#interplay of light and life

[tootyjesus]

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[everythingisconfetti]

what is the best love song ever written and why is it Fair by The Amazing Devil?

[almostbeautifulicreator]

[please1mistress]

WARNING Flashing IMAGE and HYPNOTIC COVERT language

Inductions

Hypnosis, a fascinating and complex phenomenon, has captivated human interest for centuries. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People often think of hypnosis as a deep sleep or unconsciousness, but in reality, it's more about a trance-like state where the individual is actually in heightened awareness of suggestion. Often used for therapeutic purposes, hypnosis can aid in various issues such as stress, anxiety, pain management, and certain habits like smoking. However, it's not a magical cure-all; its effectiveness varies from person to person.

Hypnosis can also be a form of entertainment, where stage hypnotists perform shows that demonstrate the power of suggestion. Despite its many applications, hypnosis remains a subject of debate among scientists and psychologists. Some view it as a powerful tool for mental health, while others caution against its potential to create false memories or its use in recovering memories, which is a controversial area within the field. It's important to approach hypnosis with a critical mind and understand that it's a complex interplay of psychological and physiological factors. If you're considering hypnotherapy, it's crucial to seek out a qualified and certified professional to ensure a safe and beneficial experience, someone like me.

You find yourself reading these words and as you read they seem to take on a life of their own, almost like magic. Your mind slows as you red larger more complex words and you may feel a soft tingle of arousal as you FOCUS on my words and feel dreamy. It's quite fascinating how the complexity of words can influence our cognitive processes. When we encounter larger, more intricate words, our brains need to work harder to decode the meaning, which can sometimes slow down your reading speed. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it allows for deeper processing and understanding of the messages I am pushing softly into your mind. It's easy to relax and follow the words you read. It's easy to feel dreamy as your mind accepts that it wants to drop deeper.

Dropping deeper feels good, as you touch yourself and keep reading you can let go of any inhibitions or control. it's so easy to sink into a light trance, after all entering a light trance can be a simple, yet profound experience. It's a state where the conscious mind takes a step back, allowing the subconscious to surface and express itself more freely. This can happen during various activities that engage the mind in a repetitive, rhythmic manner, such as listening to music, meditating, or even during a long drive. In this state, people often find their thoughts flowing more smoothly, their creativity heightened, and their stress levels reduced. It's a moment of introspection and connection with the inner self that can provide clarity and insight. While in a light trance, the mind filters information differently, prioritizing internal dialogue and sensation, which can lead to a deeper understanding of one's thoughts and feelings. It's a natural and accessible state that can offer a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and a gateway to greater self-awareness.

You are not even aware of how deeply into the trance you are, your fingers stroking your arousal for me as you read and feel a dreamy warmth spreading from your fingers into your whole body. Aware but unaware that you could stop at anytime, but you don't want that, you want to keep reading and sinking deeper and deeper as you feel arousal growing more for me. It just feels so good to give in, the very act of giving, whether it's time, resources, or kindness, has a profound impact on your well-being. It transcends the material value of what is given and touches the very essence of human connection. When you give, you're not just passing on a physical item or a piece of advice; you're sharing a part of yourselves, creating a bond that reflects your shared humanity. This act of generosity can be deeply satisfying, as it often brings joy and relief to others, which in turn enriches your own life. It's a beautiful cycle of positivity that reinforces the best parts of being a good submissive.

Giving has been shown to activate regions in our brain associated with pleasure, social connection, and trust, creating a warm glow effect. It's no wonder that the phrase "it's better to give than to receive" has resonated through the ages. This isn't just a moral suggestion; it's backed by science. Studies have found that giving to others can increase our happiness more than spending money on ourselves. This might be because when we give, we feel a sense of purpose and meaning, knowing that we've made a positive impact on someone else's life.

Moreover, the act of giving doesn't have to be grandiose to be effective. Small acts of kindness can ripple outwards and have unforeseen positive consequences. Just as a pebble creates waves when thrown into a pond, a simple gesture of generosity can spread far and wide. It's the intention behind the act that matters most, the recognition that even the smallest offering can make a significant difference.

In a world that often emphasizes individual achievement and accumulation of wealth, it's important to remember the value of generosity. It's a reminder that our interconnectedness is a source of strength, not weakness. By giving, we acknowledge that we are part of a larger community, one that thrives when its members support each other. It's a powerful acknowledgment that we are not alone in our journey through life, and that by helping others, we are also helping ourselves.

So, when we say it feels good to give in, it's not just about the act of giving up or surrendering; it's about embracing the joy of generosity. It's a celebration of the human spirit and its capacity for compassion and empathy. Giving is an affirmation that, despite the challenges we face, there is goodness in the world, and we have the power to contribute to it, one act of kindness at a time. It's a simple truth that enriches our lives and the lives of those around us, creating a legacy of goodwill that can endure beyond our own existence. Indeed, to give is to receive a gift of immeasurable value—the happiness and satisfaction that come from knowing we've played a part in making the world a little brighter.

You want to give in more deeply, message me and tell me how much you need deeper brainwashing NOW!

[infimace-blog]

Thinking about rap as a technical artform and rap as a cultural artform, with respect to Tumblr's incompetence at dealing with either. Tumblr can just barely grasp the former because, like all forms of Black music, it's been repackaged in various ways that are more palatable to to white audiences. I talked last month about how what Tumblr was calling rap while trying to defend its taste in music is more akin to filk songs, but I should admit, sometimes Tumblr cites people who actually rap. It doesn't fix the problem or absolve them of their bullshit, but it is true.

The failure then becomes an inability to recognize or care about how rap functions culturally.

People on Tumblr will take Dungeon Meshi and intricately pick apart how a single chapter connects back to real-world neurodivergence issues and the cultural differences between the West and the East when it comes to handling them, and then look at any given rap song and assume it's skin-deep. Unless it's Hamilton back in the late 2010s, before we all decided it was cringe, in which case they'll gladly dig into the history of the early USA and, like the play itself, sidestep the racism whenever possible.

Take Weird Al, one of the many names that's been thrown around in Kendrick and Drake's wake. Weird Al is technically a rapper. He has done rap. We cannot ignore that as a factual statement. He's not even that bad as a rapper. But he has no engagement with rap as a cultural object; he engages with the artform as a parodist. "Amish Paradise", probably Weird Al's most popular rap parody, doesn't say anything; it's here to riff on a religious minority. But you dig into it just a little and you can see the kind of complexity that Tumblr usually loves to talk about. The song is, after all, a parody of Coolio's Grammy-winning "Gangster's Paradise", which is literally about being a black man in an environment dominated by organized crime and fearing the constant threat of death in that life, but was also created specifically for the movie Dangerous Minds, a middling white savior movie about Michelle Pfeiffer teaching a bunch of bad stereotypes of what people think inner city non-white students are. A movie that was, in turn, based on a white woman's memoirs about teaching in a bad school near San Francisco. You've got this interplay between a white woman's real-life efforts to teach her black and Latino students (I can't speak to how effective she was, mind you), a fictionalized version of that same woman being shown as the sole guiding light for her underdeveloped gangbanging students - and a white actress's crappy Kipling-ass 5/10 film getting Coolio his Grammy. It was tailor-made to be Coolio's big hit with white audiences, getting the push of Michelle Pfeiffer, having slow and deliberate rapping, and lacking the swearing in most of Coolio's oeuvre (Stevie Wonder mandated no swearing in return for letting Coolio sample his music). And, though I suspect this was unintentional, the song plays into the same narrative that the movie does, how this rapper is doomed to his life because "nobody's there to teach [him]", with dramatic choir and strings underscoring the dire fate that awaits this rapper if some charitable white person doesn't help him - the same dramatic choir and strings that Weird Al uses for comedic effect by comparing it to Amish farmwork.

I put that last paragraph together with two or three hours of Wikipedia, and you can do the same kind of analysis with a lot of hit rap songs (and Genius is right there if you need a helping hand - I wouldn't have understood much of Kendrick's Euphoria without it), and I think this drives a lot of my frustration? Tumblr loves to see something cool and then take a few days to write an in-depth post about how cool it is under the surface. So the lack of this when it comes to rap does show a deep disinterest in thinking about it when it isn't fun. And there's so much cool shit to learn about rap. Did you know that Baby Got Back was inspired by the anti-black fatphobia Sir Mixalot's model girlfriend was dealing with in her industry, and was pushing back against the media's general preference for skinny white women? Did you know that there's a Turkish hip-hop scene specifically in Germany because, as a minority that was brought to the country for cheap labor and then forced to exist as second-class citizens, they ended up relating a lot to the music? Just. Dig a bit. There's so much.

[marsprincess889]

Intuitive messages

Random and symbolic. This may or may not be for you, trust your intuition.

Disclaimer: I start to channel with images, feelings/vibes and random symbols, then I see storylines and then other messages come too. These might be ??? to you in the beginning but please, trust that if you truly think that you picked your group correctly, then there is, most likely, a message there for you, even if it's not obvious at first.

Note: I have a lot of love for all of these three groups and collectives, a lot😭 I think we'd get along really well irl if it's not weird to say. Sending all of you compassion and love. Wish all of you luck🤍

Picture 1:

Signs: lizard, iguana, Slavic, name Irina, "The Great"(2020-2023), candles, Eastern Orthodoxy, Orthodox Christmas(happy late Orthodox Christmas guys🤍), "Slavic bimbo" aesthetic, goose/geese, pine tree forest, mandarin orange, Barbara, a barber?, brown colored desserts, Claire/Clarisse/Clara, Tchsikovsky, berries, Alina, Shadow and Bone(the whole of Grishaverse but specifically the S&B part of it). Nakshatras of Shatabhisha, Ardra, Ashlesha, Dhanishta, Vishakha.

"Oh Irina..."

Hello Irina.

If you're not named Irina or something similar, it might be the name of a person relevant to you or this reading. Or maybe you just like the name/it means something to you.

I'm seeing darker colors of Winter. I got a distinct Slavic vibe for this group, but might be somewhere else.

Now I'm getting the word "malina", which means raspberry, and the name Alina.

I think I'm seeing Alina and being reminded of "Shadow and Bone" so that I can channel the message...

It does not have to be relevant to you.

Anyways, Alina is the protagonist of "Shadow and Bone"(book trilogy and a show), for those who don't know, and she's the Sun summoner(only one of her kind), representing light that is eventually going to fight the darkness. That theme of light and dark and their interplay is the perhaps the most obvious theme of that work.

Spoiler alert😭 sorry.

Alina repressed her powers in the beginning, while being tested, so that she would not be discovered, fearing that if she did in fact have powers, she would be taken away from her best friend from the orphanage, not wanting to be apart from him. They were children then.

For context, she could have had any power but the power of the Sun Summoner had been prophesized and highly desired, not only by grishas(basically, people with powers in that universe) but for also saving the kingdom of Ravka(Slavic coded) from the fold(it's a wall/passage of void and darkness). So, she gave up a life in the palace, that grishas get, to stay in the orphanage with her best friend, unknowingly depriving the nation of the Sun Summoner for years as a result😭.

There might be a theme of willing or concious concealment, most likely of yourself.

There are many variations of this: some of you are doing it for noble reasons, some of you do it for survival, some of you do it just... because, reasons.

A version of this is that you have hidden your views, opinions, preferences, thoughts, feelings and/or small actions, because you think people around you will harm you? This sounds intense, I'm sorry if this is true. Maybe not physically harm you, but you guys just have a concious need or desire for extreme privacy and secrecy. It looks to me like you're doing this to reach a specific goal.

For some of you, most likely a minority, I'm getting that this is a pregnancy, and that it's not from a committed relationship or a marriage.

For others, it's a course you decided to take in life, maybe about choosing a degree or wanting to learn something(literally taking a course for a skill) on your own.

For the rest, this might be just passivity and silence around others when there might be a tense situation. This is probably the only instance in this group where I'm guided to say that that is not the best choice at all, in fact, it might be setting you back.

"Don't assume when you don't see"

"Don't express what you don't know"

Interesting... I think you guys are not only concealing your truths, but also sharing things that mean little to you. You might be speaking a lot about politics, for example, when it's of little interest to you, and your opinions might be strong too. Or you might partake in gossip about people you don't care about at all. You might be wasting your energy on outside things that keep the life around you going in some way, but deep down you feel ignored and jaded, keeping your world a secret. A feeling I'm getting while writing this is exhaustion, and a string of hope, fleeting, barely there. It's like you have a little eagerness and enthusiasm for sharing your opinions/choices/reality(whatever you're hiding) all the while it's getting trampled on over and over and over...

This is torturous. You should be able to feel included in the life around you. Your values are imperative and they should reflect on your outward reality. I know that you are concealing them in hopes of working on making them manifest in reality, but no. Your struggle is not worth whatever can be achieved by this. It might make things way worse...

Trust yourself and don't listen to me if you think I'm wrong, especially if your situation does concern pregnancy or a huge life choice, but please, hear me out too if you can.

"There is a sign" is what I've got. You might be given a sign about where you will be heard, valued and supported. Something about the letter U and nuts is what I'm getting already😭. These, and the sign you might get can be signs of a place or a person, of where or to whom you should go to if you're tired of pretending and in need of a relief.

"Your mother loves you". This is definitely for someone. Most likely a feminine. Maybe for Irina.

I'm hearing "you have everything". There is so much that is a treasure around you, even if it seems like everything surrounding you only restricts you. You have that passion inside, and other people have not managed to erase your dreams completely, have they?

You might be close to reaching the finish line of whatever you're trying to achieve. This is an encouraging and proud sign that you are on the destined path, driving on the destined road. Keep going, it's right there...

Picture 2:

Signs: Shakespeare, drama, existentialism, period movies/tv, longing for love and passion, medieval fantasy/history/films/cosplay/comedy/anything, Aidan, Gwen/Gwyn, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, USA, The Witcher, Ciri from The Witcher, daydreamer, Phantom Of The Opera, past life regression attempts(successful or not), 124, Jack, Jackson, "liar liar", emotional/intense music, poems, boarding school?, "Jack and the beanstalk", rainy weather, Monty Python, quiet kid, bug/bugs. Nakshatras: Pushya, Bharani, Mula, Krittika.

Jack, this is the pile of Jack.

I don't know who this is. Jack might even be a character. It might be something different for everyone.

Ohhhh I got "Jack and the beanstalk", okayyy...

Someone here is non-binary, I'm also getting gay men in their younger years.

Middle child or youngest child?

Some of you love theater, but that's an obvious explanation of the images I'm getting. There's a flavor of dramaticism and theatrical behavior.

But the soul of Jack or whoever is reading this is that of a dreamer. And the dreamer that they are, dreams big. You have a wonderful, rich, spectacular mix of stories, feelings, aspirations inside of you, and that world is the highest, most precious thing for you.

Jack climbed the beanstalk, went higher and higher than his mundane world. And I think that's what the theme of the message is, in a way.

There's something fiery with the way you guys present yourselves, something filled with passion and real, intense but self-aware care. You seem aware of your nature and delight in it. There's something airy and "larger than life" about you, but at the same time_ aware and grounded. I don't think I'm describing it properly but that energy feels very beautiful to me.

Might be off topic but the images I'm getting here are: a redhead young woman with blue eyes(or is she blonde?) with her hair flying and she has a very present/aware but dreamy expression, red and black plaid, Scottish highlands, rainy/gloomy/misty weather in mountains, fire, colors red and green in general. Someone here might be from Scotland, have Scottish ancestry or maybe they just love the country to the point where it means a lot to them. For the rest, you might have been getting signs about it, or seeing Scotland as a sign? Anyway, it's a sign you're being given now.

"Jack and the beanstalk" is a fascinating story because it's describing an ambitious but mostly go-with-the-flow, relaxed boy, and him climbing the beanstalk and believing the person who gave him the beans can make people describe him as having his "head in the clouds", and also having the fiery drive to just climb it😭. Aries energy is just like that, so maybe you have Aries(sidereal, but ig can be tropical too) as an important placement. But I'm also getting air signs, and earth signs, and Pisces.

So when Jack came back from the land of the giants, he brought gifts. Gifts that he had stolen btw but let's not dwell on that😭

Weirdly I don't think this is a message about "be true to your dreams, believe in them and share their results with your loved ones" as sweet as that is, because you're way past that like that is not your focus at all. It's also not the message of "you have to ground your dreams somehow in the practical reality". I don't think that's an issue for you. Even if it is, I think there's a different message here and I'm not sure what it is yet...

