#like i never thought i could feel so alone in a space i curated

[icaruspendragon]

Please stop making spn posts just let it die please

here’s the thing- i will not be doing that.

you see, there’s so much shit in this world. the horrors. the terrors. all of it. they’re out there. and something that makes the horrors and the terrors and all the other shit a little easier for me to deal with is talking about a silly little fifteen year long collective fever dream. it’s one of the last vestiges of adolescence i have.

when i was being tossed about in the sea of my grief, it was spn that kept me from drowning. it was misha collins dubbing himself my nemesis and participating in the mishapocalypse 2.0 that gave me a distraction i needed so terribly in the early days of me trying to learn how to be an only child. he didn’t have to. he could have ignored the whole thing. but he didn’t. and that’s something so special to me i don’t think i’ll ever have the words to articulate the depths of my gratitude. because the first time i felt joy after my brother dying was at a supernatural convention. it was when i asked misha about the silly comment and he had a screenshot of it on his phone ready to show me to prove he had done it, that was the first time i realized that one day i wouldn’t feel so full of nothing i didn’t have room for anything else. it was the community i made there that showed up for me time and time and time again that made me realize i may be lonely, but i wasn’t alone. and that wasn’t the first time the community around that show had made me feel that. and I’m certain it won’t be the last.

the first time i ever encountered fandom in full force was in 2013. that’s a decade of my life. and it’s because i decided to watch supernatural. and it was in this fandom space that for the first time ever, i felt seen and heard and valued. for the first time in my life, i felt like i mattered. and my thoughts mattered. it wasn’t until i found fandom by way of spn that i realized i had value and worth. it was that show that gave me some of the best friends i could have ever asked for. it is because of the spn fandom that i have been given so many opportunities. that i have a way to make an actual difference.

and it has continued to do that for me. even ten years later. there are people who i didn’t know existed less than a year ago who i couldn’t imagine my life without now. people who have been to my home. people who have become my home. people i have flown across the country to see and people who have flown across the country to see me. people who are my family. and i met them because we share the same level of brain rot for a cw show that caused a great deal of damage to our psyches.

we get to curate our internet experience. we get to look at and talk about and post about what we want. and if someone posts something we don’t care for, we don’t have to look at it or engage with it or interact with it. we can scroll. we can block. we can ignore. we each get to carve out our own little space online. we get to build a little home. and my home is full of my love for a lot of things. for avatar: the last airbender and the hunger games and percy jackson and fandom and fanfic in general. my love for poetry and art and words. and yes, my love for a show that ended over two years ago that has haunted corners of the internet since 2005. i have a lot of love for a lot of things. so i talk about and post about the things that i love because i don’t ever want to look back and say, “my god, i should have loved more.” and i’m allowed to do that. because this is my space. i built it just for me.

this silly little show with it’s silly little characters is the one thing i have from Before that has remained unchanged. and even if that weren’t the case. even if i didn’t have all this sentimentality attached to it. even if it was never a lighthouse, a buoy for me. even if it was just something i casually enjoyed. i would still post about it. because it makes me happy. because i’m not hurting anyone by enjoying it. because it’s given me a little blip of light in a dark world. and you don’t have to consume it if you don’t want to. that’s the beauty of all of us living in different houses. we can visit who we want, when we want. and we don’t have to visit the houses we don’t to. how wonderful it is, that we are the gods of this small thing. we get to create and dismantle and create again. as many times as we want. because this is our space to do with what we want.

and i want to post about my love for all things, including hit cw show supernatural. and i can. so i will. because i’m the one living in this house. and no one is making you come visit.

[honeybelleee]

Stabbed, You’re Next!

| Chapter 5 |

Synopsis

When Y/N's best friend, Wonyoung Jang, is brutally murdered after uncovering a corruption scheme involving the school's staff, Y/N finds herself pulled into a dangerous game. With only a cryptic email and a folder of incriminating evidence, Y/N must team up with Wonyoung's boyfriend, Mingyu and a tech-savvy loner, Jake to expose the truth. But as the body count rises, Y/N realizes the conspiracy goes deeper than she ever imagined-and the killer is always one step ahead. Trust no one, because in this game, anyone could be next.

Pairings

Jake Sim x F!reader (It will progress rlly slow)

Genre

Mystery, thriller, crime, heavy angst, slowburn fluff

TW

This story contains themes of violence, murder, and death, including graphic depictions of a stabbing and blood. It also explores corruption, fear, and grief, as the characters deal with loss, danger, and being stalked by a killer. Themes of paranoia and emotional trauma are present.

-This chap contains homophobia

Notes

First fic posted on tumblr, ignore the details of the text messages places (its unorganized)!

Prev - Masterlist - Next

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Mingyu’s POV

At lunch, Mingyu's phone buzzed. He glanced down, expecting a routine notification, but the message that appeared made his blood run cold.

It was from an unknown number.

“I have information. Meet me here after school. COME ALONE.”

His heart pounded in his chest, the words seeming to pulse on the screen, demanding his attention. He stared at the message, feeling the weight of the decision it forced upon him. Should he tell Y/N and Jake? Should he risk their safety, or break the promise the mysterious sender had made so clear?

His fingers hovered over his phone, the urge to share the message battling against the ominous warning. The command to "come alone" echoed in his mind, twisting his thoughts in knots. He swallowed hard, his nerves on edge. If he told them, it might ruin any chance of getting the answers they desperately needed. But if he kept it to himself... he might be walking into a trap.

Time seemed to slow down, each second dragging painfully as he debated. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mingyu slid his phone back into his pocket, his decision made. The secret would remain his, for now.

But the weight of it was heavy, and the fear of what awaited him after school gnawed at his insides.

Mingyu stepped cautiously into the abandoned movie theater, his footsteps echoing ominously off the crumbling walls. The building had been forgotten for years, its seats covered in dust and decay. It was the kind of place people avoided, a relic of the past where silence and shadows reigned. The desolation made it the perfect location for a clandestine meeting—no one in their right mind would come here by choice.

As he ventured deeper into the darkened space, a sudden flicker caught his attention. The worn-out projector sputtered to life, casting an eerie glow on the peeling screen. His heart leapt to his throat as a video began to play.

It was him. Mingyu and his boyfriend, locked in an intimate moment, captured in a way he never would have allowed. Panic surged through him, ice spreading through his veins. He had never recorded anything like this before. He was always cautious, especially knowing how strict and religious his father was. And beyond his family, there was his career—his athlete image was spotless, carefully curated to meet the world’s expectations. One wrong move could cost him everything: his position on the national team, his reputation, his future.

His breath quickened as he stared at the screen, watching his private life unravel before him. How had this happened? Who had recorded them? Questions swirled in his mind, but none more urgent than the immediate need to stop this from getting out. His perfect image would be shattered, and his career could be over before it even began. He couldn’t afford that.

Mingyu’s cool, composed exterior cracked, giving way to the panic that gripped him. His hands trembled as he looked around the empty theater, as if searching for answers in the dust and shadows. The silence was deafening, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he couldn’t handle this alone—this was bigger than he could manage.

Without another thought, Mingyu pulled out his phone, fingers shaking as he began typing a message to Y/N and Jake. If he was going to trust anyone with this, it would be them. They were in this together, and if they didn’t figure out how to delete the video—and fast—it could destroy not just him, but all of them.

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Taglist

@heeseungspookie @woorcve @sumzysworld

[unpaintedhuffines]

Some Sounds Some Burdens Can Release

Thoughts on cover songs, the loss of meaning, and whether you can lose the point if you never even knew what it was…

While I have played some form of musical instrument for most of my life, I can only very loosely be considered a musician. The most formal training I’ve had was during 5-9th grade when I played trumpet in school band. I’ve played guitar since I was about 10, with a sizable 15-year gap of not playing anything. Like most people that look like me who play guitar, I was largely self-taught: first with Hal Leonard chord books, then guitar tablature that I first sought from guitar magazines that they’d sell at the local Walmart before transitioning to a purely online collection of tabs of dubious quality and accuracy. It was an odd, brackish time - the transition between hard publication and online curation.

I had a couple of opportunities to play with bands. But my innate insecurities and the terminal inertia that beset the self-taught “experts” left me questioning what the point of playing music with no end goal even is. I still have those questions, but I now play with far more frequency than I ever have in my life. I’m even writing some music that mostly lands as naive jams landing somewhere in the pocket of The Replacements and Wilco.

And yet, I still question the point of it all. The only thing I don’t question is how easily and deeply music can make you feel.

My Intentions are Good and Earnest and True

I am someone who was diagnosed as a ASD Level 1 well into adulthood. This diagnosis did not shock me as much as I thought it would. I always had social difficulties. Fitting in was a problem. I was an easy target for ridicule. I was overly sensitive and didn’t know how to relate to my peers. When responsibility wasn’t tied to any sort of task, I had issues with organizational skills and planning. When I did have to be responsible, I relied on my secret ADHD superpowers to help me get stuff done.

Still, the one struggle that I’ve never been able to shake is to be seen/heard/understood. That said, I just mask this shit well.

Naturally, in a need to be better understood, I turned to music - listening, not playing. My parents had a big record collection that mostly stayed with my dad after their divorce. For the first couple of years after the split, I would often be left home alone while my dad worked overnight shifts. As such, I’d hang out with my dog and deep dive into the records. I made mix tapes and mix CDs for friends. Unlike the stereotypical mix makers, I never did so with any romantic undertones. I just wanted to share good music that I felt expressed facets of personality to which I would often align. I most often would make cassettes for people. I’d pull from my CD collection and pepper in selections from the crates and crates of vinyl in my house. Each tape would have 30 minutes a side. Compiling a track list to fit on Side A and Side B with as little dead space at the end became a fun puzzle that would take up an entire evening.

In all that time, I never thought to try to train my ear with my guitar. I never thought of this as a means to improve my own fledgling skill set. I never thought about how this was how musicians who taught themselves got better. Moreover, I never realized that people could find inspiration in a song and cover it in their own way. When I did learn other people’s songs on guitar, I understood that it was helping me to add to my skill set. I never thought of it as a way to use someone else’s songs to take any relationship I had to the sentiments contained therein as a means to express myself.

Cover Me Up, or: I Heard There Was a Secret Chord David Played and It Pleased the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do ya…

There are great cover songs out there. I think I may prefer Joe Cocker’s “With a Little Help from My Friends” to the original by the Beatles. The best covers songs take the original and change it in a way that uncovers new, possibly even deeper meaning. Compare and contrast “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails and the subsequent cover of the song by Johnny Cash. The original is cold, sterile, bleak. It sounds like someone in a deep depression or lost to dependency. There is an almost adolescent anger to it. Johnny Cash approaches the song as a reticent look back, because there is no point in looking forward. Guitar and piano, plaintive in their interplay and my God, that voice. It is very much sung from the perspective of someone recognizing that their grip on life is loosening. It is a song about mortality. It is a song about the last dying embers before our ashes return to ashes and our dust returns to dust.

This says nothing about the fact that Bob Dylan wrote “All Along the Watchtower” and, upon hearing the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s cover, declared that the song was now Jimi’s. It was no longer his.

Some songs work their way into the zeitgeist that were perhaps too cleverly and subtly written and are thus clumsily interpreted as something that they are not. This is particularly the case with Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Cohen had written up to 180 different verses of the song and referred to it as a joyous affirmation of life using religious allusions and references to capture vignettes of emotionality and enthusiasm.

It also was undeniably horny, with the shapes and sentiments of BDSM hiding in the shadows. And yet…

It has been co-opted as an almost funeral dirge. Kate McKinnon, as Hillary Clinton, famously performed it as the SNL opener the Saturday after Trump was elected in 2016. One of Biden’s first official acts as President was to preside over a televised memorial to the Americans lost during the Covid pandemic. “Hallelujah” was the song of choice.

None of these versions had a hint of the irony that Cohen peppered throughout the song, much less horniness.

Sometimes, the songs are so personal to the original writer that even famous people covering them becomes problematic. This is reflected in the recent blow up about Morgan Wallen arranging a version of Jason Isbell’s “Cover Me Up.” Isbell’s song is a love song first and foremost about his (now ex) wife, Amanda Shires. However, the story of the song is Isbell’s detox and recovery from deep substance abuse and alcoholism. When he sings in the chorus “It’s cold in this house and I ain’t going out to chop wood / So cover me up and know you’re enough to use me for good,” he is at his most his most vulnerable, literally having the shakes. The only person he trusts to see him in this state and to see him through this is his wife. There’s nothing inherently sexy about it.

And yet, people like Wallen cover this song as a love song with an almost horny delivery of the chorus. Girl, leave your boots by the bed; hang your dress up to dry. We ain’t leaving this room. To his credit, Isbell doesn’t pass judgement on covers of this incredibly personal-to-him song, saying that he’s grateful for the life it has given his song and that “"It was my real life s*** and now I’m once again reminded that I was not alone in that particular storm."

God, It’s Brutal Out Here

Still, there is an inherent problem with performing a song that is so singularly personal for the composer and their story. It’s especially problematic when such songs are used to woo an audience and perhaps get into someone’s pants. Is there a solution to this? I don’t know. Maybe not.

But maybe we should use the parts of these songs that inspire us, that touch us, that move us to tears (and yes, even horniness) to figure out our own songs to sing. Maybe we do what Elvis Costello suggests when, in defense of Olivia Rodrigo, he said, “It's how rock & roll works. You take the broken pieces of another thrill and make a brand new toy. That's what I did."

I would like to give credit to the songs from which I pilfered lyrics for this post’s title and headings: “Sleep On the Left Side” by Cornershop, “Satan Is My Motor” by Cake, “Cover Me Up” by Jason Isbell, “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen, and “Brutal” by Olivia Rodrigo. I’m just as guilty as anyone in using covers to attract attention. But maybe in using them as a framework to guide my writing, I’m making a brand new toy. Thanks for reading.

#music #coversongs

[strangepersonthefirst]

A Madness-Fueled Astral Rant.

We don't baby the new because we hate them. we baby the new because we see ourselves unbroken, unmarred. I started seven years ago, blind and alone. I began fighting in the astral because my arm was torn away, and I lived despite that. I lived through worse, after. Fighting a god in their own realm, their own underworld, struggling to breathe, much less exist from the pressure of a space that wanted me out of existence. I have learned much. Dividing myself along thinner and thinner lines, like a circle with fractions to attempt to not burn the eyes out of them. I know what I am. I know what I want to do. I have one who is a little devoted. we're friends- I still keep a lot of stuff under my belt, but I still try to be his patron sometimes. It's harder when you're both just guys, and you started being what you are a year ago. When I say I'm the all-consuming, I don't mean it in the sense of a world eater. No. I want to eat art and life and love, experience it fully in the way only warm food could fill your belly. I hunger for knowledge, I hunger for the zest of life.

