#Dream or Nightmare

[contemplatingoutlander]

Contemplations on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, January 16, 2023

The coming Republican nightmare | Cartoon by Ann Telnaes

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream.

Sadly, what is currently happening the in U.S. isn't it.

Given the anti-CRT movement in red states, the rampant banning of books by Black and Brown authors across the U.S., the vitriol on the right regarding the BLM movement, the unrestrained right-wing zeal of the conservative justices on the Supreme Court who have been slowly dismantling the Voting Rights Act and who are now poised to ban affirmative action programs at universities, and the acceptance of blatant racist remarks by many of today's GOP politicians (most notably their leader Trump), Martin Luther King would probably think that what is currently happening in the U.S. is indeed a nightmare.

Finally, MLK would be livid if he knew that the GQP anti-CRT, covert white nationalist movement has been repeatedly misusing his "dream" quote:

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” --Martin Luther King Jr.

According to Melinda Guerra this quote has been:

Used: to defend the incredibly patronizing and trivializing thought that claiming to be colorblind is something laudable, rather than a way of discounting the fact that people of color have the privilege of being because we have to deal with the fact that our non-whiteness dictates parts of our experiences in ways those who talk about being will never understand. Also used to defend the idea of America being post-race, which would be laughable if its very falseness lead to so many awful things. Also used to suggest King would be against affirmative action, as if he hadn't been part of a group of leaders proposing an affirmative-action-like employment program (See #5 below).

Guerra goes on to suggest that we

Remind people: 1. This speech actually consists of more than the 2-3 sentences that get quoted. (Seriously, remind them of that. I'm almost convinced people don't know that.) 2. It is foolish and trivializing to claim you don't see color or suggest America is post-race, and flat-out wrong to suggest King wouldn't support affirmative action programs. 3. The march at which he delivered this speech was the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. As a result of that march, meetings with administration, and a ton of work done by other leaders in the Civil Rights Movement of the 60s, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights act of 1965 were passed, with provisions reflecting the demands of that march. But, contrary to popular opinion, that didn't lead King to suggest we’d “arrived” and the civil rights movement should pack up and go home [...] 4. King’s speaking and activism stretched from before this speech to after it. This speech–and even the passage of important (but baby step) laws like the aforementioned Civil Rights Act and Voting Act–was not some final “end” to all he’d said. It was but one speech (and the lines people love to claim were but a few lines) in a long legacy of things he said, and his lifetime should not be reduced to a few nonthreatening lines white people like to remember. 5. King and others actually proposed something that sounds an awful lot like the affirmative action programs people use this quote to suggest he was opposed to. He supported a “massive program of economic aid, financed by the Federal Government, to improve the lot of the nation’s 20,000,000 Negroes.” Answering an interviewer’s question about whether it was fair to request a “multibillion-dollar program of preferential treatment for the Negro, or for any other minority group,” King responded as follows:

“I do indeed. Can any fair-minded citizen deny that the Negro has been deprived? Few people reflect that for two centuries the Negro was enslaved, and robbed of any wages—potential accrued wealth which would have been the legacy of his descendants. All of America’s wealth today could not adequately compensate its Negroes for his centuries of exploitation and humiliation. It is an economic fact that a program such as I propose would certainly cost far less than any computation of two centuries of unpaid wages plus accumulated interest. In any case, I do not intend that this program of economic aid should apply only to the Negro; it should benefit the disadvantaged of all races.”*

I’m sure you’ll see plenty of your own memes misquoting King this year. If you have the emotional energy (and I do understand if you don’t), consider using some of the above responses (or researching your own) and responding, instead of just scrolling past them.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

_____________ * http://playboysfw.kinja.com/martin-luther-king-jr-part-2-of-a-candid-conversation-1502358645

[zanazirafanfic]

Last night I dreamt I was going to catch an elevator but instead I somehow ended up free-falling 100 floors down an empty shaft and landed on my back. I had crazy butterflies because I was falling, but was otherwise strangely calm about the whole thing, and then just got up and walked it off like, "Huh. I should probably be dead now."

Woke up in my bed on my back (I never sleep on my back) and my first thought after, "Well. That happened," was an image of a cheekily grinning Micah Bell.

Pretty sure the bastard pushed me down an elevator shaft in my dreams and just hoped I wouldn't remember.

I REMEMBER, MICAH. I REMEMBER.

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Dream or Nightmare || Rune + Enoch || May 19th, 1925

Enoch: Adjusts his bowtie

Rune: "Like some kind of slut."

Enoch: "Excuse me?"

Rune: "Je bent een slet."

Enoch: "That doesn't sound flattering. You forget...I have an arsenal."

Rune: "You don't have a single shirt in that arsenal, do you? All button-downs as far as the eye can see."

Enoch: "You don't like the challenge?"

Rune: "What challenge?"

Enoch: "Of all the buttons. You're complaining about them. Don't like the work of undoing them?"

Rune: Oh look, a window. "Don't be ridiculous."

Enoch: "Mm. I'm curious to know what you think of when I wear my vests and a button-down."

Rune: "I think you like being called a slut."

Enoch: "I most certainly do not. I think you're deflecting, and you actually like how I look."

Rune: A sigh. "Obviously. I'm calling you a slut."

Enoch: "I gathered that...It's become your favorite word. Does that mean you want to sleep with me?" They both could be smartasses. He'd duck away smirking before he could get smacked.

