#because obviously I don't write other muses

[marietheran]

@tzarina-alexandra, @siena-sevenwits, @muse-write and @smhalltheurlsaretaken:

Sorry for taking a while to respond, but basically — as far as I can see the popular idea of WW1 in the West, one that has been present since its ending more or less, is that it was a huge pointless waste of life that had no good reason and no real positive result for anyone. Meanwhile, WW2 was obviously awful because of the horrific deeds of the Axis powers, but all in all, it was a straightforward battle of good and evil with a relatively happy ending. You see CSL feeling comfortable comparing the Ressurection to a D-Day of cosmic significance — not in any blasphemous way, just with a sentiment of "there will be more fighting to come, but the war is won and the rest is clean-up". And I think, from his point of view it's a very good comparison, but it is not one that anyone round here could have made.

Now — on to Eastern Europe, specifically Poland, although I feel the same may apply to most other countries in the region (with the glaring exception of Russia and Belarus + Ukraine, though for different reasons each). In simple words, WW1 is what shook the geopolitical landscape enough to give a bunch of countries independence from Russia, Germany, the Hapsburg Empire, or some combination thereof (in our case, all three), and in many cases, this was the first time the nation would have had autonomy for a century or more. So all in all, 1918 is usually considered a strong victory, and the blood paid for it, an acceptable cost — almost forgotten in the larger picture.

Now, on to what happened twenty years later — and this time I will explicitly remark that I am talking about Poland, because the various combinations of circumstances were complicated enough from country to country that I do not want to make a sweeping generalisation (although I still think a lot of this will likely apply). Where the West sees heroes and villains, we see ourselves beset by foes and allies that betray us. And yes, the Polish people is painted in heroic colours — as doomed moral victors, to be precise¹ — but the Allies as a whole will be considered more pragmatic than actually helpful. There is (1) the unfulfilled promise of aid in 1939, (2) the fact that the USRR switched sides in the middle of the war — after having attacked us together with Hitler and unrepentant of the fact — and we were supposed to accept them with friendship, (3) the Report of Pilecki, detailing the conditions in death camps being summarily ignored after it was secretly sent west in 1943, and finally, (4) the fact that the Allies generally agreed to "sell us out" to Russia and into its sphere of influence at the end of the War. The "liberation" of 1945 had a bitter taste, since it did not really bring freedom, and I think the best description of the prevailing sentiment of the time can be found in the words of the poem: "We await you, red plague, that you deliver us from the black death".

Here, there was no clearcut victory.

¹Let us please not get into the question of the co-responsibility or not of the Poles as a nation for the Holocaust here. It does not really impact the point of this particular post and I don't think that it is resolvable as long as the apparent state of matters delineating that anything written on the subject sets out from the beginning to prop up one thesis or the other remains. All I can say is that the official government of the time ("underground" or in exile) was firmly pro-Jewish.

Remind me to explain why I think the perception of WW1 and WW2 here is basically switched as compared to the West one day.

[reginrokkr]

Anonymous asked: In the past few days I saw more people open to share their ship preferences for their muses, but most of the tiers (more like all of them) don't include Dainsleif yet. So question for the mun! what do you look for in order to ship? and if it's easy for you to respond, who would you ship Dainsleif with?

I hope you know what you're in for, nonnie— as this is going to be a ride that may contain some salt.

What I look for first and foremost when it comes to shipping is plausibility. Yes, I'm aware that some muns may go like "oh, I like this character so I'd like to ship them with my muse and see if that works" and that's perfectly fine. I am no different in having these thoughts myself, but 95% of the times I ignore them for other reasons that will be stated later. Dain himself is a complicated muse with unique circumstances and background. If the likelihood of him not interacting with a great part of the cast in ways that it becomes meaningful and under normal circumstances is high, you can imagine how it must be the case of shipping.

Which leads me to the next point: because of Dain's complications it is hard to build something with strong foundations that won't crumble at the earliest scenario of him not providing what's expected in a healthy relationship. He has many ghosts of his past and the present time, a mission that was given by someone else or self-imposed that goes above everything —even himself, as he clearly states that doesn't relish his solitude in Shenhe's miscellany or that he knows about the heartache of the Adepti in Xiao's miscellany, which clearly belies the fact that he's ignoring things he would've preferred for himself for the sake of a grander scheme than himself—, a great trauma of the past that intertwines with self-hatred and guilt. He won't accept easily that someone in the know of all these things would still choose him. There is the Abyss that can warp his senses even if he's done a great job for the past centuries in remaining sane. There is a curse that goes with a chronic physical pain and even more ghosts to add in his mind that exist or the abyssal factors of the curse will ingrain in his mind. And there is the possibility that the Sinner is part of said ghosts in his mind, given that he might be the one who narrates Dain's introduction based on Chinese word choices to say who the author is.

In order for a ship to work with him, the other part has to be aware of all these things and even so be willing to stay by his side —more metaphorically-speaking than personally, because they'll be in for long periods of absence from Dain's part alone and most certainly that other person will have their own responsibilities too—. I love to ship romantically as the next person as much as it looks like I'm adding layers and layers of difficulty to do that, but I don't want to step over key aspects of what makes Dain who he is just for the sake of shipping at risk of making it incredibly shallow and without substance. Because one of the things that I look for in a ship is also development: for every muse in particular and in a personal way and together as a pair.

This is why I'm terribly iffy about ships that not only erase Dain's autonomy, but also ignore completely his own principles for the sake of shipping such as Dainsleif / Kaeya when the latter goes the Abyss road and in all this design Dain is just someone who is there without any word in anything other than to serve. Yes, he was a knight that served royalty in Khaenri'ah. But he isn't some mindless puppet who would throw away everything he worked for or the honor of others who he believes is being walked over unfairly like, guess what, the Abyss Order does. And something in a similar vein happens with the ship of either Lumine or Aether as the Abyss counterpart of the Traveler and Dain in a romantic ship, only that I've seen worse here to the point where they would do with him as they please and treat him unkindly while ignoring completely that he's not only an intelligent individual with vast knowledge, but also strong whose power is indirectly praised by someone of the likes of Skirk.

The last thing I look for in a ship (but not any less important) is communication. Extensive communication with the mun. For one I like to build ships from the very beginning and see how they evolve over the course of time and events our muses are subjected. But I'm also aware that we're adults with responsibilities and priorities other than a hobby that might make this incompatible, and still the interest of creating a meaningful ship is there. Which is why, for me, communication is equally as important as the aforementioned points. If I can't talk with the mun, how am I going to know their feelings on what's happening as our muses progress? There is a void left in my chest at the thought that I can't gush about things that happen with my RP partner in question which I have encountered in the past when I was less experienced in RP and more driven to what the majority used to do— but it simply doesn't work with me. If we won't be able to do things from scratch in a linear way, I want to have the opportunity to talk to my partner and at least build it through extensive discussions. Later on we can always jump in various points of our muses' timeline to observe in IC ways how certain things go. But... communication is simply a must to me. And if I happen to not mesh well with the mun for whatever reason (but still not to the point where IC interactions becomes incompatible, as we can still do IC things without necessarily ever talk if that's how it works between us) or lack that chance to talk things through with them... as much as I hate to say it, I won't ship it no matter how compatible our muses are.

Lastly, and this will be complicated to say so I'll just stick to what I've found the most compatible with Dain to have solid examples. The most 1:1 character I've found that Dain can be compatible with in Genshin is Neuvillette, without a sliver of doubt. There are others that would work well and that I don't necessarily ship (although I wouldn't turn the other way if it were suggested to me) like Xiao. Another 1:1 character I've found compatible with Dain that hilariously is all the way in HSR is Blade.

[smiletimeisrunningout]

4 / 5 / 17 for the munday meme!

