nebula.

#   ⁺  𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐒  ,  1991  [ #400 GIFS ] VARIOUS /  damson idris is nigerian, specifically yoruba, please cast accordingly and use appropriately. all of the gifs have been created from scratch by me. to access the gifs please click the source link. do not edit, claim as your own or add into your own hunts! time and effort were spent into making these gifs, a like or a reblog would be much appreciated!

trigger warning ( s ) ⠀   ⸻　 drinking , kissing .

you may : edit them , use in crackships , turn into gif icons — as long as credit is given !

don’t : claim them as your own , use to roleplay as real people / underaged characters , in smut threads — just don’t be shitty !

Vampire and hunter falling for one another (I'm rewatching Buffy at the moment).

Old friends meet again (maybe at a reunion or a party) and realise they had feelings for one another.

Together in a past life and when they meet in the modern day the memories of being together come back.

Jihoon abandoned the comfort of the sofa, his movements carrying a specific intent that felt more and more like the laborious peeling away of a protective barrier he had worn for the better part of a decade. As his feet found the floor, he consciously let the residual warmth of their playful bickering drain from his posture, forcing his spine into the rigid, uncompromising alignment of Rowoon------- a character who weaponized his arrogance because vulnerability felt too much like a defeat. Antonio's parting observation about their hyper-awareness of one another crawled through his nerve endings, striking a nerve so profoundly true that it made his skin prickle with an uncomfortable, static temperature. It was terrifyingly accurate; he knew the exact micro-expression that signaled Antonio's hesitation, knew the specific flow of his breath when a joke was merely a defense mechanism, and yet, as Jihoon stepped into the open space of the living room, he realized the flipside of that coin was a truth he had spent years actively burying in the furthest recesses of his mind. He had been pretending that the invisible wall between them was built entirely of platonic respect and fraternal devotion, but standing there, stripping away the comfort of his own identity, reality began to take shape: he wasn't afraid of ruining a friendship, he was completely paralyzed by the realization that if he once allowed himself to look at Antonio and see a lover, he would never be able to look at him any other way again.

Closing the distance between them with Rowoon's characteristic focused stride, Jihoon let the script slide from his memory to his tongue, his features hardening into the intense, combustible frustration that defined the enemies-to-lovers arc of the scene. "You love pushing your luck, don't you?" The words rolled out with a bitter, biting intensity, perfectly capturing Rowoon's desperate attempt to maintain control over a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of his grasp, but the breath required to deliver the lines came shallow and fast as he chose to invade Antonio's personal space. He adopted the passionate and rather possessive mannerisms of his character, tilting his chin upward in a silent challenge, his shoulders squared as he loomed just inches away, allowing his eyes to trace the line of Antonio's jaw with an unblinking focus that he had never permitted himself to utilize during their casual hangouts. It was a careful performance, an impeccable imitation of a man driven mad by a forbidden attraction, but their proximity began to blur the boundary between the fiction of the script and the horrifyingly real sensations flooding his body. He could feel the radiating warmth rolling off Antonio, could smell the faint, familiar scent of his cologne blended with the nervous energy of the room, and for the first time, Jihoon's chest constricted not from the creative block of an actor, but from the visceral, overwhelming realization that he wanted the script to be real.

then jihoon stopped. the room seemed to shrink around the space separating them, and antonio found himself forgetting every carefully rehearsed line that was supposed to come next. all he could see was the complete absence of hesitation in front of him, even though he knew it had cost jihoon everything to stand there like that. the realization settled heavily in his chest. this wasn’t confidence, it was trust. jihoon had handed him the scene entirely, silently asking him to carry them across the one hurdle neither of them had been able to clear. antonio’s heartbeat became almost laughably loud in his own ears as he searched jihoon’s face, expecting to find some trace of the grin that always rescued them from awkward moments. it never came. instead, there was only quiet patience and unwavering eye contact. and for the first time all day, antonio stopped thinking about cameras, directors, blocked choreography. . . or whether marcus would kiss rowoon convincingly enough. he wasn’t looking at the script anymore, he wasn’t even thinking about it. all he could think about was how strange it felt that the person standing inches away from him was somehow the same man he’d known for years. . . yet suddenly looked entirely unfamiliar.