Rune: And just managed to dodge a flat hand coming for the top of his head. Luckily he wasn't using time magic.

"Careful, before you get cursed."

Enoch: “You’re not denying it.”

He felt the graze brush the waves of his hair; this was enough to have him scurry away from his mentor.

“Surely, you wouldn’t curse your favorite apprentice.”

Rune: You're my only apprentice, he almost said, but upon realizing the ridiculous obvious truth to the statement, pinched Enoch's tie between two fingers.

"When you talk like this, out of the blue, do you expect me to react? To push you against the wall and have you for myself?"

Enoch: He thought he had gotten further away but apparently not, as he was held there by the sudden pinch to his clothes.

“React? Yes, and you are.” His gaze dropped to the fingers holding his tie.

“But the latter? No. Yet, you do the same exact to me to elicit a response, don’t you?”

Rune: "You think I dress for you?" Was he hearing this correctly, or was the English language working against him today?

Enoch: “No, not dress. Other things that you do that I’ve noticed.” Blue eyes studied the other, feeling more confident than he had ever. It was an exhilarating feeling.

“The way you stare at me when you think I'm not looking, how you seem to get…how did she put it? Gleeful? Yes, I believe that’s right –when I’m around. And let’s not forget how you kept me pinned against the door that night I came to find you…”

Rune: If there was one thing certain in life, it was that Rune absolutely refused to blush. When warmth inevitably hit his cheeks, he would look elsewhere, utterly bitter.

But why? Was he caught, or misunderstood?

"I was inebriated and she was jealous. I don't feel anything for you."

Enoch: “So, does it work on you when you do it?”

There was a pause before he continued, gaze half-lidded as he watched his mentor look away. Ah, he had struck closer to home than anticipated.

“Does your ear itch?”

Rune: It just dawned on him. Had his ear itched? At any point in Enoch's teasing?

He slowly looked back at his apprentice.

"What do you want?"

Enoch: Maybe. But did the mage remember when?

"Mm, you have a habit of that. Not answering my questions when I'm too close. But I don't want anything."

Untrue.

He pulled away from the man in favor of collecting a cup of tea that was already waiting for him.

"What do you want?"

Rune: Fingers carded through perfectly black hair. Not a dyed brown strand in sight. The warmer weather was beginning to thicken the texture with waves and random curls.

The audacity to walk away from him.

Enoch could keep his cup, but this was what he wanted, wasn't it? To have Rune push him with two fingers against the wall, pinning him, fingers to collarbone.

"For you to answer my question."

Enoch: He had gotten one sip in, the lavender honey gracing his lips before he was pushed against the wall, startled by this.

Even now, there was a pause of hesitation as he looked at Rune, gaze on those dark strands before flitting down to equally dark hues. His fingers curled a little tighter around his teacup.

“I already did.”

Rune: "Yes, you do. You always want something. You'll die unfulfilled." Mint and pine might as well have been cut underneath Enoch's nose. And the mage moved closer still.

"Unless you grab your own balls and do something about it, professor."

Enoch: This close, and he was enveloped in that distinct scent he had become familiar with. The tea was forgotten entirely; somehow, the cup had disappeared completely from his hands.

Convenient.

Do something about it, professor.

But it something else layered over Rune’s voice.

A hand landed on the mage’s chest, fingers pressing against the fabric to keep him at bay. He could feel more than just the texture of the fabric; he could feel the solid frame underneath.

“Can’t the same be said about you? Why haven’t you done anything?”

Rune: He had very nearly mastered Rune's mannerisms. Very nearly perfected the nuance of his expression. But Rune had never looked at his lips this way in the waking world. Not when Enoch was looking. He had never leaned into his apprentice's pleading fingers, challenging their strength.

But pinning was nothing new, and that scent was perfect. His peach-colored lips open just enough to entice, inviting.

"I don't want to."

Enoch: “You are so fucking vexing.”

His fingers, splayed and tense, pressed back against the other’s chest as he leaned in, inching closer, tempting the professor. It was a struggle not to succumb to those whims.

But he was only human.

Fingers curled against the fabric, now realizing every step along the way, Rune enjoyed playing his own version of this game–toeing around the obvious, but neither one had ever following through.

Enough.

His free hand lifted to Rune’s neck, using it as an anchor to pull the mage in, coupled with a sharp tug to the front of his shirt.

“You... I want you.”

And before Rune could respond, he leaned in, closing that distance to claim those parted lips as his to take.

Rune: This Rune said nothing to refute the truth. Conscious or unconscious fantasy, he mirrored Enoch's grasp and was soon turned, pressed to the wall, relinquishing his authority.

"I don't want you."

But where was the truth? His mouth, or his words? His mouth reciprocated, warm and needy, tongue gentle and explorative. Just a little too soft, too perfect in this dream.

While one hand cradled the back of Enoch's neck, two fingers became a flattened hand over his heart. Yes, and no. I don't want you. I want you to take it.

Enoch: Even in his dream, Rune rejected him, and despite the reciprocal response, it still stung all the same.

But the kiss sufficed as a distraction as eager lips meshed. It was soft, warm, and everything he wanted it to be. Lost in the subtle taste of Rune as his tongue grazed against the mage’s lower lip, the professor indulged in every detail of this moment.

But there was a palpable hesitation; even here, where he controlled everything, he was inexperienced with intimacy, and it would soon become apparent.

