#a poet under pressure

[ladycibia]

Yennefer vs Geralt for the bards okay BUT have you ever thought of Priscilla vs Geralt I'm that scenario, also love your art it's so cute in fun💖💖💖

I'm sorry they only fight over gwent

[askthe-littlepoet]

Amos would be ashamed of you.

"..."

[curtins]

SOLDIER, POET, KING — toji, suguru, satoru minors dni!

prologue. → medieval...bardcore...need i say more? thou art going back to middle earth with this one folks 😁

pairing. warrior!toji fushiguro x afab!reader / court advisor!suguru geto x afab!reader / emperor!gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. toji takes thee against a tree, geto's a munch, gojo's just kinda needy. doing it outdoors, getting eaten good on a lot of cushions, giving a massage?

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. soldier, poet, king — the oh hellos

a/n. listened to the bardcore cover of shakira's hips dont lie while writing. toji's is short tho idk why dont @ me

mp3. he will tear your city down (soldier) / he will slay you with his tongue (poet) / smeared with oil like david's boy (king)

TOJI FUSHIGURO — there will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword.

you're not sure what initially possessed you to follow him into the dense woods outside the encampment, but you sure as hell don't regret it now, not with the rough bark of the tree pressed against your back, grounding you as one of toji's large hands find their home on the back of your neck. the light pressure has you entirely dizzy, but that could also be attributed to the rough drag of his thick cock against your inner walls, slam!

over and over, at a giddying pace that sends shivers down your spine, and stars dancing across your eyes. the scent of pine, earth, and your own dripping arousal fills the air, and you groan as you taste the saltiness of the warrior's skin and the sweetness of his tongue, stained from the ginger confections that soldiers usually shared around the camp to invigorate them through the long nights.

his lips are demanding, fiery even as they push harder against your own, and you shudder as you feel the scrape of a thin scar against your cheek as the world fades away.

the only sound being your quivering breath, and the filthy smack! of his pelvis against your legs, which have been unceremoniously spread against the tree, riding your skirts up and if toji were to step away, and leave you there, all would see the silver, glassy sheen that dripped from your puffy folds.

but you pull him closer, wrapping your own shaking arms around his broad shoulders, as you mewl for him to keep going.

"there! ah! it's so - so deep, toji!" you try to contain your voice to a whisper, desparately praying that his comrades nearby aren't alerted to the lewd sounds erupting from the two of you.

but he looks merely pleased, dangerous like this, and his green eyes are hazed over with lust, the feeling of your tight cunt felling such a powerful and feared commander, "yeah, shit - deeper then?"

and he's angling himself closer to you, so his fat, bulbous tip must be kissing your most sensitive spot, the rough, spongy patch that makes you squeal and sigh, and cry out as you thread your fingers through his choppy dark hair.

"hope you can keep up, fuck!" and toji fushiguro's eyes are gleaming, "i can go till dawn."

didn't the sun set not a mere hour ago?

SUGURU GETO— there will come a poet who's weapon is his word

suguru geto's name is woven into every conversation at court, from the grand feasts to the courtyards where soldiers train. his silver tongue is one of legend, so sharp that it can cut through the thickest of political games, twisting even the most steadfast men and women into submission.

it had been hard not to ignore the sheer gravity of his presence, tall with dark eyes like pools of liquid twilight, and raven hair that's fallen haphazardly out of his topknot as he had led you into his chambers, "i know you've been listening to the rumours, people say many things about me," and his pink lips curl up, "but none can truly capture the beauty of my work."

your tone is breathy under his touch, "and what exactly is your work, geto?"

he's laid you back against the plush cushions of the divan, where tapestries (worth a king's ransom) hang over the walls, and his lips are now ghosting over your neck, "call me suguru," and there he presses soft, shallow kisses, "the court is full of pawns, but it is my job to make them kings."

it's hard not to tremble when his lips are travelling further down, scattering marks over your collarbones, "and me?"

his eyes are now locked with yours, and the world around you seems to slow, "you, an esteemed lady of the court? i could make you a queen."

you can smell the faint scent of sandalwood mingling with the scent of your own heady ache, and it makes your heart race. his lips are teasing, gentle and intoxicating like a fine wine that leaves you craving more, as you let your hands travel under his dark robes and over smooth skin.

gradually, his kisses travel down, moving from your collarbone to the shadow between your breasts, courtesy of his hands making quick work of your gown, then trailing along your stomach, each kiss igniting a trail of warmth that leaves a hot syrup pooling between your legs.

"hngh - lower, suguru! keep going!" and you angle yourself so your legs are spread wide and he can slot his broad frame right between them, right where you need him.

but he is not one to be direct, ever, and he gives you a teasing smile as he ghosts his fingers across silk-sodden undergarments, "lower?" and now he's pressing the pads of his fingers across the fabric, leaving lightning shocks in their wake, "lower, like here?"

and his fingers have found home, drawing figure-eights over your throbbing bud as you arch your back up, "yes, fuck, right there!"

you're given not a second or more to breathe, or choose your next course of action before suguru geto is tearing the offending garments off, and away, tossing them far from the divan as you gape incredulously.

silvertongue. the mere epithet does not do justice to how his mouth is laving hot kisses at your core, where the tip of his tongue is prodding at your fluttering entrance, and up over your puffy clit, before hollowing out his cheeks to suck.

GOJO SATORU — there will come a ruler who's brow is laid with thorn

the throne room is vast like a frost-kissed sky, and it stretches beyond what the human eye can comprehend. and the floor beneath your silk slippers is a pale marble sheen, icy and smooth as each step of yours echoes softly, swallowed by the immense space around you, as if the room is holding its breath.

there's a slight smirk curling at the corners of the emperor's lips, his pale hair falling softly around his face like the cool winds of winter that he commands — as he lounges back on the throne carved from white stone that is so pure, it gleams like ice.

"ah, i was wondering when you would come," and his voice is smooth and low, like the calm before a storm that leaves the earth ravaged, "my sweet courtesan."

"it seems my lord missed me?" now you're on the steps of the throne, and you know that you are the only one, save for the emperor himself, who can make it this far without being blown to pieces or ripped apart by the winds.

you know that he favours you, keeps you as a prize above all others, summons you at the most arbitrary of times to please him, as he does to you.

it is a fearful thought, that gojo satoru would defy the laws of gods and elders to claim you as a partner - one who would sit the throne alongside him as an equal, perhaps one day, but not yet.

the realm need not pay the price in blood for that.

your fingers dip into the bowl of warm oil, the scent of live and rosemary filling the air with an earthy, calming aroma as gojo shrugs the heavy indigo robes off his thick shoulders. the oil is cool at first, but it warms on his skin, gliding effortlessly over gojo's flesh. and you press gently at first, the oil easing against his skin, leaving a faint sheen as you work through the tight knots along his neck.

you hear a soft groan escape his lips, deep and resonant, as your fingers work into the knots of his muscles.

"i must be the luckiest man in the empire," he teases, and his voice is low and playful, as he runs his tongue over his lips leaving a gloss over his petal-pink mouth that you want to capture with your own, "i fear i'm becoming too accustomed to your...delicate, mmph! ministrations."

you snort, digging the heel of your hand harder into the muscle, and another moan escapes him, deeper this time, and it ignites something primal within you.

as your hands travel lower, you find yourself leaning closer, so your mouth ghosts over the shell of his ear, radiating red and hot.

gojo glances back at you, and you can see that the ice-blue of his eyes has become glazed over with desire, "if you keep this up, i might forget that i'm supposed to be in control here."

you indulge yourself, running your hands now over the front of his chest, feeling the ba-dump! underneath his pectoral muscles as you glide your fingers across him, "just wait, my lord, i can be quite persuasive when the mood strikes," you flick a pink nipple, and watch as he shifts, "perhaps, we might even shift control."

before you know it, he closes the space between you, with a soft laugh, and your lips meet his, soft and tentative at first — deepening as he pulls you onto his lap, and you gasp as you feel the thick bulge underneath the woven fabric, skirting your hips against it for the most delicious friction.

still, the oil slicks your hands as you run them over as much skin that you can find, and it's messy, full of fervour, as he runs his hands now up your robes, and prods a slender finger right past your gaping, quivering entrance, the ring of muscle allowing him in easily, such was your own want.

"now this," he whispers, the slighest whimper falling through his voice, against your lips, "- is how a true emperor enjoys his courtesan."

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Vroom Vroom

A/n: Billie brings you along for the shoot, but in the end she's suddenly jealous you not so much of Charli as of your attention to her as a celebrity. Charli playfully teases at her, but no doubt Eilish finds an original way to remind you about herself.

Their music video for "Guess" is a sudden bomb for my inspiration! And it doesn't have much to do with the text, but I do want to point out that Charlotte is an icon of my teenage years, lol.

Talking to Charlotte Aitchison, or more popularly Charli XCX, is definitely an exciting moment for you, given your strong fascination with her as a teenager. You're extremely visibly shaken from exactly the moment she gives you a welcoming hug and you're still in that excited mood. You've fainted about forty times in your mind, and you'd probably have realized one of those dramatic falls if it weren't for Billie's hand on your waist, which is clasping your side a little tighter than usual by the minute, or beating out some nervous rhythm of its own.

"It's very nice to meet you, Y/n!" - Charlotte smiles incredibly warmly, and for a second it seems to you that you are going to kiss the asphalt fantastically with your lips. Well, and with the whole face as a whole. - "Billie told me that you're an old fan of mine, you know, I'm really pleased."

"Gosh, uh... thank you!" - you touch the back of your head with the palm of your hand in burning awkwardness, only to then bring that hand back down sharply, as if spurring yourself on and sobering up. - "I just momentarily lost all the words I wanted to say to you, I'm sorry."

