#it hits her with a sense of bittersweet nostalgia

[kitkabam]

My Rook who has no idea how someone like Solas could bag someone like my Lavellan, who by this time has probably become a lot more hardened to the world compared to ten years ago when she was very wide eyed and curious about all things while learning how to properly take the reigns of a leader. Yet despite the lack of a smile her eyes light up the halls of the Lighthouse, she walks with an air of natural elegance, and her voice is as soft as a whisper.

Verses my Lavellan who has no idea how someone like my Rook could attract someone like Lucanis because this clumsy ass Warden mage has already tripped over her feet five times, walked right into the trunk of a tree, AND asked the most out of pocket question on accident within the span of just five minutes. Also she's pretty sure Rook has at least three leaves caught in her wild curls.

The duality of my elven protagonists.

[sepublic]

The vocals at this part, and the music in general, really just hammer into me this sense of melancholy. That bittersweet nostalgia for the past, the pain and grief of change, everything you’ve lost and the hurt that is even more permanent... But also the bright hope for the future, that feeling of belonging that creates this homesickness. Seeing Luz grown up, part of it does feel like a return to form for her, a recovery from her trauma and the attempts to bury who she was.

But then seeing Willow start off our montage of how the Boiling Isles changed, seeing her and Hunter together and be so radically different and apart when they started... It really hits me then that it’s been years and my kids have all grown up. It’s been so much longer than the actual events of the show prior to the timeskip, multiple ‘Owl House’ stories just as dynamic could’ve happened since, several times over. And with Willow especially, she’s such a drastic step up from the meek wallflower and nerd she started as, it... It’s making me miss the old her, while also being so proud at who she’s become. Her, Hunter, Lilith, Amity, Gus... All of them.

And it all begins again with Owlbert, like we’re going through the show all over again, but reborn anew with another potential adventure ahead of us! God, Owlbert really ties it together and seeing him soar freely alongside Willow, while the light lullaby creates a sense of hopeful wonder and flight, creates an indescribable feeling...! The direction, the soundtrack, the cinematography and animation flow so well together, kudos to the team for that. It really does feel magical.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: hannah’s avery

pairing: avery grambs x jameson hawthorne

synopsis: it’s the anniversary of hannah’s death and avery can’t admit to herself that she’s not okay

warnings: mention of death

a/n: I adored writing this!! should I do more avery x jameson?? bc this is my first fic with those two (crazy right??)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

Avery Kylie Grambs doesn’t cry. It’s been something I’ve told myself my whole life. I didn’t come crashing down when problems came my way, I braved them and didn’t let them see my pain. I’ve always been a stubborn girl and nothing would stop that.

But sometimes… sometimes Hannah’s Avery cried. The little girl in her mother’s arms when the going got tough. She cried and when she did, she wasn’t weak, she had her mother’s strength to carry her through. My mom’s arms had always been a safe place, she was the only person I could crumble into and fall apart on. She allowed me to be every version of myself. Good or bad.

I hadn’t been Hannah’s Avery since the night my mom died but suddenly I found myself as Hannah’s Avery once again on a dull Monday night. And it was more bittersweet than I ever would’ve thought. I felt a sense of nostalgia, like the girl I used to know was back, the girl I love so dearly that I’d lost. But there were no arms to sob into this time. And what was Hannah’s Avery without Hannah?

I reluctantly pushed myself up off of the bed I’d been curled up on for lord knows how long, in an attempt to pull myself together. I walked the bathroom and splashed my face. The icy cold water hit every cell, sending a jolt of shock through me. I needed to stop this nonsense. I wiped my face and breath, staring at someone unrecognisable in the mirror. Hannah’s Avery was long gone, that little girl had died with her mother. Avery Kylie Grambs seemed to be gone too. So who was she? Reflected in the glass? The girl I was looking at wasn’t any version of myself. She was new.

I turned away, uncomfortable with the change, the newcomer. I walked back the bedroom, looking up at the ceiling. And as pretty as the pattern was on it, I don’t think that was why I was looking up. I slumped down on my bed and ran my fingers through my knotted hair, helplessly tugging out the tangles.

“Heiress?”

There was only one voice like his.

“Yeah?” I replied, with a feigned smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked, approaching closer, faster.

His voice was contorted with concern. Why could he tell I wasn’t okay? How could he tell? No one can ever tell. They aren’t meant to be able to tell. I silently cursed myself for not sticking on my mask well enough tonight, the cracks were beginning to appear and Jameson could see right through them.

“Fine,” I replied, not sounding fine at all.

“What’s wrong?” he was quick to ask.

“Nothing I’m fine,” I said sharply, meeting his eyes. Big mistake.

“You’ve been crying,” he barely whispered, touching my cheek gently.

His touch was so soft I shuddered and pulled away. I couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, I couldn’t afford to be manipulated by my feelings, give in so easily. I was stronger than that.

“I don’t cry,” I snapped, my voice hard, harsh, unfamiliar. I didn’t like the way it sounded, it was so unlike myself, like the girl in the mirror from earlier.

“Oh Heiress,” he said, his voice sweet like honey, “everybody cries.”

I shook my head stubbornly, so paralysed by denial I thought I could still move, “not me.”

“Come here,” he replied, sitting down on our bed and opening his arms.

“No, I’m fine,” I repeated. I could see what he was trying to do. “I don’t need comfort, I’m not upset.”

“I know,” he shrugged, “but just come here.”

I crawled into his open arms and curled up against his chest. I laid there as he traced the features of my face with a tentative fingertip. Some of my previous emotion began to subside and I began to feel better. It would leave, whatever this was. It would be gone in a minute. Or that’s what I thought. I was a naive fool. Within seconds of my optimism the left side of my chest physically ached, pulsations of jagged agony rippled through. I fumbled for the words to explain what I was feeling but my mind drew blank. I physically couldn’t. I looked up at Jameson, our eyes locked together.

“Call it,” I murmured, an unwanted tremor creeping into my voice.

“What?” he asked quietly, stroking my hair.

“Call tahiti,” I whispered, gazing into his large green eyes.

“Heiress,” he said gently, his face mellowing, “I don’t have to do that.”

He was right. He could’ve called tahiti the moment he saw my tear-stained cheeks, or sullen face but he didn’t. He waited. And even thought it was probably killing him, wracking his brain, ripping his heart from inside out, the word never came near to passing his lips.

“I want you to,” I said, sitting up, “I want you to call it.”

“Okay,” he replied slowly, almost hesitantly. Jameson Hawthorne didn’t hesitate. “Tahiti.”

I paused for what felt like hours, the words didn’t want to come out of my mouth. It was like they’d been stuck to the sides on my throat with superglue. I hadn’t ever admitted this pain out loud. I didn’t realise how deep I’d buried it.

“My mom,” I whispered, holding in a sob.

I couldn’t look into his eyes, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it together if I did that and I couldn’t afford to fall apart for the second time today. Avery Kylie Grambs doesn’t do that.

“Oh Avery,” Jameson said with softened eyes.

Not Heiress. Avery. The tenderness in his voice melted my heart and all of my insides. And with those two words I knew he immediately understood, I didn’t have to say anymore.

I loved him more than anything on this earth, I wanted him, I needed him. But needing someone and letting yourself needing someone are two very different things. But that day finally chose the latter. I fell into him, collapsing in a heap of loud, ugly sobs. I’d never felt more exposed to my own feelings, so raw with emotion.

“It hurts,” I choked, coughing up the words that I’d buried alive in my weighted heart.

“I know, but I’ve got you okay?” he comforted. I could hear his beating heart against my ear, reminding me of how lucky I was. For him, for all of this, for the life I was living. “And it won’t hurt forever,” he continued.

“What if it does?” I asked, my voice so childlike it ached.

“Then I’ll always be here to hold you,” he whispered, stroking the length of my hair softly, his fingers rhythmically weaving between strands in a calming manor.

And he was. He didn’t let go. His grip never wavered. He just held me, all of me. He held Avery Kylie Grambs, Hannah’s Avery and the Heiress. I hid my face into his chest and shed the remnants of my pain, his scent offered me comfort, his touch was warm and familiar.

