#I'm still not wording this fully coherently but whatever

[mosspapi]

Still thinking lmao. Ultimately I do think it's a good song. I'm not a huuuge fan of the presentation in terms of like... almost taking it lightly, but it does do a good job of expressing the experience of being isolated in your problems because not even the people meant to help you will do anything, and how much of a toll it can take on you when you end up having to console people for simply hearing about your lived experiences when it should be you being comforted for having actually gone through them.

I think it could be read as dismissive or saneist (??? If that's the right word?? Like looking down on people with more severe/stigmatized mental illnesses), but I don't think that's actively what it's doing and ultimately it's a guy expressing his own experiences through his art and it's resonating with My own experiences so. It is what it is

[kuiinncedes]

700 more words TT

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor. 

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water. 

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present. 

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different. 

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk. 

You knew all this and tried to stay rational. 

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached. 

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him! 

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants. 

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes. 

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate. 

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state. 

Now he sees. 

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter. 

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for. 

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now. 

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps. 

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles. 

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. 

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers. 

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize. 

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence. 

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight. 

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours. 

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet. 

[gavisuntiedboot]

Cherry on Top

Gavi X Physiotherapist! reader (birthday special!)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: suggestive content!

A/N: I am back once again with more self indulgent fics for my baby boo thang's birthday !!!

~~~

"Doctoraaa! When are you coming home? I'm withering away from boredom and loneliness."

You could practically hear his pout through the phone, imagining him sprawled out on the couch with his feet in the air.

"Gaviraaa I am studying so that I can graduate on time! Or do you want me to keep making a student salary forever?" You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, still furiously typing away at your sample notes for your advisor.

"What are you even studying? You basically run our whole club's rehab program by yourself. What else do they need to test you on?"

That was actually an excellent question. It was coming up on the two year anniversary since you had become a Barca employee, and you had almost fully taken the reigns. Dr. Gonzalez had checked out, waiting for you to get your degree so that he could finally retire. Nicolas was a good assistant, but was still heavily lacking in his ability to make quick decisions, so he was stuck doing basic PT most of the time. The show was essentially yours to run.

"This last year is testing my leadership ability and teaching skills. When I graduate, I will start running the intern program at the club, and so they have to make sure I can correct staff mistakes."

Your typing was getting progressively louder as you continued angrily editing the note in front of you.

"Take this idiot Aaron. He has not written a single coherent note since he got assigned as my mentoring project. If he were an employee he would have been fired weeks ago. But since this is a "training and learning" opportunity or whatever, I have to fix all his notes and send him the edits so he can learn."

You heard shifting on the other end of the line, and then a soft thud followed by some whispered profanity.

"Pablo please don't injure yourself."

"Maybe it will bring you home faster. Oh no my other ACL!"

Despite his giggle, you went quite on the other side of the line. The day of Pablo's injury had been one of the worst of your life. He had been playing for the national team, so you had no choice but to stare at your TV through glassy eyes, utterly and completely helpless. One of your friends literally had to prevent you from collapsing (though to this day you maintain that it was dehydration, not hysteria). He had called you from the sideline, and the pain in his voice just made you break further.

"I need you."

You had been waiting at the airport to receive him, official team gear on in an attempt to distract fans from the fact that you were fully embracing him and crying into his shoulder. You had almost gone insane in the lead up to his surgery, triple checking the credentials of everyone involved. You stayed by his bed for his entire stay, spending most days and night making sure he wore his brace and didn't make any stupid decisions. It was on one of these nights, when you were once again complaining about not having your favorite undereye cream at his house, that he once again asked you his favorite question.

"Why don't you just move in?"

As usual, you brushed the comment off. Gavi had been asking you to move in weekly for over a year now, always unfortunately dead serious. There was an innocence and simplicity in the way Pablo say the world that you wished you could emulate. He liked you, he was comfortable around you, and he wanted you to live with him. Simple, right?

But it terrified you. You loved Gavi, probably more than anything else in your life. But long withstanding trauma lives up to its name of being long withstanding. That feeling that the expiration date of your perfect relationship was approaching? That never went away. It was like the more time you spent with Gavi, the more you were terrified that he was going to figure out what was wrong with you, why no one could love you until this point in time, and run for the hills. Your apartment was the one space you still had to be irate and disgusting and genuinely yourself without being afraid of scaring him. And it would make it much easier when he eventually broke up with you to date a pop star or a model or Pedri.

"I'm being serious, princesa. You're here every night. You spend more time here than at your own place. You barely sleep in your own bed because you're just obsessed with me and want to take care of me all the time."

"Pablo, we've talked about this..."

"Yes," he said, sitting up and opening his arms in a gesture for you to come cuddle with him. "We have. Back when we had only been together for only three months and we didn't know if you would be able to put up with me."

"Hey!"

"Let me finish." He hugged you closer to his chest, resting his chin on your head and rubbing slow circles into your skin. It was hard to maintain your composure when you were like this, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin and the pressure of his lips kissing your crown every so often.

"We've been together for a year and a half now. I've seen you in bad moods, heard your yelling, plucked your chin hairs-"

He restrained you from getting up, giggling at your embarrassment. He really was the most adorable little thing on the planet.

"I've seen you at your lowest points. Which, admittedly mi amor, were not that low. I saw a tiktok of this guy who had to pull out his girlfriend's tampon. This could be much worse. Hey, look at me."

You turned over, your chest pressed to Pablo's as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. You had learned how to do this in the last year, how to steel yourself under his intense gaze. Pablo Gavi looked at you like he was in the presence of a divine being, eyes big and soft and filled to the brim with adoration. He looked at you like just your image was all he needed to keep breathing.

"I love you. So much that sometimes I don't know what to do with it. I want you to move in so I can take care of you, and so that it's easier to let you take care of me. I want to annoy you with my morning training alarm and make you coffee and maybe mess up your laundry when I try to do the washing."

"This is not a convincing argument so far, baby."

"I just want to live with you. And be around you. And hold you like a weighted teddy bear while I sleep."

"What if you get tired of me being around all the time?" You asked between smooshed cheeks, finally losing your ability to maintain his stare.

Gavi refused to even dignify the question with a verbal response, instead letting go of your face to lift the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your cheek was practically burning up pressed against his abs, still defined and solid despite days of immobility.

"Doctora, this is how close I want you to be. At all times. I am about to sew you to my torso. So will you please move in?"

And it was then that you agreed to it. Now the house was littered with so much merch on the walls and shelves it looked like a sports store, but it was yours. A home. You spent months taking care of Gavi, from driving him to appointments to at-home physiotherapy sessions. You took every opportunity to place a gentle kiss on the scar on his knee (ya know, when you were down there ;) ) and avoided all clips that showed him in pain.

"Come on, Doctora. I'm okay."

"I know, I know... it's just not a memory I can bring myself to joke about. Not while you're still in recovery."

"I'm sorry, amor. Can you come home and scold me about it?"

You groaned again, resisting the urge to slam your head into your keyboard. The progress notes were really terrible.

"And besides, you need to finish packing."

This was true. In about 6 hours, you and Gavi would be on a plane for his birthday trip to Ibiza. He had been buzzing with excitement about his birthday trip for months now, eager to take you someplace where there would be nothing to distract the two of you. Just perfect sand and perfect sea for a perfect weekend. He had talked about going farther than Spain this year, maybe Italy or at least Portugal, but injuries have a great way of canceling travel plans.

You reluctantly agreed, telling Pablo you would be home in about 30 minutes, before you began to tidy your workspace. You sent a polite yet pointed email to Aaron (with the head of department CC'ed) explaining that the work was too terrible to be corrected, and he should clear up some time in September to train with you before the season began in earnest and you would be too busy to teach him how to spell "bradycardia".

It was always a humbling experience to pull into the driveway and park your beat up little car next to Gavi's team-sponsored beauty. You were dreading the day he upgraded to something nicer - the neighbors would start thinking that someone was there to rob him. He was already standing at the door smiling wide when you pulled in. He walked up to your door, grabbing all your bags and ushering you inside away from the heat. This had become a regular for Gavi - tracking your location to greet you the second you arrived - so there was really no need to question it anymore. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, eternally grateful for the gentleness he showed you. After a quick yet heated rant about the incompetence of some of the students in your program, you headed upstairs to continue packing.