Someone realized something that made them have clarity. It's you. You have seen/heard/realized something. I'm getting you laughing about it, maybe from relief, happiness and/or irony.

I'm getting a situation that concerns a person you know. They either helped you or you want to help them/have helped them. I don't think you're super close with them. They don't seem like a family member. But the situation is close to your heart, spirit and soul... You might think this is karmic, something you have to do. Like, if you help them you'll be rewarded and free of a burden.

"Jack is in their head"

That was said to me from my intuition. Why are you in your head? (All of you are Jack now for a second ok?😭 all of you are named Jack, for all intents and purposes)

"Jack is a good kid"

I know. You are. Maybe you needed to hear this.

Why is this connected to your "head in the clouds" or your character though? Maybe I needed to get into your energy.

I'm getting names Mabel, Mary, Harley and Holly now. Ok. Got them quickly. Might be you or someone else, maybe that person. Isla? Something about a cage, a secret understanding between you and that someone?

Are you worried? You are trapped somehow, feeling sad about it? But you were not harmed, at least that's not how you see it. You might feel guilty or sad for someone, and a lot. Oh I so did not expect this to go here. It's like a very engaging story.... which I got in the beginning. The drama, the story, the realization. What is happenning?

Did that happen already? And then you realized something and were done with it?

(Note: so I got up and walked around, hoping to get more info. This is what came to me, some of these details nay resonate with you but the message stays:)

"Jack is a kid(you might be in your early 20s at most). He lives in Scotland, has an older brother and a younger sister. Jack has great leadership potential and a character that suits it inside him, but he's too "over it" and has a grounded but high perspective that prevents him from engaging or caring too much, and makes him more deatched, kind if like you(so Jack is like me huh). Jack saw something he shouldn't have seen, realized something he shouldn't have known. He went and apologized to whomever it concerned and then left that situation. Now Jack feels even worse, worn out and guilty. In his mind, that situation is over, he does not want to go back to it, and he does not have to, but he must have peace of mind. Jack is a good kid. That girl(maybe that other person is a female. I'm getting Isla or and S name that has I in it?) will talk to you and give you relief. Don't worry Jack."

Wow. So that already happened. You might have any of the pronouns btw, I just wrote "he". So you know what happened and most don't. Maybe, in that situation, someone from your family has wronged that person or you indirectly/unknowingly harmed them, or thought you did. You went to explain yourself and be rid of it. I think it has really worn you out, made you think too much. And that situation is also a secret that you were not supposed to know.

If you have not resonated to a single thing in this reading yet, idk what to tell you. But here's the theme: you have a high perspective and understanding, against your will, but you also like it most times. You will reach success?? I'm getting success for you, congrats, mainly in self-development/dreams/career for some. Some of you might be on your way to fame actually, minor or major, but only take this if it makes sense for you. It might be unexpected though. You have to stop thinking too much about whatever that situation is that dragged you down energetically. If that part of getting invloved in a secret mess resonates, then that other person is going to, most likely, say thanks/apologize/acknowledge your actions.

You can take that experience as a lesson and a turning point. You might remember it with a lot of feeling in the future, reminiscing on it with quiet comtemplation or vivid memory.

I still don't know the whole story of this. Is there a secret child involved? Let me know maybe...

Either way, I hope you have a good day, Jack😉🤍

Picture 3:

Signs: clean white sheets, linen, horses, color white, green meadows, wired earphones, clear blue skies, cloudy evenings in summer, youth/childhood, 33, rivers, washing clothes in a river, nymphs, lambs, calf, distrust of older males, visible joy, hidden suspicions/fears, Annie/Annika/Anne/Anya..., golden brown/ light blonde or long and dark brown/black hair, white tea, Bern(Switzerland)(big sign), Geneva(Switzerland), Lorraine(Germany), white flowers, Jasmine(name or flower), Elizabeth/Liz, initial T(might be of anything). Nakshatras of Punarvasu, Jyeshta, Uttara Bhadrapada.

I'm getting something about a rural environment, maybe about a family home there. It's in the mountains and there is a lot of green there in the summer.

This is most likely a memory or a previous wish/dream. I'm hearing now it was something that has happened and something you have a clear/vivid memory of, still.

I'm getting a sense of a (extended)family gathered together somewhere. I'm seeing it's in Summer months but it could've been anytime. It seems like a happy and carefree occassion. There might have been a man/male, someone older who raised hair or set off a silent alarm within you. You, the person reading this, might have noticed something or just gotten a gut feeling about him that gave you an ick, a huge ick actually. What's interesting is that I think only you noticed it, there certaiy was not much validation from others when it came to that.

"You were not imagining it"

"Someone was wrong"

"Children notice a lot"

I am so sorry but I am getting creepy and disgusting energy from that person. An older female(maybe a male for some of you) in your family/in that group might have defended him or told you you were being silly, imagining it, making things up from little evidence. But you were not. I am getting, strongly, that you were right. I have no idea why this is coming up though. For most of you, I'm getting this is not something traumatic to you, at least not really, but if it is, I hope you get your justice, however much you need. You should not doubt your childhood self is the message for you.

Validation from wherever I'm hearing this messages(😭my intuition?) is here. I think you're revisiting that time in your life or just remembering how you felt then and realizing you're not so different from that version of you. This is going to give you a lot of validation and true confidence. When others ignored or doubted you, you held on to yourself. Good for you. But I have to say that you were most likely around 12-13 at most, for most of you, which makes your self-respect even more impressive. There were so many attempts, councious or not, at killing the trust you had for yourself. Maybe the years after tried to do it again but wow, even though you almost slipped, everything arrayed against you just fell away, on its own. And now you have come back to that place of an untainted perspective.

This message was for you if you had longer, brown hair then, or very light blonde, and/or if your or some other person's name there was Anne, Annie, Annika, Anya, or any variation of it. Even if not, that still might've been for you, but that was just confirmation for a collective.

(Added note: when I wrote "might've been" just now, I wrote "might've bern" at first. Bern, Switzerland might be of relevance to this, or the whole country of Switzerland, actually. Adding that to signs😄)

"Annika, you are spot on"

I'm going to feel embarrassed if none of you is named Annika or a similar name but that's what I got😶 maybe that name means something to you, even if you do not have a real-life person in your life who is called that.

Another name I'm getting is Liz, or Lizzie, Eliza... you get it, any variation of it. If someone here is named Elizabeth, then they most likely get addressed by a shortened version of the name, or were then.

I'm getting Annika and Anne names much more strongly though.

So going back to the message, anyone who invalidated you, made you feel like you were insane, they do not know what they are talking about, and never did. At least regarding your perspectives and your inner world in general. It is hard when family makes you feel unseen, alone and abandoned, but give yourself a break for a moment and realize, that you have been the one with the clear vision all this time, you are the one who has the best awareness.

I feel something like irony and calm reminiscing. You have grown so much, only to become the same person you were that time. And I still call that growth.

(Another note: when I wrote "same" I wrote "sane" at first. You ARE sane, have always been.)

I am truly sorry for those people who made you feel insane because they are going to be really put through an experience. Not that you care for it much. I think you guys are good at having a "birds eye view", a high perspective that allows you to see the whole picture clearly. You are not petty at all, and prefer peace and calm as your vengeance against those who wronged you. Those people are about to have the rug pulled from under their feet. They are going to feel like the earth has bern opened beneath them. A blessing that they have never gotten_ the truth revealed. You have known it all along.

I think you guys forgot about that situation, and now, going back to it emotionally or mentally, or even psychologically, might feel like you're yourself again, whole.

If you guys have not hit a milestone yet, then I'm seeing success for you. At the very least, I'm seeing mental assuredness and spritual security in you, calm(on the outside) passion and contentment in general, a lot of independence too. True freedom from unecccesary imposter syndrome is also there. A momentum is going to be picking up in your life, like a ball rolling and getting bigger, picking up more as it goes. Independence, validation, balance, peace💕 and you're looking good I see, you're feeling fresh, healthy and true, natural.

Do not go back to anyone who has wronged you, even if they want to apologize and want your forgiveness. It's rude not to do so for some people, but your momentum cannot bear to be affected by that familiar, harmful energy. Try to be as distant with them as possible, and try to spend as little energy on them as possible, preferrably, none at all.

I'm seeing travel for you guys and I want to congratulate you. Do not know why, but maybe the fact that you have arrived in this flow is enough.

👑 here, for you.

Please comment or reblog to let me know if and how this resonated. I'd love to know more.

[headlinxr]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 ─── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠-𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

SYNOPSIS  !  Sung-hoon is a renowned photographer who has managed to capture the essence of his models in a unique way, but his talent becomes his worst enemy. The moment he meets you, a young model whose beauty embodies his perfect vision of aesthetics, something dark ignites within him. What begins as an artistic fascination quickly transforms into a morbid obsession.

GENRE. non idol! au, f!reader, stalker x victim, obsession.

WARNINGS. stalking, Sung-hoon is weird, slight Stockholm syndrome.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The camera doesn't lie. Or at least, that's what Sung-hoon has believed for years, a truth he has carried with him in every step of his life. Through his lens, the world unfolds before him with absolute clarity, a universe reduced to lights and shadows, to shapes and textures, to a moment frozen in time that, according to him, reflects the immutable truth of existence. As a renowned photographer, Sung-hoon has achieved what few can: He has mastered his art with such skill that his images not only capture reality but also penetrate the very essence of his subjects, stripping their souls bare with almost surgical precision.

Each click of his camera is a sigh, a heartbeat, an attempt to capture the elusive. For him, photography is much more than a technical act; it is an unceasing quest for something deeper than a simple pose or a well-composed scene. In each photograph, Sung-hoon seeks to unravel the hidden essence of what he sees: that spark of vulnerability, that fragile beauty that lies behind everyday masks. The faces he photographs are not mere portraits, but windows to the truth, as if each image could decipher untold stories, repressed emotions, silenced fears. In his mastery of the interplay between light and shadow, he has found his most authentic voice, a visual language that allows him, with each shot, to transcend the limitations of the physical and touch the intangible.

He is a master in creating atmospheres, an alchemist of light who transforms the ordinary into something sublime. He knows that light, as elusive as life itself, has the power to reveal and conceal, to create depth in the superficial, and to give shape to what seems inert. For him, each shadow is a promise, and each flash of light, a revelation. In his hands, the camera becomes an almost divine instrument, capable of immortalizing moments that, in their transience, seem eternal. And yet, behind this unparalleled skill, there is a reality that Sung-hoon has refused for so long that he has come to forget it. His camera, which has been his most faithful companion, has also been his jailer.

Because while his art has elevated him to the pinnacle of recognition, it has condemned him to a solitary existence. The dedication he has put into his work, unwavering and absolute, has cost him much more than his time. He has sacrificed a personal life, a life he could never integrate with his vocation. He never had a partner who understood him, nor friends who shared his universe, nor family members who dared to call his attention outside of the studio. Love, friendship, human connections, seemed to him minor distractions in the face of the greatness of his photographic mission. In his mind, there was no room for anything other than visual perfection, the constant search for that transcendent image that could touch the very essence of life.

But while his world was being built through the lens, a subtle and silent darkness began to take shape within him. Each photo he took was a window to the outside, but at the same time, it closed the doors of his soul even more. The camera granted him the power to see and capture everything happening around him, but it denied him the ability to see what was happening in his own heart. In that space where shadows intertwine with light, where the ephemeral becomes eternal, Sung-hoon got lost. He became a distant observer, trapped in an endless cycle of images, but with no real contact with the life that existed beyond his lens. The loneliness he dragged along, hidden within the folds of his success, grew deeper, more overwhelming, until one day, he could no longer escape it.

As Sung-hoon's recognition grew, so did the shadow that loomed over his life. Fame, like a brilliant reflection, mirrored an image of success that the world applauded, but he felt increasingly disconnected, more alien to that applause, as if everything were part of a movie that was not his own. The galleries, the exhibitions, the critics' laudatory comments, the flashes capturing his moments of glory: none of it managed to penetrate the ice armor he had forged over the years. The camera, his tool of revelation, had made him an expert in the truth of others, but not in his own truth. And, despite being a creator of worlds, within himself lay a deep, unfathomable void that even the most powerful images could not fill.

In the stillness of his studio, surrounded by thousands of stories frozen on photographic paper, Sung-hoon found himself in a strange space, filled with foreign memories but empty of his own. The walls, adorned with his best works, offered him a vision of the world he had captured with meticulousness, but the images did not speak to him. Those faces, those gazes frozen in a second that seemed eternal, watched him with a fixity that overwhelmed him, as if judging him in their silence. The gestures he had halted in his journey through life now appeared to him as ghosts of a past he himself had lost. Each photograph was a masterpiece, yes, but also a cruel reminder that he had been a spectator in the lives of others, without truly participating in his own. The distance between him and his art had become an insurmountable abyss.

The studio lighting, which he had so expertly mastered when capturing the essence of others, now seemed distant and cold to him. The shadows he had used to build atmospheres in his photos now enveloped him like a mantle of darkness in his own life. His soul, which he had learned to sculpt in each image, slipped through his fingers like water, like a film unrolling before him, but which he could never touch. Sometimes, at the end of the day, when the last light of the day began to fade, he found himself in front of his photographs, in a silence that devoured him. A feeling of incompleteness overwhelmed him, as if his constant search in the eyes of others had been a way to evade his own face. Why, despite the fame, did he feel that something within him was slowly crumbling? The answer was not in the lens of his camera, but in the absence of a real connection with himself.

It was a typical work afternoon, without any preambles or announcements, when something inside him changed. While reviewing the photographs that would soon be part of his new exhibition, one in particular caught his attention. It was you, a young woman, with your gaze lost on the horizon, as if your thoughts floated beyond your body. In your expression, so laden with melancholy, Sung-hoon saw something he had never perceived before: His own reflection. The sorrow in your eyes, the fragility emanating from your face, the sadness seeping through your gestures, everything seemed so familiar. It was as if he himself, in his bewilderment and emptiness, had become you, trapped in a moment he couldn't let go of.

In that instant, the camera stopped being a simple tool to capture reality and transformed into a mirror. A mirror that reflected not only the image of its subject but also that of his own soul, slowly crumbling, invisible to the eyes of others. You were not just another subject in his photographic archive; you represented what he had left behind, what he had never been able to live. The melancholy of that image seeped into his very being, like an underground river that had finally found its way to the surface.

In that instant, the camera stopped being a simple tool to capture reality and transformed into a mirror. A mirror that reflected not only the image of its subject but also that of his own soul, slowly crumbling, invisible to the eyes of others. You were not just another subject in his photographic archive; you represented what he had left behind, what he had never been able to live. The melancholy of that image seeped into his very being, like an underground river that had finally found its way to the surface.

Sung-hoon was forced to confront the question he had been avoiding for so long: How many times, while observing others, had he seen his own emptiness reflected in their eyes? How many times had he searched in the gestures of his subjects for the humanity he had lost, as if he could find something of himself in the faces of others? Each photograph, he thought, had been a search to find what he had not been able to find in his own life. He had spent years chasing a truth that only existed in the shadows of his lens, without realizing that, in the process, he had stopped seeing the light within himself.

That night, when the studio lights went out and darkness began to fill the corners of the room, Sung-hoon found himself in front of the mirror. The reflection he saw there was not that of the renowned photographer, the man admired for his skill, for his unique vision. It was the face of a weary man, marked by years of sacrifices, of renunciations, of living in the world of images without ever daring to live in his own flesh. The dimness of the room was reflected in his eyes, filled with shadows, unfulfilled desires, lost affections. And as he looked at himself, he saw the traces of loneliness that he could no longer hide, the marks of a being who had been running for too long, without really knowing where to.

It was at that precise moment when something broke inside him. As if a window in your soul had opened, finally letting in the fresh and renewing air of introspection. The camera, which had been his refuge, his lifeline, his prison, ceased to be the only means of expression in his life. And for the first time in years, Sung-hoon began to wonder if it was possible to live outside the lens, if he could find a new way to connect with the world, to stop being a spectator and become a participant. Would he be able to find a life that was his own, without the mediation of the camera?