“I love you Jamie,” I said into him after a while. It was so quiet I didn’t know it he’d heard me.

“I love you too Heiress,” he replied with a kiss on the top of my head. He’d heard me.

He always hears me.

a/n: thanks for reading!! hopefully I got the dynamic right?? anyways this is in honour of our lovely excerpt yesterday 🤭🤭

ALSO I am very aware that I promise PART 4 of the mysterious blonde would be the next fic up but I had this random idea and I needed to write it!! and the mysterious blonde pt4 is a much longer fic than this one…

[xotherwcrldsx]

#15 for Amy on the ask meme.

15. What places hold significant meaning or memories for your OC? Do they have a positive or negative association with those places?

For Amy, the place with the most significant meaning for her is Chicago. She was born in Chicago and spent the first 8 years of her life there. There's a heavy sense of nostalgia mixed with sadness associated with the city because of how much it eminds her of her father. Even though her family lived in a shady part of the city, her parents still tried to give her the best life they could with what they had. So she never noticed the crime or anything like that. She was usually in her own little world most of the time.

Of course, once Chucky 'died', Tiffany was quick to pack up and move her and Amy away and out of the city. Thus the little trailer park she spent the rest of her childhood and teen years in really didn't feel much like 'home' because a big part of her went missing in Chicago—her dad. Her mother tried her best but it just wasn't the same.

So when Amy was applying for colleges during her last year of high school, she had her eyes set back on Chicago, hoping it would heal her in some shape or form. She applied to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and with her portfolio and grades, she got accepted into the school of her dreams. For her, it was bittersweet. She'd never been away from her mother before, let alone for that long. But getting to see the city again and hitting up the old spots her and her family would visit when her dad was alive felt like true bliss. Even so, a hint of grief still lingered.

[aut-with-tism]

Drowning isn’t unfamiliar.

That thought comes to mind with a twisted sense of nostalgia, pitifully bittersweet. The ghost of a hand twists in her hair, holding her down and keeping her head under. 

The water level rises and she knows how this goes. Knows to take a deep breath right as she’s fully submerged. 

She could almost smile.

But she doesn’t. Familiarity does nothing to make it any less terrifying when her ears pop and her lungs start to spasm. When she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold her breath for, but she knows what’ll happen if she doesn’t. 

But she didn’t die then, and she refuses to die now. Not like this. 

Getting out of the gyrosphere is a blur - one that makes her feel like she’s drowning all over again. She remembers heavy limbs and feeble kicks. Head pounding, hope depleting; born in a cage and destined to die in one, too. 

She remembers contemplating death. Remembers wondering whether it would be more peaceful if she gave into it, breathing it in and succumbing to whatever followed. 

And then, she was breaking the surface. Breathing in simultaneously too early and too late, coughing and flailing in an animalistic attempt to live. Owen’s hand grips at her shirt, keeping her above the waves. That, too, is familiar in its own right. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I promise. I got you.”

He holds her with such caution. Looks at her with such concern. Eyes wide and wary as he begs for her to say something, say anything. To look at him, to talk to him, to breathe.

But she can’t. 

(She hasn’t in so long that she almost thinks she’s forgotten how to.)

He all but drags her to the shore and hauls her up onto the beach. Sand under her fingertips, water lapping at her waist. Perhaps, if she didn’t know better, she’d think it some fever dream instead of the living nightmare that’s actuality. The same one she’s had for days. Weeks. Months. Years.

The clock resets itself.

She’s done this once, already - she can’t do it again. She can’t.

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t.

A sob claws its way up her throat, threatening to escape. Her eyes sting. The second betrayal of the day.

She sits up suddenly, ignoring the way the world spins around her. The realisation hits that, somewhere along the way, four became three. “Where’s Zia?”

She knows the answer, already. Knows the way her stomach churns. Knows the way guilt settles heavily on her chest all too well. If it weighs her down any more, she’ll be six feet under. But maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. 

She bites down on her lip in a vain attempt to keep it all in - be it the darkness shrouding her, or the white-hot nausea that bubbles up inside, threatening to spill over. Eli had looked her right in the eye and he lied to her.

It was a lie.

It was all a lie.

Grabbing a handful of sand, she tosses it back into the sea pathetically. Zia could be dead (or worse; a lone woman amidst all male traffickers may as well be a death sentence) and it’s all her fault. For dragging her into this. For trusting a man wouldn’t abuse his power.

For loving her.

She can’t help the sob that escapes her, this time.

Gentle hands cup either side of her face, brushing away the tears that fall. A kindness undeserved. She doesn’t have to look to know it’s Owen. “She’s gonna be okay. We’ll find her, we’ll…she’ll be okay, Claire. But we gotta go. Now.”

It’s a promise he can’t keep, but she still finds herself clinging to his foolish hope. Still lets him pull her up off the ground and lead them out of there.

It’s almost reminiscent of two years back.

(If only she knew, then. If only she had any idea just what they were getting themselves into.

Masrani had called it an eventuality. Inevitable.

Indomitable.)

It’s strange. It’s almost the same, and yet it’s not. Her calves cramp and burn in a way that’s achingly familiar, but she’s wearing boots, not heels. She stumbles over herself more than once, but it’s sand and rocks beneath her feet, not mud and vines. Still, Owen refuses to let her fall. 

She wonders if he feels the same. If he closes his eyes and envisions leathery skin, torn apart and soaked with blood. If he’s also overpowered by non-existent rumbling in the distance and the memory of a ceiling crashing down on them.

His hand tightens around hers. She’s not sure if it’s an answer or a reassurance.

By the time they reach the dock, she’s breathless and near doubled over. Her shirt clings to her back - soaked with sweat - body trembling against whatever, whoever, presses into her. A sharp cry pierces her ears. Reminiscent of the sounds and calls that still haunt her dreams.

Blue.

Someone tenses next to her. Owen, she thinks. She goes to reach for him, return the favour, but the booming behind them stops her in her tracks.

“We need to get on that boat.”

And then, it’s autopilot. Automatic. Adrenaline. Survival. She runs as though there's a flare in her hand and a T-Rex behind her, still. And maybe, there is. She hasn’t stopped running since. 

She doesn’t look back until they’re on the boat. Truck jolting as she slams on the brakes, heart hammering in her chest.

The island’s gone. Shrouded in smoke and death. Everything that was once her home, burned to the ground. All because of her. Her.

And she should’ve died there with it.

She repeats that like a mantra, over and over as they sneak through the ship to try and find Zia and Blue. She shouldn’t have left. She shouldn’t have got up off the ground on Main Street those two years ago; instead just let herself wither away, decay into nothing more than bone and blurred memory.

(Or, maybe, she shouldn’t have gotten up off the ground two decades ago, curled up at her father’s feet; instead just let the man beat her to death - abandoned at the side of a road, nameless and forgotten.)

The mantra stops when she finally sees Zia. When she can finally breathe because Zia is, when all the tension drains from her body and yet another sob claws its way up her throat because Zia is there and she’s alive and- “Claire, come here.”

She does as she’s told. Let’s Zia manoeuvre her hands with gentle authority and firm tenderness until they’re putting pressure down on Blue’s wound. The raptor screeches. As though she knows that she did this. Guilt by association. 

She wonders if Blue knows that she’s the reason her sisters are dead, too. Wonders if she resents her for it. After all, how could she not?

She hates herself for it. It was worse when they first got off the island - when she’d let Owen curl around her in bed for him to startle awake not even an hour later, haunted by the deaths of the creatures he had raised. When he told her how Charlie had been right there in front of him, and then she wasn’t. When he’d call Lowery every so often and ask if there was any sign of Blue on the few security cameras that were still functioning.

An animal so smart would be stupid not to blame her.

When she volunteers to get blood for a transfusion, she tells herself it’s the least she can do. For Blue, who deserves to live. For Owen, who she’s hurt so much already. And for Zia, who she could never do enough for.

It’s just ironic when the dinosaur they need to get the blood from happens to be the T-Rex. Bitterly ironic.

They make it out of the shipping container with all of their limbs still intact, albeit trembling. Owen laughs breathily, grinning at the ridiculousness of it all, and she forces herself to smile back at him, swallowing the acidity that lingers on her tongue.

