#͙͘͡★ chapter. introspection

[swashbucklcr]

(imperitvs) - It had been about a week since Osian was rescuted from Orin's clutches. He had been trapped within the Temple of Bhaal for days - mostly kept unconcious. Though the short times he had been woken up, it was with his hands flattened and mouth gagged to prevent him from trying to cast spells. Though it was not enough to stop him from screaming as the tortures began. Before the darkness of unconcious came again, he would tear up wondering what monstrosity he would wake to next...

And so, despite being rescused by the group and everyone ensuring he was tended to and brought back to health - he found it so difficult to trance and rest. His eyes closing only brought anxieties; recalls of Orin's actions as well as her words.

Laying in his bed at the Elfsong, he found himself balling his hands into fists and opening them back up in a repeated action - as if to remind himself they were not pressed down flat and he could easily sit up. But it didn't seem to be enough to ease his mind.

Silently, to not disturb the others, he walked to Finn's bed with a book in hand. It wasn't too late at night for others to be asleep, just relaxing after a hard day. Osian, a newfound comfort and confidence around the human, helped himself to the corner of the bed, sitting up in the corner so he had the wall to support him as well.

"I don't want to talk about it, but I am so tired. Yet I can't sleep. So...please...just for a moment..." His eyes were downcast, ashamed.

@imperitvs | reclaiming their throne as angst lord

Finn's mind churned as he tried to find the right approach to comfort Osian. His talent for cutting others down with words was unmatched, but building someone up? That was a different challenge altogether. He didn't want to overwhelm Osian with excessive care and concern, but seeing the elf clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly tugged at his heart. Finn had no intention of sleeping until Osian was ready to rest, determined not to let the man he loved suffer alone.

Finn moved aside, giving Osian enough room to settle into the corner. He wanted to ease into comforting him, letting Osian find his own comfort first. Once Osian was nestled in, Finn closed his book gently and turned to face him, striving not to show pity or rage. Though he was still furious—at Orin, at the camp for allowing the infiltration, and mostly at himself—he tried to keep those emotions in check.

He recalled the night he found out about Osian's torment. It was a miracle he didn't destroy everything in the tavern in his rage and terror. He'd been willing to give up everything to bring Osian back, and his friends had to calm him down when he attempted to sneak out to fight Orin alone. The days it took him to find the temple and slay Orin would haunt him forever.

"Not going to say a word then. Well, not about that," Finn said, crawling over the bed to join Osian's side. They had nothing official between them, yet Finn had shown his love and care in countless ways, and Osian had returned it.

Instead of speaking further, he tenderly took the book from Osian's hands and intertwined their fingers. "Look up, I want to see that face of yours," he said softly, gently hooking a finger under Osian's chin, allowing him to raise his head if he wished. "Do you want to rest, or should we get the fuck out of here and breathe in some shitty city air?"

[soaringwide]

PAC: What will be revealed to you this fall? [Ko-fi extended] How to make the most out of it? Advice and guidance

Fall is a heavily introspective season for me, which is why I wanted to do a reading that focuses on self-knowledge. The question is: What will be revealed to you this fall? and I will leave it open for any type of subject, be it something you will learn about yourself, or something outside of you.

I hope this reading is helpful to you and as always, remember that this is a general reading meant for many people and that it might not apply 100%. Take what resonates and leave out the rest.

For those who wish to push this reading further, there is a ko-fi extended reading that will focus on giving you advice and guidance on how to make the most out of it. More info in my pinned post or on my ko-fi page.

book a reading ★ ko-fi membership ★ all free PACs ★ pinned post ★ IG

PILE 1 ★ blue skull

Cards: 6 of Wands, Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Bottled up, Courage, Judgement, 10 of Pentacles, the Sun, 7 of Cups, Page of Swords, the Chariot, 7 of Swords, 5 of Swords, 9 of Swords, Page of Pentacles, 10 of Wands, Hope

Hello Pile 1, This reading doesn't has a set and definite area of life, but given your cards, I think it has to do with practical matters such as job or life situations and how you are interacting with it and perceiving it.

So for your current situation, I can definitely see that there's something lying underneath that has quite a negative note, but that you are trying your best to keep your heads up, being brave and look at things with positivity. You're trying to take care of yourself, look at the future, think of the success you could achieve, and as a result, you might be bottling up a lot of darker feelings that are getting the way and that could put your progression to a stop, or at least that's how you feel. You really are in a fighting mode at the moment. You don't want anything or anyone to get in the way. You have a goal, a wish, a dream to bring things to a better state.

The good thing about the situation is that you are done with the bullshit, you are done with the lies and the illusions, and you're ready to take the matter into your own hands. You understand that this situation brought you a lot and helped you grow, but that you are nearing the end of a chapter and that there is so much more to gain if you dare to go and do something else. Despite being a difficult situation, you're definitely coming out of it in a better place than when you entered it, so it's not a loss but rather something that brought you a lot and has run its course.

For what's your struggling with, you have a hard time trusting and being carefree, because I can sense the tension and worry over it. You want to be more at ease, more playful, but you don't feel like you can do that. There is also a part of you that is still wondering if you can actually move on from this situation, and if you re not going to lose something in the process, even though you know that what you're leaving behind cannot kept because it's dead weight. You don't know where this journey is leading you, and it's creating worries and doubts.

What will be revealed to you this Fall is about finding back this sense of hope despite the heavy situation. There are three things here.

First, you may feel like a lone soldier, lost and isolated in the face of this struggle, having to face heads on what's threatening you and hide your fears not let them consume you or appear weak. Yet it's also the realization that you're moving to the sound of your own drum, that you are free to go towards a different path, one that you chose for yourself and that could bring you much success down the line.

Secondly, you might be pushed to use what you think are dishonest tactics in order to get the most out of this situation. This is definitely a messy battle but one that you can come out of it like a winner, a bitter one but a winner nonetheless, if you play your cards correctly.

Thirdly, the realization, that all that you've been bottling up, all these heavy thoughts, these sleepless nights of anxiety, they can't continue and that yeah you might get hit in the face with them a bit, but realizing them also help you seek a solution. It's just that you've been ignoring them for too long and it reached an explosive point, which is not a bad thing but just a sign that things cannot continue the way they are. A new seed will be planted, a new journey to take on.

Link to the extended reading for ko-fi members, "How to make the most out of it".

PILE 2 ★ yellow skull

Cards: 4 of Pentacles, the Chariot, 7 of Pentacles, Optimism, 6 of Cups, 2 of Wands, Worn Out, Worry, Queen of Wands, Knight of Cups, The Magician, Ambition, 6 of Wands, the World rx, Queen of Cups, 3 of Swords, Valiant a Courage

For your current situation, you want to make big changes and big moves in your life, but you're currently feeling quite restricted, stuck in the same old routine, the same old places, hesitant to let go and perhaps a bit aimless as well. There is an intense feeling that you've outgrown your current situation or environment, but a hesitation to make that move, due to fearing that you're going to lose what you have.

At the same time, there is a strong faith that things will change eventually, and that it's all about being patient and working step by step towards your goal. It's like you can see the night sky above you, you know that so much more is possible and that you can transform your life, you feel this vibrant hope that transcends your current reality, yet it's hard to know where you should go.

What is going well here is that I think you're getting over some type of exhaustion you've felt in the past, perhaps weeks, months or even years. You're finally getting out of it and finding enough resources within you to look forward. I think this is making you look back on who you were, what you valued and loved, as a way to better align with who you want to become. It seems to be a great thing for you as a way to consider your options and see what suits your own unique perspective on life, and an important step to take at the moment.

What is not going so well though, is that I see you struggling to get past the fears that are paralyzing you, to some extent. I think you struggle with seeing your own strength of character, but also your skills. You have a lot to offer to the world, from a personal point of view but also what you can do, but you fail to fully embrace it. You fear that you wont be able to take out the gift you hold within you for all to see, perhaps because you don't know how to communicate it or to make something out of it, or perhaps because you worry its not going to be received well, that it doesn't fit anywhere in this world.

