#a mESS
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nerolikestowander · 3 months ago
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Whenever i’m having a bad day I draw John Lennon sad and smoking.
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artliara · 3 days ago
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let's go
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aomiiine · 7 months ago
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𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋!𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 thoughts..
warning(s) : just smth short w sassy sanzu. you can imagine platinum/white or pink haired sanzu here it doesn’t matter. model!au so no deaths or wtvr. he’s a fucking jerk. model!fem!reader. nsfw. mdni. reader smokes. intoxicated pussy eating. clothed eating out. sanzu having a whole plan to fuck you sloppy so you keep coming back for more so maybe a bit toxic if you squint. wc is 1.5k
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MODEL!SANZU who was a male model you were made to work with last minute. You couldn’t even refuse or take a second to at least search up his name to see if he was someone you could work with—your manager decided that for you instead.
On the night of the fashion show, you met with pink haired man backstage, briefly introduced to one another by his manager since yours was busy instructing the girls who had their makeup done to change into the clothes assigned to them.
Amidst the busy, cramped space you guys were in, it seemed like the world around seemed to stop when his uninterested eyes finally met yours, the pretty, unique scars on each corners of his lips curling up to an almost mocking smirk. You hated that look on his face, hated him right off the bat. And you also hated how easily his face gave you butterflies.
“You better keep up. ‘m not slowing down if you fall off the runway,” his velvety voice laced with arrogant teasing reaching yours ears like nails on a chalk board, your perfectly touched up face contorting ever so slightly at him. But you didn’t turn to him, refusing to have any sort of connection with your one-night partner.
Lights dimmed, curtains slid open, music cued—you two opened the show. It was a quick-paced walk, not much pressure since you’ve been opening and closing fashion shows for a few years—but for some fucked up reason, you felt the nerves in your prickle your skin. He walked in sync with you, though it was more like he was leading the whole fucking walk with how inconsiderate he was being, walking like you didn’t even exist beside him.
Once you returned backstage, waiting for the rest of the models to walk the runway so you could join the closing walk, you felt awfully peeved. Trying to find out the cause, you turned your head to the first suspect, MODEL!SANZU.
He felt your glare on him but simply chose to ignore you, knowing it’ll probably piss you off more. A scoff left his lips when it was proven true with how you clicked your tongue at him.
“What? Not like it’s your first time walking with your tits out,” he snickered, standing still as a makeup artist touched up his face and dabbed the sweat from his pale skin. “Unless, I made you nervous,” he added after a short period of silence, mesmerising turquoise eyes glancing your way to meet your glare, brows raised with an amused sneer that told you he had no intentions to stop provoking you.
What made it all the worse for you, was that you were liking his attention, as condescending as he might be. Plus, everything about him made you want to stare at him for as long as you could. From his silky long hair, to his lean yet muscular build, and not to mention the scars on the edge of his lips. He was a work of art, ruined in the best way possible.
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The night came to an end, finally. It was a few minutes past midnight after the show. While all the bigshots and guests were at the after-party of the event, you models were taking smoke breaks out the backdoor of the building with nothing but black robes or maybe a faux fur coat like the one you were wearing right now.
“Didn’t think you were a smoker. Such a big girl now, aren’t ya?” You heard a familiar voice call out to you from behind, yours lips pursing to a thin straight line with the light smudges of eyeshadow sharpening your already narrowed eyes that glanced at him.
Flick, “not gonna join the party? Some millionaire’s you could sleep with there,” he muttered with a cigarette between his lips as he directed the flame of his lighter below the edge of it.
“Money without good dick doesn’t turn me on,” you huffed, trail of smoke leaving your lips along with your sigh. You turned your head to look at him, expecting some kind of remark to your response—but all you saw was some shitty grin on his face, eyes looking you up and down without an ounce of subtly. Your hand moved to pull your coat tighter over your body as if you were already naked underneath, save for your panties and lace stockings.
“Oh, please. Trynna hide yourself as if I didn’t already see the shape of yours tits and ass. They were quite the view though, can’t lie,” he teased with an initial roll of his eyes, inhaling the cigarette then releasing the smoke.
MODEL!SANZU couldn’t help the twisted pleasure he felt from the sight of your stunning features contorting to a mask of disgust, or even a nasty glare. He liked it even better when you muttered some nasty comment telling him to fuck off, only to see you not lift a finger to make him really go away. You were feisty, knowing how to keep him on his toes while simultaneously pulling him close.