"Pablo, you think I need to pack more than two dresses?" You asked, looking over the satins and crocheted pieces that your friend ensured you was "totally in".

"I don't think you need to pack any dresses. Or even clothes for that matter."

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, who was leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Am I supposed to be naked for the whole trip?"

"Not the whole trip. Just pack some bikinis for during the day and some cute underwear for the night. The outfit you wear to the airport should be more than enough incase we ever need to leave." He walked over to where you stood in contemplation, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and his head resting on your shoulder in the perfect position to kiss your neck.

"Be serious, Pablo. What if we want to go for a nice dinner for your birthday? I can't go in a thong or in my plane sweats."

He didn't stop his attack on your neck for an instant, addicted to the warmth and taste of your skin on his tongue.

"Mi amor, mi sol, mi vida - at the risk of being vulgar, I have to say that you will be the nice dinner on my birthday."

Your eyes went wide at this statement, and suddenly you were glad for his arms there to keep you upright.

"I don't even think I have more than one bikini that still fits."

At this, Gavi released you, running to the closet with your yells to slow down behind him (if you had a euro for every time you told him not to run in socks, you could pay off the club's debt). He came shuffling back out with a large black bag, which he promptly dumped out onto the comforter. There were at least ten swimwear sets in various colors and prints, ranging from polka dots to stripes to... was that cheetah print?

"I picked these out the other day. Well, actually, that's a lie. I sent your size to Aurora, and she placed the order online and I just picked up the bag at the store. Can you imagine what Instagram would do with pictures of me buying lingerie?"

"But there's no lingerie here?"

"Fuck." He scampered off once again, returning with another bag to repeat his previous actions. This time the contents were much more sultry, with dark silks and satins staring back up at you. Mainly reds and blacks littered the pale covers.

"Pablo, you shouldn't have. This is too sweet! But we are only going for three days. There's like a month worth of stuff here."

"Are you planning on never going out again after this trip? Just pick your favorites for this weekend. The rest will be waiting for you when you get back, just in case we ever go to the pool or you want to surprise your football star boyfriend by wearing these to work."

You couldn't even be mad at his words when your heart was so full from his gesture. Pablo was always buying you things - that was nothing new. But you had been worrying for days about not looking good on this trip, not having anything new to wear, and he took that burden off your shoulders.

"So I can pick any of these? They look expensive."

"Ay Doctora, don't upset me. Nothing is worth more than your happiness. I do have one request though."

"Yes, mi amor?"

"You have to wear this one on my birthday," he said while reaching past you to pick up a white bikini with red cherries printed all over.

"Why is that?"

"Because you're like the cherry on top of my birthday cake. You always look good, but I want you to look irresistible."

"Okay, let's relax that's a lot of talk for a- oh my God." Your eyes widened, and you grabbed Pablo's face with a dropped jaw.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh my God."

"You said that already."

"Pablo!"

"Yes, princesa?"

"An adult. You're going to be an adult tomorrow. As in not a teenager."

"We arrive at like 11pm so it's more like I won't be a teenager anymore tonig- are you crying?"

"I'm not going to have a teenage boyfriend anymore!" You threw your arms around him, hugging him so tightly there was a fear of his ribs cracking.

"I feel like I should be offended by this statement."

~

"3...2...1... Happy 20th birthday Pablito!" You said softly, a single cupcake with a lit candle on the top held before the birthday boy. It was the same as the previous year (iykyk), but this time with a red and yellow swirl to match the Spanish national team.

"Thank you, mi vida." He closed his eyes, deep in thought regarding his wish, and blew out the candle. He scooped up a dollop of frosting, placing it on your lips before kissing it gently away.

"I can't believe I get to spend another birthday with you," he whispered out, scared that anything louder would destroy the gentle atmosphere around the two of you.

After sharing more sugary kisses, you fell asleep on Pablo's chest, soothed to sleep by his slow heart beat and rhythmic breathing. You woke before him, placing a kiss on his forehead before getting up to dress, snickering quietly at his snoring. The poor boy was so exhausted. You put on the swimsuit he had picked for you, the material fitting you stunningly. You looked at yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. The white and red complemented your skin, your hair framing your face still bare and slightly puffed with the remnants of sleep. Gavi's necklace dangled between your collar bones, the metal cool on your skin. Everything on your body was an expression of love.

Stepping out of the bathroom in your bikini and wrap around skirt, you found the bed suspiciously empty. There was a light breeze coming from the terrace, where you found your boyfriend leaning shirtless on the railing. As if sensing your stare, he turned over his shoulder and wave you to join him. The sun was starting to shine in earnest, the smell of the ocean filling your senses. There was no place you would rather be.

"Good morning, beautiful. I know I asked you to wear that, but I almost want you to take it off. You look too good - I'm scared I'll have to beat every other man away with a stick."

He took a seat on one of the deck chairs, and you took your rightful place on his lap, arms around his neck.

"Good thing this strip of beach is private then."

Your lips found his in a deep kiss, fingers traveling to play with the short strands at the nape of his neck. It was an intoxicating thing to kiss Pablo Gavi. His plush lips molded perfectly to yours, bringing you in impossibly closer. He was always so eager, gently nibbling on your bottom lip whenever he could catch it, soft breaths and little whines spurring you on. Neither of you could bring yourselves to stop, tongues tangled like high schoolers as you made out in the early August sun. His hands were firm on your hips, more for his benefit than yours. He was eager to drag you to the sand, but knew neither of you would leave the room if he allowed your hips to act on their own accord. He relaxed back, allowing you to take the lead, and whimpered a little louder when you bit his lip. It was your giggling that broke the kiss, and you rested your forehead against his, breathless and chest heaving.

"Big Bad Gavi likes having his lip bit. Who would've thought?"

He whined again, finding the column of your neck and to town, nipping and sucking, unwilling to not have his lips and tongue occupied by you just yet. When you started digging into his biceps, he released you, admiring his handy work.

"Pablo people are going to see." You said, pout on your lips and big eyes trained on your boyfriend. He kissed your jutting bottom lip and lifted you off him.

"Like you said - good thing this beach is private."

~

Pablo had so many moments with you where he thought "she could never be more beautiful than this". The first was the first night you fell asleep on his couch, face peaceful with sleep. The next was under the stadium lights, as he thrust a trophy in your hands and lifted you above his shoulders. Then it was in some French hallway, in a ballgown with no heels as he kissed you senseless, finally brave enough to take what he wanted. In coffee shops and grocery store aisles and on his mattress, he always thought there was no possibility for you to be more stunning. But as you lay stretched out on the sand, eyes closed and muscles relaxed, he had the thought again. The sun tinted your skin slightly, making you gleam like a goddess that had just emerged from the sea. The bright white against your skin had Gavi tingling, wanting to remove the pure material and access what it was protecting.

Your hair was soaked, and you laid on your stomach in the sand to gain some color and dry off after the exertion of swimming with Gavi. The sun was phenomenal on your damp skin, and you had never been more at piece. You felt a hand creep up your back, and suddenly your chest wasn't as supported as it should have been.

"Pablo! Did you just undo my top?"

"I'm just unwrapping my present."

He brought you to sit on his lap once again, your loose top fighting to remain around your neck.

"How private is this beach?"

"You think I would let you go topless if there was a chance another soul would see?"

You felt like a teenager again, embarrassed and looking around frantically for someone who would catch you in such an act with your boyfriend.

"I heard beach sex sucks and I'm not eager to get sand in my vagina."

"We're not going to have sex on the beach. I may be more grown up, but I still like seeing boobs every once in a while."

"So you just want to look at them?"

"Among other things. You want to see my checklist?"

You wrapped your arms around his neck once again, kissing him deeply as he fully removed the fabric from your chest. He brought a hand to your back, pressing you against him, your breasts flush against his chest. It was a thrilling sensation, being topless and against your boyfriend with the sun beating down against you both.

Gavi laid back on the sound with you atop him, unclipping you hair to allow it to fall down your back. In your current situation, you were still covered enough to not face public indecency charges. He played with the strands of hair, weaving his fingers into the locks as his teeth caught your bottom lip and sucked on it like his favorite hard candy.

"I'm going to have sand in my hair."

"Guess we'll just have to take a bath together so I can wash it for you."

You kissed him again, his fingers trailing up your torso and brushing the sides of your boobs, sparking electricity in their path. It was so high school: topless on a beach, making out with your boyfriend. But made you stir low in your stomach, a mix of desire and the deepest form of love. You loved Pablo Gavi. You loved his little antics, you loved the pleasure he brought to every aspect of your life.

"Enjoying your birthday so far?" You asked, reluctantly pulling away from his lips, chest heaving against his. Gavi took the opportunity to grab your breasts and squeeze lightly, playing with them like it was his favorite activity in the world.

"More than I can even express."

He brought you against him, arms around you and bodied pressed together, and laid back down.

"So you just wanted to feel me up while we make out?"

"I want to feel you against me, mi amor. I want you to feel how hard my heart beats when I'm around you. I want to do everything that comes to my mind with you. Being topless on the beach. Ordering everything on the hotel menu. Skinny dipping at midnight. Every experience in my life is better when you're in it. I want to make every memory with you, so that when we're old and hold hands in our matching wheelchairs, I can say "Hey remember when we were hot and young and topless making out in Ibiza?" I want to do everything in the world with you."

You pressed your lips to his again, a deep kiss that winded the both of you.

"I love you, Pablo. Happy birthday."

"I love you more, Doctora."