What will be unveiled for you this Fall is a renewed ambition and a desire to overcome the obstacles in your way. You will see more clearly what's holding you back, the hurt and the pain you've carried and you will stare right at it in order to untangle it, because you know it is the first step toward future success. Here it is all about solving these blockages by taking actions that feel different and revolutionary for yourself. You will be aware that in order to step into your new chapter, it is necessary to sooth these sore points and to show yourself that you can overcome them. You won't be holding back anymore and you will realize that you've done the hardest part already, and that these obstacles will seem like they are melting in the sun as your resolution to move forward grows. I think an important point for some of you will be to speak your own truth with authenticity, which will heal you because I think that's something you've always wanted to do yet never totally did and it caused these blockages.

Link to the extended reading for ko-fi members, "How to make the most out of it".

PILE 3 ★ pink skull

Cards: 9 of Cups, 3 of Wands, the Emperor, Relieved, Justice, 4 of Pentacles, 10 of Pentacles, Anxiety, Queen of Pentacles, 3 of Swords, King of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, 4 of Wands, Renewal, Healing, Overwhelmed, Unknown Territory, Traveling Lightly

From the outside, it seems you currently have everything you need and seem quite stable and successful. However, I do sense some type of restlessness. Something is missing, and you don't really know what. It is possible that you fought hard to get where you are at the moment, and now that you've achieved it, you don't know where to go next. It's like you expected to be at peace by now, but the reality is that you don't feel that way.

For what is going well, I definitely think that financially, things are quite stable, you've been careful about your spendings and are in a comfortable and balanced situation. There's definitely something big, like some type of achievement or something you acquired that feels like a milestone you've worked patiently towards. Perhaps you used to have debts or fines that you've finally put behind you after carefully paying them back. In all cases, this used to cause a lot of anxiety, and while the reason for it is gone, it's still lingering.

So it makes sense that for you struggles, you are still dealing with these pains that getting out of this situation caused you. I see you struggling to find hope for the future and also struggling to take care of yourself properly. I think you put your own needs and desire at the back, that you probably didn't really take care of this anxiety of yours because it was more important in the moment to take care of this heavy situation.

What will be revealed to you this Fall is the importance of releasing steam, and by that I mean all these emotions you've bottled up previously. It will be a time of renewal and healing for you if you decide to choose yourself and an opportunity to dedicate some time for the aspects of your life you've neglected. It might feel uncomfortable at times. You may feel lost in this new era, but it will help you unburden yourself emotionally and allow you to recharge your batteries. I see a time for socializing, reconnecting with friends and family, and even meeting new people. Also a time to enjoy the fruits of your labor and splurge on yourself a little, which in your case is not a bad thing at all.

Link to the extended reading for ko-fi members, "How to make the most out of it

[swashbucklcr]

What would have been a strangled cry of pain was naught but a pitiful whimper as Finn bled out, his limbs growing numb and the sense of the world around him fading. He hadn't much energy left and wanted to spend the last of it looking at Osian. The one person who saw him for him—not the ruthless pirate, not the dirty scoundrel, but the real Finn—and he loved him for that.

Barely conscious, he left his mouth agape to drink whatever potion Osian was pouring into his mouth, trying to swallow as much as possible with a lolling head, a fair amount dribbling down his chin.

Yet, the moment he swallowed, he could feel its effect, restoring the blood loss to a certain degree, just enough to drag him safely away from death's door as it continued to work.

He tried to reach for Osian, wanting nothing but to have his kind touch ground him back to Toril, but the elf spun around, and in his haze, it almost appeared as if he killed the other with just a breath and an expert crack of his staff. He oughtn't be proud of such violence, yet he was. Osian had become the formidable wizard he always wanted to be.

Feeling well enough to stand, Finn pushed himself off the ground and stumbled towards Osian, a hand reaching up to brush off the frozen tear.

"Ain't it good that I stole that potion earlier, eh?" he replied, a smirk adorning his face, hand still cupping Osian's cheek before finally lowering it. If they had the time and privacy, he would have grasped Osian by the lapels and pinned him against the wall to show how truly grateful he was for saving his life.

But that moment had passed. Instead, he turned back, stretched his shoulder, and checked on the condition of his sword. "Right, let's get these bastards. I have a promise to keep."

( you yoinked it from me so here's your punishment - @swashbucklcr )

"Tell... tell them I fought... until the very fuckin' end."

Osian's breaths were getting away from him, much as light did once the shadows took over. Seemingly never coming back. Finn was badly hurt, Osian could smell his blood from where he stood. Casting his gaze across the vicious battlefield, he gripped the front of Finn's armour and used as much of the Weaves power as he could muster as he cast the dimension door spell.

Taking them a fair distance away, they had just a moment. The elf heaved Finn to sit up against a pillar. No doubt it was painful, but time was slipping away from them. Osian's hands shook as he scrambled through his bag of holding - but from adrenaline rather than fear this time. Clasping the superior healing potion, he popped the cork out. One hand tilted Finn's head back slightly, the other helping the potion into his mouth.

"You will tell them yourself." Osian panted lightly, occasionally looking around them to check they still had this pinched moment of reprieve. "Because you're not going to see the end. You promised us that we're all going to make it." Osian felt the burning behind his eyes but he tried to blink it away. This wasn't the time to be emotional, he had to absorb every ounce of bravery he could muster. For Finn. "You promised to take me out to sea one day." Osian tossed the bottle aside once Finn had drank as much as he could muster, pressing his hands instead on the source of the bleeding to try and halt the flow while the potion did it's job.

"You promised me we would give this relationship a fair turn once this was all over. So you will see the end, but it will be of this battle and not your own life." The wizard than produced another bottle from his satchel and left it on the rogue's lap, he could hear an enemy charging. "You promised..." He whispered, a tear making it's escape before he stood up to meet the villain face-to-face.

Without barely a breath passed his lips, he cast such a force of ice towards them that dared interupt him. The flesh began to crystalise, solidify and freeze. A silent fury raced through him as he brought his quarterstaff back and across the fiend's frostbitten body. It shattered before him.

Turning back just the once, the tear had now frozen on his face from the sheer chill in the air around him. "Get up, cariad..."

[cuteskunkz]

╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ Mike is a very touch starved man. He spends all his nights at work and the daytime caring for Abby if not sleeping. He hadn't been with a girl since his junior year, making him feel like a total loser. The amount of times where Mike went back and forth with his inner thoughts, convincing himself that he was the problem was getting pretty intense and it was clear that he just needed a night out to clear his mind and prove those thoughts wrong.

You've been a "dancer" for the past few months at the downtown strip club, just trying to make ends meet. There was a tough competition working against you. You were new to this line of work whereas the other girls had been in the game for a while now, but you kept pushing on desperately. How else were you going to make rent or keep the lights on? The nights were slow and building a consistent flow of clientele proved itself to be a challenge, that is until one night when you meet a new guy outside of the nightclub.

Tags~ Stripper reader, Mike is a SIMP!!!, lowkey enemies to lovers but not really, no smut (YET...)

Note~ This took me much longer than I thought since I've been super burnt out of writing lately, but I hope you guys enjoy! As always if there's anything in particular you would like to see in chapter 2, please lemme know

⊱✿⊰

Mike felt confused with the lack of responsibilities and errands to run on this warm summer night. Abby was off at a sleepover and Steve finally hired a second night shift worker, leaving him all alone with his reoccurring self doubt introspections. Dude gets one night for himself and simply cannot think of a single thing to do to pass the time. He laid there in his bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. He jolts up feeling frustrated with himself, "Ughh... just fall asleep already bro..." He shifts around in his bed and grunts, "I can't do this-". He sits up and sulks his way into the living room, plopping down on the couch. Mike pulls out his phone and begins to scroll.

He isn't really the social media type but had made an anonymous instagram account a while ago for mindlessly scrolling. After what seemed like hours, Mike stumbles across a video of you. You were practicing a routine for the club, twirling and moving seductively. Mike felt himself grow larger in his pants and put the phone down in shock. He stares up at the ceiling in disbelief, damn you really got him feeling this type of way this quickly? He looks down at his lap and feels helpless. He wrestles with his feelings for a while and ultimately picks his phone back up to look more into you.