You're feeling incredibly uncomfortable with your surroundings under the weight of your own excitement and trepidation, even though Charli is looking at you as relaxed and friendly as possible-what's more, her dark brown eyes remind you of two mugs of hot tea, which with each sip envelope you with comfortable warmth, dispersing the delicious boiling water through your arteries.

Eilish, who has been gallantly silent all this time, understands you without any words, simply by reading your broken body language. In one deft but at the same time masterfully hidden in her persistence movement, she pulls you closer to her, right to her side, as if she were a mother duck and you were her obedient but confused duckling.

"Relax, my girl." - Eilish throws a slight smile on her lips, and puts her hand possessively much lower than your back, or rather, right on your ass. Just for a few moments, but you also instantly feel your ears light up like warning lights. - "Charlotte is exactly the same person as you, remember?"

Charli chuckles playfully as you nod and exhale slightly, gathering all the words and thoughts into the formerly organized piles in your head.

"Okay, let's start with something simple to bring you to your senses, hot chick." - you side-eye Eilish's eyebrows almost twitch, wanting to come together at the bridge of her nose, and that little silver snake rattling the tip of the tail foreshadowingly in her blue eyes. But the smile doesn't leave her face a quarter of an inch, so chalk it up to your nervous imagination: good idea, right? - "Name me your favorite song from my recent album."

And you babble inspirationally, like a renaissance poet who has met a sacred and previously unattainable muse: you note the meaning of your favorite lyrics, or the beat that comes into your soul, like was as if someone had unceremoniously opened the door with his hit foot. You praise almost every track on the album, unable to decide what you like best, and Charlotte laughs loudly, touching your shoulder lightly with a little pressure. And Billie sees how shocked you look at the singer, being doused head over heels in euphoria. She sees your gaze, with a million stars floating in it, sees your quivering smile. She sees it, and almost sending sparks of pure current straight into the asphalt. You don't admire her, but someone else, even if it is well extremely deserved for Charli. And the realization of your admiration definitely stings her painfully, like an angry wasp out of the blue. Sure, you're her girlfriend, but aren't you her fan anymore?..

When she notices this dazzling spark in your eyes, which ran through the moment when Charlotte offered to personally give you her autograph, O'Connell frankly breaks the first lock of self-control out of a possible three. She doesn't even have time to think properly, almost leans on you with her whole body, throwing her arm over your shoulder, hanging on you in mute demand. You immediately shift your gaze worriedly, shifting all your attention to her. For Eilish, holding back a satisfied smile, which is coming out of her cunning interior, is now a difficult task to heaven, but doable.

"Tired, dear?" - you ask sensitively, deftly reversing roles: your hand now firmly and securely on her waist. - "Do you want me to get you some water?"

"Or you can take a break in the dressing room," Charlotte gently advises, while devils dance invitingly in her eyes, as if her irises are bursting with the heat of inquisition bonfires. Oh, she definitely got it. That's why Eilish stabs her in response with her zealous blue blizzard, wrinkling her nose. Just a second, so that only she can see, but in no case not you.

As Billie opens her lips for a made-up answer, a thin female voice cuts through the air beside you:

"Ms. O'Connell, I'm sorry, but can I talk to you for a minute?

You all three of you look at the girl at once, as if the request wasn't addressed to Billie alone, which makes the petite blond stew, clutching the clipboard with neat palms to her chest, but then she finds the necessary composure.

"Your presence is required at the site to clarify a working point."

"Sure, no problem." - she moves out from under your palm ever so unwelcome, swaying slightly from side to side to prolong her contact with you for a few moments. Turning on her heel and shouting to you, she's already following the fast-paced assistant director. - "I'm fine!"

She feels your gaze on her with the back of her head, mixed with misunderstanding and slight excitement, and she almost choke on her own pride, finally allowing herself a cheeky smile. Suddenly, the tingle from the back of her neck is gone, and behind her your hear your loud laughter and Charlotte's azartic shout: "I'm going to steal your loyal groupie to show her the set, Billie! I can't promise I'll get her back!"

Eilish turns around, and Charli smiles at her like a cat contented under the heat of the sun. No, it won't work like that!

×××

"Really? I never thought you'd still love «Vroom Vroom» more than anything."

Stepping over millions of wires and stage markings, you survey location after location, noting how your excitement is gently shifting into confidence, and confidence into a slight premonition of anxiety warming at your fingertips and deep in your heart. Talking to your living dream in the world of Hollywood is extremely comfortable and desirable, but still you feel in your gut that something is wrong with Eilish, even if you can't explain what it is.

"This is my loudest baby, if I may say so," - Charlotte smirks, gently putting her hand out in front of you in a warning gesture, - "careful, there's another one here."

You step over the thick camera cord, suddenly feeling the ground beneath your feet shake slightly, or should I say vibrate. Far behind the two of you, you hear a mechanical, rumbling noise reminiscent of a construction site. Charli puts her tanned palm on your shoulder, instantly stopping you in your tracks.

"Turn around," - she smiles at you extremely contentedly, meeting a catchy sketch of misunderstanding on your face, - "I'm sure you'll like it."

One hundred and eighty degree turn around your own axis and you don't know what's deafeningly louder right now - the gushing laughter of Charli seeing your bulging eyes in amazement, or the helling murmur of the damn construction excavator that's coming your way slowly, led by her majesty Eilish, sitting regally behind the wheel.

"What the fuck, O'Connell?!" - you announce, folding your palms in a report-like fashion and bringing it to your lips: the only thing that helps a bit to overcome this sonic behemoth with a multi-ton bucket.

"Get ready to jump in!" - Eilish's eyes are burning a confident blue enough that you don't even need to squint to see it, and about a smile would be needless to say. - "I'm taking my loved groupie back, Charlotte!"

"I give up!" - Aitchison shouts, mixing the echo of his own voice with the roar of the engine, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture, grinning good-naturedly.

The excavator clanks, sliding at first a little to the left side of the wide area, and then leveling off again, still on course with the two of you, except now it's traveling at a safe distance from you instead of straight ahead.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting if I were you, or she'll burn with jealousy," - Charli puts her palm to your ear conspiratorially, except instead of the classic whisper: a shout. - "Come by my dressing room afterward, I promised you an autograph after all."

Something clicks shrewdly in your head as you smile, hugging the star briefly: you barely touch her waist and she pats you on the shoulders in return, and the excavator seems to make an even louder noise, like an iron bull spewing anger in the heat of a bullfight. The only one subduing him is Eilish. Charli hurriedly steps aside, watching with undisguised interest, and you only catch Eilish's outstretched left palm as you climb up the step. Her fingers grip you so tightly and securely that even the tattooed three of winged fairies embossed on her skin seems to be pulling at you with their little hands.

"You're crazy, Eilish!" - you shout with an outburst of laughter, wrapping both hands around the iron handrail.

"I'm your crazy!" - Billie returns both hands to the steering wheel, confident that you have a firm grip these.

"When did you even learn to drive this multi-ton monster?"

"Exactly half an hour ago," - an undisguised contentment plays on her lips as her gaze drifts forward. - "Not much different from a normal car, though there are nuances."

Glancing in the rearview mirror, you notice not only the surprised set workers, but also Charli waving at you. A grin spreads across your face.

"As nuanced as your jealousy of Charli?"

"I'm not jealous," - O'Connell lets a chuckle pass through her lips, and even drowned in the rumble of the car it doesn't seem sincere.

"Oh, what are you saying?" - you raise an eyebrow, and Eilish casts a quick glance at you-the blue sea is completely draped in eloquent silver serpents, to see which: an honor purely for you and no one else.

"Okay, yeah. I'm jealous." - Eilish exhales in astonishment, jerking the long clutch lever with her hand, to which the iron hulk rumbles, going leisurely to the right on its powerful tires. You see parking lot markings in the distance and a small silhouette waving two neon-orange flags: obviously the parking attendant himself. - "I don't like it when your attention and admiration isn't on me."

"My, you're greedy," - Billie tsked, rolling her eyes, but you only smiled affectionately. - "Would a kissing session make up for my shortcoming?"

Billie hesitates for a moment, rubbing her chin with one hand, then playfully pouts her lips in an olfactory pink bow like a child.

"If you also stand behind the cameras with the cameramen, catching my every glance, then quite possibly yes."

"Okay, I agree!" - You laugh, throwing your head back, and Eilish doesn't hold back in her supposed seriousness, drowning in laughter following you.

"Now get ready to get off. We'll walk from here. I have to see what kind of wall I have to break down."

You are silent, choking on air in a flash. Well, this is going to be an interesting shoot, though it's always just that way with Billie.

[ivesambrose]

ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ🪞

Applicable to future spouse, soulmate, whatever term you prefer 🧡

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at Ivesambrose@gmail.com

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Masterpost

Picture 1

- Both of you are intellectually driven. Good at observing and reading people. Assertive and often cut throat when circumstances call for it. Will prefer independence and being single over empty or surface level connections.

- May have dealt with a strict mother figure or sibling.

- Seeks wisdom and travel above all. Academics and knowledge is also extremely important to both of you. You and them may also be overqualified or haven't liked sticking to one particular degree or field for long.

- Both of you might like trekking or feel connected to the mountains and outdoors.

- Often display obsessive and perfectionist behaviour in terms of work. Might have specific hyper fixations.

- Might have struggled and overcame addictions or addictive behaviour or have faced controlling partners or people in their lives.

- One of you prefer leisure time and being left alone to pamper yourself when stressed or overwhelmed, other might resort to channeling that into sports, working out or getting work done.

- Animals feel safe around both of you.

- Prone to sleep paralysis or vivid dreams. One of you can't tolerate alcohol or recreational drugs at all.

- May have mercury and 9th house synastry. May have Sagittarius, Libra or Leo in chart.