@rhogeminid I love you and I'm so sorry that I ended up writing such long answers

Favourite thing about roleplaying?

The cooperative part of it in which we both surprise each other, and not just with each other's muses but with our own doing whatever the hell they want. For example us deciding to have an angsty NO I CAN'T BE WITH YOU thread and then your muses say exactly the right word that makes Emma go 'actually I'm changing my mind' which makes me go WHAT? and then yours says something that makes yours go DID YOU SEE, DID YOU READ, WHAT HAPPENS NOW and then Emma says something stupidly romantic and we are both all OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING EVERYBODY CALM DOWN

That part. The part where we left the characters follow their personalities instead of the planned plots and surprise each other, or answer memes in a way that the other person wasn't expecting and hit each other in the feels... and then come yelling at one another? I can't find that in writing fanfiction, though of course people yelling in the comments come close, but it's just... not the same. I can't surprise myself as much and it's more solitary to me than roleplaying is. Having the other person respond whether ic or ooc with some yelling is my favorite thing ever because we are having fun together!

Least favourite thing about roleplaying?

Don't open this box I'm such a salty person.

There are so many things I'm needlessly fight-y about that it's hard to pick the least favorite lol I'd say that I don't like when people don't read rules/about pages, because the roleplay community talks a lot about how we are all a bit anxious/insecure etc to explain why we don't talk much anymore (and btw I am too, but I also know that for anxious people not responding much is one way to reject the other person, so I push through and then give up if the other person never tries to initiate or sounds legit pissed off that I'm writing to them) and yet it's okay to not read rules and forcing a person to have to do the more embarrassing thing of saying, for example, 'I don't want to roleplay with that muse' (to a multimuse) or 'I don't want to ship that because he's mean to her/doesn't even seem to like her' or 'I'm sorry I'm not into that fandom anymore'. Like, I feel way more anxiety and annoyance at having to re-say things I wrote down EXACTLY TO AVOID THAT, because we are all very much socialized to just go along with it, than I do at pushing myself to ignore the thought that I'm annoying the other person if I go to plot with them so that we can actually write. If you aren't 'in the mood' to read long pages don't follow a blog with long rules. A game is only fun when you don't make the other players uncomfortable. And non mutuals trying to rp fall into this category too! Also because if I roleplay with one X character doesn't mean I'll roleplay with all portrayals of X character, or that I want to roleplay with all the muses that the person writing X character has, or with every similar character to X, so just... read rules, people!

Least favourite trope?

Now let's be clear, we are just talking about what's fun to me, there is no moral judgment here because it's just a matter of 'I like coffee you like tea', but the trope where the man 'finally' shuts up the woman who has a loud personality or is fighty or whatever to return to the status quo of her letting him take the lead because he's really good at kissing her or more, and it's clear that she's just yapping but has no real power in the relationship, instead of it being a 'we cooperate and like each other'? I'm trying to stay on the safe side of tumblr right now but... the concept that you can have male characters be stubborn and loud or fun and if they soften up for love it's so cool meanwhile with a woman this trope becomes putting her in her place because ultimately the man must be in charge? Nope. No. I'm not writing any of my female muses as secretly just wanting a man to take the lead, or as being their mindless cheerleaders who just cry if the man does something bad or beg him to change, but have no decisional power. And you have no idea of how many times in the past I've found myself writing other female muses who were way angrier/figthy and the male muse's intention was to in the end prove they were stronger so they'd stop being like that, or expect Emma who is all sunshiney to be just a supporting character. So I guess my least favorite trope is 'one member of the couple is just a supporting character to the other instead of an equal and specifically the woman if strong must learn that she's never going to be the one making the calls'.

I see it a lot LESS around tumblr now though, which is a relief (been here since 2012). It's why I'm so strict with who I interact with and who I ship with even if it's hard to tell nowadays, but I'm not picking any trope that will result in Emma being muted, like her when she's dumb or leave her.

[reiderwriter]

I'm Your Fluffer!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader (best friends to lovers)

For @imagining-in-the-margins FWB Challenge!

Prompt: "I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." "Do you want the benefits?" "Yes- No... I'm your fluffer!" (Inspired by New Girl) (yes, I suggested this prompt, bo idc if that's cheating)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, choking, mentions of spanking, and butt worship, slight Dom Spencer, bratty reader, creampie. The classics, yk.

A/N: I'm back!!!! I took a break because I couldn't bring myself to even look at a word document for about a month, but there's nothing like a Pom challenge to get me writing again! I did have a lot planned for my 1 year anniversary, but because I was sick, and then busy, and then work got hectic, I had to put it off. I still am going to try to finish my kink bingo Carr, though, even though its a month late, but I had two fics left iirc, and I have both of them plotted, so I may as well! I will, however, be abandoning the final epilogue of I Can't Help Myself, because I wrote myself into a depressed corner with that one, and honestly, some people were getting very pushy about it, and it wasn't fun anymore. Anyway! This one was fun to write, so I'm going to stick to one shots for the foreseeable future, or incredibly limited series.

Masterlist

Spencer was your friend. A good friend. Your best friend, perhaps. A really good, very best friend.

Obviously, you were good friends because he always knew when you were feeling down. He bought you flowers regularly when he passed by flower shops. He came over to your place and helped you build every piece of flatpack furniture you had, which, as a single woman in your mid-twenties, was every piece of furniture that you owned.

You really looked forward to the movie nights the two of you had weekly. The popcorn, the blankets, the cuddling, his lips by your ear, in-time translating the foreign movies word for word as you watched it, the shivers down your spine as you pressed further into the heat of him.

Spencer was the best best friend you could ask for.

He was also the most frustrated.

“Kid, what are you doing this weekend? I'm thinking of hitting some clubs, you know, getting my groove on, maybe meeting A few ladies,” Morgan smirked, rubbing his hands together as he gently moved side to side, already dancing to himself as he anticipated his big weekend out. “You in, or are you in?”

“I can't. I promised Y/N I'd help her with some document digitalisation. We're going to order pizza and watch Star Trek while backing up her entire paper trail.”

The smile on Spencer's face was so stupid that Morgan had to stop himself from wiping it off of him immediately.

“Man, you are so down bad for that girl,” he mused, shaking his head.

“What? Down bad?”

“You like her. It's okay to admit it.”

“We're friends. I'm happy being friends,” Spencer said, picking up his bag and walking to the elevator desperate to escape a repeat of a conversation he'd already had three times that week.

“You know everyone thinks you're dating.”

“Well aware. Despite the number of times we've both stated to the contrary, people don't seem to accept ‘we're just friends’ when they hear it.”

“That may be because you're doing things that just friends don't do.”

“Everything we do is totally platonic.”

“You buy her flowers-

“I buy my mother flowers,” Spencer said, turning on the man and raising his hands in exasperation.

“You know that's different. Do you buy Emily flowers?”

Silence.

“What about JJ?”

“I bought JJ flowers!” He grinned triumphantly until the other man spoke again.

“When she was in the hospital. Giving birth. Okay, what about the movie nights?”

Rolling his eyes, the younger man walked on, pressing the bell for the elevator and allowing his friend to keep bothering him.

“Friends watch movies together, Morgan. We've watched movies together, are we dating?”

“One, you are not my type, pretty boy, and two, you didn't exactly have your dick pressed against my ass the entire time we watched a film now, did you?”

“Be q- be quiet. I don't have my dick against her ass ever.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, was it pressed against her stomach instead? I know she likes to lie on top of-”

“Derek!”

The elevator arrived, and the two quickly jumped in, to Spencer's relief.

“All I'm saying, kid, is-”

“Hold the elevator!” You shouted, running to it quickly with Penelope Garcia on your heels.

“Thanks, Spence!” You said, smiling at him as you entered the small space.