He broke the kiss, a soft pant rolling past his lips.

“You don’t? Do you enjoy contradicting me?”

He tilted Rune’s chin up. He wanted this. They both did.

“Or do you just like the fight?”

Rune: "What do you think?" He had been born with clenched fists. Not screaming into the void, but rage-filled and disappointed. Fighting was what he knew; dreaming or reality, he needed it. Thrived on it. And Enoch was no different.

But this was his dream. He could do whatever he wanted. But he didn't want to change the man in front of him. As frustrating and infuriating as he could be, he wanted him a still frame.

He would say that, wouldn't he? Would nag him for being difficult.

The thought made his smile loose and honest. Playfully, lovingly, he bit Enoch's lip.

"You can't have me for free."

Enoch: The hand on Rune’s chest smoothed up, resting at the base of his throat. Each motion was delicate and thought out, careful as if he were testing the waters for the first time, which was very much the case.

It was silly he felt this much hesitation when he should be allowed to explore without repercussions or ridicule for his inexperience. He could feel the encouragement to do as he pleased. This was his playground, and Rune was just a manifestation of his waking world. He didn’t need to be scared. Yet his heart thrummed when looking at his mentor. He felt so real.

Enoch's lips parted under the soft bite, grinning at those playful words.

“I figured as much.”

He leaned a little closer, lips brushing against the corner of Rune’s lips, dragging against his jaw and leading up to his ear where his lobe was snagged between his teeth and given a playful tug. The hand at the base of Rune’s throat added a little pressure, wondering if he would like this.

“Tell me, what do you want?” he whispered.

Rune: Enoch would have to guess why Rune's eyes closed, breathing in slowly through parted yearning lips. What did his heart tell him?

"What I want?" A shiver cascaded down his spine. "Stop asking me. I'm tired of hearing it. Shut up and use me."

He could begin anywhere he pleased. To pull his black overcoat over his shoulders; he might admire the way his dark waistcoat accentuated his figure, or do away with it one brass button at a time. His puce necktie, loose around his throat, had a multitude of purposes.

At the mercy of imagination. Presumably his own.

But little did Rune know...

Enoch: Alright, that was a good sign. So far, these were favorable tells from what the scholar could surmise. But hoping to get some direction, he was met with a very Rune answer instead.

Upon hearing the request, that familiar blush was painted across his nose and cheeks; the color heightened on those pale features.

Oh gods, he didn’t know how.

He could feel that panic; he hadn’t planned this far, and now he was reeling backward. Abort.

But suddenly, Enoch felt the entity he had begrudgingly become familiar with, gently soothing him, easing his mind with its presence.

It’s your dream. You can do anything. Use him.

Enoch felt another question posed to guide him when he didn’t immediately act.

What would you want done to you if the roles were switched?

Ah, he could work with this.

Keeping Rune pinned against the wall by the hand at his throat, lips clumsily met that warm mouth again, now his turn to sink his teeth into that plush bottom lip. His hands shifted to grab at the overcoat, and roughly, it was pulled back over Rune's shoulders. Now, he could admire how well his mentor looked in his waistcoat. And yet he was the one being called a slut. Tsk. Not only that but being this close, he could observe those features, not having noticed the mage’s freckles before.

He was stunning.

Rune: If this was his taste Rune didn't know. It was of no consequence. Nothing would leave his dream. No fantasy, no bold declaration or unwholesome desire. He wanted him authentically. And yet, he thought, if he were a better man, he would not harbor these feelings in the first place.

Best to flush him out of his system. These were his cards to play, his private room with locked doors and shut windows.

So he would shrug from his coat without a word, looking at his apprentice with new eyes, emboldened and submissive. Waiting, and wondering... how far he could take this dream.

"Hit me."

Enoch: It had begun innocently enough—a fleeting infatuation that Enoch had assured himself would fade with time. Yet, it had morphed into something more, a persistent distraction that often pulled him away from his duties. Far too often, he found himself lost in thought, gazing out the window or studying the sketches he had drawn of his mentor. He knew he shouldn't. He was well aware of the consequences, having tread this path before. But if he was to indulge in this fantasy, why not here? Why not grant himself the freedom to entertain this delusion, if only for a little while longer? Rune would never know.

“Hit you?”

His brows furrowed.

“I—”

Enoch's gaze, filled with conflict, met Rune's. The command to 'hit him' hung in the air, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Why would this dream version of Rune ask for such a thing? Was there a hidden resentment, an unspoken anger that Enoch was unaware of but his subconscious was now revealing?

It had to be this. Yet even this explanation didn’t feel like it had ground to stand on. He couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to.

“I-I can’t.”

Let me.

Rune: Such a response as to be expected. Entirely, from the quizzical brow to the hesitation in his voice, was a perfect imagining of the man he knew. If ever he was certain enough to lay money down, this was it. More so, Enoch would probably question his sanity. Would comment on that fateful day and his arm. How dare he invite such violence after what he had done.

To say nothing of fair play. Of vengeance. That wasn't the man he knew.

That was why... this was just a dream.

"Right. Of course not." Not even here.

Perhaps another dream, then. Something as far away from Enoch as he could fathom. Perhaps the lighthouse. He began to push the apprentice away, ready to push himself from this dream into the next.