Picture 2

- Both of you carry grief that has made you feel stuck, may have made you feel ashamed or guilty. But y'all have channeled that into perseverance. Might have been victims of bullying or have witnessed it. This has given both of you a strong sense of justice and the desire to help those in need, the underdogs and the oppressed.

- Neither of you back down from something you're dedicated towards even if it takes time.

- Both of you might come across intimidating to most.

- One of you posseses good language, understanding and networking skills. Are rather mutable. The other is a natural born leader. These two qualities overlap or interachange in each other's presence with time.

- Fiercely protective of loved ones and just as nurturing. Often too sympathetic and need to establish stronger boundaries.

- Life has knocked both of you down a notch several times but it has given you two the ability to rebuild stronger foundations every single time.

- Don't necessarily do well under pressure but will come up with the most radical idea or breakthroughs when least expected.

- May have dealt with intimacy issues.

- Need to be very mindful of the people both of you trust and are vulnerable with.

- Can be an extremely influential duo together. May lead a rather non traditional life.

- Might have 8th and 12th house synastry or moon synastry. Might have cancer and aquarius placements.

Picture 3

- Both of you believe in fate, destiny and luck. Right place and right time but are also rather controlling by nature. Some days you'll go with the flow and let things happen other times you will take charge.

- Both of you cannot and will not back down. Life has thrown daggers at you, yet you have overcome them. Unmatched determination.

- One or both of you may have suffered from anger issues and now transmute that elsewhere.

- Excellent wordsmiths and magnetic personalities. Might be good writers, poets, directors, planners etc

- Both of you have distinct, attractive and memorable voices.

- May struggle with anxiety or insomnia. Might stay up late at night cuz that's when your brain feels most active.

- Both possess emotional intelligence but tend to carry burdens, emotional labour and resentment for long periods.

- Love luxury that is earned after hard work.

- Fond of fragrances.

- Passionate and intense lovers by nature but just as picky.

- Old souls, have a personal relationship with time and it's fleeting nature. Might prefer preserving memories.

- Work better independently, make excellent entrepreneurs.

- Both love to travel or travelling is extremely important to both of you.

- Might have Saturn, mercury, Sun and 10th house synastry. May also have nodal synastry. Might have Mars or Jupiter influence in chart.

[threepandas]

Bad End: For Us

My sister is the only one who actually knows me. Who looks at me and... and actually SEES me, for who I am. It's because she suffers too, I think. Is beautiful. In that way that drives men too distraction. Poets too the page, artists too a medium. They look at her like she is art, magnificence and beauty given form.

Not a person.

Living, breathing, with thoughts and feelings of her own.

She is... is just BEAUTY to them. Delicate features and graceful limbs. Refined and splendid. A lovely voice reducing all her brilliant thoughts to mere sound. Who cares? How clever and educated, how wise or dignified, she may be? She is decoration. A pretty thing to look at. A prize to be held and won.

And... and I am a cute little pet.

Eternally the toddler, to be pampered and dressed in bows. Girlish things, no matter how old I grow. Handled instead of spoken too. Because somehow I am a child. Fuckable, yet... a child. Cute, innocent, naive. Not because I AM, but because they SAY so. Because it matches their fantasy of me.

I fear what will happen if I dare break that fantasy, with how much they control my life.

My Sister, alone, is the one who SEES me.

And people try to convince me she is... what? Jealous? Bitter? Because I am somehow "stealing" the lecherous eyes of her unfaithful man? I don't want them. I don't want ANY of them. Reborn, somehow, as a Protagonist in some game amongst countless, I can predict the plot points as they come. Read the troupes.

Bah. I am no spunky little bright eyed thing.

As I lay, draped over my sister's splendid skirts, in her private writing room, she quietly sips her tea and writes return missives. Strokes my hair as I hide, curled up like a child against her legs. If the ridiculous outfit I was shoved in would allow it? I would cram myself under her desk. Hide there instead.

As it is? I sit like some sulking maiden, an exhausted pet, seeking comfort in the only refuge I HAVE.

They will not leave me ALONE.

The Knight. Some brash, meat headed, "I'll take care of you" type, crashing into every quiet moment I try to have. Loud and presumptuous. Disdainful of my academic interests.

The Playboy. All too forward "romantic" gestures and ignoring obvious discomfort. More wrapped up in HIS feelings then considering, for even a moment, my own. Selfish and dramatic.

The Duke. Cliché and terrible. "Kind" to no one but me. Endless expensive gifts, pressuring grand displays, and eyes that linger possessively. Violence at the drop of a hat.

But oh, let us not forget the ASSASSIN! Yes, the LEADER of the ASSASSIN'S Guild! That somehow, someway, decided I was a prize worth possessing. A cutesy little "interesting" doll. That? Gods only knows, what will happen when he grows bored.

Lingering and haunting me. Crawling through windows. Standing too close, to touch my hair and drop cryptic bits of information that always hint at terrible things. Having to watch my words so SO carefully. Lest someone end up DEAD.

And let's not forget the WORST offender! The most clingy of them ALL!

My sister's FIANCÉ.

The Crown PRINCE! Yes, not some average noble, but a ROYAL!! And the man can't CONTROL himself! But does anyone else care? Noooooo! It's ROMANTIC. True loooove~! Aren't we CUTE together? Surely my Sister, his FIANCÉE, is just JEALOUS. How VILE. Disgusting, they scoff!

I should start throwing chairs.

This house is a nightmare.

I curl closer to my sister. Releasing her skirts to slip an arm around her waist. Hugging her, pressing my face close. She puts her cup down with a soft clink. A second hand joining the first to stroke my head. Cup my cheeks.

"My Dearest, you can not hide against my skirts indefinitely. As much as I would love to let you." She says, voice soft and cool like swirling mist, tilting my face up so she can look me in the eyes. "You DO need to eat eventually, as do I. Unfortunately, I can not keep you here forever. Come, help me plan the wedding. We can look at cake styles."

I'd rather be planning a funeral.

"Not until I get a son out of him, I'm afraid."

Wut.

I blink, not sure I heard that right. Look up at my softly smile sister. No. No, I probably didn't. Wishful thinking maybe? Or I've just been around Stabby too much. I scramble to my feet. Fighting my own girlish abomination of a skirt. I hate it. It's cutesy to the point of mocking. I'm in my TWENTIES for God's sake! Not EARLY twenties either!

Why do I have a BOW ON MY ASS?!

Because I am the Protagonist. Baby faced and Pwecious~☆. Fucking INFANTALIZED. I could BITE.

I sigh, take the arm my sister offers me, and tuck myself into her side. Rest my head upon her shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable, with all the jewelry she must wear. But damn it! I want my cuddles!

I bask, as we walk, in the comfort it brings.

She's strong and graceful. Smells like a delicate spring morning, all rare flowers and new growth. A hint of expensive spice. I LOVE being the little sibling. When it's HER that's treating me so. Because she makes it precious. Comfortable. Like we could spend our lives, together like this. The best of friends.

Happy.

If only people would... you know... stop trying to FUCK me. I prefer my hobbies. For God's sake, I'm RICH and a second child. I HAVE basicly no responsibilities except "don't embarrass the family". Or that WOULD be the case? If our parents weren't so intent on... "pushy dating advice".

"Would you like some lovely news, Dearest?" Whispers my sister, as she sweeps us past some upset looking maids, towards the tea room. I nod. "I've made some wonderful headway with some... ambitious gentlemen, about your little cockroach problem. They are quite efficient. I'm likely to recommend them."

I stiffle a snort. Oh my god. My sister sent thugs after a few of the suitors? Holy shit! That's amazing! Is THAT why I haven't seen them around lately? They got scared?

We settle in our seats. Tea and snacks. The maid looks... nervous. Weird. My sister smiles kindly, somehow startling the poor thing, making her flinch. Oh dear. I try to smile reassuringly. No harm no foul, right? Yet the poor girl reacts like I've cast myself into a lion pit for her. Flees.

....I'm beginning to suspect someone is abusing our waitstaff.

It's probably that bastard lech of a fiance.

We need to keep him away from the maids. And me. Women in general honesty. If I had my say, he wouldn't be allowed near my SISTER either. But she insists, and- Oooh! This one's CUTE! Sis, Sis! LOOK at the little details on this one!

"Hmm? Oh that IS lovely! Do you like it? If so, we shall sample it at once. I want the day to be perfect for us, Dearest. You're my world after all. There's NOTHING I wouldn't give you. A shame though, that our parent's will likely be too sick to see me wed."

It really was. I had my differences with them, but... it was their DAUGHTER'S WEDDING you know? Whatever they had caught, during their endless string of parties, was ravaging their health. It seemed agonizing. Slow. Yet even in the midst of planning her WEDDING, all the gossip and backstabbing, my sister dutifully visited them. Brought them tea and kept them company.

I didn't know how she could bear it.

She was a better person then I, I guess.

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - So High School

Requested: nope

Swift Series

Warnings: low-key sad at the end

Lando Norris lay comfortably on the bed, propped up on his side, his fingers gently tracing random shapes on his girlfriend Y/n’s back. The room was softly lit, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere. Y/n was sitting up, crouched over the 'bedside piano' as Lando called it. It was simply a small piano she had for quick ideas. She held a notebook and pen in hand as she sang along and scribbled down lyrics. "I feel so high school-" She paused, tapping the pen off of her notepad. "So high school, thinking we were cool- no." She mumbled, scribbling the line out, before humming again to find the right words. "No, that's not it."