~~~

Okay here it is!! Happy birthday to the love of my life, the light of my soul, Pablo Gavi. I love this boy more than I can express, and he represents so much good in my life. I hope his 20th year is filled with every happiness in the world.

As usual, please like, comment, reblog - all the good stuff. If you like this dynamic, I have a full 10 part series of these two idiots in my masterlist. I also have an ongoing Pedri series! Check that out if it's more your speed.

Please also take a moment to check out the links on my pinned post to help families in Palestine. If you don't have the money to donate but still want to help, every comment with a watermelon emoji under my pedri posts = $1 I donate on your behalf. I think that's all I have to say. Love y'all <3

xoxo, GUB

[butch-reidentified]

do you think it’s possible for a lesbian to be somewhat attracted to a trans woman (who passes well) if the only place she sees the tw is online/in videos/in pictures? i’m gender critical and i believe attraction is based on sex, but if somebody strongly resembles the same sex and you’re only seeing them from a physical distance, wouldn’t it make sense for somebody attracted to that sex to be able to find them attractive? (not referring to pursuing a relationship with them)

its almost 4am at the end of a long work week, and I'm still recovering from covid, so I hope this is coherent lmao

ik this will be controversial but I urge people to really mull over this before reacting in anger, though I really do understand the impulse:

honestly, as a (former) neuroscience researcher and someone still deeply passionate about neuroscience who likes to read neuroscience journal articles in her spare time... I think it's fucking complicated and there's a bit of intellectual dishonesty on both sides. the TRA side claims you can (only!) be attracted to someone's internal identity or ~gender feelings~ while the gc side claims that there is NO circumstance in which a person could pass well enough as the opposite sex to be perceived as attractive by someone whose orientation includes that "passing" sex.

and yet, I've had the experience of being at an lgbt bar or club and seeing someone I thought was a cute masc woman initially, only to realize it was an androgynous or slightly effeminate-appearing gay man - and many many lesbians I've told this to have shared similar experiences with me. I know a male transitioner online who is really cool and calls himself a eunuch rather than a woman or anything, and while I don't find him attractive, I have to admit that in the ~100ish photos I've seen of him (incl many candid full body ones taken by other people), I've not been able to "clock" any distinct male characteristics. maybe that would be different in person, but we live on totally different continents so idk.

I've known a TON of trans people irl, likely far more than most people on radblr or anywhere. this is partly because Florida has the second highest # of trans people in the country, and partly bc of where I went to college, and partly because my life is just strange like that. but I'll admit I've known a couple mt"f"-transitioned folks who I truly had no idea were male for quite some time - physically or behaviorally.

the reality is that your brain only knows what it perceives, and if it perceives a male as a female without your knowledge, and your orientation includes females, then it could be possible to feel attraction. however, I'm preeetty damn sure that would not persist beyond learning that person's sex is male, at which point you'd probably suddenly start noticing whatever male traits you were able to overlook initially. but I don't think it makes rational sense to claim that it's never possible to experience "mistaken" attraction for a period of time. there are known cases of historical women who lived as men who were flirted with by straight women who believed them to be male, for instance.

this is one of those situations where the truth (what I've said above) could be twisted and deliberately misinterpreted by the opposing party, which I believe to be why so few, if any, are willing to acknowledge this. but it's a question I've pondered a lot and this is the only logical conclusion I've reached. and it simply is not rational for anyone to act like anything I've said here implies that homosexuals can/should be open to dating/sleeping with the opposite sex. anyone who could come to that conclusion from this response needs a seriously intensive review of reading comprehension.

like I said I'm not fully awake so I'm sure I could have made my points here more clearly and I'm sure I'll get retaliation from people who want to nitpick my wording or whatever, like usual, but o well.

[lizzy019]

Could u write a blurb where the reader is freaking out because she found out she's pregnant and she's having a whole ass break down, could this be a Dally x reader please?