And continued your not too unsimilar conversation with Penelope.

“So, as I was saying Penelope,” you shot her a look that told her you were finished with the conversation. You were not dating Spencer Reid, and you were unlikely to in the future because of his total and complete lack of interest in you.

“You can set me up this weekend, right? It's been an age since I've been on a date, and I would really like to-” you glanced around the elevator and whispered the end of your sentence, suddenly mindful of your company. “You know.”

“If you're absolutely sure, I have a few men in mind that could throw you about, but-”

You squealed and squeezed the woman as the elevator landed on your floor and jumped out of the elevator quickly, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, Pen, you're the best!”

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer called out behind you, desperately holding the elevator open for a few more seconds.

“I thought we were doing your papers this weekend? Star trek, pizza, remember?”

You stared guiltily at the floor as you forced your voice to sound as casual as possible, not sure you could make any excuse that didn't sound pathetic.

“Oh, sorry, Spencer. I totally forgot. We can rain check, right? I… I really need this.”

Spencer was aware of what disappointment felt like, but it never hollowed out his chest like your lack of eye contact in that moment did.

“Yeah. Sure, of course. We can do that whenever.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Spencer. You're the best… friend.”

He smiled and let the door finally shut, aware of the two sets of eyes now watching him.

It took a surprisingly long time for the ‘I told you so’ to come, but come it did, as if Morgan were unable to help himself.

“You're telling me that you're not into her at all?”

“I'm…not into her like that at all.”

“And you're fine with me setting her up on a date with a man that'll do somewhat empowering, somewhat disgusting things with her?” Penelope piled on.

“What? That's…that's not my business,” he ground out.

“No. Of course it’s not. Because you're not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly, I'm not her boyfriend-”

“You're her fluffer.”

With a pat on the shoulder, the elevator hit its last stop, and Morgan exited, leaving Spencer scrambling after him as Penelope waved the two of them off.

“What? No, what's a fluffer?”

Morgan chuckled and waved him off, walking to his car.

“Come on, what's a fluffer, and why am I hers?”

“You've seen porn before, right?” The older man asked, pausing as he opened his driver side door. “Actually don't answer that. The fluffer is the person who keeps the actors and actresses… ready between takes. Prepares them for the good stuff.”

With a bright flush across his cheeks, Spencer tried his best for an indignant look, landing somewhat closer to a petulant child.

“I am not her fluffer. We have never-”

“I know you've never. If you had, we wouldn't be standing here right now having this conversation. What I'm saying is you should.”

“We're friends!”

Climbing into the car and closing the door, Morgan dismissed the younger man quickly, but he wasn't finished.

Knocking on the door, Spencer waiting a beat, then two for it to open again.

“I'm not her fluffer.”

“You build her furniture and cuddle with her. You're doing everything a boyfriend would do, without any of the boyfriend rewards.”

“What rewards?” he gasped, exasperated.

A single look was all the reply he got before Morgan out his keys into the ignition and started driving.

Spencer never made the decision to turn up at your house later that night. He just found himself all of a sudden at your front door on a Friday night, pulling out the key from the plant pot by the front door and letting himself in. Unlocking his shoes, he called out through the apartment, letting you know he was there as he slipped into the house shoes you'd bought him after the first of many movie nights.

“Spencer? We cancelled earlier, remember?” you said emerging from your bedroom, fitted in the tightest dress he'd ever seen you in. He already had no answer for your question, but seeing you like that, getting ready, he had no answer to any question at all. If you'd have asked him his name, he wouldn't have known it.

Well, he would've, but only because you'd said it only three seconds ago and had reminded him that he was, in fact, standing in your apartment when he should've been literally anywhere else.

“Um. I'm…I'm just-” he scratched the back of his neck, waiting for something to come to him.

“Spencer, I'm leaving in like an hour, so there's no time to watch a movie, and I have to get ready, so-”

“I'm… I'm angry?”

You raised an eyebrow at his questioning tone, unsure where this conversation was going.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah..yes. I'm sure. I'm angry. We, we had plans, and you gave me like an hours notice and cancelled them to go do something stupid-”

“Spencer! I'm going on a date. That's not stupid.”

“It is when you have me!”

He half shouted, half murmured the words, as if he himself were unsure of how confident he was in making that statement.

“That came out wrong-”

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“What I mean is- I mean…Morgan said that-”

You crossed your arms and sat yourself on the arm of your sofa, looking forward at him and waiting for him to get through whatever this was. You hoped the entire time that he was saying what you'd wanted him to say for the last year and a half.

“Have you ever watched porn?”

Not what you were hoping for, but a start, at least.

“Spencer!”

“That came out wrong, I- don't throw the couch cushions at me. I have a point, I swear!”

You lowered your next projectile and gestured for him to go on, not fully relinquishing it just yet.

“I'm your fluffer! I get you…in the mood for dates, and- and- I do all the boyfriend stuff without any of the boyfriend benefits!”

He stood in front of you, red-faced, and you stared him down a second or two as you collected your thoughts.

“Do you…want the boyfriend benefits?”

“Yes! No, wait - wait a second. I- I- What are the boyfriend benefits exactly?”

You threw the pillow down and turned your back on him, not entirely sure what you were expecting from the most oblivious genius on the planet.

“Y/N, wait. Wait-”

With a hand wrapped around your wrist, Spencer spun you around, and, tripping over your feet, you landed hard on your sofa. Your fall should've been relatively pain-free, but for the 6-foot man that landed directly on top of you.

“Get up.”

“What are the boyfriend benefits?”

“You should know if you're saying you want them! Now, get up!”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Spencer!”

“Y/N!”

You groaned and writhed under him, but he just dropped his weight onto you, unmoving, hands pinning your wrists lazily, leg poking between your two, hips pinning yours.

It certainly wasn't the closest you'd ever been, but in those circumstances, during that conversation, you felt more flustered than you had before.

“What are the benefits.”

“You really want me to say? You're not afraid it's going to throw off our friendship, ruin whatever good thing we have going?”

“I think that if you go out tonight, and enjoy your date, and get a boyfriend, that he's going to feel weird about this good thing we have going and it's going to be over anyway. Tell me.”

You desperately searched for a way out of this situation, but a stronger part of you wanted to simply wrap your legs around him and let him take as much advantage as he could.

You settled for disturbing him.

“Fine. A boyfriend would be able to spank me.”

“Y/N, be serious.”

“I am. I like it. A boyfriend would pull my hair back and make me count as he hit my cute round ass until it turned all red, and I couldn't sit down comfortably anymore. A boyfriend would then kiss it better.”

You'd never spoken about sex with Spencer, and you hoped the vulgarity would force him back to his senses. Instead, he didn't stir, and you had no choice but to continue.

“Another boyfriend benefit would be choking me. I like that, too. Are your hands big enough to wrap around my throat, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly and do confidently, you weren't sure you actually heard it outlook until he spoke again.

“What other benefits, Y/N?”

“A… boyfriend would get to cum inside me,” you whispered, suddenly aware of hips rocking into yours slowly as his cock poked up, listening intently to the promises spilling from your lips that you likely should've regretted.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want the benefits.”

Your body was hot everywhere he touched you, but he didn't move, didn't follow through on anything just yet. But you were aware of his head moving closer and closer to yours and panicked.

“And what have you done? As my fluffer? To deserve those benefits?”

“What have I done?” He asked, pulling back an inch. Even as his chest rested, flush against yours, your breasts pushed up against him as his hands held yours over your head.

“I-I bought you flowers-”

“Emily buys me flowers, too. So does Penelope. Should I let them be my boyfriend?”

With your hands in use, you took advantage of his distraction and wrapped your legs up and around his waist, rolling your hips up into him.

“I suppose I do like flowers, though. What else?”