Lando watched her, a soft smile playing on his lips as he admired her dedication. "What about 'thinking we ruled the school'?" He suggested, his voice low and tender. Y/n turned slightly, glancing at him with a thoughtful expression. "Hmm, maybe. That could work." She jotted down the suggestion and sang the line again. "So high school, thinking we ruled the school-" She shook her head again. "No, not that either." Y/n sighed, flipping the page to see the part she wrote before. "Get my car door, isn't that sweet? Then you pull me to the backseat. You know how to make my heartbeat, don't you?" She showed Lando. "Do you think this line would be better or this one?" He read them both, shrugging. "I don't know, babe. You're the artist."

"Well how about, 'No one's ever had me, not like you'? How's that sound?" Lando jutted his lip out. "Sing it for me." She hummed along, tapping the piano keys gently. "I like it." He smiled. Lando continued tracing shapes, now more intricate patterns as he listened to her sing. Her voice was melodic, full of passion and creativity. She sang a few more lines, occasionally stopping to tweak a word or a phrase, her brow furrowed in concentration.

After a while, she picked up her camera, ready to record a demo. She set it up on the nightstand, making sure it captured her, her 'bedside piano' and the notebook. As she began to sing, Lando slowly stopped drawing the shapes, his focus instead fixed on her with an expression of pure adoration. Y/n sang the chorus with confidence, her voice filling the room. "Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game but really, I'm betting on all three, for us two. Get my car door, isn't that sweet? So pull me to the backseat. No one's ever had me, not like you."

Lando watched in awe as she poured her heart into the song, his admiration for her evident in his eyes. He felt a rush of pride and love, unable to look away from her radiant presence. When she finished the song, she stopped the recording and reached for the camera to play it back. As the video played, she noticed Lando’s reflection in the screen, his eyes filled with affection and wonder as he watched her sing.

She turned to him, her heart swelling with emotion. "You really love watching me, don't you?" Lando smiled, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I do. Biggest fan." Y/n leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. "How about I give my biggest fan a private show, then?" He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her as they lay back on the bed. "Yes please."

--------------

Months had passed since the breakup with Lando. Their lives, once intertwined so beautifully, had drifted apart under the pressures of their respective careers and personal differences. It had been a painful decision, one that still tugged at her heart despite the passage of time.

Y/n sat at a press event, zoning in and out of thoughts as the room buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Fans and reporters filled the space, eager to ask her questions about her new album. She smiled, fielding questions with grace and enthusiasm. "So yeah, that's why I chose to name the album The Tortured Poets Department." She smiled, looking around for other question. Her eyes fell to a young girl in the front. Her hand had been up for a while, so she figured why not? "Yes, yourself?" Y/n said. The fan stood up, holding the microphone. "Hi, Y/n. I'm a huge fan, I have been looking forward to this album for months. Y/n's face beamed upon hearing her words. "Lostening to the album, one song really stuck out to me that I loved, do my question is; what inspired 'So High School'?" Y/n's smile faltered for a brief second, memories of late-night songwriting sessions with Lando flooding her mind.

She took a deep breath, composing herself before answering. "It's about reminiscing on young love and the emotions that come with it. It's a reflection of a time when everything felt so intense and real." The fan nodded, satisfied with the answer, but Y/n could see the follow-up question forming in her eyes. "Was there a specific person or moment that inspired it?" Y/n hesitated, her heart aching at the thought of Lando. She chose her words carefully, masking the sadness that threatened to surface. "There were many moments and people who inspired the song. It's a mix of different experiences from my life."

As the event continued, Y/n maintained her cheerful demeanor, but inside, she felt the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. After the last question, she excused herself and slipped backstage, needing a moment to gather herself. She found a quiet corner and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. The memory of Lando's adoring gaze as she sang the demo played in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of what they once had. She missed him, missed the way he believed in her, missed the warmth of his touch. But she also knew that their paths had seperatrd for a reason. She had grown, both as an artist and as a person, and she hoped he had found happiness too.

Y/n straightened up, taking a deep breath. She wiped away the single tear that had escaped and put on a brave face. She had a career to focus on, fans who looked up to her, and a future that still held promise. As she stepped back into the bustling event, she reminded herself of the journey ahead. The past was a part of her, but it didn't define her. She would carry the memories with her, using them to fuel her music and inspire others. And that somewhere, she hoped, Lando was watching her with that same look of awe, proud of the woman she had become.

[nctstar]

Can you write a smut w plot on Taeyong x sub!reader x Mark ? I am craving for this pair please bestie...you can take your time, no rush. make them a bit possessive and dom and you can add anything to your liking.

hiii friend! i know this is CRAZY late but i hope you still like it <3 turned out a bit more sad than expected HAHA

dumb conversations, we lose track of time

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He bent over to kiss you, bringing both of his icy hands to your face, but you didn’t care. The kiss was everything, and you brought your bodies over to the wall as you continued, one of his legs now in between yours. “Fuck, I think…I’m gonna miss you so bad.”

pairing: markyong x fem!reader (no markyong ship)

other members: other 127 members mentioned

word count: 3k

genre: romance & smut, angst, fluff, sort of hurt/comfort

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni!! mild profanity, mentions of being sick from food, kissing, dom!markyong, praise kink, degradation (use of slut/whore), daddy kink, slapping, penetrative sex, riding, oral (male receiving), manhandling/being held down/held in place, missionary sex, praising (sweet girl, good girl), crying (like lots of crying!!), subspace, double penetration (2 in 1), clitoral stimulation, taeyong is leaving for military service and this is upsetting to reader (strong self insert moment LMAO)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. 

a/n: NOW i know i was technically supposed to make this a (freaky) smut only...but i had to add the extra things because i have been sooo emotional lately and i have not really been in a smut mood unless it's emotional and loving :D with the release of the tortured poets department, taeyong's enlistment, renjun's hiatus...ya'll it's just been a lot. so a lot of this is very much just me projecting HAHA but hope it's comforting to some of you. also, i just wanna say that you guys shouldn't feel pressured to engage in sexual activity when you're sad and crying...everything here is consensual of COURSE as always, and this is all fantasy but i just thought I'd add that in. please take care of yourselves when you're vulnerable. love ya'll mwah <3

You stifled your giggles in the droop of your cardigan, but Taeyong still flushed red. Your cheeks puffed out as you fought the urge to snort in his face. “I’m so sorry.”

He rolled his eyes, instinctively going to run his hands through his now non-existent hair, making you double over in laughter. “Alright, miss, that’s enough. Hilarious, I know.”

“Noooo Taeyong, don’t be embarrassed.” You ran over, pinching his cheeks in your hands, feeling his skin hot and elastic under your thumbs. “You’re so cute. Like…Anpanman!”

“I know you love jjingppang, jagi, but that was so uncalled for.” You strung his arm into your body, letting the both of you walk away from the dim lights of the restaurant. “Why? Are you hungry? But didn’t you just eat?”

“There is always space for dessert, hon. Come on, we’ve been together 2 and a half years now, and you still don’t know my philosophies?” You were teasing, having fun, but as you watched another couple walk in front of you, hands gripped tightly together, the shadows in the trees dancing across their bodies, you felt something sharp poke inside you. You gulped the feeling down, forcing a smile, even though you knew he wasn’t watching.

“You’ll get sick if you eat too much bread again.” You shook your head, scoffing. “That was one time, Taeyong. And it was in Japan. I would definitely have eaten that much again.”

“Really? I recall you crying in the bathroom, whining to me about why I didn’t stop you.” You knocked him playfully, feeling his scent permeate your senses and bring you back to those times in Japan. He was here now, a solid body standing right next to you, brushing up against you, but…You felt a sudden rush of emotion, but you could see Mark’s car now, and you decided not to bring up what you had been thinking the entire time.

“So-“

“I’m sorry I’m leaving you.” The words surprised you, even though it was something both of you had been holding back the entire time. “I’m sorry I have to do this.”

“Don’t be silly.” You were standing in front of him now, the white streetlights illuminating every line on his face, too scared to look into his eyes. “You have to do it, right? And, you should be proud of yourself. It’s hard work you are willing to dedicate yourself to for a while. And, I can always take care of myself.”

“You have Mark.”

“No, I can take care of myself.” You nodded as if you were trying to convince yourself instead of just him. Your eyes watered, working against every restraint you had. “Please, just…it will be fine. I will still see you. Just, not as often. But you’ll still be here.” He held both your hands, bringing them to his chest, and you were looking at your shoes, watching them get blurrier, feeling him pull your body towards his.

You couldn’t do it. Not for the last time.

“Bye.” You let go of his hands, turning swiftly around and walking towards the parked car at a pace that seemed closer to running.

The warmth enveloped you, and you hastily rubbed off the tears, almost embarrassed at the thought of crying in front of him. Both of them. “H-hey, Mark.”

“You okay?” You nodded, and he brought your hand to his lips, lightly pecking it before he shifted gears.

∞

The apartment was quiet at first, as if it already sensed the loss of one tenant. “Just squeezing past, babe.” Mark’s shoulder brushed yours as the keys jangled in his fingers, his steps retreating towards the bathroom. You walked over to the couch, looking at the empty cake box, the one Doyoung had bought to celebrate. The cake crumbs that littered the floor, the frosting on the couch – you didn’t even have the heart to be mad.

“Is that frosting…on the couch?”

You chuckled weakly, sniffling. “Yeah. I thought I told Jungwoo not to make a mess.”

“You didn’t. You’re so quiet around the boys. So shy.” Mark’s breath tickled your neck, his lips grazing the skin hidden underneath your cardigan. He kissed you gently, bringing one hand to your shoulder, the one he had brushed. “It’s what I love about you.”

You smiled, watching Mark’s shadow cover you as he moved to sit next to you on the couch. “What a mess. This isn’t driving you crazy?” You shook your head, but you smiled, a little bit more genuine this time. Curling up next to Mark, you basked in the heat of his body. He pressed his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent. “You smell good.”