I had to go with a modern AU for this because pregnancy tests back in the 60s were so unreliable 😭 I'm also in Canada and they allow abortions so that's involved here. Dally is still 17 here, and so is reader.

~~~~~~~~ 🖤-> ~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~ 💚! ~~~~~~~~~

"Dallas!" You cried out, hurrying to search for him.

You'd found him lounging on the sofa in your house, and you were trembling with the little piece of plastic in your hand. Two red lines, one vibrant and the other dim.

Dally sat up almost instantly at the sheer desperation in your tone, and his eyebrows furrowed in a tight expression of worry as he saw you. Tears staining your pink cheeks, your face contorted into a look of coarse fear.

"Sweetheart? What is it, baby?" He asked softly, putting his hands under yours and scanning what laid in your fingers.

His brown eyes seemed to widen when he saw it, and he snatched the pregnancy test from your hands to inspect it further. Two lines. Those two intimidating lines that had the normally calm and passive-aggressive teenager to shudder in bewilderment.

Were you really pregnant? Maybe it was a faulty test?

No, that guilty look in your watery eyes said it all. You knew it, and you were trying so desperately to hold onto whatever emotion was slipping through your fingers. He couldn't help but admire your strength while you dealt with this new, earth-shattering situation.

Dally couldn't muster up much to say, his eyes wandering helplessly into yours as he used what bit of courage he had left to make you somewhat comfortable. He pulled you to the sofa and sat you down, offering you tissues which you took gratefully.

How would you solve this now?

"Dal- Dal, I dunno what to do... I thought we used protection an' I- I'm not ready for this." You sniffled, stuttering involuntarily from your ragged breathing as you tried to string a coherent sentence together.

Dally understood your worry. Hell, he was feeling it himself. But he knew what would happen if you were to let the child develop in your womb. Things would slow down for the worse, and pregnancy wasn't exactly good when you were in a poor neighbourhood.

But he tried to assure you, his hand rubbing soft, clockwise circles on your upper back as his other hand twitched as he held his cigarette.

"Sweetheart, I... I think we're gonna have to abort it. It's our only other option, and it's better for us. The child hasn't fully developed yet, this is the best time to do it." He hummed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

It did wonders on your stress, the soft rubbing to your back and the little gestures of affection.

"But we'd be killing an innocent baby, Dal!" You exclaimed, your voice strained from tension.

He sighed, taking a soft drag of his cigarette and looking at you with a gentle expression. One that looked at you like the goddess you were, the woman that tended to the stains on his heart as if it were your own. Dally couldn't possibly be mad at you for having such confliction over this unexplored topic.

"I know, baby, I know. But think for a secon'. The baby won't live a good life with us anyway, we're rebels, we're dangerous. They won't live a good life with us, we're greasers, sweetheart. That child will be two years old and learnin' how to swear like a sailor, is that what you want?" He lifted his cigarette as a gesture to back up his words.

In all honesty, he had a real good point. You couldn't possibly let a child into the world when you all were already struggling financially, and you two were only teenagers!

So with a shaky sigh and a dab of your tissue to your cheeks, you nodded reluctantly.

"I hate how you can be so stupid and so smart at the same time." You chuckled a bit, resting your head lazily on his shoulder as you took your time to compose yourself.

Dally chuckled a bit too, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and rubbing your back more affectionately.

"You love me, sweetheart. You can't deny it." He responded cheekily, listening to you giggle a bit and it made his heart sing.

At least you were a bit happier now.

"Alright, no need to get cocky. I'll go see if I can book a spot at the doctor's to see if I'm legible for an abortion." You sniffled one last time, your tears ceasing their downpour as you pressed a kiss to Dally's cheek.

He was glad, to say the least.

But still, he had to catch a glimpse of your ass as you walked before he jumped up and followed behind you... only to deliver a swift slap to your ass followed by a laugh.

[eri-pl]

You are a great believer of the only Eru can create true life theory it seems from your posts- what origins of dragons do you subscribe to then in how they were made from something else? How much personhood do you ascribe to individuals among them with variation/free will?

Thank you for the ask! I love asks!

First, maybe I am pedantic on words, but I like to be on the same page, so:

I don't fully agree with the word "believer" in context of a fictional setting, especially given that they are people (I've seen one on YT) who genuinely seem to believe in the Legendarium as mythology/religion/I'm not sure what word to use. I don't.

I respect (or sometimes hype about maybe too much) some of Tolkien's ideas on hot his legendarium ties to the real world, can't internalize some others, but at the end of the day, it is fiction, so the question is less "what is true" and more "what makes sense with the story and world", "what Tolkien intended".

And I do believe (based on things I read and watched on YT) that Tolkien did intend to "evil cannot create true life" and "only Eru can create souls". Does "true life" mean "sentient", or "alive in general"? If "sentient", how is that different from "having a soul"? I have no idea. But anyway yea, "Morgoth can't make things that have free will" is a very safe bet about what tolkien thought of it. And does make sense with the story.

(Still, I will take this wording as a compliment. thank you.)

I don't have a single strong HC about how dragons were made. Made from lizards? From big snakes? From dinosaurs which he somehow stole from Valinor (unlikely because siege)? Probably mutated some big lizards.

Personhood? Hmm. the text is tricky there (even a bit contradictory), but I would go with the "they have bits of Morgoth's will in them, a bit like the Ring had Sauron's". No personhood.

My default assumption about various types of more-or-less monsters is:

deeply corrupted Elves/Men: full personhood, but extreme mental issues due to trauma / generational trauma and probably their free will is, how to say it, imprisoned deep inside their minds, so very unlikely to behave in a good way (think: very strong addiction, some extreme mental ilnesses): all variants of Orcs. (Yes, it makes killing them complicated, I can live with that) (Also I did a post on Orcs and how would I try to make them more metaphysically coherent. TLDR they revert after some generations of not being moderated)

fallen spirits: full personhood, self-inflicted (+ some help from evil superiors) trauma, more effective free will, could get over their bs, yes it is hard but also they aren't willing: Morgoth, Sauron, the Balrogs, some various "demons", I'm not sure about some beings. I like to see Thuringwethil here, even though it's probably not canon.

Elven ghosts who agreed to be bound by Sauron (with coercion!) or Morgoth (if he bothers to do necromancy at all), put into various (animal or engineered from parts) bodies: free will fully bound inside, because of the magic. they can regret but they can't escape: werewolves, vampires, stuff like that, also Thuringwethil

bits of Morgoth's will/mind/whatever put into modies of mutated animals: dragons, I'm not sure what else. As they are various bits, they do have some indyvidual character, something like personality, but they aren't persons. Think: OCs. The dragons are Morgoth's OCs. ;D

They (dragons) could be type 3, but from what I remember the text more suggests 4. Or was it just the musical?

And yes, dragons being active after Morgoth was thrown out doesn't contradict this. Ending of the Quenta Silmarillion says that bits of his will still circulate in the world.

I hope this answers your question.

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Part three. I realised I never specified an exact timeframe so I'm clarifying that this is the last few year/months of him being undercover, about '94 Rust. I'm an ao3 girl so I'm figuring out how to lay fics out on Tumblr. Deeply appreciate everyone who's reading

Warnings: Drugs, drinking, swearing, smut insinuations and references to past violence but it is a True Detective fic, so

'Do you think we can ever truly talk about God?' Cassandra pipes up, as she's smearing herself in her pre-work lather of coco butter. When the sheen of the grease hits the light, it emphasises the taught expanse of her stomach and the tendons in her calfs. An amalgamation of divinity and delicate mortality; the pathetic fragility of the flesh, blood, skin and bones all knotted together, craving cosmic importance. 'Our soul, if there even exists such a thing,' Rust thinks, 'is just a ghost in a machine.'

Rust glances over to where she is standing in a matching lace, navy set, leg elegantly poised on the counter as she continues smoothing the ointment onto herself. He's lying on the mattress, still fully clothed, as he pinches his cigarette and stares back up to the ceiling. The events of the past few days, a visit to a meth lab in Galveston with Ginger followed by a drug and booze binge, have fucked his cognitive workings into a scramble of old memories and new sounds: the smell of gunpowder on his biker jacket, Cassandra's absent minded humming of an old Willie Nelson song, the brown sludge in his nail beds from when he was draining his Harley's oil, the black grease mixing with the residue of the red, Texan dust. He wills himself to give her a semi-coherent answer,

'I don't believe there's anyone there to talk to,' he drawls.

'I said about, not to.'

'What's your point, Cass? I ain't got the fuckin' will, tonight.' Rust thinks he can feel the chemical reactions behind his eyes; his enzymes breaking down proteins, the Speed throbbing through his neurotransmitters.

She rolls her eyes at him as she swaps leg, 'Chill out, I'm only wondering what you think. You know I value your opinion.'

He stiffens at that. 'Don't do this, baby,' he thinks 'It ain't worth whatever you think it is.' She's been doing this more often, letting that docility seep through the crevices of her impassible constitution. She hates herself for it, he can hear it in the acerbic tinge of her words, when she says shit like that to him. Sometimes, when he really concentrates at the expression in those dark pools of her eyes, he knows she believes she has deserved every horrific thing that has ever happened to her.

'I ain't really got an opinion on this matter, yet,' he says through an exhale of smoke, 'Why don't you tell me yours?'

'I know why, like, logistically we talk about God in modern languages, that's self explanatory. But it feels wrong, like we're corrupting the actual concept of a god.'

Rust doesn't look at her but says, 'Go on.'

'I think speaking about God in a dead language preserves him. Dead languages are frozen in time: absolute. They don't allow the transmutation or fucking corruption that modern languages do which are always evolving with dialects and younger generations,' she pauses, slipping her leg down from the counter as she slides her loose Budweiser t-shirt over her body, much to Rust's dismay. She continues,

'Also, on a more personal, aesthetic note, I think worship sounds a lot more metal in a language that isn't the one I use to order at fuckin' Waffle House.'

Rust snorts at that. He hears the slight smile in her voice as she replies,

'I know it sounds dumb when I condense it like that but that's literally my entire point. Worship is so often so dependent on the words we use and we venerate God in the same language that the televangelists or politicians use to con people on TV, the one that the girls at work use to sweet talk a customer into a lap dance? Seems fucked and incoherent to me.'

'I'm sure you can do that shit in a dead language too.'

'Nah, they existed before us. Whatever we try to imbue them with means fuckall, they don't participate in the reality of our information anymore.'

That gets him to sit up, the conversation staring to sober him up, 'Reality of information, huh? You've been stealing my books again, Cass?' a trace of a smirk on his lips. She huffs at him, stood in the middle of trailer,

'You were gone for three days and class is off for Spring Break, what the hell else was I supposed to do?'

'Buy some decent nightwear?' he remarks dryly. The reference to another one of her seduction tactics gets a mischievous smile from Cassandra . The past couple of weeks, she has been going to bed in some very short and, sometimes, very sheer nightdresses. Despite having made the chivalrous choice of sleeping on the floor of the trailer, chivalry being a virtue Rust is largely unacquainted with these days, his isn't unaffected by the sight of her sprawled out, almost beside him. Especially, when the nightdress naturally rides up during the night; a factor that has forced him to take too many a late night smokes outside.

'Nah, not when I know you enjoy it so much.'

'Cassandra,' Rust warns.