“I… We're always t-together?”

“We work together.”

Using the leverage of his weight against yours, you rolled up harder into his hips, grinding into him slowly as you watched his resolve melt away.

“The m-movie nights are-”

“The movie nights where you rut your cock into me while we watch a movie? Friends do that all the time. You're just translating the movie for me after all.”

“Y/N, please don't-”

“Don't say that? Okay. I'll just let someone else hump against my thighs to get off because you're too proud to admit you want to sink your dick into me and pound me?”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe that's why you don't have the boyfriend privileges, Spencer. Because I'm waiting for something, you're too much of a prude to try-”

His lips meet yours before you can finish the thought, and you're not sure whether it's a triumph or a defeat.

After precisely five seconds of his lips on yours, though, you no longer cared.

Releasing your hands gently, he lifted his hips an inch, distracting you enough to force his tongue into your mouth as his hand found its way between your legs.

“Did you really mean it?” He asked between kisses as you rake your hands through his hair, getting lost in him. “About the benefits?”

You allowed yourself to imagine it for a second, Spencer's hands on your throat. His hands on your ass. His mouth buried between your legs.

You moaned into his kiss, and he laughed - actually laughed - as he pulled away.

“Spencer!”

“No, no, please, don't let me keep you from your thoughts, I'll just be down here.”

His fingers reached your clit and he wasn't surprised to find you already wet, legs spread. Snaking another hand to your neck though, he wasn't exactly as opposed to the ideas you'd flung at him as he'd acted.

You gasped as his hand closed around your neck, the prettiest necklace you'd ever worn. You grabbed a hold of his hands as he pulled your underwear off, pushing them down your legs as he gently pushed your legs open wider and replaced his fingers with his tongue.

You curled up on yourself, craving your body to watch him devour your pussy as you tried your best to keep your breaths shallow, to keep breathing entirely as he squeezed your throat.

His tongue licked and flattened, his head bobbing up and down and then stilling as your hips began moving by themselves, letting you ride his face as you moaned and whined and desperately ran towards your climax.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulder, pressing down on his back to keep him in position, grabbing a handful of hair as you jerked against his face, fucking it as he looked up at you through hooded eyes, drinking down every drop of you.

His hold on your neck tightened, and you felt your body shudder as you squeaked out his name, not wanting this to end so soon, needing to feel more of this. He let you ride it out until you were whining in frustration again, hips twitching from the friction of his tongue against your cunt.

Then he pushed away.

He wasn't gone long, but you followed him up. You thought about pushing him down to the couch again, thought about sitting on his pretty boy face and doing it all over again. You thought of turning over and presenting your ass to him, letting him punish you like you'd promised. Your thoughts ceased as quickly as they came when he pulled his cock free of his pants, not even bothering to pull them off fully before pulling you into his lap, lining himself up, and pushing you down onto his hot, hard, lengthy cock.

You swear you would've screamed if his to guess hadn't already claimed your mouth. A good scream. A “holy shit holy shit holy shit” scream. Definitely a “I didn't know it was that big, and honestly I'm a little scared” scream. But overall, a “god that feels so good” scream.

From the lack of movement, you were sure that Spencer was giving you a moment to adjust to his intrusion, and you were thankful as you clung to his neck, hands balling in the material of his shirt on his back.

Although he was bigger than expected, he wasn't uncomfortably large, and you calmed quickly, giving him a quick nod as you buried yourself in his neck, hiding your face to stop yourself from drooling, mouth wide as he tipped you back against the couch pillows, lifting your legs slightly and slipping his hands underneath yous thighs, and began his steady pace of thrusts.

You were sure your world was imploding on itself, that all your senses had ceased except that of touch, and his touch was fire. But you heard the wet, slutty sounds of your pussy welcoming him, you smelt the sweat against his skin, and, opening your eyes, you saw the absolute pleasure blasted against his features as he groaned in your ear.

And before you could form another coherent thought, he'd claimed another boyfriend benefit, as, rocking his hips against yours, he slowed to a stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

“Spencer!!” you moaned, but he wasn't done, spitting on his fingers and finding your clit again as you squealed, twitching and turning and milling his cock with your movements as you found your second release.

You moaned his name again, though it sounded less like his name this time, and more like a definite noise complaint from your neighbours in the morning.

“Spencer?” you asked, still trying to regain your breath as he, once again, collapsed on top of you.

“Mhmm,” he said, slowly pulling out of you, watching the mess you'd made together drip out too, and resisting the urge to push right back into you and go again.

“Was that a friendly fuck, or a boyfriend fuck?”

His eyes snapped to yours again as you continued.

“I just want to give Penelope the correct reason for cancelling on her friend when I text her-”

“I came inside you.”

“So you did.”

“Y/N!”

“.... So that wasn't a fluffer thing, but a boyfriend thing, got i-”

With a kiss, he shut you up again, and you realized quickly that you probably wouldn't have the time to send that text anyway.

[moviecritc]

Hiiii!! I saw that your requests are open so I wanted to ask if you could please write smau with Charles Leclerc dating a singer and him getting hate from HER fans and her having to speak up because it's getting out of control

please please please ⋆ charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader (fc: sabrina carpenter)

warnings: hate comments

a/n: i got lazy towards the end, but i've to say that i loveee this idea

english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by charlesleclerc, chappelroan and 451,231 others

yourusername The face of a grammy winner 🎺🎺🎺

I wanna thanks to all the people that were part of this little project that ended up getting out of hand, my friends and family, and my beautiful boyfriend who was the inspiration for all of the cutest songs in this album 💖

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user1 everything was going perfect until leclerc was mentioned 🙄

user2 fr i can't stand him

charlesleclerc My 🌎 I'm so proud of you mon coeur liked by creator

user3 just shut up already user4 look at him trying to deny that he only uses her for her fame in the industry

user5 i still can't believe y/n hasn't realized yet how awful her boyfriend is

chappellroan YESS, so happy for you y/n!! liked by creator

user6 omg they NEED to colaborate now

user7 i'm happy that she went alone to the event and not with that fame fucker boyfriend of her

user8 REAL

user9 i love how everyone is agreeing in hating on charles, pls don't stop

user10 she just won a fucking grammy and all you're doing is hating her bf. i can't with this people

charlesleclerc just posted!

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 23,510 others

charlesleclerc I have no words to express how proud and happy I am that you won your first grammy (of many, obviously). I love you so much, and I hope to keep being your muse for many years 💛💛💛

view all comments

user1 he's so desperate

user2 he rlly thought he ate this

user3 SHE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU

user4 nah bc y/n didn't even commented 💀

user5 you guys are so cute

user6 he's just with her bc of her fame

user7 imagine hating on a possible world champion bc his gf is more famous than him

yourusername just posted!

liked by charlesleclerc, dualipa and 823,059 others

yourusername imagine hating on us and this is what we're doing

'please please please' is out now!!! with the mv starring the one and only @charlesleclerc 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

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[coeurify]

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　  ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

[risuola]

ENTRY #8 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You said you love me, I heard it between the lines.

contents: arranged marriage!au, it gets a little steamy, reader discretion is advised — wc. 2556

a/n: longer part, little steam, some more confused fools in love, what else can we want ♡ i kinda enjoy writing the story a little more from satoru's pov, i hope you don't mind! also, the wedding picture that my friend draw for me is here for anyone interested!

series masterlist

You love him.