Enoch: This was his dream. This was his version of Rune. He was supposed to have control over it, yet here he was, getting pushed away by his mentor, much like in the waking world. He wanted to chase those lips and indulge in this fantasy just a little longer. Ignoring these feelings was already frustrating enough in the real world; he didn’t need it here, too.

Let me in.

The whisper curled in his ear, tempting the scholar to let him take over.

I’ll give you my strength, my courage…my power. I can show you what you’re capable of, the voice promised.

Time was suspended, and the silence from the avatar felt like he was impatiently waiting for his vessel to agree.

“Fine.”

One word. Four letters. It was all the consent Raine needed.

It was surreal; the switch happened almost instantaneously. Enoch felt like he was there, but not. He could feel his body, yet it was being puppeteered so seamlessly by the avatar. A twitch of his lip and, the avatar grinned for him, looking down at his fingers as they flexed.

Now then.

A hand landed squarely on Rune's chest, pushing him back. His eyes locking with his. Something had changed.

His hand reeled back, and without the hesitation that had been there moments before, an open-handed slap met the mage’s face, not holding back. His hand even stung from it.

Would that satisfy the request?

Rune: It was this one word that had him turning back. Mere inches from where they had started, might as well have been a mile of change. The sting registered before the intent. The tips of his fingers feathered over the red of his jaw, struck more by the baffling and inexplicable action.

This wasn't the Enoch he knew; was he that depraved and greedy to alter his personality? This was his doing after all. This was his dream; was his subconscious taking pity on him?

He longed for a time when he had less control over his dreams, but it was those times, unrestricted by his imagination when omens reigned. Never anything as pleasing as this.

So, he would challenge this idea. Leaning back against the darkening wall, textures of the wallpaper and hardwood floor distorting.

"Again."

Enoch: He gazed at his hand, fingers curling in. The little mouse had consented, easier to trap him with honey than vinegar. The plan was to nurture this crush, to gain trust over time. But this mage, Enoch’s fixation, was intriguing for all the wrong reasons.

What had broken the man? What demons was he fighting off to ask for the shy scholar to be violent with him? He didn’t care, not in the grand scheme of things. Rune was a mere pawn, a means to an end if it meant his vessel would trust him more willingly.

Ice-cold blue lazily shifted from his hand back up to the stunned mentor. He half-focused on Rune before looking down, reaching to undo his cuffs and roll the white sleeves up to his elbows, exposing pale forearms.

Let’s play.

Again. There was something thrilling as his fingers connected with the reddened face a second time. He didn’t hold back. More force was used this second time, causing him to shake off the residual sting from that slap. He felt Enoch internally wince. This wasn’t him, thought the scholar, yet some part of him subconsciously must have wanted this.

Outwardly, rose-tinted lips parted as his tongue ran slowly over straight white teeth, eyeing Rune with renewed interest. If it was abuse he wanted, Raine was happy to oblige.

Rune: The way his stomach turned was a reflection of reality. The sun hadn't yet made its climb over the London skyline, but the subtle rise in temperature stirred the mage enough to shift in his sleep.

Rushing this dream would only sully the memory.

Purge. Enjoy. There was time in the waking world to scrutinize this creation. Uncharacteristic mannerisms, wanton violent lust - might as well call this Enoch something else. Alastor, perhaps.

Enjoy this little gift. After all, it's not real.

"Good try." His smirk was lopsided, mischievous. "Now do something you've always wanted. Make it good."

Enoch: The dream seemed to shiver around them, a pleased hum in his throat as he looked at Rune, matching that lopsided smirk with a more predatory grin. He stepped closer, the distance between them closing, his presence more commanding than Enoch’s ever was as he reached out to trace a line down Rune’s cheek, the touch gentle for now. It was a short-lived gesture as that hand shifted, gripping the back of the mage’s head, fingers tangling in dark locks, pulling him close until their faces were inches apart.

“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice layered with Enoch’s familiar tones, but it was not his cadence. “You’ve always underestimated me,” he whispered, leaning in, his breath hot against Rune’s ear.

His tongue lazily grazed against that ear, a tease before he pulled back just enough, and with a sudden, swift movement, his hand moved from Rune’s hair to his throat, roughly tightening in a firm but controlled grip.

“Is this what you crave? To see me like this?”

His free hand slid down Rune’s chest, nails dragging against the fabric. That grin widened as he took hold of that waistcoat and tore it back, not caring if brass buttons flew off. The grip on the mage's throat tightened just a fraction, their lips barely a breath apart.

“Then don't make it easy.”

Rune: "Ik niet." Two simple words swallowed down with a quiet gasp, held firmly, trusting, staring up from his gripped angle, and doing his utmost not to shiver. Much too early to utterly submit.

Wasn't the answer obvious?

"Use me." Another simple statement. A command, this time. Possibly a beg. Who could tell, with a hand so tight around his throat?

The last thing he expected to feel was the fabric of his vest ripping from Enoch's strength. Was that what he always wanted? Was any of this? Enoch wanted for nothing. Not carnally.

The mage suddenly laughed, fingers wrapping around his apprentice's wrists.

"You're a virgin. What am I going to make easy?"

Enoch: There was a hum in his throat as he stared at the mage. Enoch most certainly was a virgin, and that made things interesting for the entity possessing the scholar. He didn’t have much to pull from when it came to experiences, but he could feed off what Rune wanted.

He could feel his pulse under the pressure of his thumb coupled with that elevated heartbeat. My, he was hungry for the professor, well, this altered version of him at least.