When I wander away, Imitating what those who have come before me do, it is not just flattery. I attempt to walk my own path, carve my own realm. In time, my own pantheon to call home, with the Realmweaver and the Loyal.

Madness is an artform. I can keep it capped, bottled away in my head for hours, never reaching up to graze your eyes, to make you see what I see. I learned forever ago how to bless someone, after all. I hunger to be understood, as well. The younglings have lore, they hide, they claim power, and you've seen it all a million and one times in 7 years, so you simply sigh and let go. I am no hero. Nor are you. We are people, and we live and breathe and die. Even those of us immortal. Parts of us die someday. I think, somewhere. That god I fought forever ago understands why. I think, somewhere, that Poseidon, gazing upon my harbour with distain for a curated ocean, lets these slights pile in the hopes someday I step too far and my rights to water can be ripped out of me. I think, somewhere. A god of war wants to feel the bite of a youngling, to see what this minor figure will become someday. And all of us.. I think we understand that someday these thoughts die. Someday this flesh will die. But I will still be here. I will move on. as a name I haven't chosen yet. But maybe I'll just stay strange.

[philomelia]

didnt have wifi for a few days wrote a snippet of the novel im writing for cassie. dumping it here unproofread. 

My mum was slicing open the apple. She had a wrathful way of working in the kitchen; knives were her forte. She cut the apple to its core, a jagged line that cause juice to spill across her fingers. A drop seemed to slide across her thumb and splatter on the ground, leaving a circle of residue. Nevertheless, the knife persisted-- another jagged line ripped apart the core, the gentle flesh marked with the edge of her fingernail. The kitchen was a cosy space, I suppose. It was no bigger than the average dining room table. All wood, with only one counter and four cupboards. The sink was smaller than my mother's waist. It could take about two plates, or a single cup,  but nothing more than that. There were a few dishclothes draped hapazardly over the counter. A microwave, a toaster, but no oven. Each slice of apple fell against the counter with a wet, meaty thud.

"Mum." I didn't think she had noticed me, but she didn't jump when I spoke. The knife continued meticulously.

"I've told you not to linger," my mum said. Her topknot had a few loose strands of hair that fell neatly into her face, a messiness that was entirely curated. When I was eight, my mum decided that she wanted to start fashioning my sisters' hair into something more manageable. There had been brushes and softening conditioners and combs and pretty clips purchased en-masse. It had been a week of howling and tears-- I had hid whenever a brush was forced upon Athena who cried something fierce whenever she was set upon. How did lions bathe their cubs, with all their teeth and claws, with more gentleness than my mother? She had moved onto her own hair shortly after. Less tears. "You're not a church mouse. Make yourself known."

"Sorry," I said. An instinct. My mum glanced over her shoulder, sharply.

"Don't apologise." I had never been to a church before. Mum wore a cross, though she had never been particularly religious. We prayed, certainly, but only to those that my mum thought held any worth; guardians, mostly. Protectors. Religion was treated like a buffet-- choice was privileged. I wonder if the cross had once been a comfort to mum's clients. A holy symbol, a promise that she wasn't some damned charlatan selling them lies. Oh, no, mum's readings had been as right as could be, with only little kernels of truth twisted to tell a prettier story. My mum could sniff out a fake with expert precision. It's in the hands, she had said. A real psychic keeps their hands neatly in front of them. A fake will wave them, attempting to distract whatever audience they had. Her hands held steady as she continued to slice into the apple. "What do you want?"

She wasn't using an apple slicer. There was one in the drawer, somewhere, unless it had been taken out and never found its way back. I fiddled open two drawers (the only two drawers) and found it sitting next to the scissors. The bottom drawer was always a nuisance to open. It slipped down from its hinge and sagged. I had to lift it upwards and slot it back, leaving the apple slicer on the counter. My mum didn't glance at it. I didn't comment on it, either. The silence around the slicer made me feel stupid, suddenly. Why had I gotten it out? She was doing just fine with the knife. She hadn't asked for it. She hadn't used it-- she hadn't even said anything about it. I picked it up and wrapped my hand lightly around the blade.

"I have a question." There was always a need to preface. To ramble. Athena said that I had a way of talking around words, as if I never really wanted to say anything. Funny, considering how much I enjoyed talking. There was so much to hate about silence-- people died in silence. Quietly, pathetically, alone. If I talked forever, maybe I'd never die. That could be the secret to eternal life. I twisted the slicer, feeling it brush against the underside of my palm. Mum set the apple down and began to soak the pieces in a bowl of vinegar. What should I do with the slicer? Putting it back into the drawer felt too clumsy. An admittance of defeat. I twisted it again.

"Well?" Mum sighed. She gathered up the skins and the core, throwing them in the small bin. It nearly overflowed from just that. I'd have to take it out later. Or now. It depended on how the conversation went. "Go on." It was almost late afternoon, though it was already growing dark outside. It looked like it would rain soon. We'd have to patch up the leaky hole in the tents. Maybe find a few more blankets. There was a strange, steaming fog on the windows that threatened to drip soon with rain. I shivered pre-emptively. "Cassie, you talk or you leave. You know this kitchen can't take the both of us for very long." Mum sighed then, glancing out of the window. "It's going to rain. Make sure that you keep your elbows warm and look both ways before crossing the road. Cars become violent in times like these." When she said something like that, it itched at my spine.

"I always look both ways."

Another sharp glance. "No," mum said, carefully. "No, you don't. Don't be a liar."

Everyone made mistakes, didn't they? Just because you didn't do something once or twice shouldn't mean you weren't allowed to claim an always. It was unfair, really, and rather prescriptive to say otherwise. I twisted the slicer. It brushed against my palm. Calla sometimes picked at the hem of her shirt, tugging on little strands of yarn that came loose. It was a terrible habit; I picked at the corners of my fingernails, which was far more elegant. "What's the scariest thing you've ever seen?"

Mum didn't talk much about the bad stuff. Even when drunk on Christmas wine, more affectionate and open than she'd ever been, mum lived in the good memories. Last Christmas, she had thrown an arm around my shoulders. Her arms were brittle and thin, belying the strength of them. Fingers had curled over my arm, plump with Christmas cheer. She had swooped down-- I had felt as if I was sharing in a secret. Against myself, I giggled, and she giggled in return, like she had stolen the noise from me. "Do you want to know about the Chardale Case?" she had asked. I knew that had been a bloody one, only half-solved, but I nodded regardless. Anything to keep my mother warm. Athena was nowhere to be seen. I knew, unholy and blackened, that if she had been, mum would have been telling this to her. I hoped she'd never appear again. But, in all fairness, I had drank my first cider; I would blame that for the blueing of my thoughts. "I was so young. Skinny," mum sighed. I told her she was still skinny, which she tutted at, but I knew warmed her. She recounted only the sweet parts of the story. The little girl with the red ribbons who had called my mother beautiful. Her first words since being rescued. The twin found in the snow, skin turning fairy-frost blue, saved at just the last minutes. A TV deal. I knew the gruesome details, but only because I had looked for them.

"We haven't even had lunch yet," mum sighed. She tilted her head upwards, watching as rain began to hammer against the window. "Look. I told you."

The sky had been grey all morning. "I'll take care of my elbows," I promised. My mum turned to look at me and there was a soft, fitful smile over her face. She wanted to be my mum again. There were always moments where she was just a mum, in the kitchen, trying to cobble together a dinner. There were mostly moments where she was someone else. I had no idea who that someone was-- she confused me, mostly. Her hands lifted to press against my cheeks, a hand smoothing down my messy hair. I should have brushed it before I came here.

"Why do you want to know something like that? It won't do you any good." She pinched my cheek. "You need to start using that cream I gave you. Your skin's too dry. Do you want it to get all chapped? You're not made for this weather."

"I just want to know. I'm... curious. You always said curiousity was a good thing."

Mum sighed her mum-like sigh. She pulled me closer into the semblence of a hug, all body parts and no warmth. The slicer slipped and ripped through my palm. It was a sudden, burning pain. I knew it would scab. Scar, most likely. Blood broke through the thin film of skin-- not much, but enough. It slid down my palm, splattering next to the mess of apple juice. Mum pulled back, confused at first, then noticing the stain of blood.

"Oh," I said. My voice felt distant. My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. "Oh, no." As if inspired by my words, the blood flowed faster, spilling over my shirt. Mum picked up a dish towel, inspected it for a moment, then picked up another. She pressed it tight enough against my hand that I hissed lowly. I still had the slicer in my other hand. I stared at it, noticing a little speck of my skin stuck between its teeth.

"What were you thinking? You shouldn't have been holding that." I shouldn't have been. Still, I resented that she was right. I tugged my hand a little bit from her grip, holding the towel there myself. I could feel my hand throbbing beneath the fabric, but I ignored it the best I could. I hadn't been hurt much growing up. Nothing past the usual maladies of scraped knees and a broken pinkie. There was nothing worse than that-- Athena had chipped a tooth once. She had wailed and wailed and wailed, despite the fact the dentist had assured us that the pain shouldn't have been that bad. I leaned against the fridge, which protested against my weight. It only came up to my hip. There was no freezer-- mum didn't believe in them. Unnatural. "Are you done bleeding?"

She asked like it was some inconvenience. I glanced at my hand, noting that the worst of it was over. Still, I wished I had bled for longer. Not an overly egregious amount, but enough to spread blood against the cupboards, to leave a little stain wherever I went. Mum cupped my palm for a moment; she fanned her fingers, cold and rough, across the back of my hand. There was a lightness to the touch-- she only held me for a second before she drew her hand away. "You're fine."

"I'm fine." My mum took the dishtowel from me and began to soak it in the water. I could see my blood spread out in a pool, little tendrils of it curling in the water. I took my gaze away from it. My mother began to tidy dishes away now that they had dried, throwing small looks at me until I began to help (my wound was now forgotten). "Mum," I probed. "Have you ever seen a demon?"

Here is the thing about demons: they don't exist. Except, you can't really say that about anything. Nothing really existed unless you could see it and only certain people could see it. The things that existed to me were different to the things that existed to Cleo. She saw futures that stretched beyond our lifetime, worlds that hadn't been created yet, if tomorrow's weather would be warm or cold. Her existance was one that ran deeper than mine; her life was buried below the ground, in the dank and empty spaces. In the dirt, in the fire, in the hot molten core of a beating heart. I saw the clouds and only believed them to be clouds; they did not tell me of any fortunes to come, though my mother would often ask my opinion of things. Clinically. I knew it was a test. I knew she wanted me to be something, to be stranger, to be like her. Everyone said we looked alike. The same hin lips, the same broken looking nose, the same curl to our shoulders. Sometimes, I shouted for Dad and he responded as if I was Mum.

But the similarities tripped to a stop eventually. I remembered what Nancy said: you two could pass for twins. I thought of the bags beneath my eyes, all smudged purple and too dark. I did not have wrinkles beside m eyes. Still, the way we echoed each other had been well documented (often by my mother's own hand, who had said in quite a few interviews that she knew I'd be just like her). Fuzzy old interviews with interviewers that wore pale beige suits, grinning into the camera with pink-salted lips. My mum always dazzled on those sort of things. She talked about dear Athena, who had already made such a name for herself. She talked about her little darling Cassie, who was far from who I was. If she hadn't said my name, I would assume there was a missing daughter. But the missing daughter did not exist; neither did demons. Unless you wanted them to, or unless you could see them. I shouldn't trouble myself with things that did not exist to me.

"You shouldn't trouble yourselves with those things," Mum said. She kept the corner of her eyes on me. I scratched around the cut on my palm, suddenly too itchy and warm all over. "Do you know what happens to young girls that turn over too many stones?"

"Yes, they-"

"They find nothing but ants and spiders." Mum shot her hand out, fingers waggling like an insect. I jerked back quickly, almost banging my head against the overhead light. Mum's cackle followed me. "Don't jerk away from me so quickly. I wouldn't hurt you." Despite the delight in her voice, I knew it would bubble into annoyance soon enough. I rocked back and forth on my feet-- I wanted to ask, again and again, until she caved. I had done the same when I was eight, begging for a puppy. Of course, there was no room for a puppy, no time to change one, no place for one in a home that constantly changed and shifted. But I had wanted one. I had convinced myself that a dog would change things. Mum would fall in love with it and Dad would spend more time with us-- and the puppy would be a chocolate sort of colour and we'd call him Button. Chocolate Button.

"Sorry," I said, pushed out between my teeth. It sounded like a cuss word.

"We don't have any oil," mum sighed. I knew the conversation had changed entirely from demons. I itched harder around my wound, watching the edges of it peel open. The oil was not an issue I could solve-- I drove, sure, but only when I was allowed to take the shitty van out. The nearest shop was just a five minute walk away, which I was thankful for (we'd been hours away from civilisation before, near a small cottage or farm that must be cleared out). I could walk to the shop. Buy the oil. I would, if she asked. But she wouldn't ask and Cassie wouldn't do it. "How are we going to cook the chicken?" A push. She wanted me to offer. I wondered if my mum had never seen a demon. Maybe that's why she didn't want to answer. Most of the places they visited were the usual haunts: ghosts, with a few poltergeists. Anything unusual could be seen as deadly, but that wasn't often true. Ghosts just wanted to be let go. Most of them didn't even want to be remembered anymore-- they were too old. They had been ehre too long. Freedom was the only thing they could imagine.

I scratched harder. There were demonologists that my mum respected, though they were few and far between. We might have owned books written by them once, but such trinkets were few and far between. We packed light and donated regularly. You could trace where we've been on the map through charity shops with weird items donated enmasse. I could do my own research into demons, but every person's encounter with the Other was unique. Whatever you saw was always the real thing. My mum had told me to believe blindly and wholeheartedly, because it is better to know too much than too little.

"What are we going to do?"

Behind us, I heard the door open. I kept my hand on my palm, pretending not to be interested. Maybe my sisters would comment on the wound-- I could use a plaster, really. Or just some attention for it. But the boots clambering through the tiny living room were too big to be any of my sisters. My father loomed in the doorway, ducking a little bit not to hit his head. He had salt and pepper hair growing through the sides, matting the black down. He had the face of an overly sad puppy, with wide eyes that were deep set and a smile that seemed to be too hesitant. He dressed in jumpers that my grandmother repaired, which meant that there were often holes still tugging open, a flimsy piece of yarn casting through it. Holding onto dear life. He carried a can of bug spray with him, but his hands looked limp around it. "Dear?" he said in his confused, distant sort of way. "Oh, hello, Cassie." My name always sounded careful in his mouth. I was always worried he'd call me by a different name.