The search for truth in others had brought him there, to that breaking point. But now, something was beginning to take shape in his mind. Maybe the story he really needed to capture wasn't that of others, nor the image of a distant subject, but his own. The camera would no longer be his only way of seeing; perhaps the time had come to learn to look, for the first time, without filters.

Despite the internal storm that was tearing him apart, Sung-hoon found himself being pulled by an almost mechanical impulse towards the meeting he had with Jake. The appointment was marked in his agenda like a beacon guiding him towards a destiny he could not evade, a point in time that, no matter how much his soul screamed in resistance, he had to fulfill. In his mind, chaos reigned, a whirlwind of doubts and unease that rose like black clouds above him, so dense that he could barely see the light that once propelled him. Despite the years of success and recognition he had harvested in his career, an unfathomable void devoured his being. That void, which neither fame nor applause could fill, was his constant companion, his inseparable shadow. But still, he got up that morning, with a heaviness that crushed his shoulders, and headed to the café where he would meet Jake, his long-time companion, a man whose relationship with life was so different from his that he seemed from another world.

Jake had always been his counterpoint, his antithesis, and at the same time, his reflection. While Sung-hoon got lost in the dark depth of photography, searching for the soul of his subjects, Jake glided over the surface of life, finding beauty in simplicity and human connections with an ease that Sung-hoon had never experienced. Jake was a man who saw life in bright colors, with a cheerful disposition that contrasted with the photographer's somber and analytical gaze. For him, each encounter, each face was a story told without the need for capture, while Sung-hoon looked through the camera, searching for shadows and reflections, the invisible that could only be observed through the lens. But despite their differences, Jake was his companion, and that meeting was a bond that still maintained the appearance of normalcy in a world that was slipping through his fingers.

Upon arriving at the café, the feeling of unreality enveloped him strongly. The bustle of conversations, the sound of coffee being poured into cups, and the aroma that filled the air seemed like distant echoes to him, as if he were looking at the world from the distance of a photograph, frozen and distant. Each object in the place, each face that crossed his path, seemed like a lifeless painting, a static image that had nothing to offer him beyond its fleeting existence. Only the constant buzzing in his mind kept him anchored to that reality, but everything felt like a dream he hadn't chosen himself.

When Jake greeted him, his face lit up with that broad and contagious smile that had always been so bewildering to him. Sung-hoon looked at him, recognizing in him the unyielding energy that he so often wished to possess but never could. Next to Jake, there was a figure that seemed familiar, but he still couldn't put a name to it. A young woman, whose presence seemed to fill the space with a natural light that had nothing to do with the shadows Sung-hoon had grown accustomed to. It's you, your smile was so open and generous that it contrasted with the coldness surrounding Sung-hoon, like a ray of sunshine entering a gloomy room. Despite your apparent tranquility, your energy was so vibrant that it seemed to fill the air around you, flooding the room with a vitality that Sung-hoon felt was foreign.

—I'd like you to meet (Y/N)— said Jake, with a spark in his eyes that Sung-hoon couldn't ignore. —She's my new model and, well, also someone I've been dating lately.—

Sung-hoon nodded mechanically, unable to find words beyond polite formality. His mind, on the other hand, was already beginning to process the image of you. Something felt unsettling to him, as if your presence challenged the stillness he had sought in the photograph. When you extended your hand to him, your gesture was warm and filled with that energy that Sung-hoon had never understood, as natural and genuine as the air he breathed. Despite his attempts to maintain emotional distance, Sung-hoon, inside, was as tense as a wire, with his jaw clenched and his fingers closing around his hand with a rigidity he couldn't disguise. It was as if he were touching something that didn't belong to him, something he couldn't possess.

—(Y/N), it's a pleasure to meet you— he said, with his usual cold and calculated tone, but despite his control, a small crack opened in his voice, a slight tremor that betrayed the internal storm shaking his chest.

You looked at him with a smile that, although warm, never wavered. Your posture was relaxed, completely oblivious to the conflict raging within him. It was a sight that seemed out of place in Sung-hoon's world. In the photograph he had captured the day before, you had been a shadow of yourself, a figure breathing sadness, deep melancholy, as if the world had stopped offering something worthy of your gaze. He had captured that essence, that gaze lost on the horizon, that fragility that so attracted him, seeking in you what he himself felt was missing: A naked truth, almost painful, that could only be understood through a lens. But now, in front of him, stood a completely different woman. The melancholy he had imagined was replaced by a vibrant light, an energy that seemed so foreign to the image he had created in his mind. It was not the sad figure he had seen in his camera, but a beacon of joy, a warm glow that illuminated everything around him.

Sung-hoon, for a moment, was paralyzed, as if time had stopped. The figure of the young woman in front of him was not the same one he had captured. The reflection he had found in his camera, the sadness and depth he thought he understood, crumbled before his eyes. Reality was imposing itself with a force that bewildered him. This woman was not a shadow, not an emptiness; you were the very antithesis of what he had sought. Something twisted inside him, a mix of frustration and fascination, as if the image he had created, the one he had conceived through his lens, was being torn from his being.

Was that the same woman he had portrayed? Was it possible for a captured image to be so radically different from reality? Confusion overwhelmed him, frustration began to take shape, mingling with a strange feeling of jealousy, as if your life were a slap in the face to the truth he had tried to find in his work.

While the conversation continued between Jake and you, Sung-hoon remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, who now seemed an impossible enigma to decipher. Every word you spoke, every move you made, confirmed something he feared: The image he had built of you no longer existed, and he was unable to comprehend the real woman standing before him. The photograph, which had always been his refuge and his way of understanding the world, now betrayed him, crumbling in his hands.

With each breath, a small dark spark began to burn within his being. It was no longer about admiration, no longer just fascination. It was something deeper, something that awakened in him an even greater sense of emptiness. There was something he couldn't reach, something he had touched in his chamber but that now seemed to slip through his fingers, like the light he had tried so hard to seize.

And as his heart beat with growing anxiety, he realized something terrifying: Perhaps photography hadn't given him what he thought it had. Maybe what he needed to capture wasn't in the world he saw through the lens, but in the darkness that hid within him.

From that day on, something in Sung-hoon began to crumble like an old film that, exposed to light, starts to tear and disintegrate. His initial fascination with you, a light curiosity, an admiration fueled by the desire to capture your ephemeral beauty, slowly transformed into an excessive obsession. The lens of his camera, that object he had used for years to spy on the human soul, now took on a different weight, a dark power that seemed to dictate the rules of the relationship. He no longer saw you as a fleeting muse, but as an immaculate canvas, a virgin territory that had to be conquered over and over again. Each click of the shutter was not just a reminder of his technical prowess, but a twisted validation of his need to possess the image of you, to freeze it in a perpetual instant, to impose his will upon you. Each shot was a subtle, almost imperceptible affirmation that what he captured through his camera was his. In his mind, distorted by obsession, each shot reinforced the idea that his love, his devotion to you, was reciprocated, that his control over the image meant control over your being.

The first time Sung-hoon photographed you without your consent, it wasn't an accident; it was a chance disguised as an opportunity. You were sitting on the edge of a window, motionless, looking out at the garden as if the outside world were an extension of your thoughts. The soft afternoon light slipped through the curtains, illuminating your face with an almost celestial clarity. In that moment, Sung-hoon raised the camera instinctively, almost as if the gesture were an extension of his own being. There was no time to think about it, no space for reflection. It was a visceral impulse, a need to capture the image before it faded, as if your beauty were a flash of light that only he could capture, preserve, and, in his mind, possess. The sound of the shutter, so familiar, vibrated in his chest with an indescribable satisfaction, a shiver that ran down his spine. In that single second, something inside him broke even more. The image he was creating was not simply that of a beautiful woman, nor just another of his artistic photographs. It was an attempt to possess you, to trap you, to hold you in a space that he controlled. Through the lens, you became a static object, a being that, for him, no longer existed in the unpredictable flow of time, but in a capsule of light and shadow that only he could decode.

The camera, which had once been his tool to capture the essence of reality, began to transform into a channel to something much darker, a means to impose his will, to create his own distorted version of the truth. Thus, he began to photograph you compulsively, without rest. The sessions were no longer scheduled or agreed upon; they were driven by an uncontrollable impulse fueled by the need to see you in your purest, most fragmented, most his form. Sung-hoon was not just a photographer; he saw himself as a sculptor in the darkness, molding reality, shaping your figure with the precision of his lens, seeking perfection in every angle, in every light. He asked you to stay for an "improvised session," suggested poses with an apparent delicacy that disguised itself as professionalism, but in every gesture, every instruction, there was an insatiable need for control. The power of the camera, the ability to capture a moment in time, became a game of manipulation, a dance in which he was not only the director but the absolute creator.

Each image created was another step towards the achievement of his ideal, an ideal that distorted both your figure and reality itself. There was something perverse in the way he looked at you, a fascination that went beyond mere aesthetic pursuit. It was no longer just about capturing the beauty he had found in his other subjects; in you, he sought something more, something that belonged to him, a beauty he could hold in his power. And, like a painter who wants to capture the soul of his muse in every stroke, Sung-hoon aspired for that beauty to be his, only his, until it merged with his own vision. The camera was no longer just a medium; it had become an instrument of control, an artifact that, in his hands, could strip the woman of your humanity, transforming you into a frozen and manipulated image.

The sessions dragged on indefinitely, and you, although initially immersed in the fascination of art, began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. At first, you thought that Sung-hoon was simply an eccentric, a man trapped in his art, like those cursed geniuses of history who saw the world through a unique, distorted lens. You tried to convince yourself that your concerns were an overreaction, that you weren't seeing things clearly. But as the days went by, something inside you began to resist, as if a small alarm in your subconscious was going off. Every glance Sung-hoon directed at you, every moment he spent in front of the camera, made you feel as if his presence was constantly being analyzed, dissected, reduced to a series of visual formulas that he controlled at will. It was no longer just about capturing his image, but about taking possession of you. Each gesture, each instruction, felt like another strategy to strip you of your identity, to make it fit into the image he had created of you.

After one of those long sessions, you met with Jake to talk about what you had been feeling, even though the words seemed inadequate to describe the discomfort that was overwhelming you. You feared that by expressing myself, your feelings might seem excessive, melodramatic. However, something inside you told you that you couldn't ignore it any longer.

—Jake— you began, your voice wavering, —I'm not sure how to explain it, but... Sung-hoon is being weird with me. He is constantly taking pictures of me, but it's not just for work. Sometimes I feel like he isn't seeing the person I am, but rather an image he has created in his mind. It makes me feel… Uncomfortable. As if he were watching me to decipher something I can't control.—

Jake looked at you thoughtfully, but in his expression, there was something that suggested indifference. In his world, your image in Sung-hoon's camera was not just a portrait; it was an open door to fame. The name of Sung-hoon, so well-known, could be the key that launched your career. What better way to rise in the artistic world than to be under his lens?

—Come on, darling— he said with a confident smile. —Sung-hoon is eccentric, I know, but he's not doing anything wrong. You have to see this as an opportunity. Not everyone is lucky enough to be photographed by him. This could be just what you need to take the next step in your career.—

Despite Jake's reassuring words, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The discomfort you had started to feel with Sung-hoon persisted, growing with each session. Every time he looked at you through the lens, his eyes seemed not only to capture your image but to scrutinize, to penetrate deep within. In his mind, the photographs were not just images, they were not simply captures of a moment. They were symbols of his control, his power, his one-sided and uncontrollable love. In Sung-hoon's universe, each photograph was a declaration: I possess you, I have understood you, I have made you mine.

Meanwhile, Sung-hoon continued his obsessive collection of images. Each click of the shutter was another step towards the creation of a distorted version of you, a version that only he knew and that no one else could understand. In his mind, the photographs wove together like threads forming an invisible web, a space he controlled, where his impossible and unrequited love could live, eternal, beyond the truth.

As Sung-hoon's obsession deepened, his once contained and meticulous nature began to crumble slowly, like an hourglass whose grain of sand never ceased to fall. The darkness that surrounded him grew denser, like a thick fog that took over the room, the air, the space he occupied. Your perfection, so incandescent and ephemeral in its image, was no longer just your face, nor the curve of your body under the soft light of the sunset. No, you yourself had become the very essence of his vision, the focus to which Sung-hoon had dedicated every millimeter of his art. For him, you were no longer a woman; you were a symbol, a canvas yet to be painted, a mystery yet to be solved, and the camera, that extension of his being, was his only passport to that distorted world he had begun to build around you.

The photographer, trapped in his own twisted conception of love and beauty, no longer just captured the light that fell upon you like a brush caressing the canvas. He had become a sculptor of shadows, an architect of moments, a man trying to redraw reality to match the chaos that inhabited his mind. And while his lens rested upon you, his gaze went far beyond the visible, beyond the external appearance that so fascinated others. His eye, always trained to capture the raw and natural beauty of life, now dedicated itself to observing every crack in your soul, every fragment of vulnerability you tried to hide. His vision, once purely artistic, had become an act of possession.

Sung-hoon was not just a mere observer; he infiltrated, like a painter delving into the history of his muse before putting a single stroke on the canvas. He began to explore your intimacy with the same precision with which he composed a perfect shot. In every word you let slip unintentionally, in every sigh that was just for him, the photographer saw an opportunity to discover something new, something deeper. He knew you more than you could imagine. The cracks you had tried to cover with an impeccable facade were now his field of study. He knew of your fears, your dark memories, the scars you carried in your soul, those stories that, had it not been for Sung-hoon's meticulous patience, would have remained as secrets buried in time. He was not simply an observer, but a collector of broken memories, a gatherer of the fragments of your being that you had never shown to anyone.

In his daily interactions, his deep knowledge of your personal life slipped into the conversation with the subtlety of a sharp knife. In a casual comment, Sung-hoon inserted fragments of his private life, as if they were simple, unimportant observations. —I remember that time you mentioned your father, as if you were still seeking his approval— he said quietly one day, while adjusting the lights in the studio. —And that little corner in your apartment, where you keep the old letters... You always keep it closed, why is that?— Each word, each insinuation was like a fishing line cast into the wind, trapping you in an invisible net of your own past, a net that, although as fine as a thread, tightened over time until you could no longer move without being aware of Sung-hoon's constant watchfulness.

For him, it was not enough to capture the light that surrounded you; he had to seize your soul. With each shot, with each scene he asked to repeat, Sung-hoon was searching for something deeper: A distorted truth that only he could see, a facet of you that existed only in his mind. The camera, which had once been his tool to capture the essence of others, transformed into his chain of control, a tool of power that connected him to you, an invisible bond that kept you close, that kept you in his line of sight. And although you began to feel the pressure, the threat of the invisible, you couldn't escape. At first thinking that it was all part of Sung-hoon's eccentricity, his dedication to perfection. But soon, the truth became evident: you weren't being photographed; you were being observed, studied, dismantled piece by piece.

Sung-hoon never resorted to brute force or open threats. He was much more skilled than that. His control was not in strong words or confrontation; his power lay in subtlety, in silent gestures, in the whispers that accompanied each shot, in the way he manipulated the perception of reality through the lens of his camera. He didn't need to say it openly: He knew you were beginning to understand the extent of his influence. Each suggestion, each gesture of support, was imbued with a tacit expectation, the expectation that you would follow him, that you would continue playing your role in the image he had created. He offered you opportunities, but those opportunities were nothing more than carefully woven traps, designed to make you more dependent on him, to draw you even closer to the distorted picture of yourself.

And, like a photographer who discovers an imperfection in a seemingly perfect image, Sung-hoon begins to notice the cracks in your facade. Your smile, which had once been natural and carefree, was beginning to seem forced. Your responses, once so full of life, were now shorter, more evasive. The sparkle in your eyes, which I had captured so many times, was now subtly fading. For Sung-hoon, each of these moments was a revelation. He was not only seeing the woman you pretended to be, but he was also seeing the woman he had begun to shape in his mind, a creation that had no escape. The pressure, invisible but palpable, was his signature. In the tremor of an unspoken word, in the imperceptible shift in posture, Sung-hoon found what he had been searching for: Beauty in fragility, art in oppression, control in broken perfection.