“Come over. Just for the night,” he blurted out, sounding more decisive than he truly was. He punched himself in his mind for suddenly inviting you over, annoyed at himself in fear of going too fast. But he kept a straight face on the outside—a skill he gained from his modelling work.
Your eyes flicked your eyes over to him again, removing the cigarette from your lips and keeping it held between your index and middle finger. It didn’t take you long to ponder for an answer. And he didn’t seem to question you much either. All that happened was a quick nod from you and a brief trip back inside to grab your bag before heading out again to get in his car.
In a blink of an eye, you were in his apartment—a messy space with essential furniture, his taste in colour and interior design something you almost admired. He didn’t bother opening the lights, letting the city lights from outside illuminate the room from the big windows.
Minutes passed in his apartment, red wine served to you in a glass and cigarettes shared and passed. The conversations between you two were somewhat heavy yet filled with banter, the atmosphere starting to get intoxicating the closer and bolder you leaned into him, legs over his lap, giving him a sight of your clothes pussy if he so wished to peek. And being the opportunist he was, he did. Stared at your figure appreciatively even.
Soon enough, hands began to wander and clothes were stripped. It didn’t take long for him to lift your legs of his lap and hang them over his shoulders instead, shifting on the couch to position himself between your legs, leaning down to give half-hearted swipes of his tongue over your dampening folds. His eyes seemed glazed over, as if he was intoxicated, which he was.
You leaned back against the armrest of the plush dark velvet couch, fur coat slipping off your body to reveal your tits, stomach lazily skimmed over by his hand. He felt you squirm from his licks and it almost made him chuckle, hand on your belly sliding over to grip your hip instead. He buried his face further into the apex of your legs, his tongue flicking up and down your clothed pussy with more effort than before, parting your thighs more so he could delve past your folds and reach your clit.
When he finally found your pulsing buds, you felt a subtle jolt wash over your body, a soft moan leaving your tired lips before sipping a hand down to his head, threading your fingers through his locks and tugging on them weakly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue that soon picked up the pace.
He was getting greedier in seconds, moving his tongue faster up and down your clit, probing your aching slit that he could barely reach due to the fabric that stopped him. As much as the lace annoyed him, he didn’t want to let you have the full experience of his capabilities, yet. He wanted you needy and curious the next morning, he wanted you coming back for more—he didn’t want you to leave.
Your fingers tangled in his hair only tightened with every passing moment, your legs quivering as he brought closer and closer to that sweet release you craved. His saliva made it better, sloppier, wetter. The lewd suckled he made desperately on your bundle on nerves and on your puffy folds made you whine pathetically, eyes closed shut and head straining to brace yourself for the orgasm he gracefully gave you. You gathered a fistful of his hair, pulling onto him to shove him deeper, riding his mouth with every buck of your hips without care if he breathed or not. But you didn’t worry much about him either, since his hands that clawed the fat of your ass and thighs told you he probably enjoyed it as much as you did.
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leahthedreamer · 7 months ago
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This has to be the most egregious miscasting of the century
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awkward-sultana · 11 months ago
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"Don't blame anyone but yourself, Suleiman. You created Hürrem and Ibrahim both."
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pulchra-potens · 5 days ago
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You were my home.
My salvation.
My anchor.
And when you left,
I crumbled.
to the ruins.
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cleoke · 9 months ago
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motivation maybe
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overwhelmedfernfrond · 20 days ago
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The End Is Nigh!! (Midterm Exams)
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devisopod · 1 year ago
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something, something, I can fix him
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hannahssimblr · 11 months ago
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I’m on my bed, fully clothed, and I cannot remember how I got here. I don’t know if I’m sitting up or lying down, or what is wall and what is ceiling. When I try to turn to my side, the room twists like a funhouse around me, the bed tilting like it's intent to slide me right off it. Am I alone? I think so.
That's my phone, the bright square of light. It lays on the sheets beside my face, and I grab it. Her name is right there. It's intuitive, too easy to find. 
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It rings three, four times, and she picks up. “Jude?” She's sleepy. I woke her. 
“I’m sorry Michelle,” I slur, and I mean to be sorry for disturbing her, but she seems to assume that I’m apologising for much more than that.  
She sighs, “I know you are, and I’m sorry too.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah. Are you drunk?”
“Uh huh.” I should likely be sorry for that too. 
