something was… wrong.

"I won't run," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. You raised your eyes to meet his, your gaze steady despite the shiver running down your spine. "But I won't go back either."

Gyutaro's lips twisted into a dark, amused grin, and the sharpness in his eyes grew more intense. He didn't reply immediately, instead taking another slow step toward you, his presence like an overwhelming storm.

You didn't flinch.

He stopped just in front of you, his breath ragged in the stillness. For a moment, neither of you moved, and the world around you felt as if it had ceased to exist. All that mattered in that moment was him, and the suffocating choice you were about to make.

"I don't care what you want from me," you whispered, the words feeling like a weight lifting from your chest. "Just… don't make me go back."

Gyutaro studied you, his eyes narrowing in thought. He tilted his head, the moonlight casting strange, jagged shadows across his face.

"You don't want to live, do you?" he finally asked, his voice low. There was no anger in his tone, no malice—just a simple, cold observation.

You shook your head, the weight of his words sinking in. You weren't sure if you were willing to face a future filled with suffering, but at least with him, it would be different. No more pretending. No more lies.

"I don't want to live that life." Your voice was quiet, but firm. „But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to live. I’d rather live something… real.“

For a moment, he seemed to contemplate your words, and you could almost feel the darkness swirling around you both, like an ancient force. Then, slowly, Gyutaro leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear.

"You'll never be real," he whispered. "Not like this. Not with me. But I can make you something else… something better."

The air between you crackled with the promise of something darker, something both tempting and terrifying. His hand rose, and for a moment, you thought he might touch you. But instead, he hovered just above your skin, fingers curling into a fist.

"I'll take you away from here," he said, his voice hardening. "But you'll belong to me. There's no going back from this. No returning to your old life."

Your heart pounded, your thoughts swirling in a haze. Could you do this? Could you truly step into his world, leaving everything behind? But as you looked into his eyes, something deep inside you—a part of you that had been crushed for so long—longed for it. The escape. The unknown.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and relief. "Take me away."

Gyutaro's smile stretched, sharp and predatory, as his fingers slowly, almost possessively, brushed against your cheek.

"Good," he murmured, his voice thick with something darker than desire. "You'll never have to go back."

The coldness of the night seemed to press in around you, suffocating in its stillness, but for the first time, you didn't feel trapped. The darkness wasn’t just something that surrounded you—it was a part of you now, a strange companion that whispered promises of freedom. Freedom from a life that had been nothing more than a golden cage, where you were admired, desired, but never seen for who you truly were.

As Gyutaro’s fingers lingered just inches from your cheek, you realized something deep within you—the desperation, the weariness of it all, had driven you to this moment. The chance to escape wasn’t a future you could dream of. It was a decision you had already made.

There was no turning back.

His touch, cold and unsettling, brushed your skin. It wasn’t the tender caress you might have dreamed of. It was possessive, marking you with the kind of intensity only a demon could have. His eyes glinted, a flicker of something—perhaps satisfaction, perhaps hunger—dancing in their depths.

“You’ve chosen,” Gyutaro rasped, his voice low, almost approving. “You won’t ever have to go back to that life. But from now on, you belong to me.”

His words were not a threat, nor a command—they were a promise. The weight of that promise settled over you, like a shroud, pulling you deeper into the shadow of his world.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest, not with fear but with something else—anticipation. 

You had wanted this for so long. To be free. To escape. To be something else in the eyes of the world. It didn’t matter that it was a demon who offered it.

“Take me,” you whispered again, this time without hesitation, without doubt. There was no need to pretend anymore. The veil of civility, of fear, of restraint—it had all fallen away in this moment.

With a low chuckle, Gyutaro leaned in further, his face looming just above yours, the predatory grin spreading wider across his face. His breath was cold against your skin, but it was strangely comforting. There was power in him, a darkness that matched the void inside you, and you didn’t shy away from it.

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his voice dark and hypnotic. “You’ll never be the same again. This world I offer… it’s not for the faint of heart.”

But you didn’t flinch.

“I don’t care,” you replied softly. “Anything is better than going back there.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face as though he were gauging something within you, something deeper than just words. And for once, you let yourself be seen.

And then, as though to seal your fate, Gyutaro reached out and wrapped his cold fingers around your wrist. His grip was unyielding, the touch of a creature who had never known mercy or tenderness, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, his touch was the only thing that anchored you to reality, and reality was all you had left.

The world around you seemed to blur, the light from the lanterns flickering as if caught in a gust of wind. The noise of the streets, the drunken revelry, the distant sounds of life, all faded away, swallowed by the shadow of the demon standing before you. His form seemed to stretch and bend as though it existed in a different realm altogether, far from the life you had known.

“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice a deep growl, almost possessive in a way that was both terrifying and oddly… comforting. “I’ll show you a life where you never need to fake a smile. Where you don’t have to pretend. Where your pain, your hunger, your desires—will be mine to satisfy.”

Your heart skipped a beat, not from fear, but something akin to relief. You couldn’t explain it, but there was a strange comfort in knowing that this was real. There was no more pretending to be something you were not. No more battles with your own soul.

In the dark, where you had always belonged, you would finally be free.

With a single step forward, Gyutaro pulled you deeper into the shadows, and as the world around you vanished into the void, you allowed yourself to surrender fully. To him, to the dark, to the unknown future you had chosen.

In that darkness, there were no cages. No chains. Only freedom. And the promise of something else entirely.

It was, perhaps, the most honest choice you’d ever made.

And as the streets of the Entertainment District faded from sight, you finally realized something.

In the end, the only true prison had been the one you had built around yourself. And now, that cage was shattered, replaced by a world that you had chosen to enter—no longer bound by the expectations, the false smiles, and the suffocating lies.

You weren’t free, but you were finally alive.

Masterlist

[lunaatthezoo]

You have made me yours | Azriel's wedding vows

Read Elain's vows here.

Elain,

If only I could show you all the ways you've saved me.

I loved you from the first moment you looked at me with nothing but quiet curiosity in your stunning eyes. You looked at me and saw me. Not a monster, not a spy, not a torturer, not a bastard, not a warrior. You saw straight into my core, Elain, and you never looked away. I loved you then and I love you now, and I will love you every day for the rest of my immortal existence because there is no one but you now.

When you asked me if I could truly fly, I knew I would never find rest again until I took you in my arms and showed you the song of the wind. I saw your eyes light, and I saw you yearn for the wind as I do. I wondered if you, as myself, had no true home in the world but the wind. And a miniscule piece of me, buried so deep down I thought it was lost, wondered if we could be each other’s homes in that brief moment you looked into my eyes. 

I thought the fates had damned me to fall in love with someone who was both a mortal and who was promised to another. And then I thought the fates had damned me once more when the Cauldron promised you to another. That infinitesimal speck of hope I had felt when you looked in my eyes withered. 

But you showed me, time and time again, how to find hope in the darkness. 

And now here we are together after all these years. Somehow you’ve become as much mine as the shadows are. And I yours. I would say I don’t know how it happened, but I do. It was you- all you. Your courage and your strength are what brought us here. As you always have, as you always will, you surprised me. You showed me- you showed us all- that strength does not need to be loud. Strength does not need to be bloody. You showed us that strength can be quiet, and subtle, and delicate, and soft. A strength born from courage, rather than force.

You used your rare, extraordinary strength and courage to show us all that we can define ourselves by our choices, rather than what fate has dealt us. You did something none of us has ever been strong or brave enough to do: you defied the fates when you chose this. When you chose us. And you will always be stronger than me, braver than me, as you speak your truth amongst a world of lies, defying every expectation that has ever been thrust upon you with your delicate, lovely grace. 

That delicate, lovely grace, your quiet courage, your soft, unending strength- they have all saved me from the darkness like a lullaby saves a child’s sleep from nightmares. The exquisite way you move through the world is my absolution from a life of violence and hatred.

When I met you, my hands were covered in scars and blood. Now, they are also covered in you. And that has changed everything within me. 

Your touch, your truth, your love, your light, have breathed new life into me. I don't think I knew what it was to be alive before you, not really. I have lived a long, long life in the darkness. Far beyond my father’s keep. A life so long and so dark I would have welcomed its end. I would have felt only relief. But now, against all odds, I want to live. Because of you. For you. With you. 