Meanwhile, you began to feel trapped in your own image, a distorted reflection that Sung-hoon had created around you. He, the god of shadows and light, saw the truth behind the masks, and you could no longer hide what he wished to see. The worst part is that, in his mind, you were already part of his creation, a muse that only existed through him. In the web he had woven, you found yourself trapped, not knowing if the exit was an illusion or if the only way to escape was to become someone else, someone completely different from the image he had shaped. But, as always happened in photography, there was no turning back: The exposure had been made, and what remained was a fixed, unchangeable image that only he could understand.

As the days slid by slowly, like a movie advancing in slow motion under the relentless direction of fate, you began to perceive how the walls of your own world, once open and full of possibilities, were closing in, trapping you with a subtle but devastating force. It was as if you were trapped in a photograph that never stopped being taken, each moment immortalized, each gesture meticulously framed. Every word Sung-hoon uttered, every glance he cast, were no longer mere interactions; they were fragments of a story he had written without your permission, a tale in which you were trapped, like a porcelain figure in the lens of a photographer obsessed with capturing your essence, with no voice or vote over your own portrait. It was a story that had ceased to belong to you, a narrative from which you had become an unwilling spectator, watching yourself from a distance that stripped you of your humanity.

In his mind, the perception of time and reality began to blur like the light dissolving on the horizon, tinting everything around him with increasingly dense shadows. Before, your world had been clear, like a well-exposed photograph; but now everything seemed to be revealed through a dark filter, as if the image were taken with a defective lens that distorted colors and shapes. The man who had been, until then, your mentor and companion, began to reveal himself as a dark, twisted, and distant figure, whose influence had infiltrated her life with the subtlety of a rising tide. Sung-hoon, with his gaze fixed like that of a predator, had managed to weave his control over you in such a subtle and meticulous manner that, at times, you wondered if you had ever been free. Freedom, once a natural right, now seemed to You an illusion fading among the folds of a photograph that had been taken without her consent.

Sung-hoon had transformed every corner of your life into a stage where only he dictated the rules. In his mind, every scene had to be directed by him, and you were nothing more than the actress chosen to play a role you didn't know. At first, you had believed that his obsession with you was the passionate fervor of an artist who seeks, like a painter lost in the meticulous details of his muse, to capture every nuance of your essence. But soon you realized that the camera, that extension of the human eye in which he trusted blindly, had become a watchful eye, an unrelenting lens that not only captured your image but also disfigured you, twisted you, and reduced you to a distorted shadow. The light, that sublime element which once revealed beauty, had ceased to be your ally. Now, each ray of light seemed like a threat, a deadly trap in which you found yourself ensnared, trapped within the frame of a reality he had created for you.

Sung-hoon's camera was not simply a tool for creating art; it had evolved into a weapon of control. Each click, each capture, was an assertion of his dominance, a manifestation of his power over your life and identity. In his eyes, you were not a complete woman, but a canvas on which he could paint without your consent, a blank page that had to be molded according to his will. And the most devastating thing of all was that, at first, You had believed he saw you as you truly were, that his work as a photographer had allowed him to delve into the very essence of your being. But, over time, the truth began to slowly unveil itself, like an old layer of paint peeling away, revealing the cracks in the facade he had built. Sung-hoon didn't see you. He didn't understand you. I had reduced you to an image, a figure projected onto the wall, a puppet whose only mission was to fit into the distorted vision of your world.

However, something within you began to awaken. It was a small spark, almost imperceptible, like a glimmer in the darkness, but it grew with each passing day under Sung-hoon's control. The feeling of being trapped became increasingly unbearable, as if his room were an invisible prison, a glass cell that only reflected your own image, as if You were looking at yourself through a mirror that only returned your despair. Every time he looked at you, every word, every seemingly innocent gesture of affection, transformed into a symbol of his manipulation. The casual comments about his past, the insinuations about his darkest secrets, no longer seemed like simple observations; they became sharp knives buried in your skin, constantly reminding you that he knew your vulnerabilities, that he could destroy you if he wanted to.

Each day that passed under his dominion, you felt your freedom fading more and more, like a photograph that, as it develops, begins to dissolve in the water, losing its definition, its life, its color. The pressure that was once subtle had transformed into an unstoppable force, a rising tide that pushed you towards the unknown, towards the disintegration of your own identity. The camera, which had been your refuge, your art, your way of seeing the world, had now become your jailer. And Sung-hoon, the man you had admired, had transformed into the architect of your destiny, a god who shaped reality at his whim, playing with light and shadow like a puppeteer who manipulates humans to his will.

Like a lighthouse in the midst of the storm, the possibility of escape began to become clearer, though still vague. You knew you couldn't keep living trapped in the shadows that Sung-hoon had cast over you. The struggle to regain your freedom turned into a frantic race against time, a desperate sprint to prevent him from completely destroying the public image you had so carefully cultivated. You began to search for clues, to scrutinize the details, to look for the cracks in the perfect facade of your life that Sung-hoon had built. You were like a detective in your own life, unraveling the web of lies he had woven around you, with every word, every action of his turned into a clue about his hidden intentions.

As your thoughts organized themselves, You began to notice details that had previously gone unnoticed. The photo shoots, which once seemed like an artistic ritual, now revealed their true nature: A carefully designed strategy to keep you close, to continue controlling your image and, therefore, your life. The compliments I once considered sincere, the insinuations that seemed like flattery, the intense looks from Sung-hoon, were no longer mere displays of admiration. They had become tools of manipulation, like the light a photographer uses to highlight only the elements they want, the viewer to see, darkening everything else. The truth, like a film that has been exposed to the sun for too long, began to reveal itself with blinding clarity.

Sung-hoon, however, was not a man who could be disarmed so easily. In his mind, each interaction with you was another shot, another take that brought him closer to his ultimate goal: to possess you completely, to break you until only the perfect image he had forged in his mind remained. He knew you were starting to notice his control, but, like a photographer playing with light and shadow, he remained in the shadows, hidden, manipulating every piece of the puzzle without your seeing it. His power lay in the ability to make you feel vulnerable, to introduce thoughts into your mind that would leave You trapped in your own confusion, like a poison silently seeping into the current of your consciousness.

Time, that elusive abstraction that had always slipped through his fingers like fine sand, began to take on the texture of an impenetrable wall. The days, which once stretched like an endless chain of empty moments, now intertwined in a spiral of shadows that faded and dissolved into a whirlwind of uncertainty. Each attempt to flee, each fleeting glance towards an exit that became increasingly unattainable, evaporated with the swiftness with which shadows succumb to light, leaving behind only the sensation of emptiness. In the course of your silent resistance, you came to understand, with painful and dizzying clarity, that escaping from Sung-hoon was not a tangible option, not a viable alternative. Like photographic film that, when exposed to light for too long, develops prematurely, the fate of your actions was already marked, predestined. And as this truth settled in his chest like an unbearable weight, hopelessness began to wrap around his soul, as heavy and dense as the camera hanging from his neck, like an extension of his own being, relentless, like the presence of a specter.

The air, once light and breathable, became thick, like the tension-filled atmosphere inside a dark room, where harsh and cold lights create a palpable sense of claustrophobia. The flow of life, that incessant and turbulent river, seemed to have halted its course, gently moving you towards an abyss from which you could not escape. You no longer fought against the current. The tide of your destiny enveloped you, absorbing you with an almost hypnotic force, as if everything were in its place, as if everything were part of a carefully composed picture. Your resistance dissolved, like an image fading in the developer, when the chemical envelops you and erases the edges of what was once defined. The contours of his will blurred, softening, fading, until the unquenchable impulse for release that had burned in his chest extinguished, fading like the last light of day when the sun sinks below the horizon, leaving only the cold darkness that follows.

Sung-hoon, the man who had been your mentor, your companion, your torturer, and your savior, had taken on the form of a dark, almost mythical figure, a silhouette in which light and shadow merged into an incomplete portrait. Throughout your time together, you had believed you knew him, that you understood each of the intentions hidden behind his icy gaze, like the reflection on the calm surface of water disturbed by a stone falling without warning. But now, in the midst of the silence that surrounded you, you realized that you had been nothing more than a piece in a work that you could not fully comprehend. You were part of a photograph revealing itself before you, an image constructed by a photographer whose vision had transformed you into something even you didn't recognize. And yet, instead of rejecting that truth, something strange began to well up in your chest, like a subtle whisper, a spark of light filtering through a crack in the darkness. It wasn't love, at least not in its purest form, but it was something that resembled it, something more enigmatic and complex. It was a fatalistic acceptance, a kind of silent submission that was beginning to reshape your perception of Sung-hoon.

You had feared it before, that light emanating from his chamber, which you had believed revealed the truth behind the masks. That same light, which now trapped you like an invisible spider's web, kept your soul captive. The intensity of his gaze, that tireless observation that never seemed to leave you, had become the core of your anxiety, a focal point of unease that consumed you. But, as time passed and the concept of escape faded as quickly as shadows succumb to the first ray of sunlight, you began to see something different, something new. Like a photographer examining an image on their screen and realizing that what once seemed blurry is, in fact, a photograph with a disturbing and unique beauty, you began to perceive the complexity of Sung-hoon. The darkness that once terrified you now contained nuances you could not ignore. Each of his gestures, each word he uttered, each glance, contained a profound truth about his being, something that transcended mere manipulation. It was like a lens that distorts the world, but at the same time, captures a raw beauty, a beauty that was undeniable, though incomplete.

Sung-hoon, in his obsession with perfection, was not simply a man with selfish desires for control. His need to capture the essence of the world, of humanity itself, through his camera, was something more visceral, more profound. The photographer was not just an observer of the world; he molded it, took it in his hands like a sculptor shaping clay. And you, caught in that web he had woven around you, began to see, even to admire, that skill, that tireless drive to dominate nature through art. Sung-hoon's vision was not a desire for manipulation, but a primitive impulse, a need to freeze the essence of the moment into a pure image, albeit devoid of all compassion. Somehow, you felt a deep admiration for him, for his ability to distill the chaos of reality into something simpler, more comprehensible. Light and shadow, those two opposites, were no longer enemies in his world. Now they were your allies, and you found yourself trapped in a scene where you were not only the subject but also the spectator of your own existence.

Sung-hoon was not just a man. He was the architect of his world, the demiurge who wove reality around him, undoing and redoing the threads of fate with the same skill with which he adjusted the frame of a photograph. Somehow, you understood that his own complicity in that process had given him the power to transform you. Like an old photograph that, over time, fades and changes, your resistance to him began to crumble like a negative dissolving in water. You no longer saw him as a jailer, a monster who kept you trapped. Instead, you saw him as the creator of a world in which, despite yourself, you felt special, unique. Sung-hoon's control was no longer oppressive; instead, it became a reflection of his own essence, a control woven with almost artistic patience and precision.

That feeling was an amalgamation of fear, fascination, respect, and acceptance. You disliked him, yes, but at the same time, there was something about him that attracted you, something impossible to ignore, something that overflowed the surface of his being. The shadows that once surrounded you now illuminated the truth of your existence, and what once seemed like a prison, a space of despair, now became a refuge where your soul, marked and distorted by Sung-hoon's lens, found itself. The light and the darkness, the contrasts and the shadows, began to weave into a single thread, creating a new reality, a new identity.

Each shot from Sung-hoon's camera not only kept you under his control. It offered you a strange form of comfort. In each image he captured, you saw not only a distorted version of yourself but also a more authentic, more complete one. The light and shadow, which once disturbed you, now took on a new dimension, one in which you found acceptance, transformation. Somehow, you had learned to embrace the image that Sung-hoon had created of you, an imperfect, broken portrait, but essentially true. A portrait that, like humanity itself, reflected fragility, internal struggle, and the inevitable beauty of the struggle itself.

Sung-hoon hadn't destroyed your identity. He had transformed it. And, slowly, as you began to understand the depth of that transformation, you realized that you were no longer a victim of his control, but a work in progress, an image still taking shape under the relentless lens of a man whose art had learned to reveal the deepest essence of your being. Without being able to help it, your feelings towards him became a whirlwind of contradictory emotions, a spiral in which love and fear, submission and admiration intertwined, trapped in a portrait whose exposure was not yet complete. And, like a photograph that is yet to be fully developed, you found yourself trapped in the endless process of its own revelation.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Okay, I'm going to make a wild prediction about Adar and Galadriel in Episode 8, so strap in.

An overarching the/major motif of the Rings of Power from the very first episode has been, obviously, the interplay between darkness/light.

"To find the light, we must first touch the darkness." / "Before light, darkness must flee, etc."

Adar and Galadriel together are a manifestation of that duality between light and dark and accordingly, I think there's a compelling case for them to team up against Sauron at the end of Season 2.

Here's my attempt at this argument:

PARALLELS BETWEEN ADAR AND GALADRIEL

The show has established a few strong visual parallels between the two of them.

Mourning ritual. Galadriel mourning for Finrod in S1Ep1 is echoed by Adar's mourning of the Uruks in S2Ep7. They even mirror the single tear.

What's more, Galadriel bears WITNESS to Adar's funeral ritual, enforcing the connection of this moment.

Seed planting. Frankly, my jaw hit the floor when S2Ep2 had Galadriel planting seeds in the memorial garden in Lindon, because the shots/framing were almost IDENTICAL to the seed planting Adar does at the beginning of S1Ep6. The sentiments of both instances are the same "life over death," though the words do differ.

Flip sides of the same coin/mirror to one another. The show has also presented us with many instances where they function as mirrors to one another. If not signficant, why do?

Barn scene. The barn scene in S1Ep6 is a PRIME example, when Adar literally calls Galadriel out for the hypocrisy of her hatred of the orcs.

The dinner scene. Adar once again holds up a mirror to Galadriel, pushing back against her notion that "you yielded to him. I resisted." Then they have the shared acknowledgement that without Sauron, the world seems a "dull grey" (GREY, interestingly, a halfway point between dark and light). Adar's face in response to her admission will live rent-free in my mind forever-- it's like he's been SEEN for the first time in his life.

So while Galadriel sees herself as a warrior of light, and views Adar as a creature of darkness, the show does a pretty superb job of showing that both of these characters have light and dark within them in equal measure.

They were both tempted by Sauron and succumbed.

So there is a clear, thematic link between these two from that standpoint.

ADAR'S JOURNEY TOWARD THE LIGHT

Next, I think it is clear Adar on a path toward light/redemption as an elf, and it tracks in a VERY LITERAL SENSE.

First time we see Adar, he is bathed in an angelic light. As he performs the funeral ritual for Magrot, light streams into the Uruk tent.

The shot at the end of S2 Ep1, when the camera lingers on Adar as Gil-Galad's call to the Eldalie commences. Adar feels the undeniable call to his elven past. That camera shot was NOT A COINCIDENCE, and I'm FOREVER FERAL ABOUT IT.

Cavalry charge at the siege of Eregion. Adar is OBVIOUSLY backlit:

There is a dividing line between light and shadow an Adar is RIGHT on the border of it.

When he steps up to take possession of Nenya, the sky behind him is split between a darker side and a lighter side. (You can argue that it's a CREEPY light, but it's still light. There is almost no all-black coloring on him in that second frame when he actually has the ring. For a character that's been head to toe in black the entire series, this is Significant.)

So where does that leave us for the big Sauron smackdown?

My first wild prediction: In an INSANE reversal, Galadriel will be the one to bring Morgoth's dark crown to the confrontation, while Adar will wield Nenya, a symbol of light.

It's not inconceivable that Gal could have smuggled it out of Adar's camp somehow under her oversized Uruk cloak. And Adar, OBVIOUSLY now possesses Nenya at the end of S2Ep7.

I think the fight between Galadriel and Sauron is ACTUALLY a three-person fight; we just haven't seen Adar in the promos because

1. Obvious plot spoilers and

2. HE WILL BE FIGHTING IN A FAIR FORM BECAUSE NENYA WILL HEAL HIS CORRUPTION.

My second wild prediction: This three-person fight is telegraphed in The Last Temptation. There's a new motif (not musical, so unclear if this is the correct term??) that starts around 1:07. It sounds like an aggressive children's choir. Interspersed, we get some of Gal's themes and Sauron-flavored music. I think this new bit could be either a combined theme for Gal/Adar fighting side by side, OR a new motif for a changed/elven Adar. It's aggressive, which to me tracks with Adar's fighting style that we saw through S2Ep7, and it builds and gets more voices added to it as the song progresses. At one point, it blends perfectly with Gal's theme.

