#I spent all day reading serious news articles

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem I wish I wrote!!

warnings: none

pairing: husband! percy jackson x wife! reader

summary: married life with percy headcannons

୨୧ best husband ever, I don’t make the rules

୨୧ living on a house by the beach for sure

୨୧ waking up to the gentle sounds of waves omg omg

୨୧ sometimes percy likes to stay in bed for a while in the morning and watch you sleep peacefully

୨୧ but on many other occasions he gets up early and makes breakfast

୨୧ all blue too, if it can be colored you know he will take this opportunity

୨୧ typically beach houses have back porches so you put a table out there and on days when the weather is nice you sit outside to eat!

୨୧ anyways he loves when you read to him

୨୧ he loves listening to your voice, always soothing to him

୨୧ most nights when you settle in bed for the night he has you read a few chapters, he swears it helps him sleep

୨୧ some nights will be spent on the beach though

୨୧ watching the sunset, swimming, watching the stars, etc

୨୧ late night swims 100%

୨୧ and I mean like waking you up in the middle of the night just to swim with you

୨୧ for what reason? you don’t know, but it makes him incredibly happy so you go along with it

୨୧ bickering all the time definitely

୨୧ It’s never anything serious though, always playful

୨୧ you’re always stealing percy’s clothes

୨୧ his wardrobe is your wardrobe now!!

୨୧ he loves it though, and sometimes he helps you pick out your outfits for you

୨୧ he always makes sure that at least one article of clothing you’re wearing is his

୨୧ partially because he likes seeing you in his clothes and partially so if you have any encounters with someone trying to hit on you they’ll know you’re married

୨୧ and speaking of knowing you’re married whenever he’s with people or whatever he tries to find a way to talk about you

୨୧ he’ll purposely show off his wedding ring, making sure it’s in direct eyesight so everyone knows he’s married

୨୧ moving back to the subject of helping you get ready I know he would love to do your hair for you

୨୧ It’s the sweetest thing ever he’d purposely watch videos or do whatever to learn a new hairstyle for him to try out on you

୨୧ puts so much effort into it too… he is determined to make you happy

୨୧ moving on I feel like his hugs would be so comforting

୨୧ the smell of the ocean and faint cologne

୨୧ hugs from behind >>

୨୧ especially in the morning or at night when he’s sleepy and just nuzzles his head in your shoulder taking in your scent

୨୧ percy always smiles like crazy when you walk into the room

୨୧ It doesn’t even matter if you’ve been gone for five minutes, a half an hour, thirty seconds he’s just happy you’re back with him <3

୨୧ he refuses to let you leave the house with him, always insisting you do absolutely everything together

୨୧ ‘adds onto the married life’ he says but you know it’s just because he loves being with you

୨୧ but to wrap this up he’s definitely the most perfect husband, you wouldn’t trade him for the world 🫶🏼

[minustwofingers]

love is a laserquest p.1

masterlist

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

warnings: no cws, but i will say that i don't know anything about this career path so i apologize if i'm totally butchering it!

a/n: see ? see? i promise i haven't forgotten about you guys/this blog/this request. this is admittedly a short installment, but you've all been so good about waiting and i had a little itch to write tonight. hopefully more of this will be posted soon. i hope you enjoy!

tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl​ @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

wc: 1.8k

enjoy!

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” 

You sit and extend your hand, smiling as diplomatically as you can manage to the girl sitting across from you. 

She ignores you.

“I said hi,” you repeat.

One painted eyebrow arches the slightest, but she doesn’t look your way. 

You grit your teeth. A question list that you’ve meticulously prepared is memorized and tucked away in your mind, but now you’re just furious that you spent so much time preparing for an interview with someone who wouldn’t even look you in the eye. 

While you wait for the camera crew to get ready, you sit and observe the room—movie posters behind both you and Lina, bright lights that are already making you sweat shone down from above, and a homey oak wood coffee table between you two to give the air of casualness. 

God, you hate this. All you want to do is go home. 

“Ready?” a cameraman says from the side. 

You send a game smile his way. “Ready.”

“We’re rolling.”

“Hi!” said the girl across from you, suddenly laser-focusing her attention on you with so much bubbly energy that it made you feel like you’d gotten whiplash. “It’s so good to meet you. I’m so glad that we were able to do this.”

“Me too,” you respond, saccharine sweet. “You have no idea how excited we are to have you, Lina! It seems like all anyone wants to talk about nowadays is your role in Ontario.”

The interview’s length is oppressive and mind-numbing. By the time you ask your last question and Lina sends you her last dazzling smile, you’re already on the brink of offing yourself on the camera for all to see.

“And cut,” said someone over your shoulder.

You relax, letting out a long breath. That was the last one for the day. You got to go home now.

But since you were a normal human being, you give Lina one last try to redeem herself.

“It was great having you,” you say in a way that you hope reads as genuine. “Thank you for coming in.” 

Lina doesn’t respond—she’s already back on her phone, intent on ignoring you. 

The drive home is awful and long and full of LA traffic. It was something you’d never quite forgive your younger self for—not advocating for yourself sooner. If you had, maybe you would’ve already been taking the subway alongside all the other New Yorkers, surrounded by serious people wearing serious clothes and carrying serious things around in their briefcase.

Instead you got the quirkiness of Southern California, all arid air full of cigarette smoke and lost aspirations. When you first came to LA, naive and blithely optimistic about your prospects as a journalist, you thought that living near Hollywood would be exciting, all the energy and dreams like firecrackers to the social scene. 

Then you got off the plane and realized it’d all been a lie. There’s no hope in a place like Hollywood. It’s the most hopeless place in the world, knowing that all your servers and Uber drivers and retail employees are all working 3 other jobs to make up their rent as they chase a dream that will never happen. 

Because no one ever makes it big. Well—no one really. One year into your life at PopNow! has made you interact with more people who have, you suppose, “made it big”, and each interaction is dependably more absurd than the last. Like Lina. God, you hate Lina. 

You reach your apartment right when the sun is kissing the horizon, the royal purple of the night descending upon the sky. That was another thing you missed—the stars. You’d missed them when you were at Columbia, but that was when you knew you went back home to the midwestern countryside. Now you’re stuck in the light-polluted hell of California, and there’s no way to know when you’re going to get out. 

You should have turned the job down, you think to yourself as you get ready for bed. The face wash you rub into your skin obediently forms into silky little bubbles. You should have just done whatever you’d had to do to stay in New York, even if it meant being unemployed and living in a broom closet with 3 other people. 

But you’re a writer. And you’re getting published, and that’s all that matters.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

~

The assignment is in your inbox when you wake up the next morning at a prompt 5:30am. As you go about your normal routine, you let the words in the message sink in.

Alyssa’s in the hospital. Emergency appendectomy. 

Alyssa’s the most senior writer at PopNow!, regularly netting the juiciest recorded interviews. 

…interview today that needs to be completed…

You angrily beat your legs back into scissor kicks as you run through the motions of your favorite apartment-friendly pilates routine. Today was supposed to be your day off.

…musician Ellie Williams…

…2pm…

…great opportunity…

You have no fucking clue who Ellie Williams is. She’s never been mentioned on NPR or the New York Times, the only two news sources you bother to follow, so she can’t be that relevant. Or at least not relevant enough to warrant you losing your one day off. But that’s what it’s like to be working in showbiz. Your days don’t belong to you anymore. 

By the time that you’re in the studio, hands folded and question list memorized, you feel like you know all you need to know about Ellie. 

She’s got everything you need to be a world-wide sensation. Humble, small-town beginnings? Check. Sympathetic backstory that makes even the most hardened viewer’s heart soften? Check. Conveniently conventionally attractive features, well-placed tattoos, and a certain swagger that seems so natural it has to be somehow hard-coded into her genes? Check, check, and check.

You’ve interviewed hundreds of Ellie Williams. You’re ready for this. 

Jan from production sets out glasses of water on the table in front of you, one for you and another poised in front of the empty chair.

“You ready?” she asks, not unkindly. “Don’t be nervous. I know that this might be a bigger one than you’re used to, but there’s a reason why Stephen asked you to fill in for Alyssa. You’ve got this, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say. The smile you send her back is tense, because as much as you hate to admit it, you are nervous. It’s ridiculous how something you don’t even care about for an industry you think is bullshit is capable of getting under your skin, but you’d done very few recorded interviews. When you imagined what kind of hard-hitting journalism you’d be doing back when you were at Columbia, it was nothing like this. 

You sit and wait, bouncing your leg and hoping the rest of you looks at ease. The set is as corny and soulless as always, one tall houseplant shoved half-heartedly between the two blue cushioned chairs like an afterthought. There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table between you two, as if you’d crack open People mid-shot.

You hate your job so much. You always feel so bad thinking this way—there are people out there who would probably actually kill for the chance to be rubbing elbows with the celebrities you did on a regular basis—but whenever you start feeling too guilty, you think of how you ended up here, your dream internship getting whisked away by fucking nepo baby Becca, and then you let yourself be angry again. 

A door slams shut, and suddenly you’re all business again. 

The first thing you notice about Ellie Williams is that she’s actually very tiny, especially in comparison to the burly camera man that she squeezes by to make her way on set. She’s looking a little preppier than she does on stage, donning a pair of wide-legged black trousers, chunky black docs, and a haphazardly buttoned forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough for you to see the entirety of her arm tattoo. 

“Hi.” You rise from your chair to offer a hand, feel the pressure of her fingers gently gripping yours. “I’m Y/N.”

Ellie blinks. “Uh, hi. I’m Ellie.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“I thought Alyssa was going to be interviewing me,” says Ellie. She drops into the chair opposite of you, crossing a leg over the other thigh.

“Emergency appendectomy,” you supply.

The way Ellie reacts makes you regret this immediately. 

“Oh,” she says, cringing. “Shit—oh, can I swear in here?”

“We’re not rolling yet,” you say gently. 

“That’s, uh, really too bad,” she says. Her tattooed hand reaches up to scrub the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to blink and stare at her blankly. “Um, thanks? I don’t really know her.”

“Right, right.” Ellie lets out a long sigh that you take as an offense. The interview hasn’t even started, and the languid way she reclines back in the chair reads as already bored with you. “So, do we just go ahead and…”

“Yes,” you say, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah, we’re ready.”

Brilliant start.

The interview begins in earnest, and for once in your life, you’re actually rattled by this girl, by the way she tilts her head at your questions, tongue running over the flat of her front teeth. She has freckles sprinkled across her nose that didn’t show up in any of the photos you’ve seen of her on stage. The ones where she’s awash in blue light, guitar slung over her shoulder and hair sticking to her forehead. It’s disquieting, honestly, how she could just spring a surprise like that on you. 

By some miracle, you manage to get through your list of questions without forgetting anything, but sometimes you stutter on your delivery and have to fight to keep yourself from grimacing. Nothing that she tells you is ground-breaking, nothing you don’t already know. In other interviews, you’re normally able to slip into a sort of conspiratorial voice, prying out information and digging a little deeper than your interviewees intend. But with Ellie, you’re paralyzed, stuck straight to the script that had been sent over to Ellie’s publicist for approval. 

Not like you’d get away with anything when it came to Ellie, either. She has bags under her eyes that you can see concealer creasing in. It’ll wash out post-production under the bright studio lights, but up close it’s obvious that she’s not interested in entertaining any bullshit. 

When it’s over, you’re sure your face is on fire with how hot your cheeks feel. Ellie looks just as nonplussed as ever. 

“It was nice to meet you,” you squeak out. 

She takes her time answering you, busy with draining the glass of water Jan had set out in front of you both and, once it’s empty, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves. 

“Likewise,” she says, and then before you can think to say anything else, she’s gone. 

[yamayuandadu]

Shikigami and onmyōdō through history: truth, fiction and everything in between

Abe no Seimei exorcising disease spirits (疫病神, yakubyōgami), as depicted in the Fudō Riyaku Engi Emaki. Two creatures who might be shikigami are visible in the bottom right corner (wikimedia commons; identification following Bernard Faure’s Rage and Ravage, pp. 57-58)

In popular culture, shikigami are basically synonymous with onmyōdō. Was this always the case, though? And what is a shikigami, anyway? These questions are surprisingly difficult to answer. I’ve been meaning to attempt to do so for a longer while, but other projects kept getting in the way. Under the cut, you will finally be able to learn all about this matter. 