[victoriagonzalezsworld]

    HOW TO DIVE DEEP INTO WORLD OF           JAHVA MUSIC AND OVERCOME                   COMMON CHALLENGES 

Are you a lover of Amapiano, electro, and deep house but find it hard to  stay connected with the latest trends, music, and dance scenes? You're not alone. Many enthusiasts face common challenges when trying to immerse themselves in the world of Jahva Music. Let's break down these issues and explore how to overcome them with the help of our vibrant community, JAHVA GROOVE.

1. Keeping Up with the Latest Music News

   With so much happening in the music scene, it can be overwhelming to stay updated on the latest tracks, DJ sets, and trends. You might miss out on the freshest sounds that keep the groove alive.

2. Finding Quality Live Recordings 

   Live recordings capture the essence of music, but they aren't always easy to find. You may struggle to access high-quality recordings of your favorite DJs and artists, leaving you disconnected from the energy of live performances.

3. Engaging in Meaningful Discussions  

   Discussing music with like-minded individuals can deepen your understanding and appreciation of the genre. However, finding a community where you can share insights and engage in meaningful conversations can be challenging.

4. Discovering New Tunes and Performances

   There's a vast world of music out there, but discovering new tunes, DJ sets, and dance performances can feel like searching for a needle in a haystack. It's easy to miss out on gems that could become your next favorite.

5. Connecting with the Global Music Scene 

   The global influence of Jahva Music spans across Ibiza, Miami, London, New York, LA, the Caribbean, and Africa. Yet, it can be difficult to feel connected to these diverse scenes and understand the cultural nuances that make them unique.

 Overcoming These Challenges with JAHVA GROOVE 

Join JAHVA GROOVE to stay ahead of the curve with the latest music news. Our group is a hub for updates, ensuring you never miss a beat in the dynamic world of Jahva Music. You'll have access to exclusive news and insights from the Amapiano, electro, and deep house scenes.

Enjoy high-quality live recordings shared by our community members. At JAHVA GROOVE , we believe in the power of live music to transport you to the heart of the groove. Experience the magic of live performances from top DJs and artists around the world, right from the comfort of your home.

Engage in enriching discussions with fellow music enthusiasts. JAHVA GROOVE  is a space where you can share your thoughts, insights, and passion for music. Whether you're a seasoned DJ or a curious listener, our group fosters a welcoming environment for all.

Discover new tunes, DJ sets, and dance performances curated by our members. JAHVA GROOVE is your go-to destination for exploring fresh sounds and hidden gems. Our community thrives on sharing and celebrating diverse musical experiences.

Connect with a global community that spans continents. JAHVA GROOVE Groove brings together people from all over the world, united by a love for Jahva Music. From the vibrant clubs of Ibiza to the soulful beats of Africa, you'll gain a deeper understanding of the global music scene and its cultural richness.

Ready to dive into the world of Jahva Music? Join JAHVA GROOVE on all our social media platforms. Let's keep the groove alive and thriving together!

https://facebook.com/groups/7799693206744560/ https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61562315099494

https://www.instagram.com/invites/contact/?igsh=vfw4410hpvg7&utm_content=v1doy0h

https://x.com/i/lists/1811091010941837581?t=O6VY5LxxH0OGR_CM-Gobhg&s=09

https://pin.it/5Sjj1jHbz

https://discord.com/invite/RTyEXzKt

https://m.me/cm/AbaSaB5Cgj5FznVc/?send_source=cm%3Acopy_invite_link

https://chat.whatsapp.com/FeF2OyUJD3TLwAvIVDjpsO

https://chat.whatsapp.com/FeF2OyUJD3TLwAvIVDjpsOhttps://youtube.com/@theofrancis-j7k?si=twHU3WzcW5qRruSf

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#RhythmAlive

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#GrooveAlive

[undrgrnd-nft]

SO THIS IS THE NEW YEAR AND I DON'T FEEL ANY DIFFERENT

Written By NFTjoe Originally posted on UNDRGRND.IO

JANUARY 2ND, 2024

TL;DR: marketplace, DAO, token launch, venue, book, revenue sharing, gamified curation, incentivized engagement, soon.

I’ve been writing this post for over a year. 

The circumstances have changed but the sentiment is the same. 

This time last year I was set to launch the UNDRGRND Marketplace and begin onboarding artists featured in the publication. The day before the beta launch the developer decided he wanted to renegotiate the contract. The developer was from a previous relationship with my co-founders who gave me a job and handled the business side of UNDRGRND. I was not involved in the negotiations or project management of the site. I left the tech and business to them, they were my bosses, and they could handle it. The renegotiation devolved into legal recourse; lawyers were contacted but deemed too costly considering all the money that had already been put into the development of the site. 

So there we were on January 1, 2023, a publication, community, and gallery that I had spent two years developing and a marketplace that would never be seen by the public.  The beginning stages of the bear market were already showing. I assumed the bear market would be my time to shine: a new marketplace with gamified curation and incentivized engagement, supported by a publication and gallery, with the financial support of a DAO to purchase work.

It would have been exactly what we all needed. 

That’s my skill set. Many of my friends and followers have creative skill sets I’m in awe of, but my ability to see a need, and work to create a solution to fill that role, is how I fit here, with every talented individual.

I expected to be a life raft and found myself treading water alongside everyone else.

I began scrambling. I have bills and responsibilities like everyone else. I needed to find a way to keep this going while also preparing for the possibility it would end. I put aside writing, editing podcasts, social media posts, recruiting artists, and buying art. I began working on materials for accelerator programs, foundation applications, and grant requests. I made pitch deck after pitch deck, a business plan mapping out the next ten years, and submitted it, everywhere. 

One of the slides in a version of my pitch deck uses OpenSea as a metaphor. Many artists came to this space seeing the large sales numbers, total volumes, and market caps and thought it would lead to financial success. So many minted their first NFTs, tweeted, and waited, only to be met with a resounding thud of nothingness. 

I had the same experience submitting my deck and plans asking for funding. Nothing. 

From an early pitch deck circa March 2021

(If you’re reading this as an artist, musician, or creative and it sounds familiar, you’re in the right place).

I pitched to a few VCs, incubator programs, and foundations and felt close a few times, only to find more nothing and a lack of responses. 

My former bosses hustled and found success in other projects allowing them to continue their operations but it meant I lost what little support I had as it took their focus away from UNDRGRND. 

I was alone. 

I was stressed.

Depressed. 

I wasn’t sure if the thing I’d poured everything into would continue or if it would have to fade away into the background while I went back to teaching. So I took control of UNDRGRND and gave myself a year. 

So now I was in charge of everything which amounted to essentially nothing. 

I’ve been doing this for three years: building, writing, recruiting, searching (digging), planning, developing ideas, watching others succeed, and waiting for my time. 

But what do I have?

Experience? Knowledge? Passion? An Idea? 

Audience ≠ Community

Waiting on others does not work. Depending on higher-ups to do what is right for the community, for all of us, not just the top collectors or artists, does not work. I see influencers make millions while producing nothing, scammers suck money out of projects, and everyday people's true colors come out once they find success. How is this any different from the real world or web2?

Maybe that’s not fair though. Maybe that wasn’t their dream or why they came to crypto, web3, or whatever the fuck you want to call all of this. 

Why did I come here? I came for social change. The idea is that web3 promises a more equitable and sustainable future for those left behind by real-world elite one-percenters. The mentality that we were coming together as a group of individuals to begin to build better hooked me. For decades (centuries?) we’ve been kept out of the discussions with the decision makers of what better looks like. Or worse yet, we were included and they’re still not listening. 

Before the price speculation, the hype cycles, the influencers, the cliches, or the shill threads, crypto was a revolt, counterculture. Bitcoin was an underground movement in retaliation to the financial collapse of 2008.  Then DeFi promised the possibility of being your own bank. NFTs brought ownership to your creations.

So why have we brought the same broken web2 capitalistic models that many of us came to this space to reform?

It’s what is familiar. 

It’s how we survived in the past.

In one of my favorite essays, Brain Dead-Megaphone, George Saunders criticizes the state of media consumption and our focus on the loud, the hyperbolic and how individuals get sucked up in that machine, “A young friend who writes content for the news page of an online media giant, e-mails me: “I just wrote this news headline for my job: ‘Anna Nicole’s Lost Diary: “I Hate Sex.”’ If anyone wonders why Americans aren’t informed with real news it’s because of sell-out corporate goons like me who will do anything to never deliver a pizza again.”

Even those with good intentions fall prey to the same capitalistic ideals to ensure profitability, sustainability, and our basic survival.  We can say this is about the art, music, or the creative process all we want but the harsh reality is that it is also about the money. I’m not immune to this, I got roped into this because I thought I could make money writing. If we accept that truth then we will agree that the distribution of the wealth, the recognition, and the power remains unbalanced. 

I came into this space because I saw the opportunity for creatives to retain ownership of their art, and their creative spirit while finding financial freedom so that they could sustain themselves from their creations. I envisioned a world where appreciators, fans, and collectors could invest in unknowns to help support them and would be rewarded down the road when they become mainstream. I envisioned a sustainable, stable ecosystem where artists carved the path toward a more progressive equitable future. 

I thought this was how things could change.

I came to build bottom up.

But many say community when they mean audience. 

Bonfire of the Humanities

Art is a humanity. 

Whether we’re talking about visual art, music, written or spoken word, or film it all teaches us and communicates to others what it means to be human; why we’re here and why we’re alive. It’s about what we think and feel. So let's talk about that.

If we take the time to talk about this, to talk about what you create, the money will follow. There is value in humanity and the money attached to it simply acknowledges that value. 

The artist puts their humanity into their work. People acknowledge it by paying for it. You can’t give away your humanity for free. It comes at a cost. 

A part of you is given to that person when they buy your work. So let’s tell them what they are going to buy. Let’s tell them why it should matter to them. Why you have value. Why you’re willing to part with this piece of you. 

So why are so many of us willing to accept a pittance in return for that humanity? Why do so many of us beg to be seen as people of value to influencers, collectors, or gated communities? If the majority of us (and even the decision-makers for larger organizations) agree that community is what drives the value, why are we accepting the same old hierarchy of things?

We’re negotiating with our unintentional captors, hoping their humanity recognizes our own.

It’s familiar and we’re responsible for accepting it.

Web3 is supposed to be the technological solution to cultural and societal problems. Look at most white papers and there will be ideas of reformation, empowerment, and disruption. Many tech-oriented, buzzwordy, incubator programs look for “disruptors” when those disruptors simply replace and become our new captors. Uber disrupted transportation and became the same taxi service. Netflix disrupted film and cable industries to become the film and cable divisions run by the same producers and executives from the old guard. Spotify, Apple, Google, pick any industry and you will find upstarts that sought to change the dynamics at play only to eventually become exactly what they claim they sought to change.

We know that really good art can also become very valuable in the future…if the right people see it and say the right things about it. How many artists, bands, or movies would be loved if only more people knew they existed? If true art is honest then we deserve to be honest with ourselves.  How the art market is currently structured does not benefit us all. Rather than democratizing the art market, we’ve recreated the same hierarchy system of galleries and museums. The intended disruption settles into familiar old ways.

It’s not. We’re doing the same thing the traditional art market has done for years.

Why does this happen? The answer to all your questions is money. 

How do you disrupt archaic oppressive socio-economic norms for good? 

How do you avoid becoming what you seek to destroy?

Sell-Out, With Me

Throughout any submission process for funding, you have to answer what your project is, what it does, and what it means for the audience. The most common question is, What Problem Are You Fixing? When you hear the word underground regarding art, music, or film, odds are you understand what that means. Underground is a ubiquitous term used throughout our existence.  

OK fine, here’s a definition of underground:

(often initial capital letter) a movement or group existing outside the establishment and usually reflecting unorthodox, avant-garde, or radical views.

I see UNDRGRND as a revolt against the greed and current economic model of the creative industries, the same way the mp3 and Napster took down a broken record industry model. Lately, it seems more and more people are beginning to understand who holds the power.

The other night I saw a Tom Hanks interview discussing the role film and artists play in social change. So how radical are my views if Tom Hanks agrees with me? Especially when the cryptocurrency industry was founded on those radical views.

Pronoia is the belief the universe is conspiring for your benefit. This felt like that and why I ran to the tv to take a picture with my phone like a grandpa.

Maybe the definition of underground needs an update. Maybe it means something as simple as genuine. Genuine creation. Genuine appreciation. Genuine movement towards change.

Every artist is an underground artist until they’re not.

Bitcoin started as an underground movement and now we’re on the cusp of a Bitcoin ETF. Mainstream adoption is inevitable and necessary. Usually, when something becomes mainstream, people like you, but especially curmudgeons like me, will feel it lost something. Whether you call that something lost edge, integrity, or authenticity it all boils down to that dreaded label: selling out.

What if you didn’t have to sell out though?

Why can’t independent mean successful? Why can’t equality be lucrative? Why can’t we achieve a redistribution of wealth to the deserving? Why can’t we reward ethical behavior? Or reward interactions that add to the conversation, rather than a hot take? What if album artwork was valuable? What if a small zine was profitable? What if we didn’t rely on donations or the generosity of the community?

What if you could keep your creative integrity AND be financially successful? 

Curators > Algorithms 

A reason Napster was successful in the late 90s was because the independent artist had a shot. Music blogs began to pop up all over the internet. It was how many of us discovered new music and began to shape our taste. Previously ignored by major labels, genres that never made it to the radio or even a recording studio suddenly began to gain traction. The community around Napster thrived because of the sharing and the dialogue occurring. It connected us with friends, helped us make new friends, and expanded our realm of what was possible. We shared music but we also shared ourselves.

We still do.

The idea of sharing data is just as important as what data is being shared. Biometrics, location mapping, and purchasing habits help AI learn our taste in music, movies, and art (could the rise of AI increase our need for human curation and validation? A topic for another time). If you have this information you can then begin to predict what art, or music will become popular next. We’ve given this information away, for free, to tech firms so that we can be marketed to, and sold an ad, or product we don’t need but loosely relates to our interest resulting in trillions in profit. 

And we’re beginning to do the same now without realizing how important it is.