'Shit, full name?' she teases, 'You know, you're the only person who I let call me Cass.' She walks towards him, crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to him to look up at the ceiling. Rust doesn't move, not a goddamn inch. 'She'll know,' he thinks, 'Fuck, she probably already does.' Girls like Cassandra, girls too sexy and too tough for their age, always know. They have to. Growing up in a trailers, apartments and halfway houses, knowing that their tips which become their meals are based on how long they'll allow a drunk patron to stare at their tits or pat their asses as they serve them. They can smell male attraction from a mile off, tongues running over canines in mouths addled with whiskey and cigarettes. Oh yeah, they can tell and they know exactly how to play that game.

Rust wonders if he should feel some resentment towards her for it. He doesn't.

'Oh yeah?' he mutters, unimpressed.

'Yeah.'

'Lucky me.'

'You are. You know how many of your brothers would kill to give me a nickname?'

'Sounds to me like they already do,' his tone being harsher than he intended.

She goes silent and Rust hates himself more now than he did the other day, when he smashed a meth cook's head into a sink 14 times for screwing the Iron Crusaders' supply. The fragments of teeth and filaments of saliva mixed with blood that were left in the sink have nothing on the current look in Cassandra's eye.

'Don't be an asshole, Crash. You know I don't enjoy any of it,' her voice hoarse.

For the first time this evening, he looks her in the eye. 'I know,' tone steady but with a trace of true acknowledgment. Cassandra picks up on it, nodding her head. In these two innocuous actions, both have apologised and are forgiven. She stands up and grabs her duffel bag,

'You gonna swing by, tonight?'

He fucking wants to. Badly. He'd stomach the neon lights fucking with his Synesthesia, the lurid couches and the other Crusaders betting on how well each girl would 'take it'. He'd endure the fucking mire just to have Cassandra looking at him when she's on stage, the lights making her white smile a cool lilac.

'Nah. Can't tonight. Something at the clubhouse.'

'Oh, ok.'

'Poor kid. Like a kicked puppy,' he thinks. For the second time tonight, he can't stand that look in her eyes. He offers,

'You want a ride to work, baby? I'm headed in that direction, anyway.'

Something shifts slightly in her eye. The ball is back in her court. She savours it, rolls it over her tongue as victory coats it in something sweet and tart. Never one to show mercy, Cassandra toys with him,

'You'd give me a ride even if you weren't headed anywhere.'

Rust scoffs, fixing her with a look of chagrin; gleam of affection ,almost, trepidation in his eyes,

'I know, baby. I know.'

[theelvenhaven]

Wedding Night Nerves

Caranthir x Reader

2.1k words

Request: I'm do happy requests are open! I love your blog so much! I wanted to Caranthir, it's not really nsfw but whatever you're comfortable with. It's their first time, basically wedding night and Caranthir - despite in love with them - is still afraid of rejection beside of his skin. Reader coos and kisses and caresses his skin, letting him they love him. If you could thank you!

A/N: Hey anon I was happy to do this! Anything for Carnistir I love him so much. Hope this is what you were looking for it kind of goes into NSFW territory. But not too heavily.

Warnings: NSFWish

* * *

Everything had gone so smoothly. 

The feast in which was held in yours and Carnistir’s honor, to celebrate the nuptials in which you two shared. The exchanging of rings, the festivities that came with it. You and Carnistir sharing in dances, and smiles and laughs. The whole family celebrating- both yours and his. It was a full wedding day teeming with cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles from both sides of the family. 

Toasts had been made, even from the most unlikely of people such as Curufinwe and Tyelkormo who had nice things to add and welcoming you into the family. While Tyelkormo wasn’t one for speeches he managed to get it out coherently and without adding an inappropriate joke or two. 

The celebration had gone on for a long time, yet by the time it came for it to end, you were ready to spend the night alone with your husband. And Carnistir was clearly feeling the same way, as you two were the first to depart from the wedding festivities. Being sent off in a hail of rose petals as you two left the great hall of the Feanorian home. 

Now you were grateful when Carnistir shut the bedroom door and it was just the two of you alone finally. Both of you wearing a smile on your face and Carnistir’s face was rosier than it had been earlier. The realization settling in of what was to come next- the consummation of your marriage. One that would bind your fea together and you could be one with one another. 

“I am glad today went so smoothly, I was surprised your brothers gave us the opportunity to have a calm and collected day.” You laughed out softly as you moved to slip your shoes off in the corner of the room. You heard Carnistir snort at your words as he mirrored your actions, 

“Atar must’ve made a threat of some kind, though I could see how Tyelko was bursting at the seams at his speech to say something inappropriate about our wedding night.” Carnistir added with a little bit of snark, it wasn’t a secret to him when Tyelkormo was holding back. And to Carnistir he looked like he might implode on himself if he didn’t get the speech over with when he did. There would be lots of inappropriate commentary from him later. 

You only laughed at his words, knowing there was truth to it after being with Carnistir for so long you knew his brothers well enough as well. 

“Yes he did look a little… constipated during the speech.” You chuckled, as the two of you moved towards the bed, Carnistir being the first to sit down on it as you stood before him. He took the time to sit in silence for a moment and admire how beautiful you looked in your wedding attire. 

How he looked forward getting to know you intimately, peeling away those decorative robes and layers of lace and silk. Pulling the flower crown off your hair and laying you back… Carnistir had dreamed of being able to have this moment with you, so when you came to move closer he spread his legs to let you stand fully in front of him. 

“But enough about him… I want to focus more on you, meldanya.” You whispered to him, as you bent over pressing your forehead to his. Carnistir smiled softly to himself, before he angled his head up, letting his nose brush against yours and his lips coming to press against yours. 

It was like all the other times he kissed you, it was sweet and slow… Though this time Carnistir started to put more passion behind his kisses. Passion that was pent up since the start of your courtship because he wanted to do things right with you, because you deserved it. He brought a hand to your waist and pulled you in closer and steadily he laid back, pulling you on top of him. 

His tongue light licking your bottom lip and you hummed in response at the feel of it, feeling a fluttering in your stomach before you granted him entrance into your mouth. Carnistir had never tasted sweeter until now, and you moaned softly as his tongue met yours curling around it as you two kissed. 

You felt a pulse of pleasure run through you as you felt Carnistir use his strength to shift you both more comfortably on the bed. You couldn’t wait to see how all that muscle and strength could be put to such good use. His lips never leaving yours, and his trousers becoming a bit tighter at the sound of your beautiful moan. 

Carnistir wanted to hear more, desperately. He wondered about all the things he could do to you all night long that would make you moan like that, or make any other pretty sounds. At that he rolled you both over, his lips parting from yours to see your face flushed and your lips a little swollen. 

“You look beautiful…” He murmured out before dipping his head down to come and kiss your jaw, his lips trailing down towards your neck. Leaving open mouthed kisses, lightly licking against your pulse, making you shudder as you tilted your head back to grant him more access. Your hands came to his shoulders, caressing towards his chest and coming to the buttons of his white tunic. 

Desiring to feel his skin underneath your fingertips for a change, not wishing for clothes to inhibit more than what they were. 

Carnistir was distracted as he kissed your neck, listening to your little gasps as he nipped at your throat. Your fingers fumbling some but undoing the first button, and then the next before Carnistir’s lips came back to meet yours, resting on his forearm. You spread your legs wider to accommodate, and felt his erection pressing against you. 

Your hands continued at their task, trying not to get too distracted unbuttoning his tunic, when suddenly you felt Carnistir freeze in his kiss. His body tensing and a hand reflexively shot out to grab one of yours, making you in turn freeze too as you felt a shift. 

He had no idea what came over him suddenly, until the idea of you seeing him shirtless came to mind… Let alone bare. Carnistir wanted to be one with you, but suddenly his nerves were sky high and he feared that once you saw him shirtless…. Saw the extent of his freckles and his redness… That you’d reject him. 

That you would be disgusted by him and that you would want to go back on everything that happened here today. 

“Carnistir?” You whispered out to him softly and he didn’t answer you, only climbing off of you rather quickly and turning his back to you. You began to panic, wondering if you had done something wrong. Did he think this was a mistake?

Oh Eru… You thought wondering if he wanted to go back on everything that had happened today and annul the marriage entirely. You felt tears spring to your eyes but you tried to quell them, because you didn’t know what was wrong. You were only making assumptions and you didn’t things to be irreparable until you had an answer from him. 

“Carnistir what’s wrong?” You pressed again, and you heard him take a shaky sigh, watching him run a hand through his hair, before you noticed he was clutching his chest. Holding his tunic closed, he just knew you would reject him if you saw it… he didn’t know how on earth the marriage night could proceed now. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Carnistir managed out, and he sounded almost bitter, but you knew well enough by now that it wasn’t aimed at you… Was he angry with himself? You wondered and it settled your nerves a little bit. You knew how he could be when he was waging war with himself,

“I can’t… I can’t…” He said softly, almost pained and this time you sat up, getting off the bed and approaching. There was more happening here than him rejecting you and you knew that now, hearing the self directed bitterness, the pain in his voice. This was about him, it wasn’t about you and now you felt better knowing he wasn’t rejecting you. 

“Meldanya, what is the matter?” You asked as you moved to approach him, and slowly he turned to look at you, and you could see where his hands held his half open tunic shut. His silver eyes half meeting yours before they met the ground, his face was cherry red going all the way up to the tip of his ears. 

Carnistir was quiet for a long moment, closing his eyes like he was pained to have to admit what was wrong with him and why he was…. Hesitant. Which was a mild way of putting his reaction. 

“It is nothing you’ve done…” Carnistir whispered out to you, looking at you with knitted brows and a frown pulling at his lips before he looked away again. Hesitantly you approached him, letting your hand come out to touch his shoulder. You felt him tense underneath your touch again but you didn’t feel him pull away. 

“Then what is it, meldanya. You can tell me, I am sure whatever it is we can work through it.” You assured him with a warm smile, hoping to help put him at ease and help him open up. You wanted your wedding night to be an enjoyable one for you both, but it was clear his nerves were getting the better of him. 

He was quiet for a long moment, watching you as you came to stand in front of him. Your hands coming to his shoulders where you rubbed affectionately, hoping to soothe his nerves and help him relax under your touch. It seemed like it was working as his shoulders sagged some as he took a breath. Finally mustering up the courage to speak to you about what was on his mind. 

“What if… you don’t like what you see?” Carnistir revealed to you and suddenly it all clicked. He nervous about you seeing his skin, that was why he had reacted the way that he had. You gave him a gentle smile, 

“Of course I will like what I see, melda.” You answered him softly as you gently reached for the hand clutching his tunic tightly. Slowly as you moved to take his hand away, Carnistir complied, letting you pull his hand away and his half undone tunic began to fall open. 

“If I didn’t love you, all of you, I would not have agreed to marry you, Carnistir.” You said to him in a soft voice, letting your eyes trail to his muscular chest and you could see red splotchy patches on his skin. But it didn’t detract from his beauty in the least bit, if anything you were eager to see more of his beautiful skin. 

“May I?” You asked softly when your hand came down to the buttons of his tunic and there was a moment of silence between the two of you. Slowly he nodded his head, taking a deep breath especially as your fingers brushed against his skin as you began to undo the rest of the buttons. 