He clicks on your account and "researches" a bit. There's multiple videos of you practicing, photos of your skimpy outfits, and the most captivating selfies he's ever seen. One of your posts has a location tagged in the top corner, "Deja Vu Showgirls". He looks further into the club, finding that it's not too far from the pizzeria. "Fuck it. Why not..." he whispers to himself. Mike ensures he's well groomed for the occasion. if you're there he wants make a good impression. He showers, dresses in the best outfit he can come up with, and slaps some product in his hair. He finally felt content with his appearance and hopped in the car.

You weren't surprised to see another night play out typically. Maybe 2 or 3 cheap lap dances and a couple short sets up on the stage for less than 50 bucks. This clearly isn't working for you, at this point you've spent more on outfits and shoes than you've made while working here. An older gentleman walks up to you reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne, you couldn't help but gulp at the thought of providing your services for him. Yeah you were a stripper but you still had standards that made doing your job successfully hard at times.

"Well aren't you something?" he slurs while damn near tipping over from intoxication. You sigh and snap into your persona. "I'd hope so, this outfit ain't cheap y'know!" you reply in a flirtatious tone. You grab him by the hand and lead him to a booth, preparing for the worst. He starts groping on your sides which makes you shudder. Maybe this place isn't for you after all. "H-hands off baby.... Use your eyes and focus on me" you redirect with confidence. Times like these made you wish someone could just scoop you off your feet and save you.

He drives to the location with his heart pounding out of his chest. He'd never been to strip club before so Mike felt nervous even making his way closer to where you have the slightest chance of being at. He pulled into the parking lot and shut his car off abruptly, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. "What if she isn't here? I don't even know the girl why am I acting so fuckin' weird about this.... I really need to get out of the house more" he thinks to himself while gripping onto the steering wheel. After a few mental pep talks to himself, he finally musters up the courage to get out and make his way in.

Just as he goes to push the door to the club open, you storm out with eyes welling with tears. Mike stumbles back a bit not wanting to startle you. You're holding your pricey Pleaser heels in hand, walking barefoot and trying your best to keep it together. All you want is to curl up into a ball and quit at life. You thought that creepy dude would cheap out on a dance, not grope and hurl insulting names at you for rejecting his advances! You look up from the ground and lock eyes with a man you've never seen before. He's cute... too cute to be wasting his time at some dingy place like this.

"Can I help you?" you snap at him with a shaky voice. It was hard not to notice the concerned look on his face. "No I'm-" he stutters before you promptly cut him off. "Leave me the fuck alone then." His face goes pale hearing you say this, he didn't even get a chance to meet you yet and he feels as if he already blew it. You pace towards your car and pop the trunk, filling it with the all the contents of your locker. You pick a T-shirt out of your duffle bag and drape it over your revealing outfit. His presence is burning a hole into your back so you swiftly turn around to meet his gaze.

He walks over slow and bashfully. There's a pink tint to his cheeks and he can't keep his hands still out of anxiousness. "Dude are you good?" you ask. He looks as if he's going to break a sweat, "Yeah... I'm good. Are you though? You looked pretty shaken up back there." You assumed he was just another guy looking to get lucky with a dancer after a shift change. "Look, if you want to get some action, walk your ass into the club. I'm not who you're looking for" you reply. His stomach drops hearing your voice. It was one thing to see you for the first time, but to hear your voice even if it be out of anger made Mikes head spin. He didn't want to sound like a complete creep stalking you out to your job for a closer look but you were exactly who he wanted.

"That's not why I'm here. Fuck- look... To be totally honest, I'm not a strip club type of dude. I just- I saw a video of you on instagram and I was- y'know... impressed by your talent and beauty." Typical response coming from a man trying to bring a stripper home for the night you think to yourself. "I'm not shocked by your reaction. You realize that's what I hear like- 10 times a night, right?" you say with a sarcastic tone. He seemed a bit more genuine with his words than the others but men will do and say anything when they're in need of a quick fuck. "Not that type of girl sir. Try one of those cheap hookers down the road" you point down the street and close the trunk.

"Please... I know how this sounds, believe me I know how dudes are but-" He sighs and continues, "But I don't have a lot of experience with girls so- I thought coming here... to meet someone new would help" he says looking very serious, almost to the point of desperation. If he weren't so damn handsome you'd turn him down in a heartbeat but something in you is screaming to give him a chance. He seems to be telling the truth and damn is he starting to fluster you with the whole innocent act. "Fine. I'll give you my number but don't you dare think about blowing my phone up." You scribble your phone number into his palm with a pen from your bag and blow him a kiss while getting in your car to drive away.

Mike smirks and waves at you, watching you drive off into the distance. "That was easier than I expected...huh..." he whispers. He gets back into his car and texts you, already so eager to see you again. The message reads:

Hey it's Mike, the guy from earlier. You doing anything tonight? I could take us out to a bar or something? :)

His cheeks start to blush again from imagining you two hanging out. He desperately craves a deeper connection with you but doesn't want to come off as too interested off the bat, it could scare you off for all he knows! His phone dings and he reads it:

Shitttt I'm free as long as you're gonna be on your very best behavior!!

⊱✿⊰

*Read part 2 and part 3 here!*

It might take me a bit to get part two posted, but I'll try to give you guys as many updates as possible!!! Keep in mind I am a new writer. This is my third fic put out so far :))

[yunaversalluv]

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

In the hush of a too-quiet apartment, Ellie stumbles across a photo that stops her cold — not a performance shot, but something quieter, rawer, real. Sent without words, it says more than she’s ready to hear.

Nothing is said. But everything shifts.

cw for this chapter// emotional vulnerability / introspection, themes of loneliness and isolation, mental health undertones, unspoken romantic tension, ambiguous consent in emotional exposure

note - sorry for the late posting this was supposed to posted yesterday & earlier today, but a lot has happened. this chapter was not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes!

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion @valeisaslut @mariesmagix @eriiwaiii2 @liztreez @re1daway @wrappedinvines @eleanorsghost @fangirlinc @wwefan2002

CHAPTER SEVEN: UNCAPTIONED

The hum of the mini fridge is the only sound in the apartment.

It’s a low, steady whirr, broken only by the occasional click when the compressor shifts. The kind of sound you stop noticing until silence would be louder. Ellie sits on the floor in front of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, knees bent up like she’s trying to fold in on herself. The place is dim, all the overhead lights off, just a single lamp in the corner casting soft gold against the wall, and the blue glow of her phone screen washing her face in pulses.

Her eyes flick back and forth, scrolling, scrolling. Headlines. Dumb memes. Half-filtered images of brunch plates and mirror selfies and tour flyers she forgot to answer emails about. Snippets of strangers’ lives she doesn’t care about—too pretty, too loud, too curated, like someone turned the saturation up on everything and expected her to care.

Her thumb pauses. She’s been scrolling for so long her eyes sting.

A tagged photo stops her cold.

It’s her. Mid-performance. Sweat gleaming along her jaw, hair clinging to her cheek, lips parted in some word she doesn’t remember singing. The light catches just behind her, haloing the blur of her guitar strap. The caption says, god-tier angst lesbian energy. It’s followed by three heart emojis, a crying face, and a gif of a girl fainting.

Ellie scoffs under her breath, nose scrunching faintly. She scrolls past without thinking.

Then scrolls back.

Looks at it again.

Double-taps it. Immediately feels weird about it.

She exhales, jaw shifting. The last show was fine. Packed. Hot. Loud in a way that scraped the inside of her skull. She doesn’t remember much besides the lights in her eyes and the ache in her jaw from clenching too tight during the encore. It’s all a blur. Flashes of color and sound and faces she didn’t really see.

Her thumb hovers over her texts.

Nothing from Jesse. Not since yesterday. Dina sent a blurry photo of her cat asleep on a pile of laundry three hours ago. It’s stupid. Dumb cat, floppy and useless. Still, Ellie taps it open. Smiles faintly when she sees the cat’s tongue sticking out. She starts to type a response—

Then her screen lights up.

A name.

Your name.

Her whole body freezes like something inside her just short-circuited. Her thumb stops mid-word. Her breath catches in her throat.

A message.

No words.

Just an image.