Our opinions matter, especially to us, and we think it should matter to others. It’s why we read the opinions of others, discuss our own, and grow from them – one of my favorite movies (and books), High Fidelity, captures this perfectly. The whole movie captures a lot of my personality, and my formerly hard-lined beliefs surrounding music, art, and film. But, now that I’m older, softened, it’s the ending, with John Cusak focusing on his partner’s taste to make a mixtape full of things she likes, that I think communicates how our likes and dislikes shape our lives. A perfect metaphor for relationships and what it takes to maintain a healthy loving relationship.Play

00:00

00:50MuteSettingsEnter fullscreen

00:12

These things define us.

It’s why we vote on things that we like: music, movies, art. It’s why we enjoy discussing top 5 lists (and why UNDRGRND DIGS features five artists). Sometimes we lack the proper articulation of our feelings, thoughts, or ideals and turn to these art forms to help us communicate them to others (e.g. a mixtape). We can use our money to validate those people who help us shape our worldviews, personalities, and emotions (it’s why UNDRGRND purchases work from the artists featured in UNDRGRND DIGS). 

Art can save the soul and foundations on which crypto was based.

Art can and does the same for blockchains.

Einstein Never Said That

Before the next bull run, the next wave of users before the masses return we need to ensure we don’t repeat the mistakes made in 2021. We need something to do away with shill threads, engagement farming, and the hype machine that only produces FOMO. We need better, genuine “influencers” that don’t spam your DMs to offer promotions. We need to do away with the hollow cliches with no change in behavior (The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result).

We need to redefine community. An actual community shares in the means of production and the compensation. Our community, as a whole, does the first but misses out on the latter. How often do artists make a sale here to turn around and pump their earnings back into the ecosystem? How many curators are also artists? How many “failed” musicians know a great song when they hear it and share it with others? How many film students have the knowledge and ability to discern what makes a film good and enjoy discussing it with others? How many people who studied literature can write about these topics and communicate their taste in art, music, or movies to others? 

These individuals drive the transactions all blockchains seek. They make the markets, set the trends, celebrate discoveries, and drive the value to the creative experience. They deserve to be compensated as such. 

You deserve compensation for your community building.

Where the F*ck is this Going?

It was during a pitch to one of those institutional investors that it occurred to me that they were antithetical to what I was building. Why would any investor want to fund something that fundamentally disagrees with their ROI models?

I was in a shill thread and I was pitching old-world crypto influencers. 

I was offering the opportunity to the wrong people. I should have been offering it to you. 

I never wanted to do it this way. My role is to help others, not others to help me. That’s not how I operate. I wanted a finished product. I wanted to hand it to you all on a silver platter and say here, enjoy. But the personal greed and focus on short-term monetary gains I despise, were exactly what delayed this operation. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m so motivated to do things differently.

I’m not good at asking for help. However, the hardest lesson I’ve learned this past year: I can’t do this on my own. 

That’s kind of the point of the community. You’re not supposed to do it on your own. The work and the benefits are shared. 

This was the only way this ever could have happened. 

With all of you.

The idea is simple: a marketplace built with gamified curation putting the power of influence in the hands of the community members, it’s called DIG IT. It incentivizes the discovery of and promotion of undervalued creators; it incentivizes curation. Rather than the power remaining in the hands of one or a board of curators, it must be given back to the community. Artists tired of always selling and promoting themselves will have a home alongside individuals motivated to seek out the undiscovered. The notion that only a select few know what art is, or what should be discussed, is a fallacy. We all have selective tastes and if we can back up our claims, it is true. That’s the beauty of subjectivity.

DIG IT works with a token, DIG COIN/$DIG, with distribution, focusing on engagement with the content, rewarding quality conversation, and those who support artists, musicians, and filmmakers. With staking rewards offered to onboard communities of the self-proclaimed degens or potential collectors previously wary of their taste in art. 

I never wanted to build just another marketplace. That doesn’t serve my purpose. It doesn’t serve anyone. There’s enough that currently exists that UNDRGRND will continue to support. There is enough room for all of us to exist. If we all are supposed to make it in this space then that means we all need to make it. If we want to be better than the old dynamics we left the real world to reform here then that means being different. So a large percentage of revenue will go back to the community members who support the creation of the marketplace. 

This will all operate under the newly formed DAO, which will hire writers, video editors, community managers, social media managers, and all other types of employees to fulfill a multitude of needs. Members will play a role in shaping the direction of the UNDRGRND Publication, decide on purchases for the UNDRGRND collection, UNDRGRND drops, and the shows that occur at the UNDRGRND Venue.

This month, I’ll provide the details, dates, how to get involved, and other announcements amidst articles and podcast episodes.

Until then, keep your ear to the ground. 

UNDRGRND.

— NFTjoe, Founder

[mychaoticcryhole]

hi tumblr.

Hello again to my old friend. I used to blog all the time when I was in high school. Freshman, sophomore year my blog was the most perfectly curated version of myself. Always with a perfect layout and fun little things that made me feel special online. I overshared, of course. I showed myself, my friends, told everything. I cried writing my posts, I smiled, and I look back on those posts now so thankful that all those years ago I had nothing better to do than sit around and just throw all my thoughts into the universe and hope someone gave a shit to read them. I felt alone. I had one place to put everything and just leave it. Whether I was just sharing pictures that displayed words I couldn't think of or I was actively pouring out my soul and using my own words, my blog was a safe space. A true reflection of myself. And I really believe that outlet helped me in a time when I needed it most. So again I am here. Desperate to find a way to get back to me. Or to whatever me looks like these days.

Now I am 29. I began my last blog at 14 or 15. Things have changed so much, obviously. And I often think about what that 14 or 15 year old me would think about where I am today. As much as this is the life I would've wanted, it doesn't feel like that at all. I have a "good" job. I own my own house, own car. I am married to a wonderful man, my absolute best friend. I inherited his family and I have my family. There aren't many of us, but I have a relationship with them. I have a solid relationship with my very best friend and I get to watch her raise her own family (which is so crazy because looking back on my old blog, we never even imagined babies) and I am surrounded by so much love all the time.

But also nothing feels that good. At all. Everything kinda sucks. I have a lot on my plate. My "good" job feels like a lot more responsibility than I want. I know that I am overworked and underpaid. I feel invisible although I know the work that I do is important. I push myself so ridiculously hard to be the best because I know I can. And I know I can always do better. And my job takes full advantage of that. I am stressed all the time and feel like theres no rest. Ever. That place has taken a complete hold over what feels like every part of my mind. My family is dealing with their own shit. I feel like we are the perfect example of putting on a front for the world and just being the biggest shit show under the surface. I love my parents, and as I continue to get older I see them for what they are - just normal people who had kids and now just kind of have to figure it out. I see them move like normal people. Like I would move with my friends or in my relationship. And I see where things are hard. And I can see why things are falling apart in the way that they are. But I also wish they could just find a way to be done and both thrive. And I don't know how we do that. And I also don't know why I have allowed this to be such a large stressor on myself.

I think at this time I'm in a weird transitionary period of my life where I am ready to let everything go. I want to ditch every half-assed friendship that doesn't feel right to me. I want to surround myself with people on my same wavelength. I want people in my circle with my same energy, who think highly of me, like real, unconditional love. I don't have much faith in people anymore. And maybe I am just meant to be that person that only has the one best friend alongside my husband. And I am getting to a place where I am finding that to be okay. But I will need somewhere to dump all my shit. And this is that place.

[neverland-promises]

I posted 10,956 times in 2022

That's 3,071 more posts than 2021!

55 posts created (1%)

10,901 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@navy-leader

@bdoubleowo

@bluexcity

@favoure

@0xeyedaisy

I tagged 1,047 of my posts in 2022

#trafficshipping - 188 posts

#save - 147 posts

#treebark - 90 posts

#3lshipping - 81 posts

#renchanting duo my beloved - 50 posts

#hermitshipping - 46 posts

#flower husbands - 46 posts

#treebark week 2022 - 41 posts

#sage.txt - 39 posts

#scarian - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but then i remembered fuck this shit im allowed to like what i like and imma curate my own internet space to enjoy what i like and honestly

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Lmao vampire!Scott has given me such brainrot and then I found this song and now my brainrot is sooooo strong so lmao im just gonna ramble because I have so much to say sbdivjdnd

Anyways im a simple person and I adore flower husbands and im on a fh kick as well but I just have this idea that came too when Scott built his lil village and stuff like what if this is set as Scott basically reining over a decent town or somethin like that and Jimmy lives in that village with Lizzie and Joel and whatever and every so often the town gives a sacrifice so vamp Scott leaves them alone for a bit before they do it again and everyone hates it but it is what it is and ofc its time again and the town doesn't say anything and decides that lizzie is the new sacrifice for the vamp thats terrorizing them at the last minute so no one can complain ( ofc Joel and Jimmy complain this won't fly ) but ofc no one gives a shit what they say one life gone to save hundreds more is a better option well feeling like they've run out of options at the last second Jimmy shoves Lizzie outta the carriage box thing...I haven't thought that far ahead what they transport people in yet, but details sndjcjsk anyways he takes her place and he gives a promise of coming back one way or another as he's bein taken away and ofc Jimmy is well Jimmy and he didnt think this far ahead and isn't sure what he's gonna do honestly he's pretty sure he's gonna be dead before he can even form a plan

So by the time he makes it to the castle he's sweating bullets because he's gonna be eaten by a deadly vampire whats he gonna do? Fight? Its a vampire! So when he's finally face to face with this vampire the vampire is just as confused to see him ( "huh, a man? Thats new" "what?" "Never thought you humans would leave the dark ages of giving young women as sacrifices "We're in the dark ages??? You demand sacrifices to not kill the whole town! So whose really the one who still lives in the dark ages, huh?" "Hmm, fair point" ) Jimmy and Scott are very much confused by the whole thing but Scott is curious as to why he's here instead of the usual ones that get stuck with Scott and Jimmy declares that he refuses to let someone he cares about be forced to death just for a bunch of strangers and this catches Scotts attention because "wow I can't tell if you're really brave or fucking stupid i mean who willingly gives themselves up to become vampire chow"

Deciding that this could be fun and something to keep attention for a lil bit before he eventually gets rid of him Scott decides to let Jimmy live in his castle and stuff and then comes the whole thing of gettin to know each other and shit but it's Scott bein Scott so y'know he's definitely getting on Jimmys nerves and teases him as well making sure that he knows whose the one in charge

I haven't thought too far ahead of how they start to connect just yet but im also very interested in angel!sausage and vamp!Scott's interactions so maybe back in the village Lizzie is like "someone please watch over my idiot brother and that he stays safe and come home" and already Scott is on what gods shit list so maybe angel!sausage is assigned as Jimmy's guardian angel and more shenanigans ensues i haven't thought that too far ahead but I needed this outta my head before it causes me to explode ahsjfjfjsjzn

33 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#4

I just think he's neat

40 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

#3

Can you believe this happened in real time? And live on stream? ON A SCAR STREAM?

90 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#2

I don't think I'll ever get over E1!Scott or Vampire!Scott tbh

326 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Honestly Anya's lil 'heh' face really felt like it fit Martyn and I had to get this out of my system

532 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[archiveoftragedies]

Ed thinks that Stede will only love him if he's the Edward Teach version of himself, the one who folds laundry and is okay with licking king George's boots. That's why he says "you were always gonna realize what I am" in the Calico Jack episode. He's saying "I'm not this soft, vulnerable, happy version of myself that I'm with you, I'm Blackie, I'm Blackbeard, I'm the Kraken". And he was so afraid of Stede finally realizing that and being horrified and unable to love him anymore, that he leaves first. Only to immediately come back when he realizes Stede is in danger. And in that moment, he gives everything up, he signs everything away. To save Stede he becomes Edward Teach, a version of himself he hadn’t been since he was a child.

Ed is never himself, he doesn't even know who that is, in fact. He's a chameleon, he adopts a different personality depending on who he's with or what he's trying to pretend to be in that moment. This is made obvious in that scene in which they're having breakfast and Calico tells that grim tale of Blackbeard burning that ship with everyone trapped inside, screaming. Stede is taken aback because "I thought you'd given up the killing", because that's what Ed told him in that vulnerable "that's why I have no friends" moment in the bathtub. And he tries to justify it "technically the fire killed those guys, not me". But I'm sure he didn't try to justify himself to Jack when he did it, because that's what he expected of him, although it wasn't what Stede expected.

This scene has such an awkward energy, not just because Stede feels out of place, but because it's one of those moments in which character A has lied to character B and character C is about to reveal it by accident so character A tries to stop them by saying something like "no, Stede doesn't wanna hear about that" to make them stop.

Ed hasn't exactly lied to either of them, but he hasn't told the truth either.

He has killed people, indirectly, but Stede can't know that. He hasn't been able to kill anyone with his own hands since his father, but Jack can't know that. (Izzy does but that's another topic).

The thing, then, is. The real Ed is none of these people. You can see glimpses of him in all, because all of them are a part of him, but all of them are masks. He has needed them to survive. Edward couldn't have survived in Hornigold's ship, so he became someone else. Blackbeard couldn't have survived at the pirate academy, so he became someone else.

What I can say for sure is that he has allowed himself to be a bit truer to himself with Stede than with anyone else (in the show). Not fully himself, he was still trying to cover up his murders, trying to be softer and good enough for Stede. But he allowed him to see him crying, because that's a thing you can do around Stede, yes, but also because he trusted him. With Stede he wasn't Edward, or Blackbeard, he was Ed. And Ed is the name I think he'll end up choosing for himself. But, in the end, he was still trying to be a different version of himself, one that Stede could love. One that didn't have space for the things about Blackbeard and the Kraken that are still very much parts of Ed. All of them have pieces of him, but none of them allows him to just be, they were all carefully curated for other people, not for himself. That's what needs to change.

Now (you know...... in season 2) Stede needs to prove that he loves him, all of him, every version, everything. I've seen people talking about Stede cleaning Ed's makeup, washing the Kraken away, but that's not what I think needs to happen. Stede would love the Kraken, because it's a part of Ed, full stop.

It's Ed who needs to wash his own face. He needs to learn what parts of himself he needs to let go off, and what parts he likes. And learn to love himself, all of him, every version, even the ones that no longer serve him, but especially the ones that do. I don't think either of them could have grown as people alone on a ship to China, as much as it pains me to admit. Stede needed to make peace with his old life and say goodbye, and now Ed needs to face the Kraken.

[losthomunculus]

Online Safety Relevant to the Current State of the Internet

On twitter I made a tweet about how online safety lessons in school can be very out of touch but that the advice of people who are familiar with the current internet shouldn't be disregarded. So here's my informal collection of online safety tips

Sources: unrestricted internet access since elementary school (not recommended), being a formerly involuntarily home bound person for several years that amassed way too much online experience

This could possibly hold upsetting reminders to people who had bad experiences online including mentions of grooming and emotional manipulation so please proceed with caution!