“Where are you? Why are you drunk dialling me?” She doesn’t seem annoyed with me, concerned, hopeful, maybe, so I tell her the truth, “I miss you.”
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I assume maybe I’ve passed out or somehow hallucinated this entire exchange because she's not responding, but then she sucks in a lungful of air and her voice trembles, “I miss you too, I wish you were here right now.”
“No, I was a bad boyfriend.”
“You weren’t.”
“I was the worst.”
“Not always.”
“...It's hard being on my own.”
“Yeah, for me too. Every single day has been horrible.”
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I feel the kind of crushing, exaggerated sadness that I only ever do when I’ve had too much to drink, like I’m tumbling into a pit of despair so deep that the sun will never warm my face again. I can't think of a good reason why I have done this. “Sometimes I don’t want to go to Berlin,” I tell her hoarsely.
“Yeah,” she says, then hesitating like she wants to choose her words carefully, “You know that you don’t have to go, though.”
“I dunno.”
“You could stay in Dublin if you wanted to, It’s not too late. If the thought of leaving makes you too sad.”
That sounds deeply depressing, but being on my own is depressing too, and then I’m so frustrated that I fear I will start crying or something, “I can’t think.”
“You’re just drunk, but I think you’re saying this because it’s what you really mean.”
“Maybe.”
“I love you,” she says, and I hear her sitting up in bed, struck with urgency, “I haven't stopped feeling the same way about you, I still love you, and I want you to stay, if you're even considering it at all then that means-”
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“Alright,” A group of guys pass by on the road outside, boisterously chanting some tuneless song and I’m conscious that I, or whoever brought me in here, never closed the curtains. I don't want other men to see me like this, and yet I'm unable to move.
“‘Alright’, as in, you’ll stay?” She says hopefully. 
“No, like, that I heard you.”
“I think we’re supposed to be together.” 
I wonder if she really believes that. Do I believe that? Maybe. “Mm. Maybe I’ll stay,” Sleep pulls at my eyes, which now rest unfocussed on a shimmery patch of sand outside the window. In the distance the waves roar against the shore, a lullaby. Sleep encroaches the corners of my vision and begins to suck me under. 
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“Please,” she says, really crying now, “I don’t want to be on my own. I’ve been imagining you finding someone else and falling in love with them and it makes me feel sick.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
A sniffle, “No?”
“No, I don’t ever think about other people, just you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Never ever ever. You're my girl.”
She sobs gently.
“Shell, I think I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not, you just made a selfish decision. You can still fix it and make it okay.”
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My eyes are too heavy and the world is too weird and dizzy looking to keep them open, “Will you forgive me?” I manage with the last of my energy, but I’m too sleepy to listen to her answer. I pass out in three seconds, the phone warm in my palm, the speakers buzzing gently with the sound of her voice.
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In the blinding light of the morning, though my head pounds and every colour and pattern is an assault on my senses, before doing another thing, I grab my phone from my pillow to see new messages from Michelle. I don't read any of them.
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Hey.
I type.
I was really drunk. Disregard anything I said, I don't even remember what we talked about.
Beginning // Prev // Next
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awkward-sultana · 7 months ago
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Magnificent Century + Parallels: Ibrahim Pasha & Hürrem Sultan
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fanartist666 · 1 year ago
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Idk if passenger is really a thing on here or if Barry Sloane gets any love on this app BUT I literally adore that show already.
THIS POST WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR PASSENGER IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT!
Passenger. Oh my fucking GOD. I've watched it so many times. Eddie Wells has altered my brain chemistry. The tears I shed over that sweet, beautiful man.
The way he didn't even remember doing it, but thought he must have done because he was told he did, because everyone else was so fucking sure he'd done it, he believed them. He was branded evil, a monster, a freak, and probably everything else under the sun for something he didn't even remember doing. The guilt he felt. The staggering loneliness in those five years. It isn't discussed but I bet you any money his family didn't go and visit him once. In five fucking years. (I do understand why, I totally understand Joanne, Katie and Lily's motivations but that doesn't make it hurt Eddie any less)
Then he got out, and all he wanted was to be a part of his own family again. He wanted to be a husband and father again. He missed his little girls, he missed his wife. He missed his home.
And what did he find, what was his open and welcoming heart met with? Coldness, tension, conflict. His family is everything to him, and they didn't want anything to do with him. He wanted to bring Joanne a sandwich to her work, just to be nice, and she asked when he was leaving. Later his eldest daughter nearly threw boiling coffee in his face, his little girl, ready to cause him serious harm. A few days after Lily asks if she can tell him a secret.