Ellie swipes to open it, slow like she’s bracing for a hit. The preview loads — high resolution, sharp focus. She can already tell it’s one of yours.

Of course it is.

It’s her hands.

Just her hands — resting on her thighs, palms down, after the show. Her jeans look stiff with sweat. Gaffer tape’s still stuck to one knuckle, half peeling. There’s a raw spot near the edge of her nailbed. One of her rings has slipped a little. The light is dusky, somewhere between stage-blue and shadow-purple. She’s not posed. Not framed for attention. It’s quiet. Still. A moment she didn’t even know she gave you.

There’s tension in her fingers — like she was still coming down from it all — but also softness. A curl in the way her hand rests, slack now, drained. Like she was finally just existing.

Not performing.

Not bracing.

Just… her.

Ellie stares.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink for a second.

It feels like falling through the floor.

The air shifts, tightens. Her pulse kicks up behind her ribs.

No caption.

No message.

Which means she has to interpret it.

Has to fill in the silence with something that sounds like sense. She doesn’t know how. Doesn’t even know where to begin. Her throat’s dry. The image is so still, and yet it hits her like sound. Like melody. Like something vibrating too deep in her chest to name.

She lowers the phone, blinking fast, like her body’s trying to keep up with whatever just hit her.

She doesn’t know what to do with it.

She doesn’t know what to do with you

You didn’t mean to send it.

Not at first.

You’d been sitting in the quiet too, wrapped in the familiar glow of your editing screen. It wasn’t about deadlines tonight. Wasn’t about deliverables or tagging the right account or archiving everything before your memory of it faded.

You just felt… off. Restless. Like something was itching under your skin and you couldn’t figure out where to scratch.

You pulled up the folder again, not because you had to — because you needed to. Something in you kept reaching.

And there it was.

That frame.

The lighting wasn’t perfect, not technically. A little uneven. A little dim. But that made it better somehow. More honest.

Her hands. Relaxed, but not quite. Callused fingertips still twitching with the echo of the last chord. There was something about the curve of her fingers, the visible dirt beneath one nail, the line of faded ink near her wrist — all of it threaded with a kind of unspoken ache you couldn’t look away from.

You remembered when you took it. How she’d slumped onto the amp after soundcheck like the air had finally gotten too heavy.

And how she’d looked up.

Not startled. Not annoyed. Just tired. Real.

She saw the camera. Saw you behind it.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t pose.

Just met your gaze, unflinching.

And let you take it.

That stayed with you.

Now, hours later, it’s still open in a separate window. No title. No edits.

You stare at it for a long time.

You don’t write a caption. You don’t attach a message. You just drag the image into the text field, hesitate a second longer than you want to admit…

And hit send.

Then you shut your laptop.

You don’t check if she’s seen it.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she did.

Ellie’s thumb is still hovering over the photo.

The apartment feels too quiet now. The fridge hum’s not enough to fill it. Her own breath sounds too loud in her ears.

She should say something.

She should type something dumb. Cool shot. Nice angle. Didn’t even know you took that.

Something that buys her time.

But her hands won’t move. Her fingers feel numb.

Her mind’s spinning in slow circles — not panicked, not frozen, just… suspended.

She taps the corner of the screen. Saves the image to her favorites. Stares at the little heart icon that flashes for half a second before disappearing.

Then she opens a note app. Blank screen. Cursor blinking.

She types:

not sure what you see when you look at me like that but i wanna believe it’s real.

She reads it. Feels her face go hot. Too much. Too open.

Deletes it.

Tries again.

i don’t like photos of me. but i keep looking at this one. why?

Deletes that too.

Leans her head back against the couch cushion, eyes closed. Exhales through her nose.

Her phone slips in her lap. She lets it.

She scrolls back to your thread again, opens the photo once more. Fills the screen with it. Just her hands. Just that small, raw moment she didn’t even know someone saw.

Her thumb brushes the edge of the glass. It’s almost a caress.

Like touching it could explain anything.

She doesn’t reply.

She doesn’t know how to say what it made her feel without sounding like something she’s not ready to admit.

But she opens her music app.

Scrolls to the playlist you made her. The one with the lo-fi cover art and the one-word title.

She picks that song.

The one you sent two nights ago. The one with the soft piano and breathless vocals that felt like sleeping in someone else’s bed and trying not to fall apart.

She hits play.

The first notes drift out into the quiet.

Ellie lies back on the floor, the carpet rough against her spine, hoodie pulled up over her chin. Her fingers curl loosely over her chest, like they don’t know where else to go.

Eyes closed.

Song playing.

Heart aching.

And somewhere between verse and chorus, she thinks—

What would I look like if I let someone love me?

She doesn’t have an answer.

But now, she thinks maybe…

You might.

[popsleaze]

⠀⠀   ⠀   ╰╮   ⠀   𝚆𝚆𝚆.   ⠀   ❙❘❙❚❙❘❙❙❚❙❘❙❙❘❙   ⠀   2ND   GENERATION   ⠀   ★   ⠀   an   introspection   in   being   broken   down   and   built   back   up   again;   do   you   recognize   yourself   in   the   mirror   ?,   eat   or   be   eaten   ─   the   snake   gets   the   first   bite,   finding   light   in   a   dark   place,   &   found   family.   ⠀   •   ⠀   the   guide   to   the sibling groups known as project   x   and   social   suicide.

trigger warnings : to be added as things are posted.

by 2012, poser records had become "too comfortable" in the eyes of COO christian jang. throughout the last seven years, the label has maintained a steady momentum within the industry. they never dropped below a specific margin but they weren't necessarily breaking through the roof either, an in-between many companies would prefer over possible failures or a rapid decline interest. some employees say this more so had something to do with the idols no longer fearing their positions like they once had as trainees and rookies. there was no one else to take their place, no one who can take their spots or replicate their dedicated fanbases who steadily kept money flowing into poser's pockets. in short ─ there was no in-house competition to keep them motivated anymore.

until october 1, 2012.

as expected, the entertainment company held their quarterly annual press conference to go over all of their future changes and plans for the next few years. nearing the end of the discussion, CEO junhyeok will reveal that poser was closing the chapter on what was dubbed their first generation of idols and were beginning to prepare for their new era of acts to follow. as a way to rile up the crowd, he brought out two trainees who were currently confirmed to be the leaders of the soon-to-become groups.

an at-the-time seventeen year old yoo iseo and fifteen year old na onjo came on stage, bowing respectfully and keeping straight faces to show how serious they were about their potential debuts. junhyeok goes on to talk about the sacrifices of their childhoods, both having trained since the ages of 10 and 9 respectfully, choosing to miss out on their youth in exchange for a career. he called them hungry; emphasizing on how they'd do whatever it takes to become the idols they dreamed about and idolized. by the end of the conference, iseo and onjo had spoke briefly on the mic to ask for the support of those watching before all three said their goodbyes, leaving the audience eager to see what poser had up their sleeves.

what followed in 2014 was the first half of their new era ─ a five member boy group by the name project x. the boys were introduced through a short mini film originally broken up into five parts then before being put altogether in an hour long special. their lore, while loose and brief, begins with the boys all being down on their luck in their apartment. with rent being due and no one having a job, they decide to do the one thing they know how: party. the first mini album sets up their reputation as "loose canons" looking to live for a good time, not a long time. yet after throwing the bash of the century, the boys go on to wreck havoc whether it's through their reckless behavior, plethora of failed relationships, or the essential get together.

shortly after that, in 2015, the second half of their plan was introduced. social suicide was the sister group of project x, having their story originate from the same timeline in the boys' lore as the four girls chose to let loose from their worries and focused on having a good time. many pointed out how the members were seen throughout each mini film and the music videos, even putting together social suicide's small film to connect the times and dates between the groups' story. unlike project x, the girls had a more broader yet specific theme of girls just being girls; how they were allowed to be just as free and reckless as their male counterparts without society judging them.

within days, both groups were breaking records set by their seniors. each release following their debuts were more experimental and fun than the last, and because they were connected, fans from both sides eagerly engaged with their content to point out details or to make theories about the dynamics within the lore. poser records even had them releasing music together on a few special singles and was speculated to produce a joint album but the idea never came to fruition.

despite the close friendship, undeniable loyalty, and quick success coming their way, project x and social suicide were beginning to lose everything behind the scenes. whether it was their sense of self, their relationships, or their credibility, it was growing clear that the sibling groups weren't as tight knit as they were marketed. but how did this happen ? where did it all start ? and who was to be held responsible for the fall of a nation phenomenon...