Information Sharing

Make an online pseudonym for public profiles and websites.

Don’t feel like you have to list everything about you for the world to see.

Sometimes it’s not a question of “can this information be used to locate and identify me irl?”, but simply “do I want this information publicly available and linked to my online persona?”

Unlike offline, being online leaves a constant trail of who you were accessible at all times. People are constantly growing and changing. Try to limit the information you share so you can ditch that trail and start over if need be.

Sharing information with people you make friends with and trust is a judgement call on your part, but always be on the safe side and be protective of your information.

Start as cautious as possible with online safety. Any risks or judgement calls can come later when you are 1. aware of the risks, 2. ready to address them if they occur, and 3. have gathered plenty of information instead of doing something blindly and hoping for the best.

Do not share your triggers publicly, they can very easily be used against you. Instead use websites with a large amount of filtering options to curate your online experience. If you are going to share them, only do it privately with people you trust.

Importance of Boundaries

It doesn’t matter how mature you are, don’t enter age limited spaces you don’t qualify for. It’s disrespectful to the boundaries of the people who made that space. Boundaries like this exist for the comfort of both sides involved.

Just because you can “handle it” doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Desensitization is not something to brag about.

Venting or making r18 posts as a minor on a public account is VERY dangerous. Intense emotional vulnerability is something manipulators will look for as a way to get to you. The same with sexual jokes to develop your comfort talking about those topics casually and eventually escalating the situation. If you are going to talk about such things please keep that in private conversations with people you trust in your age group.

Note the difference between public and private online space. Tweeting something on a public account is not the same as having a conversation in the cafeteria with your friends.

If an adult tries talking to you about r18, run the other way. Doesn’t matter how cool you are, it says something weird about THEM if they’re willing to talk to a minor about that stuff.

If someone( like 3+ years, honestly depends on how old you are) older than you wouldn't be comfortable saying what they're saying to you in front of other people (like a teacher or guardian), that's suspicious as hell. Run in the other direction.

The younger you are, the more age gaps matter. There's a bigger difference in development between a 13 year old and a 17 year old than there is between a 20 year old and a 24 year old. It helps to try to contextualize it with real people instead of numbers. Instead of thinking "oh just 4 years? that's not that weird" consider "oh. that would be like a freshman (13/14) dating a senior (17/18). yikes."

Be just as wary of people your own age talking about things that make you uncomfortable. Just like irl, sometimes you’ll meet people your age that are hurtful.

Friends complain to each other and talk about their issues, that alone is fine. But when people are doing it without permission, draw a line. When people are making it feel like you’re responsible for maintaining their mental health, you need to draw a line. When it starts to effect your mental health, PLEASE DRAW A LINE! I know it feels like your responsibility sometimes, but it’s not. You cannot be there for others if you’re not taking care of yourself first and foremost.

Don’t be afraid to block people. Even for petty reasons. It’s good to block people. Don’t force yourself to see stuff you don’t want to see.

Being Constantly Online

The 24 hour news cycle is not a good thing to follow 24/7. Taking social responsibility is a good thing, but your brain is NOT built to worry about every issue in the world at once. One strategy I use for staying sane is I try to only check the news once a day, and if something needs more attention to set aside an amount of time I’m going to focus on it before I need to take time to step back.

Touch grass. Not literally, unless you can in which case I highly suggest it, sometimes it’s just good to lay in a field. What I mean is you need to dedicate a good portion of your time to being offline (sleep does not count). What your offline time looks like is going to differ depending on your level of ability, but even if you are house bound it’s important to build some hobbies that don’t rely on the internet. Talking to people offline is also a good goal if possible, even just to your housemates.

Social etiquette greatly differs online and offline and sometimes the reminder that were all just Some People gets lost behind the numbers and the fabricated personas. Keep in mind the difference in how information is shared without forgetting that the fact we are all people remains the same.

Be generous with your etiquette. You will avoid a lot of stress if you conduct yourself with the same politeness you would have in an offline interaction. Master the art of "minding your own business" for your own sake.

Arguments and Competition

As soon as you can, you need to internalize the fact that leaving an argument is not losing.

It is inevitable you will be exposed to many people who disagree with you. Some people only want to argue to rile you up. Sometimes that’s not their intention, but it’s what they’re doing. You do not have to remain in conversation with people, especially if they’re not interested in actually coming to an understanding. Even if they are interested, sometimes they just suck!! Leave!! You can leave!!

On that note, sometimes you are going to get valid criticism and it’s going to hurt. That is part of learning. If someone says you messed up and did something hurtful, take a second to step back from your defensiveness and consider: intent ≠ effect. Apologize, repair what you can, and move forward with the ability to do better in the future. You’re going to mess up every once in awhile, it’s inevitable.

To summarize the past two points: don't waste your time on unnecessary hostility but don't close yourself into an echo chamber either. Debates should be about learning.

Sometimes people are not going to like you. This happens offline too but people tend to be a lot more blunt online. Sometimes people dislike you for no reason or for really petty reasons. That’s not your problem, move on.

Don’t actively seek out people you don’t like or who don’t like you to argue with. Whether or not your side is the “right side” doesn’t matter, it’s going to cause you so much unnecessary stress. Feel free to keep posting your opinions on your own profile but don’t seek out unnecessary conflict.

This is a different type of competition than previously mentioned, but be aware of the danger of comparing yourself to other people. Especially if you’re a creative or student, DO NOT GET SWEPT UP IN THE GRIND CULTURE. It’s more subtle in some places than others, but anytime you see the notion that you should be working yourself to the bone be VERY critical. Also be critical of any online cultures (such as gaming and art communities) that brag about unhealthy habits or act like it’s ~part of the culture~ (ex: all nighters, not taking breaks, getting hurt. Any activity that neglects health to work toward a goal).

Not just grind culture, any community of subculture that shares anti recovery sentiments is a huge red flag. Even if they're joking, it's not worth the risk of internalizing those statements.

Everyone’s social media presence is to some degree doctored because it’s a purposefully selected collection of what they allow you to see. It’s fine to like the persona you see being displayed, but never forget that it is not reflective of the entire person. Everyone online is JUST SOME PERSON. Do not forget that and start holding yourself to a standard you can’t even see every side of.

By posting online you are opening yourself to criticism. Whether or not it’s justified can vary, but either way it’s going to happen. Mute stuff, go private, disable comments, etc if you need to.

Misc Tidbits

these are technically just general info that is also good for offline but I have seen things that make me think people online need the extra reminder.

Learn what cults are, how they recruit, and what they do to their members. I'm not kidding. This is particularly relevant at the moment because of current societal unrest and widespread loneliness. No one is immune to cult propaganda, and not every cult is based on pre established religion or family. Many exist ONLINE and are able to manipulate people without ever meeting face to face. (learn more: Loneliness as a Pandemic: The Dangers of Online Cult

Familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience. Please familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience and then learn how to identify pseudoscience. (learn more: Karl Popper, Science, & Pseudoscience: Crash Course Philosophy #8)

Q. How do I know if a source is reliable?

Final Thoughts

It's important people of ALL ages learn these lessons, because the internet is constantly changing and we are all vulnerable when in the presence of other people.

Be cautious and stay safe

[workofheart]

promise

levi never thought he could have a peaceful night’s rest until he found himself in your arms

requested by: @thecaptainsbride​ 

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, canonverse, establishing domesticity

a/n: we had levi comforting reader, and now we have reader comforting levi :’) in terms of the request, i altered the timeline a bit but i think it still captures what you were going for! enjoy u guys <3

Levi isn’t used to letting people into his space.

In this line of work, he’s learned to be careful of the people he trusts to see his life from the inside. Not only to retain the secrecy and plans of the Scouts, but to protect his well being when he is so surrounded by death and destruction. A heart can only break so many times before it fails to beat at all.

That’s why, when the night comes when he finally decides to let you stay over, he’s tense. He observes your every step, unsure if he’s nervous or embarrassed or scared. It’s not skepticism, he knows, because he does trust you. You’re the only person he could possibly imagine him letting get so close to him with all that he’s experienced. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let you enter in the first place; so for once, he’s going to have faith his own judgment.

You slowly pace around his room, peeking at the knick knacks Levi has accumulated over the span of his life so far. He has quite the array of stationary arranged neatly on his desk, and a curated assortment of pens and ink to choose from. Worn, loved books line the shelves of the wooden case, small pieces of paper poking out from the top. A nimble finger traces over the cracked spine of one with a faded green cover.

“Can I?” you ask, turning over your shoulder to see him. Levi is sitting on the edge of his bed, palms pressed tightly to his thighs. He takes a deep breath and nods gently in response, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

You carefully tilt the spine towards you and pluck it from its spot. Flipping through the pages, you can see how Levi has diligently underlined, highlighted, and starred the passages. Small notes in his delicate handwriting decorate the margins with definitions and insightful observations. This book has been well read, and you’re sure the others are just the same.

His room is fairly bare for how long it’s been his home, but how much of a home is it really if he’s always on the move with the scouts? Constantly between hotels, barracks, abandoned homes, or whatever else the world throws at them next, he hasn’t had time to make the space livable. They’re never in one place too long - this is more like a headquarters to come back to after the day is done. And for Levi, the day is rarely done, even when the sun has set and the sky turns dark.

It’s strange, but he almost likes having you here. To him, it’s always been just a room. A simple, stupid box in a line of other simple, stupid boxes to house people just like him. Now that you’re occupying the space, though, it’s much different. It’s no longer just a room, but a sort of home. 

Your presence here gives it much more meaning than any trinket he might have placed on the shelf. Things in this room he’s never given a second thought suddenly burst to life with your interest in them, pulling memories from the depths of his brain as he recalls where he got them, when he got them, just because you asked. 

It’s much too easy for him, too, the way he imagines coming home from a long day to greet you at the front door. He pictures you perfectly, hair twisted into a loose braid, a soft nightgown hanging off your shoulders, feet sporting cozy slippers that make muted thuds as you walk over to give him a warm welcome back. He imagines quiet mornings sitting at the table for two, sipping tea and working through crosswords together. He sees himself reading aloud to you at the bay window, dozing off against his shoulder under the light. 

The thought of such uncomplicated, reliable domesticity with you is a thought he lets himself dream about. It seems natural, a routine he wouldn’t mind slipping into in the slightest, and you haven’t even stayed the night yet. 

He wouldn’t mind living here forever as long as you did too

When your curiosity has been, for the most part, sated, you return back and join him on the bed. You plop down, expecting to sink right in - why exactly, you’re not sure, because it’s incredibly characteristic for Levi’s bed to be as hard as a rock.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but the firmness is still shocking beneath your fingertips.

“Have you ever even slept in this bed?” You ask with wide eyes, hands pressing down into the austere cushion, trying to fluff it like it was a pillow. The incredulous smile adorning your face makes his stomach flip. He crosses his arms across his front as if to mask his heart beating out of his rib cage. He's never been in such close, private quarters with you before. 

Levi shrugs. “I don’t really sleep anywhere.” Internally, he shakes off his nerves, not wanting to embarrass himself by leaning into them. The thought of showing how bashful he feels alone is mortifying, but he doesn’t know yet that you’d only love him more for it. 

You can’t help but to tease, muttering, “I mean, I know of a way to break it in.” Your face is utterly serious, but your eyes, swimming with a mirth Levi is far too fond of, give it away. 

Levi diverts his eyes with a small roll to the side, the hint of a smile crawling up his face. He’s the last person you’d think to be flustered by such a thing, but it’s only because it’s you. “Go to bed, brat.”

You pout. “Only if you lay down with me.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t lay down.”

You know your way around Levi too well, he thinks, or maybe he just loves you. The way you can get his resolve to crumble with a mere pleading expression must be some sort of crime. You read him like a book and know him like the back of your hand to a point where it would be dangerous if it were anyone else. Usually the thought of such a person would intimidate him, but he doesn’t mind being seen by you - not that he has a choice. Against your will, he doesn’t stand a chance; not now and not ever.

He sighs a long sigh and gestures for you to get in with a small wave of his hand. While he stands to close to blinds and light the lamp by his bedside, you scramble under the covers. The initial feeling of warmth covers your skin and makes you shiver as you adjust, crawling hastily under and pulling the blankets up close to your chest. They’re soft and clean and smell just like Levi.

He lets out a yawn that oddly reminds you of a lion pup, but you don’t mention it, instead locking it away for you to think of later on. If you said anything, he’d probably never do it again. Gently, he pulls up the covers on his side and slides under to join you, the bed sinking with his added weight.

“Goodnight, Levi.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

After laying for a while, staring up at the ceiling, Levi feels himself become drowsy. He lets his muscles relax, lets his jaw unclench, lets his eyes fall shut. Though he’s a bit puzzled as to why, sleeping now seems so inviting, and who is he to deny it?

From his side, you watch his breathing slow. It settles into a steady rise and fall of his chest, and his lips part slightly.

The progression is slow. At first, you work up the courage to slip your arm over his middle. You spend minute after minute contemplating, picturing him pushing you away, but you’re getting tired and enough is enough. You slip your arm over his middle and stay completely still; then, nothing happens.

Until moments later, when he rolls onto his side to face your direction. His eyes are still closed, rhythmically relaxed breaths leaving his nose. Then, you move onto your back and scoot up a bit further onto the pillows. He unconsciously curls into your warmth, shifting further into your body, and it makes you melt immediately, swelling with a giddy feeling. You’re almost worried the joyous thumping you feel inside your chest will wake him up.

Eventually, Levi’s head rests perfectly atop your shoulder, small puffs of air falling lightly on your skin. Your hands rub calm circles into the skin on his back where his t-shirt has ridden up, careful not to rouse him from his slumber.

It’s like that for a long time. You keep yourself awake, content with just holding him for now. You take the time to think, watching the flickering glow of the lamp, listening to his quiet breaths, feeling the muted beat of his heart on your hip.

It’s hours later when Levi sucks in a big breath, blinking awake in alarm. His head picks up off your chest and he looks around, finally settling on you who blinks right back. His lids squeeze shut and he mentally grounds himself as he realizes he’s safe.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, voice low as to not interrupt the calm of the night. Your hold around him tightens to let him know you’re there.

He shakes his head slightly and sighs. “Bad dream.” 

“‘S all right,” you say, hand moving from his back to his nape, “you can go back to sleep.”

He rubs his eyes, yawning. In an instant, he freezes, realizing the position he’s in. He’s practically clinging to you like a child would a toy, and he feels a familiar heat flush his skin as his head hangs. “Sorry.” He swallows. “I should probably start work.” 