It comes with an urge. A desperation to jam her fingers down her throat until her eyes burn and she gags, shuddering up sour spit and flushing away her remorse.

She forces her eyes shut and digs her nails into the soft flesh of her palm until the skin cracks. 

If she was any less broken, perhaps it would let the light in. Perhaps the cracks would continue to grow until all the darkness seeped out of her, and then she could be rid of all she is and start anew. But, instead, the darkness just grows. Trickling between her fingers, dripping a trail on the floor. It follows wherever she goes.

Blue is still alive when they get back to the truck, by some small miracle. Owen’s shoulders sag with relief and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not over yet. He already knows.

She hands the bag of blood off to Zia, trying to ignore the splotches of her own she’s left on the handle. For all the bloodshed, this is the first time that some of it’s hers.   

It isn’t nearly enough.

She thinks back to post-island. Week thirty. The switchblade Owen had given her months prior in the claims it was a gift (one that he just so happened to gift her the day after someone had tried to break into their hotel room, screaming her name and threatening a fate almost worse than death).

She thinks back to how she was reminded of being four and fourteen simultaneously - both finding her mother unconscious in the bathtub, and chasing what her mother had sought after, herself.

She doesn’t want that, again. And yet, she does.

Her lip quivers and she focuses on the velociraptor in front of her. Dying, but not yet dead. Just as she’s guilty, but she’s not yet liable. Awaiting trial for her sins.

Oh god, the trial.

Her body tenses on instinct. They haven’t survived this, yet, but if the fallout is anything like it was last, she doesn’t think she wants to. Doesn’t think she could make it through the brutality and perdition that it was, again.

They called her callous. Ruthless. Inhumane. They wouldn’t even let her speak to call them hypocrites. 

The sound of metal clinking together pulls her from her thoughts, eyes darting up to meet Zia’s. “She’s going to be okay.”

The weight of yet another death she caused by effect is lifted from where it hovered above her shoulders, waiting. A tear rolls down her cheeks. The start of a flood. 

Relief changes to realisation far too suddenly. It burns her cheeks and constricts her lungs. She doesn’t realise she isn’t breathing properly until hands guide her to the floor, brushing up and down her back and cupping at her cheeks. Someone tells her to look at them. Another tells her she’s okay, she’s safe, and she almost laughs at how wrong they are. 

She doesn’t know how to be either of those things. Not for herself, and certainly not for anyone else. 

Her vision blurs and she becomes vaguely aware of the fact she’s slumping forwards, but she doesn’t fall. In spite of all she’s done, someone is still there to catch her. Someone is still there to guide her back until she’s propped against the wall.

If she were to open her eyes, she’s sure she’d be met with concern. With pity and worry.

Or, perhaps, she’ll open them to see her father knelt down in front of her. She dreamt that, once. Dreamt that the last two decades were all a coma-dream and that she went from one nightmare to another, but it wasn’t real. She still doesn’t know how to feel about that.

The voices blear together, drowned out by the harsh sound of blood pumping in her ears and a distant ringing that goes straight through her. She grasps at one of the hands on her, clutching at it like a lifeline. Another hand combs through her hair in a soothing pattern. She focuses on it. Uses it to correct her breathing as it slows in its hitching and the exhaustion sets in.

Her head lolls to the side, dropping onto the shoulder of whoever is next to her. Too tired to stop herself. Too tired to reject the comfort she basks in. It’s been so long. Too long.

“We’ve got you. You’re okay. We’ve got you.”   

[turtlemagnum]

i got a new laptop the other day since the old one died. it doesn't have a whole lot of storage but i specifically looked for one with a quality CPU so it could emulate fairly well. grabbed some roms from my desktop to put on it, because i was gonna head over to my mom's place for the night the same day. she asked if i had bonk on it, i didn't but quickly grabbed a rom of super bonk on the snes for her to play. wasn't the version she grew up with, seemed to have some fun with it but overall didn't seem the most enjoyable. i mentioned that i had a link to the past already on here, and she lit up. she immediately wanted to play it, so i obliged.

now, growing up one of the only luxuries we had was a super nintendo. one of the only games we had for it was a link to the past, and she'd regularly replay it, and i'd watch. it was one of my earliest introductions to gaming, and was really special the whole way through; there's definitely a reason as to why i'm the zelda fuck i am today. she wouldn't really let me play it much, but one thing she said that stuck with me is that she thought i'd never be better at it than her even when i'm an adult.

fast forward a few years later, i'm no longer the little kid i was back when she still had a working SNES, i have a gaming PC and an 8bitdo SN30 pro, which is essentially a super nintendo controller with an extra set of shoulder buttons and a pair of thumbsticks. naturally, i play a link to the past on it, and after about 2-3 days i beat it. one of the few games i can say i've beaten 100%, assuming you don't count the extremely linear ones where the win condition is going through the entire game like, for instance, mario the lost levels. as i've grown older, i've gotten a lot better at video games than i was as a kid. i wouldn't say i'm fantastic at them, but i'm in a bit of a weird middleground where i'm significantly better than the average gamer but leagues behind the people at the top who actually know what the fuck they're doing. regardless, i got through the game pretty quick and easily, and i believe i might not have even died throughout, though i don't feel like checking. regardless, here's the sad part of the story

when i sat there watching her play it, there was an indelible sense of nostalgia that washed over me. but, slowly, i realized that she wasn't anywhere near as good as she used to be. i could tell she had forgotten a lot of stuff, gotten a lot worse at physically controlling link, at times forgot which buttons did what, and sometimes had to be reminded of things that i thought was second nature to her given the years and years she'd played the game. at first, i found it kind of funny, and i had a bit of pride at the idea that i had finally gotten better than her at a link to the past. then, the more i could tell she forgot, the more it set in that it likely wasn't just rust from a lack of practice.

my mom has... hit her head, a fair few times in her life. i was right there with her in the ER when pretty much all of them happened. and i've definitely noticed that a lot of her mental faculties have gotten... worse, after each one. more and more she'd repeat things we'd just talked about, have to think a lot harder about things that came naturally, rejecting more philosophical discussions saying that she didn't have the mental energy for them. i'd say that she's still absolutely functional in day to day life, and that she's probably gotten better in the time since the last time she hit her head, but i'd be lying if i said that in some ways, the mother i had as a kid died a little bit with each head injury. so this, this really set in how far gone in some ways she's become.

it became fairly bittersweet after a while, watching her play. when i was younger, i'd watch her get through the whole game in one sitting with little difficulty, and now she struggled to get through to the second dungeon. i know it sounds silly, but seeing her struggle with something like this to such a degree just really made me realize all that's happened between then and now. it's not really about the game, is it? it's about seeing someone you love slowly fade both physically and mentally in a way that you can do nothing to stop. the nostalgia became overwhelmed with a sense of how we can never go back, now.

[snow-system-wol]

A short thing poking at the start of the Lv50-60 DRK quests and relevant implications, re: the system's Fray and Sidurgu.

Ao3 link

You had been perhaps… hasty in your assumptions. As much as you and Fray are now one in the same, that part of your existence has never felt quite so alien to you as it does now, to the point that it nearly feels like someone else's emotions again. The thoughts and feelings bubbling up in you are distinctly not yours. Or at least, they are yours but they do not make sense to you.

You are realizing that while the Fray that taught you to fight may have been fabricated unknowingly by S'ria, they were not without any substance – or rather, there was that damnable crystal they'd picked up off the corpse and you had forgotten that that meant something.

You feel a bit slow on the uptake, to be quite honest. This was not the first Soul Crystal that had been pressed into this body's hands. Supposedly, the dragoon one had contained, in some fashion, the memories and skills of all of the prior Azure Dragoons that had held it before. So why would this be different?

Why would the concept of Fray created the moment S'ria's hand closed around that crystal be devoid of any traces of that dead man?

And as a result of how deeply his soul was imprinted… you are Fray, your own person, but there is also just a tiny part of you that is the deceased Fray Myste. You have no cause to notice this until you meet Sidurgu and Rielle.