Third wild prediction that I hope I'm wrong about: Adar will likely get fatally stabbed during this fight. I could see him giving Galadriel the ring at a crucial moment, in as a redemptive act, which would forfeit any protection it might have offered him, and I think he'll receive a fatal blow from Sauron, but not before we get a much clearer picture of EXACTLY who Adar is. IF they do it this way, it will be a deeply satisying end to Adar's story arc, IMHO.

Last thoroughly unhinged thing I will leave you with:

Nolwa Mahtar translation (from S1), according to Bear's blog:

Finish the war, the darkness, end this suffering

Impossible to pursue, deep in shadow, follow light

Finish the war, the darkness, end this suffering

Bright warrior against darkness.

Obviously this theme plays a HUGE role in S2. I believe the lyrics are different; we don't know what they say yet.

But I have contended all along that this piece has always applied in some way to BOTH Adar and Galadriel.

Galadriel is the bright warrior standing against Sauron's darkness, yes, that image is obvious.

But Adar, a figure who lived deep in shadow, follows light, ultimately finishing his own war and ending his own suffering.

[drdemonprince]

do you have any advice on navigating a friendship with a former abuser? they are pretty open about their past when asked although not incredibly initially forthcoming about it, which I think is understandable if maybe not the most,, idk,, straightforward I guess. But I do truly believe they’ve mended their ways and try really hard to do right by themselves and other people, but they’ve garnered a lot of vitriol from their former community (and with reason!!) but that community tries to, rightfully, make sure everyone knows about this person’s past, and I have a lot of guilt around being friends with them even though I do believe that they’re different now, I wouldn’t be friends with them if I didn’t believe that. Anyways, I guess im curious if you have any advice or experience with how to navigate any kind of relationship with someone who has done a lot of prior harm, while also trying to honor and respect the people who they have harmed?

I think that people in that situation are in really desperate need of community, most of the time. It is very difficult to work on yourself when pressure to excise you from every social group follows you everywhere you go, and the stories of what you've done have morphed into an entity that exists entirely outside of you, your victims, or anyone who was actually privy to the abuse that you committed.

It's very reasonable for people affected by the abuse & their allies to want nothing to do with such a person, of course. But there sometimes becomes a broader community norm of penalizing anyone who associates with the abusive person in any way whatsoever, and when you're already struggling with entitlement, boundary issues, loneliness, impulsivity, and self-hatred, as so many abusers do, it's hard not to spiral out further from being rendered that radioactive.

I think by being friends with this person you're doing something important. It is far easier for people to grow when they have social incentives to do so and emotional support. In the care of other people, we see our worth reflected. We learn more about who we are and who we *can* be through the interplay of ours' and others' various selves.

I think the best thing that you can do is to offer a space to this person in your life, if you continue wanting to, and building small spaces for them to find connection with people who are okay with that and feel comfortable doing so. Bring the person along with you into new spaces where they can help people and receive help in turn, without constantly being defined by their most horrible actions. Bring this person along with you to somewhere they've never been, with people who have no issue with them -- do a shift together at the local mutual kitchen or community garden, for instance, or a book club, or include them in a cultural practice that you participate in, and share that with them. Do jail support together, or mail books to prisoners. Take both of you outside of your everyday social context and allow them to exist in a new way, in new relations to others -- including people who, like them, have experienced social ostracism and struggle.

While you're doing that, observe them and see how they're doing. Talk with them afterward about how they feel, and anything they're finding difficult. I will trust your judgement here that the person seems fundamentally changed. Just being there and involved in activities alongside them will help you be on the lookout for any red flags, and I do think there is a degree of responsibility on your part to ensure you're not putting anyone else in danger by being around them, but you can do this in a light, nonjudgmental way, and let them grow into that trust that you're offering.

I have witnessed firsthand how healing it is for people like your friend to slowly realize that suddenly there are people that like them, now, and open up to them, when everybody shied away from them or hated them before. I do think that if someone is committed to no longer being abusive or boundary violating around others, they eventually do need to feel that they are accepted by some community, and seen as on par with anybody else. They can't be treated as lesser or more suspect for their entire lives in every social context. The communities they've already harmed shouldn't have to provide them with that acceptance and room to grow. But I think somebody should.

As always, keep an eye on your own feelings and make sure that this isn't too exhausting for you. By keeping the formerly abusive person separate from the groups they've harmed, you should be able to minimize the blowback you get for spending time with them. Not all of our friends need to be friends with one another, and not every social group in our lives has to make contact. It's okay to include your friend in a running group with a few other people you met volunteering but then keep their name off the guest list for your birthday party because associates of their victims will be there. If your friend is truly contrite over their actions, they will understand and respect that some people will never want to be around them -- and most reasonable community members should understand that who you associate with independently of them is not their business.

There may be some people who take a really hard line stance and expect everyone to ostracize the former abuser no matter what, and so you might be criticized or lose friendships with such people. But so long as you are helping to give the former abuser some social connection that is separate from anybody they've hurt, and you're not pressuring anyone to be around them or doing any apologism for them (which it sounds like you have no interest in doing), then you are not doing a thing wrong, and I think it's beautiful to give someone that space in your life. Navigating this stuff with grace, respect, and compassion is a skill that a lot more of us will eventually have to develop than we realize, I think. Life is long, and over the course of it, people change a great deal and do a great many things they regret. We need to be able to move through these things together somehow.

[sepublic]

Adding to the whole Colonizer/Immigrant interplay in TOH, this does remind me of how while Luz wants to learn magic, it isn't just immediately, freely handed out to her all willy-nilly. She has to learn to respect the Demon Realm's inhabitants and the Titan herself, Luz has to learn on their terms too.

Her first glyph, Light, came when Luz realized she needed to pay more attention to King and respect him as a demon, encouraging his own fascination with the demons of the isles, and by extension valuing a part of this culture that she initially dismissed and did not care for.

And for her second spell, Luz needed to show she was willing to be patient and learn from the Titan on his terms, rather than just taking the training wand and calling it a day. Luz still has to prove herself, the isles and its people aren't just obligated by the narrative to immediately hand this out to her just because she asked; Luz isn't entitled to their way of life, it's up to the isles to choose to share things with her. And while she does want to learn, Luz also prioritizes respecting and caring about other people, too.

And I dig that, especially since Luz is following off of a white colonist who DID seize and colonize the resources of the realm without any respect; Philip acts salty that the Titan hid magic from him, but what would you expect when you demand and appropriate with the most racist intentions? There's no work in brute-forcing your way through another culture's boundaries, that's just being an impersonating thug.

Amity goes on a whole rant during the Covention about how Luz doesn't really respect the practice of being a witch, that she's treating this as some game she can just walk into and own immediately, when this means a lot to the native witches and demons... And Luz definitely acknowledges that this is an important thing to consider, while showing Amity that she understands this and HAS put in the work.

Again, it's about respecting another culture and its inhabitants if you want to participate in it, instead of expecting them to be automatically open and handing over everything. Luz has to earn Amity's trust before they can be friends, and eventually lovers. Even after earning one glyph, she still has to earn the remaining spells, one at a time, before finding the combos is put into Luz's hands.

[animehideout]

Jobs JJK Men would have In Real Life (IMO) Part I

part II here.

Geto Suguru: Tattoo Artist.

• Geto would clad in black from head to toe, exudes an air of mystery and creativity.

• A cosy tattoo and piercing shop, with a strong ink and cigarettes scent.

• Enjoys the way he brings to life the visions and narratives that people carry within them, leaving an indelible mark on their bodies.

Megumi Fushiguro: Guitarist / Musician.

• Conveys his feelings through the instrument he plays.

• His energy translates in music.

• His fingers adorned with silver rings, dance across the cords. Would play guitar late at night.

Ino Takuma: Gamer / Streamer.

• Obsessed with his setup. His room full of vibrant led lights.

• Sits on his comfy gaming chair, dressed in casual baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants.

• Posters of his favorite games, pixel arts decorate his walls reflecting a passion that extends beyond the screen.

Mahito: Fashion Designer.

• Mahito's studio is a canvas of creativity, bathed in natural light. Sketches and fabric swatches cover the walls.

• The air is scented with the subtle interplay of fabrics and a strong vanilla aroma.

• Always dressed in the most elegant and luxurious brands.

Nanami Kento: Elementary School Teacher.

• Known for his kindness and patience, Nanami creates an environment where every child feels seen and valued.

• Nature-themed decor brings a touch of the outdoors into the learning environment. As nature brings him comfort especially the beach.

• Story telling. He loves it when he shares his favorite books and reads them for his students.

• His love for children goes beyond academics; it's a genuine open hearted connection.

• No over time.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

An Eternal Embarce*

(a hades!harry x persephone!y/n story)

in which Persephone is back after 6 months, and the Underworld blossoms once again. Tensions arise too, but there is nothing that the king of Underworld and Queen of Spring can't handle together

Word Count: 7.7k (she's long)

Warnings: 18+ content, two smut scenes, almost 3k words of filth, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving), unprotected sex

(please don't read if you are under 18)

(i worked really hard on this, please don't let it flop)

The Underworld was buzzing with excitement as Hades, also known as Harry, eagerly awaited the return of his beloved Persephone. It had been six months since she went up to the mortal realm, leaving him to rule the shadowy realms alone. The air in the Underworld seemed charged with an otherworldly energy, as if the entire realm was eager for the return of the goddess of spring.

As autumn's chill embraced the realms, the anticipation in the underworld grew. Harry felt a mix of excitement and longing as he waited for his queen's return. The portal shimmered, and Persephone, or Yn, stepped through, casting a radiant glow in the room. A soft smile adorned her lips, and the enchanting aroma of blooming flowers and the essence of spring filled the space.

As Persephone returns to the underworld, the atmosphere undergoes a subtle transformation. The dim-lit halls, once draped in shadows, seem to awaken with a newfound vibrancy. The air, usually heavy with an eternal stillness, stirs with a gentle breeze that carries a hint of blooming flowers and the sweet fragrance of spring.

The normally monochromatic landscape of the underworld begins to blossom with hues unseen during her absence. Delicate petals materialize, scattering across the paths she walks, leaving a trail of ephemeral beauty in her wake. The soft glow of luminescent flowers unfurls, casting a warm and gentle radiance in the once-shadowy corners of Hades' realm.

The underworld, typically shrouded in an eternal night, experiences a subtle shift in its cosmic arrangement. Faint glimmers of starlight twinkle above, mirroring the celestial display of the world above ground during her reign. It's as if the heavens themselves acknowledge her return, gracing the underworld with a beautiful celestial dance.

Hades, the lord of shadows, finds the weight of his kingdom momentarily lifted. The throne room, usually draped in a somber ambiance, basks in a soft, romantic glow. Shadows playfully dance with the ethereal light, creating a captivating interplay that mirrors the complexity of the emotions within the lord of the underworld.

The Underworld River, typically calm and placid, shivers with newfound life. Its waters, once still as the deepest abyss, ripple with a subtle current, echoing the pulse of Persephone's return. The reflections on its surface seem to shimmer with an otherworldly luminosity, mirroring the radiance she brings to this realm.

In essence, Persephone's return to the underworld transforms it into a realm of juxtaposition—a delicate fusion of darkness and light, shadows and blooms, where the eternal night momentarily gives way to the ephemeral enchantment of spring. The very fabric of the underworld seems to resonate with the romantic cadence of her presence, creating a symphony of emotions and atmospheres that dance harmoniously in the wake of her return.

Their reunion, though expected, carried the weight of a prolonged separation. Harry, usually composed, found himself at a loss for words, an uncommon sight in the Underworld.

"You're back," he said, relief and joy evident in his voice. He was beyond thrilled to see her safe and sound.

Persephone, also known as Y/N in the nine realms, nodded, reaching out to touch his hand. "I always return, Hades. It's the rhythm of the seasons."

"I missed you," he said softly. "I missed your touch, your smell, just having you around. It felt like forever without you."

Y/N smiled, showing how much she loved and missed him. "I missed you too, Harry. Every moment away felt like a really long time."

"I brought you these," she said, offering a basket of flowers. "Fresh from the mortal realm."

Harry accepted the gift with gratitude, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance. "Mortal flowers in the Underworld, a rare delight. Thank you, my sweet love."

He carefully placed the flowers on the bed and pulled her close, his hands cradling her beautiful face. They looked into each other's eyes, savoring the moment. After a while, Harry leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a sweet and long-awaited kiss.

The kiss was like magic. His lips moved smoothly and knowingly against hers, igniting a spark of desire in each other. His mouth claimed her pushing his tongue in her eager mouth. His hands shifted down her body, grabbing her waist, and pulling her further into him.

The absence of each other had stretched over time, intensifying the beauty of this long-awaited moment. It was as if time stopped, and it was just the two of them in that special moment.

Y/N let herself be handled by him, eagerly closing the space between them. She grabbed his shoulders, and her other hand went in his hair, pulling at it as she moaned into his mouth.

“God, you’re so beautiful” he whispered, fighting the urge to fall to his knees right then and there, and worship the beautiful goddess in front of him. Y/N smiled, looking up at her husband with passion and adoration.

Maybe he will.

“I want to worship you, my love.” He whispered into her ear, gently biting her earlobe. She shivered, her grip on his hair and shoulders loosening. She knew where this was going.

And she liked it.

“Mhm, but do we have time? I have to greet everyone as soon as I arrive”

He groaned, grabbing at her attire wantingly.

“That can wait, my love. They can wait. Right now, you’re mine. Only mine. And I want you. Your legs wrapped around my head, your thighs spread wide as I eat that sweet cunt of yours.

Her cheeks turned red, her mouth parting in an instant. She had been waiting for this too, to have his eager mouth on each part of her body, to become his, once again. And again. And again.

“I do too, my love. But-“

He brought a finger up to her lips, stopping her from finishing her sentence.

“No but’s or if’s. I want you, and I shall have you” with that, he grabbed her waist, turning them both around. His lips were back on hers, and he walked her backwards, till the back of her knees hit the mattress. With a swift motion, her body was thrown on it, her hair flopping down messily. Her chest bounced too, the tops of her breasts peeking out from the tight corset she was wearing. He licked his lips; he couldn’t wait to have his mouth on her heavenly body.

He flopped down on the bed, once again, stealing a quick kiss on her lips. His hands gripped the bottom of her skirt, slowly and steadily riding it up her legs.

Y/N’s breathing increased rapidly, and she gripping the satin sheets beneath her in her palms to keep her composure. It had been mere moments of kissing, and she had already gotten so wet and needy for him.

Once the skirt was up to her waist, he wasted no time in removing the rest of the clothing, her panties included. They had a wet patch in the middle, and Harry smirked, fully aware of the effect he had on her, how he can get her all dripping down for him without even touching her.

“So wet fo’ me, my love” he said, and she gulped. He was staring at her exposed pussy with hunger in his eyes, and she felt exposed, trying to close her thighs.

His actions were quicker, and he gripped the warm flesh in his hands. Spreading them wide, he glared at her, and she nodded, silently promising to not hide herself from him.

He slid to his stomach, gripping her legs in both his hands. He shifted forward, allowing her to rest her ankles on his shoulder, the heels digging into the flesh.

He stuck his tongue out, keeping eye contact with her, as he licked a bold stripe from her ass to her clit, collecting her wetness on his tongue. He then closed his mouth, her sweet taste evading his senses.

She released the sheets from the death grip she had on them, and held Harry’s hand in hers, squeezing it hard. He went fully in then, licking up all of her arousal as if it were his last meal.

He licks up her pussy again, and again, and again. Her arousal seeps out more, her other hand creeping its way down to grab into his curls.

Harry realizes she wants more, and he spreads her pussy open. With an open mouth, he blows air on her clit, making her whimper out loud, before she takes her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Y’ like that, pretty girl?” he asks rhetorically, and he starts to lick on her clit, teasing her entrance with his finger.

She moans pretty above him, as his licks become faster and concentrated. Her mind reels with pleasure as her pussy becomes wetter. He circles her opening with his finger, before gently pushing one in.

She releases a sigh of relief, as his cold finger pushes into her warm, wet hole. He pushes it in fully, before pressing a soft kiss to her clit.

He begins to finger-fuck her slowly; her moans and whimpers music to his ears. She opens up soon, and Harry pushes in another. Two fingers in her pussy, and her face contorts in pleasure as she senses the beginning of an orgasm.