★ ⠀ the timeline thus far... ⠀ the masterlist.

the cohesive timeline of events for project x and social suicide.

to be added.

[deadreamersociety]

The Green Witch: Your Complete Guide to the Natural Magic of Herbs, Flowers, Essential Oils, and More - Arin Murphy-Hiscock

★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

This book intends to help readers begin their green witch practice, providing chapters on attuning oneself to nature, connecting to each season’s powers, using herbs and other products from the earth in one’s practice, and more. Providing ideas and templates for rituals, Murphy-Hiscock seeks to give readers all the information they need to embark on their witchy journey.

Unfortunately I found this book was not entirely helpful for me. I did read some interesting ideas I may draw inspiration from and it has motivated me to engage in my practice, which I do sometimes need as my life is quite busy meaning my energy is often drained before I have the opportunity to even think about my craft! But I think this book was not for me. I definitely still have a lot to learn but I wouldn’t call myself a beginner, so a lot of the information in this book, I found to be basic knowledge.

I did also find some minor issues within the book. For example, when discussing the uses of malachite, Murphy-Hiscock neglected to mention that it should not come into contact with water as it can release toxins which is very dangerous. I found this quite concerning. Despite the title, this book is definitely not a ‘complete guide’.

I also disliked how the book’s offered templates for rituals etc. used the term “goddess”, but this is a personal thing as an atheist.

Having said all that, I do believe this book has some merits, which is why I gave it two stars. The practices, ideas and templates offered are fun, creative and unique and allow for introspection. Murphy-Hiscock also emphasises how personal green witchcraft is, and how it can be low-key if one does not prefer the high magick rituals seen in some practices. I also appreciated how Murphy-Hiscock acknowledged throughout that not all witches have access to the countryside or a bountiful garden. As someone who moved from the countryside to the middle of a city, this has been a struggle for me and I have felt alienated from certain practices of mine due to space constraints (and shite student landlords!). The last chapter features some recipes which I am eager to try!

This book could be helpful for beginners to consolidate their understanding of green witchcraft and begin their journey. But please, do not treat it as your bible! This goes for any book, but if you are reading/will read this, please research outside of it too.

Trigger warnings: n/a

[germawife]

hi tumblr. i have a couple of introspective hetalia rambles i've written up and refined and i decided that, actually, i really like sharing my thoughts so you guys get them too! under the cut is the rewritten version of my thoughts on prussia's mindset throughout losing holy rome and becoming a newly unified germany's older brother. if you don't read chapter 12 of world stars (linked), you'll probably be lost!

here is a link to my other piece full of my thoughts on a scenario where germany would try and seek out answers about the memory he experienced from holy rome's pov after the end of the web strip version of buon san valentino! it goes hand-in-hand with this piece, i'd recommend reading it if you like this one!

     This isn’t explicitly stated in the chapter detailing the circumstances of Germany’s birth, but I believe that Prussia's swift insistence that Germany calls him his older brother stems from an immediate recognition of the link between Holy Rome and Germany, even if just in body. Germany wasn't born as a baby like most other countries- this is an oddity, even for the personifications of nations (whose conceptions are notably mysterious in nature). Oddly enough, his bodily age upon unification appears to be roughly the same age that Holy Rome was when he was dying.

— ( ★ ) —

I still hold firm on my claim that Prussia didn't let himself process or grieve the loss of Holy Rome, but I do think that he- in some shape or form- knew what the unification implied. He had to have known that Holy Rome as an individual would cease to exist, even if he didn't know what would happen to him after the fact. That being said, unification or not, nothing would’ve changed. Both parties had to have known the truth- Holy Rome’s time of death was near. The Holy Roman Empire as a whole was already dissolved by this point in time, and there was no way that Holy Rome himself would’ve made a miraculous recovery. Despite the inevitability of it all, Prussia had taken the initiative to hide Holy Rome away during the tail-end of his lifespan, taking it upon himself to care for his younger brother as his health rapidly deteriorated.

     In the aftermath of the newly-unified Germany’s conception, Prussia welcomes his new little brother with open arms and looks after him. He fights like Hell to keep a Germany protected from any hardships he's put through. Because of this, I believe that Prussia sees Germany’s existence as a second chance- as a means to do better, to be more present, to be 'deserving' of his title as an older brother. So... instead of looking back, Prussia moves forward. He still thinks about Holy Rome, he still subconsciously draws parallels between his deceased baby brother and Germany, but he doesn't mourn. He probably doesn't feel like he has to, but I think it'd help him. Prussia is very clearly firmly under the belief that he can handle any hardships himself, unwilling to let anyone else see beyond the arrogant and boisterous persona he presents to the world.

     Finally, for clarification’s sake, I don't think Prussia would EVER even entertain the idea of being angry at Germany for circumstances he couldn't have controlled. ultimately, it was him that made the choice to unify the kingdoms and empires that had made up the Holy Roman Empire to create Germany, a newly unified and decidedly more ‘whole’ nation.

[madisonmumbles]

Beach Read by Emily Henry ★★★★

Mild spoilers!!

"Love, after all, was often made not of shiny things but practical ones. Ones that grew old and rusted only to be repaired and polished. Things that got lost and had to be replaced on a regular basis"

Emily Henry, for me, is the exception, not the rule, for romance books. I generally do not like romance books often, but I have loved every one of Emily Henry's books that I have read thus far. Also, I do plan to have all of her books read by the end of the summer, trust, so get ready for the onslaught of reviews.

Gus and January were realistic in ways that still fit into the rom-com setup of the story. However, there is an underlying theme of grief throughout the novel as January comes to terms with her father's death and Sonya's role in his life. The chapter where she read his letters absolutely made me sob (don't play w me about dead parents and I'll cry every time). The realization that her role in Gus's life was almost similar to Sonya's role in her father's life when her parents were separated made you, as the reader, think about how you thought about the perception of characters. Of course, the circumstances were definitely different with January and Gus, and you see that quickly, but the introspection is such an important thing to think about, especially for January, as she was coming to terms with her father and his life. A thing I wish Henry had expanded more on is January's relationship with her mother, because we see the resolution of it, but personally, I would have liked to see more of that conversation since she was a complicated figure for January while they were both handling their grief.

Gus is also a compelling love interest for January. Even from the beginning, they thought about their stories from differing perspectives. He is a flawed person with things he is trying to work through, but he tries. And that was something that compelled me so much about his character. He cares so much about January, and God, it just made me want to put him in my pocket forever.

A deep aspect of their story is that you have to try and make an effort. You can't just let things happen to you. I thought it was refreshing that the 'miscommunication' in this book was handled before it could get too bad. They were confrontational with each other, and January did start overthinking about her relationship with Gus, but it was not from miscommunication; it was from seeing Naomi, coupled with her conversation with Sonya. If there is one trope I hate, it is poorly handled miscommunication, and in this, it felt realistic and handled well.

Four stars for Miss Em Hen, you have truly done it again

My Goodreads!!!

[verve-odist]

Right Now MV:

𓈒 ◟ ׁ⠀𓏴𓏴 ˟ tonight, the digital world whispers a vibrant, electrifying secret: 𝙽𝚎𝚠𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜’ 💢⠀̸.. ꦿ᪲ latest music video, “𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙽𝚘𝚠,” has cascaded into the realm of the virtual, igniting the screens with its colorful rebellion and infectious rhythm.

𖩨͚͜𖩣 ⁔⁔⏝୵ ׅ ִ ﹙💿٫﹚☆𝅄˚ the watch upon my wrist, the relentless march of time’s sands; here, ۪ ⊹ 많은 나 🎀 ephemera elongate, suspended in ethereal beauty’s grasp. it understands that within this pocket of the universe, time is but a fleeting concept, a mere illusion.