The grip lessened as those fingers landed against his wrists. He didn’t want this new toy to break so quickly. Fine. With the hand that had pulled back the vest, the apprentice smoothed his hand against Rune’s abdomen, and up to that collar, fingers undoing one button at a time.

Rune: Movement at last. The lingering between words and action felt far too long. Perhaps that was his own mind - a strange concept in a dream. None of this was tangible, and yet he was certain never to forget the feeling of those fingers against his collarbone, the strength of Enoch's hand on his throat. He didn't want to forget this dream.

But he needed to move. Do something to push this fantasy along. He reached out, rushing fingers made quick work of Enoch's tie, pulling at suspenders...

...And then he remembered, of course, this was a dream. He tugged with measured strength, doing away with the buttons of his shirt with satisfying snaps.

Enoch: He had gotten halfway through Rune’s shirt before the mage grew impatient and sped things along. His gaze lifted, locked with dark hues as his tie fell away, suspenders pushed over his shoulders, and suddenly his shirt hung freely, rewarding Rune with the visage of that pale, freckled chest and stomach. Half dressed, hair tussled, and that sideways grin was quite a look to envision on the usually proper professor.

The rest of Rune’s shirt was undone, looking to scratch an itch that had been there for far too long. The fabric was pushed past his shoulders until it, too, met the ground, and well, that puce tie was going to be used for something else.

His hands smoothed up Rune’s arms, pushing them back against the wall, crossing his wrists, and with a little bit of effort, he’d tie the mage up. How fun.

“I’ve imagined you like this before…Even drew you tied up like this.”

There was a grin on his face despite the sudden wave of discomfort coming from deep within him. His host didn’t appreciate his thoughts being shared so freely. Even in a dream. Well, if only the little mouse were in charge.

Rune: Rune could pride himself on his memory when sober, but the alignment of freckles, like clusters of stars, was so utterly perfect that he couldn't help but reach out and trace Orion's belt, just shy of Enoch's navel.

The same tattoos in the waking world survived here. Same scars, same freckles. Snakebite moles over his heart. A perfect freckle on his hip. The same long white scar on the other side riding the high and low of his hipbone. Same muscles, tight with anticipation as his arms were taken. There was no fight in them as they were raised above his head. There they would remain, testing the strength of his new bonds.

Whose fantasy was this? he thought. No one had ever tried. Being blindfolded by a beautiful lady wasn't the same. Having his face pushed against brick walls wasn't the same. What beast was he creating?

"Why?" he asked out loud.

Enoch: Every detail of Enoch's body that Rune remembered was so vivid it could easily be mistaken for the real thing. The white shirt he wore was shrugged off, joining the growing pile on the floor, revealing a smattering of freckles across his shoulder blades. They dissipated further down his body, like lost stars in the sky. A few freckles trailed down his torso, and his body shivered as Rune traced a small collection on his stomach.

Hands smoothed up Rune’s arms, fingers interlacing with his as he stepped forward, admiring the details that made up the mage. He looked down, each freckle well-placed, each intricate tattoo remembered down to the ink stroke. Impossible details, even parts he hadn’t remembered seeing. Was this Raine’s doing?

“You know why,” Enoch whispered as his lips brushed against Rune's jaw, bringing bound arms to rest over his shoulders. His hands shifted to smooth down taut muscles, familiarizing himself with the feel of his mentor until the fabric of a waistband stopped his fingers. Nails dragged against the warm skin until they brushed against the fastenings, and with the same impatience they had earlier, he undid them, pushing the fabric off.

Rune: He wouldn't dare think of the word romantic. Not here and not in the waking world. Romance was impossible, and not worth the effort to daydream.

And yet the word teetered precariously close with the lacing of their fingers.

But he didn't know why. Didn't know why Enoch would say he knew. He was being used, and this was part of the thrill. The question was, did he trust this dream, and this dream version of his apprentice?

A thought pushed aside as he turned his head to steal his lips from his jaw. There was nothing else he could do, with his arms around his shoulders, wrists secure, but indulge and submit.

Enoch: Enoch’s body moved on its own, fluid and almost predatory. He felt Rune’s lips on his mouth, sending a shiver through him. This was a dream, yet everything felt intensely real—the warmth of his mentor’s skin, the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressed against his own.

His fingers traced along the scar on the man’s hip, memorizing it as if for the first time. But even this was too soft for Raine. He indulged his host in this fantasy long enough to feed that desire and gain his trust, but now he was growing restless. Enoch was too tender, too much of a bleeding heart. This would never work in reality. Better to break him and show him. Even in this dreamscape, Rune didn’t truly want this version of him, not his authentic self.

“No?” The blond grinned outwardly. “Then you don’t need to know,” he murmured against Rune’s lips, his voice low. Enoch’s eyes, now reflecting an intensity that seemed almost foreign, locked onto those darker tones. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the mage’s ear as he whispered, “You’re mine in this moment, and that’s all that matters.” Without warning, the scholar leaned in and bit down on the curve of his neck hard enough to leave a mark.

Rune: The shiver was mutual. He would have laughed at his thoughts had he not been caught up in them. This can't be real, had to be the most ridiculous disbelief he had ever conceived.

Had... his thoughts been read? He would never know, because warm breath against his ear arrested his attention. Fingers buried in rich blond hair, squeezed.