You shine your light on everyone so graciously, so generously, without expecting anything in return. Everything you touch becomes infinitely more beautiful, more worthy, more alive. And the fact that I am included in that has saved me- unchained me- in every way possible. 

Your presence is like the sun rising over a dewy field of wildflowers at the break of dawn, beckoning me to lay down amongst the blooms and become lost to the world. Promising me that I will be okay, against all odds. Gifting me with hope. Gifting me with a warmth and light that I seldom felt but often craved as a child, that I never thought I would deserve or have. You are what I always needed and could never find or ask for. But here you are.

Your touch is my salvation.

Your gaze is my home. 

Your arms are my sanctuary.

Your heart is my afterlife.

There is nothing without you. 

So if the stars and the Mother are listening, my love, I want them to hear my promises. To write them into eternity in the spaces between galaxies.

My beautiful, strong, kindhearted Elain,

I will protect you with every fiber of my being, with every last drop of strength I possess. I would shed my own and others’ blood a thousand times over before letting any harm come to you. Though you have shown time and time again that you can protect yourself and the lives of those you love, you have my blade and shield regardless. They are yours until the end of my days.

I will care for you in every way someone can be cared for. Your heart. Your spirit. Your desires. I will make it all possible for you, Elain. Nothing is too small or too large. Ask for it all, my love. I will find a way to give it to you. 

I will take you in my arms and fly you to the most beautiful corners of every realm. While no beauty in any reality could compare to you yourself, I will take you to them just to watch your eyes as you look upon them. For you have taught me how to find beauty in every corner. When I offered you my hand all that time ago, and you deemed my scars beautiful, you changed me. And it changes me a little bit more every time I get to see the world through your eyes. So I will fly you to those places, to watch your presence transform them into something impossibly more beautiful. To revel in you, reveling in their beauty. 

I will support you in every dream, in every adventure, in every new leaf you turn. There is no version of you I could not love with everything that I am. There is no path you could take that I wouldn't follow you down. Choosing this you means choosing every you, in every world, in every lifetime. 

I will sit in the garden and drink tea with you until we are withered and hunched with age. Until new borders have been drawn and new planets named. Until new history books have been written and new legends have been penned. 

You have given me something to hold beyond desperate hopes. You have given me something to wield beyond violence. You have planted wildflowers in the darkest spaces of me- the spaces that held my deepest shames, my heaviest fears. 

When I felt those flowers breaking through the dark stain within me, letting sun into those cracks for the first time in centuries, I knew. I knew your love and your devotion and your never-fading beauty of heart and mind and body had saved me. 

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for saving me. I will spend the rest of my days loving and choosing and- gods help anyone who tries to touch you- saving you in return. 

So let it be written in the spaces between galaxies. I will be yours until my body has returned to the earth and I am nothing but ashes feeding the wildflowers. Beyond then. Even when not a soul traveling the realms remembers either of our names, I will be yours. Even when the sun swallows the planet, I will be yours. 

For you have made me yours, eternally.

Read Elain's vows here.

Read on Ao3.

[twobrokenwyngs]

13 years was not nearly enough time with my soulmate, my best friend, my baby boy, my perfect beautiful son. The pain I’m in is indescribable.

Yesterday we lost Ashes unexpectedly. It was an aggressive throat cancer that took him quick. It’s been nothing but uncontrollable sobbing in our household. I already miss him more than I can possibly express in words.

He was the sweetest, most loving, gentle, affectionate, easygoing, incredible creature I’ve ever known. He had a hundred unique little quirks and so much personality. He was filled with so much love it almost couldn’t fit in his little body. He always gave hugs and he clung on so tightly. After 13 years I still looked at him every day with amazement that he was real and mine - it never got old. He was always too good to be true. There was not one day where I didn’t hold him, and look into his eyes, and tell him how good and perfect he was and how lucky I was to be his mommy. Everyone that met him fell in love with him. He was truly special, one of a kind, something so precious and rare that it had to be a dream - but it wasn’t. He existed, and he changed my life. My world revolved around him, he was the entire point, the best part about being alive.

The emptiness I feel now is threatening to swallow me whole. The reminders of him are everywhere. Sometimes I cry so hard I can’t breathe. I dont know what I’ll do without our daily snuggle sessions, hours spent in each other’s arms. I don’t know how I’ll come home at the end of each day and not see his little face. I don’t know how to exist in a world without him in it. I don’t know how to get through this. But I have to, so that I can think about him every day, keep his spirit alive in my mind and heart.

I love you, Ashes, and I hope you felt it every moment. I hope I was worthy of the unconditional trust you had in me. I think I was. I think he knew. There is a hole now I will never be able to fill. I love you, Ashes. I love you, I love you, I love you.

[myprincejacaerys]

Rhaenyra & Jacaerys Part ii 👑🥀🖤

Now for their dynamic, this is where it becomes interesting. We know how Rhaenyra sees Jace, and this is somewhat normal. She adores her son, she loves him so much that his death is what ultimately “hardened her”. She, while grieving for Lucerys, entrusted everything to him – The next of the war plans, the futures and safety of her other children, the leadership her entire campaign on Dragonstone. The perfect son in everything but the one thing he cannot control.

Jacaerys perceives Rhaenyra as a God, and not in a healthy way. He has grown up beside her and his ‘father’, two of the most beautiful people in the royal family and he sees everything he is not. However much Rhaenyra loves Jacaerys, Jacaerys loves ten fold in return. Jacaerys lives for her. His very existence is to be her shield, her sword, her protector, her love, etc. He was born to be her successor, her replacement once she is gone, and with his most obvious flaw out for everyone to see, he must be perfect in every other regard. And the perfect Prince our Darling Jacaerys is.

When Jacaerys looks at Rhaenyra, he sees some kind of Deity. He feels something stabbing into his chest when he sees her unnatural Valyrian beauty, those Amethyst Gem eyes and long silver hair. This fanart so perfectly encapsulates all of these feelings, her glowing like a god while he watches behind her, almost like he feels unworthy to be even in her presence, let alone to be her son and heir.

And here is the thing, not one person alive knows of this, especially not Rhaenyra herself. If she had even an inkling of understanding of how Jace truly sees himself deep down, she would be in tears for the rest of eternity. She loves everything about him, including his appearance. Why else would she have continued having multiple children with the man whose genetics overwrote her own.

Now let’s discuss their physical appearances and similarities, more so referring to the show than the book. One thing they managed to get spot on was the casting for this series, because this is one of the only things I believe the show did better than the book – Something very very rare when discussing Jace. Harry Collett’s visage is some of the most perfect casting I have ever seen in any project.

He has all of Harwin Strong’s colouring, which is what immediately draws attention to the eyes. The curly brown hair, the dark coloured eyes. But this is essentially where the similarities stop. Everything else about him is Rhaenyra. His high cheekbones, his pale, snow white skin, his aquiline nose, his freckles. I even love how Harry’s eyes are brown but still not exactly brown, but more of a lighter hazel/amber colour that really glows when he’s in certain lightings. Even the way he carries himself when he is not trying to impersonate Daemon, did you guys see him at the dinner table with the dragonseeds? The perfect way he was holding his cutlery? The poise and the grace? That was all mommy.

A much as it is going to destroy me, I cannot wait to see how his death will impact her, especially because she seems to be taking his presence for granted in the show (yes, I know this is just her way of protecting him. She got him and his brother involved before and it ended in one of them eaten alive. She is not going to make that same mistake again. But unfortunately this is how Jacaerys interprets her actions.).

That one scene where she takes off on Syrax to see Seasmoke and Addam and Jace runs out to try and talk to her before she leaves really broke my heart, but demonstrated this point so perfectly. The show also has some good moments with them, like when they somewhat tried to get Jace to suggest they put distant relatives of the Targaryens on the dragons and that split moment where he turns back and grabs Rhaenyra when she’s watching Ser Steffon burn in horror – I like to view it as a metaphorical scene for what book Jace did for Rhaenyra was she was burning from the pain and grief of losing her daughter, her son and her throne, and had to have her oldest child take care of everything for her.