Oh, you immediately realize something is wrong. You've seen those two before, several times. S'ria has walked past them in the tavern with barely a second glance. One time, the man even spoke to you – warning you in a low but not unfriendly voice to be wary of attracting dangerous attention with your actions. You'd felt nothing at the time except for oddly touched by this stranger's concern – and perhaps slightly alarmed that he could tell something was off about you.

But when he strides up to you in the snowy crevasses of Coerthas, making you look up to even properly see his face, you feel as though you've been kicked in the gut. You feel nearly winded as you try to explain – no, you are not an idiot, you just wanted the ambush over with while you had clear warning. You were not following men who wanted to kill you out into a remote location out of naivety.

You don't kill the knight, as a courtesy to S'ria's reputation. Sidurgu seems oddly disappointed in you for that and it hurts far more than it has any right to. He wants you to be something specific, walking the path of the Dark Knight, and you are failing the first test immediately. You should not care so much about the opinion of a stranger, and yet…you do.

Despite the uncertainty of trusting him, there is an inevitable pull that brings you to still meet up with him in the tavern later. You could not have gone anywhere else.

It hits you again, worse, looking at Sidurgu and Rielle standing together. There's a nostalgia there, the feel of a bittersweet memory that one can never return to. Your bones ache with an unknown grief and there are words you mean to say that never quite form.

He wants you to co-guardian the child. The Temple Knights are not likely to leave her alone, after all, and two is better than one – and for some reason, despite his early disappointment, he feels he can trust you with this.

Sidurgu leans down, softening his voice and face as much as he ever does. Though you do not doubt that Rielle has ears and has heard the whole conversation, there's something about him telling her that you will be one of her protectors now too that makes you feel raw, and you fear you may cry. There's – you look at the two of them and you want –

Then Sidurgu mournfully explains that you are taking on the role of his lost partner, and perhaps you would've liked to have known Fray if fate were not so unkind – and the unplaceable ache in your chest suddenly makes perfect sense.

[justamaddream]

11.08.03

Cologne, Germany

Last night was one for the books. I played a mind-blowing set at an underground party that felt like stepping into another dimension. The night started with my usual ritual of speed, but this time I added a twist – a powerful drop of liquid acid that Lena had given me. The combination was surreal, making the world around me seem almost cartoon-like, with vibrant colors and exaggerated movements.

The party was already in full swing when I arrived, the air thick with anticipation and the thumping bass of techno beats. As I took to the decks, I felt the energy of the crowd wash over me. People were dancing with wild abandon, their bodies moving in sync with the music. The acid added a layer of euphoria, making everything feel heightened and intense.

My set was a hit. The crowd responded to every track. At one point, I looked up and saw a group of people getting naked, their clothes discarded in a pile as they danced freely. It was a delicious blur of music, movement, and raw human connection. One beautiful german girl sat cross-legged meditating wearing only an open shirt, as if her third rye were opening up to swallow up the room. Some moments felt disorienting, the lines between reality and fantasy blurring in the haze of the night.

As the party wound down, I found myself still wide awake, the effects of the speed and acid keeping me alert. Back at Lena and Max’s apartment, I ended up talking to a guy who didn’t speak much English. He was a bit of a weirdo, with wild hair and a manic energy. We communicated through The adrenaline from the gig and the effects of the acid had me buzzing well into the morning. As the city began to wake up, I decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would help clear my mind. With a joint in hand, I set off to explore Cologne in the early light.

Everything seemed surreal, almost magical. The city was bathed in a soft glow, and every detail, from the cobblestones underfoot to the graffiti on the walls, felt more vivid and beautiful than ever. The quiet streets, the occasional sound of birds chirping, the smell of fresh bread from a bakery – it was like stepping into a painting.

As I wandered through a small park, I spotted a beautiful girl from afar. She moved with a grace that caught my eye, her presence almost ethereal in the morning light. She was sitting on a bench, lost in thought, her gaze focused on the distance. I watched her for a moment, captivated by her serenity and elegance. There was something about her that made me wonder if I would ever find love, if I would ever have someone to share these moments with.

After a long, much-needed nap, I spent the rest of the day with Max and Lena, unwinding and recovering from the big set. We lounged around their apartment, listening to records and talking about the party. Max rolled a few joints, and we reminisced about the wild moments of the night. Lena cooked up a delicious meal, her laughter filling the room as we shared stories and reflections.

Reflecting on the evening, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The gig had been a success, and I was starting to feel more confident in my craft.

Later, I checked my email and saw a message from Tobias. He’s planning to visit in a few days, and the thought of seeing him again brought a smile to my face. It’ll be good to catch up and share these new experiences with an old friend.

But there’s also a bittersweet realization creeping in – my time in Europe is drawing to a close. Soon, I’ll be heading back to the USA. The thought of leaving behind the vibrant energy of Berlin, the warmth of Munich, and the new connections in Cologne is bittersweet. Part of me is excited to see what’s next, but another part is reluctant to leave this incredible journey behind.

The mix of emotions is overwhelming. There’s anticipation for the future, nostalgia for the past, and a sense of gratitude for the present. Each city, each person I’ve met, each gig I’ve played has shaped me in ways I never expected.

As I sit here, writing this entry, I’m ready to face whatever comes next.

[kilosch]

Journal Entry 10/26/2024

Morning Realization – No More Class Stress: I woke up late at 10 a.m., and the first thought that hit me was the sweet relief that I didn’t need to rush to class anymore. The PC 832 course is done, and I passed! But strangely, I felt bittersweet—even though it was just five days, I found myself missing my classmates. One classmate in particular, Michael, stood out. He’s also heading to DSH as a Hospital Police Officer, and I regretted not exchanging contact information with him.

We had some good conversations during the class. He told me he’d just taken his online psychological exam and gave me advice: “Just be yourself—you don’t need to prepare for it.” Michael was waiting for his one-on-one session with the licensed psychiatrist. When I asked where he’d be stationed, he said Patton State Hospital in San Bernardino. I mentioned I’d be working at Metro State Hospital in Los Angeles, and we realized we had different career goals. He’s interested in working with K9 units because he loves dogs. When I told him I wanted to focus on investigations, he replied, “Makes sense… you’re too smart for patrol anyway.” I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but I laughed it off.

Morning Routine – Target Errands: I kept breakfast simple with just coffee. My mom was already cleaning the living room when I got up, which was nice—we needed the house in order, especially with everyone back together.

I decided to get laundry done, and it was a lot. My mom helped me fold clothes because, let’s be honest, I suck at folding. Afterward, I asked her if she needed anything from Target since I was heading there for errands. She told me to grab some meats for dinner, so I went off to Target.

Unfortunately, my car speakers are still broken, so I didn’t have music on the drive, which was a bit of a bummer. The Target run was quick and straightforward—just essentials for the week.

World Series Game 2 – Dodgers vs. Yankees: When I got home, I tuned in to Game 2 of the World Series between the Dodgers and Yankees. The game was intense from start to finish. It’s hard to tell if the Yankees' offense is struggling or if Dodgers’ bullpen is just that good, but Yoshinobu Yamamoto was lights out, dominating for six innings straight.

There was a scare, though—Shohei Ohtani got injured during a stolen base attempt, and I’m hoping he recovers quickly. The ninth inning was chaotic. Dodgers were leading 4-2, but closer Blake Treinen walked several batters, loading the bases with two outs. Luckily, Dave Roberts made a smart call and pulled Treinen, replacing him with Alex Vesia.

The tension was high. As Vesia threw the final pitch, the ball was sent flying toward the outfield. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if it was going to be a home run. But then, Tommy Edman made a brilliant catch, sealing the game. Dodgers won 4-2 and now lead the series 2-0. With only two more wins needed, they’ll head to New York for Game 3. The internet was buzzing with criticism of the Yankees' poor decisions, especially with their bullpen management—but as a Dodgers fan, I know that pain all too well.

Family Dinner – Filipino Igado & Nostalgia: After the game, I joined my family for dinner. My dad had cooked Igado, a traditional Filipino dish. Sitting at the table, all five of us together, enjoying a home-cooked meal, brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of simpler times and how much I miss moments like these—just being together as a family.

After dinner, I watched my parents and sister work on fixing the floor. They’d gone to Home Depot earlier in the day to grab some materials. It felt good just to be present and watch them work together—it’s moments like these that I’ve missed.