This isn’t just a shikigami article, though. Since historical context is a must, I also provide a brief history of onmyōdō and some of its luminaries. You will also learn if there were female onmyōji, when stars and time periods turn into deities, what onmyōdō has to do with a tale in which Zhong Kui became a king of a certain city in India - and more!

The early days of onmyōdō In order to at least attempt to explain what the term shikigami might have originally entailed, I first need to briefly summarize the history of onmyōdō (陰陽道). This term can be translated as “way of yin and yang”, and at the core it was a Japanese adaptation of the concepts of, well, yin and yang, as well as the five elements. They reached Japan through Daoist and Buddhist sources. Daoism itself never really became a distinct religion in Japan, but onmyōdō is arguably among the most widespread adaptations of its principles in Japanese context.

Kibi no Makibi, as depicted by Yoshitoshi Tsukioka (wikimedia commons)

It’s not possible to speak of a singular founder of onmyōdō comparable to the patriarchs of Buddhist schools. Bernard Faure notes that in legends the role is sometimes assigned to Kibi no Makibi, an eighth century official who spent around 20 years in China. While he did bring many astronomical treatises with him when he returned, this is ultimately just a legend which developed long after he passed away.

In reality onmyōdō developed gradually starting with the sixth century, when Chinese methods of divination and treatises dealing with these topics first reached Japan. Early on Buddhist monks from the Korean kingdom of Baekje were the main sources of this knowledge. We know for example that the Soga clan employed such a specialist, a certain Gwalleuk (観勒; alternatively known under the Japanese reading of his name, Kanroku).

Obviously, divination was viewed as a very serious affair, so the imperial court aimed to regulate the continental techniques in some way. This was accomplished by emperor Tenmu with the formation of the onmyōryō (陰陽寮), “bureau of yin and yang” as a part of the ritsuryō system of governance. Much like in China, the need to control divination was driven by the fears that otherwise it would be used to legitimize courtly intrigues against the emperor, rebellions and other disturbances.  Officials taught and employed by onmyōryō were referred to as onmyōji (陰陽師). This term can be literally translated as  “yin-yang master”. In the Nara period, they were understood essentially as a class of public servants. Their position didn’t substantially differ from that of other specialists from the onmyōryō: calendar makers, officials responsible for proper measurement of time and astrologers. The topics they dealt with evidently weren’t well known among commoners, and they were simply typical members of the literate administrative elite of their times.

Onmyōdō in the Heian period: magic, charisma and nobility

The role of onmyōji changed in the Heian period. They retained the position of official bureaucratic diviners in employ of the court, but they also acquired new duties. The distinction between them and other onmyōryō officials became blurred. Additionally their activity extended to what was collectively referred to as jujutsu (呪術), something like “magic” though this does not fully reflect the nuances of this term. They presided over rainmaking rituals, purification ceremonies, so-called “earth quelling”, and establishing complex networks of temporal and directional taboos.

A Muromachi period depiction of Abe no Seimei (wikimedia commons)

The most famous historical onmyōji like Kamo no Yasunori and his student Abe no Seimei were active at a time when this version of onmyōdō was a fully formed - though obviously still evolving - set of practices and beliefs. In a way they represented a new approach, though - one in which personal charisma seemed to matter just as much, if not more, than official position. This change was recognized as a breakthrough by at least some of their contemporaries. For example, according to the diary of Minamoto no Tsuneyori, the Sakeiki (左經記), “in Japan, the foundations of onmyōdō were laid by Yasunori”.

The changes in part reflected the fact that onmyōji started to be privately contracted for various reasons by aristocrats, in addition to serving the state. Shin’ichi Shigeta notes that it essentially turned them from civil servants into tradespeople. However, he stresses they cannot be considered clergymen: their position was more comparable to that of physicians, and there is no indication they viewed their activities as a distinct religion. Indeed, we know of multiple Heian onmyōji, like Koremune no Fumitaka or Kamo no Ieyoshi, who by their own admission were devout Buddhists who just happened to work as professional diviners.

Shin’ichi Shigeta notes is evidence that in addition to the official, state-sanctioned onmyōji, “unlicensed” onmyōji who acted and dressed like Buddhist clergy, hōshi onmyōji (法師陰陽師) existed. The best known example is Ashiya Dōman, a mainstay of Seimei legends, but others are mentioned in diaries, including the famous Pillow Book. It seems nobles particularly commonly employed them to curse rivals. This was a sphere official onmyōji abstained from due to legal regulations. Curses were effectively considered crimes, and government officials only performed apotropaic rituals meant to protect from them. The Heian period version of onmyōdō captivated the imagination of writers and artists, and its slightly exaggerated version present in classic literature like Konjaku Monogatari is essentially what modern portrayals in fiction tend to go back to.

Medieval onmyōdō: from abstract concepts to deities

Gozu Tennō (wikimedia commons)

Further important developments occurred between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. This period was the beginning of the Japanese “middle ages” which lasted all the way up to the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate. The focus in onmyōdō in part shifted towards new, or at least reinvented, deities, such as calendarical spirits like Daishōgun (大将軍) and Ten’ichijin (天一神), personifications of astral bodies and concepts already crucial in earlier ceremonies. There was also an increased interest in Chinese cosmological figures like Pangu, reimagined in Japan as “king Banko”. However, the most famous example is arguably Gozu Tennō, who you might remember from my Susanoo article. 

The changes in medieval onmyōdō can be described as a process of convergence with esoteric Buddhism. The points of connection were rituals focused on astral and underworld deities, such as Taizan Fukun or Shimei (Chinese Siming). Parallels can be drawn between this phenomenon and the intersection between esoteric Buddhism and some Daoist schools in Tang China. Early signs of the development of a direct connection between onmyōdō and Buddhism can already be found in sources from the Heian period, for example Kamo no Yasunori remarked that he and other onmyōji depend on the same sources to gain proper understanding of ceremonies focused on the Big Dipper as Shingon monks do. 

Much of the information pertaining to the medieval form of onmyōdō is preserved in Hoki Naiden (ほき内伝; “Inner Tradition of the Square and the Round Offering Vessels”), a text which is part divination manual and part a collection of myths. According to tradition it was compiled by Abe no Seimei, though researchers generally date it to the fourteenth century. For what it’s worth, it does seem likely its author was a descendant of Seimei, though. Outside of specialized scholarship Hoki Naiden is fairly obscure today, but it’s worth noting that it was a major part of the popular perception of onmyōdō in the Edo period. A novel whose influence is still visible in the modern image of Seimei, Abe no Seimei Monogatari (安部晴明物語), essentially revolves around it, for instance.

Onmyōdō in the Edo period: occupational licensing

Novels aside, the first post-medieval major turning point for the history of onmyōdō was the recognition of the Tsuchimikado family as its official overseers in 1683. They were by no means new to the scene - onmyōji from this family already served the Ashikaga shoguns over 250 years earlier. On top of that, they were descendants of the earlier Abe family, the onmyōji par excellence. The change was not quite the Tsuchimikado’s rise, but rather the fact the government entrusted them with essentially regulating occupational licensing for all onmyōji, even those who in earlier periods existed outside of official administration.

As a result of the new policies, various freelance practitioners could, at least in theory, obtain a permit to perform the duties of an onmyōji. However, as the influence of the Tsuchimikado expanded, they also sought to oblige various specialists who would not be considered onmyōji otherwise to purchase licenses from them. Their aim was to essentially bring all forms of divination under their control. This extended to clergy like Buddhist monks, shugenja and shrine priests on one hand, and to various performers like members of kagura troupes on the other. 

Makoto Hayashi points out that while throughout history onmyōji has conventionally been considered a male occupation, it was possible for women to obtain licenses from the Tsuchimikado. Furthermore, there was no distinct term for female onmyōji, in contrast with how female counterparts of Buddhist monks, shrine priests and shugenja were referred to with different terms and had distinct roles defined by their gender. As far as I know there’s no earlier evidence for female onmyōji, though, so it’s safe to say their emergence had a lot to do with the specifics of the new system. It seems the poems of the daughter of Kamo no Yasunori (her own name is unknown) indicate she was familiar with yin-yang theory or at least more broadly with Chinese philosophy, but that’s a topic for a separate article (stay tuned), and it's not quite the same, obviously.

The Tsuchimikado didn’t aim to create a specific ideology or systems of beliefs. Therefore, individual onmyōji - or, to be more accurate, individual people with onmyōji licenses - in theory could pursue new ideas. This in some cases lead to controversies: for instance, some of the people involved in the (in)famous 1827 Osaka trial of alleged Christians (whether this label really is applicable is a matter of heated debate) were officially licensed onmyōji. Some of them did indeed possess translated books written by Portuguese missionaries, which obviously reflected Catholic outlook. However, Bernard Faure suggests that some of the Edo period onmyōji might have pursued Portuguese sources not strictly because of an interest in Catholicism but simply to obtain another source of astronomical knowledge. 

The legacy of onmyōdō 

In the Meiji period, onmyōdō was banned alongside shugendō. While the latter tradition experienced a revival in the second half of the twentieth century, the former for the most part didn’t. However, that doesn’t mean the history of onmyōdō ends once and for all in the second half of the nineteenth century. 

Even today in some parts of Japan there are local religious traditions which, while not identical with historical onmyōdō, retain a considerable degree of influence from it. An example often cited in scholarship is Izanagi-ryū (いざなぎ流) from the rural Monobe area in the Kōchi Prefecture. Mitsuki Ueno stresses that the occasional references to Izanagi-ryū as “modern onmyōdō” in literature from the 1990s and early 2000s are inaccurate, though. He points out they downplay the unique character of this tradition, and that it shows a variety of influences. Similar arguments have also been made regarding local traditions from the Chūgoku region.

Until relatively recently, in scholarship onmyōdō was basically ignored as superstition unworthy of serious inquiries. This changed in the final decades of the twentieth century, with growing focus on the Japanese middle ages among researchers. The first monographs on onmyōdō were published in the 1980s. While it’s not equally popular as a subject of research as esoteric Buddhism and shugendō, formerly neglected for similar reasons, it has nonetheless managed to become a mainstay of inquiries pertaining to the history of religion in Japan.

Yoshitaka Amano's illustration of Baku Yumemakura's fictionalized portrayal of Abe no Seimei (right) and other characters from his novels (reproduced here for educational purposes only)

Of course, it’s also impossible to talk about onmyōdō without mentioning the modern “onmyōdō boom”. Starting with the 1980s, onmyōdō once again became a relatively popular topic among writers. Novel series such as Baku Yumemakura’s Onmyōji, Hiroshi Aramata’s Teito Monogatari or Natsuhiko Kyōgoku’s Kyōgōkudō and their adaptations in other media once again popularized it among general audiences. Of course, since these are fantasy or mystery novels, their historical accuracy tends to vary (Yumemakura in particular is reasonably faithful to historical literature, though). Still, they have a lasting impact which would be impossible to accomplish with scholarship alone.

Shikigami: historical truth, historical fiction, or both?

You might have noticed that despite promising a history of shikigami, I haven’t used this term even once through the entire crash course in history of onmyōdō. This was a conscious choice. Shikigami do not appear in any onmyōdō texts, even though they are a mainstay of texts about onmyōdō, and especially of modern literature involving onmyōji.

It would be unfair to say shikigami and their prominence are merely a modern misconception, though. Virtually all of the famous legends about onmyōji feature shikigami, starting with the earliest examples from the eleventh century. Based on Konjaku Monogatari, there evidently was a fascination with shikigami at the time of its compilation. Fujiwara no Akihira in the Shinsarugakuki treats the control of shikigami as an essential skill of an onmyōji, alongside the abilities to “freely summon the twelve guardian deities, call thirty-six types of wild birds (...), create spells and talismans, open and close the eyes of kijin (鬼神; “demon gods”), and manipulate human souls”. 

It is generally agreed that such accounts, even though they belong to the realm of literary fiction, can shed light on the nature and importance of shikigami. They ultimately reflect their historical context to some degree. Furthermore, it is not impossible that popular understanding of shikigami based on literary texts influenced genuine onmyōdō tradition. It’s worth pointing out that today legends about Abe no Seimei involving them are disseminated by two contemporary shrines dedicated to him, the Seimei Shrine (晴明神社) in Kyoto and the Abe no Seimei Shrine (安倍晴明神社) in Osaka. Interconnected networks of exchange between literature and religious practice are hardly a unique or modern phenomenon. 