“Responsible, bold and politically savvy, Jace was protective of his family. He became skilled at arms by serving as a squire. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne” - Writings of Gyldayn.

[werewolfdog]

Originally supposed to be for a comment under here but y'know what, I DO adore this band and their songs much dearly, so lemme write an essay of my top 5 ( in unorder ) Sleeping At Last songs. :3

1. Saturn. Very touching and emotional driven. This was my first listened song of Sleeping At Last and I instantly fell in love with the band. I love the instrument and the lyrics of it. It's resonating as the song deeply touches upon a meaningful impact a loved one leave after their death. I associate this song with so many original characters. My favourite part of the song is: "With shortness of breath, / I'll try to explain the infinite / And how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist."

2. Light. It's a soft and soothing song that brings a gentle sense of devotion and seeking in self growth. It have star / sun / light imagery that, of course, I enjoy so much. I always think about Astricus and Caine together with this song, especially in the latter's point of view. It's such a beautiful piece.

3. Three. This is a lovely song that's about finally seeing the inner worth and true identity while breaking down the barriers of masks and roles. It's a comfort song to me and one that I associate with Sanji who, in my canon portrayal, will eventually get to learn how to see their true self and embrace it whole without having to flinch. It's just so good that leaves a kind reminder that no matter who you are, you are enough.

4. Sun. Truthfully, as the title, it's a wonderful song full of warmth that looks into the development of life and light through the growing closeness between the pair. There are certain impactful instrumental parts of the song that are breathtaking and magical to me. I see Astricus / Caine in it and also myself with Sol, heheh. It's very meaningful and touching to the heart.

5. Taste. THIS IS SOOOOOO GOOD!!! The way the song is just so raw and powerful and full of LIGHT!!!! The hope and love and crashing reminder we are all terrifyingly and beautiful alive despite everything. I associate this song with Astricus with xyr Ethereal Express Crew and as well as Sanji with their Straw Hat Crew. It's so perfect for them both. I know this list isn't meant to be in order, but this is likely my absolute favourite song from them!!!

[cappucosmic]

hello id just like to say that i love love love your art 🩵 everything feels so full of color and texture, and you make people look like... people? you capture the roughness and imperfections of What People Are, and make them (even more) beautiful. every one of your paintings feels alive. theres spirit in there. you, in my opinion, have simply mastered the art of genuine facial expressions- when someone smiles, i can feel the love in it; when someone cries, it feels like im right there with them. your art is true to life in the way that it isnt photorealistic, but it gets the feelings, emotions, and all the important details, all the stuff that makes the viewer Feel. and the lighting! the texture! you paint skin really well.

i adore your art. i am delighted to have found your account. i am so, so excited to see what you make next. (and see more of the WIPs you post! its always fun seeing a work come together over time!)

thank you thank you thank you 🩵🌼

Thank YOU!!!! This means so much! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy to read. I don't think I could properly convey just how much it means to get asks like this. Thank you!

I really love art. What I really like about art is when you really feel like you're in a scene when looking at it. And there's so many stories I love that make me feel a certain way, and I want to be able to convey how I feel about those stories on a screen so that even people who've never read or watched the story can feel like they've caught a snippet of it in a way that a lot of other fanart doesn't typically convey.

And that actually kind of hits on the photorealism you talk about - when I was younger, I saw photorealistic art of anime and manhwa and wanted to be able to do that, but at the same time, when you look at most photorealistic art... It feels like the marvel is more about the technical aspect. It's really rare to see something photorealistic and really feel life behind it. But I really love impressionism and pre-Raphaelites and other forms of art where the art itself does look realistic, but when you look closer, it's not really realistic at all - but that makes it more fun to pick apart and digest.

And while I've sort of cut out a niche for myself here considering how different my art is from a lot of fanart, at the same time I don't think I'm doing anything novel. I get all this inspiration and these desires from existing art, and much of that art, especially the older and older it is, is actually fanart. I've talked about this a couple times, and you still sort of see people mocking fanwork from time to time and trying to distance modern fanworks from the ones pre-copyright law, but it is wholly the same human needs to feel an emotion and want to communicate that emotion to other people. And I think... In the current time we're in, where basically everything online is just about endless consumption and not thinking too much and corporate sanitization... I really enjoy making things that feel so entirely human and connected with everything artists have always been doing, while also being incompatible with modern laws. I think it's better for that. Sometimes I do noncopyrighted stuff, and it never feels as strong to me as when I'm trying to communicate how I felt during reading/watching a story I really loved.

So I'm really glad that I can get asks like this! Where someone breaks down what they like about my art and who I am as an artist and never even mention fandom, because I've made something that could be enjoyed fully by people who don't even know the characters.

Anyway, here's some fanart I love, some of which I have in my home; fanart that inspires me and what I like trying to go for.

All truly fanart by artists who watched a play or heard a ballad and were inspired to create something depicting what they witnessed. Not religious artwork, not painting from life - fanart.

[alexstandoll]

like daughter;

“Dad, this is my girlfriend, On Eunyu,” Ha Eun-gyeol introduced using signed language. But his father, Ha Yi-chan, remained silent and stared at his girlfriend for a good minute. Realizing he wasn’t saying anything, he signed with his hands back, “She’s . . . ” he stopped for a moment as he thought of the right words and decided, “beautiful.”

On Eun-yu understood what older Ha Yi-chan gestured. But Ha Eun-gyeol still translated it for her, repeating what his dad said. Ha Eun-gyeol thought his dad still kept the secret of the reason why the band Watermelon Sugar was made, and in this timeline he still told the story that the only woman he ever loved was Chung-ah, his mom. Liar!

However, On Eunyu was amused to see this old Ha Yi-chan, knowing that a month ago she had hung out with his younger frisky version, and now he looked respectable and proper. Older and matured. And Yoon Chung-ah was as pretty, rather, she grew even more beautiful and sophisticated. She caught a glimpse of her during the launch of their company’s new guitar, Goliath.

“May I know who your mother is?” Yi-chan signed language.

Before Ha Eun-gyeol could translate it for her, Eunyu signed language back in reply, surprising her boyfriend’s dad. “Se-kyung. Do you know her?”

The two teenagers awaited Yi-chan’s answer and then he said honestly, “Yes. My wife and your mom went to the same school. And your mom was popular in her youth so I pretty much know her.”

Pretty much e, Eun-gyeol thought and it reminded him of his jealousy learning his dad’s big crush on Se-kyung instead of mom. Playing safe, are we? He hid a smile.

Eunyu nodded. But guilt suddenly filled her remembering how she attempted to seduce Yi-chan, taking him away from Chung-ah for her selfish desire to stop herself from being born to existence, yet on the other hand if she hadn’t done that, Eun-gyeol wouldn’t notice—come to her.

“I hope my son is treating you well,” Yi-chan continued.

And the two lovers smiled at each other and then with a glint of new energy, Eunyu replied, “I think I’m the luckiest girl alive having your very handsome, kind, sweet, responsible and loving and really cool son.”

“Now, now you’re making me blush,” Eun-gyeol smiled shyly and Eunyu thought he looked cute.

“Of course!” Yi-chan’s energy doubled as he explained the words with his hands vigorously, “where else could he get it, if not from me?” A proud look on his face. Then he winked at his son, “Right, son?”

Eunyu was amused. Yi-chan was still the same old or should she say, the young Yi-chan she knew.

Eun-gyeol matched his dad’s vigor. “Of course! I have the best dad!”

Yi-chan smiled, delighted with his son. He knew his son was in a good place with her, because it’s rare to find a woman like Eunyu who could communicate with them well with respect and understanding. However, looking at Eunyu, he could only shake his head. Eunyu’s resemblance with her mom was truly spot on. He might have mistaken her as young Se-kyung traveling to the future if his son didn’t introduce her sooner. Then he looked at Eun-gyeol with pride.

My son surely got guts.

a/n: so this is my first little twinkling watermelon fic i had written few months ago after watching the show. i had the interest to tackle how adult!ha yi-chan would react seeing on eunyu as his son's girlfriend, as we all know how obsessed yi-chan was towards sekyong back in 1995. aha.