My dear Arthur,

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why. I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it. Arthur, oh, Arthur. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams. I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

a  palm  pressed  to  the  door,  holding  it  agape  for  miremba  to  pass  through  before  himself,  following  suit  after  to  return  to  walk  by  her  side.   “  thank  you,  i  won't  go  on  a  ego-trip,  i'll  spare  you  today. ”   although  many  saw  him  as  somebody  who  got  there  with  ease,  it  wasn't  exactly  the  case  with  a  pressuring  father  who  was  one  of  the  best  in  his  sports  field.   “ what  i  actually  do  ?  hm, ”   a  heavier  intake  of  air  is  taken,  pondering  about  it  for  a  while  and  for  the  first  time,  he  finds  the  only  answer  is  rugby,  the  only  thing  he  truly  focuses  on  —-  only  hobby  or  sport  he  had  tried  out.   “ go  with  the  flow,  i  suppose...  i  don't  have  a  record  of  exploring  much  else  than  rugby,  and  the  tactics  surrounding  it. ”   small  chuckle,  mostly  in  a  disregarding  manner.   “ i've  never  really  thought  about  this  before,  i  will  admit. ”   head  doesn't  turn  but,  callum  does  side-glimpse  the  femme  next  to  him,  wondering  how  somebody  he  just  met,  somebody  who  were  supposed  to  be  ...  a  challenge  ...  made  his  brain  circulate  in  such  depth.   “ most  my  life  evolves  around  rugby,  my  father  was  also  the  captain  at  this  very  school  back  in  his  day. ”   spoken  with  pride  but,  listening  closely  there  was  that  tint  of  something  unsaid,  that  a  parent's  dream  was  pushed  down  through  generations   ;   not  much  choice  to  be  made.

her   attention   lingered   for   a   moment   when   he   mentioned   his   father,   catching   the   subtle   change   in   his   voice   despite   the   pride   attached   to   it.   miremba   had   always   been   someone   who   noticed   the   small   things.   the   pauses,   the   things   people   quickly   moved   past.   she   didn’t   push,   though.   not   yet.   instead,   she   allowed   the   silence   to   exist   for   a   moment   before   his   shoulder   brushed   against   hers,   the   playful   shift   pulling   a   softer   smile   from   her.   ❝   mysterious?   ❞   she   repeated,   raising   an   eyebrow.   ❝   that’s   a   very   dramatic   way   of   saying   i   spend   a   lot   of   time   studying.   ❞   as   they   continued   down   the   street,   she   looked   ahead,   considering   his   question   more   seriously   than   she   expected   to.   it   wasn’t   often   someone   asked   about   her   future   without   assuming   they   already   knew   the   answer.   ❝   i   think   i   want   to   do   something   that   actually   matters.   ❞   she   admitted   after   a   moment.   ❝   something   where   i   can   look   back   and   know   i   helped   people   somehow.   i’ve   always   been   interested   in   medicine,   research   especially.   there’s   something   fascinating   about   understanding   how   things   work   and   using   that   knowledge   to   fix   what   doesn’t.   ❞

Jihoon let out a rough snort, the sound rich with a self-deprecating amusement that he couldn't quite mask. He would love nothing more than to fire back with a grand defense of his own romantic capabilities, to prove he wasn't just some clueless idiot when it came to matters of the heart, but the glaring failure of his last relationship stood as a pretty damning contradiction to that claim. The brutal reality of the entertainment industry-------- where prioritizing a rising career, enduring impossible scheduling conflicts, and navigating the inevitable green-eyed monster of jealousy were standard practice---------- could easily tear even the deepest love apart at the seams. Time and time again, Jihoon had been the one to let his ex down, allowing his fierce professional ambition to completely overshadow the quiet needs of a real romance. So, fine, perhaps he wasn't exactly Prince Charming in real life, even if he possessed the exact symmetrical, striking facial features that made him look the part on a billboard. Yet, when he looked past his own shortcomings and thought about the overwhelming public reception to Rowoon and Marcus on screen, he felt a genuine jolt of pride. The audience reaction had been boisterous, passionate, and incredibly supportive, moving across all sorts of different sexual orientations to celebrate the genuine chemistry the two men were bringing to the screen. It was exactly because of this profound viewer investment that Jihoon knew he couldn't just coast on his looks or mindlessly go through the motions to get this pivotal kiss done. He had been absent from the romance genre for far too long, and a part of him was admittedly still sour from his own broken heart, but he constantly reminded himself that this was for the fans, specifically for the sheer, ecstatic joy he wanted to ignite when his character finally surrendered to his buried affections.