Words would betray his voice. Instead, he nodded, breathing in slowly, only to exhale his pleasure of sudden merciless teeth. A wave of heat and pain cascaded from his neck to his rolling hips, grinding forward in the hope of relief.

Yes, this was familiar, and safe, and delicious.

Enoch: Encouraged by the hand in his hair, the blonde applied more pressure to his bite on Rune's neck, hard enough to draw blood. The taste was metallic, a sharp contrast to the sweetness of their earlier kiss. He wanted to tear, but his teeth were too blunt for real damage. The mere thought of violence toward Rune made Enoch's heart race for a different reason. It felt malicious.

But these concerns were swept away as his nails scratched down Rune's chest, leaving red welts in their wake. Tracing downward, his hand explored further, fingers inching closer to those rolling hips. The feel of untouched skin made Enoch hesitate, his hand pausing before Raine pushed forward, fingers tracing down to greet the arousal. Fingers curled over the muscle, causing an uneasy somersault in the pit of the scholar's stomach.

A warm tongue lapped at the open wound, collecting droplets of blood as fingers slid over Rune, exploring every intimate inch. His stomach did another nervous flip, and his breath hitched in his throat.  His movements grew more deliberate, fingers tightening slightly as he explored.

Even here, in his dream, the young mage could feel himself blushing, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks and down his chest. Despite the discomfort, he couldn't deny he was enjoying this, evident from the trapped tension in his pants. The blend of pain and pleasure, the mix of blood and desire, created a heady cocktail that threatened to overwhelm Enoch.

Rune: No longer was he looking at his lover - no, his apprentice. His lover... yes. But he couldn't. Gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes glazed with bliss and sorrow. Mourning the dignity he hardly possessed to begin with. His chest rose sharply and caved violently. Skin raw and goosefleshed and body aching.

This was closer to Heaven than Rune had intended to be. So close he almosts felt peace.

This was what he wanted. Disinclined to feign neutrality, he rolled his hips again, and again. His uncut erection begging for the friction of Enoch's exploration.

He wanted to do more than pull at beautiful blond hair. Now, at last, his restraints had become a nuisance.

"I want to touch you," couldn't be called a beg. A statement of dissatisfaction at best. Frustration at most.

Enoch: "Convince me you want to," he purred, a lazy grin spreading across his features.

The motion sped up in response to rolling hips, a rhythm he knew all too well from nights spent in the dark, his mind wandering to moments like these. Moments where he touched himself, biting back Rune’s name in breathy cries, muffled by the pressure of the back of his finger against his lips.

But those were innocent thoughts from his host, thoughts the avatar now reeled into the present dream. Why fantasize when this moment was here? The line between mentor and apprentice had finally dissolved, leaving only the raw, carnal relationship built over months of pent-up lust.

"Use your mouth."

His tongue pressed against his back molar, gaze half-lidded and lust-riddled as he watched the mage unashamedly. He met each roll of Rune’s hips with an enthusiastic stroke, savoring this game. Would he submit? Because it was a double-edged sword that could only last so long, and the scholar quickly sought release from his uncomfortable clothing, undoing his slacks with his free hand.

Suddenly, he placed a hand on Rune’s chest and pushed him back. The wall rippled and gave way, transforming the space around them. Instead of meeting the hard floor, Rune’s back landed on a soft, plush bed. A glance around revealed they were in Enoch’s bedroom.

Rune: Enoch would never make such a demand. That smile, perhaps. He'd seen similar before. Nights drinking together, with others and when alone he had seen a creeping, playful smile.

Stop thinking. However many times he needed to, he would quiet his thoughts with the mantra.

Searching blindly for Enoch's mouth, he swiped his tongue over his lip, searching and inviting himself without waiting for permission.

What permission would he need, with his hands so tethered? Now raised above his lover's head, being pushed back onto a sudden bed.

In a dream like this, his shoes could easily disappear, but kicking them off was yet another tactile pleasure.

"What do you think?" he asked, letting his arms stretch out above his head. Do you like what you see?

Enoch: A smile, mischievous or otherwise, was in character for Enoch. But the words that came next were not his own.

“You look like a slut.”

It was his voice, but it didn’t sound like him. Yet, some part of him wanted this—misguided as it was—but the internal conflict was given no space as the avatar pushed forward.

He very much liked what he saw. Freckles and scars mapped a story across Rune’s bare skin, his dark hair contrasting against the bedsheets as the mattress sank under their combined weight.

A hand landed on those crossed wrists, fingers snaking under the fabric to loosen it while his mouth busied itself elsewhere. Flashes of Enoch’s most intimate memories guided the virgin’s exploration. His tongue rolled against the front of Rune’s throat, delivering another bite as he stretched across that body, bare hips grinding against those beneath him.

“Now tell me how you want to be fucked,” he demanded, teeth catching a nipple while a warm tongue traced around the nub.

Rune: Without a degree of offense, all he could feel was delight. It was at this moment that he allowed himself the freedom not to care. Any regret could wait until morning with a black cup of coffee and a cigarette.

Words and breath and skin were all he cared to feel. Knees slowly spreading wide in invitation as teeth imprinted love letters on his neck and chest. His breath was stolen again, and again. The heat of their bodies was becoming uncomfortable. Almost too much to bear. There was pleasure to be had with such suffering. What he believed from the bottom of his heart Enoch would never understand. Not the real man he adored. This creature above him couldn't compare to reality.