“You feel good?” he asks, increasing the speed of his fingers into her weepy hole. He brings his mouth back down on her, kissing and licking her puffy clit. Her grip on his hair tightens, her moans becoming louder with each thrust of his long fingers, rubbing against her g-spot with ease. His fingers, and cock especially, reached spots inside her that she didn’t even know existed.

“I do…I do-Oh fuck!” she curses, as he brings his thumb on her clit, rubbing slow circles on it. Her legs tense, her back arching off the bed beautifully as her stomach tightens. She closes her eyes, her orgasm approaching at a pace faster than she had anticipated.

That’s when he does it-pushed one more finger in, and then one more. Holding her thighs wider as he drives them into her with full speed. Her legs shake as she screams and moans, a thin layer of sweat covering her forehead.

“Harry-I-I’m going to cum, Harry-“ she barely finishes her sentence, before the coil in her stomach snaps. She cums all over his mouth and fingers, chanting his name repeatedly as he finger-fucks her throughout, his thumb and mouth on her swollen clit, wanting to make her orgasm last longer, and to milk every drop from her sweet cunt. He licks it all up, and once she is finished, he emerges from between her legs, half of his face coated in her sweetness.

He looked up at his love, her eyes closed with content. Her face was glowing with the beautiful glow of pleasure, her cheeks flushed red. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Soon, she opened her eyes, and Harry quickly shifted upward, encasing her lips in his. She could taste herself on him, and she sighed at the sweet taste lingering between them.

But, just when they were getting lost in the moment, there was a knock on the door. It was a reminder that they weren't alone, and other things needed attention.

Harry sighed and said, "Seems like we can't catch a break, love."

“We’ll be right out” he announces, before kissing her once again. They both get off the bed, and he helps her fix her dress and appearance, though the smell of sex lingered in the air, and their faces gave away what they tried to hide.

He opened the door soon, and was greeted by Hermes, the winged herald of Olympus.

"Lord Hades, Lady Persephone," Hermes bowed respectfully. "Zeus has requested your presence in the divine hall."

Harry exchanged a knowing glance with Y/N. The tranquility of the moment was momentarily interrupted by the summons from the king of the gods.

"We shall go at once," Harry replied, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression. Hermes nodded and, with a swift motion, extended a scroll containing Zeus's message. "He awaits you in the divine hall. The matter is of importance, my lord." Y/N placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s arm. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

With a nod to Hermes, Harry and Y/N made their way through the grand halls of the Underworld, the weight of impending divine matters settling upon them. The anticipation of a summons from Zeus carried an air of both mystery and gravity.

The divine hall awaited, its doors opening to reveal Zeus on his throne, regarding them with a mixture of sternness and intrigue.

"Lord Hades, Lady Persephone," Zeus boomed, "You come at my request. There's a matter that requires your attention."

Approaching the throne, their expressions composed but curious, Harry inquired, "What matter brings us before you, Father?"

Zeus leaned forward. "Concerns have risen among the gods about the balance of power and the changing dynamics within the divine realm."

Y/N exchanged a puzzled look with Harry. "What do you mean, Father?"

Zeus sighed. "The union between the god of the Underworld and the goddess of spring has stirred discussions. Some are concerned about the potential shift in the cosmic balance."

Harry defended their union. "Our love brings harmony to our realms, Zeus. It does not disrupt the balance."

Zeus raised a hand. "I understand, but the concerns persist. To ease them, I propose a grand celebration—a gathering of gods and goddesses from all realms. A feast that will demonstrate the unity and stability of the divine order."

Harry realized the significance. "We shall host it in the Underworld, a testament to the enduring love that transcends realms."

Zeus approved. "May this celebration reaffirm the bonds that unite us all."

As the divine decree echoed, Harry and Y/N embraced the responsibility. The grand celebration would showcase not only divine unity but also the eternal reunion of Hades and Persephone.

The long table was adorned with decadent delicacies from all corners of the realm - ambrosia platters, pomegranate salads, and sinfully delicious desserts that would make even the gods drool. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and stories as loved ones reunited after what felt like an eternity apart.

Amidst this joyous gathering, Harry proudly introduced Y/N as his queen and partner in ruling over the Underworld. She charmed everyone with her warmth, grace, and genuine interest in their stories. Laughter echoed through the halls as they shared tales of adventure, love, and mischief.

As the night wore on, Harry and Y/N found solace in each other's presence, basking in the love of their family and friends. The Underworld was alive with happiness and contentment, for it was a reminder that true love could thrive even in the most unexpected places.

And so, as the stars twinkled above their kingdom and laughter filled the air, they embraced this precious moment of togetherness. Their reunion was not just a celebration of love but a testament to the power of connection and the beauty that can be found in even the darkest depths.

And then, as the feast reached its crescendo, Hades rose from his seat and raised a goblet to Persephone. The flickering torchlight cast shadows on the grand walls as Hades spoke, his words a heartfelt declaration.

"To Persephone, my queen, the light of the Underworld, and the love that has breathed life into the realm of shadows. May our days be filled with endless joy and our nights with eternal love."

The denizens of the Underworld echoed his sentiment with cheers, toasts, and a sense of jubilation that reverberated through the grand hall.

Persephone blushed, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "To eternity and beyond," she said, clinking her goblet against Hades'.

After the feast, the grand hall echoed with soft footsteps as Harry and Y/N headed to the starlit garden. The celestial lights bathed the garden in a magical radiance as they stepped into the night.

Taking Y/N's hand, Harry led her into the open space beneath the twinkling stars. The night held a hushed beauty, and they danced to a celestial melody, a seamless harmony between the lord of the Underworld and the goddess of spring.

Standing at the center of the divine garden, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight and surrounded by fragrant blossoms, Harry and Y/N prepared to dance. The celestial lights above seemed to twinkle in anticipation, casting a gentle radiance on the couple as they took each other's hands.

Harry, with his customary charm, looked into Y/N's eyes and whispered, "May I have this dance, my love?"

Y/N's heart fluttered with love and adoration as she nodded, and they began their dance under the vast expanse of the starlit sky. The music of the night, a melodic symphony composed by nature itself, set the rhythm for their movements.

Harry guided Y/N with grace and tenderness, each step a declaration of the unconditional love that bound them together. The soft rustle of their clothes blended with the gentle night breeze, creating a harmonious melody that resonated with the heartbeat of the beautiful garden that bloomed with her magic.

"I've missed this," he confessed, the dance a gentle rhythm that echoed the beating of his heart.

"Me too, Harry," Persephone replied, her gaze locked with his. "There's something magical about dancing with you in the Underworld."

As they danced, Hades couldn't resist stealing kisses, each one a promise of the love that transcended the realms. The river Styx murmured its approval, and even the shadows seemed to sway in time with their movements.

"You know," Persephone said, her voice a soft whisper, "I wrote you letters while I was away. I wanted to capture every moment so I could share it with you when I returned."

Hades felt warmth in his chest at her words. "Letters? I would love to read them, my love."

Persephone blushed, a delightful contrast to the vibrant flowers in her hair. "They're not very poetic, just my ramblings and musings. But I poured my heart into them."

In that enchanted moment, Hades and Persephone were not the lord and goddess of the Underworld. They were two souls intertwined in a dance celebrating the eternal nature of their love. The grand feast had united the divine family, and now, beneath the cosmic lights, the couple celebrated the unity of their hearts.

They moved in sync, their dance the unspoken language of love. Harry's hand securely held Y/N's waist, drawing her close, while Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of his embrace.

The garden itself seemed to respond to the dance of love. Blossoms unfurled in their wake, releasing bursts of vibrant colors that matched the emotions swirling between the couple. The gentle hum of nature's lullaby accompanied their every movement, creating an atmosphere of serenity and joy.

The dance continued a journey of shared dreams and whispered promises.

As the dance reached its crescendo, Harry held Y/N in a final, lingering twirl. They paused, caught in the embrace of the night, and shared a tender kiss beneath the celestial lights.

“I love you so much, Y/N. So fucking much. “He whispered, and his face carried softness and love rarely seen on Lord of the Underworld. He was different when he was with her.

He was in love.

Y/N muttered the same, her lips ghosting over his once again. They softly brushed against each other, pecking every once in a while.

Hand in hand, they walked through the garden, leaving behind a trail of blossoms and the echo of their laughter.

Hand in hand, they ventured through the winding corridors of the Underworld. As they reached the Elysian Fields, the once desolate realm began to transform in Persephone's wake. Flowers bloomed beneath her feet, and the atmosphere blossomed with life.

"You've worked your magic again," Hades remarked, marveling at the vibrant beauty she brought to his kingdom.

Persephone grinned, her eyes sparkling. "I can't stand the idea of a lifeless Underworld. Besides, a little color never hurt anyone."

They found a secluded spot overlooking the river Styx, where Hades conjured a plush blanket for them to sit on. The soft glow of the river reflected in Persephone's eyes as they gazed at each other, a magnetic pull connecting their souls.

"Tell me everything about your time in the mortal realm," Harry urged.

"And you won't believe what Hermes did to entertain me," she laughed, recounting a particularly amusing anecdote that involved the mischievous messenger.

Hades chuckled, reveling in the sound of her laughter. "I'm starting to think Hermes enjoys causing chaos wherever he goes."

The moon rose higher in the sky, casting its gentle glow over the Underworld. Sensing the time was right; Hades took Persephone's hand, leading her into a slow dance beneath the celestial light.

Later, as they sat together on the blanket, Persephone retrieved a bundle of letters from her bag. Hades watched with eager anticipation as she handed them to him, each one filled with the essence of her experiences in the mortal realm.

For hours, they immersed themselves in Persephone's words, her descriptions painting vivid images of the world above. Hades listened intently, savoring every detail as if he were there with her. The letters became a bridge between their two worlds, connecting them even when miles apart.

As the night deepened, Hades couldn't help but express his feelings in the best way he knew how—through a poem, despite its potential lameness.

"In the depths of shadows, where silence holds sway,

A love blooms eternal, no darkness can betray.

Persephone, my light, in the mortal realm's embrace,

You brought back the sun, and with it, my grace."

Persephone's eyes sparkled with emotion. "Harry, that was beautiful. Lame, but beautiful. I love it."

Hades chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes. "I aim to impress with my poetic prowess."

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silver glow over the Underworld. Hades and Persephone lingered in each other's arms, the world around them forgotten. It was a moment frozen in time, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together.

>>>

As soon as they were back to the castle, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Sure, they were divine beings above human urges, but they couldn't deny the magnetic pull that drew them together.

They entered Harry’s room, closing the heavy wooden door behind them. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of candles, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Their lips were on each other, now kissing with more lust and desire. Harry had been pent-up ever since he’d had his head between her plush thighs, and her moans, her whimpers, and her ultimate release had almost made him burst in his pants.

But he had held off.

Even he doesn’t quite recall how he did it, perhaps some “celestial” power he didn’t know he had.

He began by untying the strings on her white corset, so many of them there were. She could see that he was getting restless, and she spoke up, “You know you can use your magic, right? Make them disappear in a click of your fingers?”

He chuckled, looking up at her while he continued the task in hand, “I sure can, my love. But I want to see the way your body reacts to my touch when I undress you. The way your cheeks becomes red as part by part, your beautiful body is exposed to me. The gasp you release when I unhook your bra, and the whimper that comes from your lips when I rub your pretty pussy over your wet panties, which I know they quite are. I want to see it all”

Y/N blushed, unable to keep eye-contact with the god in front of him.

Soon, the corset was undone, and Harry removed her long gown. He reached back, swiftly unhooking her bra, and throwing it behind him. His hands were on her breasts, and he groaned as he kneaded them in his hands.

“So long, darling. So long I have gone without your body” he bent down, rolling a nipple between his fingers before taking it into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over it, eliciting a whimper from her pretty mouth. He squeezed it in his palm, between his fingers, as he continued sucking on the hardened nub. His other hand trailed to her left breast, kneading it too while he rolled the nipple harshly between his fingers.

“Harry-it feels so good, fuck…” she cursed, pressing her thighs together as more and more arousal oozed out of her needy hole. She whimpered and moaned with need as he played with her breasts, alternating in kissing, sucking and biting them. He sucked a few bruises on them too, just around the areola, not too much in the areas where they could be seen by others.

Once he was satisfied with his work, pretty bruises that would turn purplish-red soon, he looked up at his love. Her head was thrown back, lips parted as she was getting wetter by each passing second.

Harry’s hands rested at her waist, and she opened her eyes, meeting his green ones.

He joined their lips again, and started to kitten lick and suck her tongue, while his eager hands explored her body. He drifted his hands to her damp centre, brushing his finger over the damp spot on her panties, just above her clit. She moaned into his mouth, and e swallowed it all up, before bringing his fingers to the waistband of her panties.

He broke the kiss, quickly dropping down to his knees before her. He pulled the ruined panties off her legs, unhooking them from her ankles and throwing them near the discarded bra.

She was now fully naked before him, and she wanted to hide herself. Given that he had already seen her a million times like this before, given their immortal nature, and yet, being this vulnerable made her shy.

She tries to close her legs before him, hide her pussy from his hungry eyes. He smiles, knowing that she must be feeling so shy, given how much time they had spent apart.

“It’s okay, love. I know it’s been a while, and you’d feel exposed being fully naked around me. But you don’t have to, love. Not from me. You never have to be nervous or shy around me. Naked or not, any way you are, you are absolutely ethereal. And divine”

She felt a sense of relief hearing those words. Being a goddess, she knew she was one of the most beautiful and stunning creatures to walk in the Underworld. Her ethereal form radiated a timeless beauty that transcended mortal comprehension. And she was the most confident when she was out in the world. Her words, her beauty, all were elements that captivated those fortunate enough to witness her presence. The ethereal glow surrounding her form seemed to dance in harmony with the confidence that emanated from within.

Yet, here she was, feeling exposed and shy in front of her own husband, who was on his knees in front of her, ready to worship her.

“And yet, if you don’t feel comfortable enough, dove, we don’t have to do this. It’s all right. We can-“ she stopped him mid-sentence.

“No, no-I-I want to, Harry, it’s just-the way you looked at me made me feel-like I’m not that beautiful as you tell me I am.”

“You are, my love. You are absolutely exquisite, my darling. And I’m going to show you just how damn breathtaking you look around my cock.”

“But-how?” she asked.

He smirked, before snapping his fingers. A long, floor length mirror appeared behind him,, making her look at her own reflection.

“But, Harry-“

“No questions, love. You had your fun throughout the day, now let me have mine”

He parted her legs, immediately attaching his mouth to her swollen clit. She released a moan, his mouth doing wonders between her legs.

He licked and sucked, and licked her pretty pussy till she was a moaning mess again, whimpering with her bottom lip between her teeth. Her cheeks were flushed red, eyes full of lust as she watched herself reach the high of pleasure.

Her chest had reddened, and eyes were hooded, threatening to fall shut with the sheer pleasure consuming her. Her hands were in his brown curls, pulling and pushing his head to her core at the same time, conflicted between the need to succumb to the upcoming pleasure or to pull away from it.

But, just as she was about to fall over the edge, he stopped. Pulled his mouth off of her, making her release a cry of need.

“Harry-I-I was so close-“

“I want you to come around my cock, darling. Want to see you fall apart as I fuck you”

He got up, knees wobbly. He started to undress himself, removing each piece of clothing while maintain eye contact with Y/N.

She was still coming down from the high he’d almost got her to, her breathing still rapid and ragged. Soon, he was naked in front of her, pushing her back on the bed on which she fell with a soft thud.

She sat up on her elbows, and he pulled her so she was sitting upright. He climbed on the bed behind her, and sat down.

With fingers still damp, he pushed her thighs apart wide, spreading his own as well and locking hers with his, so she couldn’t push them again.

She sighed as her pussy spread open, revealing her pretty hole to the gigantic mirror in front of them.

He took hold of her wrists, pinning them together behind her back.

“Keep ‘em there. Don’t move”

He warned.

And she knew better than to disobey him.

“Okay” a quite whisper, but he heard it well.

“Good girl”

Her pussy throbbed with need, her neglected clit swollen and red. He brought his hands to her thighs, lightly grazing them with his fingers. He rubbed his hands up and down, smoothing them up to the part where her centre meet her thighs, and retreating back, neglecting the place where she needed him the most.