Well, technically, you didn’t say you love him. You were tidying just next to him, wiping the dust off the shelves and he was on the couch, doing paperwork that might’ve been — and most likely were — partially responsible for his poor mood. He hated paperwork and ironically, Yaga loved giving him a fair share of it — it was fair, he knew that. His missions, his forms to fill but couldn’t Ijichi take care of it–

“We should retake that picture one day,” he heard you muse and he didn’t need to look up to know what picture you had in mind. You had, after all, just one picture together and it was taken forcefully as a proof of your marriage, right after the ceremony. He was in a suit, black and crisp, looking good as always with his glasses — that he didn’t bother taking off for the photo — resting on the bridge of his nose, low enough to show a little bit of his eyes and high enough to hide the lack of amusement he felt that day. You were in front of him, partially exposing your bare back to the camera and holding a bouquet of flowers that someone got you — not him, that’s for sure. As he thought of it, you were looking stunning. Breathtaking, to say the least, in the long white dress, not too plain but definitely not overly embellished. You didn’t need to be dressed in layers of princess-worthy fabrics to look like one. The picture though — it lacked emotion. You were there with him and he was there with you, but you weren’t together on it. You were just both in the frame.

“Why would we?” He asked dryly, growing more and more irritated by the bureaucracy at hand. He was stuck on one of the points, the one he disliked the most because it required him to elaborate on something that didn’t need to be elaborated on. Why would he describe the curses he saw, evaluate their strengths and consider their techniques, when he turned them to dust before they even realized he was there?

“It would be nice to have a wedding picture with some actual love in it, not just a dry, forced pose and stone faces,” you reasoned and your voice was light, it was innocent almost as if you were speaking of something so obviously natural. As if you were not considering exchanging the picture-proof of your arranged marriage into one of real marriage.

“We’re not married for love, do I need to remind you?” Satoru scoffed. He was annoyed. At you, because you were able to make his heart beat in ways he never knew are possible and at himself — for letting that happen. Or for saying what he just said because of course you knew the marriage wasn’t based on love and it didn’t change the fact you just allowed your mouth to slip away words that shouldn’t be slipped. He was annoyed because you shouldn’t feel that way, because he wasn’t ready to hear it, because he’s a coward.

But, instead of getting annoyed, he heard you chuckling. It was an odd point in your marriage. You were closer, the closest you’ve been until now, but the feelings that were undeniably blooming underneath the surface had to force their way through the layer of sarcasm he and you spread out thickly over the course of past weeks. You were still foreign to affection but curiously exploring the topic with each other and Satoru was suffering severe heart palpitations because of it. You seemed to enjoy it though — your smiles and very purposeful touches were enough of a proof of it.

Satoru sometimes wished he could fluster you just as you fluster him and he would give the world to see your face tinted with deep, red blush because of him. He will see you like this one day, but for now, you were still learning to express civil behaviors in the confines of your shared house. You called it a success that fights were much rarer now than at the beginning; perhaps you grew accustomed to the amount of snarkiness and irony or maybe it mellowed down. Maybe the fact that you were spending more and more time together, now working at school side by side, had something to do with the much warmer relation shyly building itself up between you, or maybe it’s because of the long, late night talks you share every night when he’s laying in bed with you.

“Oh, you really should shut up sometimes,” you said and he felt you approaching.

“I should, huh?” He rolled his eyes and smirked, eager to put down the papers and pay his attention to you. His eyes, that first landed on your legs, moved up following the shape of your body until he met your gaze. “And who are you to order me such things?”

“Your wife, Satoru, we’re married, as you probably noticed,” you snapped back, but something in the tone of your voice told him, you’re not as bothered as the bite of your words suggested.

“Married,” he said, humming. His smirk faltered just slightly and for a second, he was silenced by your presence. He couldn’t bring himself to fight against it. “And hating every second of it.” But he’d still reached forward to take your hand.

This time, it's you who rolled eyes but you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. You sat down next to him, dropping your weight onto the soft, bouncy cushions and positioning yourself in a way to be able to face him. The top of your knee met the side of his thigh and Gojo put the pile of formalities to the side. “You are annoying, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told,” Satoru said, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Several times. By you, actually.” He chuckled and shifted a little on the couch. His free arm was rested along the backrest and he leaned his head back, giving you a sideways look. “But I know I am,” he teased with a smirk now fully bloomed on his features. “I’m glad you’re at least acknowledging it.”

“Kinda hard to miss when it’s written all over your face,” you teased him back and he laughed, running his thumb along the side of your hand. Then, he was rubbing small circles onto your skin, grazing over the delicate spots of your wrist.

“Oh? You’ve been paying more attention to me than I thought.”

“You really need to shut up,” you sighed, exhaling slowly in feigned annoyance, but you were clearly amused by his antics and he was growing amused too. Gojo was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to push him. He had every intention of testing your boundaries, pushing your buttons. He was curious, excited even, to see where it could go. You were incredible, Satoru thought, because weeks before he was sure he was going to break you, get you to back off, but you just kept coming at him. He wasn’t complaining.

“But I don’t want to,” he said, his tone teasing as he leaned towards you, bringing his face inches from yours. Your eyes met and the air got a little thicker, a little more warm. “What are you gonna do about it?” His voice was quiet, murmur-like, challenging. He didn’t let go of your wrist or stop the soft circles of his thumb.

“Easy,” you scoffed, but a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth when you leaned in as well. Your head tilted and then, your lips were just breath away from his own. “I’ll shut you myself,” you whispered, right against his face.

Satoru nearly lost it when he felt your breath on his lips. His heart seemed to skip a beat, this wasn’t how he thought this conversation would go, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He wasn’t supposed to get jealous, to want you, to need you, but now that you were this close, there was no way he was going to let it end here.

He leaned a little closer as well, closing the distance just a bit more. He was practically asking for your lips to meet and the way your voice teased him when you whispered– oh, the man was getting weak. For the first time, he was speechless. His eyes drifted shut, the feel of your lips so close being enough to set him on fire. The silence hung in the air for only a moment before he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. He wanted to feel you against him as much as he could. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he began to pull you even tighter.

And you purred. Climbing on top of him, straddling his lap and the moment your legs gripped onto his, every thought was lost, every desire was awakened. One of his arms naturally shifted to pull you against his body and the other was in your hair, tangled within the strands. He felt the heat of you on his chest, he felt you on top of him and in his mind, there was no place he wanted you more. Satoru couldn't get enough of you, of being close.

His back was against the couch, he was kissing you roughly, almost desperately as if there was no air on the planet anymore and you were the only saving grace. He had waited so long to do this, wished for it. Every morning he spent looking at your calm, sleeping face he wondered what would you do if he made a move, if he kissed you softly, if he woke you up with his touch.

And now that it was happening.

He didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands run over his shoulders and brushed through his hair, pulling and tugging them ever so slightly and he shivered from how close to the edge it brought him. Your touch was electric, sending tendrils of pleasure right through his system, filling his veins with something warm and unknown, making him lose himself into the feeling.

Your tongues met, exploring each other and he was focused on the taste of your lips, the sharpness of your teeth closing teasingly on his lower lip from time to time, the sound of your breathing and how soft and smooth your skin was against his own. Your nose was brushing against his every time you shifted your head and each movement made him want more. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life kissing you.

Satoru’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and he leaned forward, pressing himself against you. He had a good bit more muscle than you and he wasn’t afraid to use it if it meant pulling you even closer, leaving no space between. Your body fit with his, the two of you like puzzle pieces fitting together in the perfect spot.

His hands were moving, following the shapes of you, learning them as his fingers were brushing your sides, his thumb sliding along your back. He gripped your waist a little harder and then, his mouth fell to your neck. You whimpered and a small groan escaped his lips as he kissed you there, his lips and tongue making their way to the soft, delicate skin behind your ear and you gasped on air when his teeth grazed the shell of your lobe.

Your fingers tightened on the muscles of his shoulders, searching for a way to ground yourself and you struggled to stay present, when he made it so easy to get lost.