However, even with possible evidence from historical literature taken into account, it is not easy to define shikigami. The word itself can be written in three different ways: 式神 (or just 式), 識神 and 職神, with the first being the default option. The descriptions are even more varied, which understandably lead to the rise of numerous interpretations in modern scholarship. Carolyn Pang in her recent treatments of shikigami, which you can find in the bibliography, has recently divided them into five categories. I will follow her classification below.

Shikigami take 1: rikujin-shikisen

An example of shikiban, the divination board used in rikujin-shikisen (Museum of Kyoto, via onmarkproductions.com; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

A common view is that shikigami originate as a symbolic representation of the power of shikisen (式占) or more specifically rikujin-shikisen (六壬式占), the most common form of divination in onmyōdō. It developed from Chinese divination methods in the Nara period, and remained in the vogue all the way up to the sixteenth century, when it was replaced by ekisen (易占), a method derived from the Chinese Book of Changes.

Shikisen required a special divination board known as shikiban (式盤), which consists of a square base, the “earth panel” (地盤, jiban), and a rotating circle placed on top of it, the “heaven panel” (天盤, tenban). The former was marked with twelve points representing the signs of the zodiac and the latter with representations of the “twelve guardians of the months” (十二月将, jūni-gatsushō; their identity is not well defined). The heaven panel had to be rotated, and the diviner had to interpret what the resulting combination of symbols represents. Most commonly, it was treated as an indication whether an unusual phenomenon (怪/恠, ke) had positive or negative implications. It’s worth pointing out that in the middle ages the shikiban also came to be used in some esoteric Buddhist rituals, chiefly these focused on Dakiniten, Shōten and Nyoirin Kannon. However, they were only performed between the late Heian and Muromachi periods, and relatively little is known about them. In most cases the divination board was most likely modified to reference the appropriate esoteric deities.

Shikigami take 2: cognitive abilities

While the view that shikigami represented shikisen is strengthened by the fact both terms share the kanji 式, a variant writing, 識神, lead to the development of another proposal. Since the basic meaning of 識 is “consciousness”, it is sometimes argued that shikigami were originally an “anthropomorphic realization of the active psychological or mental state”, as Caroline Pang put it - essentially, a representation of the will of an onmyōji. Most of the potential evidence in this case comes from Buddhist texts, such as Bosatsushotaikyō (菩薩処胎経). 

However, Bernard Faure assumes that the writing 識神 was a secondary reinterpretation, basically a wordplay based on homonymy. He points out the Buddhist sources treat this writing of shikigami as a synonym of kushōjin (倶生神). This term can be literally translated as “deities born at the same time”. Most commonly it designates a pair of minor deities who, as their name indicates, come into existence when a person is born, and then records their deeds through their entire life. Once the time for Enma’s judgment after death comes, they present him with their compiled records. It has been argued that they essentially function like a personification of conscience. 

Shikigami take 3: energy

A further speculative interpretation of shikigami in scholarship is that this term was understood as a type of energy present in objects or living beings which onmyōji were believed to be capable of drawing out and harnessing to their ends. This could be an adaptation of the Daoist notion of qi (氣). If this definition is correct, pieces of paper or wooden instruments used in purification ceremonies might be examples of objects utilized to channel shikigami. 

The interpretation of shikigami as a form of energy is possibly reflected in Konjaku Monogatari in the tale The Tutelage of Abe no Seimei under Tadayuki. It revolves around Abe no Seimei’s visit to the house of the Buddhist monk Kuwanten from Hirosawa. Another of his guests asks Seimei if he is capable of killing a person with his powers, and if he possesses shikigami. He affirms that this is possible, but makes it clear that it is not an easy task. Since the guests keep urging him to demonstrate nonetheless, he promptly demonstrates it using a blade of grass. Once it falls on a frog, the animal is instantly crushed to death. From the same tale we learn that Seimei’s control over shikigami also let him remotely close the doors and shutters in his house while nobody was inside.

Shikigami take 4: curse As I already mentioned, arts which can be broadly described as magic - like the already mentioned jujutsu or juhō (呪法, “magic rituals”) - were regarded as a core part of onmyōji’s repertoire from the Heian period onward. On top of that, the unlicensed onmyōji were almost exclusively associated with curses. Therefore, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that yet another theory suggests shikigami is simply a term for spells, curses or both. A possible example can be found in Konjaku Monogatari, in the tale Seimei sealing the young Archivist Minor Captains curse - the eponymous curse, which Seimei overcomes with protective rituals, is described as a shikigami.

Kunisuda Utagawa's illustration of an actor portraying Dōman in a kabuki play (wikimedia commons)

Similarities between certain descriptions of shikigami and practices such as  fuko (巫蠱) and goraihō (五雷法) have been pointed out. Both of these originate in China. Fuko is the use of poisonous, venomous or otherwise negatively perceived animals to create curses, typically by putting them in jars, while goraihō is the Japanese version of Daoist spells meant to control supernatural beings, typically ghosts or foxes. It’s worth noting that a legend according to which Dōman cursed Fujiwara no Michinaga on behalf of lord Horikawa (Fujiwara no Akimitsu) involves him placing the curse - which is itself not described in detail -  inside a jar.

Mitsuki Ueno notes that in the Kōchi Prefecture the phrase shiki wo utsu, “to strike with a shiki”, is still used to refer to cursing someone. However, shiki does not necessarily refer to shikigami in this context, but rather to a related but distinct concept - more on that later.

Shikigami take 5: supernatural being

While all four definitions I went through have their proponents, yet another option is by far the most common - the notion of shikigami being supernatural beings controlled by an onmyōji. This is essentially the standard understanding of the term today among general audiences. Sometimes attempts are made to identify it with a specific category of supernatural beings, like spirits (精霊, seirei), kijin or lesser deities (下級神, kakyū shin). However, none of these gained universal support. Generally speaking, there is no strong indication that shikigami were necessarily imagined as individualized beings with distinct traits.

The notion of shikigami being supernatural beings is not just a modern interpretation, though, for the sake of clarity. An early example where the term is unambiguously used this way is a tale from Ōkagami in which Seimei sends a nondescript shikigami to gather information. The entity, who is not described in detail, possesses supernatural skills, but simultaneously still needs to open doors and physically travel. 

An illustration from Nakifudō Engi Emaki (wikimedia commons)

In Genpei Jōsuiki there is a reference to Seimei’s shikigami having a terrifying appearance which unnerved his wife so much he had to order the entities to hide under a bride instead of residing in his house. Carolyn Pang suggests that this reflects the demon-like depictions from works such as Abe no Seimei-kō Gazō (安倍晴明公画像; you can see it in the Heian section), Fudōriyaku Engi Emaki and Nakifudō Engi Emaki.

Shikigami and related concepts

A gohō dōji, as depicted in the Shigisan Engi Emaki (wikimedia commons)

The understanding of shikigami as a “spirit servant” of sorts can be compared with the Buddhist concept of minor protective deities, gohō dōji (護法童子;  literally “dharma-protecting lads”). These in turn were just one example of the broad category of gohō (護法), which could be applied to virtually any deity with protective qualities, like the historical Buddha’s defender Vajrapāṇi or the Four Heavenly Kings. A notable difference between shikigami and gohō is the fact that the former generally required active summoning - through chanting spells and using mudras - while the latter manifested on their own in order to protect the pious. Granted, there are exceptions. There is a well attested legend according to which Abe no Seimei’s shikigami continued to protect his residence on own accord even after he passed away. Shikigami acting on their own are also mentioned in Zoku Kojidan (続古事談). It attributes the political downfall of Minamoto no Takaakira (源高明; 914–98) to his encounter with two shikigami who were left behind after the onmyōji who originally summoned them forgot about them.

A degree of overlap between various classes of supernatural helpers is evident in texts which refer to specific Buddhist figures as shikigami. I already brought up the case of the kushōjin earlier. Another good example is the Tendai monk Kōshū’s (光宗; 1276–1350) description of Oto Gohō (乙護法). He is “a shikigami that follows us like the shadow follows the body. Day or night, he never withdraws; he is the shikigami that protects us” (translation by Bernard Faure). This description is essentially a reversal of the relatively common title “demon who constantly follow beings” (常随魔, jōzuima). It was applied to figures such as Kōjin, Shōten or Matarajin, who were constantly waiting for a chance to obstruct rebirth in a pure land if not placated properly.

The Twelve Heavenly Generals (Tokyo National Museum, via wikimedia commons)

A well attested group of gohō, the Twelve Heavenly Generals (十二神将, jūni shinshō), and especially their leader Konpira (who you might remember from my previous article), could be labeled as shikigami. However, Fujiwara no Akihira’s description of onmyōji skills evidently presents them as two distinct classes of beings.

A kuda-gitsune, as depicted in Shōzan Chomon Kishū by Miyoshi Shōzan (Waseda University History Museum; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

Granted, Akihira also makes it clear that controlling shikigami and animals are two separate skills. Meanwhile, there is evidence that in some cases animal familiars, especially kuda-gitsune used by iizuna (a term referring to shugenja associated with the cult of, nomen omen, Iizuna Gongen, though more broadly also something along the lines of “sorcerer”), were perceived as shikigami.

Beliefs pertaining to gohō dōji and shikigami seemingly merged in Izanagi-ryū, which lead to the rise of the notion of shikiōji (式王子; ōji, literally “prince”, can be another term for gohō dōji). This term refers to supernatural beings summoned by a ritual specialist (祈祷師, kitōshi) using a special formula from doctrinal texts (法文, hōmon). They can fulfill various functions, though most commonly they are invoked to protect a person, to remove supernatural sources of diseases, to counter the influence of another shikiōji or in relation to curses.

Tenkeisei, the god of shikigami

Tenkeisei (wikimedia commons)

The final matter which warrants some discussion is the unusual tradition regarding the origin of shikigami which revolves around a deity associated with this concept. 

In the middle ages, a belief that there were exactly eighty four thousand shikigami developed. Their source was the god Tenkeisei (天刑星; also known as Tengyōshō). His name is the Japanese reading of Chinese Tianxingxing. It can be translated as “star of heavenly punishment”. This name fairly accurately explains his character. He was regarded as one of the so-called “baleful stars” (凶星, xiong xing) capable of controlling destiny. The “punishment” his name refers to is his treatment of disease demons (疫鬼, ekiki). However, he could punish humans too if not worshiped properly.

Today Tenkeisei is best known as one of the deities depicted in a series of paintings known as Extermination of Evil, dated to the end of the twelfth century. He has the appearance of a fairly standard multi-armed Buddhist deity. The anonymous painter added a darkly humorous touch by depicting him right as he dips one of the defeated demons in vinegar before eating him. Curiously, his adversaries are said to be Gozu Tennō and his retinue in the accompanying text. This, as you will quickly learn, is a rather unusual portrayal of the relationship between these two deities.

I’m actually not aware of any other depictions of Tenkeisei than the painting you can see above. Katja Triplett notes that onmyōdō rituals associated with him were likely surrounded by an aura of secrecy, and as a result most depictions of him were likely lost or destroyed. At the same time, it seems Tenkeisei enjoyed considerable popularity through the Kamakura period. This is not actually paradoxical when you take the historical context into account: as I outlined in my recent Amaterasu article, certain categories of knowledge were labeled as secret not to make their dissemination forbidden, but to imbue them with more meaning and value.

Numerous talismans inscribed with Tenkeisei’s name are known. Furthermore, manuals of rituals focused on him have been discovered. The best known of them, Tenkeisei-hō (天刑星法; “Tenkeisei rituals”), focuses on an abisha (阿尾捨, from Sanskrit āveśa), a ritual involving possession by the invoked deity. According to a legend was transmitted by Kibi no Makibi and Kamo no Yasunori. The historicity of this claim is doubtful, though: the legend has Kamo no Yasunori visit China, which he never did. Most likely mentioning him and Makibi was just a way to provide the text with additional legitimacy.

Other examples of similar Tenkeisei manuals include Tenkeisei Gyōhō (天刑星行法; “Methods of Tenkeisei Practice”) and Tenkeisei Gyōhō Shidai (天刑星行法次第; “Methods of Procedure for the Tenkeisei Practice”). Copies of these texts have been preserved in the Shingon temple Kōzan-ji.