"I want to look at you." Because he never had. Not with a man. Always shoved against a wall, thrown to his belly on the floor. Pushed by his cheek, gripped by his hair. Facing his lovers had been for the purpose of pain. Bites to his tongue, or to cover his mouth. Nothing ever so intimate as this.

Little did Enoch realize, what he regarded as disturbing was nothing short of romance.

Enoch: Regret didn't exist here. Consideration of what this dream meant was something for the professor to wrestle with when awake. Right now he was a passenger in his own dream.

Lips parted to release a pent-up breath, feeling Rune's heart flutter under his hand as it traced between their bodies. His fingers didn’t shy away from wrapping around his lover to elicit more reactions from the mage as he brought his hips forward, letting his stiff arousal brush against him. This was a new sensation, and he liked it. His hand shamelessly wrapped around both and stroked in unison. The rhythmic motion sent shivers down his spine, and it was intoxicating. The sensation caused a heavy breath to escape, biting back a groan that threatened to spill.

“Fuck.”

Like Rune, it was almost unbearable to continue without escalating it, and the invitation of parted knees brought grinding hips to a slow roll, blue eyes focusing on the dark pair beneath him as he listened.

Raine, ready to taunt Rune for the request, was met with resistance from his host.

No.

He liked this.

It was gentle and sweet.

Romantic even.

This…this he wanted.

But the avatar had little patience. He was irritated by the confrontation and ready to assert dominance, ensuring the professor understood who was in control.

Where Enoch would have hesitated, Raine pushed forward despite any protest from the vessel. His hand guided his already aching muscle down, dragging against warm skin and leaving behind a clear, sticky trail against Rune’s inner thigh as he found his target. And what would have been an intimate moment for the scholar was marred by the avatar's impatience. Hands moved to lift Rune's hips, and with little regard for preparation, the head of his length pressed firmly against the tight ring of muscles, driving his hips forward to feed himself into the mage.

After all… Rune had said to use him.

Rune: If there was one moment he could bottle beyond the memory of their kiss, it was this. Bare legs spread and accommodating, admiring the gorgeous resilient creature lording above him. Cradling, exploring, and fondling at his leisure. If he awoke from this dream, he would wake satiated. To have known Enoch’s ecstasy in his delicate features, to know how he struggled to breathe, that he was his first – no. This was a gratifying dream of his design, nothing more. But what a dream.

This was familiar. If nothing else, the dark intent behind those blue eyes, the vacancy washing over his expression and the forceful demand of impatient hands and cock were plucked from so many nights in the company of worse men. That moment of bliss was denied for reason. Having never known a gentleman, how could he fathom one?

But this was his dream. A place where he could alter outcomes. Where his body could be prepared, lubricated, and relaxed. Yet he wasn’t prepared for this particular cruelty. Hands that had rested above his head now pressed into the solid structure of Enoch’s chest. Nails scraped perfect flesh, marred galaxies of soft freckles, deepening red grooves in hills and valleys of muscle. It was a silent plea. For romance. For the man he had been to return. Why couldn’t he manipulate his dream beyond minute details?

And then a thought. One terrible, fleeting thought that warmed his body like candle wax. A regrettable thought arrested his breath as easily as a kiss. But it was impossible. Had to be.

Bound wrists were rubbed raw, fingertips pressing against Enoch’s stomach as he tried to breathe, staring at the ceiling as he begged silently for forgiveness. No. No. This wasn’t the real Enoch. Not ever. Not once. He would never take him at his word and use him like those thoughtless sailors at his lighthouse.

The question was too much. It ruined everything. Ruined him.

He deserved punishment.

“Hurt me. Fucking hurt me.” The answer he sought lay solely with the response.

Enoch: The line between the scholar and the avatar blurred, Raine's control over Enoch pushing him into unfamiliar and overwhelming sensations. His body felt like it was melting as his fingers curled against the sheets, blond hair obscuring his vision as his head tipped forward. He could feel Raine’s hands atop his, guiding him, savoring the struggle his host endured as he surrendered to the intimacy.

Hips rocked out only to become flush again, each movement foreign but undeniably pleasurable. Words were absent, replaced by heavy breaths and the feeling of nails digging into his torso, leaving a stinging trail in their wake. He didn't want this to end, trapped in a hazy bubble of heady pleasure, focused solely on the warmth of Rune's body and the intoxicating heat between them.

Heated lips sought Rune’s, an arm curling around the mage's head, fingers threading through dark locks. The affection was gentle, needy for reciprocation as their bodies pressed together by rolling hips, his heart pounded as if it might burst from his chest. Gods, it felt so real.

“Rune…”

This version of the mage had a claim over his heart and body that much was clear from this act of passion and vulnerability in his first intimate moment. But that moment came to an end when his Rune, this…this version he had formed in his mind’s eye, asked for the impossible again.

Hurt me.

The words were enough to cause the scholar to hesitate, but his avatar was not one to shy away from the request. Of course, and he was happy to oblige.

Gladly, thought Raine as his fingers in Rune’s hair turned into a vice grip, nails digging into the sun-kissed thigh he held.

Enoch: No.

This wasn’t what Enoch wanted.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. But he was trapped, watching like an out-of-body experience, unable to control what was being done through him. Yet he felt everything, his hands administering Raine’s version of pain.

This was supposed to be his escape from the world, his safe space to relish his most private thoughts. Yet he was made uncomfortable here, too. He didn’t…he didn’t want to hurt Rune. He never wanted to hurt the mage.