A smile tugged on Gojo’s lips, he felt how hot your cheek was against the side of his head when he peppered tender kisses along the side of your neck. Then, he pulled away from you for a moment, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered over your face, taking in the sight of you before they dropped to your mouth once more. You were so pretty like this, panting and with your lips parted and swollen, red and glistening with saliva. You were so gorgeous with blush spilled over your complexion, with your half-lidded eyes and your arms around him.

His hands were still on your waist, and his lips found yours again — just as hungry and desperate as it was before.

“God,” he breathed, between one kiss and another. His voice was rough and gruff, carried by the heavy breaths and want. “I can’t believe I’m married to you,” he said, his tone full of awe. “Positive.”

He felt your lips curve upwards and your body squirm against him, and that was enough to make him almost lose control over himself. His hand moved from your waist to the hem of your shirt, moving it just enough to get access to the skin beneath it. He kept kissing you and his fingers were shifting from the hem back to your waist, then back again. You were so soft, and his entire body was filled with the urge to explore it. To taste it. To learn it.

He leaned back just slightly, breaking the kiss and you let out a soft sigh. Your cheek was now pressed against his shoulder, your face exposed. He rested his head against yours, his eyes fluttered shut and all he could hear was a mixture of breaths and his own heart.

“We should stop,” he whispered, sighing and you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his neck, kissing him there.

And like that, Satoru melted.

His body relaxed against yours once more. The breath he took was long and shaky, the sensation of your lips on his neck making his brain short circuit. Any thought he’d had of actually stopping threatened to fell to the wayside.

“We should really stop,” he repeated, louder this time, but he wasn’t making any attempts to move you off his lap. His hands gripped you a little more instead. “You’re gonna make me lose control.”

“Isn’t that a tempting thought,” you teased, the softest mischief lining your tone and you gave the side of his neck a little kitten-lick. Satoru groaned when your tongue touched his neck. His hold tightened on you, his fingers digging into your waist.

“Oh god, don’t do that,” he whispered, sounding desperate. His arm came up to brush your hair out of your face and he leaned his head to the side, giving you better access to his neck, despite all of his instincts telling him to not do that.

“Don’t do what?” Your voice rumbled against his flesh, the sensitive area leading from his ear to his shoulder vulnerable and exposed to your whims.

"That."

"That?"

Gojo jolted the moment your teeth sunk into his skin, just barely hard enough to leave a mark and it made him lose it. With a deep groan, his head shot upwards. The hand that had been running through your hair now gripped your hip, and in an instant, he had you flipped so you were flat on your back, him on top and the papers he’s got from Yaga long forgotten and spread all over the floor.

He’ll worry about them later.

Now: you.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie

[evilminji]

My ONGOING "SI-OC Ponderings that my Muse is haunting me with but I may never get around to write" Series!

Because, fuck it, might as well. Maybe it will inspire somebody?

Jedi Youngling! Staring down that double barrel Order 66! FUCK.

Now, see, they don't blame the Clones. They don't even blame the Jedi. Whole lot of "victims of circumstance and our Wrong Place Wrong Time environment" going on. But? Are they gonna lay down and take it? Fffffuck no!

They JUST got this body!

Also?

THESE ARE BABIES.

They, An ADULT, have a god damned MORAL OBLIGATION to save as many of this itty bitty alien babies as they can. They warn the adults, obviously. But they FULLY expect? And are unsurprised? When they DON'T LISTEN.

There is a Force Damned PRECEDENT for that. (May you finally rest in peace now, Master Sifo-Dyas.)

The younglings though? THEY didn't get to make a choice. THEY are innocents. And as the only ADULT with knowledge of what's to come? It's HER moral, ethical, and Force given obligation to PROTECT them until they can do so themselves.

As a Jedi... she has to PICK.

Try to save the adults? Those who willfully chose ignorance AND have the ability to defend themselves? To fight and flee under their own power? Or... save the younglings, the infants and babies. Those whose ignorance is that of the young and still learning? Who CAN NOT fight. Can Not run?

It's no choice at all. And if they truely understood? She can only hope they would command her to do EXACTLY as she is doing. Would demand no less. Consider it UNTHINKABLE to ever choose them.

She searches out the hidden passages. Practices lifting things instead of sword stances. She will need to carry so much. Move so quickly. She KNOWS where the attack will come from... Force willing, if she plans well? The Creches will be EMPTY by the time the soilders arrive.

But for that? She must steal. Redirect. Take things from where they should be. It is easier then it should be. First because no expects true mischief from a child, then? Because a war has begun.

Restriction Bolts of the Temple droids and a simple explanation is enough to gain their assistance. It's illogical not to have a plan, even if you never use it. And through them? "Liberated" data jewels. Already plumbed for all the information they're good for. High end, too.

Perfect.

She wipes them all. Fashion's a belt that, one day, Force willing she might wear as a necklace. Then sets to work coping EVERYTHING about the Jedi. When the temple is lost? Their history should not be.

So long as this string of jewels alone survives.

The Jedi are remembered. Luke with not have to start over from half memories and hearsay. They can learn from the past AND still have it. She puts diaries, prophecies, books the jedi wrote for fun. Various Force sects both past and still alive. Teaching methods. Anything. Everything.

A time capsule.

It HAS to be enough.

She fears it's not. Sneaks into the hall of retired Sabers. Sits. And opens her mind to them all. Please. Please! She knows. She's so, SO sorry. You were done. You EARNED your rest. She would not ask this if youngling were not on the line. If Illum might not become to dangerous to travel too.

....if she did not fear what would become of you, should you stay.

The Sith is coming. He WILL take the temple.

Will you come with me now?

Some do, some promise to die, and die VICIOUS. Swear to blow to deadly shrapnel in the hands of any who dare come for them. Others leave their casings. Willing to come, but not as they were. She apologizes for the indignity, as she stuffs them all in the hidden paths.

Honestly? They muse. They've seen worse. Remember that-? WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THAT. HE WAS TRYING HIS BEST, OKAY?!

And all throughout? One must wonder. What do the other younglings think? That OC is strange? Mad? To be ostracized? No, of course not. She is nice. Listens when they're upset. Does not judge or make every emotion a test. Hugs come readily and her mind FEELS older. Like the Creche Master.

And? If Master YODA can be short? Why not OC? She just lives with them. The other Knights and Master's don't listen to her because she Sees things. It scares them. They SAY they do. But children know the difference, don't they? Between what you promise you'll do... and what you'll ACTUALLY do?

But see, the Creche Master's? Increasingly distracted. Preparing the eldest of their charges for WAR ZONES. It's stressful. The fact that the youngers are quiet? SHOULD raise alarm bells. They KNOW better. But they are distracted.

The ones who DO notice? Are the orphan Padawan. The older initiates. People assigned to "help out".

There aren't enough mind healers. Not enough hands to help around the Creche. It was considered a good idea. Young children are full of uncomplicated Light! Yes, Yoda. They are. But as with Obi-Wan, so too with the Crechelings? Children are NOT here to mend the hurts of their elders. That is NOT their purpose.

They are exposing the youngers to Fear and Grief. Broken bonds and the echos of war. This is NOT good for young force sensitives.

Yet... are THEY not young Force Sensitives? Children too? OC knows they are. And it is a bitterness on her tounge. She does what she can. Because SHE is and adult. They notice too. How can they not? The other children turn to her, she guides them through their day. She gives "projects" and listens to concerns. Walks everyone through meditation.

......runs everyone through the Evacuation Plan? WHAT Evacuation Plan?

Oh.

It... it helps. Having something they are PART of. Doing TOGETHER. Something to combat the growing, creeping, darkness that is not violence and death. This? This is planning. Preparation. It... it feels like have some sense of control again, after everything has become senseless and OUT of control. Yet? It is not DARK. Not seeking to force control on others.

It is just... quietly stepping back.