You were quiet as the tunic began to fall open the rest of the way, exposing his more muscular physique, and you brought your hands to gently touch his abdomen. Feeling it flex at your cooler touch before you brought the other hand over, sliding it up his stomach, and towards his chest and too his shoulders.

“You can tell me to stop.” You assured him as you paused just at his shoulders, and when he said nothing, gently you pushed the tunic down his arms. There was a long moment of silence as you began to drink in the sight of his bare chest, splotched with red and freckles. And you couldn’t see how any of him wasn’t just absolutely perfect. You began to smile before you leaned forward to press a kiss to his clavicle and press yourself against him. 

“You are beautiful melda.” You whispered softly against his skin, and Carnistir flushed at your words. Shivering at your caressing hands, but tongue tied on being able to say anything on the matter, overwhelmed that you found him to be beautiful despite his difference in skin. 

You tilted your head up from your spot on his chest, your nose brushing against his and a smile playing on your lips, especially as you heard the shaky exhale of your husband. 

“It’s only fair you see more of me too… Come, help me out of my clothes.” You whispered to him, your lips centimeters from his, barely brushing against soft ones. 

It was all the motivation that Carnistir needed before he pressed his lips right into yours again, with unbridled passion, making you hum. You certainly couldn’t wait for what was to come. 

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

[wataksampingan]

Ch 87 is out on Webtoon Fast Pass and uh. Words.

(I need a spoiler warning banner gif or something. Anyway, spoilers galore)

As usual I have nothing that makes coherent sense or contains proper punctuation.

All I got is blubbering over how humble these two leads are and how much they doubt themselves in their pain and how much good they still do in spite of it and how many more chapters to go (even beyond That One Chapter I lost sleep over) before they fully realise how well they suit each other-

....okay before Perry realises how well they suit each other.

Also, I am dying to know her stepmother's deal. Clearly Count Zahardt wasn't perfect, but saying shit like "only the faint-hearted follow illusions"* is RICH coming from her when she attempted to achieve her goals (whatever those are) by poisoning her husband (an extremely untenable - thus illusory - method). In fact, all of Perry's childhood memories of her so far have been laced with some sort of strange edge, as if this woman has resented Perry from the beginning. I know money is a huge motive but is that the only driving force behind such hatred?

So what was it really? Jealousy over the previous Countess Zahardt? Resentment against Perry's father for his (according to her) overzealous charity and her greed for more? All of the above?

Perry sure got the brunt of it, considering this one single memory brings up doubts like:

1. If the countdom grew poorer because my father just kept helping others, then that means I could be the cause of the Lapileons' downfall too since they have been helping me constantly

2. Aren't I then also neglecting those around me, like my own countdom and my uncle? Also doesn't that mean just being here instantly brings more trouble to a place that already contends with so many other problems? Even Gloria doesn't live in the manor so as not to overburden their staff and supply run

3. Was my poor father such a fool as my stepmother said? Was the man I loved best in the world really so unworthy?

4. I'm also a fool to 'chase an illusion', to think that I could ever be capable enough to continue my parents' work and legacy when I can barely do anything on my own.

In Perry's mind, it doesn't matter how quickly she learned to help with the Lapileons' household paperwork, how much she's done to bring Celphi out from his shell and how well she manages herself in noble social circles, how she gave Saoirse reason to believe in others again, how she proved to Gloria that she was quick and justified at pointing out flaws in the staffing system of the family, how she essentially rescued Islette and probably countless others from Gen - how she constantly gives Theo reasons to live, rather than just exist.

All of that pales in comparison to watching Theo succeed at seemingly Everything, while she... doesn't. That perfectionist viewpoint that she arguably received from her stepmother makes her so vulnerable to this self doubt.

But now he's actually, and very rationally, putting things into perspective, not just to make her feel better but because it's all true. It's not his talent and discipline alone that sustains the Lapileon estate. He too has received much help, and crucially, while his grandfather was a complete monster, his grandmother, uncle and siblings weren't. Comparatively, Perry only has one trustworthy uncle and no such influence/power/wealth as the Lapileons. Implicitly, to have come this far on her own speaks volumes of her strength and courage (not that she would even notice it herself)

In any case, now not only is Theo capable and successful, he's proven himself humble (humble!), and clearly grateful for her by actually vocalising it.

I love this conversation so much because Theo is gentle without being patronising, and reasonable enough that Perry can't help but see the logic. He also seems to have learned from his previous fit of anger that this woman needs coaxing. She has trust issues as numerous as his own, so he can't brute force his way into her confidence.

But they are so similar, it's wonderful to see him immediately on the same page, immediately recognising her doubts because he's probably had similar thoughts growing up. He was made grand duke after his older brother died and sister incapacitated by grief. He too must live up to a legacy left behind by people he respects and loves. There are huge shoes to fill for him too.

Also:

You did this to yourself Pereshati LMAO

(forever laughing at how he was so focused on pouring out his true feelings to her that he went on auto pilot and won)

Oh oh, one more unrelated thing to yell fruitlessly into the ether:

ENGLISH BOOK PUBLICATION WHEN, WEBTOON?? KOREAN VOL. 3 IS ALREADY DUE ON THE 27TH!!

* I forgot this was a flashback to ep 31!!

...Lillian is still incredibly malicious and suspicious!!

[butchsophiewalten]

Man this is so random but this theory is stuck in my head and I wanna see how other people feel about it because I don't see people talk about it a lot (I have no clue if the link will go through properly since I've never put a link in a ask box)

https://www.tumblr.com/art-w0rm/667910993425350656/theory-time

Oh god not this theory again. I really truly try not to be mean to people for no good reason on this blog, but this theory is literally one of the stupidest fucking things I've ever seen in my entire life. I don't talk about this theory because to me it's like the walten files theory equivalent of that tubby custard mechanically separated chicken post.

Most of the time I genuinely don't even consider it worthy of my time, because it's nonsense, but this is a very nicely worded ask, and I really don't mean to dedicate any of the vitriol I hold towards this theory to You, poor anonymous person, so I will deconstruct it. I will go through the theory point-by-point and deconstruct why I disagree with it.

First up, this:

Showbear is not a character in The Walten Files anymore. Showbear was fully retconned and is never going to appear in the series again. He was effectively just a cameo of ThunderingStatic's (one of Martin's friends) OC, but when The Walten Files blew up and people started assuming Showbear was Martin's character, Static decided to withdraw his character from the series and focus putting him in other projects.

Martin talked about this on Twitter forever ago, but I wouldn't be able to find that tweet now. But here's a bit from the interview he did with KnowYourMeme back in 2021 where he talks about it:

Now this:

This is just stupid to me? Like a complete logical incongruity? I barely even know how describe what is dumb about this because I can't even fathom how anyone draws this conclusion from this information. How is it strange for a man to say 'if my wife isn't home by the time she said she was going to be, let me know, in case something happened.'????? Why would Rosemary be out cheating on her husband with her fucking daughter with her??? If Rosemary was cheating on her husband why would her whole life collapse when he went missing? If Rosemary was cheating on her husband why would she show up at the restaurant every day after he disappeared asking if anyone had seen him and hoping to find him alive??? Why would she make paintings of herself and him together after he disappeared????? What the fuck are you talking about?

Ok now this:

Whatever. This is maybe the most coherent part of the theory, to me. I definitely agree that Sha evokes a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' sort of aesthetic, but I do remember Martin saying something in a Twitter Q&A at one point about how that wasn't actually intentional, and that Bon was the character he actually meant to seem unusually predatory. I looked for a while and couldn't find a screenshot of that, but I did find this one where he says the thing about Bon:

So whatever. take that with a grain of salt.

I don't even know what to say. here. Whatever. sure she was rolling in the hay

yeah Rosemary is asking if she's still beautiful because she cheated on her husband and not because she was chopped up and stuffed inside a big animatronic sheep. I think this is correct and is the True Deep Lore.of the walten files. I'm sure this doesn't have anything to do with the recurring motif of the double-meaning behind the word Beautiful either.

I don't know why it's weird that the lost lingering spirit of a mother would be calling out to her only living child. I Don't know why that needs additional explanation involving this batshit infidelity conspiracy theory.

Sha's chest is also ripped out

So is Banny's, honestly? Just a little less?

ok now this:

I guess I can't disprove this except that I think this is dumb. I think this is a really incredibly stupid logical leap to make. Y'know I really meant to go into this levelheadedly and very calmly go through every point and talk about why I think it's Decisively Disagreeable or whatever but I can't. I really can't. I just cannot keep my patience with this sort of thing.

You'd think if there was an infidelity aspect here it would've been lampshaded in some respect, at all, in the old /sophiewalten findjackwalten page text. Where it's literally Sophie talking to Jenny about what she remembers about her family.

Especially if the idea is that Sophie is meant to have been there. You'd think something like that would have come up here. Not 'she was nice and a good mom until my dad disappeared and her mental health started getting worse'

[afterhoursdoll]

well, before i start figuring out what i want to write, yanno something im a BIG fan of as far as hypnosis goes but i almost never see explored in writing or art?

false agency!

like, sure! having your mind pushed down, down, aaaaaaall the way down, losing piece after piece of your adorable little self to the spirals you've been made to stare at for minutes, hours, days?-- how would you know how long it's been, at this point?-- it's cute, very cute! being rendered naught but a mindless hypnodoll, giggly and mumbling, fully at the whims and mercy of your hypnotist-- cute, cute, cute!

but hey! hear me out for a second. i'm pulling you in here with me.

let's say the hypnotist wanted something a little different. you went into it expecting your mind to be blanked, bent entirely out of shape and reformed in a way they find absolutely adorable. good doll, good drone, what have you. but! when all is said and done, when their work is complete and they start packing up their tools, you...don't feel all too different, all things considered! curious!

you part ways after that, with your hypnotist planting a little kiss on your cheek (so good! so sweet!) and telling you to keep in touch. you nod vigorously; of course you will! why wouldn't you? they treated you with such care, such devotion-- it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside just thinking about it!

but, see, that's the thing! you can still think!

you can drive yourself home! you can remember to go to the grocery store, maybe buy a couple things to make for dinner, and once you're home you can cook them! all independently, too! and the next morning, maybe you have a job! you can still go to it! you can even interact with people and remain coherent(...?) throughout! are you truly entranced?

but oh, everything feels so light! so floaty! it's as though your head's full of bubbles! a euphoric haze has taken root deep, deep in your psyche, blanketing your still-coherent thoughts with such a comforting cloud! so comforting, so sweet, in fact, that you don't even notice the times in which you slip.

you've become so spacey, now! you hardly notice how your hazy mind struggles to focus, how you occasionally trail off in the middle of sentences as though your brain had just erased whatever you were thinking about.