He starts to push himself off of you to get up, but your hold on his shoulders is firm, pulling him right back down.

“You’re tired,” you say. “Stay. I’ll be right here.”

He sighs, looking around, before resigning and dipping his head back down to lay on top of you. He doesn’t feel like arguing something he knows he wants deep down anyway. He nuzzles his face into your front, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his mind of what was plaguing it in his rest.

“Promise you won’t leave,” he mumbles softly into your shirt, barely audible. He’s too tired to put up a mask for show, and he’s relieved to see that you don’t need one from him come rain or shine.

Your fingers card through his silky locks and brush them back from his face as his body finally sinks into yours, his weight a warming comfort. It’s slight, but you feel his head tilt just a bit further into your palm.

You place a chaste kiss to his crown. “Promise.”

☆☆☆

When the morning sun finally wakes and rises above the horizon line, Levi finds himself turning away from the beams filtering through the curtains. He feels the golden light on his lids, and he flips onto his opposite side, clinging to the cozy feel of his bed. The only thing that pulls him from his slumber is when his hand stretches out to find emptiness all around, your presence absent from his space where he so desperately wants you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you say, watching him shift slowly and gain his surroundings. You’re standing at the small counter across the room, boiling a pot of water on the stove - Levi can tell from the faint rumbling of bursting bubbles inside the steel kettle. He slowly peels his eyes open to get a glimpse of you, features seeming to glow with the light pouring in from the windows. He feels his heart skip a beat that he’s not ready for.

 Levi is surprised that he has slept in so late, let alone slept through the entire night at all. It’s rare that this happens - he almost wants to say it’s the first time it has occurred for him, waking up in secure comfort rather than burning fear. The only thing that could make it better were if you were right beside him.

Of course, Levi can’t bring himself to say something so forward this early in the morning. Instead, he mumbles a small, “Come back,” a hint of a whine to his voice that only you could identify.

There’s a muted clinking sound as you stir a spoon around in the porcelain cups you’ve prepared, knocking against each other as you try your best to pick them up. It feels like a juggling act, trying to bring them over safely. You don’t know how Levi makes it look so easy every time he brings you a cup when they are so awfully hot to the touch. He must have gotten used to it, or bears the sting for the sake of his collected appearance.

“I was planning on it,” you reassure him, “just had to stretch a bit.” 

Your feet pad lightly across the wood floors until you reach him, offering the tea which he graciously accepts. You set your own on the nightstand to cool while Levi takes his first sip immediately. It tastes just like how he makes it for himself. Considering he’s never explicitly shown you exactly what he does, he’s both surprised and deeply touched.

His eyes follow you as you clamor in next to him. He asks the question that’s been playing on his mind since he stirred awake hours ago. 

“Were you awake all night?”

He sees your expression falter slightly and knows right from then. Regardless, you brush it off without hesitation, nestling up to his side.

“No, no,” you lie casually, “I woke up a little before you did and went to sleep after.”

With a gentle hand, you straighten out the part in his hair, laying down the slight frizz from where his head was pressed into the pillow.

Levi looks at you for a long time, observing your tender gestures. He sees right through your words, and also sees the slight droop of your eyes, a hint of darkness beneath them. He thinks of you awake all night, petting his hair as he rests while you don’t, and brings a twinge of guilt to his heart. At the same time, his soul is utterly warmed and thankful. He’s not sure what to make of someone who’d do that for him.

He disregards your previous statement and instead addresses the obvious truth. “Don’t do that for me. You need sleep too.”

It draws a laugh from you. The way your eyes crease has his heart faltering. “I sleep more than enough, trust me.”

He peeks at you over the top of his tea cup, wishing he could freeze this moment in time, capturing how you look perfectly down to the miniscule curve of your lips so that he’ll never forget it. Maybe, he won’t have to.

He doesn’t need to ask because the answer is clear, but he does anyway.

“...Would you mind staying again tonight?”

[tobesoalive]

latch (Sam Kiszka x reader)

hey guys here's the little Sam enemies to lovers smut that was requested! idc if it’s a bit cheesy, I had a ton of fun writing it so please please please send in more requests! I love helping your ideas come to life! 

Warnings: Smut (Oral-f and m receiving, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex)

Friday had finally rolled around and you were more than ready. After a long week of classes and work you were more than ready to have some fun tonight. You and your roommates were going to have some people over tonight to celebrate your second year of college almost being over. You had come up with the idea last weekend and quickly made a list of who all should be invited. There was one person on the guest list that you were dreading to see, no other than Samuel Kiszka.

You had met a kid named Danny Wagner in your first class freshman year, and you two became fast friends, sharing many of the same interests and hobbies. Together you and Danny were a dynamic duo, and you always made each other laugh. People often thought you were dating, but he already had a beautiful girlfriend back home. Danny also had another person constantly attached at his hip, Sam Kiszka, you’d almost think they were the ones dating.

Sam was a lanky kid with sharp features and an extremely annoying god complex. He really thought he was the absolute shit and that everyone was in awe of him. Quite honestly many people were, but you saw right through it. You found him to be arrogant and rude, and you were always disappointed to see him when you went over to Danny’s place, even though he was his roommate. Sam would often show up unannounced at your place too, mostly with Danny, but a couple of times he showed up alone. You were always polite, inviting him in like the good host you are, and you two ended up watching a movie together, and much to your surprise, in these times he was almost tolerable. Almost. He would make a snide remark or joke that would infuriate you, but he wouldn’t stick around for long, usually having somewhere to be. That somewhere was usually the bed of another girl, but they probably didn’t just watch movies.

That was another reason you couldn’t stand Sam. Last year you had a crush on him and he would do the thing where he would play with your emotion, hang out with you and flirt with you only to immediately go and fuck random girls. It hurt you, a lot, but you eventually got over it, losing the romantic feelings, or rather pushing them deep down where you’d hope they’d never surface again.

Now people were going to be at your house in an hour and you haven't even showered. It didn’t really matter though, you weren’t all too concerned with what other people thought of your appearance, so what if your hair was a little wet. You quickly rinsed off in a cold shower, then changed into a simple outfit for the night, flared corduroys and a crocheted tank top.

That was the other thing, you’d think you were exactly Sam’s type, he seemed like he would be into girls who were more artistic and down to earth, but all the girls he hooked up with seemed like they spent most of their time thinking about themselves. Not that there was anything wrong with those girls, you weren’t the “pick me” type, but it seemed like Sam would care about that kind of thing. Whatever, you don’t even like him anyways, he’s more of a nuisance than anything.

You had finished a seltzer by the time people started arriving, the playlist you and your roommates curated playing throughout the apartment. Being with your friends always made you very energetic, and people always said they liked being around you. You could get a crowd laughing in no time. People were coming through the doors and when there were about 75% of the people there, your partner in crime finally arrived. “Wagner!” you shouted across the room in a dumb accent, already a little buzzed. “Where art thou good friend?!” Danny yelled back, matching your accent as you two finally made your way to each other, wrapping him in a friendly embrace. “Where’s your obnoxious sidekick?” you whispered into his ear.

“Don’t worry he’s here. I know how you were just dying to see him.”

“Oh aren’t I always?” you responded with a sarcastic smile

“I still think you need to give him a chance, you’d probably really like him.”

Before you could even respond, he was running up behind Danny and lifting him up by his waist.

“Well if it isn’t dumb and dumber!” you exclaim before Sam comes up and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“Oh come on (y/l/n), you love me!”

“Haha good one Kiszka, now why don’t we do something I actually love.”

“And what would that be?” Danny questions.

“Take a shot and dance our asses off!” you yell. If you were going to deal with Sam you needed to be a little more intoxicated.

You gathered your roommates and the boys and took them to the kitchen and got out the glasses.

“To friendship!” you yelled

Right then you caught danny say something quietly, and it looked like he was saying “Or more than friendship”

That made you stop for a second before throwing your head back and downing the shot.

“Ok let's get back out there” your roommate says as she pulls you by the arm.

You spend about the next half hour dancing with all your friends, taking hits of joints and drinking. You and Danny did a silly little dance you had come up with last year when you would get drunk in your dorms and do dumb shit. Mid-routine he slipped and pulled you down with him, both of you laughing your asses off. You felt someone grab your arm and help you up as the song changed, “Latch” by Sam Smith blasting through the speakers, one of the best party songs probably ever. The person who had grabbed you wrapped their arms around your waist, swaying back and forth with you to the music. You loosened the stranger’s grip and spun around only to be met with the face of that little shit, Sam.

“C’mon kid can’t you at least try to tolerate me for one song”

“Who ever said you were intolerable?” you respond, admiring how the dim light highlighted his features.

He leaned in close to your ear and lowly whispered in it “You think I can’t see it. Whenever you’re around me you act like it’s charity work.”

You pull back to look him in the eyes and say “It wasn’t always that way. Now let's get back to what we were doing. I like this song more than I like you, which is quite a lot.”

He gives you a grin before you start moving your body against him, and by the end of the song he’s staring at you in complete awe.

Once the song ended you broke free from his grasp. “See you later Kiszka” you say with a wink, turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

Your stomach was in knots, and not from disgust. The moment you just had brought up a lot of emotions, mostly about your romantic feelings for Sam but also the resentment you felt towards him. Fuck, you were in deep now. Things would be so much easier if you never had to see him again and all of this could go away. But alas, you needed to suck it up so you could still have a close relationship with Danny. Plus in about twenty minutes Sam would probably be grinding on another girl. Screw it, you were going to have a good time with your friends, you didn’t need Sam to be happy.

The rest of the night you avoided Sam, giving him zero of the attention he was craving. A couple hours later people were leaving your home or asleep somewhere in the living room, bathroom, kitchen you name it. Thankfully though, your room remained empty, you needed some space to think.

Everyone was asleep and the house was quiet, you threw on a pair of boxer shorts and an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt, passed down to you from Danny. You went to the kitchen and drank probably a gallon of water, making one last pit stop to the bathroom to pee and brush your teeth. No matter how tired you felt you knew you'd thank yourself in the morning. Finally you were on the way back to your room when you stopped in the doorway. Sam was standing in there, looking at all your decorations and your extensive vinyl collection.

“You’ve changed some stuff since the last time I was here”

“Yeah, I like to rearrange stuff y'know? keep it new and interesting.” You remarked, rubbing the back of your neck and yawning, trying to hide your obvious panic. This is the last thing you were hoping for, being confronted one on one with the man himself.

“Are you cool if I stay here tonight? Daniel is passed out on the couch and I don’t feel like making the walk home alone.”

“Of course...did you want to sleep in here?” you ask before you could even stop the words from coming out of your mouth. Fuck, you were a dumbass.

“If that’s okay with you, sleeping next to a stranger wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“You never had a problem being in a stranger’s bed before” you mumbled, looking at the floor.

He didn’t say anything, just turned his head to stare at you for a second, his eyes seeming almost apologetic.

“Well you might as well get comfortable” you tell him as you turn off the lights and flick the lamp on.

“Do you have a shirt I could borrow? I don’t really wanna sleep in jeans and a sweaty shirt.”

“Would you like an old one of Danny’s or one of mine?” you tease him, grabbing out yet another old band shirt of his roommate’s.

While he’s changing you turn away and busy yourself with lighting some incense and pulling the covers back, to avoid seeing his bare torso.

“Can I throw on a record? I can never get to sleep in the silence.”

“Help yourself” you say, but he already has a selection in his hands, Michigan by Sufjan Stevens, one of your favorites.

“Wonderful choice, but I imagine you’re a bit biased.” you say to him, both he and Danny were from the same town in Michigan and had to let everyone know.

“I just wanted something calm and serene, compared to all the fast paced stuff we’ve been blasting for the whole night.”

“Well it was a party Samuel, you have to give the people what they want” you tell him as you climb into bed.

Sam grabs for one of the pillows and a blanket, but you stop him.

“Were you gonna sleep on the floor like a dog? I don’t give a shit whether or not we share the bed.”

“I just assumed...I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable...or anything.”

“You might be surprised by this but I actually feel pretty safe around you” you confess to him. Fuck, you were still slightly intoxicated so your filter was off. It’s okay, he was still a little drunk too it seemed.

“Do you mind if I take my pants off?” he asks you with a sincere look on his face.

You can’t help but burst out laughing, finding his awkwardness and the absurdity of the comment quite hilarious.

“I’d prefer it to your rough jeans...as long as you’re wearing underwear.”

“C’mon I’m not that much of a freak” he says as he pulls down his zipper and clumsily kicks his pants off.

You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, he looked gorgeous quite honestly, long hair tangled, old shirt hanging off his shoulders and shark boxer briefs stopping at his mid thigh.

“Okay Kiszka, get in here before I change my mind.”

He pulls back the sheets and crawls in, laying his head on the pillow facing you.

“I’m sorry” he says, looking deeply in your eyes, seeming almost ashamed.

“About what?” you knew you shouldn’t feed into this, whatever was going on here was completely platonic and wouldn’t mean anything in the morning.

“Everything. Being such a dick to you. Leading you on. I promise that’s not me, I just, I honestly don’t know how to act around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just the one person who actually kinda intimidates me. Or at least my feelings for you intimidate me.” he sighs.

“Is that why you are always fucking other girls and telling people about it when I’m around?”

“God you’re not going to take it easy on me, are you?”

“Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. With the way I’ve treated you I honestly don’t expect anything from you, I just couldn’t hold it in any longer and I thought this was as good of a time as any.”

“Sam, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course”

“I actually don’t hate you at all like you seem to think. I can’t stand you because I really do like you, but I gave up on anything happening a long time ago.”

“Well you did a pretty good job of hiding it” he says, moving a little closer to you to the point where your noses were almost touching, the feeling of his breath giving you goosebumps. The music hummed softly in the background as you thought for a second.

“Sam don’t hate me but we’re both kinda drunk and I don't wanna do anything right now. I wanna be there for it, like fully there.”

“I was actually hoping you’d say that. I wanna take in every detail and remember it all. You’re not just another drunken hookup.”

You can’t help but give a soft smile, your cheeks going red.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of cuddling”

“Neither would I” he says as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close as you bury your head in his chest, taking in his scent.

Something overtakes you, and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss to his collarbone.

“Goodnight Samuel”

“Goodninght kid” he whispers, pressing his lips to the top of your head, and you can feel him breathing in your scent as well, elated to finally feel wanted.

********************************************************************************************************

You wake up to sunlight streaming through your curtains, turning to look at your clock but instead being met with Sam’s chest.