The Hoki Naiden also mentions Tenkeisei. It equates him with Gozu Tennō, and explains both of these names refer to the same deity, Shōki (商貴), respectively in heaven and on earth. While Shōki is an adaptation of the famous Zhong Kui, it needs to be pointed out that here he is described not as a Tang period physician but as an ancient king of Rajgir in India. Furthermore, he is a yaksha, not a human. This fairly unique reinterpretation is also known from the historical treatise Genkō Shakusho. Post scriptum The goal of this article was never to define shikigami. In the light of modern scholarship, it’s basically impossible to provide a single definition in the first place. My aim was different: to illustrate that context is vital when it comes to understanding obscure historical terms. Through history, shikigami evidently meant slightly different things to different people, as reflected in literature. However, this meaning was nonetheless consistently rooted in the evolving perception of onmyōdō - and its internal changes. In other words, it reflected a world which was fundamentally alive. The popular image of Japanese culture and religion is often that of an artificial, unchanging landscape straight from the “age of the gods”, largely invented in the nineteenth century or later to further less than noble goals. The case of shikigami proves it doesn’t need to be, though. The malleable, ever-changing image of shikigami, which remained a subject of popular speculation for centuries before reemerging in a similar role in modern times, proves that the more complex reality isn’t necessarily any less interesting to new audiences.

Bibliography

Bernard Faure, A Religion in Search of a Founder?

Idem, Rage and Ravage (Gods of Medieval Japan vol. 3)

Makoto Hayashi, The Female Christian Yin-Yang Master

Jun’ichi Koike, Onmyōdō and Folkloric Culture: Three Perspectives for the Development of Research

Irene H. Lin, Child Guardian Spirits (Gohō Dōji) in the Medieval Japanese Imaginaire

Yoshifumi Nishioka, Aspects of Shikiban-Based Mikkyō Rituals

Herman Ooms, Yin-Yang's Changing Clientele, 600-800 (note there is n apparent mistake in one of the footnotes, I'm pretty sure the author wanted to write Mesopotamian astronomy originated 4000 years ago, not 4 millenia BCE as he did; the latter date makes little sense)

Carolyn Pang, Spirit Servant: Narratives of Shikigami and Onmyōdō Developments

Idem, Uncovering Shikigami. The Search for the Spirit Servant of Onmyōdō

Shin’ichi Shigeta, Onmyōdō and the Aristocratic Culture of Everyday Life in Heian Japan

Idem, A Portrait of Abe no Seimei

Katja Triplett, Putting a Face on the Pathogen and Its Nemesis. Images of Tenkeisei and Gozutennō, Epidemic-Related Demons and Gods in Medieval Japan

Mitsuki Umeno, The Origins of the Izanagi-ryū Ritual Techniques: On the Basis of the Izanagi saimon

Katsuaki Yamashita, The Characteristics of On'yōdō and Related Texts

[samwisethewitch]

In Defense of Fluffy Bunnies, or Witchcraft in Times of Burnout

At the very end of 2023, I used my Christmas bonus from work to buy myself a tarot deck I never would have purchased six months earlier.

This deck was from a creator whose work I had really enjoyed in the past, but when I had looked at it earlier in the year, I'd had concerns that it was softening the meaning of some of the more "difficult" cards in the tarot. For example, The Hanged Man is replaced with "The Patient Witch" and Death is replaced with "The Broom." I'd had concerns that replacing these cards, which are traditionally associated with more dire or upsetting readings, meant the creator was trying to whitewash tarot into something cute and fluffy, sacrificing a lot of its depth in the process.

The deck is The Cozy Witch Tarot by Amanda Lovelace, and I'm so glad I gave it a try. This deck has an incredibly kind and gentle feel, but it is absolutely capable of giving serious readings. The depth of the tarot hasn't been compromised at all by Lovelace's changes, and her version's greater emphasis on agency and personal empowerment is exactly what I need in my practice right now. I use this deck to read for myself almost every day.

So what changed? How did I do a complete 180 in my thoughts on this deck in only a few months?

I've always been very opposed to "love and light" or "fluffy bunny" witchcraft. For those who aren't familiar, these are both terms used online (usually negatively) to describe witches who only do "light" or positive magic. According to the Witchipedia, "Generally, the 'fluffy bunnies' have based their practice on only the most delightful aspects of their spiritual path or romanticized, fictional Hollywood or literary accounts of witchcraft or Wicca." From what I can tell, this term came out of Wiccan Internet forums in the 1990s, and it refers to someone who dons the aesthetics and mythology of Wicca or witchcraft without actually engaging critically with magic theory. Fluffy bunnies also tend to focus on feel-good magic, at least according to stereotypes.

Similarly, "love and light" witches are known for only focusing on the lighthearted side of witchcraft. In an opinion article for The Wild Hunt, Storm Faerywolf writes that, "On the surface it seems harmless enough: a philosophy of love, kindness, non-violence, and a concerted practice of positivity." This type of witchcraft is very closely tied to the "spiritual but not religious" movement and borrows a lot of concepts from New Age spirituality, like crystal healing, the Law of Attraction, and chakras. While fluffy bunnies are very much a product of the 1990s, love and light witches are very much a product of the New Age boom of the 2010s.

I've been very vocal about my dislike for both of these types of witchcraft on this blog in the past, and I still 100% agree with Storm Faerywolf, who says in that same article: "But to assert that pain, and fear, and even anger are somehow less important than our joy, our courage, and even our love, is to do a grave disservice to our collective mental and spiritual health... groups that embrace this mode of thinking have effectively ensured that they can mutually avoid anything that might challenge their cultish mindset. Angry over injustice? You’re just living in a lower vibration. Afraid of contracting a deadly virus? You just don’t trust Jesus enough."

I think accepting and working with challenging emotions is an important part of what it means to be a witch. Spiritual bypassing and cries of "good vibes only" do more harm than good. But for a while I got so caught up in rejecting anything even remotely fluffy or love-and-lightish that I ended up with a magical practice that, to be honest, kind of made me miserable. And I don't think I'm the only one.

I spent a lot of 2022 and 2023 wrestling with injustice, both in my spiritual practice and in my personal and professional life. My practice is inspired by witches like Starhawk and Christy C. Road, and politics play a key role. Most of the spells I did in 2023 fall into the category of justice magic, including breaking family curses and hexing rapists. At the same time, I was working a series of direct services jobs that saw me working closely with homeless teenagers, domestic violence victims, and people battling addiction, just to name a few. And that's not even getting into my personal life and recovery as a queer, disabled survivor of abuse.

And let me tell you: By the end of 2023, I was fucking exhausted. I was beyond burnout. And I didn't even want to do magic anymore, because magic had become just another part of my life where I had to face the injustice and harm happening in the world around me.

I was in desperate need of some fluffiness, some love and light. And that was when I bought the Amanda Lovelace tarot deck.

I knew something had to change. In my burnout, I desperately needed to be tenderly cared for. I needed my spiritual practice to be a source of peace and comfort, not a drain on my energy. I needed to get out of the dark for a bit so I could remember how to see the stars.

What I've realized in the last few months is that yes, anger, pain, and fear are important in a balanced magical practice and a balanced life -- but joy, love, and comfort are equally important. And if you spend a lot of time in one part of your life dealing with pain and fear (like I do in my day job), focusing on love and healing in your witchcraft can help keep things balanced.

"Comfort" and "care" are definitely the keywords for my magical practice right now, and that means my magic looks a lot more fluffy than it has in the past. And that's a good thing.

[attapullman]

Morgan Le Fay my darling, I absolutely cannot get over roommate!Bob and the bungalow, it's so cute!!!!!

Oh my God can we talk about how the garden practically explodes overnight??

Bob has a serious green thumb and it shows. That man will raid the entire garden section of Home Depot with zero fucks given (lol).

I also feel like Bob would be a serious herb-crafter. That man is always in the garden or the greenhouse doing some kind of mad science experiment with the plants (I feel like he'd be really curious about using the essential oils and old school techniques for fertilizers, root stimulants and weed and pest control) and would keep all sorts of journals full of drawings and fancy calligraphy about each of the plants, their uses and how to use them.

Mary!! Are you in my brain? It's okay if you are, just tell me!

bungalow!Bob basically lives at Home Depot. The first week he moved in he spent a majority of the time staring into the backyard dismayed at the patchy grass and the handful of weeds you overlooked. Not that he blames you, you're very busy being a hard worker. But this yard? It won't do.

Once he had a firm idea of what he wanted to do - complete with rudimentary sketches on lined notebook paper he stole from your desk - it became the norm to see him out of the corner of your eye coming in from the garage with his arms full of stuff, muscles bulging. "Don't mind me, honey, we can talk about it after your 4 o'clock!"

Every night at dinner he's walking you through this new article he read on re-potting or starting the discussion on bermuda vs. bluegrass. A few times a day he's obsessively checking the basil plant to make sure it has enough water. While watching the next episode of the show you're watching together, you catch him with his phone out, Googling random house things that pop into his mind.

"Bob, babe, you're going to miss what's going on."

Kissing your temple, he rolls his eyes, "You're the one invested in the show, I'm only here to hang out with you."

You give him unamused eyes.

"I'm kidding," he teases. "If I don't look it up now I'm going to forget...and better now or you'll get mad again."

He's referring to calling time out during doggy last night when he just had to look up how quickly concrete cures for the patio stones he wants to install.

[phregnancy]

I'm the anon that sent the ask that inspired the heteronormativity rant and I just wanted to say that I agree with EVERYTHING you said. It's like you read my mind lol. I do think there's definitely something to the idea that you can tell who is familiar with queer culture and who isn't by how they perceive dnp and their relationship. I'm glad you said that open relationships are more common in mlm relationships. I got hate for saying that during the WAD era lol. It's really not a jump to say that dnp might be ENM when one half of the relationship spent 2 years constantly talking about hooking up with other men, but for some reason anything other than a total dismissal was considered homophobic.

You're so right about Dan's femininity being exaggerated. I never understood where this perception of Dan as particularly feminine comes from. He's not lol. I really think it's just that he has a pretty face and some phannies like to project femininity onto him. either bc they want to relate to him or bc they think femboys are hot.

Yes!! They are totally brat×brat. Their relationship is a game of cat and mouse and who is who changes all the time.

While we're talking about heteronormativity, let's also talk about people's insistence on dnp getting married and having kids. Dan even talked about this in Dystopia Daily. How as soon as they got a house people were like "Ok great. Now get a dog and get married". I think that this is what Dan meant when he asked us not to get mad when their reality doesn't fit our fantasies. Like they might not want to get married. They might have sex with other people sometimes. They might not be as cutesy as we imagine or fit the roles that we think they should have. This new era seems to be about breaking down the misconceptions we have of them and their relationship before they open the door and I think that will probably continue at TIT.

rant

adding a few links to studies and articles about the prevalence of ENM in healthy mlm relationships because some people are just unaware - one + two + three + four

as for dan’s femininity being exaggerated, he definitely has embraced the more feminine sides of himself in recent years but i cannot emphasize enough how that barely scratches the surface of what’s considered feminine in queer culture, specifically gay man culture. and dan from a decade ago? 2014 swaggy dan in his snapbacks and graphic tees was not feminine, he was a geek chic nerd boy. the majority of the ultra feminine dan narrative in the early years was projection.

i’m going on another tangent under the cut

i love phwedding hill mostly because i think weddings are a fun party that celebrates love and just in general i love an event, but i don’t think marriage is something they realistically have on their radar or necessarily desire or require at all - which is really okay and common in queer relationships. it wasn’t legal for us to marry our partners for a very long time so our concepts of long lasting commitment and love is different from that of het couples. choosing not to get married doesn’t mean the relationship is any less serious or committed than that of a married couple.

they’ve lived together for 14 years, likely have been dating for the whole 15, a ring and a party will not change the day to day of their relationship in any meaningful way or change what they mean to each other. heteronormativity plays a part but it’s also a cultural leaning towards traditionalism. you’ve been together for an ‘appropriate’ amount of time, you bought a house together and share a mortgage, now it’s time to get engaged and after an ‘appropriate’ amount of time get married, then have children, raise children, etc. and that’s not them, not once in their entire 15 years of being in the public eye have they followed tradition - so why would they start now?

there’s been an argument i’d seen floating around saying that the reason why they’re not married is because of dan’s commitment issues but i disagree. even if for some reason fear of commitment was dan’s motivator for not getting married, phil wasn’t raised with traditionalist values and that would also play a role in not feeling a need to get married. martyn and cornelia have been together for over a decade and have a child together, and they’re still not married. the lesters have never portrayed themselves as ones for conformity and traditionalism.

getting off topic again but i think that one part of the issue with only experiencing queer culture through social media is that it’s very very easy to get sucked into queer traditionalist echo chambers when you haven’t unlearned traditionalist heteronormative values, and think that is the set expectation for queer relationships (and tbh all relationships in general). there are a few lesbian couple influencers that i actually despise because they have commoditized their traditionalist relationships and turned them into something scary and surreal, like over the course of three years both of these couples went from home ownership to engagement to marriage to baby #1 then baby #2 which is an arguably unhealthily fast progression of these things, filmed and set up in a way that’s like their relationships are a show and we need to keep watching for the next season of traditionalist marriages. and if you don’t have experience with queer communities outside of the internet (and i specify queer here because our communities most commonly have nontraditional relationships), it’s very easy to see a couple of accounts like that and feel reaffirmed in your expectations that all relationships have to be like this.

i really hope they continue to share more of their lives with us and that they live their truths as happily and comfortably as they can, and i hope that we as a community can unlearn the values that are doing nothing but hurting us and each other.