𔐼 ── 두 개의 반대 ) ▸ CHAPTER 𝐈𝐈. 𔓕̫ ּ ∿ ៸ ⁕ Xx ּ ─ׅ─ֹ─꯭┄ ˒˓ 𝆋𝆯 ⓘ gazing introspectively into the crystalline depths of my reflected essence, i encounter an intricate nexus of facets, united under the auspicious banner of my identity.

NewJeans x PUBG

ⓘ⠀̸🎮 ˚ .. ᐢ ࣪✦ ah, tonight is draped in a digital glow, the kind that flickers and dances across screens in a symphony of pixels and plays. ⠀̸★

i find myself lost, or perhaps found, in a new realm where 𝙽𝚎𝚠𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 meets the ferocity of battle, in PUBG blossoms.

﹙𝑎𝑑𝑗 ﹚ ،، 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝟎𝟐 › : 𝕕𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕤 ★ under the veiled moonlight of the city’s heart, i tread softly along the whispering streets, the hum of the night cradling my steps. my pose, a threads of the whimsical and the daring—a tender touch against the cool air of nightfall.

[nikarodrigues]

I just finished reading the first trilogy in "The War of Light and Shadow" by Janny Wurts.

Despite being warned that the forces of light versus forces of shadow do not equal good versus evil (and that was one of the reasons I wanted to read this series despite the title), I still had hope that one of the characters could redeem themselves, since both of the brothers were maneuvred into their positions.

The author favors one side, of course, since despite the atrocities and genocide, our Arethon has the gift of empathy. Throughout book two I still extended my sympathy to Lysaer and rooted for the half brothers to get right, because the gift of justice that Lysaer demonstrated in the first chapters was still imprinted in my mind as his strong trait, but book three broke any expectations and now I just keep reading to see the day Lysaer dies a painful death. But who knows, there are still six books to go!

Another character grew a lot, which I already expected, but it was still delightful to read. The Arithon-Dakar pair is central to the whole story and their relationship is the most interesting and hilarious to follow.

The Fellowship Sorcerers and their neutrality piss me off, there's a bloody war going on and they still don't get involved.

The intricate world of Athera, full of political conflicts, mysteries, old traditions and its landscapes are impeccably described, the daily struggles of the common people seem authentic and realistic, this all interspersed with the action scenes and the introspection of Lysaer and Arithon takes the plot step developed very slowly, but at no point (except in the Lysaer's delusions of grandeur) did it bother me.

4 out of 5 stars was my average for the 3 books.

★★★★☆

[swashbucklcr]

[TRACE] The sender leans in, delicately tracing the outline of a scar with their lips. (from the second-main magic man himself - imperitvs)

@imperitvs | scar prompts

His tent, their tent in truth, had become a shared sanctuary for Finn and Osian more evenings than not. This night was no different, though the summer heat had arrived early, and the stifling warmth lingered even after the sun had bid them goodnight. Finn chose to sleep without his shirt to stay cool, exposing his chest without a care. The scars that marked his skin were never a source of shame for Finn; they were proud badges of battles hard-fought and won.

The pair rested atop their bedrolls, a blanket deemed too warm for the night’s oppressive heat. Finn lay beside Osian, his hand tucked under his head, arm crooked, eyes closed as he relished the tranquillity of the evening.

Osian seemed to be in a playful mood, his gentle touches becoming more frequent as they spoke in hushed tones. It wasn't until the elf fell silent, and Finn felt the soft press of lips along his shoulder, that his own voice faded, replaced by a sharp intake of breath.

He ought to say that was enough, to maintain some semblance of composure, but why ruin a perfect evening? Instead, he hummed contentedly, his fingers threading through Osian's hair in a tender gesture.

[inkedlibrary]

The Librarianist

by Patrick deWitt. Contemporary genre. It was published on July 4th 2023 by Ecco Press Publishing. Started reading it from April 1st to 5th, 2024, with 352 pages. Age group: Adult.

Trigger and Content Warning

Death. Grief. Mental health struggles. Suicidal thoughts. Cynicism. Dark humor. Isolation. Loneliness. Existential themes. Alcohol & substance use.

Premise of the Book

Bob Comet is a retired librarian passing his solitary days surrounded by books and small comforts in a mint-colored house in Portland, Oregon. One morning on his daily walk he encounters a confused elderly woman lost in a market and returns her to the senior center that is her home. Hoping to fill the void he's known since retiring, he begins volunteering at the center. Here, as a community of strange peers gathers around Bob, and following a happenstance brush with a painful complication from his past, the events of his life and the details of his character are revealed. Behind Bob Comet's straight-man facade is the story of an unhappy child's runaway adventure during the last days of the Second World War, of true love won and stolen away, of the purpose and pride found in the librarian's vocation, and of the pleasures of a life lived to the side of the masses. Bob's experiences are imbued with melancholy but also a bright, sustained comedy; he has a talent for locating bizarre and outsize players to welcome onto the stage of his life.

People Suited for This Book

Appreciate dark humor and cynicism, with a more pessimistic tone

Enjoy character-driven stories, particularly ones that focus on introspective and complex protagonists

Like existential themes about life, death, and human connection

Prefer slow-paced, reflective narratives that delve into deeper emotional and philosophical questions

Can handle themes of isolation, grief, and mental health struggles

Feelings While Reading

Complicated. Oh, God! The three characters often mentioned in this book, they're more complex than the plot itself. I mean, their personalities. It's not the typical book I'd enjoy, but also not the typical one I'd dislike. I was comfy reading it till the end, even though it was an emotional rollercoaster—well, more ups than downs.

Book Review

The story is unique, well, I guess you can say that. What else? I thought it would be heartwarming, but turns out it's not. And... I don't like—I don't like any of the characters in this book, except for the side characters, because they’re more organized. Bob, Connie, Ethan, oh my God! What should I say to these three? I can’t handle it—I give up. The plot isn’t too complicated, but it’s enough to annoy you (especially in chapter 2; 1942-1960). The plot twist is surprising, but not like a “whoa” moment—nothing like that. But overall, it’s good, even though I won’t read this book for the second time. But it’s suitable for those who like a slower-paced plot that doesn’t trigger adrenaline, you could say it’s a light read.

Rating

[3.8][★★★☆☆] Cover Design

[3.0][★★★☆☆] Story and Plot

[3.0][★★★☆☆] Characters

[3.2][★★★☆☆] Overall Rating

[852-between-the-pages]

"Zaviya" by Ashfaq Ahmed – An Extraordinary Literary Masterpiece

Rating: ★★★★★ (5/5)

"Zaviya" by Ashfaq Ahmed is an extraordinary literary masterpiece that delves deep into the realms of spirituality, philosophy, and human nature. With profound insights and a unique narrative style, Ashfaq Ahmed takes readers on a transformative journey, challenging conventional wisdom and opening doors to self-reflection and enlightenment.

The book is a compilation of Ashfaq Ahmed's thought-provoking columns and reflections, which were originally published in various newspapers and magazines. Through his eloquent and captivating storytelling, the author explores the complexities of life, relationships, and the pursuit of meaning. Each chapter is a treasure trove of wisdom, offering profound insights into the human condition.

One of the remarkable aspects of "Zaviya" is the author's ability to seamlessly blend personal experiences with philosophical musings. Ashfaq Ahmed shares his own struggles, triumphs, and spiritual encounters, making the book highly relatable and engaging. His anecdotes and parables resonate with readers, provoking introspection, and a deeper understanding of life's profound truths.

Moreover, the book challenges societal norms and encourages readers to question their beliefs and values. Ashfaq Ahmed fearlessly tackles sensitive topics such as religion, spirituality, and the purpose of existence. His non-dogmatic approach promotes tolerance, open-mindedness, and a quest for knowledge, making "Zaviya" an intellectual and spiritual awakening.

The language used in the book is simple yet profound, allowing readers from all walks of life to connect with the author's ideas. Ashfaq Ahmed's writing style is poetic, evocative, and filled with metaphors that beautifully capture the intricacies of human experience. The book's flow is seamless, making it difficult to put down once you start reading.