“Harry-please” she begged, hoping he will give in and fuck her senseless.

“My rules tonight, darling” he answered simply, and she had no choice other than to sit pretty and take it.

His torture continued for quite a while, and she was so tired from his edging, her head resting limply on his shoulder. She would get excited whenever he would graze her clit, only to get disappointed immediately after.

When he decided that he had had enough, he finally gave in. She was so fucking wet already, soaking the satin sheets beneath them with the arousal that dripped down continuously. He brought two fingers to her entrance, gently pushing them in while he played with her perky nipples, twisting them while stuffing her full.

“Oh fuck, Har-“ she cursed, her walls immediately clamping down on his two fingers. She tried to move herself on him, grind on his fingers, but he held them apart nicely, stopping any movements.

“Feel good?” he asked, pinching her nipple as he stuffed his fingers fully in, gently flicking the tips inside her tight walls.

“Mhm, yes, feels good-fuck!” he pushed another finger in, thrusting them in and out at a godly speed. She scratched his chest, nails scraping down his abdomen. She was feeling so good again, ready to burst at any moment.

That’s when he stopped-again. Pulled his fingers out completely. And just as she was about to open her mouth and whine about it-he pushed them into her mouth.

She moaned around them, sucking and licking off her own sweet arousal. He groaned at this, feeling so impossibly hard that he thought he will burst again.

“That’s it-good girl” he pulled them out, wiping them on her stomach. She smirked, knowing how she had imagined it was his cock between her lips, and made him imagine the same too.

Her on her knees before him, his hands in her hair, gripping them harshly as she took him like a pro. All those filthy thoughts muddled his mind, and he couldn’t hold back longer.

He turned her around easily, pushing her back down so her back was on the mattress, and he climbed on top of her. His lips attached to her neck, licking and sucking as he spread her legs apart with his hand, positioning his cock just before her lips.

Parting them with his one hand, he released a sigh of relief as he pushed himself in, her warm walls feeling so heavenly around his cock. He had held off for so long, focusing on her pleasure more than his. But now, he was going to fuck her good, make her see stars as she came around her cock again and again.

She grabbed onto his shoulders, nails scratching their way down as she felt the initial burn of his cock stretching her wide open. She tried to keep her composure, but how good she, when it hurt so good and felt even better at the same time?

He gave her time to adjust to his length, not trying to overwhelm her with bottoming out immediately. Once she was, she gave him a quick nod to keep going.

That was all he needed, as he carefully pushed in to the hilt, bottoming out inside her as his balls slapped with her ass. She wrapped her legs around his slim waist as he grabbed her wrists, pulling them from his shoulder and pinning them above her head.

“Gonna fuck you real good today” he promised, snapping his hips against hers. His cock drive into her warn hole again and again, making her throw her head back with pleasure. He took this opportunity and kisses and nipped at her neck, her jaw slack with pleasure. The bed started to rock against the wall due to the force of his thrusts, her slick folds coating his cock with arousal every time he pushed in. She was impossibility wet, and on the verge of falling over the edge.

“Oh my god!” she whimpered out when he gave a particularly hard thrust, her legs shaking with pleasure. His hands wrapped around her neck, slightly putting pleasure as he forced her to open her eyes.

“Look at me when you cum” he said, and she immediately nodded, not wanting to risk any other orgasm because of disobedience.

But she was disappointed quickly as he pulled out again, leaving her on the edge. She had been so pent up. and now on the verge of crying.

He picked her up, turning her around to face the mirror, on her hands and knees. They were shaking profusely, so he had to slide an arm beneath to support her pliant body.

“Look at me when you cum. In the mirror” he grabbed her jaw and positioned her face so she was forced to loom at herself, her body succumbing to pleasure that he gave her.

Every push of his cock in her melted her further and further, breasts jiggling with the force of his harsh thrusts, again and again.

“Har-please” she pleaded, not being able to hold off for any longer.

“Yeah, baby? You want to come?” he asked.

She nodded, not being able to form any coherent sentence, she was about to fall over the edge, just needed that little push, just a little…

He seemed to have read her mind because as soon as she thought of that, his fingers were on her clit, harshly rubbing concentrated circles, enough to take her fall over the edge she was teetering on.

“Watch yourself. Look how pretty you look falling apart on m’ cock, darling” her eyes quickly drifted to the mirror in front, and indeed, he was correct.

Her cheeks were flushed red , her face glowing as she released warm puffs of air through her open mouth. He was filling her up so good, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside of her that made her toes curl and eyes to roll into the back of her head.

The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, her moans and whimpers, and his grunts audible above them all. He gripped her hips harshly, nails digging in as he prepared to spill himself inside her.

“I'm close too…” he announced, and leaned in, wrapping his hand around her middle. He pulled her neck so that her back touched his clammy chest, the change in positioning giving him a deeper angle.

“Harry-Oh fuck!” she immediately gave in, her legs giving out beneath her as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body, blinding her vision and ringing her ears. His hand on her swollen clit was relentless, and so was his speed of fucking her through her orgasm.

“Harry-har-feels so fucking good, har” she stuttered, mouth open as she watched herself come undone on his cock. A warm glow enveloped her, and she looked absolutely breathtaking. But, her eyes were fixated on her Harry, who was just about to cum.

His eyes were closed shut, low grunts leaving his lips with each thrust as he gave in, and the first few drops of his release coated her walls.

“Fuck, baby. Making me feel-so-fucking-good, Fuck! His words were punctuated with thrusts to her cunt, spilling more and more of his milky cum with each push inside.

“Cum for me, Har-give me all you have” her soft voice egged him on, as her warm walls milked him for all he had. Once he was done, he gave her a final look in the mirror, before falling down on the bed, taking her with him.

In the hushed aftermath of their intimate celebration, Hades and Persephone lay entwined in the ethereal glow of their chamber. The flickering candlelight cast a warm hue over the room, a testament to the love that had just been shared. The echoes of their whispers lingered, blending with the quietude that enveloped the space.

Hades traced delicate patterns on Persephone's bare back, his touch a caress that spoke of both passion and tenderness. Her hair spilled like a cascade of midnight over the pillows, and the moonlight filtering through the window bathed them in a soft, celestial radiance.

The room seemed to respond to their connection, as if the very walls held the echoes of their shared love. The air shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and the shadows on the walls danced in tandem with the rhythm of their hearts.

As they lay there, the tapestry of their shared history unfolded in their minds—the challenges they had faced, the laughter they had shared, and the quiet moments that had solidified their bond. Hades couldn't help but marvel at the depth of emotion Persephone brought into his life—a depth that went beyond the confines of the Underworld and stretched into the boundless expanse of eternity.

Their connection, both physical and emotional, created a cocoon of intimacy that shielded them from the outside world. The grandeur of the Underworld, the echoes of the banquet, and the responsibilities of ruling—all faded into insignificance in the embrace of their private sanctuary.

As the night deepened, they spoke of dreams and aspirations, of the moments that had left an indelible mark on their souls and of the endless possibilities that awaited them in the expanse of eternity. The bedroom, once a quiet space, became a canvas for their shared reflections and whispered confessions.

In the quiet moments between their words, Hades couldn't help but be grateful for the cosmic tapestry that had woven their fates together. Persephone, once a fleeting vision in the mortal realm, had become the heartbeat of his existence—the one who brought warmth to the depths of the Underworld and a symphony of joy to his immortal heart.

And so, in the heart of the Underworld, where time moved in a rhythm known only to gods, Hades and Persephone continued their intimate celebration. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery glow a witness to the depth of their connection.

As the night wore on, they found solace in the quiet moments of shared laughter, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. The room became a haven, a sanctuary for the love that had endured through the ages. Their connection, both physical and emotional, became a testament to the enduring power of love in the face of eternity.

And as they drifted into the peaceful embrace of sleep, still entwined in each other's arms, the echoes of their shared celebration lingered in the air. The Underworld, once a realm of shadows, held within its depths a love story that unfolded in the quiet moments of the night—a love story destined to resonate through the corridors of eternity.

>>>

One day, as they stood on the shores of the Styx, Hades couldn't help but ponder the nature of their love. "Persephone, my queen, do you ever tire of the Underworld? Would you prefer a life in the mortal realm or on Mount Olympus?"

Persephone looked into his eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Harry, it's not about the realm we're in; it's about the love we share. Whether in the Underworld, the mortal realm, or the heavens above, as long as we are together, that's where I belong."

Hades felt a surge of gratitude and love for the woman standing beside him. "You truly are my light in the darkness, Persephone."

Their days were filled with laughter, shared adventures, and stolen moments of intimacy. Hades reveled in the simple pleasures of mortal-inspired picnics, where they lounged in the Fields of Asphodel, surrounded by the beauty Persephone had brought to his kingdom.

As the seasons changed, and the tapestry of time unfolded, Hades and Persephone's love deepened. They faced challenges together, weathered storms, and celebrated triumphs. The Underworld, once a place of solitude and shadows, became a canvas for their love story—a story that echoed through the corridors of eternity.

In the quietude of the Underworld, where the river Styx whispered ancient secrets, Hades and Persephone found a love that transcended the boundaries of the realms. And as they danced under the eternal moonlight, their hearts beat in harmony, creating a melody that echoed

Through the ages, their love story continued to unfold, a tale woven into the fabric of time itself. The Underworld bore witness to the eons that passed, yet Hades and Persephone remained a constant, their love enduring like the everlasting cycle of the seasons.

They explored the hidden realms of the Underworld, discovering forgotten chambers and secret passages. Hades showed Persephone the intricacies of his kingdom, the responsibilities and duties that came with ruling the dead. Yet, through it all, their love remained a guiding light, illuminating the darkest corners of the Underworld.

One day, as they stood on the precipice of the Abyss, where the echoes of lost souls reverberated, Hades spoke of his deepest fears and vulnerabilities. Persephone listened with compassion, her love a balm for the wounds that time had etched into his immortal heart.

"I never imagined I could share my burdens with another," Hades admitted, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the cavernous space. "But with you, Persephone, everything feels different. I am not alone."

Persephone took his hand, her touch comforting warmth. "We face the challenges together, Harry. Your burdens are mine, just as mine are yours. We are partners in this journey through eternity."

Their love became a beacon in the Underworld, a source of inspiration for lost souls seeking solace. Tales of Hades and Persephone's enduring love spread through the realm, offering hope to those who had long forgotten the warmth of companionship.

As the years unfolded, they witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations in the mortal realm. Hades and Persephone, however, remained unchanged, their love an eternal flame that defied the ravages of time. They watched as mortal heroes rose to greatness and tragic tales unfolded, the threads of destiny weaving a tapestry that stretched across the ages.

In the midst of it all, Hades and Persephone continued to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. They reveled in the beauty of the Underworld's landscapes, danced under the light of a thousand moons, and discovered hidden realms that held secrets untold. Their love was a journey, an exploration of the boundless possibilities that eternity offered.

Yet, even in the midst of their idyllic existence, challenges arose. Forces from the depths of the Underworld, ancient and formidable, sought to disrupt the delicate balance of their love. Hades and Persephone faced trials that tested the very foundation of their connection, but in each trial, their love emerged stronger, more resilient.

Together, they faced adversaries and overcame obstacles that threatened the harmony of the Underworld. Hades, once perceived as a fearsome deity, revealed the depth of his compassion and the strength of his love. Persephone, with her gentle yet unwavering spirit, became a beacon of hope for all who traversed the shadowy realms.

Their love story, once confined to the whispers of the Underworld, became a legend that transcended the boundaries of the mortal and immortal realms alike. Mortals sang songs of their enduring love, poets crafted verses in their honor, and artists immortalized their images on canvas.

As the centuries passed, the Underworld transformed into a realm of balance and harmony. The once desolate landscapes bloomed with vibrant flora, and the river Styx flowed with a gentle serenity. Hades and Persephone, hand in hand, continued to rule the Underworld with grace and wisdom, their love a testament to the eternal dance of life and death.

>>>

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[theogonies]

what they look for in a partner ft. the cast of touchstarved

characters: ais, mhin, vere, kuras, & leander

word count: 2k

content warnings: some suggestive elements but nothing explicit, mentions of corruption kinks (ais), brat taming (kuras), and light exhibitionism (vere and leander), leander is a little emotionally manipulative

AIS.

Considering his relationships with MC and Vere, it's not exactly a secret that Ais has a thing for brats. He loves teasing, and wants a partner who can keep up with him, giving as much as they get. He's all about the thrill of the chase, learning exactly which buttons to press to get you flustered--so don't make it too easy on him.

Surprisingly, he's not usually the one to make the first move. He'll flirt, but struggles to take initiative when things start to feel too real for his comfort.

He finds people who can find a cool head in moments of crisis insanely attractive. Whether it's pulling him back when he's about to pick a stupid fight or constructing a perfect alibi on the spot when you find yourself in trouble, the contrast between your self-control and his impulsivity always gets him itching to push your limits even further.

Humans and Monsters alike, he's grown accustomed to the absolute devotion of his followers. So being around someone who isn't constantly bowing and scraping to him is a refreshing change of pace.

He still greatly values loyalty, and it's something that he's more than willing to return--he's a ride or die type of guy. What he's not interested in is empty flattery; telling it like it is is, in his eyes, a much more valuable kind of devotion than total obedience.

I definitely think he's got a bit of a corruption kink, and is drawn to people with a more innocent, even naive personality--easier to get them flustered that way. More importantly, though, he enjoys the interplay between his impulsivity and his partner's willingness to stick by their personal code of ethics, no matter how impractical. For all the teasing he does, he has a very deep and genuine admiration for people with strong moral principles and sense of self.

The only thing he loves more than drawing out your hedonistic side is knowing that he's the only one who can do it. It's a very specific, psychological kind of possessiveness, knowing that you want him enough to show him the greedy, impure side of yourself that you hide so carefully from the rest of the world.

On the other hand, narcs are a major turn off. It's one thing to tell him off for fucking up, and another entirely to get others involved. He fantasizes about a Bonnie and Clyde, us against the world type of love.

MHIN.

Another one who isn't particularly subtle about what it takes to get them heated. Mhin loves it when you can keep up with their acerbic personality. Even more than sharp tongues, they're drawn to people who are physically assertive enough to follow through on their threats.

Mhin is all bark and no bite, a fact that they're very much aware of. Deep down, they desperately want to feel safe and protected. It's not exactly that they're insecure; they don't have any hang ups about their own strength. But it's exhausting to keep their guard up all the time. So, they figure that their perfect match is their perfect equal--and 90% of their bluster is just that, a test so see who's willing to break past their emotional barriers and strong enough to keep up with them.

They're a switch, and definitely have a thing for size difference. One of their biggest fantasies is dominating a partner who's bigger than themself.

One of Mhin's most immediate turn-offs is people who look too clean and polished all the time. They're enamored by scarring and callouses--basically, the physical traces of a person's life, especially those associated with hard work. They're not particularly interested in fashion or flashy clothes, either; rather than being with someone who's always up on the latest styles, they admire those who know how to make things last, and who would rather underdress than overdress.

It's not hard to get them flustered. Put them in a good ol' fashioned kabedon, whisper simple praises in their ear, and they'll absolutely melt (not that they would ever admit that to you, of course). Mhin's affection is very subtle, blink and you'll miss it (they're big on acts of service, and usually quite sneaky about it), but they like partners who are more forward than themself, whether verbally or physically.

While they are a loving partner (once you break past those oh-so-strong emotional walls), Mhin isn't a super relationship-oriented person. They have goals of their own outside of romance, and would prefer to be with someone who feels the same way, supporting each other in the pursuit of their own, independent dreams.

VERE.

It's not exactly that Vere is a commitment-phobe. When he falls for someone, he falls fast and hard, and he's never been one to be secretive about his feelings. But he views relationships of all kinds--platonic, romantic, sexual, even antagonistic--with a kind of levity that can be offputting to many. Love, to him, is a game, and he has zero interest in dropping out of the race the moment he takes the lead, so to speak.

Even in a committed, monogamous relationship, Vere is a flirt and a bit of a player--with his partner and outsiders alike. In his eyes, it's not a sign of disloyalty, but rather, a way of keeping the spark alive. Possessiveness is an immediate dealbreaker for him (although he's not opposed to a good ol' jealousy fueled romp in the sheets--that's half the fun of teasing).