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Hope for the present, not the future

Reading the previous post on this blog by Christina, I can’t help but feel… a lot of déja vu, actually. I don’t mean to be blasé at all, because everything that Christina alludes to and talks about in that article is concretely, depressingly relatable. From this side of the Atlantic, I’ve been grimly avoiding looking too deeply into what “Project 2025” entails, because honestly? If it happens, it will happen and I won’t be able to do anything even if I know every up-to-date detail about it, so why borrow the trouble? I have enough in my own life (and country’s politics) already, but being geographically situated next to America is really uncomfortable, in that their problems are almost simultaneously ours, and if they’re not, the entangled political-economic-sociocultural mess makes it that way. And yet my reaction to news of upheaval, disruption, and impending doom is to say “okay” and then go back to my little solarpunk ways of living and being. Given all of the strife that bombards my consciousness on a daily basis, why am I still writing hopelessly naïve articles about compassion and optimism et cetera on the internet? It’s a serious question, not really a rhetorical one. I wrote this article to see if I could come up with an answer; I think I recognized a few different factors, but I’m curious to know what you think after reading through the article. Let me know in the comments.

My father is quite sure that Trump is going to annex Canada,* given our reservoirs of freshwater, and the fact that history is rhyming pretty hard right now in his view as the child of immigrants who left their home after the ravages of World War 2. That one started with Germany annexing Austria, and look how that went. He’s not alone in that opinion, either. However, and perhaps this is the anti-anxiety medication and antidepressants speaking, wars have happened before, a lot, and are happening now, a lot, and people living and dying violently happens pretty much every day; it might just be our turn next. Sucks to suck, but that just seems to be the way of the world, and living on this planet means running the risk of The Bad Thing Happening. Hm, maybe it’s post-car-accident trauma or whatever, but random happenings (not even malice aforethought!) ruins peoples’ lives every day and that’s the way of the world.

Maybe I’m more positive because my family (both sides; my Oma and Opa lived through the war as well before coming to Canada) lived through an apocalypse** that was a political violent upheaval and war in Europe; they were poor farmers already, they had nothing when the politicians decided that the war had ended, and they still managed to make a pretty good life for themselves and their families in the aftermath. So I’ve seen that people can live through these things, and their lives do get better. Eventually. You have to scrimp and save and deal with racist bullshit and work menial jobs for a good long while, but I am programmed to believe that you make it there in the end, because I am living proof of it. So I might be biased, and too focused on that end result.

Or it might be because I recently spent six years studying post-apocalyptic fiction and have read through a myriad of imagined ends … as well as the imagined worlds that come after those ends. Grant you, a lot of those worlds are pretty terrible places to exist! But they do exist. And there are people (the protagonists that we follow) who are working to make it a better place. Kind of like solarpunks are now, actually. To tl;dr the takeaway of the fourth chapter of my dissertation in a very blasé way, horrible death is already a foregone conclusion in the post-disaster/-apocalypse scenarios, so the best thing to do is to make life as good as possible for the people around you for as long as you can to the best of your abilities until you expire.

Looking at the news, it’s easy to conclude that the world is full of doom and gloom and awfulness. Just following the reports coming out of Gaza and the Congo alone makes it pretty hard to imagine humanity acting worse than we already are. But it’s not actually all of humanity committing war crimes and exploiting children and adults with literal slave labour. There happens to be a lot of people who think that behaviour is abhorrent, and are organizing against the inhumane treatment of others (including earth others); there are, in fact, many communities of caring individuals who will stand up for human rights. I don’t think it’s incendiary to say “Hm, maybe you shouldn’t hurt someone else even if they’ve hurt you.” I feel like this is something we try to teach our children and bake into our narratives of who is actually heroic and who isn’t.

The people in charge might be okay with the cost of their political agenda being human suffering, but it helps to keep in mind that, in many cases, they’re a pretty small percentage of a pretty large amount of people. It’s true that in a lot of the so-called democracies we have in the Global North right now, there is a lot of support for terrible people with terrible ideas - but it is also good to keep in mind that the political systems we operate in are, each of them, abysmal. As the saying goes, “democracy is the worst political system, aside from all the other ones.” Jokes aside, reading about the stats of First Past The Post elections, voter suppression, and more can be at the same time disheartening as it is encouraging: there are good people in the world, but a lot of their votes do not count for much … if they can vote at all.

Despite that, I think it is important to participate in one’s political system, no matter where they are located. Especially at the municipal level - that is where I find that some of the most progressive, exciting work is being done. In my opinion, if you aren’t especially thrilled about government, it’s not really very smart to disengage from it, because involved or not, you’ll still fall victim to those who manipulate the political system and you will not know how to fight back. Sun-Tzu says to “know thy enemy” and I’m not suggesting you embark on an entire political science degree, but if you have the capacity for it, participating in direct democracy, attending council meetings, volunteering with a local union or political organization will give you the skills you need to understand and become familiar with the policies affecting your life … and also give you the tools with which to change things. This piece (article and full poem “To Throw a Wrench in the Blood Machine”) by Kyle Tran Myhre discusses voting as just one tool in a toolkit in more detail, in a very nuanced although US-politics centric way, and the line “But those who fight monsters have taught me: short-term and long-term thinking are not mutually exclusive” is very relatable. Solarpunk is about both-and, not either/or.

People survive dark and dangerous times by organizing, by reaching out to each other, by enacting practices of care. Maybe caring for you takes the form of making a poster for your local tenants’ union and NOT going to the rally. Maybe it’s watering the little tree next to your bus stop in a heat wave. Maybe it’s organizing a neighbourhood potluck, or just showing up to the one that someone else organized, signalling solidarity with your presence. I have found that being a body that is present is often such a boon to an organizer, regardless of whether or not your participation goes beyond that.

This essay is rather wander-y and I hope not too Pollyannaish. But I’ve had the sinking feeling that life was only ever going to get worse since I was 23; that’s over a decade that I’ve had to get used to this expectation of future ruin psychically, so perhaps that’s coming out. I don’t really expect things to get better, and I don’t know that I ever have. The only thing that really interrupted my internal narrative of cynicism and doomerism was solarpunk! And I still have to dose myself up with it, deliberately choose to reframe my mindset, whenever I start to spiral. Because I do, a lot, when I think about futures. There’s a reason I’m medicated - there’s nothing off with my brain chemistry, though; instead, everything’s off with the world. I marvel that more people are not clinically depressed or diagnosed with anxiety given the state of things.

As far as I can tell, my hope is thus a very present one: it is sparked by other humans who get together in groups to make life better for other people right now. Life can be terrible, miserable, and dark. The universe can seem vast and uncaring. But somewhere there’s a soup kitchen, and a coalition of people writing their government officials for more affordable housing supports, and they’re caring in this moment about the things that are also happening in this moment and the people who live around them now, and they are not deciding not to act because of a calculation based on a possible future outcome (although certainly that is part of their assessment of the situation, it is not the deciding factor). So I might not be part of those groups, but just knowing that they exist and are working towards justice but also being just now and kind now and acting with compassion now… maybe sometimes that’s what I need to hold on to in order to keep the dark at bay.

I want to write one more paragraph that talks about why then, for me, solarpunk is more oriented towards the now, not to the future. I think I needed to start with a solarpunk that dreamed of possible futures so that I could actually begin to see how I could work in the now, and solarpunk futurism gives me a goal. But personally, solarpunk presents is where it’s at.

—-

*I find it darkly funny that our next prime minister is almost guaranteed to be the alt-right-courting Conservative politician Pierre Poilievre, who has on many occasions criticized our current PM for weakening / destroying / doing bad things to our relationship with America (economic/political/etc). If Trump gets in, Polievre will have to deal with him first hand - and he will either welcome foreign troops with open arms (as many Canadians wish they were Americans, oddly enough) or bumble his way into being bravely run over by tanks.

**I remember interviewing my Beppe in grade three about her childhood experience of WWII and she talked about evacuating down roads where there were dead and bloated cows and human bodies (mostly soldiers) torn apart on the side of the road. Before the end of the war they were eating tulip bulbs and potato peelings in the basement of their home while Nazi troops occupied the main floor. Very apocalyptic. I figured everyone’s grandparents had stories like this, though, and by the time I was fourteen I was so sick of hearing about World War Two, because our history curriculum seemed kind of obsessed. I got it at home AND at school. Ugh, apocalypse, whatever, let me get back to reading my Animorphs plz.

[archiveikemen]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Premium END

Liam Evans

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

(Mm…)

When I woke up, Liam was staring at me with a smile.

Liam: Oh, you’re awake?

Kate: I’m so sorry. I didn't realise I fell asleep…

Liam: Understandable. The sun shining in feels warm and comfortable.

Liam: Besides, children feel warm, right? When they’re cuddled up with you.

We looked at Melissa who was still asleep next to me and smiled.

Liam fixed my messy bangs with his fingertips.

(Huh…)

The fingertips that grazed against my forehead were ice cold.

Kate: Did you go somewhere, Liam?

Liam: Uh, why do you ask…?

Kate: Your hands are cold.

Liam: …

Liam: Nope, I’ve been in here the entire time. Maybe it's because your body temperature is warmer.

Kate: I see. Fufu, you're right.

Liam: You didn't get any scary dreams, right?

Perhaps it was because I had Liam by my side, it felt like that was my first good sleep in a while.

Kate: Yup, thanks to you.

Liam: That’s great. Seeing your smile makes me so happy.

The peaceful time slowly passed.

…

By the time we left the orphanage, the streets had become dark.

Liam: It’s already so late, huh. Sorry for holding you back, Kate.

Kate: It’s alright, it was hard to say goodbye because I’ll miss them so much.

Liam: …

Liam: Hey, Kate.

Liam: How did I do as your boyfriend today?

Liam: Did I make your day go the way you wanted it to?

The time I spent with Liam felt so relaxing that I didn't realise my troubled heart had become calm.

Kate: Yup! I think I can face everyone tomorrow as a Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: Thanks for being my boyfriend for today, Liam.

Liam: Does that mean I “passed”?

Kate: It doesn't feel right to give you a score, but if I have to, you get a perfect score!

Liam: Fufu, really? … I’m so happy. So, so, happy.

Liam moved closer to me and grabbed my hand with movement as fluid as a cat’s.

Our fingers intertwined and he held my hand tightly—

Liam: Is it okay if I hold your hand like this?

Liam: I want to be your boyfriend for today all the way until the moment you fall asleep.

Kate: … Y-Yes.

Liam: You look so cute when you’re shy. Maybe I should really become a candidate for the position as your boyfriend…

Kate: Please don't tease me.

Liam: Ahaha, I’m being serious. But let’s just leave it at that for now.

(... His hand is so warm.)

Even I was captivated by Liam who shone as bright as a star.

…

— A few days later, I spread out a newspaper on the dining table.

That was because Crown was often involved in the cases being reported in the newspapers daily.

(... I hope there isn’t any heartbreaking news.)

At that moment, a news article about “an incident” caught my attention.

Kate: …

— The body of a staff member was found at Bright House Orphanage early this morning.

A hair accessory was reportedly found laying near the body, and the police were on the search for the killer.

(This is…)

(A hair accessory? No way…)

(No, it can’t be Liam. He was with me the entire day—)

Jude: Pass the newspaper to me if you’re done. Oh?

Jude: This is the case Her Majesty let that guy handle.

Kate: Her Majesty…?

Jude: The man who was killed sold children to some crazy people under the guise of putting them up for adoption.

Kate: Sold…

Jude: The world is full of things that are beyond your imagination.

(Then…)

== Flashback Start ==

Kate: What on earth were you doing here?

Liam: Hm? I was playing hide-and-seek. The children invited me to play with them.