"Zaviya" is not just a book; it is a transformative experience. It challenges readers to delve into the depths of their souls, explore their beliefs, and seek a higher purpose. Ashfaq Ahmed's timeless wisdom and profound insights make this book a valuable companion for anyone on a quest for self-discovery and spiritual growth.

 Ashfaq Ahmed’s "Zaviya" is an exceptional work that transcends the boundaries of conventional literature. It offers a unique perspective on life, spirituality, and human nature, inspiring readers to question, reflect, and embark on a journey of self-enlightenment. This book is a must-read for those seeking profound wisdom and a deeper understanding of the mysteries of existence.

Asia Rahman Khan Lodhi [Consul Press at the Consulate General of Pakistan, Hong Kong (SAR) & Macau (SAR)]

Note: This review is based on the original publication of "Zaviya" and not any subsequent editions or adaptations. The views/ ideas in the book are purely of the book’s author and are not necessarily endorsed by the book reviewer.

[yunaversalluv]

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

She never meant to take the photo. But one click — instinctive, intimate, and all too honest — unravels everything. On tour with a band she barely knows how to stop watching, a photographer finds herself tangled in the silence between art and trespass, beauty and betrayal. What happens when the line between capturing someone and keeping them blurs? And what’s left when the subject finally turns away?

cw for this chapter// emotional distress & breakdowns, invasion of privacy, betrayal of trust, power imbalance, guilt & shame, implied substance use, implied emotional burnout, slight introspective

note - this chapter was not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes! If there are any mistakes please let me know!!

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion @valeisaslut @mariesmagix @eriiwaiii2 @liztreez @re1daway @wrappedinvines @eleanorsghost @fangirlinc @wwefan2002

CHAPTER EIGHT: UNSPOKEN

You don’t mean to take the photo.

Not really.

It’s just reflex — the click of your shutter more muscle memory than thought. The lens is still slung around your neck long after the shoot officially wrapped, weightless from habit, familiar like the feel of your own pulse.

The backstage lights are low, flickering in some dull amber that turns everything sluggish and tender around the edges. There’s static in the air, leftover reverb, the kind that lingers long after a show. Your ears are still ringing faintly with it.

Ellie’s crouched in the corner of the green room.

She doesn’t know you’re still here.

Her legs are drawn tight to her chest, hoodie sleeves pushed up like they’re strangling her arms. One hand is knotted in her hair. The other’s clamped over her mouth, fingers trembling against her lips like she’s holding something in — a scream, maybe. A sob. Something that has nowhere else to go.

And you—

You don’t breathe when you press the shutter.

There’s no reason for it. No thought, no framing. Just a twitch of instinct and the soft mechanical click that follows. It echoes louder than it should in the quiet.

You glance down.

The preview glows faintly on your camera screen.

And your heart folds in on itself.

Because it’s not a good photo.

It’s something else entirely.

It’s honest.

And you don’t delete it.

You don’t even move.

It started hours earlier, with nothing. Just the hum of another morning on the road.

You’d ridden with the band that day — Jesse had offered, casual as ever, and you’d climbed into the van with your camera bag already slung across your body, worn straps digging into your shoulder. The roads had blurred past in streaks of gold and concrete, sun peeking through half-rolled windows, wind pushing flyaways into your face.

Everyone was tired. That halfway-point kind of tired — the kind that loosens limbs and tongues, makes even the grumpiest crew member lean back and laugh too loudly at dumb jokes.

Ellie had been in a mood. One of the good ones. Talkative in the way she only ever was when she was deflecting. Her voice low and dry and just a little too fast, like she was trying to stay ahead of something she didn’t want to name.

“You know we only like you around because you bring normal people energy,” Jesse had joked from the front of the van, glancing back with a grin.

You’d laughed. Rolled your eyes. “Normal’s generous.”

And Ellie — she’d leaned back against the cracked leather seat and muttered, “She brings camera energy. Big difference.”

But then she’d looked at you in the mirror. Just for a second.

Not annoyed. Not cold.

Something else.

That now-familiar softness. That flicker in her eyes like you were becoming part of her language, some half-written verse she wasn’t quite ready to sing.

The show had been chaos. Glorious and brutal.

Bodies pressing against the barricade, sweat and screams and the flash of stage lights in every direction. Ellie had been feral up there — all sharp motion and raw voice, throwing herself into each song like it hurt not to. Like something inside her would’ve broken worse if she didn’t let it out that way.

You’d captured a thousand images between dusk and the breathless encore.

Technically good. A few were even gorgeous.

But none of them — not a single shot — felt like the one you’d take later. The one you weren’t supposed to.

The one that would gut you.

Back at the hotel, hours later, the buzz of adrenaline is long gone.

It’s replaced by something low and twitching. The kind of ache that hums in your knuckles after too many shutter pulls. The kind of ache that lives in your chest, slow and sharp, when the night is quiet and there’s nothing left between you and the truth.

You sit cross-legged on the hotel bed, bare thighs sticking slightly to the cheap comforter. The air conditioner clicks and whirs. Your laptop screen glows cold blue in the dark.

Contact sheets roll by.

You scroll. You flag. You edit. Fingers tapping shortcuts in practiced rhythm, eyes scanning for light and movement, contrast and clarity. The ritual is grounding. Almost comforting.

Ellie’s in so many of them.

Sharp lines. Wild mouth. Sweat curling damp wisps of hair against her temple.

But her eyes — they keep catching you.

Not posed. Not styled. Mid-scream, sure, but half-lidded. Haunted.

You pause there.

You open the full image.

Then another.

Then another.

And then — God help you — you open the folders.

You’d labeled them as placeholders. That’s the lie you tell yourself. Organizational habits. Practical things.

Clear names for future sorting.

ellie//raw — where you keep the unposted moments. The in-between captures. Her stretching before a set, long limbs lit by dusty light. Tuning her guitar barefoot in a stairwell. Her profile caught against the van window at sunrise, freckled face soft with sleep.

blurred lines — a different kind of folder. Half-secret, even to you. Nothing explicit. Just... intimate. Emotional ephemera. Voice notes of half-sung lyric ideas. A photo of her Converse nudging yours under a café table, like she was trying to make you laugh. A two-minute video where she fumbled through a joke and laughed harder when she forgot the punchline.

You never posted any of it.

But you kept them all.

And tonight — tonight your hands shake as you drag the new photo into ellie//raw.

You don’t know why.

Or maybe you do.

You should’ve asked. You didn’t.

And that’s when the door swings open.

It’s Dina.

Flushed from the afterparty, eyeliner smudged at the corners of her eyes, glitter stuck in the creases of her collarbone. She stops short when she sees your face.

Sees your laptop.

Sees the photo — Ellie, mid-breakdown, eyes wild and mouth clamped tight in grief.

Frozen. Caught. Vulnerable in a way that feels unspeakable.

“Whoa,” Dina breathes, stepping closer.

You flinch. Snap the laptop closed.

“It’s nothing. Just—editing.”

But Dina isn’t buying it.

She’s too smart for that. Too familiar with the rhythms of performance. Too loyal to ignore the tension in your shoulders.

Her voice drops. “Was she okay?”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

Say nothing.

That’s all the answer she needs.

Her expression shifts — not angry. Not even shocked. Just... disappointed.

“Does she know you took that?”

You look away.

Dina exhales, long and slow. Steps back.

“You’re better than this,” she says.

The words settle like dust in the air.

Are you?

You don’t sleep.

You lie in the unfamiliar bed, head turned toward the window, watching lights blur across the ceiling. Your chest aches.

Not from guilt. Not exactly.

From something else.

From the quiet truth you don’t know how to name — that you’ve been watching Ellie too closely for too long. That maybe you started seeing her too clearly. That maybe it’s not just art anymore.

That maybe it hasn’t been for a while.

The next morning, the sun is dull behind gray clouds.

You find her in the alley behind the venue. Hoodie pulled up. Smoke curling from between her fingers. Headphones in, shoulders tense.

She doesn’t hear you at first.

Then she looks up. Pulls one side of the headphones down.

Her eyes find yours.

She smiles — just barely.

Then sees your face.

“Hey,” she says. Slow. Cautious. “You okay?”

You nod. Your voice doesn’t work right away. “Rough night.”