Back to Routine – Checking Emails & Work Prep: Later, I hopped on my computer and checked my county email. I saw a flood of messages but didn’t feel overwhelmed. I also peeked at Microsoft Planner to see what I needed to tackle when I return to work on Monday. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the CHWs are doing great with referrals—it’s good to know things are running smoothly in my absence.

Reflecting on the Day – No Depression, Just Hope: It felt like a good day overall. I’m grateful for the Dodgers' win, the time spent with my family, and the progress I’ve made toward becoming a police officer. I’m hoping to maintain this momentum and keep my mind clear.

The next step is preparing for my online psych test and getting back into the rhythm of work. No depression today, just a sense of hope and gratitude for everything I’ve got going on.

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Evan Peters had always been one to embrace life's absurdities, but this one took the cake—or rather, the cocoa puffs. On a seemingly ordinary Saturday morning, his mind was clouded by sleep and a lingering sense of nostalgia. He had just finished a late-night binge of an old favorite show, and thoughts of his ex-girlfriend lingered like the last notes of a haunting melody.

As he shuffled to the kitchen, the sunlight spilling over the countertops reminded him of brunches spent discussing everything and nothing. He opened the pantry door, half-expecting to find the usual boxes of cereal to greet him. However, amid the well-known brands, a familiar green bag caught his eye. "Cocoa Puffs!" he mused, a smile creeping onto his face as memories of shared laughter flooded his mind.

What he didn’t realize was that the bag was not filled with delectable chocolate puffs but rather the remnants of his ex-girlfriend’s rabbit’s “treats.” In his half-asleep state, he poured a generous amount into a bowl, the brown, round morsels looking oddly convincing against his tired eyes. Without a second thought, he sloshed some milk over the top and picked up a spoon.

The first scoop was met with a crunch—a sound that was all too familiar to anyone who had enjoyed the sugary breakfast as a kid. But the flavor was unmistakably… not cocoa. It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke. The musky taste hit him like a ton of bricks as realization dawned. "This isn’t right," he stammered, spitting out what had, moments ago, seemed like a blissful snack.

At that moment, his phone buzzed, an incoming text from his ex-girlfriend Frances: “Miss you! How's the bunny?” Normally, they would banter back and forth over text, but today, he was consumed with an urgent situation far more important than reconciling past relationships. He quickly typed back, “Just found out what your bunny’s been up to—hard pass on breakfast.”

As laughter erupted from her side of the screen, he could sense the warmth despite the distance. “I forgot to tell you, bunnies make interesting snacks for those who are unaware,” she replied, the playful irony echoing their shared history.

Evan couldn't help but chuckle at the whole thing. Life had thrown him a curveball, one he would never forget—the day he mistook bunny poop for cocoa puffs. It was a humbling moment, a blend of regret, laughter, and a reminder that even in the chaos of life, shared memories could still spark joy. Who knew an unfortunate breakfast mishap could rekindle bittersweet reminiscing? After all, it’s the quirky stories that stick with you the longest.

omfg 😭😭

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Following his debut single, the musician Charles Edward shares a warm but upbeat appreciation for youth’s freedoms in new track ‘LITTLE ANGEL’

Boldly following up his recent debut single ‘SOLO’, the upcoming twenty year old musician Charles Edward knows that he has something refreshingly poetic and stirring to share with the world, and he’s not going to wait any longer to do so. As his newest single ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ takes on a more upbeat approach with similarly sincere lyricism, it’s hard not to immediately fall in love with this gorgeous new act who’s sure to touch your life with his words if you give him the chance.

Wistfully leading back in with his signature warm, hazy soundscapes, Charles’ glides into the soft sway of ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ with an immediate blanketing of easy-going ambience, glimmering through nostalgia soaked undertones like the bittersweet reminiscing of cherished photo albums. As a subtle and simple looped guitar riff leads things, soon accompanied by a secondary riff with a little more vibrancy and flair, ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ smoothly eases you in to the opening verses’ introduction with soothing sincerity and a gleam of pep. Softening back down though, ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ falls back around the initial riff and added intermittent backing twangs for more of an initially intimate lyrical unravelling, progressively building between intricate layers to incorporate a new colourful riff and steady thudding beats. Charles’ charismatically beaming vocals add a lighthearted attitude atop this mellow arrangement of sound, soaring through the most euphorically dripping lines that you can almost feel the smile behind, carrying within a heartfelt level of emotional resonance and reflective thoughts. Caught between an air of freedom and youthful spirits, it’s impossible not to dance and grin along to the unfolding story and ebbing and flowing of sound within ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ , an in-the-moment encapsulation of simply existing for yourself only. The chorus only continues to exude this breath of fresh air, dazzling between a multitude of layered guitar and continued beats while a gentle backing layer of vocals leave Charles’ words a little more emphatically glued in your mind. Continuing to grow, the three and a half minute journey of ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ is one with a never-ending impact, even after Charles’ auditory experience may have.

There’s a timid naivety woven beneath the confidently spewed lines of ‘LITTLE ANGEL, the kind of know-it-all attitude we’ve all had growing up while still finding our way, making mistakes and exploring the world without taking on the guidance of adults around us. As Charles’ sings of young love, lyrics like ‘she’s always sneaking away, her parents can’t make her stay’ embody that sense of being reckless and unsupervised, at times making bad decisions but learning from them all the same. With the pair defying rules and yearning to escape, the idealised views of growing older and making their own choices lurks beneath in a way that almost dampens the playful words though, but for now these love-struck teens are still living vicariously in their fantasy world. Continuing ‘thinkin’ I’m going to some sketchy place, but I just want to get away’, there is a sense of responsibility dripped between the lines too, simply wanting to live life to the fullest without the watchful eyes of adults by their side. Unapologetically wearing their rose-tinted glasses, further lines like ‘we’re skipping steps and never thinking twice ‘bout reality’ don’t seem to care that they’re whisked up in a daydream, for now just lingering in their pleasure before the toll of life’s expectations inevitably takes its hit. The chorus hook does prompt you to realise that at some point we all have to break free though, admitting ‘they think they lost their little angel, but she’s only growing up’ , reminding that we all eventually need to have control over the trajectory of our own lives, even when the helpfully intended influence our parents is held over us. Filled with those lost memories of being young, or perhaps those newfound ones for those living through it, ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ manages to perfectly err between uplifting and poignant all the same.

Check out ‘LITTLE ANGEL’ for yourself here to journey through this new narrative experience and signature sound that Charles Edward bears so beautifully.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[ddavisworldsblog]

Module 8: Your Musical Theme

The theme I choose is growing up/getting older. I feel like I’m at an age where I am realizing that I have gotten older and I am almost thirty years old. There are times where I tend to forget my age and I still feel like I am in my early twenties. Listening to certain songs that talk about growing up and getting older feels so relevant to my life. When I chose the following songs for my “playlist” I feel like these songs are connected to how I feel. The emotions that are felt with most of these songs take me through a journey of being a teenager and now being an adult. Growing up is a mixture of feelings, emotions, and transformative experiences. I did notice that many artists that create songs of growing up or getting older tend to also feed into the emotions of nostalgia. The bittersweet feeling of living our lives and being where we are now as an older version of ourselves. I have listed the following songs that would be a part of my “getting older” playlist: 

Bob Dylan - Forever Young - this song is a  folk ballad, "Forever Young" Bob Dylan sings about  the heartfelt desire to preserve innocence and optimism amidst the aging. Bob Dylan's  lyrics, sung with raw sincerity, create a sense of parental tenderness and the timeless wish for youth and vitality. The gentle strumming of the acoustic guitar,  with Dylan's heartfelt vocals, serves as a nostalgic reminder of the fleeting nature of time and the forever feeling of youth that is within each of us. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Frj2CLGldC4

Adele - When We Were Young - Adele's soulful pop ballad (which is such a great and powerful son) offers a nostalgic experience of reminiscing in our youth. The  lyrics and heartfelt vocal delivery serve as a reflection on the transformative nature of time and the lasting impact of fleeting moments as we grow older. This song has beautiful instrumentals that elevate the song and creates a more powerful message. She sings with such desire to understand her own self and how much she has grown as a person. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDWKuo3gXMQ