you're always happy, now! filled with boisterous glee, you take everything in stride, nothing seeming to phase you much at all! and if something does manage to get through to you, maybe even for a split second bringing clarity to your distant self...it doesn't take much at all for you to snap back into that whimsical state of yours and carry on like nothing had ever occurred.

you don't think about how it feels like you're living in a dream, with all the floatiness that entails. you don't notice how often you stare at your phone, either waiting for your hypnotist to text you or simply rereading the little affirmations they've sent, little words and images to reinforce your trance-- they're just so nice to look at! you don't think about how eager you are to follow their every command, bend to their every whim, regardless of what you're doing at the moment-- they're the most important thing in your life, after all. it's hard to get them off your mind!

and your eyes?

your eyes, sweet thing?

ohh, no matter how well you carry yourself, no matter how much agency you seem to display, no matter how in control of yourself you may feel...

the spirals, the colorful, spinning spirals that pulse and whorl atop your eyes-- they, more than anything, betray the kind of state you're truly in, dear doll.

[myrmica]

[#was this base they built just never used after this] great news there is at least literally Once more 😆,29/11 "A New Empire" v=7HIQ6Lg9r1I summary: mostly just mapicc wrangling villagers at the other snowy mountain base "I'm still gonna be evil but people can live in my country if they'd like" ... Mapicc did. make a shrine. of Zam's 2 dropped items like they were talking about. "to our fallen comrade" chat asks if he was *banned*, which, legit! why are you phrasing it like this!

anon ask continued:

"guys I miss Prince Zam this is usually what Zam would be doing and I would just be like making jokes but now I have to actually contribute" 😂 // 33:28-34:15 the problems with playing on 20 hearts (✨i love counter-intuitive ~dynamics) // 47:40-48:16 "I miss Zam. [...] I don't think he does [miss us back]" // 1:02:28-38 Mapicc, having decided to go to spawn to see Zam "I'm not afraid of Zam. I'm afraid of the encounter ... Not afraid of Zam. Not in the slightest." ok (Zam is not visible at spawn. Dirt blocks that haven't grown grass yet are at spawn.) (goes to End, disapproves of the Space Adventure set dressing (netherrack and cobblestone)) // 1:13:27 mapicc being The Evil One is good marketing for his videos (@ brain see you should take the unconvincingness as deliberate) [the genuine belief that zam was being honest about his motives there deteriorated over time] this is why i gave in to Clipblog Urge instead of trying for only summarising to be more space-efficient, see 1:15:05->16:41, which hits: -- I wish we didn't do this [Zamfight] -- If he had restocked he would have been fine. I really don't think it was impossible for him to win, he had duped items—so much more than us. [chat: isn't restocking banned?] The guy was duping, like I don't expect him to - follow the rules -- I don't think we needed to fight. I think it was Ro's fault, I think Ro left him out way too much—that entire time he was being so dumb he was like yeah dude it's a Duality Duo I was supposed to convince Mapicc and that's my fault. Like, Zam is a part of the team too bro, you're being dumb. like... hm. sure, "Zam felt ~left out of Team Awesome" was part of it—though boy Mapicc sure was saying literally yesterday that Spoke made Zam feel left out, which I am reading as a) when talking to Other Lifestealers and not Team or chat he's not going to badmouth Roshambo but Spoke doesn't expect/need that; b) whatever name he puts in that slot - never Mapicc —but, man, is that his understanding of Zam's attitude to ~the rules? (when i listened i thought it absolutely was and now staring at the bare words i'm not sure. lol.) because. if you thought zam's entire or supermajority problem was not being valued/listened to/part of decisions, and not very much the exploits themselves... well. you might think that [not listening to zam about] the duping hurt zam, and also that he might have got rid of them the same way that roshambo 'got rid of them'. ...or you might have eclipse federation problems. ✨narrative coherence. (sorry for the ask spam, trying to send it all in one broke... so many times. 😅)

(no problem! i've consolidated them all for convenience anyway, as you can see :D)

WHAT AN INTERESTING ONE. i think mapicc makes a lot of sense here in relation to his later actions, and it's notable because this happens explicitly before the idea to get back at zam the way he ultimately will has fully occurred to him: “Spoke knows where Zam’s base is. I could pay him a visit. You know how eerie that would be? What if i did that.”

and in the meantime, before he does decide to pay that visit, he's poking around at other story ideas so to speak. like, "what if i built all this stuff and recruited a bunch of people?" which obviously goes nowhere. but it's crazy that, okay, zam betrays team awesome leaving just mapicc and ro, two players. supposedly (in zam's mind at least) doing this fixes an imbalance in the way things were before, where he was left out, where it was always Mapicc and Ro before it was him. but mapicc opens his very second stream after that betrayal with: "Team awesome is no longer a strictly two player team. Out here is going to be the biggest community of lifesteal members ever."

(side note, you're right: mapicc standing in front of a sign that reads "to our fallen comrade," answering the question "is zam banned???" with "WHAT? NO. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT FROM?" is killing me.)

like, everything in these two mapicc streams before the shoe drops point to a different kind of narrative than the one we wind up with, but hints are still there. it's sort of a perfect storm; showing up at zam's base would be interesting, and mapicc plays into being the evil one because it's entertaining and memorable, and then zam reacts Like That, which is definitely entertaining and memorable. it all builds on itself. you have mapicc alone out here bemoaning the fact that zam isn't there to do the things he's used to zam doing in his life, honoring him by hanging those items up, privately blaming ro for his not being there anymore, realizing that he knows how to get zam's base coords...

the thing about him blaming ro in private but not to other people's faces is a really good point; take the scene much later where he convinces zam to settle their conflict on mapicc-terms for example, he's rhetorically treating him and ro as a unit because that's what will get the result he wants. so he goes from buying into zam's argument about the duped items being wrong when it's useful to get ro to do what he wants, and then drops it again when he's alone with chat. i think it's like, regardless of what he does or doesn't understand about zam's driving values here, it's more beneficial to mapicc to assume that zam still has duped items/doesn't actually care; it places him in a more versatile position, it can justify his actions when he needs them justified ("he had a chance, more than you guys think." and here it seems relevant that being alone with chat is different from really being alone with himself, which then raises the question of whether a 'character' on ls can exist in the same way without the camera? i think the camera is part of the process through which the character happens in some cases. schrodinger's mapicc. that's besides the point.)

it's really funny the degree to which zam will constantly say he's wrong for things he doesn't actually think he's wrong for in s4, while mapicc will never admit he's wrong for anything even if privately he knows he might be.

[mikelogan]

hello. i really enjoy your content, but i have to say i'm kinda disappointed on you still being a ts fan. this woman knows what disney does and yet she still gave them the rights, meaning she either doesn't care or actively supports the genocide. or maybe she decided to turn her morals off because money is more important. not to mention how she consistently associates herself with questionable people and how a person literally died in one of her shows on brazil and she gave zero fucks. this woman is not a good person and there are no excuses to being her fan anymore.

no, i fully understand what you're saying and where you're coming from. over the last like. idk year and a half? ive been pretty vocal about my disappointment, distaste, and disagreement with a multitude of the choices she's made lately. i 100% agree that her silence on the subject of palestinian genocide (as well as many other human rights/social causes) is at best a sign of apathy and at worst a sign of support. especially when miss americana was all about her wanting to be more outspoken and be an activist. that all feels so incredibly performative now -- and has for a while. a lot of things that she's said and done since midnights, which is when i became more active in the tumblr swiftie community, have left a bad taste in my mouth for her as a person.

like i said, i genuinely agree with what you're saying. the only thing i take issue with is that she didn't care that a fan died at her show. she donated money to the fan's family and took time to meet them. regardless of my many issues with her, i do think she can be an empathetic person and i don't think that she just straight up didn't care that someone died before her show. it's one of those things (of which there are many) where we'll never know her true thoughts bc she doesn't talk about things. which is frustrating in itself.

now that's not the point of your message, so feel free to write that off as a digression. i strongly disagree with her making yet another version of the eras tour movie and hosting it on disney+. I'm personally boycotting disney+ and have been for a while. I don't even intend on watching the new version and like the vast majority of everything I gif, that shit is pirated -- that's how I watched the original release of the movie. obviously my consumption/boycotting is just one person compared to blondie, who has influence over millions, who could make real change if she spoke out against genocide.

at this point, im not supporting her financially either apart from listening to her music. which i love. im sorry, but I do. if I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. i think her constant churning out different exclusive versions of the same albums are a transparent money grab and maybe an effort to set more records as far as sales or streams or however that all works. and I'm not just saying that bc I literally couldn't even afford to buy a digital copy of an album right now.

so yeah. I appreciate that you enjoy my content and thank you for saying so, but if you need to unfollow or block, i understand. I've definitely toned down/completely stopped sharing posts about her as a person bc I'd much rather focus on just the music. and maybe that makes me a bad person for continuing to listen to and enjoy her music. im not saying i necessarily feel good about it, but i think the fact of the matter is that a lot of the celebrities, actors, musicians, etc. we like or whose content we enjoy hold views we disagree with and have different values or priorities. nuance exists. right now, im someone who is vocal about the palestinian genocide and I try to share resources/posts about it when they come across my dash and im also someone who is a fan of Taylor's music.

Idk, I hope what I'm saying makes sense at least on some level. I've done my best to word things coherently, but brain fog fucks w me a lot. and like. it's probably whatever, but I do plan on changing my url after ttpd releases. That probably upsets you more and I can see how people might think im a hypocrite or something and yeah, I get it. Idk, I just want to enjoy someone's music without endorsing them as a person, but that's extra difficult when the person in question is the biggest singer in the industry. but you'll never see me making excuses for her on things like this or the m*tty situation or numerous other things she's said and done that gross me out. im not so far up her ass that I think she's perfect or that I feel the need to defend her at every turn. like I said, nuance. anyway, if you feel the need to respond, i welcome you to do so as long as we both remain respectful, which I think we've done. this is a difficult topic, but that doesn't mean we can't discuss it. I appreciate your point of view and I'm sorry that I've disappointed you!

[soaringwide]

Pick a Card readings - how I views them as a reader & the different perceptive skills used

So I wanted to talk a bit about my vision of the use of pick a card readings. I'm someone who makes them but I also consume them as a viewer. I wanted to combine both in a post but it's too damn long so this will be divided in two parts. Part 1, reader; Part 2, consumer.

Part 01 - From a reader's point of view

It's definitely quite interesting to work on because you start with *zero* context and preconception about the person, since you don't know who it is meant for precisely. So your interpretation of the cards and intuition are not short-circuited by your preconceptions about either what you know of the person, or the context they gave you.