(He was collecting evidence at that point in time…)

Kate: Did you go somewhere, Liam?

Liam: Uh, why do you ask…?

Kate: Your hands are cold.

== Flashback End ==

(So while I was asleep, “that” was when—)

Kate: …

(No. I shouldn't speculate.)

(— I’ll talk to Liam. I’ll look him in the eyes and ask for the truth.)

…

Liam welcomed me with a wide smile when I paid a visit to his room.

Liam: I’m so happy to have you come see me. Oh, would you like something to drink? Or—

Kate: … Liam, I have something to ask you.

Liam: Mm, what is it?

(I must confirm it.)

I clenched my chilly fingertips.

Kate: On the day we went to the orphanage… were you carrying out a mission without my knowledge?

Liam: Yup, that's right.

Kate: Why did you hide it from me…?

Liam: …?

Liam: Because it was what you wanted. You said “I’d like my day to be as peaceful as possible”.

(Oh…)

== Flashback Start ==

Liam: Hey, Kate. How do you want your day to go today?

Liam: It’s fine, it’s fine. No need to think too hard about it, just tell me.

Kate: I’d like my day to be as peaceful as possible.

== Flashback End ==

(... Because of… that?)

(... Is that… why Liam kept me completely in the dark about it?)

Liam: What's the matter, Kate? … Are you angry?

Liam: Ah, is it because I lost the hair accessory you bought me?

Kate: … Huh?

Liam: I went back to the scene upon realising that I lost it. But I couldn't find it even after searching for it all night.

Liam: He put up quite a fight, so that must be when I..,

Kate: … If that’s the case, the police have it as evidence.

Liam: The police? Oh right… it was you who bought me that hair accessory.

Liam: I’m really, truly, sorry for not keeping it well…

(... I’m not angry, and neither is that my concern.)

(... What is this strange feeling?)

While I was puzzled by our exchange, I recalled what Harrison told me that day.

"Just a word of advice. That guy will never do anything you don't want him to."

"Especially when you’re someone important to him."

"However, if you look at this from a different perspective—"

(If we look at it from a different perspective, that also means that he’ll do “whatever I want”?)

Liam was doing me a favour, and his kindness was what saved me.

I knew that for certain.

(But something is overwhelmingly—)

Liam: … Kate, did I do something wrong?

Kate: …

Liam: I knew it… . What should I do… I didn't mean to…

Kate: Liam…?

There was a vacant look in his rose coloured eyes and they were shaking like those of a lost child.

That was a side of Liam I didn't know.

Liam: … What did I do wrong… let me think. Let me think…

Liam: …

Liam: Ahh, did I do a bad job at being your boyfriend?

(... What?)

Liam: If that's the case—

Liam grabbed me by my wrist and pinned me down onto the bed.

(!?)

Looking down at me, Liam flashed me an almost dangerous smile.

Liam: Let’s redo this “lovers” thing.

[foxes-that-run]

Is the tweet about not needing no piece of paper from the city hall why larries think they are married? I'm so lost about it all because I thought I read somewhere that larries believe they got married in Australia but was gay marriage even legal there at the time?? Is that tweet actually about Haylor?

I am so glad you asked, I have posted about this in the Anniversary post, but it deserves it's own post. Grab a cup of tea I care too much about this date. Harry and Taylor treat it as an anniversary. It is likely 2012 they mark, but could be 2011:

2011 - Taylor had a show in Utah and Harry was not seen. He was in the US though, One Direction started filming Gotta be you in Upstate New York on the 29th. Prior to this, they had been in the same city a lot, a few signs they were interacting from Taylors concerts. This is however before their generally considered meeting.

2012 - Harry and Taylor were MIA, she filmed Begin Again MV in Paris on the 30th, Harry was seen in London on the 24th then disappears but appears in LA with Ed Sheeran on the 1st, after Taylor left for Paris. The rest of the band stayed in the UK, for example Louis was seen with Eleanor on the 30th. Paris is frequently referred to in their songs and videos. If not 2011 this is the date they mark. They had been connected since the VMAs earlier in the month, so perhaps it was becoming more serious. Harry marked the occasion with his Love Banner Tattoo which is in the I Knew You Were Trouble and Kiss You Music Videos, now covered by the larger Swallow.

2013 - Larries

This tweet is the first time we saw the date marked:

On 2013 (US time) Harry tweeted these lyrics from My Old Man by one of Taylor's fav's, Joni Mitchell. At the time he was in Australia on tour with One Direction. One Direction had just returned from a break, where Harry & Taylor reunited at the VMAs, Harry was MIA while Taylor toured the US and Zayn got engaged. Having just had a break in countries with loved ones in countries with marriage equality any union would have happened in that break.

I think with Zayn's engagement on his mind, missing his girlfriend Harry posted this tweet on their anniversary. Harry spent the night gambling alone and Louis was sick as he lost his voice, presumably he was resting because they had shows. As you say, Australia's Marriage Equality Act was not until December 2017. Additionally at this time the boys were not having fun, they were chaperoned by police.

Confirmation bias.

As you note this tweet caused some confusion in Larries, mostly because a few days later Harry's mum congratulated the Xfactor host Louis on a judging decision and Ed Sheeran congratulated a different friend who got married close to then.

In the years since:

2014 - 1D had a show in Charlotte, Taylor had a Secret Session in Nashville, generally 1989 Secret Sessioners talked about how much she loved the guy the album was about. They had just been MIA when both went from LA to London 2 weeks earlier. Promo for 1989 was underway and Rolling Stone Articles that led to Fools Gold were fresh.

2015 - Taylor was dating Calvin Harris. Harry talked to fans on stage about anniversary sign where the fan got married 5 years after their first kiss. Taylor also gave a pointed Clean speech in St Louis where she said "losing somebody that ... you thought you would be spending the rest of your life with. [...] the worst part about having your heart broken, or feeling betrayed, or losing someone, having somebody change their mind and walk away from you, is that it makes you regret those things you did in the beginning when you fell in love."

2016 - Joe shippers & Gaylors

On 28 September 2016 Taylor hung out with Cara in NY who spent the night at her apartment so 2 more fandom subsets claimed the date. 😂 Joe was last seen in London.

2016 - Harry released the Another Man Mixtape on the 29th, with 10 songs that reference the future HS1 or love, Harry was last seen in LA and not seen for weeks.

2017 - Harry released Two Ghosts as a Spotify Single with a cover of Girl Crush. He also performed them in Nashville 2 days before. Taylor responded to Harry's 2016 Mix Tape with a 70 song "Taylor Loves" Spotify Playlist. Every 7 and 20 song had a link to Harry.

2018 - on 13 April Taylor responded to the Two Ghosts Spotify Single by releasing a Delicate Vertical Video and Spotify Single cover of September where Taylor changed the lyric to "do you remember the 28th Day of September". The original press release said "the month of September is especially meaningful to one of her relationships" and as reported by Variety that was then edited out when fans got obsessed. On the 28 September Taylor played Wonderland as a Surprise Song on the Reputation Tour (one of 6 ever plays).

Toe-shippers then jumped on the bandwagon and they didn't mark it for years.

2021 - on 29 September and 1 October - Harry played Nashville in a white satin suit, when he played with his rings and performed To be So Lonely! Taylor had been in London for a wedding in September but was back in Nashville by the 1st. Harry also recorded Satellite this stop.

In 2023 - Harry was papped looking grumpy in London.

2024 - tayvis shippers 😂

[skippyv20]

Post regarding MM behaviour prior to meeting zpH

Dear Skippy do you or other bloggers recall this article about MM (sorry have no receipts )

I knew/ had a business interaction with Meghan Markle before she became an A-list celeb. My god, the amount of wild drama that ensued from her end…

I’m not here to trash Meghan. I’m not a hater. I was one of those people who truly wanted to stan Meghan Markle (before and after her engagement to Prince Harry). I met her 1 year before she started dating Prince Harry. I can’t say the line of work I was in…but let’s just say I needed to work closely on a photo shoot with her. I was a c-level exec for a certain company that contracted Meghan to do a photo shoot. I hand selected her for the photo shoot. I believed she was going to become HUGELY successful in the future, that’s why I chose her. We had everything lined up (world class vogue photographer, stylists, location, hotels booked… the works!). Meghan agreed to do the shoot. We spent many weeks discussing the shoot with her and her “PR” (a mysterious woman that we couldn’t call. We could only speak to via email ). Meghan had a lot of outrageous demands for someone that very few people actually heard of at the time… . Nevertheless, we gave her what she requested.

Everything went well up until 1 day before the photo shoot. Next thing you know (skimming over a lot of the story here), Meghan’s “PR” is freaking out at us because someone from our team (Mind you, this person received previous authorization from HER PR) posted a social media post about the upcoming shoot. My god, the friendly, mysterious PR turned into a down right psychopath overnight. She cursed us out, threatened us, and acted damn right insane (all via email). When I say insane, I mean INSANE. Discombobulated sentences, all caps, 10 pages of PURE, incoherent madness. Long story short, the photo shoot ended up being cancelled! We had to scramble to find a new celeb last minute. FF to a few months later, I met up with Meghan at an event. She was nice and lovely (as she portrays herself to be on camera… But I have a very sharp intuition when it comes to people. Every-time I spoke to her, she seemed off… contrived to me as if she was hiding something). I told her about her PR’s behaviour and she seemed genuinely shocked. She claimed to have no idea that her emotionally unstable PR ruined the photo shoot OP with us. She claimed to have been genuinely interested in the gig and mentioned that her PR said we were the ones who cancelled the contract. That day, I spoke to a friend of mine who worked for another company. Their company contracted Meghan for a photo shoot as well and shared a similar story of Meghan Markle (mind you, the companies that my friend and I represented at the time were big league brands that worked with several MUCH bigger celebs in the past). After the event, Meghan sent me an apology email. I had a nagging suspicion about her and ended up cross checking the location stamp of her email as well as the one from her PR (for those of you who don’t know this, it is very easy to trace the origin of an email)… Guess what? Both emails originated from the exact same computer and location (her home in Toronto).

This woman has serious issues. Her cancelling the photo shoot is not the part that bothers me. How she did it creeps me out. No sane person behaves that way! If you saw the email, you would understand what I mean. I was not exaggerating when I said the email was totally psychotic. The person who wrote it was clearly having a mental break down. I strongly believe she wrote that email. For the longest time I didn’t want to accept what I found out about her. Even after what she did to us, I wanted to Stan her as the first “black-ish” princess. It wasn’t until I read about her constantly loosing staff at the palace, and the tempestuous relationships she would have with people, that I realized she really must have psychological issues

Sorry…no idea where this is from….anons.❤️

[storiesofsvu]

Journey to the Past Ch 24

Bryan Kneef x reader warnings: language, i honestly think that's it. It's a bit of a filler chapter, but we're slowly getting there. Thx for sticking around as holiday life and bingo took the front seat for a while there. It's also because I know *where* I'm going with this story, I was just unsure of how to get there, but i also don't want to drag things out super long, ya know? So ch's for the next bit might be jumping around time wise, or be a little bit more of collections of events that are going on with lots of narration and not too much dialogue. Hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season & happy new year!

Bryan was on his lunch break, choosing to take advantage of the warmer weather he had left the office, picking up a fresh coffee and a sandwich from a nearby coffee shop and taking up residence on their patio. He’d spent the last couple of days torn between a state of happiness and excitement, and a state of worry and stressed. It was the mutual mood flowing through the apartment and both of you with the news of your family growing. While the idea of it seemed wonderful, the more he thought about it, the more scared he got. It was a big step for anyone, an even larger one for him. You’d barely gotten all of your things moved in by the time you’d found out you were pregnant, though, he supposed a lot of people did things out of order nowadays.

When he was younger the idea of a family seemed nice, it was what was expected of you as you grew up so the idea had been in his head back then. But as he’d aged, as he’d thrown himself into his years of being a drunk man whore, he slid the scale to the complete opposite end. He hadn’t wanted kids. He saw them as an unnecessary, expensive, exhausting and time consuming leeches most days, which was why he was always so incredibly careful as he slept his way around Chicago. He always used condoms and wasn’t afraid of buying the morning after pill if one happened to rip, it wasn’t until that night at the silent auction that he let himself get carried away by the way you were begging to feel him. How was he supposed to say no to that? Especially when it was you. He loved you; he’d do anything for you and considering you’d been told you couldn’t have kids; he never gave it a second thought.