[limitlesswritingvoid]

Here I am, joining @agirlandherquill ‘s Writemas 21 days late, while posting it at 9pm because I cannot ever do anything on time

Anyway! Writemas day 21- the prompt I chose:

She watched the clouds swirl and dance high up in the sky, as free as the birds playing in their midst, as free as she would never be.

*song I dedicate to this piece*

Slight backstory for my entry- this scene takes place between a time skip in book one of The Crimsons, I’ve had this scene in my mind for a while but I have never actually gotten it out on a page until I read this beautiful prompt. (Entry below the cut)

Everything on the island of The Crimsons was uncanny. Dianna wasn’t able to pinpoint what it was exactly, but something about the way the salt in the air smelled, how the sky was never dull, the way nothing was ever quiet- it simply felt wrong. Dianna had hated noise before it was a constant presence in her life. Now Dianna was reduced to nothing but a moth in the sunlight, believing she was receiving all she wanted before burning alive.

The island felt like it had once been beautiful, like the trees were once dark, like the moon had once truly shone on the blue lagoon hidden in the forest, like one could once sit and enjoy the almost-silence of an autumn breeze. Something had to have changed on the island, not something evil, but something good wrong.

The large gray rock she had found in the forest’s clearing a week ago was cold and rough; it felt like home. She looked up to the sky, staring at everything and nothing, breathing too hard and not at all, she had always been fueled by conflict, she only ever made good decisions under stress-she only made any decisions under stress. She watched the clouds swirl and dance high up in the sky, as free as the birds playing in their midst, as free as she would never be.

It was rare, Dianna had heard, that a Crimson was awarded a break; she had been given two days off in a row, perhaps it was because she was talented. Or maybe it was because she had been coddled her entire life and couldn’t handle real work. They couldn’t think that about her, could they? The thought of being seen as “the ex-princess wishing to be pampered” made Dianna sick, and then it made her angry. But her muscles did ache, and her lungs burned whenever Cordellia tried to give her endurance training. Maybe Dianna was a failure, maybe she was a spoiled princess who hadn’t dealt with anything real. But at that moment, she decided that none of it mattered.

Because Dianna Sullivan could be a spoiled princess, because Dianna Sullivan didn’t exist anymore. Adaeze Zanarhria could be as strong as her people, as strong as her father, as strong as the soldiers who had saved her when she was alone on Lystean soil.

[selene-philias]

04-07-2024; travels with epicurus, daniel klein

"Beauty is equilibrium, and equilibrium is beauty."

at the mention of epicurus i decided to grab this at random from a second hand store, and im delighted i did. i’ve supremely enjoyed klein’s “meditations on old age”, and while it has taken me almost a year to get to reading them, the timing alongside my transition to uni made this experience even more valuable. overall, to really penetrate the academic language and deeper philosophy concepts i think i would deeply benefit at reading it again. the book is not what i consider lengthy, but it still took me a bit to get through as i often had to sit back and ponder each section as i read.

My Sartrean Ethics Crisis of 2024

this was, admittedly, a very small section of the text, but i’ll talk about it at length here because i found it incredibly impactful.

klein writes as such; “In Sartrean ethics we are directed to live authentically— “authenticity” being Satre’s take on the almost universally accepted injunction “To thine own self be true.” A person lives authentically if he operates from the principle that his existence precedes his essence. He is not essentially, say, a waiter or a Democrat or a daytime drinker, these are roles he may choose to play, but not innate qualities that he cannot transcend. For example, an authentic person cannot in good faith say, “I drink two scotches at lunch because that is just the way I am.” He would be treating himself as an object with immutable characteristics, not existing as a subject with the ability to choose who he is and what actions he takes.”

he goes on to say “For me, the most relevant piece here is Sartre's warning against treating oneself as an object. This is a rare bit of moral philosophy that I can actually feel: treating myself as an object makes me feel less alive, less myself. When, say, I find myself in the frame of mind where I am convinced that I am essentially an inconsiderate person and there's nothing to be done about it, I not only feel defeated, I feel that in denying my ability to willfully change I have stopped being truly alive. But at the same time it would be ridiculous not to accept what is beyond my control: I can no more choose to be a young man than I can choose to be tall and blue eyed.

Basically, most of us want to be as responsible for our lives as we can be—it is fundamental to making our lives our own. I choose, therefore I am who I am.”

i could not for the life of me understand the concept of “there is no essential, one true ‘(y/n)’”, and my experience with this text has absolutely changed that. i was limiting myself because i didn’t connect that letting our roles invade our essential beings goes beyond my job, or my hobbies, i didn’t connect anything! i am essentially nothing, and therefore i am free to change, it is not a betrayal of self! i may have done a horrible job of explaining my thoughts just there, i apologise, it’s far too wrapped up in my emotions to be clear and concise. now that i feel i more accurately understand, i can work at trying to internalise this and implement it as a practice, so my deepest thanks to mr. klein!

this book is amazing in that i feel like its enforced my positive view on life! i’d really love to go back to this after a lifetime of studying philosophy and aging and seeing how much more deeply I understand the text, i hope i do

4 stars

༄˖°.ೃ࿔:

[nexomy]

Bestie I'm going back in time and hugging your five year old self what the fuck HAPPENED to you

It's not so much of a WHAT happened. More of a HOW.

When I was four, five years old, I derived very little joy from existence. Things sort of happened, and I sat there, letting it happen. I had no agency whatsoever, just like any other kid. I ate what I was given, played when told to play, took my bath when it was time, wore what my mom told me to. It's not that I was abused, I mean, I was a little, but that wasn't the problem. My mom would ask me what I wanted to wear, sometimes, and I'd pick my favorite shirt, and it still didn't make me happy, not really, not the way it does now, cause I knew she was only letting me wear it. If she had decided against it, for whatever reason, then that would have been that. I was only afforded the choices that she was alright with. And my mom considered me as a person from the start! She was a great mom! I got to choose what to do, plenty of times! I even picked my school, when I started. How many four year olds are given that choice?

It's not how she used her power, it's the mere fact that she HAD that power. Every time I got in the car, I knew she could decide to swerve it right off a cliff, and there was nothing I could do. And it's not even that I didn't trust her, it's that I had no choice but to trust her, that or run away and risk being kidnapped by a creep. She had the final say on whether I lived or not, whether I was fed, hit, if I took art classes or swimming lessons. My mom always gave me the choice, and that's very rare. But she always GAVE me the choice. I had no real say.

That's what being a kid IS. You aren't responsible for your own happiness. And that... Drove me insane. I hated it. I hated having to play the game. The only times I felt truly alive were when I would wander off, and knew for sure that no one knew where I was. But I knew that couldn't last, it was cruel to my worried mother yelling my name, and it was dangerous, too. To be a little eight year old girl off on your own.

When something bad would happen, I had no power over it. When something good would happen, I had no power over it. Being a child is being completely and utterly powerless. And I was so. Aware. Of it.

Again, my mom gave me SO MANY choices. And I loved the food I ate, the clothes I wore, the stuff I did. I took some joy out of it. But there was this constant filter over it, of... Anguish. Of knowing this was all borrowed time, to make me become a good adult. I knew that my sense of self only mattered to adults as a sign of who I would SOMEDAY be. "What do you want to be when you grow up" mattered more than what I liked doing, right now. I existed only as a precursor of, I guess, who I am now. I hated her sometimes, future me. She didn't feel like me at all. She would be so different, think differently, like different things. Why is my life all in her name? I don't go to school for learning's sake, I don't learn to read for the skill, I'm learning all of this so that some nebulous "future me" has the skills. Even my accomplishments weren't mine. It was always for future me. I wasn't a person, I had no right to true identity, everything I liked was dismissed as temporary. "Oh, you love Monster High? I loved dolls too, when I was your age". The implication being that nothing I am will survive? How does that NOT make you depressed??

I would talk about this with adults, and they never knew what to say. "But growing up is beautiful!" Then why do your movies and advice always boil down to "enjoy your childhood while it lasts"? You all act like it's only downhill from here, like this is the happiest I'll ever be, how is that not terrifying? One day I'll wake up, and I won't like any of what I do now, I won't think the same way, I won't be the same person, and I'll be even less happy! How is that something to look forward to, when I already hate being alive?

Hearing a crying, angered six year old tell you they hate being alive must be pretty concerning. I'm sorry, summer camp counselor.