“You trying to get laid, Lee?” You felt his chest shake as he laughed, both a little awkwardly and without holding back, like he always did. You thought of all the times you fell asleep in his lap, feeling him stroke your body soothingly as you both waited for Taeyong to get home.

You sat up, turning, looking deep into Mark’s eyes. “I love you.” You kissed him, pulling his bottom lip with your mouth as you pulled away. He ran his hands up your back, connecting lips as you climbed onto his lap, so quick to bring your body against his. He held your hips in place when you stared to move, groaning softly as he pulled away from your mouth. “Are you sure?”

“What, am I sure I love you?”

“No, I mean,” he gasped shortly when you kissed his collarbone, a spot only you knew how to tease. “Easy, baby. I mean, are you okay with doing it tonight?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, and you hated yourself in that moment for ruining it all. Desperate to stop him from continuing, you shut him up with a kiss, moving his hands from your hips so you could grind against his growing bulge. Your fingers in his hair, you dug your knees on the couch so you could push your chest onto his face. He moaned this time, tugging at the ends of your hoodie to signal you to take it off. You hissed when the cold hit your bare torso, Mark unhooking your bra clasp as you shivered. “You cold, sweetheart?” You nodded, but you were sitting back onto his lap, both of you shrugging off your bottoms as you talked. The cold drew goosebumps on your skin, but you felt wet and hot in the pits of your stomach.

“Fuck, so tight.” Mark threw his head back as you cried out, feeling the stretch harder than you remembered. He held you in place with a hand on the small of your back, another on your thigh. “Shhh. Come closer to me. Good girl.” He continued praising you as you sunk deeper onto his length, inches buried inside you. “W-wait.” You pressed a hand to his stomach, warning him not to move as you scrunched your eyes shut. “So fucking big.” Mark laughed, moving your hand away and bringing your chest closer to his mouth. As he licked and nipped at your body, you began to relax, your breath quickening with every passing second. His dick jumped inside you, making you whimper. “You ready, sweet girl?”

You tasted the tears before you felt them, streaked down your face. “Please.” you begged, and he began to thrust up into you. “Fuck, Mark, M-Mark!” Your voice carried through the apartment as he rolled his hips into you. “Come on, baby, that’s it. You’re our good girl, right?” You sobbed, bringing one hand to your mouth to quieten yourself, but he pulled the hand away. “If you’re gonna cum, you better do it screaming my name. You understand?” He held your chin into place. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, p-please. Fuck,” You gasped, feeling the ripples of pleasure run through your body. “I’m close! Please, Mark, can I-“

“Yeah, good girl, baby. I’m close too.” His voice was raspy, his thrusts sloppy as he reached his own high. You shut your eyes, feeling your thighs constrict as you came. You breathed heavily, the tears still running down your face. When the ringing sound stopped post-orgasm, you heard yourself crying.

“Hey, hey. You did well, sweetheart. It’s okay, I’m right here.” You nodded, feeling your body slump against him. “Can I pull out? Does it hurt? I didn’t hurt you, right?”

You looked into his eyes, feeling the way he held you so securely in his arms. “I miss him. I miss the three of us. I know it’s silly, because it technically hasn’t happened yet, but,” you sighed. “I didn’t know how hard it would be until it really happened.”

Mark hummed in agreement, wiping away your tears. “Of course. That’s not silly. And, I love you too, okay? I’m here for you.” You wrapped your arms around his body, breathing in his scent, feeling Mark pull your hoodie around the both of you. “You never hurt me, Mark.”

∞

You both woke up with a jolt when the knocking started. You climbed off Mark as your eyes shot open, and the both of you started frantically dressing, as if the person had entered straight away. “Who’s coming over so late?” Mark grumbled.

“Hopefully Jungwoo to clean the couch.” You muttered, but Mark was rushing to open the door after peeking through the peephole, and you frowned.

“Hyung.”

You knew it was him. But you couldn’t even move. In that moment, you were frozen in time.

“Hi, jagi.” His body stood looming over yours, his face red from the cold outside. You didn’t know what to say, rubbing the itch on one of your ankles to kill time.

“You’re…you’re here.”

“Yeah. It’s my apartment too, right?” He smirked. “Why, is the Anpanman look enough to make you forget me?” You laughed, sniffling, hitting him lightly on the chest. You noticed Mark raise an eyebrow, left out of the inside joke. Your stomach churned, your heart pining for a loss that suddenly was not lost, and it all felt so out of place.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He bent over to kiss you, bringing both of his icy hands to your face, but you didn’t care. The kiss was everything, and you brought your bodies over to the wall as you continued, one of his legs now in between yours. “Fuck, I think…I’m gonna miss you so bad.”

“You’ll live.” You scoffed, pushing him away. He laughed, the smile lines on his face making your heart soar. “I don’t think I’m gonna miss these stupid jokes.”

He kissed your forehead. “I think you will.” You rolled your eyes, but he was right. As always. You ran a hand up his chest, then, underneath the hoodie he was wearing. You gasped in an exaggerated, ditsy way, making your voice airy on purpose. “Officer, I think you’re pretty hard right now.”

Taeyong smirked, his eyes darkening as he gripped the wrist of your wandering hand. “Oh yeah? You think you know me so well? Wanna play that game?” In the corner of your eye, you watched Mark’s figure step closer. “She already did, Hyung.” He pushed his tongue on the side of his cheek, and you fluttered your eyelashes at Taeyong, feigning innocence. “I didn’t do anything. He’s lying.”

“Oh?” Mark looked pissed, and you only giggled in response. Taeyong brought his face closer to yours. “If I find out you’ve been lying, you’re done for. Now, on your knees.” You complied, seconds later being met with Taeyong’s length springing out of his boxers. You covered his tip with your mouth, but you felt your hair being yanked backwards and a slap on your face. “Did I say anything yet? Dirty slut.” Mark’s grip on your hair didn’t falter, and you whined. “If you want to suck me so bad, you better be ready to beg for it.”

“Mmm, please. Please let me taste you, Daddy. Please, I’ll be good.” Mark’s other hand travelled under your chin, tilting your head up almost uncomfortably, making you yelp. “Tap him if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded in response, and as soon as you did, Mark’s thumb pressed hard on your bottom lip, prying your jaw open. Taeyong thrusted inside your open mouth, guttural groans leaving him as he did. Tears sprung to your eyes at the sudden intrusion, the apartment now filled with the sounds of you violently gagging on dick. Your fists clenched by your sides. “Pretty cockwhore, aren’t you?” Mark whistled lowly, making you squeeze your legs in embarrassment. “Ah, so you like being our nasty little thing. As expected.” You shook your head, but he only tightened his grip, laughing almost cruelly in response. Taeyong pulled out when he heard you choking, inhaling air as soon as his tip left your mouth. “Not so talkative now, are you, pretty?” Your voice raspy as you spoke, you opened your mouth wider, sticking your tongue out. “Daddy’s little whore, yeah?” You could only hum in response as Mark held you still, Taeyong jerking himself off on your tongue. You swallowed the cum in your mouth, letting some of it drool out of your mouth. Taeyong bent over, spreading it over your chin, mixed with your drool. “Go and bend over the couch.” You went to nod once more, but he slapped your face. “Words.”

“Y-yes, T-Taeyongie.” You only used that when you were floating away, letting yourself go, and to be honest, you were surprised it had happened so soon. As you bent over the couch, you had an inkling that they were surprised too. You felt Taeyong’s hands on your sides, and you jumped. “Sorry, jagi. Is this still okay?”

“Uh-huh.” You felt wetness pool in between your legs. “Please, f-fuck me. Before, what happened…well, Markie…I’m sorry I lied, Daddy.” You heard Taeyong shushing you. “I want you to enjoy yourself, beautiful. Okay? Tell me if this is too much.” You sighed, relaxing when you felt Taeyong rub up your back, pressing hard in the way that you liked. Under his hands, you felt safe. Calm. Honest.

“C-Can we go to the bedroom? I don’t like this position.”

Your body burned, even though your shared bedroom was freezing tonight. “Fuck, it’s cold in here.” Taeyong held you close to your body, as if he never wanted to let go.

As the three of you sat on the edge of the bed, you began to ugly cry. Taeyong rubbed your back as you shook, Mark taking a tissue to wipe your chin. “Was it too much? Baby?” You didn’t know who was speaking, but you held both their hands, unable to stop the tears from falling. “No, its just that,” you rubbed your face harshly, feeling the days makeup rub off on your hand. “This is all so fucking dumb. I’m sorry, but, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t care if that makes me a bad person.” Taeyong laughed as he held your head in both his hands, pulling you into his body. Mark ran his hands soothingly up your thighs. “I think I love this side of you, actually.”

You smiled, remembering your conversation only a while ago. “Sorry I’m ruining everything.”

“Sorry but, you must be fucking crazy if you think that’s true for even a second.” Unlocking yourself from Taeyong’s embrace, you exaggerate lifting your hands up in surrender. “Okay, relax, Mark. Don’t call a woman crazy.”

“Especially not a horny one.” You snorted at this, making both of them laugh. Sighing, you tried to appear mad or even annoyed. But you hadn’t felt more free in days.

He was right. You were going to miss these stupid jokes.

The three of you rolled onto the bed, you straddling Taeyong while Mark left noisy kisses down the sides of your neck from behind. “I want you both inside me. Please.” You moaned as Mark squeezed your boob from under your shirt, your head on his shoulder as Taeyong pulled your panties down, the three of you momentarily and, almost comically, struggling with taking them all the way off.