But it didn't have to be this way. He had ultimate power here.

Internally, there was a frustrated growl, Raine losing his claim as the scholar took back control. Teeth aimed to bite down on Rune’s collarbone instead pressed a kiss against the warm flesh—a change of heart.

“S-stop asking that of me…”

Rune: There was no sensation strong enough, no sound beautiful enough to enjoy until he had his answer. If this were just a dream Enoch would do as commanded. Maintain the dark persona concocted by the amalgamation of every man to have lain before him. If he were wrong, Lord above… what would he do? What could he do?

Long arms raised above his head, accommodating Enoch’s prone frame. Offering his lips was a means of distraction. Desperately praying to every beloved saint, hoping to the Almighty he was wrong, and this Enoch, real or otherwise, would not notice the tear pooling in his eye and trailing down his temple.

And there, again, this man was gentle. The sinking feeling in his stomach grew heavier. The warmth sweltering his skin was unbearable, reflected in unconscious quick breaths in the waking world, slowly writhing above the kicked sheets of his bed.

How could this man say his name so sweetly, kiss him so lovingly, and grip him so tightly? Relief almost washed over him, until –

“No,” was just a breath. A word excused as an exhale. His body quivered with… something. A sob, perhaps, but silent. A reckoning of this dream and every word spoken between them.

There were reasons for his old age. Reluctance to die when the world needed good Samaritans. Demons to evict. Wraiths to satisfy. But, there was this. There was shame. To see the reel of his life flash before his eyes, what would he think of this moment? What would he say for himself on judgment day?

“Enoch.” His arms came down, caged around his lover’s shoulders. His lover, yes. “Enoch, we’re sharing the same dream.” Let that sink in, he thought, pulling this man to his mouth. Clinging with every ounce of sanity he had left.

“Look at me. Don’t stop.” It's ok. You're ok. I consent.

Enoch: Where those…where those tears?

The question drifted through his mind moments before it was pushed aside by a wave of pleasure that stole his breath. He didn't register the words at first. He couldn’t, not with how each thrust was bringing him closer to that edge, delicate beads of sweat darkening his blonde hair. But he couldn't ignore his name or the arms that came around his shoulders, forcing him to look at the mage. The next words broke through the hazy lust, sinking in and shattering the false narrative he had built.

“What?”

Enoch broke the kiss, his lips hovering over Rune’s, his brows knitted together in confusion.

There had to be a mistake. No. This was one of Raine’s tricks.

Raine, stop fucking with me.

I’m not.

 He could hear the curl in Raine's lips, the grin cracking this fantasy. It was as if someone had taken a baseball bat to a mirror. Suddenly, he was left staring at Rune, eyes slowly widening.

A wave of emotions crossed his features. Without his glasses, he couldn't hide the pained look in his eyes as he realized what this was.

Oh gods.

No.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Panic.

“No…no, no, no,” the words dropped free from his lips as he reeled back. He slid out from beneath Rune's arms so quickly, as if the man and the bed were made of fire, and he had just noticed.

The shame and guilt were suddenly too much for the scholar. He scrambled backward off the bed, staring at the theater of lies Raine had built. An incredulous look crossed his face, accompanied by a slight shake of his head in disbelief as he took one step back, then two, and three, and suddenly Enoch was no more.

In the real world, Enoch slammed back into his body, awakening with a gasp. He was drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around him, bangs stuck to his forehead, and his body ached with pent-up frustrations that went ignored. He sat up, breath shaky, looking around the room, knees immediately drawn to his chest.

Raine sat in the corner of the darkened room. Two pinpricks of white eyes stared at Enoch, a jagged Cheshire grin adding to the mix.

“Did you have a nice dream?”

The question went unanswered as tears sprang to the corners of his eyes. Oh gods. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“He knows now…”

Trembling fingers hovered over his lips, his heart pounded in his ears he stared at the door.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Gomez and Morticia Addams got divorced. I woke up mortified and with a sense of inexplicable dread.

[cl0ckworkpuppet]

ok weird poll time???? because apparently i am not normal

you don't need to go into them if you don't want to. im just curious how Not Normal i am because i get nightmares almost every night

[warneckequotes]

"Superflora," 2022

[demaparbat-hp]

The Perfect Prince

[camilleflyingrotten]

[ivyjinna]

Traverse the nightmares with me :)

Spend a lot of time working on the nightmare layers piece, please take a look and share it with your fellow lost hunters!

For anyone who would like to purchase a print, the link is here :)

[itsxroxannex]

This is them using a phone at their age-

Dream and Nightmare belong to Jokublog

[smileuniorn]

[rdh94]

Had a weird ass dream again 😅 Got married to someone I met only once in a game called Rust then when I was on my own in my base, had people try assassinate me 🤣

[angstyhikka]

This is continuation of THIS

[one-time-i-dreamt]

The bust of a middle aged man made out of butter was sitting on my bathroom counter. It turned and began to scream at me, but the scream was utterly silent. Everything was so silent. I was so frightened of the butter bust.

[loxleyo7]

it was stuck in my head

[polybiiuss]

ok so i still havent taken the time to fully figure out tumblr 💔💔💔 and i forget i have it BUT ANYWAYS HERES SOME OF THE THINGS IVE DRAWN AND NEVER POSTED ON HERE!!! HOORAY!!!