And I couldn't tell my mom, either. Because she couldn't fix this. She couldn't fix the power imbalance. She couldn't just allow me to go live with whoever I chose, because then again, that would only be "allowing" it! Systematically, legally, I had no power. I was her possession. A possession she took great care of, but a possession nonetheless. And all she could do was relinquish ownership, but then someone else would own me, and if I had to choose a master, I picked her. There was nothing she could do. I knew that, from the day my father brought me to his office, and read me the Child's Right Act.

"We don't have the same rights as adults?" I asked, horrified.

The realization made me boil with anger. I just wanted to exist, free of being owned. I fantasized about old timey indigenous communities, where the kids are free to roam and be guided by whichever adults they choose. I wanted to be free to make mistakes, not because I wanted to make them. I would've listened to the rules anyways, just... I wanted the choice. I would've picked my mom, I just wanted to pick.

I HATED being a kid. It put a dark filter over every little joy I could feel. But growing up literally fixed everything. Now, no human being can force me to do anything. Legally, at least. Sure, I have to pay taxes, but that's only if I CHOOSE not to be homeless. The consequences are awful, maybe. But the choice is there. I am a person.

I still do what my mom asks. I live with her, and eat what she cooks, and most of my clothes are ones she bought. But all those things are my choice. I choose to listen to what she says, if I get sick of it I can just move out. I CAN be homeless. And the things I do are to improve the life of my future self, sure, but people don't talk about them like they're a different person! They expect me to like the same things, to think similarly, to be the same person. If I say I want a diploma, they say "good for you", not "oh, that's great for 30 y/o you!" I am allowed to be. And that is... A FANTASTIC feeling. Even at my worst, at least I get to say that I did this. I bedrotted, I put myself there. I did that. No one did it for me. It's my fault. So I can fix it. No one will fix it for me, but I can.

And that is such a relief.

I love living, now. I love the responsibilities, even when I don't, I remind myself of how much worse the alternative is. And if I had a time machine, I would tell child me that they were wrong, all the adults. I didn't change, not one bit. My mental processes are still similar, the things I like are pretty much the same. Things evolved, sure. But I'm still very clearly the same person. Less lonely, since talking to other children when you're THAT self-aware, is... Challenging. But other than that... I'm happy. Really happy. And I'm a little happier each year, even with all the work it takes. At least I get to have a choice.

TW: Suicide

I mean seriously, you can't even kill yourself at five. There's always someone watching you, making sure you're physically safe and sound. They hold your hand when you cross the road, the windows have locks too high up to remove, you can't starve yourself, it's not like you have access to medicine... Child proof caps work frustratingly well. And all the dangerous stuff is too high up, and you're not strong enough to properly stab yourself for sure, and surviving the attempt seems like a bigger hassle than staying alive. And drowning is wayyyy too long. It's maddening. At least now if I want to die, I can, easy peasy. Which is ironically why I don't want to...

[sequinsmile-x]

The View Between Villages

A feeling he hasn't had in years, since this place was nothing but a dot in his rearview mirror, settles low in his gut, slowly getting heavier the closer they get. A weight he'd forgotten, all of the people and places he once knew rising from the dead and chasing him down a street he used to call home.

Sometimes, you have no choice but to go back.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is part 1 of 2 of a fic based on a request I got a while back about a fic where Aaron's father was still alive.

The title is a song from Noah Kahan's album Stick Season, which, if you want to listen to an entire album about how going back home is never quite the same as when you were a kid and also EXACTLY the same all at the same time, I highly recommend it. I'm obsessed and am seeing him in November! (Listen to the deluxe version!!)

Part 2 will be up next week!

-x-

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Implied/Referenced child abuse, difficult childhood

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron smiles as he approaches the kitchen, the sound of his family loud as it echoes around his house. The morning light filters down the hallways, fainter than it had been at this time of day just a few weeks ago, a sign that fall was well and truly on its way. 

Their home was rarely quiet. It hadn’t been since they’d bought the place. He still remembered Jack running through empty rooms the first time they brought him here, the sound of his footsteps chasing him as he ran from room to room. Emily had lagged behind, one hand pressed into her aching back and the other into her rounded belly, almost permanently winded as their son grew underneath her skin, stretching it almost to its limit. They’d managed, through no small miracle and a lot of help from the team, to get all of the furniture moved in and in its place before she went into labour. The house truly a home by the time they brought their newborn home, Nathaniel’s cries loud and relentless in those first few weeks of parenthood, the soundtrack they had as they settled into their new lives.

In the three years since then, things had only become more hectic. Nathaniel, Nate as he was known to everyone except Elizabeth who insisted on using his full name, was insistent on copying Jack in everything. Following his brother around the house and joining in with his activities when he could. So much so they had to keep a very close eye on him when they went to Jack’s soccer games ever since he’d run onto the pitch in the middle of a game. In the last year their youngest son, the addition to their family that had been a surprise and filled a gap they hadn’t known had existed, had joined them too. Leo was 11 months old and obsessed with Emily, keen to be wherever she was at all times, something that had started the second he was born. Screaming and crying until he was passed into Emily’s shaking hands, only calming when he was laid against her bare skin. 

It still blew Aaron away sometimes that this was his life, that he’d got this second chance at the family he’d never truly had growing up. He spent years telling himself he’d blown his only chance, that his penance for not saving Haley from the monster he’d brought into their lives was to be alone. To raise Jack as best he could, but doomed to break his final promise to Haley like he had so many others, feeling wholly unable to be the person she had once known.

Then Emily happened. Beautiful, kind, Emily who had been there all along. She understood him in ways other people couldn’t, completely free of judgement when he had bad days because she did too. Their histories different but intertwined, forever sewn together in a way that he’d realised was impossible to unpick. She’d made the first move, something she still teased him about even now. She’d rolled her eyes and pulled him in for a kiss, breathlessly commenting afterwards that she’d got bored of waiting for him to admit he was in love with her. 

They’d never looked back. Together they’d built what they had now - a family that they both protected fiercely. Three little boys who knew nothing but love, their childhoods so different to those of their parents, none of the violence or chronic disappointment neither he or Emily had faced respectively. They made sure Jack had space to talk about the things he had seen when he was too young to comprehend them and, whilst he’d long called Emily ‘mom’, Haley was a big part of their lives. Her presence felt on every holiday and birthday when Aaron or Jess, the only ones who had true memories of her, would share a story about her. 

He smiles as he walks into the kitchen, met by the sight of Jack and Nathaniel sitting and eating breakfast and Emily switching between taking bites of her toast and spooning Leo oatmeal as he sits on her hip, his hands tight in her shirt.

“Morning,” Aaron says, a greeting immediately returned by his family. A chorus of mismatched responses that makes him smile. He walks over to Emily, pressing a kiss to her lips as she turns to look at him, a tired smile on her face, “You must have been up early, the bed was cold.”

She hums as she tilts her head towards their youngest, getting another spoon of, now cold, oatmeal into Leo’s mouth, “Your youngest woke me up at 4 am,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him, “I tried to get him settled in our bed but he wasn’t having it so I got ready for the day and brought him down here. Before I knew it, it was breakfast time.”

“Breakfast!” Nathaniel says enthusiastically, drawing their attention towards him, both of them smiling at him. He’d inherited a lot from Aaron, including his love of early mornings. 

“Eat your toast, sweet boy we’ve got to get you ready for preschool,” Emily says, trying to suppress a yawn.

Aaron kisses her cheek and walks over to the coffee machine to switch it on, “You could have woken me up, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, adjusting her hold on Leo as she pours more juice into Jack’s cup, “You’re still catching up on sleep from the case you got back from a few days ago.” 

He’d been away for close to a week, the longest it had been in quite some time, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt relief as he did walking into his house to find his wife waiting for him. He hums and takes Leo from her, settling him onto his own hip as he takes over helping him with his breakfast so Emily could have a few minutes to eat her food in relative peace. 

“Well,” he quips, winking at his wife when he looks back at her, “My boss is a bit of a taskmaster.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and purposely hip-checks him as she walks to the coffee machine to pour them a mug each, “I have it under good authority you’re her favourite.” 