Your hands splayed across Taeyong’s bare chest, you bent over to kiss him. “I’ll miss you.” You whispered against his skin, and he squeezed the outside of your thigh in response. As Mark sheathed himself inside you for the second time that night, he began to thrust straight away. “Still fits like a fucking sleeve, so fucking good.” Your breath quickened as your clit rolled against Taeyong’s bare cock, your moans thickening as you watched Taeyong lie beneath you. “You ready, my love?” You nodded furiously, Mark holding onto you with an arm across your shoulders, pressing your body flush against his. Both men guided you onto Taeyong’s length, the stretch now burning, firecrackers exploding in your stomach. “Fuck! Oh fuck!” You couldn’t breathe, pulling at Mark’s arm, slowly registering him shushing you in your ear. “Relax, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Almost there.” Taeyong groaned in pleasure, shifting the tiniest bit, which made you yelp. The feeling was so unfamiliar, and your heart pounded at the new sensations. “Please, don’t move yet.” Taeyong rubbed circles on your clit, watching your face carefully.

“Nghh, ahh…” The feeling of both of them inside you was starting to choke you from the inside, deliciously bringing you close to a release. “Wait, Daddy, don’t-“ You squealed as you squirted, your clit throbbing from the aftermath. “Shit, I don’t know if I can-“

“You can cum again, pretty. I know you can.” You moaned, feeling both of them bump against each other and into your walls inside you, wet and messy. “Oh my god, oh my…” you babbled, holding onto anything as they thrusted relentlessly, both their timing desperate and rocky. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for us, jagi, that’s it.” Taeyong’s voice rose in pitch, and you heard Mark groaning in your ear, pressing your upper body closer to his. You came for the second time, gasping for air, hips rolling without permission over both their cocks. You slumped over Taeyong after, Mark pulling out and resting next to you both on the bed.

[violottie]

Today marks half a year of Palestinian genocide perpetrated by the Israeli and US governments." from Jewish Voice for Peace, 07/Apr/2024:

caption continued under image

We are in this catastrophe today—with over 33,000 Palestinians killed, the healthcare system in Gaza decimated, almost 2 million Palestinians displaced, and over 1 million Palestinians starving—because our government does not value Palestinian lives.

In the past six months, entire Palestinian lineages were destroyed, families were robbed of precious memories and milestones, and the paintings and words of artists and poets were snuffed out. The effects of six months of this genocide will last generations.

We have reached this horrifying milestone not because of circumstances beyond anyone’s control, but as a result of political decisions. Political decisions made by our government who—rather than listening to millions of Palestinians crying for justice or the majority of Americans who want a ceasefire—is choosing to continue this genocide by sending weapons to the Israeli military.

We do not need to continue down this path of destruction and devastation. The cracks in the US war machine are showing, but not fast enough. We need to keep the pressure up, and keep it high.

We will never stop fighting for a free Palestine, from the river to the sea. We will never forget.

[possiblystancest]

Ford was once complaining about only getting a B on an English test for 2 hours straight and Stanley just wanted him to shut up so he tried sitting on his lap to distract him but one of the shitty desk chair wheels broke and the chair fell and Ford got his full upper half crushed under Stan's weight, face-to-tits and dead silent. But then Stanley tried to get up (cursing up a storm because of the broken chair and maybe hurting his brother) but Ford whined and tried to pull Stan back down because he found a new way to deep pressure stim and Stan isn't allowed to leave because he's Ford's weighted blanket now.

Stanley isn't complaining because seeing Ford's face buried in his chest Does Things To Him

"B, Stanley! I followed expectations to the book and gave the most thought-provoking metaphors Mr.Clay could ever find outside of the poets society!"

That's all Stan had been hearing for the last two hours- you can only zone out so much before your brain filters your nerdy brother's whining back into the front of your mind.

He sighs, sliding off his bed and slinking over to the desk.

"You know Mr.Clay is a hard-ass, what's it matter, it's only a B."

Fuuck why did he have to say that?

"Just a B?? Stanley, the difference between a B and an A is monumental! I'm not going to be in the 90% after this!"

If Stan was going to get any peace tonight, he'd have to take matters into his own hands. He nudges the rolling chair enough to get between Ford and the desk, plopping himself on Ford's lap.

"Listen, ya big baby, this ain't gonn- ack!" Stan's sentence is abruptly ended as the chair's wheel cracked, sending the two boys to plummet to the floor.

Stan blinks slowly, shaking his head with a light groan. He places his hand down to balance himself,,,finding his hand landing squarely above Ford's head. He looks down and finds Ford's face buried in his chest.

Stan's heart flutters at the scene. But that quickly is set on the back burner.

"Oh shit, Sixer! You alright? Stupid fucking chair, knew the old man wasn't in a spur of the moment generosity givin' it to us," Stan says, quickly trying to get up to not further crush his brother.

But, he freezes when he feels Ford grabbing at his biceps, attempting to yank him back down onto him.

"Sixer? Ain't sure this is safe. What if I-"

"Stay."

It's a simple word but spoken with such need that Stan just obeys and lays back down, pressing his chest over Ford's face - he can practically feel Ford's body tensions melt away.

And the view ain't all that bad either- God, hope this doesn't awaken anything in Stan😌

[khloxxy]

hello! i hope you're doing well ^_^ i just wanna ask about your favorite headcanon of rus, cana and ame (if you're up for it, no pressure, i wanna see what kumajirou looks like in your style)

i like your art! don't mind me if you see me liking your posts hehe

Hello (^_^) thank you... Your art is very beautiful I'm honoured... Sorry if this is kinda late(?) my brain works best when it's the middle of the night. I wrote this in my notes at like 3am...

My headcanons are really messy and subject to change so keep that in mind 🙏 Gonna put them under a read more cause they're pretty long and I rambled on and on.. Got carried away sorry!! Also it's kind of cringe at some points but that's okay. To be cringe is to be free.

---

Rus: My beloved... He's cute, yes, but also very creepy. (I love a creepy rus) I see him as this character that's always looming over everyone, always watching... He likes how docile and obedient Cana is, and with Ame... well... He likes the challenge.

He likes the arts... And I believe he's an incredible poet and dancer. I like to think that Rus spends his free time writing hauntingly beautiful poetry in a journal of his since there are a lot of beautifully written Russian literature... That journal could also probably work as his diary too because why not. He also does ballet and figure skating, and Ame probably calls him gay for it, this irks Rus but that's okay. He'll rip the tongue out of that American's loud mouth one day. He just has to be patient. (that last part is cringe but my rusame brain told me to write it)

For music I think he'd like classical (tchaikovsky) and metal. I also think he'd visit old abandoned buildings just to see the ruins. Maybe even appreciate the architecture? He finds beauty in the decay.

His relationship with Ame is a game of chess (Rus loves chess, so he loves whatever he has going on with Ame), each move calculated, each interaction charged with unspoken tension (they never reveal their love for eachother... the only time that would happen is probably in life-or-death situations but with their immortality that's practically impossible – actually you know what?? Scratch that. No confessions... Unless drunk or under the influence of something maybe.) With Cana, it's more like a delicate dance, appreciating his gentleness but always aware of the fragile nature of their bond – he's aware that cana and him are only really bound together through Ame.

---

Cana: Neglected boy (eng and fra both coddled Ame more) ... Envious of Ame but still loves him – he's frustrated. He knows so much about Ame but Ame knows nothing about him. Ame doesn't care enough to bother learning about him. It's unfair. I believe he actually has Kumajirou for comfort... But even his pet bear doesn't remember him (to be fair, he doesn't remember Kumajirou's name either.)

For music taste, I think he'd like shoegaze actually... it's calm yet messy-ish and it matches well with his vibe. (Totally not just projecting my music taste onto him)

He dislikes being in the shadow of his brother but he does appreciate his brother sticking up for him. Doing all the talking for him. He doesn't like new people usually. They never understand. (Never understand his freak.. yes Cana has a hidden freak to me.)

He genuinely gets along with rus. They're more similar than they initially thought after all. I mean they're both shy (to a point), both live in cold climates, both have weird relationships with ame... And both are connected through Ame... Rus and Cana both recognize that they are intrinsically tied together only through Ame.

---

Ame: Insufferable (put him in the eternal torture chamber!) Even so, Rus and Cana are still drawn to him like moths to a flame. Type of guy to test the limits of his immortal body... I wish Hima did more with their immortality because that is such an interesting subject. Probably has more DUIs than you can count. Has crashed a plane on purpose. No way you can be the United States of America and not end up crazy.

For the Cold War... Ame was genuinely disappointed when the USSR fell, he was like "well... what now...??" Because for several decades he had a villain to match his hero... But now that Rus fell off... what now? He misses the thrill and rush of it (he's a thrill-seeker... Type 3 fun typa guy). Also, he knew nothing would actually happen anyhow because of M.A.D (Mutually Assured Destruction) no one would actually drop bombs.. right? (they had a few close calls). Maybe the cold war was just one big edging session... (Lmfao sorry had to say it)

Okay adding to the above thing but the paragraph got too long for me. Another reason why Ame thrived in the cold war is that Rus had his singular attention on him. Just him. He loved that. He loved having all of someone's attention. He can't help it. He's just a girl! 🎀 (Kinda yandere-ish vibes but I fw yandere ideas so... Actually all 3 of them could be yandere in the right mindset.)

To me, Ame is the kind of person who thrives on adrenaline, always seeking the next big rush – he's also a huge sucker for attention. That's why he does the crazy things he does. For attention. After all, what is he without attention?

With Cana, well this is a me thing but I like to think that Ame is actually quite clingy with his brother.. He's one of the only people Ame allows to touch him.. Ame's not a very touchy person. Ame does crave genuine connections and Cana is one of the few that can offer that. They're each other's one and only brother after all. That has to mean something.

His relationship with Cana? Complicated... They seem good from the outside but Ame barely knows anything about his brother. Cana could say a million things about Ame but Ame could only respond with maybe a few hundred or so things about Cana – heck, maybe even that would be stretching it. Although, Ame does care for his brother in his own way, truly.