Vere tends to bottom more often than he tops, but he's attracted to switches far more than he is fully dominant types. He likes having dynamic interplay in a relationship, especially sexual, and wants to be with someone that isn't content with always falling back into the same old routines.

Physical attraction is very important to Vere, although he doesn't necessarily require that his partner is conventionally attractive. He's especially drawn to unique senses of style and physical traits--a particularly intense look in a person's eyes, a scar or blemish that gives their face an interesting character, even an interesting tilt to the way they hold themself. The only thing he loves more than standing out in a crowd on his own is hanging off the arm of someone who does the same, intentionally or not.

He likes to imagine himself and his partner as a power couple--the two most powerful personas in the room, the ones that everyone else wants to either fuck or become.

While he is very attracted to confidence, there's a bit of a feedback loop here, because he's also extremely good at psyching up his partner's self-image--stick with Vere long enough, and it's hard not to see yourself as someone powerful and desirable.

Massive tit guy. 'nuff said.

KURAS.

Kuras is also attracted to oddballs and quirky types, although unlike Vere, he's not super interested in physical appearance or their ability to stick out in a crowd. He's much more drawn to interesting personalities: people with unique tics, speech patterns, responses, and the like.

His favorite part of relationships (sexual, romantic, and otherwise) is gradually learning what makes the other person tick, so unless he gets the sense that there's something interesting lingering under the surface, it can be hard to get his attention. He needs to feel like there's some kind of puzzle to be solved, and a tricky one at that.

On the other hand, once his curiosity has been captured, he's an incredibly attentive partner--even if it's not entirely unlike the kind of attention an entomologist would give a bug under the microscope.

He's also drawn to outspoken, forthright personalities to counter his more polite and subdued persona. There's something he finds incredibly amusing about a person who speaks their mind even when they know it'll get them into trouble.

For that reason, Kuras is, much like Ais, attracted to bratty types. Unlike Ais, he expects them to learn the rules at some point down the line. While his form of discipline is a gentle, cool-headed one, he still views himself as more of a teacher than a playmate.

He very much prefers to feel in control of a given situation (even if that isn't immediately obvious in the way he presents himself). It can make him stubborn, to the extent that he'll reject the advances of a person he's interested in just because he wants to be the one to confess.

While this characteristic can make him come across as rather clinical in his approach, it gets its chance to shine when paired with his detail-oriented nature. From a grand confession of love to a simple weeknight dinner date, he's extremely methodical about preparing the perfect romantic atmosphere for his partner's tastes, from the locale and decor to the scent of his cologne.

While his partner needn't necessarily come across as kind at first impression, it is deeply important to Kuras that they have a good, generous heart. All the better if he gets to be the one to make them feel safe showing it to the world.

He likes 'em a little clingy and needy, too. Independence isn't necessarily a turn-off, but he needs to feel like all the effort he puts in is appreciated, or he'll move on to some other curiosity.

LEANDER.

We all know that this man loves to flirt, and in a much more grandiose, romantic sense of the word than Vere or Ais at that. In the same way that he gets a bit of a rush putting his strength to use in a fight, he likes using his charm and good looks to get a reaction out of people.

That's not to say his teasing is ingenuine; Leander comes on strong because he knows what he's looking for, from his partner's looks and the way they carry themself in a crowded room to the way they respond to his advances. He wants to be with someone who'll fall as fast and hard as he does, and as manipulative of a tactic as it may be, he's willing to put on the mask of a romantic until he finds the one that responds in kind.

Leander doesn't play games. Once he commits himself to a person, that's it. His absolute devotion is yours, and he expects that loyalty to be returned. Some of his biggest turn-offs are people who don't seem sure of what they want, or who won't express their feelings to him straightforwardly. He'll put up with some level of shyness, but too much beating around the bush and he starts to feel more like a therapist than a partner.

Total ass man. He has no compunctions about grabbing it in public to get a rise out of you--not to mention how utterly shameless he is behind closed doors.

He also really likes long hair. He has a lot of restless energy and tends to fidget when forced to stay still for long periods of time, so playing with your hair is one of his favorite ways to calm his mind. Braiding it and running his hands through it if it's straight, or spiraling your curls around his fingers--he doesn't mind either way, just wants it silky-soft and long enough to play with. (He also loooooves helping you wash and care for it.)

He's very physically affectionate in private, and even more so in public. He likes showing his partner off, and being shown off by them. To some this might make him come across as rather shallow (his favorite date nights involve going to bars or out dancing--anywhere that gives him the opportunity to turn some heads), but to him, it's a way of demonstrating that no matter how many may want him, he's decided you're the only one deserving of his attention.

[alicesoinions]

Aspects

My views on Homestuck's Aspects. Part of this analysis is the idea that Aspects have relationships to each other, each bringing the other about.

I will use my own custom Aspect symbols throughout, but the analysis itself is based on canon.

Space

Space is the Aspect of beginnings, of new things. Space experiments and improvises. Space cares about what is possible now, and cares more about the discoveries made in a journey than about a specific endpoint. Space is infinite discovery and potential.

Space is represented by art, fashion, atoms, and frogs.

Space is the color of the night sky, empty beyond human perception, endless and unfathomable but not featureless. Inky darkness, dotted by stars. Space has no color at all, which sometimes results in it using Sburb’s default texture.

Space is opposed to the Aspect of Time.

Space is the fundamental force of creation that gives rise to the duality of Life and Doom well as the unknown mysteries of Void.

Void

Void is the Aspect of the unknown. Of hidden, ill-defined things impossible for us to know or give names to. Void is the Aspect of true reality, of things on a spectrum, of quantum and biology.

Void is represented by water, darkness, and pumpkins.

Void is the color of deep waters, hiding what lies within; its color somewhere on a gradient, but impossible for humans to pinpoint or define no matter how long they stare; Void is the shifting hues of the color of the sky.

Void is opposed to the Aspect of Light.

The unexplored unknowns of the Void hide the untapped potential that is Space, leading to new creation.

Life

Life is the Aspect of agency and self-direction. Life is self-directed and idealistic; Life concerns itself primarily with what Life wants to do, not caring for obstacles or drawbacks. Life sees an infinitude of options, and picks the one it desires.

Life is represented by plants, food, coins, and wealth.

Life is opposed to the Aspect of Doom.

The ultimate freedom to do whatever one wants eventually leads to the ennui of Breath. The interplay of Life and Doom leads to defining one's self in Heart or hiding in Mind.

Doom

Doom is the Aspect of fate and constraint. Doom has burdens and limitations; Doom concerns itself with practical issues instead of lofty ideals. Doom sees no escape or negotiation, going with what others demand of you.

Doom is represented by skulls, death, and fire.

Doom is opposed to the Aspect of Life.

The practical matters and the knowledge of our limits leads to the endless toil of Blood. The interplay of Life and Doom leads defining one's self in Heart or hiding in Mind.

Breath

Breath is the Aspect of detachment. Breath goes with the flow, not caring about anything or anyone in particular; Breath does whatever feels right in the moment, not worrying about much.

Breath is represented by wind, leaves, and rivers.

Breath is opposed to the Aspect of Blood.

The freedom of exploration of and detachment of goals leads to the compromise and negotiation of Hope and to exploration of the self in Heart.

Blood

Blood is the Aspect of effort. Blood has lofty expectations, from both itself and others, and runs itself ragged to accomplish all of them. Blood cares intensely about what it does, without rest or thought.

Blood is represented by blood, sweat, stone, and iron.

Blood is opposed to the Aspect of Breath.

The exertion and toil of Blood eventually lead either to hiding in Mind or to the revolution of Rage.

Heart

Heart is the Aspect of self and emotion. Heart is a person's identity and definition, their emotions and their friendships and their biases. Heart goes with its gut. Heart cares about what its heart directs it to.

Heart is represented by music, hats, and horses.

Heart is opposed to the Aspect of Mind.

Heart’s loyalty and instinct lead to the upheaval of Rage and Heart’s caring nature leads to Blood.

Mind

Mind is the Aspect of thought and masking. Mind coldly adapts itself to circumstance, hiding the true self in order to blend in with what's acceptable. Mind is impartial. Mind weighs all the options, and picks the one most suited to the situation.

Mind is represented by masks, blindfolds, and scales.

Mind is opposed to the Aspect of Heart.

Mind’s bottling of emotions leads to the real detachment of Breath; and Mind’s adaptive nature leads to Hope.

Rage

Rage is the Aspect of rebellion. Rage is skeptical of what society presents as true, and fights tooth and nail for what it stands for. Rage riots and fights back; Rage would sooner bring revenge than healing. Rage fights for sudden change.

Rage is represented by fangs, beasts, and waves.

Rage is opposed to the Aspect of Hope.

In fighting against their shackles, one gains the newfound options of Life. Rage’s sudden changes forms half of the past events of Time.

Hope

Hope is the Aspect of diplomacy. Hope believes everyone is good at heart, and that everything could be solved if only everyone talked things out. Hope has blind faith and will sooner comfort a friend than hurt an enemy. Hope solves things slowly and steadily.

Hope is represented by religion, ribbons, and blankets.

Hope is opposed to the Aspect of Rage.

Hope’s compromises and negotiations lead to new shackles in the form of Doom. Hope’s slow changes form half the past events of Time.

Time

Time is the Aspect of the past. Time is concerned with traditions, patterns, and the inevitability of what came before. Time brings the authority of established rules and governance. Time looks to what was to decide what will come about.

Time is associated with gears, crowns, sand, and clocks.

Time is the color of a gear turning to rust, of blood leaving a vein, of a game timer running out. Time powers shine in all colors at once before they settle on one.

Time is opposed to the Aspect of Space.

The knowledge of the established patterns of Time leads to the knowledge and definition of Light.

Light

Light is the Aspect of definition. Light has clear rules, clear definitions, and clear answers. Light creates frameworks of understanding and puts things in black and white, right and wrong, relevant and irrelevant, which can sometimes lead to ignoring the gray areas between. Light is the Aspect of human knowledge of the world, our ideas, stories, and sciences.

Light is represented by the sun, fire, and compasses.

Light is the blazing color of the sun, impossible to look at for long, but shining its light everywhere, a white light that returns as a myriad of colors.

Light is opposed to the Aspect of Void.

The sharp delineations of Light ignore the gray areas outside definition, creating Void.

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes- libra full moon & eclipse 🌕

MARCH 25TH- The Libra full moon shines a light on our relationships, urging us to release doubt and uncertainty. As we transition from the Equinox into Aries season, a new cycle begins, marked by the fast-approaching total eclipse on the Aries new moon. This eclipse season acts as a powerful catalyst for change, offering us the opportunity to realign and detoxify our energy.

The Aries-Libra axis highlights the dynamic interplay between individuality and partnership, self-expression and cooperation. These opposing forces challenge us to find balance within ourselves and in our connections with others. It's a time for deep introspection and transformation, as we navigate the delicate dance between independence and interdependence.

Eclipses are not to be feared but embraced as gateways to resolution and new beginnings. They offer us a chance to shed past karma and step into our higher purpose. As Carl Jung teaches, life emerges from the spark of opposites, and the Lunar Eclipse in Libra reminds us to harmonize polarities to experience a more vibrant existence.

During this eclipse cycle, observe your experiences and reflections, noting any shifts or realizations that occur. Embrace change and complexity, turning problems into powers and paradoxes into pathways to growth. As we navigate these cosmic currents, may we find balance, harmony, and a deeper understanding of our interconnectedness.

Aries Rising (Libra 7th House - Aries 1st House): This eclipse highlights the need to find balance in your relationships (7th house) while asserting your individuality (1st house). You may experience shifts in your partnerships that encourage you to take a more assertive stance in expressing your needs and desires.

Taurus Rising (Libra 6th House - Aries 12th House): The eclipse brings attention to your health and daily routines (6th house) as well as your spiritual and subconscious realms (12th house). You may feel a need to prioritize self-care and introspection, letting go of old habits that no longer serve you.

Gemini Rising (Libra 5th House - Aries 11th House): This eclipse highlights creativity, romance, and self-expression (5th house) as well as your social circles and aspirations (11th house). You may feel inspired to pursue creative projects or reassess your social connections to align them with your true desires.

Cancer Rising (Libra 4th House - Aries 10th House): Home, family, and emotional security (4th house) come into focus, along with your career and public image (10th house). You may experience changes in your professional life that require you to find a balance between your personal and public responsibilities.

Leo Rising (Libra 3rd House - Aries 9th House): Communication, learning, and short trips (3rd house) are emphasized, along with higher education and philosophical pursuits (9th house). You may feel a strong urge to expand your knowledge or share your ideas with others, leading to new opportunities for growth.

Virgo Rising (Libra 2nd House - Aries 8th House): Finances, values, and self-worth (2nd house) come into focus, along with shared resources and deep transformations (8th house). You may need to reassess your financial situation and how you share resources with others, leading to a more profound understanding of your own worth.

Libra Rising (Libra 1st House - Aries 7th House): This eclipse highlights your identity and self-expression (1st house) as well as your partnerships and relationships (7th house). You may experience a shift in how you perceive yourself in relation to others, leading to a greater sense of balance and harmony in your relationships.

Scorpio Rising (Aries 6th House - Libra 12th House): Health, work, and service to others (6th house) are emphasized, along with spirituality and subconscious patterns (12th house). You may feel a need to take better care of your physical and mental well-being, leading to a deeper understanding of your own inner workings.

Sagittarius Rising (Aries 5th House - Libra 11th House): The eclipse highlights creativity, romance, and children (5th house) as well as friendships and social connections (11th house). You may feel inspired to pursue creative projects or connect with like-minded individuals who share your aspirations.

Capricorn Rising (Aries 4th House - Libra 10th House): Home, family, and emotional foundations (4th house) come into focus, along with your career and public image (10th house). You may experience changes in your professional life that require you to find a balance between your personal and public responsibilities, leading to a greater sense of fulfillment in both areas.

Aquarius Rising (Aries 3rd House - Libra 9th House): Communication, learning, and short trips (3rd house) are emphasized, along with higher education and philosophical pursuits (9th house). You may feel a strong urge to expand your knowledge or share your ideas with others, leading to new opportunities for growth and understanding.

Pisces Rising (Aries 2nd House - Libra 8th House): Finances, values, and self-worth (2nd house) come into focus, along with shared resources and deep transformations (8th house). You may need to reassess your financial situation and how you share resources with others, leading to a deeper understanding of your own worth and values.

follow for more astro insights like this and support me over on yt @quenysefields or instagram sensualnoiree

[albarrancabrera]

I SEE YOU – 14 ARTISTS IN A DIALOGUE IN COLLABORATION WITH HARPER’S BAZAAR NL @bildhalle Amsterdam Friday, 13 September, 18 - 21h

Special thanks to @mirjamcavegn & @miluskavantlam who have curated this exhibition.

"I SEE YOU" is a reflection on a dialogue that references appreciation and true connection. It’s a direct acknowledgment of the “other”.

We’re honoured to be in this exibition "in dialogue" with one artist that we highly admire: Richard Caldicott @richardcaldicott He’s one of the main representatives of constructed photography. A key set of his work is a series of still lifes created using ordinary plastic containers. 

By playing with the interaction of light and colour, Caldicott no only makes the viewer forget about the quotidian use of these objects, but also emphasizes the qualities of the photographic medium itself, producing objects independent of any antecedent reality.

His innovative approach to photography opened our eyes to the medium's potential for creative expression. This style of work suggests that photography, through its interplay with light, time and chance, can create images that challenge conventional perceptions and interpretations.  . In our "Polarized" series, which is part of our "Opticks" project, we continue using photography to explore the 'structure of reality' and 'the why of things,' echoing Berenice Abbott's vision of photography as “the friendly interpreter of science.” Unlike previous series, this one investigates natural components that are normally invisible, except through experiments that make them visible.

Transparent objects, especially plastics, subtly alter how light passes through them, changes that are invisible to the naked eye. However, when exposed to polarized light and observed through a second polarizer, hidden internal differences reveal vibrant colors and shades of gray. . As Duane Michals states: "Photography deals with appearances, but nothing is ever as it seems."

1: © Albarran Cabrera, Polarized #55452, 2024  2: © Richard Caldicott, Combination Green, 1996 3: © Albarran Cabrera, Polarized #55450, 2024  4: © Richard Caldicott, Untitled #167, 1996