Fleetwood Mac - Landslide - Folk/Pop Country - This is a song I have never expected to really love and value. This song begins with a smooth instrumental and soft lyrics. Stevie Nicks’s voice is very powerful in this song, she sings about growing up and being in love with someone. She became dependent on that person and regretted not growing up and living her life on her own terms. “Well, I've been afraid of changin', 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older too” this part of the song really hits home to how I feel with life. You grow older and growing up means that you change, and at times you change without the person you are with. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=radHy4HhhNg

Tupac Shakur - Changes - "Changes" (Rap) by Tupac Shakur reflects on the societal and personal struggles experienced during the process of growing up in disadvantaged communities. Shakur's  lyrics and impassioned delivery show light on the realities of systemic injustice and the challenges faced by marginalized individuals - predominantly the African American community. The  beats and heartfelt verses go with the themes of resilience and perseverance, requiring listeners to advocate for positive change and empowerment within their communities, and also personally relate to getting older as a young African American. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXvBjCO19QY

Bob Marley - Three Little Birds (Reggae) - Bob Marley's reggae classic radiates a message of optimism and resilience, it provides a soothing and uplifting perspective on life's journey. The rhythmic groove and uplifting melodies create a sense of tranquility and reassurance, underscoring the importance of embracing positivity and inner strength amidst life's uncertainties. His lyrics serve as a reminder of the enduring resilience and joyful spirit that permeate the transformative journey of growing up. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNBCVM4KbUM

"Man in the Mirror" by Michael Jackson serves as an iconic anthem that shows the transformative journey of personal growth and self-discovery. It acknowledges the growth a man has had throughout his life and says that they are proud of what they have become. In this song he also “looks in the mirror” to reflect the man he is and where he stands with views of politics and morality. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PivWY9wn5ps

Word Count: 688

[verbo-s-e]

july 8, 2023 8:59 pm

i did something today.

a minor lapse of judgement, or a reminder of my anger: it remains to be seen.

joking with a friend, we’re both ‘one suggestion away from a jail cell’. ie. we’re both fucking spiraling. ironic because it’s all connected. her. you. me. all of it.

also today: birthdays. a few, if my calculations are correct. yesterday and today. another ironic connection. it’s too fucking much.

she’s me but a different font. just like the others. am i arrogant to think i’m the blue print? i recently fell a little for someone. just enough — a toe in the water if you will, but i self sabotaged because that’s what i’m good at. we’re alike in that way, amongst others.

he’s you but a different font. a stranger in a sea of people — aren’t you too now?

i could see it in your eyes — and i have so many questions. i shake my head like an etch a sketch to rid myself of them faster than they came. i’m not allowed to know. i’m not allowed to ask. i don’t want to know the answers.

irony fills this day as dread fills my tired body and limbs whilst getting ready for bed. my lapse of judgement née, reminder of my anger — fanned more than just the flame of my wounds and now i’m going to pay for it in sleep. maybe i’m a masochist that way, i don’t know.

all of this vague, i know — but for anonymity’s sake it’s just the way it has to be.

i will say this: while out shopping, we went to the chtotchke store and i was hit with two waves of bittersweet nostalgia.

one: a famous cleaning brand who has soaps and sprays and wipes and all the other things — this one particular scent will always bring me back to real blue bathrooms and chai lattes. but mostly, you. back during a time when my hair was long and brown and i didn’t cut my own bangs.

second and the more painful of the two: i finally cracked it. the essential oil smell you’d ‘burn’ in your house. earthy and woody, but not overpowering, i could never figure it out. i could never place it. and i found it in a body oil. i guess i thought it’d always be one of those mysteries or something i could ask you directly. needless to say i bought the oil, left the soap. maybe i’m a masochist that way. i don’t know.

the scent doesn’t quite smell the same on my skin as it does in your house and for this, there’s a breath of relief. that maybe, somehow i can re-associate it, and my olfactory senses. consider this a tiny experiment. i’ll report back whenever.

today was healing. bittersweet like mrs. meyer’s lavender soap. ironic like birthdays and names that are all the same, but also in a different font. shoot, i mean spelling. it’s all enough to send me spiraling, undo what i’ve worked so hard to make for myself.

and as tempting as it is, i’m not a masochist that way.

or am i?

[bettykeithbaconborj]

A Heartache that Lingers

The waves of nostalgia and longing for my dear mother have hit me with an intensity I haven't experienced before. It's as if a void has opened up within me, a chasm that can only be filled by her warm presence. My heart aches, and the tears flow freely as I come to terms with the magnitude of her absence. My dear mom, who has always been my guiding light and source of unwavering love, is physically absent from my life, and I can't help but feel an immense void in her absence.

Ever since she left, it feels as though a big part of myself has departed alongside her. Her unconditional love, her comforting embrace, and her wise guidance were the pillars that held me up. Now, I find myself navigating the complexities of life without her steady hand to guide me. It's overwhelming, and at times, I feel like a lost child, thrust into an adult world before I was ready.

The truth is, no one can truly replace a mother's love. Her departure has forced me to confront the reality of growing up and facing life's challenges head-on. I must learn to rely on my own strength, make decisions with conviction, and find my way in this vast and uncertain world. But deep down, I yearn for her presence, her voice, and the familiar sense of security that only a mother can provide.

In this journey of self-discovery, I'll strive to honor her legacy by becoming the resilient and compassionate person she raised me to be. Though the pain of her absence may never fully fade, I hold onto the memories we shared, cherishing the love she bestowed upon me. I will carry her in my heart, even as I navigate the uncharted waters of adulthood.

As I pen down these emotions, I find solace in the knowledge that I am not alone. Countless others have experienced this longing, this ache for a loved one who is no longer physically present. In this shared experience, I find strength and a sense of community, knowing that we are all learning to cope with the bittersweet process of growing up.

So, I will wipe away my tears and take a deep breath. I will gather the fragments of myself that were left behind, knowing that I possess the resilience to carry on. In the midst of this longing, I will strive to find my own path and create a life that would make my mother proud.

[obsidianas]

“ there’s certainly more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there? ” / pretend i sent this on edwin :’)

send memes ♡

— @deadmien / @throned

She is well-versed in the art of appearing as something other than she feels. When red irises settle upon him for the first time, it would be imperceptible to others the little tells that bare her heart in a way Nalice had never been comfortable with (the way her breath catches, the accelerated beating of her heart, the recognition in her gaze, soon replaced by a sorrow she is not wont to showing). Most of the time, she does not show anything sincere other than anger and resentment — yet there is no trace of such feelings when it comes to him.

The Dragon Isles are not a home she is returning to. To her, they are as foreign as to any of the mortals that set foot in the reclaimed land, a place lost to the past, built for wonders she will never witness. And yet when she had been to the Obsidian Citadel, the ache of familiarity hit with a wave of nostalgia for something she had never lived, a bittersweet sense of right.

Her kin belonged amidst scorched earth; hadn't she been a proud heir of that legacy, destroying anything good that enemies may find and benefit from, even in herself?

It feels more curse than blessing, that her mind is clearer now. There had always been bouts of relief amidst the relentless onslaught, the shadow powers that assailed them ebbing and flowing like the tides. Sabellian and his had taken her in as family, in a way family often had not (none except the one she had built with him, though it feels wrong to claim it when the foundation of it was deception). Cleansing the corruption did not make her less vulnerable to the voices, in truth, not where they were most powerful; it wasn't even relief, not entirely, not when she had never known something else. They would have whispered a thousand things and more, told her to despise her heart, to rid herself of the source of turmoil, to deceive him again with sweet lies. Without them, there is no distraction from what she feels; and with that, she loses any will to fight.

He deserves better than that, he always had.

That never stopped her from doing terrible things before.

"I had hoped you would never have to know just how much," The farse was kinder (Does it matter at all that for once she had wanted to cause less damage?). Nalice had not expected to find Edwin here, of all places; but the greater surprise was bound to be his, as was the greater heartbreak, regardless of the sorrow she tried to push aside. Head turned away, her gaze avoids him (he may be hurt the worst but she is weaker; she cannot bear to look at him).