You were sober enough last night to remember everything that happened, Sam’s feelings for you coming to light and vice versa. It made you almost giddy with excitement, not being able to wait until his eyes opened.

You played with his hair, running your fingers through it and moving it from his neck, replacing it with your lips. Soon enough he’s stretching his arms and yawning.

“Any reason you needed to wake me up at 7 am?” he asked you, looking down at you as the pad of his thumb brushed across your cheek.

“Just couldn’t wait to see you I guess”

“That's a first” he says sarcastically, once again staring deep into your eyes.

You could hear the birds singing outside and a refreshing spring breeze made its way into your room through the open window.

You stared at each other for a second longer before he whispered “Can I?”

You nodded your head yes and he dipped his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. It started off sweet and then your lips started moving in a rhythm, his hands grabbing your legs and pulling you onto his lap. He kept kissing you as your tongue made its way into his mouth, causing his hips to buck up into you. You pulled back and let out a soft sigh, basking in the feeling of him growing hard against your core. He took this as an opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and leaving little nips.

“Can I take this off?” you ask him, hands grabbing at the hem of his shirt.

“Please” he groans against your neck.

You pull it off and instantly your hands run along the expanse of his smooth skin, admiring every freckle and mole, fingertips brushing across his nipples. You pull your hands away to pull your own shirt off, blushing a bit, slightly embarrassed to show yourself to him. He takes a moment to stare at the newly exposed skin, pulling you down into a kiss a moment later and mumbling “You’re absolutely stunning” into your lips.

“You’re not too bad yourself” you say with a smile spreading across your face, quickly losing it as you bite your lip when he starts to move his hips once again, his bulge rubbing deliciously against your already wet core.

“I need more of you” he grunts, obviously frustrated.

You tangle your hands in his hair and pull his head back a bit, looking down into his eyes before saying “then have me”, pulling him into a kiss.

In a swift movement he flips you both over, kneeling with his legs on either side of you.

“These need to come off” he says, tugging at the waistband of the boxers you slept in. As he pulled them off and the cold air hit your core, you couldn’t help but drink all of him in, admiring just how gorgeous he looked, as if he was sculpted by the gods himself. That moment ended when you felt his middle finger run lightly up and down your slit. You threw your head back and closed your eyes, concentrating on the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Please Sammy, I need you” you say, surprised at yourself for using that nickname with him.

He looks at you and smiles before lowering his gaze to your dripping cunt, furrowing his brows as he pushes his long finger inside of you. You mewl as he pushes it down to the last knuckle, letting you adjust for a moment before starting to slowly pump in and out.

“Fuck you’re tight. So much better than I imagined.”

“So you’ve thought about this before?” You smirk at him, turning your eyes to look at the sight of his finger pumping in and out.

“Quite a lot actually, I’ve thought a lot about how you taste too” he says before readjusting himself so his head is buried in between your thighs. It only takes a second for his tongue to find your clit as he inserts another finger and starts to pump a little faster.

“Fuck you’re good at this” you say as you let out a breathy moan, hands once again finding their way into his hair. That causes him to moan around your clit, sending vibrations through your whole body. You don’t know how much longer you’d be able to last, with Sam lapping at you like it’s his last meal.

You pull his hair, forcing his lips to part from your sensitive bud, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

“I wanna taste you too” you say before getting up and kneeling on the floor in front of your brd, motioning him to sit with his legs over the side, facing you. You look up at him as you pull his boxers down, length hitting his stomach. You take a second to admire it, with its pink head, a large vein running up the bottom. It was a nice length, with quite a bit of girth to it, surrounded by a small patch of pubic hair. As you wrapped your hand around it you said “not to be weird or anything but your dick is gorgeous”, causing him to let out a light laugh that was quickly stifled when you wrapped your head around the tip of his cock. His fingers intertwined with your hair, lightly pulling it, not forcing you down on his dick like some guys do. You gently moved your head up and down, taking as much of him as you could in your mouth and using your hand to stroke the rest.

“Fuck I need to be inside of you” he groans, tugging at your hair, causing you to pull your mouth off his dick with a small pop.

“Can I ride you?” you question as you make your way back onto the bed.

“Fuck yes, I can’t promise how long I’ll last though” he says, pulling you in for another kiss as you line him up up with your entrance. You run his tip along your slit a few times before slowly starting to lower yourself down, taking your time to adjust to his size. Once he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he throws his head back, letting out a guttural moan.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“So have I” you say before starting to slowly move yourself up and down on him.

It’s lazy and sweet, not perfect or anything, but nothing about this situation really was. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Fuck” he remarks as he grabs your hips, fingers sinking into your skin,helping you move up and down on his delicious cock.

“You fill me up so perfectly, god you feel so good”

“I guess it was meant to be baby” he says with a grin, putting his fingers in his mouth then moving them down to rub circles around your clit.

“Fuck Kiszka, if you keep taht up I’m gonna cum.”

“That was my goal, I’m close too” he breathes out as he buries his head in your neck.

You clutch the back of his head as you start to move yourself up and down faster, fucking yourself on his cock.

“Fuck Sam I’m gonna cum”

“Me too babe, where do you want me to?” he asks shakily.

The only word you can muster out is “Inside” as you approach your peak, clenching around him once more before tipping over the edge.

It’s complete bliss as you ride out your high, feeling him give one last deep thrust into you before coating your walls with his warm ropes of seed.

You collapse against him, nuzzling your head into his neck, pressing sloppy open mouthed kisses as you both catch your breath.

He pushes your hair to the side, leaving his lips on your temple while he remains sheathed inside you.

“Thank you” he says, still regaining his breath and returning to reality.

“Don’t leave me” you say softly into his ear.

“I wouldn’t for the world, don’t you worry kid.”

You sit up and look into his soft brown eyes, taking in how much things have changed in the past few hours.

“I don’t hate you. Not in the least. I just hated the idea of not being with you.”

“Same here, but we don’t have to feel that anymore. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. You deserve the world, and I want to try my hardest to give it to you.”

“Thank you Samuel, I’ll try to do the same.”

You give him one last long kiss before pulling back, pushing his hair behind his ear and saying “C’mon loverboy, let’s go get some breakfast.”

[olderthannetfic]

so a post that i read years ago and never found again talked how basically all tumblr fights are people treating the platform as a public forum vs people treating the platform as their own personal diary of a sort

and it's been living in my head rent free this whole time bc this is it you've boiled tumblr down to its bare essentials. and i think most of us think of what we post/write in tags as our own private space, and simultaneously of what crosses our dash as the public sphere

and then offense happens bc we see someone speaking up about smg losely related to an original post as derailing it or lacking reading comprehension when actually what's happening is more like taking some random public discussion as an opportunity to vent 'privately' in their own personal space and then being dragged for it in the public forum bc everything on tumblr is always both your personal content and in a public space at the same time, but we tend to view it as either one or the other

so my point, bc yes i do have one!! is, all this is uhh messy. so in your utopic fandom platform, what are your thoughts re the separation between the public and private sphere? bc i sure don't have a good answer about it

i like all of us shouting in the void together, it feels all safe and anonymous, and i like that we can all chime in as directly with reblogs or indirectly with new posts or comments in tags as we want, i could never do fandom in like. discord groupchats, fucking yikes

but clearly there's definitely flawsTM to the tumblr model of no separation or even definition whatsoever of what it even means to be private or public so. and apart for a brief and very much regretted dipping of my toes in the horrid waters of twitter tumblr is the only fandom space i've ever known so i can't have any perspective, can we talk about Options out there or how they could be improved maybe

--

Tumblr: where boundaries go to die.

Honestly, there is no one answer. I liked LJ back in the day and barely used communities. I liked mailing lists, which were entirely community-oriented. Hell, I'm still on some mailing lists in 2021. I'm more active on discord than anywhere else, but not places most of you will ever find me. I regularly read r/FanFiction and started r/FandomHistory on Reddit. Et cetera.

Different platforms appeal to different fans.

No shit, right? But people seriously forget this or at least don't consider the implications: "Fandom", if we mean Tumblr, consists only of people willing to put up with Tumblr. But if "Fandom" means more than that, then it will inevitably include some people who can't or won't put up with Tumblr. There are a lot of platform options that "work" at least well enough to get some community or other going there.

There's more than one way to skin a cat.

For me personally, it's pretty obvious I imprinted on the Dreamwidth/Livejournal way of doing things in individual meta-heavy blogs (as opposed to communities). Or... well... not obvious because most people here have no experience of that, but it is how I use my own tumblr:

I post longform text constantly

quite a bit of my tumblr is my own opinions, not just curated content

I have threaded conversations without worrying if other people approve

I treat all commentary on my posts as something I am allowed to respond to

I make new top-level posts sometimes to point to good bits of discussion that could be overlooked

I come back to discussions later

I sometimes make posts linking to and synthesizing various parallel discussions on related topics

I treat basically everything as being in public, i.e. not under friendslock, but I also treat my tumblr as my space

I think it's useful for sites to have something like a LJ com or an AO3 collection that can be themed without occupying an entire site-wide tag. It's also useful to have personal spaces that belong to one person alone.

[sleepylixie]

3.1k words, Angst, Fluff (Romance), Non-idol AU

Kim Hongjoong X fem! Reader

Inspired by Love you Like Me- William Singe ( Playlist here )

Beware of Profanity, Heavy themes of infidelity, implied sexual activity 

The studio was loud, bustling with murmurs and movement, lighting being fidgeted with and artists putting in the final touches to the simple, neutral toned set. A shiver traced down your back as you watched people walk this way and that, preparing everything to be perfect just in time, just before the cameras begin rolling and the star of the show settles in front of the camera-

The steady buzz of your phone in your hand interrupted your train of thought. Took him long enough, you thought to yourself as you watched the name flash across the screen. Hongjoong. 

Not a couple of months ago, his contact’s name had been ‘loml’ with a red heart- how quickly things change. You knew he would call you before you were to go on-air, a tradition that he had unfailingly kept alive over the last 3 years. This particular call however, was different. Special. 

Because it was going to be the last. 

You would miss his calls, you mused as you accepted the call. His smooth, lilting tenor always greeting you with- 

“Hello, starlet.” 

The amused endearment didn’t make you smile like it used to. You used to shy away from it when you had initially started dating Hongjoong. Over the years, however, you had truly grown into a starlet in your own right so the inside joke was now laced with adoring truth. 

“Hello, my love.” 

Your voice was soft, mellow, the perfect replication of how you would respond to him in better times. Funny how a relationship you’d valued as much as your career had come down to pretence and secrets- 

“Are you ready?”  

The real question is, are you ready? The response was heavy on your tongue but you swallowed it down, letting a sardonic smile curl up the edge of your lips as you hummed into the phone, a show of contemplation.

“I think so.” 

If only he knew what you were talking about. 

“I’m sure you are, you spent so much time in the studios with Chris. Trust yourself, darling. You’re going to do amazing.” 

There had been a time when his reassurance would’ve given you enough motivation to rule the world- now though, it felt like nothing but a sham. Pretty, deceptive falsities that he kept up only for the sake of his promise to you. A game of make-believe he seemed to be amusing himself with. 

He was going to find out soon enough, you convinced yourself. He was going to find out soon enough that you were no game to be trifled with. 

The producer caught your eye, motioning to the set – it was time. 

“It’s almost time, I need to go.”

What a glorious double entendre this conversation was. 

“Good luck, my love. I’ll be watching the live.”

You hummed again before hanging up, coughing into your hands as you made your way to the set. The producer flashed a smile and thumbs up at you as you took your seat on the stool meant for you. 

“We’re going to be live in 3 minutes. Ready?” 

Between your makeup artist doing some final touches on your face and the sound technician checking the wires and mic-set for your in-ears, you returned the producer’s thumbs up with a confident smile- more confident than you were truly feeling, you were sure. 

“Ready.” 

All too soon, the 2 minutes had passed and you were sat alone in front of the camera, nothing but a mic in your hand as the producer did a countdown- Rolling in 3,2,1-

The first strains of the backing track flowed through your in-ears, your grip on the mic tightening as the repetitive, building melody washed over you like the tune of a haunted nursery rhyme. With the melody came the memories, a barrage of feelings tinged angry red and melancholy pink. 

After all these years, it seemed your love really had to end the way it began- mic in hand, lyrics at your lips and leaden heart in your chest. This time though, he wasn’t the healing balm, he was the twisted knife itself. 

Kim fucking Hongjoong.

“He never calls this late at night, no… But I can tell he’s been drinking all night long.” 

The studio was pin-drop silent except for the soft, dragging lilt of your voice. The track Chris had made for you could catch a listener’s attention all too easily- the magic your voice brought with it soon afterwards only served to hook the listeners more. 

You remembered slipping into the studio one rainy 2 a.m, scrawled sheets of paper feeling heavy and hot in your pocket. Chris had been rightfully concerned with your deceptively put together appearance, knowing exactly what had brought about the torrent of words you had thrown onto the table. 

Chris had always been safe, warm comfort for you- from the days of pulling all-nighters before graduation to the sleepless nights spent recording and producing in your shared studio, your friendship had come a long way.

But you’d shaken your head at him, urging him to look at the sheets. The memory of your pen slicing into the sheets was still burnt onto your fingertips, your vision almost blurring with tears as you scrawled every word that came to mind. Fiery, sensual, vengeful words seared onto the paper, a clear reflection of everything that had silently plagued you every night, every sunset, until you broke.

 “He sounds upset, I’m asking baby where you at, I called you earlier but you didn’t call me back…”

You met Hongjoong a little more than 4 years ago in a dive bar- him, the tired university student looking for a break and you, the evening’s entertainment. Your set had been entirely covers of moody love songs, reminiscent of your own sentiments- all you wanted to do was write your own music but it seemed all rookies were destined to be stuck with small gigs and other artists’ music. 

But for some reason, this one man with electric blue hair that contrasted- clashed, even, with his formal outfit had approached you after you finished your set. Only when he sidled closer to you did you noticed the paint splatters on his cuffs and the tiny earring dangling against his neck. The first thing he told you was that he had fallen in love with your voice and would love to get you a drink so he could hear it more. 

Even in the heartbroken haze you were in, you knew there was something about this odd patch-work quilt of a man with a sparkly smile that you couldn’t shake. Conversation had been uncannily easy after that-

Falling in love with Hongjoong however, hadn’t been a cakewalk by any means. 

 “He’s breaking down, I’m about to lose it… I’m screaming who the fuck were you with…”

Falling for Hongjoong was walking through fire and hail and ice; it was always expecting the worst out of each other but somehow ending up with the best too; to see each other as flawed humans before possible targets of affection. It took a good part of a year for the both of you to acknowledge any sentiment beyond friendship for each other, even more time to consider dating. 