One foot, then another. Calmly and with grief. Letting go, knowing you have tried, as you leave those who have made their choices to the fates they chose. Silently slipping out the door before the building begins to burn. Just as you warned them. Just as they refused to hear.

It's okay to grieve.

Even those who are still alive.

Of course, Shadows ARE supposed to notice unusual movements. Spies and Falling are a concern. Heeey, little youngling! How's things? Just swinging byyyy~☆ soft interrogation tactics~! Gonna admit to any of the Blatant Theft?

Yes, actually. Good you are here. Saves OC the trouble of trying to figure out who is and isn't a Shadow. Kinda convenient, Master Vos, that it's you. What's the fastest set of ships you could stash at the exit to this and THIS hidden path? By this date?

He's sorry, what?

You heard her.

Tiny youngling, unflinching, staring him down and asking for ships like that's a thing she has any right to do? Why? Well... that depends. Are you actually going to listen, Master Vos, or do you want an answer that will comfort you?

Excuse me.

Do you remember? Master Vos, the suffering of Sifo-Dyas? A temple full of Jedi, a seat upon it's council, yet not a single soul would hear him. Would truely listen. How many Knights? How many Masters? Tell me, Master Vos, exactly how many have DIED for willful ignorance and attachment to peaceful days?

There could not POSSIBLY be Sith. So we will not train or prepare. There can not POSSIBLY be a war, Sifo-Dyas, so be consumed by your fear alone. Die, alone. Let Padawan and peacekeepers be Generals. Because what the Force has shown you? It is happening today.

So we refuse to see it. Cling to the present, Master Vos.

Isn't it so COMFORTING here?

You don't have to know what might be. Don't have to ACT. Can be blind and choose ignorance.

A vision then? He surely concludes. For he is no fool. And the Youngling just looks tired. Eats their meal. Answer the question, Master Vos. Do you remember? Was Master Kenobi's suffering also ignored? How well did that work out. Will you LISTEN or have you already come to your conclusions, and now simply seek information to support them?

....he wants to. He does. But you're like, four.

OC nods. Fair. She can see the genuine conflict on his face. He HEARD her. But can not let go of what his eyes tell him. The Force is too muddled here. She too, would have a hard time trusting a small child with something so serious. But.... she can not change her path. And neither can he.

May the Force Be With You, Master Vos.

Plan Besh it is.

She is a small adorable child. The Coruscant gaurd are overworked and filled with spite. Who wants caff and bribery~? Do they clock her immediately? Yes. Is this hilarious. Also yes. Who did you kill, small child? We promise not to be mad.

No one, yet. Could change. She would prefere it not. But who knows. Anyway~☆! Do any of YOU caff loving (here have a refill) gentleman happen to know of any asshole Goverment Officals with REALLY fast ships that run primarily of droid piloting? With potentially easily disabled trackers? Not that she, a small child, would be DOING anything with this information!

It's just neat information to know! *innocent blinking of innocence*

Uh huh. And they were decanted yesterday.

That SAID.... they have a list. Oh noooo! They dropped the list! So much effort to pick it up. Hey, kid, could pick that up and definitely not steal it for us? Good baby Jedi. Thanks for the Caff. Tell Vos to stop haunting the lower levels. It's OUR job to hunt criminals for sport, not his.

Yes, sir o7

Of she goes? To the Senatorial Garage. It's mostly droids. Of LOOK! I have this handy little tool! Pop. Pop, pop, pop~! Hey? Wanna fuck over the asshole who doesn't appreciate you, steal this ship, AND save the lives of small children?

BOY WOULD THEY! Says local every droid in the Ship pool.

Great! Just figure out where the trackers are, how to turn them off, and when it's time? Meet a one of these locations for pick up. We're gonna NEED you. Like... actually NEED. Not "I'm throwing my money around on the latest and greatest then not USING THEM FOR ANYTHING" supposedly need. You'll have SO MUCH WORK.

(They're gonna cry in Binary. Omg? Fuckin FINALLY???)

And so... inevitably. The clock ticks down. The drama of adults ramps up. They smuggle a few clone troopers through surgery. Try to warn the others. Know it won't be enough. The momentum is too great. The gears of War will grind over everything.

Like a forest fire... the old has to burn away for new growth.

But like hell is she letting that come at the cost of tiny bodies. Clones trapped in their minds forced to fire upon children. There will be enough horrors this day. This can be on less. They WILL be ready. And... they are.

She sees the council running out. Knows what it means. And she does NOT hesitate. Her signal goes out. Her Padawan helpers dropping everything to BOLT for the Creche and the go bags stored there. They are followed by friends. Who do not understand, but trust them. Who's Master's do not understand, but assume this is some plan they were not told off.

It certainly seems so, when in the distance? They hear the temple gaurds fighting to hold the line. Hear blasterfire. They race down the hidden paths. Are met with droids, loading up food and medicine, leave as soon as each ship has the assigned numbers. Again and again. Senatorial chips mean instant pass into space. Important business, you understand.

The droids will follow, with everything. Including what was nailed down. Probably the nails too.

Might steal the hammers while they're at it.

Next stop? Wild Space.

Explorcorps newest finds. FRESHLY deleted. All points warning already being sent. A Fuck You Very MUCH, Sith-y Pants. You'll not be getting ANY of the Corps workers if THEY can help it. And hey... the Masters and a few knights were a pleasant suprise. Them and their squad of rescue troopers? Almost make enough adults to take care of everybody!

Now all they have to do? Is hide, rebuild, and regrow.

Return when Luke has down his Luke thing.

Who knows... not her. She made a plan and she DID it. Some one else can decide for a while. She's just a kid. Tell her when they get there, okay?

[avelera]

Ideas for different takes on Hob Gadling

I was just musing on Dreamling fic and came up with a list of some Hob-centric things I think would be super interesting to see more of in Dreamling fic. (These are NOT criticisms, these are things I've been ruminating about trying to include in my own works as well!)

Hob who still isn't good at predicting what Dream wants or Dream's moods. Canonically, Hob has gotten impressing Dream wrong almost every time (case in point, his 1589 wealth, 1789 "shipping" and 1889 "offering friendship"). Dream can be more tolerant now post-fishbowl and this concept could even be used for comedy but... yeah. Less "intuitive" "instantly knowledgable" Hob. Hob who still kinda sucks at guessing what Dream wants and gets it wrong at least half the time.

"Old Man Hob" - the guy is technically old enough to be a grandfather (if on average one becomes a grandfather at ~60 throughout time) 11 times over. Even if he doesn't *show* or *feel* his age or get nostalgic for the old days, I think he could be grouchier (see his comic canon self) or more conservative, or just have blindspots that being an old, if progressive (see: professor) white guy would have. Basically, if the IWTV fandom can write snarky Old Man Daniel, I'd be interested to see more of Hob acting maybe not "his" age but more than 30-ish.

Sailor/Maritime Hob - in comic canon at least, sailing and working on ships is the most common job we see Hob have. From the Tudor shipyards up through Hob's Leviathan, he spends a lot of time on boats. (Probably because Hob is at least a little bit the anthropomorphic personification of the English "Everyman" and they are rather famous for their navy, but I digress.) It's just a job I don't think I've seen any fic give him even though it's one of those ones most attested to in comic canon besides printing books.