Last little thing I'd like to add: Ame has a collection of vintage stuff. I don't know why. Vintage things just scream American to me. Like old comic books..

[bethsvrse]

★ MISTLETOE ★

PAIRING Thomas Thorne x fem!ghost!reader

WARNINGS peer pressure from the other ghosts, kissing??

Thomas didn’t understand why it was so difficult to get Alison under the mistletoe. Each time he had tried today, he had failed miserably and it’s making him so frustrated. Thomas currently had his face shoved into the Captain’s thigh, his body in an uncomfortable position as the two were playing twister, a game Alison got Pat for Christmas.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alison standing at the door frame, right under the mistletoe. Thomas tried to call out to, desperately, but it was muffled due to his position. Thomas rolled his eyes, giving up a kiss with Alison was absolutely and positively not worth it for this terrible game, so he quickly got out of the position and walked (basically ran) towards the door, but alas, Alison was already walking away.

A loud gasp suddenly echoed through the room, and Thomas looked towards Kitty. “You two are under the mistletoe.” She said. Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, but turned his head to see you trying to walk away from under the door, but Kitty called out again. “Stop! You have to kiss now, Y/N!”

“Kitty…” Y/N said, “we don’t have to kiss. It’s just silly tradition.”

Thomas laugh, although it sounded quite un-genuine to the people in the library. “Such a silly tradition.” He says. Little do they know, Thomas, despite being a massive poet and always admitting his love to those women around him, quite liked Y/N. Every since you passed away 55 years ago and came into his life, he has never been happier. You two hang out all the time, and he loves how you always listen to his poems. The problem is that when he realised he had these feelings for you, you guys became too close. He felt that if he revealed these feelings, and you rejected him, you would no longer want to be friends.

What he didn’t know is that you harbour the same feelings for him, you been infatuated with him for years. When Alison came to the house, and he started telling her all his poems, and hanging out with her more often, you couldn’t help but to feel jealous. You can’t lie and say it hasn’t been tense around you two, because everyone can feel it.

“It’s not silly tradition it sweet!” Kitty complained.

“I used to always hang mistletoe around the house for me and Carol. It was great, really nice tradition.” Pat told the group.

You rolled your eyes, “fine. If it’s so important to you lot.” You leaned up and Thomas held his breath, his eyes widened, only to feel your lips fall on his cheek before you pulled back. “There.”

“No! It has to be a proper kiss silly!” Kitty giggles, “on the lips.”

Despite not having any blood in his body, Thomas swore his whole face went pink. The idea of your lips on his was enough to make his tummy do somersaults (even you just kissing his cheek made his body feel all fuzzy inside).

“Kitty, it’s not like me and Thomas not kissing is going to ruin Christmas or anything.” You tell her.

“Actually, it suppose bad luck if you don’t kiss under mistletoe.” Mary mentions, causing the rest of the group to send you smirks.

You take a deep breath, the others watch in anticipation on what your going to do. You groan before looking back at the group. “Does it really matter if we kiss or don’t kiss.”

“Yes!” Kitty says gleefully. Thomas frowned. The thought of kissing you sounds delightful but it seems as though you don’t share the same thoughts as him. Only you do. You would love to kiss Thomas, you would just prefer to kiss him without the peer pressure of your friends.

“Look, Thomas doesn’t even want to kiss me and it would be very rude to kiss someone without their permission.” You tell the group and try to leave again. Thomas looked at you on bewilderment, he can’t believe you think he doesn’t want to kiss you.

“I believe Thorne does, Y/N.” The Captain tells you. You glare at him, wondering why he decides now is the best place to join in on the group’s antics.

You turn your head to look at Thomas, “I really don’t mind.” He mutters. “Besides if it makes them stop pestering us.” Thomas says.

“Y’know what? Fine. If it means so much to you people.” You turn your whole body towards Thomas and grab his shirt before pulling him towards you. Your lips fall on his and the poet swore he has never felt anything better.

Thomas lets out a soft hum against your lips, he brings one of his hands your cheek to deepen the kiss. He opens his mouth slightly, brushing his tongue along your bottom lip to gently request access to your mouth. You part your lips ever so slightly before they are quickly pried open further by Thomas’ tongue.

You suddenly remember that the ghosts are watching and quickly pull away. Thomas tries to chase you lips but you step back before he can.

“There. Was that a proper enough kiss for you?” You say. The four ghosts watching don’t answer, so you walk back out of the library, Thomas fixes his waistcoat and looks at the others; his face feeling hot.

“Oh my god.” Kitty ends up saying, breaking the silence.

[puckspoetry]

DPS: Charlie’s Symbolism

Conformity and the dangers of it are a major theme throughout Dead Poets Society and Charlie Dalton is a direct representation of this. Charlie’s character can be simply defined as “the bad boy” but to film whores like me, he’s so much more than that. Charlie is a symbol for free thinking which becomes increasingly evident as the film plays out.

The first time we see Charlie give in to Keating’s teachings, he tears out a page from his textbook. Charlie is the first one to do so which shows how eager he is to break the rules and think for himself. He is a fiercely independent person and aims for nothing less than total control of himself and his mind. Keating tunes in to this as he encourages the boys to savour language and to live their true lives; a message which Charlie takes to heart.

Charlie is seen to be in his own world throughout the course of the film and it is most prevalent in the courtyard scene. In this scene, Keating encourages each student to find his own way of walking. Charlie simply refuses to walk and this can be easily brushed off as laziness and arrogance. But under a microscope, we can see that Charlie is proving Keating’s point to perfection. Charlie’s stride (or lack thereof) consists of him moving at his own pace which is seen to be standing still. By trying to seem cool, he has exactly proved Keating’s lesson useful; he has found a way of moving that suits him regardless of what other people are saying or doing.

Charlie’s independence shines through the brightest in this scene as he is no longer a lazy, arrogant student, but someone who has found comfort in himself and is able to express his way of walking without feeling peer pressures. “Swim against the stream” Keating says throughout this lesson; whilst Charlie may not be moving at all, he is actively swimming against the stream of his classmates as he is being his own person.

Conformity is shown in this scene via the class of boys all walking around the courtyard. Granted they are all finding their own way of moving. But, Charlie’s lack of movement illustrates Keating’s point better than any walk going on in the yard as he is being his own person and this is a lesson Charlie carries with him right until his final moments.

~

Charlie is so much more than just an arrogant, lazy student and I will defend him until the day I die. I am so SICK of Charlie slander

[darlingdekarios]

serenity.

rating: mature for mentions of adult themes. length: 1,810 content: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, this was written in 2022 and has been rotting in my drafts (enjoy it if you dare)

Bruce concedes to a morning well spent with you at his side.

Normally when the bed sank under his weight as whatever amount of sunlight the clouds would allow was notating the beginning of a new day, the gentle hues blocked from sight by thick, dark curtains that you weren’t entirely sure he ever opened, you took it as your cue to leave. 

It hadn’t always been this way with him. What had started as scarce meetings had become routine, waking in the comfort of his own bed now rather than the guest room down the hall. It was simple, at first, and now had grown to be something so complex in the year since it’d started  – it had been this way for only a few weeks, and already the two of you clung to the fleeting moments of domestic bliss on these mornings. 

After a shower to wash away the evidence of his night, he would quietly crawl beneath the blanket that awaited him, brushing his lips across your jaw delicately as he wished you a good day. It was simple, quick – you never overstayed.

It would be foolish to hope for anything different from him, and yet the familiar weight built in your chest today as you heard him quietly make his way to the bed, a deep breath releasing as he surrounded himself in the warmth you’d provided in the bed. You silently waited, wishing despite all logic that today would be different, that he’d allow you even a moment longer to soak in the bliss of his presence. 

But recently, your hopes had been echoed in the heart of the man who had stolen your heart. While Bruce could seldom keep himself awake past five minutes with you beside him in his bed, the moment you were gone he grew restless again – no matter how exhausted his body was. 

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, angling his head to bury his face in your neck, breathing in the familiar scent that never lingered in the sheets long enough. You waited for his next words, for the truthfully unwanted instruction to leave to slip past his lips, finding your chest heavier than ever with hope that today would be different.

You were caught off-guard by his steady hand sliding to your hip, applying an encouraging amount of pressure to hold you against him. With little hesitation you melded to him like wax, your eyes closing tight as you wondered whether or not you’d truly woken for the day yet. 

“Stay with me today.”

Sometimes the least words said the most, and in this very instance all Bruce Wayne needed were four little words to say everything your heart was wishing for, to put your mind to a quiet ease as a knowing relief filled you. You were certain those fifteen letters would repeat in your mind like a poet’s finest sonnet. 

To anyone else it would sound as an instruction instruction, but you knew he intended it as a request. If you wanted to stand and walk through the door after being passed a quick breakfast by Alfred he would let you, just as he did every other morning he returned to you. 

He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to his questions going unanswered, his impatience showing itself with a gentle squeeze to your hip. His lips found purchase on the soft skin beneath your ear again, ever-so-lightly brushing the sensitive area. The longer you allowed his words to linger between you the more his regret for speaking them began to sink in, his breath beginning to catch as the assumption a ‘no’ would follow began to run rampant in his mind.

He needed you, though it pained him to admit it, even to himself. 

Serenity returned when you turned to face him, his eyes accustomed to the dark enough to see the light smile on your lips and the colors that painted your eyes his favorite shades. You reached upward to rest your hand against his cheek, brushing it briefly before moving to smooth a piece of his wet hair back.

“Good morning, Bruce,” you finally whispered, the words carrying enough of an answer to flood his chest with relief. He leaned forward to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as this continuously coveted feeling of peace overtook him. 