One of her hands is placed neatly atop the other, too hastily for the gesture not to have something of purposeful (concealing a beautifully crafted ring, white gold and amethyst, that she should not wear still) — it is a poor attempt at sustaining the effort to build this flimsy wall, to seem stronger than she is, to stall the break sure to follow. It's this place, or the newfound freedom of my mind, or the unexpectedness of the situation, Nalice thinks. There is no fooling herself, though. She never managed to keep her walls intact when it came to him.

There is no fight in her tone, no mockery; only the hint of grief. "But hope, as ever, serves only to disappoint."

[onlyswan]

meet me behind the mall | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x f!reader

→ genre: smut sigh, fluff kinda

→ warnings: exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, slight ? degredation, calls her a slut once, fingering, handjob, oral (m. and f. receiving), choking, spitting, cum eating / swallowing, unprotected sex, facial (this term is so 😭) lmk if i miss anything plz

→ word count: 3.3k

summary: jungkook makes you live for the thrill of it all.

note: this was an impulsive write idk what possessed me today frends but have at it >_> semi proofread it’s 5am goodbyr

—

it’s one of the things you first learned about him. jungkook loves taking photos. he loves capturing moments with a simple click of a camera. he finds an unexplainable comfort and bittersweet nostalgia in finding old photographs in his drawer, in his pockets, tucked in between the pages of his textbooks. it’s like finding little treasures all over the place, you can hear his voice in your head, can see the pretty twinkles of passion and fondness in his pretty doe eyes.

so when he told you all about the new photobooth at the arcade, followed by a text that simply said meet me behind the mall, you didn’t particularly imagine that you would end up in this position. you can see the shutter going off even though your eyelids are closed as jungkook’s tongue is basically shoved down your throat. your panties is pulled to the side and two of his fingers are thrusting in and out of your cunt, curling deliciously to stimulate your sweet spot that has your thighs shaking uncontrollably every fucking time.

how naive of you to think that your boyfriend spontaneously texted you at eight in the evening to meet up and simply take cute couple pictures in film. of course, you do have a fair share of scandalous photos, but they’re all conveniently stored and locked away in your phones. this is something entirely new and as embarrassing it is to admit, thrilling. yourself from one year ago never would’ve guessed what her future self is doing right now. how the desires in you can easily be fueled to life just by the trailing of jungkook’s fingers on the smoothness of your thighs, his lips nipping at your neck, or even the simple thought of having his cock filling you up to the brim.

you can’t help but to giggle against his mouth. all of your senses are heightened at this moment, your heart beating aggressively in your chest. he pulls away slightly but his gaze stays on your pink and swollen parted lips, drunk eyes taking in your disheveled state.

“what’s going in that pretty little mind of yours?” he smirks, thumb sneakily rubbing your clit. you try your best to hold out your moan but a broken whine comes out, your head throwing back against the wall of the limited space you’re both squeezed into. only a black curtain and an ‘occupied’ sign in red bold and capital letters separated you from the world outside, where games are being played by people of all ages; loud sound effects and songs from the 2000’s and 2010’s mixing into an ear numbing noise that can only be recognized from an arcade center; and tickets gathered are being exchanged for cute stationary items and trinkets.

“you’re so, so dirty.” you say to him, eyes rolling back as his fingers never let up on their toe curling pace, only making you lose your inhibitions and self-control more than anything else. you clench around them involuntarily, drenching his hand with your juices. “was this your plan all along?”

your eyes widen in shock when the sound of his palm slapping your bare cunt filled the booth, the stinging pain registering in your mind next. “are you fucking crazy? someone might hear!” you whisper angrily at him, but his dark and blown out eyes made you shrink back in your seat. his intimidating, and almost condescending, expression have you gushing against his hand that is now petting your pussy to soothe the pain he inflicted.

“watch your mouth. you and this fucking skimpy dress are the only ones dirty here. you know what this shit does to me.” he smiles at you sweetly. “are you sure this was my plan? are we playing mind games here, baby girl?” his hand comes down from your face to play with the cloth of your blue dress, the other thrusting two of his fingers in you again, then adding another. the stretch has you gripping tightly on his shirt, not having anything else to hold on to.

“fuck, ahhh- jungkook. don’t stop.” god, you are dripping all over, your wetness staining your seat. it makes your cheeks flush in shame.

“just wanted to look pretty for you, i-is all.” you mewl at him, blinking innocently. the camera is not forgotten by jungkook. in fact, it’s one of the things getting him more riled up. the almost blinding light of the flash shines on your soft skin, and the sweat that has formed on your temples and your neck. your pupils are blown and eyelids drooping caused by the pleasure he is giving you. it’s visible how difficult it is for you to keep in all your noises from the people outside the damn curtain when you’re so lost in the feeling of his fingers inside of you. all because of him. your fucked out state got jungkook gritting his teeth, his dick twitching inside his pants. jesus christ, you get him so fucking turned on and desperate for it without even trying. your beauty is seductive and enchanting and effortless. there is no point in hiding how crazy he is for you.

“my pretty girl. you dressed yourself all nice for me?” he presses a chaste kiss on your lips, before he wraps his hand around your throat, pressing at the right places just enough to make your mind all fuzzy. “i’m such a lucky man. i love you so much.”

your eyes roll back at the back of your head at the all consuming feeling taking over senses. you don’t think you can answer correctly if ever someone asks for your name or the colors of the goddamn traffic signs. “y-yeah, for you, of course. love you so much.”

he gives you a satisfied hum, moving down to squeeze one of your breasts with his large hand before pinching your nipple from outside the cotton of your dress. “mhmm, holy fuck. you’re always so sensitive. so easy to please. am i making you feel good?” you don’t know how he can act so casual while you’re basically falling apart in his hands, but for some sick reason, it stirs up the arousal in your belly even more.

“y-yes, kook, i’m so close, please, please, please,” you cry out desperately, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you squeeze his fingers with your walls uncontrollably. “wait, ohhh, stop. stop. i can’t cum here. i- it’s gonna be a mess, this is so embar- fuck, jungkook!” your squeal dies down in your throat when your boyfriend kneels on the ground and starts sucking your clit in his mouth as his fingers inside of you became more aggressive, hitting all the right places that makes you see stars behind your eyelids. you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your desperate and whiny sounds, suddenly becoming aware of where the two of you are right now.

you grip his hair with your hands to steady yourself and unconsciously grind your cunt against his face, his eager tongue doing very sinful things for the sole purpose of making you come undone. he pulls you closer to the edge with his strong arm so he can have better access, eating you out like a man feasting on the divine food of the gods. divine. that’s one perfect word to describe you.

he flicks your clit teasingly before wrapping his pink and plump lips around it again. the overwhelming sight almost makes you want to burst into tears. “hmm, cum for me, baby.” your body jerks in his hold, his words of permission acting as the trigger for your orgasm. he drinks you up greedily, his tongue replacing his fingers’ place in fucking into you, letting you ride out your high.

he comes up to kiss you, making you taste yourself in his mouth. you can even feel his wet chin. you moan against him when two fingers dip inside you again, and then he’s having you suck on them almost too enthusiastically. you’re still in a daze from your release, and with jungkook, you’re basically down for anything and everything. you open your eyes to meet his, and if you aren’t already fucked out with his fingers choking you, his hooded eyes will have reduced you into a blabbering mess.

“you’re always so good to me.” he says with a raspy voice. he takes out his fingers and wipes it on his shirt before pulling you in for another kiss. “let’s get out of here so i can fuck you properly like my girl deserves, okay?” you nod meekly, trying to hide your excitement. he fixes you up to make you look presentable enough to walk in public, combing your hair with his fingers and straightening out your dress.

“can’t forget these. don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. it’s for my eyes only.” he gathers all the developed films from the booth, facing you with a teasing smile.

“for your eyes only.” you agree, looking up at him. you open the small backpack you brought along with you and he stuffs them all inside mindlessly, his cock still straining painfully in his pants and he might just lose his mind if he’s still not inside of your pussy in the next five minutes.

“can’t walk properly,” you whine out once you step out of the booth, your boyfriend supporting you by the waist.