This allows me to let myself go fully into creating a story in my head from what I see in the cards. I found myself being much more relaxed when doing these readings, because I'm not scared about being wrong about a person's life since I imagine that someone somewhere will find it resonates. I can even include multiple ''streams'' in my reading since, again, it's meant for different people. For example I might interpret a struggle in two different ways and include both in the readings, if both feel relevant. That doesn't mean I say whatever comes out of my head, I still need to chose what aspect of the card resonates and creates a coherent narrative with the other cards, but it clears the way for intuition to flow more freely.

What I discovered is that it is a good exercise to strengthen my intuition and allows me to feel more at ease with it because I don't try to hold it back so much.

It's also quite fascinating because it allows me to feel different types of energy quite strongly in a short time span.

For example, the feel of the energy (or vibe or whatever you want to call it) is not the same at all if I get a very spiritual pile vs one that talks about a love situation. The first one, I once remember feeling the weight of the message I was relaying, perhaps due to the spirits that came to answer the question, or perhaps due to the nature of the query. It was also a reading that left me quite tired and I had to take a nap after it because it was just sooo much (not negatively, just a lot). Whereas a love situation will feel more lighthearted or even bubbly at times and put me in a goofy mood.

But you also get different feelings even on the same topic. Like the vibe of Pile 1 vs Pile 2 can feel drastically different, without even having to look at the cards.

I find that both fascinating intellectually and to be a great exercise in shaping my psychic skills and reading accuracy. It's quite hard to put into words and I still have a lot to learn about that, but I can definitely tell the difference.

However, there's definitely a case here of two different types of perception in use, which I'm going to attempt to describe.

Broad Perception

One is what I call ''broad perception''. As the name suggest, this type of perceptive skill allows you to cast a broad net and gather information widely, without getting too much into individual details.

It's a way to be able to get messages from multiple sources at once, creating a big landscape that is quite blurry and lacks details.

It's very useful when you are doing pick a card readings when you can't focus on one single person or situation without making the message irrelevant for everyone else.

Precise Perception

The other is what I call ''precise perception'' and well I imagine you get the gist but it's when you're trying to gather details and really dive deep into a problem or situation.

It's great in personal readings, but even in pick a cards, it's useful when you need to give someone a confirmation that the reading is indeed for them, because it allows you to pick up details that they will recognize and allow them to be open to the message you're trying to relay.

Which one is best?

Most people rely more on one than the other, but, really, you need both.

If you're too broad, you never give enough details to the querent and you risk being too general. The reading might still resonates but you're missing the opportunity to pull out specific information.

If you're too precise, then you run the risk of missing out on the bigger picture and focusing too much on a tiny aspect of the problem without seeing how it relates to the rest.

So both should be used if you want to be efficient, which is a long ass process and requires a lot of time and effort, and is the reason why I like doing both pick a card and personal readings, either for people I know or randos on the internet.

But yeah to get back to pick a cards, I think it's a great way to strengthen your broad perception, while learning to be mindful of your use of the precise perception, because, again, you don't want to be too focused on one person but also still be giving enough confirmation details.

Part 2

[lemurzsquad]

Music to Owl Ears (Ch 1)

Ch 1: Jogging Laps

Pairing: Bokuto x musician fem!reader

Summary: After being knocked over, your morning is hijacked by the pair of students responsible, and your mind is jogging laps trying to figure out one question: What in the world just happened?

A/N: I have once again been dragged along by my own story, I have no control of what happens lol

In all seriousness tho, I was not expecting some of this stuff to happen right off the bat, but we're going with it. Also, this is NOT going to be a love triangle---Akaashi is a very important character, but I am not adding him to the romance problems TvT he just got a surprising amount of attention this chapter

I hope you enjoy!! And please read the prologue if you haven't! (It's essentially the actual Ch 1 lol)

Word count: 1510

cw: overthinking, some jealousy, rambling

"Bold for English"

"Not bold for Japanese"

- Masterlist -

< Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps | Ch 2: Lunch Break >

Your first day of school turned out… interesting, to say the least. Chaotic may have been a better word—maybe hectic. Or perhaps unexpected and eventful were more accurate. Confusing? Not quite, save for the lingering question of how you got to this point in the back of your mind.

You found yourself at your assigned desk, running through English synonyms for your experiences that day and trying to think of Japanese synonyms in the process. Your teacher was running through class expectations for the year that you only vaguely listened to but never fully locked your attention on. It wasn't intentional; your mind was simply jogging laps to process what had happened that morning.

You recalled the course of events once more, attempting to grasp some sort of understanding of the question that ran through your head over and over: What in the world just happened?

After you had been pulled to your feet, eyes wide and taken aback, you finally got a good look at the person who you assumed had knocked you over—and you could immediately tell how that happened. He towered over you, still holding on and moving you around slightly to inspect for any signs of injury. From the way he had picked you up with such ease, you gathered he was pretty well built under his partially disheveled uniform. His hair was two-toned in black and silver and slicked back into what you would describe as spiky owl ears—the thought almost made you chuckle, but you kept it to yourself.

You glanced over to the left in the direction of his friend. His stature was not quite as tall or nearly as visibly brawny, and he was much more put together. He gave you a very brief look of sympathy and apology that you barely caught before your eyes turned back.

The one still holding you by the shoulders finally spoke a coherent, complete sentence that wasn't some broken variation of “Are you okay? I'm so sorry!” When he deduced you had not sustained any wounds due to his carelessness, he said, “I'm so stupid, I'm sorry. Glad you're not hurt, though!” He gave you a grin, one that was somewhere between sheepish, apologetic, and lighthearted.

“I told you, you should have been paying attention,” his black-haired friend interjected dryly. “You might want to let her go, though.”

Something seemed to click beneath his owl ears that reminded him he was still clinging to you. He pulled his hands back finally, chuckling as he scratched the back of his head. You smiled and sniffled whatever remains of your previous tears were left.

“It's no worries,” you reassured. “I should have been paying attention, too, but I didn't know where I was going.”

“Oh, are you new? A transfer student, maybe?” The shorter of the two asked while his companion went to pick up your bag and hand it back to you.

“Was it that obvious?” You joked, brushing off the remaining dust, pebbles, and strays bits of grass from your uniform. You tried your best to straighten out your outfit—the first uniform you'd ever had to wear to school before—before slinging your bag back over your shoulder and across your body.

The one to the left tilted his head slightly, replying, “Well, you were speaking English earlier, so I just took a guess.”

“And you have a strong accent,” his friend interrupted. He grinned brightly and held out his hand, unexpectedly blurting out, “I'm Bokuto Koutarou, by the way!”

You probably would have shook his hand if you didn't get distracted by your own thoughts. “Bokuto's your… surname, right? Last name, first name, I think. Sorry, I haven't met many people since I got here even though it's been a couple weeks,” you rambled. “Also, sorry if I get anything wrong, I'm kind of new to this whole ‘being in Japan’ thing.” You gesture with your hands as you speak, using your fingers as quotation marks near the end.

Bokuto laughed lightheartedly, and his friend almost joined him. “Don't worry, you are doing okay,” he said—to your surprise—in English. It was a bit stiff, but you could understand it just fine—it was about as good as your Japanese. You turned to him, the faucet of your thoughts running out of your mouth quickly closed, and your jaw hung open. “My name is Akaashi Keiji. You can just call me Akaashi,” he added.

For some reason, his words seemed to hit you right in the chest. Maybe it was because he went through the effort to say them in your own language, or maybe it was because you were still emotional and unsure of how living in Japan would go. A couple of subtle deep breaths were enough to stop the tears threatening to well.

“My name is Y/n– I mean, L/n Y/n,” you replied, making sure to correct yourself. “Please just call me Y/n, I'd feel weird being called by my last name.” You held out your hand with a hopeful smile, shaking their hands in turn. I have no idea why I just did that, you thought in reference to the handshake. That felt way too formal.

You shook your head softly at your own thoughts before continuing, “It's nice to meet you, Akaashi and… Bokuto.” You took a guess in calling him that, not entirely sure which name to use. You were already uncertain if you were being impolite, but the wide grin you got in return told you it was fine.

The whole situation went by in a blur to the point you almost had to ignore your own awkwardness, finding yourself just trying to form sentences. It somehow made you both anxious and relieved by having to focus solely on the conversation. There was no time to think about how or why the conversation was happening in the first place.

You briefly pulled out your phone, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw the time. School would be starting in seven minutes. “Oh no, I have no idea how to get to class—” You looked between Bokuto and Akaashi, the panic of unfamiliarity rising in you once again.

When you asked if they knew the way when you mentioned your class, Bokuto piped up, “That's on the way to my class! You should totally come with me, I can show you where it is!” Before you could give any sort of answer, grabbed you by the arm and started to almost race into the building.

You had just enough time to wave at Akaashi and for him to see the flustered, stunned look on your face. He shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets and heading to class at a much more leisurely pace—he didn't bother trying to catch up. He had the sneaking suspicion that this year was about to be a very entertaining one.

Bokuto had dragged you a good while before you had managed to get him to slow down, saying you couldn't tell where you were going and needed to commit it to memory. Eventually, you had made it to your class. You found it odd that the classroom was just open with no teacher inside. You had glanced around, confused, but didn't bother asking about it.

In the time it took to get to where you needed to go, it was evident that Bokuto was fairly popular. He had loudly greeted people along the way with a shining smile and enthusiastic waves.

A feeling started to eat away at you—a guilty emotion that brewed of envy, discomfort, and something else you couldn't quite place. You were grateful that he had shown you around, but a nagging in your mind told you it was just to make up for his first impression. And seeing him so carefree and able to talk to people so casually made you infinitely more aware of your standing. The realization that he may have been that comfortable due to years of enrollment at the school didn't make you feel any better.

You now sat at the back of the class, running through the busy morning once more. You wondered mindlessly if you would ever run into Akaashi and Bokuto again as you listened to your teacher. You hadn't greeted anyone or introduced yourself; you knew you should have if you wanted to make friends, but the thought alone made you start to feel nervous.

It was too early to be coming to the conclusion that, in reality, you knew you weren't going to go out of your way to make friends, but you couldn't help it.

The bell that signaled lunch rang just out of your current sphere of focus.

And just as you started to get fully immersed into your spiraling reasoning and excuses, jogging laps in your mind with an ever-increasing speed, a voice pierced through your protective, self-destructive bubble, loud and clear.

“HEY, HEY, HEY!! Y/N!”

It would seem that you didn't have a choice on that friendship front.

Thank you for reading!! <333

- Masterlist -

< Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps | Ch 2: Lunch Break >

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