Ellie nods too. Offers you the joint.

You shake your head.

And for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

There’s something peaceful about it. Or fragile. Like a glass bell, suspended between you.

You think, Tell her.

You think, Be honest.

But you don’t.

She finds out two days later.

You don’t know how.

You just know something shifts — a tectonic silence.

She walks into the green room after soundcheck and doesn’t meet your eyes.

Doesn’t look at you at all.

You’re at your laptop again. Sorting selects. Trying not to sweat through your shirt.

And then her voice, low and sharp:

“Can I talk to you?”

You look up.

Her face is unreadable.

You follow her down the hallway. Past the echoing reverb of the stage crew testing mics. Into a back storage room that smells like dust and old vinyl, lit by a single buzzing bulb overhead.

She turns.

Shuts the door.

Then:

“Did you take that picture?”

You freeze.

“Ellie—”

Her jaw tightens.

“Don’t. Just—answer me.”

Your voice is small. “Yes.”

She blinks. Like you slapped her.

And then she says — voice raw: “Did you even ask yourself if that was yours to take?”

Your throat locks.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did, though.” Her voice wavers. “You always mean to.”

She starts to pace. Hands flexing. Her gaze sharp and wild, like she’s looking for an exit that isn’t there.

“I let you in,” she says. “I let you see me. I thought you—” she stops. Swallows hard. “I thought you understood what that meant.”

“I do,” you try.

But her voice cuts sharper now.

“No, you don’t. You don’t get it. I have to be a thousand versions of myself for the world. For fans. For the press. For the fucking band. But that moment?”

She gestures — violent, abrupt.

“That was mine.”

Silence falls like a curtain.

You feel the weight of it then — not just the photo.

The betrayal. The line you crossed, maybe without realizing it. Maybe not.

“I didn’t show anyone,” you whisper. “I didn’t post it.”

Ellie laughs. Bitter.

“That’s not the point.”

Her voice drops, hoarse now. “You kept it. You looked at it. You made it yours.”

You look down.

And she takes a step back.

Like she’s retreating. Or breaking.

Or both.

“I need space,” she says.

You nod.

Numb.

She leaves.

Later, you delete the file.

You drag it to the trash, fingers trembling.

But the emptiness it leaves on your hard drive doesn’t even come close to the one in your chest.

Two weeks later.

You still haven’t spoken.

Not since that night in the storage room, when she walked out and didn’t look back.

The tour kept moving. Of course it did. Cities changed. Venues blurred. The van rolled on.

But something in you stayed behind. Something cracked and pulsing and stuck in that dust-choked room, where her voice broke and your silence said too much.

You’ve seen her, of course. Onstage. In green rooms. Across long merch tables. She's never far — but somehow she feels galaxies away. Every time her eyes skim past yours, every time she turns slightly away mid-conversation, it hurts in a way you didn’t know was possible.

Not rejection. Not even anger.

It’s absence.

Like she's already pulled out the thread that tied you to her, and now there’s just unraveling.

You try to pretend it’s fine.

You work. You shoot. You turn in your selects on time. You laugh at Jesse’s dumb jokes and nod when Dina checks in with her eyes. But the lens doesn’t feel safe anymore. Every time you lift it to your face, it shakes. Not from the weight. From you.

From the question you can’t stop asking: When did this stop being art?

You don’t know where you are when it happens. Just another green room. Another low hum of fluorescent lights and stale coffee and everyone talking too loudly around you.

You’re scrolling. Autopilot. Sorting files by metadata, skipping through folders you haven’t opened in weeks. Avoiding one in particular.

But then you click it.

You don’t mean to. Maybe some part of you does.

ellie//raw

The folder opens.

And there it is.

The photo.

You’d emptied your trash days ago. Wiped your backups. You’d meant to erase it — really, truly meant it.

But some ghost of it lingered. Some cache file, auto-recovery save, hidden restore point.

It’s here. Perfect. Pristine.

She’s still crouched. Still crumpled into herself like a wound. Still caught mid-break. That same unbearable honesty bleeding from the frame.

You don’t breathe.

You just… look.

And that’s when you hear her voice behind you.

“…You said you deleted it.”

Your heart stops.

You turn slowly.

Ellie’s standing in the doorway, half-shadowed by the fluorescent light, arms crossed so tight she’s practically curled into herself.

You try to close the laptop. Fumble. Miss the trackpad.

“Ellie, I didn’t— I thought it was gone, I swear—”

But it doesn’t matter.

Her face isn’t angry. It’s worse than that.

It’s devastated.

She looks at you like she doesn’t recognize you. Like you’re some stranger who’s holding something she never meant to give.

And when she speaks again, her voice is a whisper.

“Do you even see me? Or do you just… collect me?”

The words hit like a blade.

You step toward her, hands out. “That’s not fair—”

But she steps back.

Shakes her head once.

“You think it’s about the photo,” she says. “But it’s not. It’s you. It’s this whole fucking thing. You act like you care, but all you do is look. You watch me. And it’s starting to feel like I’m just a mirror for you. Something you hold up to catch your own reflection.”

Your throat goes dry.

“I never meant—”

“I know,” she says. “God, I know you didn’t mean to. That’s the worst part.”

Silence stretches. Loud and aching.

Then Ellie looks down. Her voice cracks.

“You were the one person I thought might actually see the parts of me that aren’t loud. That aren’t onstage. The quiet, fucked-up pieces I can’t even name.”

She swallows.

“And you turned it into a project.”

Tears burn your eyes.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t know if anything would matter.

“I’m done,” she says softly.

And this time — when she leaves —

She closes the door behind her.

And it clicks shut like a final note.

Like a song that was never meant to be sung.

[dearthinkingoutloud]

Oryx and Crake: A Book Review

★★★★★/5!

After analyzing essays and poems, Oryx and Crake was a great choice of novel to fully read and dive into as a class! This book included one of my favorite things in books which are dystopia and caused us as the readers to introspect which I adored. The story is written by Margaret Atwood, a prolific writer who also wrote the famous Handmaid's Tale, and I previously had not read anything of hers, but after reading Oryx and Crake, I just might!

Throughout the book, I thoroughly enjoyed Atwood's writing style and the way she limited the point of view to Jimmy/Snowman. She accurately adapted the inner dialogue to fit each stage of Jimmy's life in a satirical yet realistic way. For instance, in the chapter called "Hammer", Jimmy is becoming a teenager and increasingly detached from this parents. Previously, Atwood had utilized a more innocent perspective for Jimmy's thoughts and interactions, but as the story continues from this chapter, he is making fun of his parents. Atwood also starts foreshadowing his obsession with women and his tendency to not critically think which only grows as he gets older. She has an wonderful ability to create imagery and allow the reader to feel exactly how the main character feels.

Also, the plot?? Margaret Atwood outdid herself and Dr. Morrison said it only gets better as the series continues (I will be reading those, thank you 🙃). I tried to concisely explain this book to my uncle who also enjoys reading so that I could recommend it to him, but in the end, I simply said, "you just have to read it for yourself." There are so many important details that can not be described properly in a short summary. Almost anyone who reads this will have already read the book, however, if you haven't.... read it. Oryx and Crake is a dystopian fiction with science-fiction, romance, and adventure. Simply put: it is a story of a man renamed Snowman who is recounting his life choices and trying to continue the life that he now must live since the world has ended... and it is partly his fault. He made a friend in his childhood named Crake, who is the opposite of him (smart, mysterious, interested in science whereas Jimmy, later named Snowman, is a "himbo", social, and interested in the arts), and he later decides to create a plan to wipe the Earth of its "imperfection" and start a new civilization. Now, Snowman must rethink his decisions and how he could have stopped catastrophe.

What a great story right? I implore everyone to read it! Not only was it great to read individually, but it also invoked great discussion as a class. We discussed the nature of Jimmy and Crake's relationship, their relationship wit Oryx (which is all kinds of messed up), and asked the question: who is most responsible for this end of the world? I will ask you, future reader: who do YOU think is most responsible? Margaret Atwood did an amazing job constructing this book and I look forward to reading the rest of this series and the Handmade's Tale afterwards.

♡ dearthinkingoutloud