He looked so delighted to be trusted with one. To be let back in just a little by the baby of his family, his darling baby girl. And she tells him "I wish you were dead." The TEARS I SHED when he looked up at her and visibly broke. (Barry Sloane is fucking slept on as an actor i swear to god, he is literally incredible). You could see something die in his eyes. The resolve when he stood up.
He went to end his life in the icy lake. 'This is what monsters deserve'. And who saved his life? But Jim, his 'victim'. Jim pulled him from a terrible death.
Because he was owed an answer.
Because Eddie was the beast that attacked him for no reason. Because Eddie was evil and did an evil thing, and Jim wanted to know why.
And then it turned out he was fucking innocent.
The whole time, HE DIDN'T FUCKING DO IT. 5 years in prison, in a 6x8 shoebox. For a crime he didn't even commit.
If you've read this far, do you get why he's changed my brain chemistry forever? He was pushed away, shunned, got himself beaten up, nearly killed himself over something he didn't fucking do.
Eddie was broken by the people of Chadder Vale. Even his own family. And none of it was his fault. 5 years stolen from him, his relationship with his family stolen from him, his reputation stolen from him, his life stolen from him.
AND THEN- AND FUCKING THEN- BARRY TWEETS THIS.
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THE FUCK YOU MEAN HE HAS HIS DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAYS ON HIS WRISTS. THE FUCK YOU MEAN HE HAS HIS WIFE'S NAME ON HIS LEFT FOREARM. THE LAYERS OF TRAGEDY IN ONE CHARACTER IN A SIX EPISODE SERIES ON ITVX. I AM A MESS OVER THIS INFORMATION.
HIS FAMILY IS HIS WORLD. CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW MUCH IT WOULD'VE HURT HIM WHEN AFTER ALL THAT TIME THEY REJECTED HIM??
I'm sobbing all over again. Don't even get me started on the 'it felt real, no?' When Joanne rejected his affection so harshly, because my boy was fucking devastated. (Again. I can empathise with her, I do get it, I do understand her point of view. Eddie has just messed my brain up and I adore him.)
Sincerely, I love him. Thank you Barry for him. I'm going to sob in my corner and think about giving Eddie a hug until there's a season 2.
I am never going to be the same.
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pulchra-potens · 4 months ago
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Happy New Year world!!!!
Cheers to a new year filled with love, passion and creativity.
Cheers to making friends and striving forward till the end of the world.
Cheers to working out and writing more.
Cheers to loving and helping all kinds.
Cheers to saving one more life by any means.
Cheers to mistakes that are gonna shape us.
Cheers to adulthood and challenges.
Cheers to everything.
Cheers to 2025 !
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nicpolin24 · 2 months ago
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what recent likes from nic?
For me she's not the one who should follow Antonia, I mean she's already done a lot to control the damage the two have caused
She liked the boss reel that has Luke and A in it. Completely agree with you anon. Nic has done way to much saving and cleanup. If Luke is a pr nightmare that’s on him
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z-eusie · 25 days ago
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i was attempting to write a longer, more nuanced post about this, but the gist of it was this. prepare for me to be. Salty as I often am
"well, if we can't excuse hades and persephone, then you can't excuse zeus/ganymede, or-" is not the one to one comparison that people think that it is, and it's getting exhausting seeing stuff like this in my vicinity.
people writing hades and persephone in a positive way has never truly been the problem. you would be hard pressed to find anyone around these parts who has not somewhat resigned themselves to the fact that people will view h&p as a romance, even if they disagree with the sentiment.
the real problem is how this is done, and in truth, how many innocent people have to be thrown under the bus or vilified to make it work. the reason why this comparison will never truly be equal is because i've never seen someone writing Zeus and Ganymede in a positive way who had to paint someone else as the villain in order to do so. i've never seen someone say "hera is so evil and cold, so zeus HAD to kidnap ganymede in order for him to feel loved :/". i've never seen them remove accountability from Zeus and place it on someone else entirely innocent.
if hades and persephone only works for you because you've sanitized their relationship and placed blame on the shoulders of those only marginally involved, or entirely innocent in the situation, then that's the issue. people might enjoy zeus/ganymede, or ships with similar dynamics, but they aren't stomping all over the rest of myth and everyone else involved to enjoy it. that's an h&p exclusive, my guy
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