When she left the BAU just before she had Nathaniel she never anticipated that in just a few short years she’d be Section Chief. After her return from maternity leave, she’d taken over the counterterrorism Unit Chief position. Her experience in the FBI and at Interpol made her a perfect candidate for a job that allowed her more time with her sons. When she was pregnant with Leo, the job of Section Chief became available and she was offered it. At first, she’d worried about what Aaron would say, if he’d be irritated that she was promoted over him, but he’d only ever shown pride at her getting the job. Happy to watch her flourish and pleased he could be by her side as it happened. 

“She is always keen to give me feedback-”

“Mom and Dad are being gross again, Nate,” Jack says, stage whispering so they can hear him, making them stop their conversation. 

Emily presses her lips together as she looks at her eldest, a look on his face that Aaron would always say the pre-teen never had before she moved in, “Sorry, Jack.” 

Aaron chuckles as he shakes his head and hears his phone ring from his pocket. He hands Leo back over to Emily, the little boy babbling a word that was so close to Mama it made her chest ache. 

“Hotchner,” Aaron says, answering the phone, taking a step away from his family so the boys don’t hear anything they shouldn’t. 

“Sorry, Sir, I’ve got another one for you,” Penelope says, sounding regretful, “Three bodies and a fourth person missing, the locals have requested that the team get there as soon as possible.” 

“Have you called the others?” He asks, and she hums in confirmation, “Okay great, let's just meet at the jet.” 

“Thankfully it will be a short flight, you’re only going to Lexington, Virginia” 

He pauses, frozen in space as the air leaves his lungs. He clears his throat, unknowingly getting his wife’s attention from across the room, “Lexington?” 

“Yes, sir,” Penelope says, “At first I thought you’d have to drive but there is an airstrip nearby, and the jet already has permission to land there.”

He doesn’t listen as she rambles, the room seemingly closing in on him as everything feels too close and too far away all at once. It had been years, a lifetime really, since he’d been there. He’d been a kid, not looking back as the first place he’d called home was left behind him, getting further and further away as Haley sat next to him, both of their suitcases in the trunk of his worn-out truck that somehow made the drive all the way to Harvard. 

He’d never gone back. The version of him who had lived there dead and gone, buried beneath everything he hadn’t been able to move past, and all the things that had happened to him since. 

“Sir?”

He shakes his head at himself, “Sorry, Garcia. Yes - thank you. I’ll speak to you on the jet when we need to be briefed.”

He hangs up and looks at his wife who is looking at him curiously, a hint of concern shining in her eyes. 

“Everything okay?” She asks, glancing at Nathaniel and Jack before she walks over, Leo still on her hip, his head against her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he replies, not sure he sounds convincing to himself let alone her, “Just another case.” 

She stares at him, well aware that he is holding something back, but she doesn’t pry. Not when all the boys were in earshot. She simply files it away, ready to ask him about it later when they speak on the phone. 

“The bad guys don’t wait I guess,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, exchanging a smile when he squeezes her hip and kisses Leo’s head. She turns, “Boys, come say goodbye to Dad, he’s got to go to work.” 

She keeps a close eye on him as he exchanges goodbyes with their sons, something about the way he embraces them seeming even fiercer than usual, something about the way he kisses her more desperate. 

She sighs as she watches him leave, his promise to call that evening echoing around her after the door closes. She blows out a breath as she turns back to Jack and Nathaniel, printing a smile on her face she knows they won’t see through, worry for her husband vibrating under her skin.

“Come on, we need to get ready for school.” 

She casts another glance back towards the front door before she herds her children upstairs, the first seeds of concern truly planting deep in her gut.

___

Emily groans as she sits in her desk chair, rolling her neck as she looks at the piles of paperwork on her desk. 

For someone who hated politics, but was damn good at it, she’d sure ended up in a job that had a lot of it. 

It was the best thing for her family. It meant she got more time with her children, that she was in as close to a 9-5 job as she ever had been in, but she still felt as if she was making a difference. It was a bridge of sorts. A link between the life she never thought she’d have - children, a home, a loving partner, - and the one she wondered she’d ever escape. 

Her eyes flick to a bright pink post-it note, Penelope’s familiar flowing handwriting on it, the glittery ink of her favourite pen shining out at her. Emily picks it up, and her smile fades as she reads it, her heart dropping into her stomach. 

BAU in Lexington, VA. Hotel bookings in your pending approvals. 

Emily holds onto the post-it tighter than necessary, the thick paper creasing in her grasp as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. 

That stupid, stubborn, man. 

She makes a decision in a heartbeat, not thinking twice before she picks up her phone and dials a familiar number, waiting as the call connects, “Jess? Hi, I have…a big favour to ask.” 

It was a good thing she still kept a go-bag packed just in case.

___

“Why are we still on the tarmac?” Derek asks, leaning back in his chair as he turns to look at the door, “They haven’t even closed us up yet.”

“The pilot said there are some final checks,” Aaron replies, his eyes fixed on the case files in front of him, desperate to focus on something other than the fact he was about to go to the place where he swore he’d never return. 

The place where his father lived. 

He’d told so many people that his dad was dead, the lie easier than the truth, that there were times he believed it himself. So used to his life without the man who was supposed to have loved him that he couldn’t imagine seeing him again. 

“Are we sure this place Lexington has a legit landing strip?” Dave asks, a familiar smirk on his face when Aaron briefly looks up at him.

“It does,” he replies firmly, shaking off the memory of the mostly abandoned strip of private land. How he’d snuck Haley there one night when she’d insisted on learning to drive in his truck, laughing from the passenger seat as she ruined the manual engine. Stalling every few feet on what used to be a busy runway used for goods. 

“And don’t say legit,” a familiar voice says, pulling all of their attention towards her, Emily’s smile wide as she stands behind Dave, her arm resting on the top of his chair, “You’re too old for that.” 

“Emily,” Aaron says, standing up as if on autopilot, taking her bag from her, a habit he’d never quite shaken since she’d been pregnant with Leo, “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, attempting to remain casual, “It’s been a while since I came on a case, and my schedule looked okay this week so I thought, why not? It’s almost time for the BAU to be reviewed anyway.”

The others seemingly buy it, even if he doesn’t, well aware that last night she’d lamented about the number of meetings she had this week. She sits in the spare seat next to Dave and ignores how her husband is looking at her. 

“It will be just like old times,” JJ says, her smile turning into a smirk as she elbows Spencer, “Shall we draw straws on who gets the room closest to them?” 

Emily narrows her eyes at her friend, “We aren’t that bad.”

“Sure, Bella,” Dave says, patting her on the shoulder, a condescending tone to his voice, “I’ve got a leather chair in my home office that will never quite be the same because of you two.” 

“Isn’t this the first time you’ve spent a night away from Leo?” Spencer asks, his eyebrows knitting together, and she blows out a breath. Familiar guilt building in her chest. The pull between being a good wife and a good mother felt like it was taking her in different directions for the first time ever. 

“Yes,” she replies, exchanging a knowing look with JJ, “But it had to happen at some point.” The sound of the door closing cuts the conversation off and she reaches for the iPad closest to her, “Okay then, bring me up to speed,” her eyes flick to her husband, “It’s a short flight.” 

They get a moment alone in the kitchenette. He follows her in there the second she says she’s grabbing a cup of tea. She expects it, her smile tight as she turns to look at him, the curtain he pulls shut after him a flimsy attempt at privacy. 

“Em-”

“You really didn’t think I’d find out where you’re going?” She asks quietly, stepping forward, her arms crossed over her chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big deal,” she interrupts, cutting off his lie before he can finish it. She steps closer so only he can hear her, not wanting her words to be heard over the din of the engine, “Aaron, we are going to your hometown. To the place where your father lives. I’m not going to let you do that alone.” 

He leans against the counter, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “This is an abuse of power, you know that right?” 

She shrugs her shoulders, “I like to think of it as a wife manipulating the system so she can look after her boneheaded husband, but you can call it that if you want.” 

He smiles, a brief chuckle escaping him as he reaches out for her hand and squeezes it, “The kids-”

“Are fine for a couple of days. As soon as I told Jessica where you were going she volunteered before I could ask her to look after them.”