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” he breathed out the words before he could stop them, though the back of his mind cursed him immediately for the subtle confession that he thought of you while he was gone, the nagging persistence to be okay alone ever-present in his mind.

It was almost easy to ignore the gnaw when that beautiful, short laugh fell from your lips.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Mister Wayne,” you offered, leaning forward only slightly more to rub the tip of your nose against his briefly. It always felt doltish to him when you stirred up this feeling in his stomach and made his heart skip, but served as a humbling reminder that no matter how many fears he overcame, it would never stop him from getting nervous around you.

He was enamored with you. It grew harder by the day not to tell you so loud enough that every wall in the manor could hear it.

“Anyone who considers your presence a disappointment doesn’t deserve to be in it.”

You were certain he could feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest and wondered if he felt how much you warmed up under his simplest flirtations. Almost as if he could feel your every cell screaming to be closer to him – perhaps it meant his were doing the same – he grasped your hips tightly as he rolled to his back, pulling you atop him in the smoothest, most practiced movement. He was rewarded with your radiant smile again, and it was quickly worth the over-exertion of energy he no longer sparred. 

“Is this sweet talk supposed to distract me from that bruise on your jaw?”

Bruce loved how gentle you were – you were probably the only one who ever truly was anymore, and he could lose himself in your tender touch, even as your fingertips brushed over the gothic array of blues, purples and blacks. Though he winced, he quickly recovered to lean his head closer to your hand, turning to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You always forgot how easy it was to lose yourself in his eyes.

“I really did think you’d be gone by now,” he muttered, his lips barely parting as he whispered against the inner part of your wrist. “I’m later than usual.”

That was obvious, even with the curtains drawn. The bruise was hardly the only eyebrow raising decoration on his skin, nor was it even the most severe. His nose had been bleeding recently, his bottom lip split open and swollen…but arguably most of all, the dark smear of makeup around his eyes that had run in the Gotham rains.

“I worry too much you won’t come back to leave before you do.”

Though he corrected himself quickly by tearing his gaze away from yours, busying his movements with gentle kisses up your arm until his lips brushed against your neck, you could feel the subtle curve to his lips as he pressed them below your ear. 

“Guess I should try harder to be on time.”

He silenced any further conversation with his lips claiming yours, your heart immediately bursting in your chest like it was the first time all over again. Bruce always kissed you like a man on borrowed time, and now was no different as he pulled you closer to him, desperate to feel the familiarity of your body against his. With a smile you pulled away slowly to end the kiss, though he was always ready to chase after you. His lips were so close your own brushed against them as you spoke. 

“What am I going to do with you, Bruce?” you questioned through quickened breaths, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. He knew what was to follow by the expression that crossed your features as your eyes clenched shut. “I can’t bring myself to ask where you go, because I already know the answer…and I just don’t want to hear that you’re stupid enough to put your life in danger every night for this horrible, dreadful city.”

He was too distracted by the only thing purely good in his life. If he was listening, he might agree: there was a lot of bad in Gotham – more than any one city could bear, really. But Gotham was where you called home, his personal shining beacon of the proof that humanity could be good. Ever since he’d met you he’d thought of you at night, saw you in the face of every person who needed help. 

One thing Bruce still feared was what could happen to you. Was it better to let you live your life as you wanted, walking the streets of Gotham with your friends to do the things that normal people did while there were so many criminals all around? Or was it better to monopolize your time so he could keep you safe? His punishing voice in the back of his mind was always ready to remind Bruce that the closer you got to him, the more danger you were in because of the secrets he hid from you. And yet, more and more often, he was crafting reasons to see you.

Calloused hands lifted to caress your cheek with such careful delicacy it was as if he thought you were made of glass, the lightness only increasing as his thumb carefully brushed across your bottom lip. “You deserve to live somewhere better than this.”

“You can’t fix it all, Bruce,” the seriousness behind your words weighed in the air heavily, but his feather-light affections never faltered as you spoke. “You can’t fix Gotham. It’s too broken…too many terrible people taking their turn with it and breaking it worse than before.”

His hand now slipped to the back of your head, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his, the rain still dampening his hair. You reached upward to push his hair back gently, eyes not abandoning his gaze for a single moment. He’d stay exactly like this all day, if you’d let him - basking in your warm embrace and cherishing the rare moments he knew you were safe. 

“But people can be better. You remind me of that.”

Did he deserve it - the serenity and peace you brought him, the security you offered his heart? Perhaps not with his blood stained knuckles and cynical mind. Regardless, he’d spoil himself with you anyway for as long as you were willing to be his golden horizon.

masterlist.

[astrodice]

What career suites you best based on destiny matrix? (part 3/3)

part 1 part 2

To find out what career suits you best and what can you do to succeed, we have to look at the number under the dollar sign.

note: there are so many different career choices and the options I'm listing here are just general examples based. you're free to choose any career, and hopefully, you don't feel pressured by this post to suddenly become philosopher.

16 - The Tower

People with the tower energy are resilient to change when it comes to finances and career. They face obstacles that affect their careers and finances pretty often, but still they can overcome all the problems. These people are strong, adaptive and energetic.

The most suitable career:

lifeguard

builder

electrician

renovator

Challenges that affect career:

fear of change (the tower is a proof that you can overcome all the obstacles, rebuild yourself and your career)

self-destruction

overestimating your skills

unfortunate circumstances (something that can't be forseen like job loss)

I couldn't find famous people with this placement. If you have it, please tell me what you do for a living 🤩

17 - The Star

People with this energy usually have a dream job, and they can achieve their dream if they believe in it. They are creative, artistic and the public loves them. But it doesn't mean that their career will be necessarily related to art, it may be something more mundane, but it requires a creative approach.

The most suitable career:

artist/actor/singer

designer/architect

astrologer

astronaut

Challenges that affect career:

rejecting your dream

being shy about being talented

being passive

"star sickness"

over consumption

Famous people with this placement: Zaha Hadid (architect), Ryan Gosling

18 - The Moon

People with the moon energy are empaths who have an ability to to materialise their thoughts. The can achieve the most success when they do art or create something material.

The most suitable career:

poet/writer

doing show business

astrologer/fortune teller

psychologist

bloger

Challenges that affect career:

fear of failure

taking no action towards your dream (maladaptive daydreaming entered the chat)

storing negative energy (repressed anger, holding back tears, etc)

escapism

Famous people with this placement: Kylie Jenner, Lana Del Rey, Elvis Presley

19 - The Sun

People with the sun energy are ambitious, energetic, they know how to make people pay attention to them, know how to lead the crowd. When the energy is in the negative, these people can get fixated on one thing, which may lead to burn out.

The most suitable career:

politician

CEO

motivational speaker

global artist

top manager

Challenges that affect career:

pride

excessive demands on people around you

being critical

inaction

Famous people with this placement: Beyonce, Justin Biber, Rihanna, Kim Kardashian, Zayn, Kurt Cobain

20 - Judgment

First of all, this arcana is related to your family. You have to check how you parents/family affect your relationship with money and career. Maybe they have a belief that it's impossible to get rich, and therefore you adapt their belief. Moving on, 20 indicates success in the fields of politics, science and education. Also, 20 can indicate having a successful business with family.

The most suitable career:

journalist

politician

advocate

scientist

philosopher

teacher

Challenges that affect career:

being involved in family conflicts

controlling tendencies

dependence on the opinion of elders in the family

fear of change

denial of progress

lack of education

Famous people with this placement: Priscilla Chan (pediatrician and philanthropist, co-founder of Meta), Tatyana Kim (CEO of the largest online retailer platform in Russia, teacher, before staring business with her husband she was teaching English), Perrie Edwards, Aaliyah

21 - The World

People with the world energy are able to carry large-scale projects. They are influential, open-minded and they are in tune with the world around them.

The most suitable career:

diplomat

traveler

travel agent

software developer

artist/musician/actor

Challenges that affect career:

power abuse

staying in comfort zone

limiting beliefs

intolerance

technical backwardness

Famous people with this placement: Timothée Chalamet, Camala Harris

22 - The Fool

This arcana makes people spontaneous, they are guided by their passions and intuition. They are the ones who can come up with successful startup, business plan, etc. Also, they have creative/artistic potential. The downside of the fool is that office job and schedules make them stress too much, because they find it hard to concentrate.

The most suitable career:

bloger

movie director

startup(er)?

dancer/actor/musician

producer/movie director

poet

photographer

Famous people with this placement: Elon Musk, Kris Jenner, Marilyn Monroe, Donatella Versace

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you so much for the tag @ironheartwriter 🩷

In Poet Fic, it's time for these two to become husband and husband. Cute of them!

Carlos and TK face each other. The gravitas of the situation makes Carlos’ spine feel tight, but at the same time, it’s hard not to laugh.

This is TK, who he sits across from in the bath, who he typically beats at Scrabble, who he holds hands with under the dinner table, who he bickers with while changing the bed sheets.

TK and Carlos.

TK and Carlos who have seen each other throw up, who have accidentally come in each other’s eyes more than once, who have been inside each other’s bodies, who have made a real mess out of things and longed for each other and cried for each other and cried while being soothed by the other.

These two. They’re getting married?

Yes. Yes they are.

Open tag and tags below

@nisbanisba @emsprovisions @anactualcaseofthetruth @sapphic--kiwi

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @nancys-braids @safeaswrites

@literateowl @kiwichaeng @eclectic-sassycoweyes @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@carlos-tk @three-drink-amy @tellmegoodbye @herefortarlos

@sugdenlovesdingle @honeybee-taskforce @theghostofashton

@freneticfloetry @lemonlyman-dotcom @chicgeekgirl89 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @alrightbuckaroo

@liminalmemories21 @heartstringsduet @never-blooms @ladytessa74

@welcometololaland @rmd-writes @lightningboltreader @goodways

@bonheur-cafe @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