“sorry, baby.” he presses an apologetic kiss on your temple. “but i’m not done with you yet.” he really doesn’t give a fuck if anyone heard the both of you at all, but he knows that you’re starting to worry, so he makes sure that you keep your eyes on him as you walk your way out of the place.

“are we going to your place? or mine?” you ask once you get out, the cool air of the mall embracing you. you shiver lightly. your boyfriend doesn’t respond, but when he starts dragging you towards the movie theater that is just beside the arcade, you realize the answer to your question.

“jungkook, really?” you hiss at him, but don’t make any efforts to stop him as he leads you to the restrooms.

“i’m so fucking hard right now, babe. i can’t wait anymore.” they’re about to close up in an hour, so the place is basically deserted. but still, you can’t believe what you’re about to do right now. he peeks in the women’s and once he made sure it’s clear, you go in to the farthest cubicle.

“damn woman,” his throaty chuckle makes your center throb again as you immediately pull down his sweatpants along with his boxers, his big cock slapping against his stomach. you lick a stripe from his balls up to his tip, then gathering saliva in your mouth and letting it drip down his length. his breathing gets heavier at the sight of doing such a filthy action without him asking you to. he strokes your cheek as you jack him off and give his head kitten licks, your spit acting as an effective lube.

“put it in your mouth now, baby.” he says softly, grasping your hair to guide your mouth on his cock. “choke on it, yeah?” you hum in submission to his request, relaxing your throat to take in as much of him as you can. you start to bob your head up and down to get used to the feeling, your hand still wrapped around the few inches left.

“fuck, you look so pretty like this. i’ve been thinking about it all day.” his confession made you all warm inside. you’ve always wondered how you managed to become his girlfriend. sometimes, it feels to good to be true. knowing the effect you have on him even when you’re not around made you even more determined to blow his damn mind. to be the only star of his wildest dreams.

you go down on him until your nose reach his pubic area, carefully breathing out through it. “oh my god, that’s my girl.” he thrusts his hip forward and holds your head down in place, making you choke on him like he wanted to. his moans sends tingles to your pussy and you rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to relieve yourself of some pressure. he lets you breathe in some air before you take him in your mouth again, swallowing around his length as you move your head up and down.

“ohhh, fuck. your mouth is s-so warm. you like this huh? sucking me off outside our rooms for the first time?” he can’t help but to move his hips as well, instinctively following your mouth. your moans vibrate on his dick, and he hisses at the added sensation. “and you called me what? so, so dirty? turns out you’re just as fucking filthy, baby.” and there it is again, the mischievous smile on his face that makes your knees (that you’re sure will be bruising soon enough) weak. you know that he’s right. you can’t help but to whimper around him when you feel wetness drip from your hole. you want to touch yourself so bad but your hands on your boyfriend’s flexing muscular thighs are what’s keeping you steady and grounded.

“ohh- ah, fuck fuck fuck! are you fucking kidding me?” his body jerks when you take all of him and stay still, contracting your throat around him and massaging his balls in your small and soft hand. his brain goes on a frenzy at the waves of pleasure rippling in his body, sweat rolling down his temples and abdomen working hard to stop himself from cumming down your throat. “s-shit, stop it, stop it, stop, i’m gonna blow my load.”

you pull him out with a pop, hand gripping his base to keep his orgasm at bay. his glassy eyes meet your own, and you give him a wink. “are you gonna fuck me now?”

a shiver runs up jungkook’s spine. “you’re so fucking hot. come here.” he helps you get up and snakes his tongue in your mouth, pinning you on the other side of the cubicle. his hand sneaks in under your dress to cup your center, groaning against your mouth when he felt how wet you are. “shit, you’re soaking. did you get this turned on by sucking my dick?”

“really turned on. i love blowing you.” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger, blinking up at him with a smile.

“you’re actually killing me here.” he chuckles, squeezing your ass and pulling you close to grind himself on you. he drags down your panties until you step out of them, throwing it on top of your backpack. he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers. “jump.” you obey, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he pumps his cock a few times before teasingly running the tip along your wet folds, a nudge on your clif making you moan quietly. “put it in, please. jungkook? i’ve been good, right?”

“shhh, i got you.”

you hold on to his neck tightly as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure. it’s amazing how you can feel so stretched out from the very beginning, only his tip yet breaching your walls. you never really got used to it. “you’re so big, kook.” you cry out against his shoulder as he sinks his entire length into you. your praise inflates his ego. he lets you adjust for a moment, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder.

when you gave him the signal, he begins thrusting into you, gradually picking up to a rough and unforgiving pace he knows you like. the lewd squelching sounds of your connected sex filled the empty room.

“sh-should’ve done this sooner. ahh fuck, why does this feel so good?” you’re out of your mind. you can’t remember a time you felt this horny. and to be brutally honest, he’s fucking you dumb right now. you can feel every ridge of his cock in you, can feel his tip furiously and consistently stimulating the spot in you that has you writhing in his arms, that along with his pelvis grinding against your clit each time he fucks back into you.

“jesus, are you hearing yourself right now? you like doing it outside with me, baby?”

“yes, yes! oh, harder, please. m-more, i’m close again.” you sob out, biting on his shoulder to cover your cries.

“can’t believe i got myself a filthy little slut here.” he shakes his head in mock disbelief, adjusting his hold on you and fucking you with a much fiercer drive to make you cream on his cock this time. “f-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he breathes out a laugh followed by a broken moan, your soft walls enveloping him in your wamth. “cum when you need to, hmm? you’ve been so good to me.”

you mutter countless thank you’s mixed with your moans and whimpers, the pleasure getting too much to bear. you throw your head back as you orgasm on your boyfriend’s cock, clenching around him uncontrollably as he fucks you through it, desperate to reach his own high. your juices drip down to his balls, and it makes him crazier. he takes the opportunity create marks on your neck, sucking and biting red and purple on your skin.

it’s not long before overstimulation takes place, but you don’t complain, not when it feels this good. another orgasm hits you, not as intense as the first two, but it still got you seeing stars and your body shaking against the wall.

“did you just cum again? oh god, fucking shit. i’m there- so fucking close. you feel so- oh, so good. love you. love you a lot.”

“i want to swallow your cum.” your voice is barely there, but jungkook hears you just fine. he almost chokes on his own spit upon registering your words in his brain. without wasting any time, he sets you down on the floor and you kneel infront of him, mouth open and tongue out.

he jacks himself off while you generously lick at his frenulum, looking up at him expectantly. the sight of you all eager and impatient for his cum finally triggers his release, aiming for your tongue but some still landing on your cheeks and chin as he’s too overwhelmed and shaken to see straight. you swallow happily, licking the rest from your fingers.

“god, i love you.” he says quietly, pulling you up from the floor and embracing you, but you wiggle out of his grasp.

“love you too but gross, gross, gross. i need to go home and shower.” you whine out, twirling as you try and fix your appearance again.

“not you acting like a brat once you got what you wanted.” he pinches your waist jokingly. he takes tissue from the dispenser to clean up the wetness that dripped down all the way to your thighs, being the loving boyfriend that he is.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you pout at him. “i’m so tired and gross. i hate you.”

“are you asking for it again?”

“no, i swear to god. you owe me a bubble bath and a massage.”

“okay, fine. my place then.” he gives up, shaking his head with a laugh at your change of mood. “i love you. can i get a kiss then?”

you tiptoe to reach him, slightly pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to give him a smooch. “i love youuu.”

once you both make yourself presentable (again) to the best of your abilities, you head out of the restroom first. you notice the cashier at the popcorn place eyeing you suspiciously, especially when jungkook comes out to meet you a few minutes later. you hide yourself behind him in shame.

you walk out of the mall with his hand over your shoulder, yours on his waist. you look at him questioningly when he covers your neck with more of your hair. “maybe i made a little too much.” he winces apologetically.

“we are never doing that again.” you sigh, your legs still feeling weak but you will yourself to make it all the way to the parking lot.

“what? you said you liked it!”

“it was during the moment. i was delirious.”

jungkook rolls his eyes. “you’re lying. let’s see, because that’s also what you said the first time we tried choking.”

“jungkook! shut up!”

—

note: i never know how to finish these runs and hides