He sighs and nods. It had been Jessica’s hometown too. His decision to leave had caused a small exodus. Haley went with him and Jessica followed when it was her turn to graduate, eventually ending up in DC with them. Roy had followed suit, nothing left for him in their town other than his wife’s grave, and they’d all found a new place to call home. 

“And you’re sure you’re okay away from them?” He asks, knowing she was capable but that a big driver of her decision to change jobs had been so she didn’t have to do this, so she could be there for their children in a way her mother had never been for her. “Reid is right, you’ve never been away from Leo before overnight.” 

She squeezes his hand, “It will be fine,” she replies, ignoring how her voice shakes a little, “He’ll be perfectly safe with Jess,” she reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, “I’m more worried about my biggest, and most stubborn, Hotchner right now.”

He smiles and grabs her hand as she lowers it, lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Lovebirds,” Derek calls from the other side of the curtain, the levity in his voice seeming misplaced amongst their emotions in the tiny bit of comfort they’d quickly cultivated, “We’re about to start the descent.” 

They exchange a tight smile and she squeezes his hand one more time before she drops it and they head back into the main cabin. 

Once they land and drive the short distance to the town centre where the police precinct is, roads he once knew like the back of his hand, it feels harder to breathe with every passing mile.

A feeling he hasn't had in years, since this place was nothing but a dot in his rearview mirror, settles low in his gut, slowly getting heavier the closer they get. A weight he'd forgotten, all of the people and places he once knew rising from the dead and chasing him down a street he used to call home. 

-x-

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[holly-fixation]

When the Planets Align

Summary: Tragedies of gods and goddesses have been passed down for thousands of years on thousands of planets. In the case of one small planet of life, it's the desire to be with the stars. With space. A god and goddess in love, but tied away by the very existence they were born for.

Inspired by the beautiful artwork of Safer Sephiroth and Planet Goddess Aerith by @kay-i. Posting for the Final day of Aeriseph week!

…

Stories of gods and goddesses had been passed down for countless generations over countless planets. Some cultures believed the very planet they stood upon was a goddess, giving life to everything on it. Others believed the sky was a god that blessed their planet with continued prosperity. Of course, not every culture was correct, but not every culture was wrong either.

Every life bearing planet had a goddess tied to its soil. She was the first living creature to call the surface home and the last one to die after billions of years spreading her power. This circle of life was accepted rather than mourned. However, there were prophecies detailing instructions of how to keep the goddess, thus the planet, alive forever. But like all prophecies, the chance of Gaia housing the goddess of legend was slim to none. 

Aerith, the Goddess of Gaia, never minded her fate. She loved her creatures with her whole heart, raising them and aiding them with utter joy filling the atmosphere. Each new flower, egg, child, or leaf brought a smile to her face, and the homes her creatures built within each of Gaia’s environments fascinated her. She did everything in her power to balance her life with their growth, happily giving more of herself when that’s what it took.

Supposedly planets were named at formation, not when their goddesses were born. She heard stories of goddesses holding jealousy of that simple fact, but she found that competitive desire useless. Aerith devoted herself to her people. They mattered more than her pride.

Still, despite the truth she knew was true, she found herself staring into the stars, a seeded desire to live among them like the gods festering the same way her people wished upon them to live out their lives with the perfect companion. A slightly larger part craved the cosmos beyond her planet, but it was a part she didn’t pay attention to. Gods and goddesses rarely engaged in true unions. She truly made all the happiness she needed on her own surface. She never actively searched for anything beyond them, yet she gladly accepted their invitations.

Gods were very different from goddesses. Unlike the atmosphere of the planet they could never leave, gods roamed the cosmos creating stars, planets, even galaxies. Some gods specialized. Some didn’t. Some planets eventually bore goddesses, most orbited their stars emptily, structures with no use, relics forgotten to time. Gods followed the flow of the stars, the turn of galaxies and the very universe itself. 

These gods, beyond their own duties, held the sole responsibility of spreading knowledge throughout the cosmos. History, prophecies, the expected fate of each planet, all were their choice to inform. If a god deemed a goddess unworthy of knowledge, they would simply leave. Some held themselves in higher regard than the planets, but most fluctuated from humble to arrogant depending on their experiences. 

Sephiroth, the God of Yellow Stars, absolutely acted more stern and arrogant than most of the star gods by his very nature. He was one of the direct children of Jenova, the primordial goddess credited with the creation of the known cosmos. Her presence drifted everywhere among her work, her tentacles of stardust branching every galaxy together in harmony, and communication beyond his earliest years became impossible. Physically, he took after her, his halo and many wings a constant reminder of her presence. Some days, it was annoying. He at least wanted an explanation as to why the life forms on planets grew gifts of prophecies he needed to spread. At minimum he wanted justification for why he was at the center of the most frustrating one. 

In his juvenile years, a prophecy came about claiming ‘stars of yellow will bond with pedals of blue for time immemorial’. He was young, but he learned far too quickly what some goddesses attempted to push onto him for what he could potentially give in return. Every planet he visited led to the same fake field of every shade of dyed blue. It sickened him, the way goddesses threw themselves at him in an exaggerated attempt to leave the surface of their worlds and live forever. Even if that rumor was true, and he found no ounce of proof that it was, the blatant disrespect, lack of boundaries, and even attempts at capture left Sephiroth hard and bitter. He had not stepped foot on a living planet in many millennia, no longer risking the slightest chance of betrayal of either goddess or god. Each memory stung him deeply. He always craved knowledge of planetary life and structure, but every goddess robbed him of the chance to learn by focusing on themselves alone. 

The God of Red Stars, Genesis, persistently pushed him to converse with 'considerably friendly' goddesses, whatever that meant. The God of Blue Stars, Angeal, understood his predicament but still encouraged him to step foot on any flourishing planet, claiming his behavior was not healthy. Everyone had an opinion on his actions, even the infantile gods of the three white dwarfs born his own dead stars, technically his children but he disliked the thought. Yazoo spoke of companionship as something to truly desire. Loz craved the attention of a mother and convinced himself the pain would lessen if he had a planet to be with. Kadaj told him to ‘get his head out of his ass and pick a planet already’.

He did not consider any of their collective advice useful.

However, he gave every planet, thus goddess, a chance. He did assume they would fail every trial of self control, but he took his duty seriously, spreading knowledge as he continued his fueling of his stars.

Eventually his path led him to Gaia.

He had not been to Gaia in billions of years. In fact, his brethren visited countless times, at least Genesis had. The goddess held only just over one billion years. Not young, but certainly immature. He sensed the goddess and where she chose for him to land, rolling his eyes a bit before descending as he awaited the same fake blues. However, the only blue that met his eyes was the sky. He found himself outside a forest with trees of both leaves and needles, none of which carrying the faux blues. The goddess, instead of bowing before him, faced away and searched for something in the forest from behind a tree. She wore a white dress adorned with purple roses and gold pendants, her hair tied back with a purple bow.

“Hold on just one moment please. This little guy’s been giving me so much trouble,” She explained in hushed tones. 

Sephiroth was stunned. No one had ever treated him like this, like something material was more important. He wasn’t given much time to watch in confusion before the young goddess launched forward and captured a small creature in her hands.

She cupped it carefully, even petting it to keep it calm as she approached him. She did curtsy, but she allowed her white dress to brush against the dirt in order to contain the creature. “God of Yellow Stars, Sephiroth, welcome back to Gaia. My name is Aerith, and this is one of my newest creations.”

“A pleasure,” He tried to be cordial but could not hide the confusion in his voice. “But what is-?”

“Shhh!” She gave him a stern look, her forest green eyes meeting his burning cyan ones. “Just listen.” She released the creature, a small gray bird that flapped away the moment it was given the chance. But its wings… did they just make noise?

“How did-?”

“It’s called a wing whistle, and this is the first of my birds to have it! They have these special feathers in their wings that whistle against the air during flight! I have no idea what evolutionary purpose they serve, but it’s amazing, isn’t it?”

He heard every word, but her beauty and joy distracted him. Her creatures. She actually spoke of her creatures, not herself. The subtle tilt of her head brought endearment to his heart rather than frustration like he expected. “...Yes, it is.”

“Can your wings whistle?”