With a defeated huff, he finally relented, silently admitting that the roadblock might actually be his own doing. In the great detail of the script, Rowoon was supposed to be the driving force of the entire sequence, the confident man who actively provokes a true, undeniable physical passion, but that intensity simply wasn't translating when the two people in the room were entirely platonic friends who lacked even a single spark of genuine desire. "You're the one who's acting like a total board anyway," he argued back with stubborn, near-pout that entirely betrayed his stature as a fully grown, mature leading man. "It's honestly like trying to seduce a boring brick wall. Way to make an already weird situation ten times more awkward." He knew there had to be technical tricks that veteran actors and actresses employed to get through these exact moments, methods to manufacture a convincing heat when the cameras started rolling, but sitting here in the quiet of his leased estate, those industry secrets felt entirely out of reach. He tossed his script onto the cushion beside him, running a hand through his hair as frustration began to overtake his initial amusement. "I don't know how else to put it, it's just not... sexy. Rowoon and Marcus are supposed to have this combustible chemistry and pull, and right now, you're giving me the energy of stale bread. We have got to change up our approach or we're going to tank this entire episode."

every glance became overanalyzed. every touch became awkward. every line was delivered with one foot already halfway out the door, like they were both trying to apologize for the scene before it even happened. the worst part was that he understood exactly why. because jihoon wasn’t some random costar he had met three months ago. he was jihoon. the person antonio called when something good happened. the person he called when something terrible happened. the person who somehow occupied such a permanent place in his life that antonio rarely stopped to think about it anymore. friendship had made everything effortless right up until the moment the script demanded something more complicated. his eyes lifted again as jihoon spoke, and for the first time since the conversation had started, antonio didn’t immediately joke his way out of it. ’ let’s try a complete role reversal for this, then. you be the one to kiss me first this time. ’ the words landed harder than they probably should have. antonio blinked, once and twice. all at once, he became acutely aware of the fact that jihoon was actually looking at him instead of laughing. there was no punchline waiting around the corner. no sarcastic remark, nor an easy escape route disguised as humour. just a genuine suggestion, and perhaps a solution.

The brownies had been a mix of their own grandmother's recipe and something he needed to pass for class. As well as being a college kid and liking a certain type of brownie.

Reyan had been in the middle of sifting some flour when the sound of knocking had pulled him from his focus. White dust flew everywhere- though most landed on his apron thankfully.

"Ah-? Coming!" He called out, looking for a towel to wipe himself down quickly as he made his way over to the door. Was he expecting guests? He couldn't remember inviting anyone over.

Dusty apron and all he opened the door expecting- not Clover?

"Clover?" Reyan blinked, slightly startled at seeing her. It wasn't unpleasant to see her, just unexpected. He opened his mouth to say more when he noticed the tightly clutched flowers and blinked yet again. "Those are... daisies?"

standing  on  his  doorstep  now,  however,  every  carefully  prepared  thought  abandoned  her  at  once.  ❝  reyan!  ❞  the  sight  of  him  filled  her  with  an  immediate,  almost  ridiculous  amount  of  excitement.  maybe  it  was  the  alcohol,  maybe  it  wasn’t.  clover  couldn’t  quite  tell  anymore.  her  smile  widened  the  moment  she  saw  him  standing  there  in  his  flour  covered  apron,  white  dust  scattered  across  the  front  of  it  and  even  lingering  near  his  sleeves.  for  a  second  she  simply  stared.