The fact that he loved you was what was turning something that normally would have been an explosion in his life into merely a blip on the map. He had been completely serious about wanting a future with you, it was all he wanted. While having kids with you may not have been on his bingo card, it certainly was now and it was one that while nervous about, he was trying to look forward to it. He wasn’t about to abandon you (along with his unborn child) simply because he thought he didn’t want to be a father; he was going to support and love you no matter what your future together held. He’d made that promise to himself nearly thirty years ago, that if he ever was to have kids he was going to make sure they had both parents, that he was involved in their lives unlike his very much deadbeat dad. He wanted to make sure that change happened, that he didn’t just continue on the chain of crappy childhoods.

He’d wandered through Barnes and Noble the other day, picking up a couple of books on parenting and pregnancy and honestly the more he read, the more terrified he got. There was so much he hadn’t been aware of, so much that he still had to learn, and he knew it was a lot of learning on the job, so to speak. He truly wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready for something like this. He let out a huff of a sigh, dropping his phone down to the table, the article he’d been reading still staring back up at him. ‘101 Things Soon to be Dads Need to Know…’ it felt like a joke, there wasn’t a hundred and one things he needed to know, the list was fucking endless. He rubbed at his eyes, getting used to the light of the sun instead of the phone screen, his gaze drifting through the street around him before he settled on the park across the street.

It was one of the first warm days in a while, truly warm, finally no need for a coat outdoors and there were plenty of people taking advantage of that. There was a slew of kids on the playground but what really caught his eye was the family kicking around a soccer ball in the grass beside it. He assumed mom and dad with two small boys who looked the same age, twins perhaps. His heart suddenly leapt into his throat at the thought of two babies being a surprise before he remembered that you’d had an ultrasound, he’d seen the ultrasound and there was definitely only one baby. Able to calm his racing heart with that reminder he couldn’t help the small smile break out on his cheeks as he watched the family. He could hear excited squeals from the two boys, their laughter bouncing through the warm air as they ran around and chased after each other and the soccer ball, dad occasionally stopping to scoop one up, soaring them through the air in a game of airplane. With another sip of coffee Bryan made a silent wish that he’d be able to keep up with the baby once it began to walk, lord knows he wasn’t as agile as he used to be.

He felt the warmth bloom in his chest, fully aware this time that the feeling was love, excitement about this newfound future with you, and the new kind of life the two of you were going to embark on. His mind began to wander, trying to think of all the kid friendly things around Chicago, things that he wished he’d gotten to do while he was growing up, things that he could do with his future child. That was when he let out a huff, realizing that he didn’t know much about family things in the city, he figured most of his regular hangouts wouldn’t even allow children inside and he let out a little chuckle. He thought about the zoo, the science center, his child getting to see those things for the first time, and for you and him to get to see the entire world through a new set of sparkling eyes. He knew that no matter what, he’d never fully be ready for this, but he could at least assure himself that he was excited.

His phone buzzed on the table, effectively pulling him out of his daydreaming. He swiped open the notification to a message from Amber that his afternoon meeting had been cancelled, meaning that he was officially done with his work day. Rather than return to the office to be bored, he figured he may as well head home, chances were you were taking a half day or working from home already.

*

You in fact, had taken a three quarter day, but rather than head home right away, you’d gone out with Kim. You had a late lunch to at Pasta Al Gusto satisfy your craving for ravioli, catching up on office gossip and filling Kim in on how the reveal went with Bryan. She then managed to convince you into a bit of a shopping trip, though this one different than before. You were right around the corner from Twinkle Twinkle Little One and she couldn’t resist the temptation of dragging you in there. You weren’t completely drained, but it was safe to say you were tired by the time you finally did get home, roughly around the time you normally would after clocking out.

You stepped out of your shoes, leaving them by the doorway before shrugging off your blazer as you moved through the house. There was an open bottle of bourbon on the island and you let out an internal grumble at the fact that you couldn’t indulge but knew it was for a good reason. There was music coming from down the hall, noises from whatever Bryan was doing flowing along with the song. You tossed your blazer over your arm, pausing in the doorway to the guest room as you leant against the frame.

“What’s going on in here?” You asked, raising a brow to the stripped empty bed, small piles of various other things on the mattress and Bryan pulled his head out of the closet, having not heard you come in.

“You just get home?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, you could now hear the rumble of the washer and dryer in the distance, accounting for the lack of sheets “do we have company coming?”

“I mean, kind of.” He chuckled, placing a pile of towels down on the bed as he moved through the room to kiss you softly, “I guess I got a little distracted and figured I should start clearing this room out now. I mean, most people have a full nine months to get ready for this, we’re already basically halfway there.”

“Looks like you and Kim are on the same page.” You chuckled and it was Bryan’s turn to cock a brow. You lifted up the couple of bags in your hand, “she dragged me to a couple of baby stores after lunch. And she may have gone a bit overboard. It’s mainly clothes and toys, a few decorations… I was just gonna toss them in the bedroom for now, but if you’re already started in here…”

“Yeah.” He took the bags from you, pulling down a fabric basket to place them in, joining the various piles on the bed. “I’m just getting things moving for now I guess. Move the sheets and towels into the master, I’ll put up some posts about selling the bed. Was thinking we could paint the dresser and mirror, make them a little bit more fun?”

“You really are in dad mode, aren’t you?” You asked with a coy smile and he nearly scoffed, laughing at the look on your face. “It’s cute.” You insisted, “suits you…” Grabbing his hand you stepped toward him, a hand coming to cup his cheek as you kissed him again, lingering this time. Bryan hummed against your lips, his hands coming to rest on your hips, feeling the blooming in his chest get even larger.

“I picked up a couple of catalogues, figured we could look through them, maybe do some online shopping to get things really set up in here. I’m sure we can hire someone to put it all together while we’re at work.”

“Sounds perfect.” You kissed him once more, “have you eaten?”

“Not yet, wanted to touch base with you first, see if you were feeling something in particular.”

“I will not lie…. The ravioli craving got satisfied, but I am hankering for a big mac.”

Bryan chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek, “I’ll finish putting these away and order some McDonald’s.”

“You’re a gem.” You replied, finally moving from the room so you could head to your own room to change out of your work clothes.

Relaxed, and much more comfortable, you took the time to wash your make up off before meandering back out to the living room. Bryan finished up stage one in the guest room, a bag of extra sheets and towels to be taken out for donation sitting by the door. When you appeared in the kitchen he pulled open the fridge, passing you a sparkling water that you thanked him for with a kiss. He wrapped you in his arms from behind, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder while he pulled up Uber Eats on his phone so you could select what you wanted before he repeated the process for himself.

“Kim wear you out?” He murmured.

“Nah.”

“You tired? Sore feet?” He asked and you chuckled, turning in his arms.

“I… am perfect.” You smiled, pecking him gently before grabbing his hand, scooping up the Perrier and dragging him to the couch.

There, he very happily dropped down onto the sectional, letting you settle between his legs, curling against his chest and letting out a happy hum when he pulled a blanket over your laps. He let you flick on the tv and take control of what you watched while you waited for your food to arrive. His fingers combed into your hair, gently playing with it, scratching at your scalp, causing you to let out a happy sigh, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

After dinner, Bryan cleaned up the garbage before returning to the couch with the catalogues he’d spoken of and you pulled up a couple of local stores on your iPad. The two of you browsed through both, jotting down notes, taking screen shots or dog earing pages when you found pieces that you both liked and agreed that going for a gender neutral theme was probably best. There was a buzz in the air, one of both nerves and excitement as things truly started to feel really real, that this was your future and you were getting it, together.

It wasn’t that far off from your usual evenings together, even if you weren’t allowed to indulge in the bourbon, but the two of you also knew that you only had a limited amount of quiet nights left with just the two of you. You were going to take full advantage of every single one that you got and there truly wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than curled up in Bryan’s arms, smiles on your faces as you prepared for your life together.

__________________

@detective-giggles @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @bisexual-dreamer02 @amelia-song-pond @madamsnape921 @whimsicallymad @mrsrafaelbarba @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @caracalwithchips @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @michael-rooker @rafivadafreddy @lustvolle-liebe @anlin2058 @fandom-princess-forevermore @tinyboxxtink @alexusonfire @xovalliegirlxo @somethingimaginative17 @momlifebehard @misscharlielulu @alcabots  

[secretgamergirl]

It’s a bit absurd how we’re all keeping our heads in the sand about armed terrorists attacking American hospitals and power infrastructure, isn’t it?

Going to have to apologize upfront for discussing this over here. Topics this dark I generally try to keep over on Twitter where there’s more of an understanding that I am the gal who shares the really horrific news people are missing out on, but as I recently spent a whole post explaining, I am currently suspended from Twitter due to bigots mass-reporting a totally innocuous post until it triggered an autoflagging system, and I have no idea how to regain access to my account. So dark stuff on Tumblr, sorry.

Anyway yeah, as I was saying, terrorists. Like, full on terrorists, the kind of people who decide it’s a good idea to take as many bombs and or guns as they can find, and go to large population centers and kill whole crowds of people, out of a vague sense that doing so will advance some cause of theirs, but on interrogation they tend to just all quote the same incoherent gibberish, because nobody really becomes a terrorist out of a strongly held religious belief, it’s just about feeling alienated from society and getting groomed by a bunch of weird cult leader types into believing that they’ll gain the recognition and respect they crave through killing a bunch of people. Those guys.

A pretty significant number of them, for quite a while now, have been doing these pretty well coordinated attacks in the U.S. There’s the mass shootings, of course, that much I’ve been writing about for what’s seriously coming up on a decade now. That’s still a thing. And more recently, that’s been coupled with bomb threats on hospitals. Specifically children’s hospitals at that. Now, I know for a fact that a significant number of people reading this, as a defense mechanism, are just going to automatically downplay and dismiss that. It’s the whole reason I’m writing this post really. So let me clarify.

It is true that I said there have been a lot of recent bomb threats on children’s hospitals. The article I just linked (you do all know I have a habit of using bold text to note links on Tumblr because the default formatting makes them hard to see right? I’m not just randomly emphasizing things?) is actually about a particular hospital getting threats called in multiple times in the last few months. But hey, it’s not like bombs were actually planted right? They didn’t actually blow up a hospital full of sick children, so, nobody actually died or anything, right?

Well, this isn’t really data that people really bother to collect with this sort of thing, because there’s too many other variables, but you know when there’s a credible bomb threat in a building, they have to shut that whole building down, evacuate it, and keep it shut down for a good long while as people comb over the entire location really thoroughly looking for the bombs someone claimed to have planted.

Now, I don’t know if you know this, but hospitals kind of need to be open and full of people 24/7 to make sure that people don’t die. That’s why we have hospitals. In particular, children’s hospitals are a thing for, you know, young children, who have either serious serious diseases threatening their lives, or need emergency surgery from people specialized in working with smaller bodies. Having children in such states evacuate a hospital isn’t really practical. Maybe not even possible depending on the state they’re in. And even if you leave them there, and doing so doesn’t actually cause them to die in an explosion from bombs someone lied about, taking all the medical professionals out of the building for like a full day means they can’t do the things those kids need done to remain alive, and even if there were no emergency cases when the threat came in, having the hospital shut down that long means new cases where people are trying to rush someone to the special emergency hospital for stuff for children that’s rare and specialized so we have them spaced out way more than other hospitals are... going to be showing up and told they have to go somewhere else, and you know, frequently with hospitalization, getting there ASAP is literally a life or death thing.

So what I’m saying is, whether or not it turns out to be “a hoax” bomb threats on children’s hospitals absolutely lead to dead children, and should always be discussed with that in mind. Kind of a big deal.

And you know what else is a big deal? A group of terrorists coordinating an attack to destroy enough power substations to take out the power to 11 cities for 3 days and counting as of when I’m writing this, at the start of winter. Did you know that happened? People really don’t seem as concerned as they should be.

Now, if you’re actually clicking through on these articles, or you just know me and the sort of things I talk about, you’ve probably guessed that the reason none of this stuff is really being reported on with the sort of panic and awe this sort of thing usually warrants, part of that is because these terrorists are white obviously, but a huge part of it is that the terrorists in question are fully aware of the weird exploit where nobody will pay attention to something if people are talking about trans people. No really, just compare that last story, which is talking about the actual scope and severity of that attack in North Carolina, while stressing that nobody knows what motivated it, and this story from the day it happened, where people are being pretty candid about what motivated it and the whole thing is centered around just quoting a local hatemonger on how clearly this is the wrath of god coming down on “the immoral drag show” she claims “mocked God.”