He’d been hesitant at first- so had you. But as Hongjoong murmured to you that fateful evening your relationship began, the thought of not knowing how you’d be together was one he could not digest. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t agreed- but to disagree would’ve been a regretful lie. 

Over the years, it had always warmed your heart to have known without a shadow of a doubt that he would walk through all the world’s calamities for your hand in his.

Kim Hongjoong was perfect, after all. 

The perfect son of a perfect family, the visual arts graduate with a perfect score, the perfect fit for a job as an art gallery’s curator- Surely, his love was tinted with the same shade of perfection as the rest of him?

You were wrong. 

 “I grab my keys you better tell me where you at… he said he fucked up but there’s no taking it back...”

Kim Hongjoong was fickle as a wayward breeze where the matters of the heart were concerned. It was easier for him to let people love him, feel the adoration for him rolling off people’s eyes and bodies than be the person to love freely. Love was vulnerability to him, but gods, did he make vulnerability look gorgeous. 

Maybe the very reason he began to love you at first was because you didn’t care for his perfection.

His words still echoed in your ears sometimes, especially in nights that were woefully sober or afternoons that were hopelessly unproductive. There had been a time when the only things you remembered of the honeyed rasp was from your best dreams, promising you forever in every day- 

Not anymore. All you remembered now was the way he had sounded that night, alcohol and regret mixing badly in his veins, voice rough and stilted and broken as he asked you for forgiveness, for space in your heart despite his mistakes.

 “I gave everything to you and this is what you turn around and do…”

You wish you’d never driven to him after his teary confessions, hoping against hope he was pranking you and had only drunk too much to cater to common sense. You wish you hadn’t walked yourself to his best friends’ night club and have to witness the look of pity Seonghwa and San cast upon before handing Hongjoong over to you. 

You wish you hadn’t put yourself through the utterly tragic ordeal of picking up after him. Especially now, that you know how the future would look after that night. 

The memories steeled your voice through the smooth notes, the music rising and falling as the backing track began to build. You’d struggled to record this section of the song- your breath always seemed to catch and hold when you sang the words, your chest feeling too heavy, tongue too leaden to mouth the next lines. But today, the tune was like second nature to your lips, the sentiment almost easy to express. 

Surely he was watching now, wherever he was, the lyrics’ meaning sinking into his skin with every word. Some tiny, savage part of your brain hoped he felt the same cold terror and sense of unfairness you felt all this while- you hoped he would drown in it until it consumed him, soul and all. 

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

He’d crawled into your bed with you that night, holding you closer than he had ever held you in 3 years. Soothed your tears of pure disappointment and cried way too many of his own, your shoulders shuddering as you pulled each other closer. Murmured apologies a million times, over and over again against your skin as he curled his body around yours, until you fell into a restless sleep. 

You still remember the time-dampened images of the nightmare you had that night, the shadows laughing at you for being an inadequate girlfriend, an unfit person, that he probably cheated because you weren’t doing enough for him. You’d awoken a mere couple of hours after the both of you had nodded off, Hongjoong’s grip on your body still tight despite his state of slumber. 

Was he worried you’d wake up and walk away?

He would find you in your kitchen in his old shirt when he woke up anyway, tired eyes and tired limbs and enough coffee for 2 in the French press. 

 “I wanna know, every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you've been lying…”

A mistake, he’d called it. One-off error in judgement, a single moment in time he had chosen not to listen to his better sensibilities. It had happened once, entirely because of his lapse in judgement, he said. It would never happen again; he swore to you. Promised to you with your hands in his, earnestness in his gaze that you had never been subjected to until now- then again, he’d never given you reason to mistrust him until now. 

You’d asked for a promise from Hongjoong that day- a no-closed-doors policy on your relationship. It should’ve been a no-brainer as far as you were concerned, but it seemed that people like Hongjoong needed the reminder that not all people lived the way they did. That love wasn’t reckless free fall to everybody, a spark that burns fast and bright and fizzles out just as quick. 

 “I wanna know, does she fuck you like I did…I wanna know, and will she love you like I did…”

You wish you’d been less mature about the whole affair. 

Singing the words aloud only made you wish you’d thrown the words at him the first time it happened, instead of now, behind the safety of two screens and physical distance. You should’ve allowed yourself the sheer meltdown that the situation warranted, allowed the rage to take over your system even if it was for those few unfiltered seconds.

Hongjoong’s actions hadn’t deserved the maturity you afforded them. But you couldn’t blame yourself- in those fleeting moments, the primary emotions you had felt was that of inadequacy. You should’ve trusted yourself more.

 “Boy this ain’t how it’s supposed to be...Dancing between someones else’s sheets…”

After the burning hurt from the fiasco died down, it felt like Hongjoong had taken it upon himself to prove to you how special, how important, how absolutely irreplaceable you were to him. In the haze of it all, you ended up loving it. 

The once almost stoic man was now making an effort to be more to you, less of the disappointment he had caused you. He made an effort to talk to you, open up about his frayed relationship with love – hesitant at first and then naturally. 

I care about you. I love you; he’d murmured to the ceiling one night. You were silent, body resting against his as he arranged the sheets higher around your bodies. I wanted to know what we’d be like together and I haven’t regretted a second of it. I can’t imagine my days without you around.  A soft kiss planted against your hairline that you returned against the crook of his neck as sleep claimed you.

 “I can’t believe this is really happening, your guilty conscience is going to be the death of me..”

The next few months were a daily reminder of how much Kim Hongjoong had come to know you over the years of your relationship. Your favourite flowers turned up like clockwork at your desk every Tuesday, accompanying a note in his quick, scratchy handwriting – a new tradition of mid-week dates at experimental restaurants with oddly planned menus. Voice notes of his raspy morning voice sending you sweet affirmations that rung in your ears late into the afternoon. 

Even the way he touched you felt softer, more… reverent. Like he’d had a taste of what he stood to lose and never wanted to think of it again. As each day passed, you found yourself resting easy, basking in the attention and adoration and soft romance of it all.

Looking back on it, you should’ve known. What was it they say about a cheat?

They expect you to be loyal to them despite their faithlessness.

 “You got so caught up in the moment...But she’ll only love you when she’s lonely…”  

The second time it happened, the only thing your heart felt was a wildfire doused in rage and an almost crippling sense of treachery. A fellow artist in the same recording company as you had slipped into the studio late one night, just as you were packing up to head home. She’d pulled you to the couch on the side, holding your hands in hers as she hesitated before asking her questions- Are you sure your boyfriend is faithful? He keeps leaving the club I perform at with other girls?

Your fingers curled tightly around the mic, trying your hardest not to let your other hand clench the fabric covering your legs. You would give the world neither the privilege nor the misfortune of knowing how much truth this song really held. The world didn’t- no, Hongjoong didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

 “This ain’t a game you better tell me where you're at, No boy, you fucked up and there’s no taking it back..”

You’d dropped by Hongjoong’s apartment that night, hands shaking in your coat pockets and head spinning from the rush of emotions. You had a spare key, and it was only a matter of dropping him a quick text before letting yourself in. Betrayal? Rage? Frustration? Disappointment? It was the disgusting cocktail in the pit of your stomach that led you to snoop through his phone while he was in the shower-

You wish you hadn’t but oh, you’d be damned if you weren’t glad you had.

He’d brought girls to his apartment at the end of so-called club hopping nights with Seonghwa. Every Friday. Ever since he’d made his ‘promise’ to you.

Every single Friday.

He’d bedded some random chick from the clubs and then turned up at your doorstep every weekend like nothing had ever happened.

Every. Single. Friday.

 “I gave everything to you …and this is what you turn around and do..”

You remember slipping out of Hongjoong’s apartment as quickly as you had turned up, faking an emergency at the studio to dash out the front door. Stubbornly holding your tears at bay as you drove back to your own neighbourhood, out of the car and into your apartment. Collapsing on your couch in a daze just as the breakdown began.

You still don’t know if the tears you shed that night were of anger or sadness- with the urge to destroy everything Hongjoong stood for, the only thing you wanted to do was never see him again.

For a second, you were transported back to that disaster of a night, the studio melting away into the familiar walls of your apartment, closing in on you as the despair and bottomless rage set in. There was an edge to your voice as you sang now, more angry than sad like before. Was he listening? Was he able to hear your farewell in the lyrics?

Was he panicking that you found out? Or worse, did he not care at all?

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

The next morning, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, but with one clear motive seared into your mind- revenge.

You’d allowed him into your heart, let him build a home there for years and years. You had loved him every way you knew how to- broken at first, unconditionally later. You’d given him trust, a currency you were known to be stingy with- and he turns around and does this to you.

Maybe that was childish of you; maybe a more mature person would’ve broken it off that day, wallowed in heartbreak and made efforts to move on. But no, not you.

If Hongjoong had found it acceptable to take girls home while being in a relationship with you, he would definitely find it acceptable if you aired some of his dirty laundry yourself.

 “I wanna know every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you been lying..”

Chris had been concerned when you walked into the studio, looking almost entirely functional and not worse for wear at all.

It made sense, your best friend’s worry. It had only been 3 days since…since the incident and besides an update message, you had burrowed yourself at home and entirely unreachable. But here you were today, sheets of paper filled with your scrawl covering the table in front of you- lyrics.

Read them, you’d muttered, shoving the pages towards him- your hands shook slightly, the first crack in your façade. They’re a bit of a mess, but they mostly make sense.

Only you would remember being drunk off your mind on whiskey and later, wine the whole time. Alternating between feverish writing and heartbroken sobbing. Pretending to be completely fine to Hongjoong, telling him to not ‘interrupt your creative process’. Staring out into the starrless night skies and wishing that one day soon, Hongjoong would feel the hell you were feeling now. One day, you would look a camera in the eye and sing these lyrics out loud, for the world to hear, for him to hear. And you’ll be damned if that day, Kim Hongjoong didn’t get his final taste of who he’d just lost.

 “I wanna know…does she fuck you like I did, I wanna know,  will she love you like I did..”

Getting the right feel to the lyrics while recording the song had been all too easy, waving off Hongjoong’s curiosity about your newest project easier so.

It was a surprise for him, you would smile, dropping fleeting kisses against his cheekbones and jaw just the way he liked. He always smiled and dragged your mouth to his own, letting his smile slide against your own, murmuring that he was going to follow you into the studio to take a peek for curiosity’s sake. 

Talk often fizzled out at that point, because god, it was so difficult to stay away from each other’s bodies and out of each other’s arms after the long days of being your own people, strong and resourceful and adult and independent. It was easier to let your muscle memories take over, touch and sense and feel every single wretched thing that Hongjoong was so capable of making you feel.  

 “She won't do you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…she won't touch you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t get a wild sense of pleasure singing those lines, your eyes not leaving the camera pointed at you. Was it revenge well served? A broken heart being healed?

Over the weeks of preparing for the song, you’d realized how true those words were. The burning sense of betrayal and hurt hadn’t faded in the least- you still woke up every morning feeling lesser than, but never again. Never would you let anybody feel like this again.

Nobody would love Hongjoong like you could. It was about time he realized that. Pity, though, that you wouldn’t be around to witness it. 

“She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.”

The music fizzled out into silence, the producers counting down as you stayed still- 3,2,1 cut! In pursuit of the feeling of reckless freedom, Hongjoong had lost the one person he claimed made him feel like he belonged. How unfortunate for him, you mused, as the studio erupted in claps, the producers grinning widely and everybody smiling at each other. In the middle of the chaos, the door swung open- His eyes were wide, short blonde hair a windswept mess against his forehead, the single stalk of your favourite flower hanging limp in his hands. Surely there were paint marks on his cuffs, and the tiny earring would jingle prettily when he moved, but as his gaze met your dead ones, you could only think one thing-

She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think~ xoxo, Elliana.

Network Tag: @kpopscape​

[ingravinoveritas]

Hello, my dear. I've just found out about your blog and I love it. I'm from France and here, it's hard to find GO fans, even let alone MS / DT fans. Apparently, they're not very famous in my country. Sign of bad taste from my fellow citizens, I guess. Sorry to bring this up but I was wondering...did you see the last post with Michael and Anna out for a gala or something ? What do you think about it ? I hated it but I must admit they played their roles as the happy couple quite well. Caroline

Hello, Anon/Caroline! Oh, thank you very much for the kind words, I appreciate it greatly. I don’t know how you found me, but I’m truly glad you are enjoying my blog.

I did see the post you mentioned, from the 150th anniversary of the Royal Albert Hall event last night. I am wondering, though...why did you hate it? Your reaction is completely valid and of course you have the right to feel what you do, but I am curious. The response I had to those pictures is that I just can’t quite buy what is being sold. The post and the caption (which has a whole set of issues by itself) seemed carefully curated to say one thing, but the body language and the awkwardness in the pictures themselves said something else entirely.

I’ve mentioned this before, but one of the things I love about Michael is that, as incredible of an actor as he is--capable of portraying any emotion and concealing them on camera--he cannot hide his emotions in real life. For good or for bad, Michael always gives away his true feelings. I think you nailed it when you said they are “playing the roles” of a happy couple, but even with Michael being such a talented actor, it’s just not quite convincing. In the pictures she posted, his posture stays the same in each one. AL is leaning in, putting herself into Michael’s space, but he never seems to put himself into her space. It just sort of looks like she needed pictures of them together and he halfheartedly went along with it as best he could. 

More than anything, when I saw those pictures, I thought of selfies he has taken with previous girlfriends (particularly Sarah S.), and what those looked like. How he actually was in Sarah’s space, how he held her close and was visibly, clearly into her. But in these pictures with AL, he looks the same way he does when taking pictures with a fan...not the way someone looks when taking a picture with a significant other. And that makes me sad, really. Sad for Michael, and on some level sad for AL, because Michael very obviously feels what he feels--or doesn’t feel--and it’s been like this in every picture they’ve taken together for the last few years. And they both deserve to be with someone who truly cares for them.

(The one other thing that I thought was peculiar was that on Sunday, Michael dropped that tweet about playing football with Myrtle, very heavily suggesting that he and David were spending time together--without mentioning the Staged reunion at all, mind you--knowing full well what the fandom would do with that, and people went crazy. Then the very next night, AL posted those pictures on Instagram. Somehow, that just doesn’t seem like a coincidence...)

So, yes. Those are my thoughts on the pictures of Michael and Anna. It was not my intention here to be hateful, but rather to give my honest, straightforward impressions. I hope this answered your question. Thank you for writing in! x