Sephiroth found himself chuckling at her innocent yet kind question. “No. But there is nothing for them to whistle against in the cosmos.”

This goddess barely let him speak, her song-like voice filling every beat of time, but he actually found comfort in that. Her excitement and her passion for every flora and fauna of her planet mesmerized him. She was so… genuine. She wasn’t showing off so he would be impressed or fulfill that infuriating prophecy with her. She was like a mother, loving every inch of her planet unconditionally.

In the three days on Gaia, Aerith showed him hundreds, maybe thousands of creatures, facts and knowledge spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. She didn’t care about the news of the galaxy unless it threatened her planet. Her constant conversation captured them both, however. Sephiroth couldn’t help some of the questions that came to mind. Why did so many creatures evolve into crabs? Why was every plant so desperate to become a tree? 

Their time together was truly the most calming, relaxing, carefree visit he made to any planet in his lifetime. Why did he push this off for so long? Before he left the surface, he calculated exactly when the cycle of stars allowed him passage here. Surprisingly, it was common. Once each century of this world, the stars and planets aligned perfectly. He couldn’t help but ponder the chances.

“You can come back every century? Why did you wait so long to come here?”

“Following the star cycle is not so simple. I can’t visit every planet in each cluster of galaxies per rotation. I needed to prioritize. I am glad I had the opportunity to see this planet now. Thank you, Aerith.”

He said his first proper goodbye in millenia to the small goddess and swore he would return as soon as possible. She smiled and nodded before he flew off her surface. Aerith waved until the tiniest glow of his halo vanished in the night sky.

* * *

One hundred years passed, and just as promised, Sephiroth returned. This time, Aerith beckoned him to a completely different side of the planet, most likely to display more of her growing creatures.

Sephiroth did not expect to land on the peak of a plateau gilded with perfect blue roses, their thorns and leaves perfect and untouched. He hated the slow simmer of betrayal building in his chest, but upon seeing Aerith donning the same dress from long ago, he simply descended until his feet were an inch from the traitorous blues.

Without answering his silent question, Aerith reached down and plucked one of the many flowers. Its petals quickly faded to the purple adorning her dress. “I am… well aware of the prophecy. I didn’t know these were blue until my people escorted me here a few years ago. They always offered these roses to me when I blessed them with good crops.” She almost looked sad. Pensive. “I had no idea.”

He scanned her before countering, “Why are you worried?”

“Well, Genesis told me you can’t stand goddesses that try to do this! Because they fake and pretend ‘look at me, I have BLUE petals on gorgeous harmless flowers. I’m so cool and perfect for you! Just like the prophecy!’ But I’d like to spend more time with you, and I wanted to tell you the truth.” She glanced away. “I’m sure I’m not the only goddess with blue flowers, and I’m perfectly happy with my people. You have no obligation to me.”

“...You’re weird when you’re serious.”

Her planet green eyes met his celestial blues.

“I enjoy spending time with you. That has not changed from one field.”

Her smile instantly warmed his heart, and he suddenly found himself wrapped in her arms, her chin resting on his shoulder as her feet dangled above the ground. “I’m so glad! There’s so much more I want to show you-”

“Perhaps this time,” He interrupted, holding her by her waist to keep her from falling, “I can tell you about the changes of the galaxies and the progress of my stars.”

“Absolutely! I love every event! I knew I forgot to ask something last time.” Aerith laughed, her voice melodious and endearing. “But afterward I need to show you this tiny rabbit species not too far from here. It literally fits in the palm of your hand! It’s adorable. You should see-...” She was backing away to be respectful, to look into his eyes, but the closeness of his face made her trail off, her eyes scanning every detail from barely an inch between them.

He smirked softly, allowing her time to process as he could not pry his gaze from hers.

“Um…”

He simply raised a brow.

“Do you…-?”

“I feel it too.” The shift in the air. Both of their heartbeats. A growing desire for warmth and closeness. Contact.

“What should I…-?”

Sephiroth silently brushed a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Whatever you want.”

Aerith partially allowed her instinct to take the reins, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his. 

A spark between them lowered Sephiroth’s eyelids until he realized they had not moved in minutes, mindlessly enjoying each other’s presence and touch. No thoughts. No distractions. Only each other. Warm. And comfortable. …And safe.

The draw of their hearts pulled them together, even when he ultimately returned to the cosmos. 

Many centuries and many visits passed before either admitted what that feeling truly was.

Every pantheon had its tragedy for love, no matter the planet or gods. This was just theirs, separated by a hundred years for only days of happiness. But they suffered through each lapse for each other. And each other only for the joy they raised together for eternity.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Note: This is it! The long awaited fic for Aeriseph week! It was my first time attempting any real ‘romance’ so I hope I at least delivered on it a bit! Thanks for reading!

[goldenmoonsilversun]

a winter dream

It is a beautiful winter morning. All is quiet, but my thoughts. This time, they don’t seem to want to drag me down into the depths of my well-known darkness, but rather lifting me up higher than the ninth cloud I found myself floating on. Ever since you asked me to join your family for a nice, yet special Christmas Eve dinner, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling a rare fullness in my heart, like the light whispering to me “you belong”, even in the most blinding nights. As I was enjoying the crispy air, I couldn’t hold it all just to myself. I love telling you about the sunsets, or the stars or the light I see holding me when I look into your eye. “Oh, I love the smell of this air. Isn’t it pleasant?”

We arrive at your grandma’s house and the others have been waiting a while for us, to help them prepare for the holy evening, evidently. My nervousness can, as always, be very much noticed by my hosts. This time, it’s a long-awaited nervousness, the one sometimes thought not to be deserved. But now, I-… no, we are here. You wanted me here and I wanted me with you and all the ones you love. Your love is my love, forever, endless light. They welcomed us and rushed us inside, well, mostly me for the kitchen chores, and you, to help with some things outside, like chopping wood, bringing it in and so on. For now, I’ll have eyes only for the food I’m about to prepare with your mom, sister and grandma. Later, I wish to be all yours, for my eyes to sparkle again when I see even just an inch of you. I’m so glad I’m here with so much love. Someday, will you consider me part of that as well? Or did you, in a way, already?

Now, on to the tasks at hand. Mom, sister, grandma, tell me what you like, or despise, or love to do, or seem to get too much of. I want to know it all. I want to be there for it, support you through it, help you, listen to you, respect and understand you. Tell me what I need to do and I shall do exactly so. Let me in.

You’re so busy, always doing your best to ease the life of the ones you care about most. You’re so lovely and kind. I can’t really express it in words. I’m trying my best. Yet, I still can’t believe you exist and I can gaze at you, touch you and be here for you. God, it feels like my purpose in life, beside writing. This all is so important to me and I want to open my soul to it all, absorb the energy, let it flow in my veins, live off it.

I wish to know all your grandma’s secrets about cooking, your mom’s stories of how she strongly raised you alone, your sister’s ambitions and dreams. Lili’s purrs by the stove, the flames crackling and falling apart only to be revived again. Your voice, your smile, your laughter, your silliness, your seriousness, you. Your soul speaking demands a soul intensely listening. Oh, how I adore it when it speaks of all the little things, known by few. It is always the first snowflakes that move your heart and get you excited, like a little child. The rest you enjoy throughout the rest of your life.

As we arrange everything on the table, all of that delicious, traditional food, you make sure the fire is alive and that Lili’s being pet properly. The room is filled with merry voices and the simple lights of a Christmas tree. I can’t help but catch the contagious laughter of all others and check if you’re laughing, too. All I want is for you to be truly, genuinely, unexplainably happy. And when you are, the stars shine brighter, the sunsets burn hotter and my heart melts faster than a snowflake melts on lips. You may not believe me, but I can’t lie to you. Are you? Happy? Soon we’ll have time to ourselves, but for now, I am just well being surrounded by your family. It feels surreal, just like you.

I don’t care about the gifts and what day tomorrow will bring. What I am given now is more than enough. As we slowly make our way to the seats, after a long day of preparing, cleaning, carrying, mixing, tasting and decorating, I feel myself calming down, taking it easy, like finally settling into a house I can call home. I’ve been wanting this for so long. I never wish for this feeling to go away.

Too bad this is all just a winter dream.