You can have the story explaining this is an anti-queer bigotry thing, or you can have the one about it being a real serious issue, pick one.

One of the last posts I made on Twitter before getting taken offline was talking about how shocked I was to see President Biden actually using the phrase “transgender Americans” in a statement about a terrorist committing a mass shooting at a Transgender Day of Remembrance event, killing several trans people, and being stopped by two trans people before he could kill anyone else, before the police arrived to... arrest one of the heroes and keep him from checking on his loved ones. In a reasonable world, yes, obviously. How the hell could you even talk about a story like that without mentioning trans people? But in the world we live in? People bend over backwards not to mention these things. Here’s the New York Times’ coverage of the shooting in question, for instance. Not one single occurrence of “trans” in the whole piece.

I’ve seen plenty of other coverage take the extra step with active misreporting, calling the trans woman who got the gun out of the shooter’s hand “a drag queen.” Again, this is typical of both media coverage, and political responses. The erasure I mean, to the point that Biden’s statement was a shocking outlier.

Meanwhile a particular terrorist leader who is largely agreed on as the ringleader of the recent violence, and proudly labels herself as a stochastic terrorist in her Twitter bio even, immediately responded to the news of that shooting by calling for further attacks on other targets in the area. Others openly calling for this sort of violence did dial things down slightly in the aftermath, but only because they are currently holding seats of power they don’t want to lose. Others like the shooter’s grandfather, have a bigger scope for their violence. I don’t even know what to say about stuff like this response form another terrorist leader. This one though let’s be real, is a terrorist actively calling for more mass killings, right out in public.

Now again, you don’t see media coverage of this treating it as seriously as it is, largely because these terrorists keep shouting about trans people, and... the media kinda has it out for trans people. I realize that can come off like conspiracy theory talk, so let me assure you I deal only in conspiracy facts. There is a bias against trans people in the media, full stop. We are blacklisted from reporting, impotent though they are, media watchdog groups have been on people’s cases about all the propaganda they put out for some time now, and hell, The Guardian in particular has faced criticism on this front from... The Guardian. The closest I can find to a mainstream source taking this seriously is Teen Vogue, which, hey, is actually a shockingly great political news source if you haven’t paid attention to what they’ve been doing the past decade or so. And you know, not to put too fine a point on it, but, Matt Walsh, Tucker Carlson, Jessie Singal, Tim Pool, Ian Cheong, the whole staff of Breitbart, these are all people who are regularly labeled as “journalists” and half that list are fully open with their straight up neo-nazi ties. The most popular thread I ever posted on Twitter was about another group of “journalists” getting together for some mob violence, filming it, and writing stories after DARVOing the whole incident. So yeah, a lot of the terrorists I’m talking about today are parts of the media conspicuously failing to report on this stuff.

And a lot more are in the government. Like... this is a link to Kyle Rittenhouse’s wikipedia page. I don’t know what more I really need to say on the subject that isn’t covered by this chronological look at this guy who drove 22 miles in order to find people to shoot who had a problem with a cop shooting an innocent man 7 times and failing to face proper repercussions, successfully finding and shooting a crowd of such people, successfully killing two of those people, and proceeding to then... become the poster child of the Republican party receiving praise adoration and media platforms. Like, that’s really where we are.

So to review- Terrorism, mass murder, hospitals shutting down, 40,000 people losing power in freezing temperatures due to the violent destruction of a massive area’s whole power grid, these are bad things, and we should talk about them more, but we don’t because the “we” who should be doing the talking largely finds these to be great things, actually. That’s bad, and we need to make big changes now.

Meanwhile, I hate to do the begging at the end of the article thing but... I’m about to die? I just lost my sole source of income and I was already living hand to mouth before that? I’m freezing and my legs aren’t working right, I have nobody to turn to, and my only real professional experience is in a field where, again, bigots have conspired to keep me from ever working again. So... it would really, really help me out if you could maybe directly throw me a little support via Patreon?

Or you know, if you can’t do that, because hey times are tough, or even if you can, maybe get the word out via Twitter and/or whatever platform you moved to after abandoning Twitter and let people know, hey, I got shut down there over some total BS, people could maybe stand to raise a big stink over that, point people towards say this blog post here, encourage people to spread that around, maybe let some of the people I care about but have no other way to stay in touch with me know why I suddenly went silent, how I can’t see any of the messages they might have tried to send me, etc.? Because seriously otherwise I have until the end of this month plus however long after it takes for my electricity to be shut off and or me and my cats to be thrown out onto the streets and I am literally going to die because I have like, medical equipment that requires electricity health problems here. Thanks.

[soovermyself]

For the anon who said this confirms what deuxmoi said... she also said the divorce was not about anyone's sexuality. So she clearly knew zero.

This is so messy. As someone who spent the last 15 years "hoping" sophia wasn't straight, I'm actually so sad. But I guess it explains why she didn't seem that upset by the divorce.

People was sophia's only mouthpiece post-divorce, so the article is clearly driven by her team. Why do you think it came out (no pun intended) at this time? Were they worried about the homewrecker narrative or are they that serious? Given that she took at least 6 months, if that, to post/speak/allow articles about her previous relationships.

Deuxmoi also states she never outs celebs in her defence so who knows really? But I don’t think she knows as much as she claims. Hello Talor Swift being married to Joe Alwyn anyone? 🤣

I actually think she was upset by her split/divorce so I guess this is all about perspective. 🙂

Well, they definitely saw all that stuff going around the last few days so I do think they wanted to somehow control the narrative and maybe they wanted to “out” themselves before someone did for them or maybe they’re planning on not reading hiding anymore who knows?! They also live on opposite coast so it’s hard to really tell what’s happening. I wouldn’t say it’s “serious” yet. It has to be all pretty new still so I can’t imagine it is, but 2023, so who the hell knows anymore?! 🤦🏼‍♀️😂

[claiborneart]

Interview with The Most Famous Face in The World

Todd Smalls is a reporter for the Daily Times; specialising in celebrity news, gossip, and marketing. Article originally posted on 6/16/96; last updated on 6/24/96

When Mr. Arno Dun opened his door to let me into his tiny downtown flat, up on the twelve story and with that last-century 'one-bedroom' antique layout, even I was starstruck.

I've done interviews with everyone from CEOs to world leaders to the faces of A-list actor-musicians, but this was The. Arno. Dun. I, like most of our readers, grew up seeing his face on every box of cereal, snack bar, every ad both at home and on the street.

The face of the The Most Likeable Man, whose likeness had been leased by a a tenth of all companies in existence, lived in an apartment that was not worth the price of one minute of his own face.

The first thing he said to me, he confessed, was that he couldn't afford his own likeness either.

"I kick myself every day for letting that clause stay in the contract," he told me. "I didn't realize at the time, or I thought, or hoped, that they weren't serious about not letting me use my own face for personal use."

The room we were sitting in was nice enough, well-lit, and with family photos on a nearby desktop. While the grown children in the group photos shared close resemblance with Dun, his face was, of course, notably absent.

"I spent half my royalty money buying an old cottage out in the middle of nowhere," Dun said. "but that just made everything worse. People looked at my face, and wouldn't leave me alone. Here, at least," he gestured out the window at the city around us, "there's more people to blend in with, so I don't stand out as much. plus, most people are using ARG or some other, so I can go shopping in peace, most days."

"And," he added, smiling wryly, "at least no one asks for a photo."

Q: what made you decide to sell your likeness?

A: it seemed like a lot of money for very little effort at the time, so of course I said yes immediately.

A: Wish I had a lawyer read the the contract before signing, now, but a part of me thinks if I had asked to change anything they would have just moved on to someone dumb to sign it at that first meeting. Hah! I guess I was that dumb*** (swears have been auto-omitted, courtesy of cleanAirBroadcasting™)

There had been thousands of people who had signed similar contracts, nearly every single one for far less money than he, but it didn't seem the right time to remind him of such info.

Q: but was it a good payout, once you add in royalties?

A: Royalties…..well, some years it was enough that I didn't need to work, or only needed to work part-time, but they expired at the 50-year mark….hah! When I was young I thought 50 years was impossibly far in the future, and that getting old was for other people. Now look at me.

I did.

It was interesting, after seeing over 50 years of pre-aging for various brand and demographic-nicheing needs, how the most famous face in the world had actually ended up looking. More frown lines, and a saggier neck.

Still, a face rated most appealling to Broad Demographic Marketing aged more gracefully than most could ever hope for.

Q: so you've worked other jobs then?

A: oh for sure, sure-- whatever I found, here and there. I used to like working with people, but with my limitations, it's made that rather difficult. Nowadays I work for ******* (company name has been auto-omitted, courtesy of cleanMarketRelavance™), which is hard work, for someone of my age, but what can you do?

Q: How do you feel about the alternate-face clause, over half a century into the contract?

A: I don't mind it most of the time, to be honest. It means I don't show up in the background of stranger's videos as myself, so at least I never go viral that way. But…

at this he paused.

A: I don't like it when I want to be in a photo. with my friends. with my family. I don't like seeing a stranger's face in the middle of them, instead of me.

[The banner image, which under usual contract compliance included an ai-generated random stand-in face, was edited to a pixelated mirage on 6/24/96, at the request of Mr. Dun.]

[empirexsin]

when can i see you again ? @williopolis​

slouched against willow’s couch for several hours. has been sat in what looks like an uncomfortable position, back half-way down the couch, as he sits face-forward, watching the screen of her television. they watch tv shows and movies. they make fun of people and do their best impressions of people they watch, or fictional characters, or people they’ve interacted with that day. and sometimes dan gets his phone out too, to tell willow about one of his new special interests. by this, it means, the latest thing he has become obsessed over. it usually fits into two categories: absurd or conspiracy. ‘ i was reading this...thing- ’ an article. ‘ they say that there’s this company - in masachusettes - and they clone people. and...and we’re just walking around, thinking our favorite celebrity is just living their best life - but really they’ve died and we’re watching a clone of them on mtv ’. he speaks as if it’s true. real fact. voice changes a little when he’s interested in something. a mixture between serious and excitement. as if he can’t wait to get the rest of his sentence out, because he’s expecting an equally fascinated reaction. 

“ i’ve been here all day, and i saw you twice this week, that’s a lot of time isn’t it? ” he answers her. dan ends up seeing willow when he’s not working. on his days off. and when he’s working he fidgets, thinking about whether she’s texted him and if he has the accessibility to check his phone and reply. except this week he had three days off, but had spent one evening with a former elderly victim in her home. he’s not meant to. but her grandson had stolen her car, beaten her up in a fit of rage, and since that incident, the woman has grown fond of him as if he’s replaced her grandson. emails his work email to ask him if he wants to come over for dinner in front of the tv. and he does, sometimes. sits in her big floral armchair that feels uncomfortable in its texture. and he pets her two chihuahas that he expects aren’t old dogs at all - but somehow mimic the same poor mobility skills as their elderly owner. and mrs greenwood knows about willow. if only because dan texts her so much. ‘ me and my husband were friends first ’ she says, and dan doesn’t exactly think too much into that. usually because when he visits, she’s always watching judge judy, and so dan can get easily distracted and diverts he subject to that while they’re eating their microwave, tv dinner.

his and willow’s friendship has built significantly in a short amount of time. especially after he initially went to arrest her for vandalising a vehicle. instead he’d ended up giving her advice instead. ‘ you’re not doing it right...you have to kick the mirror, not pull it. you’ll be here all day if you try pulling it. kick it a little - like that film, kill bill ’. ever since then they’ve gone out for dinner, drinks, lounged together in one anothers homes. a weird feeling when he had willow initially in the space of his reasonably new apartment. if only because the last time he’d shared his space with someone was when his wife was still alive. but he’d got a new place to live since then. new everything. for new memories. memories that seem to be invaded by willow having a presence in them now. how he’ll find her hair in his bathroom. hair ties on the kitchen spice shelf. almost as if she lives with him, despite having her own apartment. 

“ i don’t know, ” he says. he has put his coat on, as if ready to leave. and he should leave. it gets late and then he craves the feeling of laying down, flat, on a bed. his bed. “ whenever you want. you’ve...still got the key to my place haven’t you? ” he straightens his posture a little, “ just drop by whenever. just...not until after eleven am. i like going for a run and then...sleeping in again ”  doesn’t think he’d be a good host if willow had let herself into his apartment, only to find dan, asleep in his bed, stretched out, dishevelled, and snoring lightly into the quiet, cool air.