❝  you’re  baking.  ❞  it  wasn’t  a  question,  it  sounded  more  like  a  revelation.  her  gaze  slowly  traveled  from  the  apron  to  his  face  before  dropping  to  the  flowers  in  her  hand.  she  lifted  them  proudly.  ❝  these  aren’t  daisies.  ❞  a  moment  passed.  clover  squinted  down  at  them.  ❝  .  .  .  i  don’t  think  they’re  daisies.  ❞  another  pause.  ❝  they  might  be  tulips!  ❞  she  looked  genuinely  concerned  by  this  discovery  before  immediately  deciding  it  wasn’t  important.  with  all  the  confidence  of  someone  several  drinks  beyond  sober,  she  brought  the  flowers  toward  him.

Buuuuut the honeymoon phase of easy comedic banter was officially drawing to a close... and the production was shifting gears into a much more demanding phase of storytelling. The directors were ready to crank up the underlying romantic tension, transitioning the characters from petty arguments into a space defined by heavily concentrated glances at each other's lips, unexpected physical proximity, and a general influx of affection from Jihoon's otherwise standoffish character, Rowoon. This sudden shift in dynamic was precisely where a wave of profound awkwardness began to breach their usual comfort zone, manifesting in suddenly uncontrollable bursts of laughter. It wasn't a matter of attraction; anyone with eyes could see that Antonio was an exceptionally good-looking person, but Jihoon had simply never looked at him through a romantic lens, and he was entirely certain the sentiment was strictly mutual. Compounding the professional stress was a heavy undercurrent of public scrutiny, as the entire fandom was still openly grieving the messy demise of Jihoon's last real-world relationship. His supporters mourned his heartbreak just as deeply as he did, stubbornly holding onto the fantasy that he would eventually reconcile with the woman they all deemed his absolute perfect match. Jihoon, meanwhile, was still privately wrestling with the uncomfortable realization that perhaps such a flawless ideal simply did not exist.

"Come on, we really have to get serious now," Jihoon pleaded, a wide, bright grin breaking across his face as he tried and failed to restore a sense of professional decorum to the room. They were currently holed up in the sprawling country estate that Jihoon had leased for the duration of the long-term shoot, surrounded by stacks of high-lighted scripts and half-empty coffee mugs. They had been sitting there for hours and had barely managed to clear three full pages of dialogue, constantly finding ways to distract themselves or deliberately stalling before they reached the specific cue where Rowoon was supposed to gently run his thumb across Antonio's lower lip. Every single time they rehearsed the blocking, Jihoon would lose his composure entirely, his carefully cultivated image of a mature, stoic leading man crumbling into helpless amusement within seconds. He gave his script a firm tap against his knee, attempting to project an authority he didn't currently possess. "How on earth are we supposed to shoot the big first kiss sequence on set tomorrow if you can't manage to keep it together?" He phrased it as a challenge to his friend, though in truth, it was a collective failure; neither of them seemed remotely equipped to handle the shift from best friends to fated lovers.

the problem, unfortunately. . . was jihoon. not in the way he meant it, but in the way he always seemed to be. antonio had worked with attractive people before. he’d kissed costars before. he’d played love interests before. none of that was new. jihoon wasn’t even making him nervous. if anything, he was the exact opposite. he was familiar, comfortable, and predictable. antonio knew the look on his face before he made a joke. he knew which restaurants he secretly hated and which songs he’d pretend not to know before singing every lyric anyway. he knew the sound of his laugh, the cadence of his voice when he was tired, the specific expression he made whenever he thought he’d won an argument. somewhere along the way, jihoon had become so deeply woven into the fabric of his life that separating ’ jihoon ’ from ’ best friend ’ felt nearly impossible. ❝ i think that’s what’s wrong with this whole thing. ❞ he admitted, tossing the script onto the table. ❝ everybody else sees two characters falling in love. meanwhile i’ve got years of evidence that you’re an idiot. ❞