Materialist Hob - I think there's a lot of evidence that in TV show canon, Hob stopped being as materialistic after Dream didn't show in 1989. Teaching is not a career you go into to get rich. There's also a lot of evidence for Hob that's made more money than he can spend through being immortal so he doesn't have to think about it at all anymore. But I would be curious to see more of Hob who thinks about money as much now as his earlier iterations did (1589, obviously, but 1689 mentions his loss of his gold almost as mournfully as the loss of his family, 1789 is another obvious one, and 1989 has major pro-Thatcher stock trader vibes). I dunno, even a Hob who is trying not to be as obsessive about money and materialism but still can't stop himself from tallying things up, comparing himself with others, checking out ways to get rich quick even if he does't use them, just... a guy who has been a merchant for longer than he was ever a soldier, to the tune of centuries, who is still always making these calculations even if he doesn't act on them (or is trying to impress Dream with more "erudite" pursuits these days). Hell, he could be economics professor for all we know, perish the thought.

[neil-gaiman]

Mr. Gaiman, I'm seriously burnt out. I grew up being constantly praised for my writing skills, but as I've grown older I feel like I've lost the ability to write. Especially in these last few months, words don't flow as naturally as they used to and I get caught up in stupid details, like spelling or grammar. The pressure from the adults in my life (and the school system, obviously) has caused me to lose my passion for writing. I feel, for once in my life, basically illiterate. I'm uninspired-beyond uninspired, even. All of my work feels derivative, and when I do write, like now for example, it's almost by a kind of muscle memory. It's scary, I've been told by my parents that writing is the only thing I have going for me. Mediocre grades, a 'meh' resume: I have nothing else under my belt. And that was okay. That used to be okay, because I knew that they were right. I was good, I was winning poetry contests and filling up notebooks with pretentious, tweenage musings. I was writing incredible songs every single day. I was churning out essays, and vignettes with a kind of consistency I would never dream of even attempting to recreate. But I burnt out, slowly. I didn't notice it, until it became so unbearable I couldn't disregard it anymore. Everything I write is awful. My essays are ramble-y and disorganized, all my songs sound the same. I sit down with the intention of writing something and I stare at that stupid, flickering google-doc mouse icon for hours before giving up completely. I feel dumb. I feel like a shitty replication of someone I used to be. I'm just pretending to be that smart, motivated person. Writing was my whole identity. It was what made me me. So what the am I supposed to do now? What if I can't find that passion again? How do I stop feeling like a fraud?

Maybe you just ran out of things to write about. Stop writing and go and do some living, and find other things to enjoy and other things to make. Get your heart broken. Get fired from a job or two. And one day you'll wake up and have lots of things to say and lots of things to write.

[pinkeos]

AFAB!Sunday x AMAB!Reader || 18+ MDNI

Warning/s: SMUT, fingering, face riding, cunnilingus

Notes: so uhhh remember my other post abt sunday yeahh the thoughts took over im not even done writing my fremi fic yet the silly is distracting me😭

Golden eyes watched as the liquid swirled gently inside the glass, his gloved hand absentmindedly twirling the champagne glass. He watched from a distance as the many members of the Family and other esteemed guests mingled in the ballroom.

Sunday, being the head of the Oak Family, understandably had to tend to and strike up friendly conversation with the guests to keep the pristine image of being the welcoming child of Harmony that he is. However, everyone had their limits, of course he had limits too.

The Halovian had excused himself from the guests, waving off Robin’s concern when the girl asked if he was alright, and opted to watch from the sidelines, still present in case any sort of problem arose. Not that it would, though, as he made sure everything would be under his control tonight, that the event would run smoothly.

Or that's what he thought at least.

“If it isn't Mr Sunday.” Your voice, too familiar for his ears to miss, sounded.

He turned to face you, that ever so charming smile on your face present. Sunday hated the fact that his eyes immediately traveled to your suit, how it was tailored to fit your body just right, to show off your shoulders and waist. Your sly eyes glinted with something he couldn't quite put a finger on.

But what he was sure about, however, was that he hated you. 

Because he couldn't keep you under control.

The man’s lips curled up in a smile, too fake and forced for your eyes not to notice, “Greetings. I wasn't expecting you tonight.”

“Robin was the one to invite me.”

Sunday fought the urge to outright frown. Of course it was Robin. His sister was fond of you, treating you like her bestest friend. And it wasn't just Robin, unfortunately. A number of people in Penacony were enchanted by you.

And he was too.

Sunday nodded, offering you his hand for a handshake, “I see. It's been quite a while since we’ve crossed paths. It delights me to know you’ve been alright.”

Wrong.

It wasn't that long since you’ve seen each other. In fact, the last time you saw each other was last night.

Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed, cheeks dusted with a light dust of red as his hand clutched onto your shoulder. You laid sideways beside him, cradling his body with one arm while the other was busily pumping your fingers inside of his dripping cunt.

“You sound so angelic, Sunday. Why don't you moan more for me?” You mused.

The Halovian glared at you, as if wanting to defy you as he kept his lips shut. His display of resistance only amused you even more. You were completely clothed, the opposite to the shorter man who was bare with his legs spread apart.

It was a completely different feeling from what he usually felt. With the high position he had, he obviously held dominance. But he was nothing but a moaning mess in your arms, hips grinding down against your hand, silently wanting more but too embarrassed to ask. He felt so vulnerable.

The noises that came from your fingers exploring his insides were too lewd, so wet and sinful. His legs quivered, eyes widening and wings flapping slightly when your fingers curled and hit that spongy spot inside him that sent intense pleasure over his body.

From the way his body jolted, you could tell you hit the right spot. His face twisted into that of euphoria, whines slipping past his lips. He looked so good and cute that you couldn't help yourself.

Your lips captured his swollen ones, tongue invading and exploring every inch of his mouth.

You took his gloved hand in yours, but instead of shaking it as he expected you would, you flipped it and placed a kiss on the back of his hand. This caused the man to pull his hand back, face heating up as he lightly pulled on his collar as if it would help lessen the rising heat. 

“We’re in public.” He scolded, turning away from you to face forward again, hoping no one would see.

“No one’s looking.” You retorted, stepping closer to the man, and leaning down to whisper in his ear, “You look so adorable when you worry, it makes me want to devour you.”

He whipped his head towards you, eyes wide in disbelief and cheeks red. How could you say that in public? When others could possibly hear you? 

Sunday’s hand covered his mouth, his other hand gripping the headboard of his bed, fingers turning white with how hard he gripped it. His wings had adorable folded over to cover the lower part of his face as if that would help him lessen his moans.

But when a loud slap echoed throughout the room, he jerked forward, a whine leaving his mouth. His wide eyes filled with lust and arousal looked down to where you were between his legs.

You pulled away from his pussy, licking your lips to sever the thin line of saliva connecting your lips to him, “What did I tell you?”

He turned away, ashamed, “T-to moan for you.”

“So do it. Or I’ll stop.” You demanded.

From the look in your eyes, he could tell it wasn't an empty threat. You were always a man of your word, after all.

His answer was too quick for his own liking, “D-don’t…”

You raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile on your face, waiting.

His wings flapped, the blush on his cheeks darkening, “Please… please don't.”

“Good boy.”

He felt relief wash over his being when you took a hold of his hips, bringing him down to connect your lips with his cunt again, slurping up his arousal and guiding his hips to grind against your face. His lips parted in a loud moan when your tongue entered his hole, his legs pressing against either side of your head, just the way you liked it.

“So, what do you say, Mr Sunday?” You offered him your hand, “Care for a good time?”

His amber eyes lingered on your outstretched hand for a moment, the memories of last night playing in his mind of how much pleasure took over him that it was almost like he wasn't himself, that he wasn't the esteemed head of the Oak Family. He was your good boy.

Wordlessly, the man slid his hand into yours and it wasn't long before you'd whisked him away to a secluded part of the building.

Ending note: the things I would do to this man🏃

[vodika-vibes]

Congrats on 800 followers 🥳 You deserve all of them and so many more. I know I've been a little MIA, but I still love you and watch your success from afar 🫂

You don't have to do my request, but if you feel so inclined, could I request Tup x Fem!Reader with apple picking? And maybe some apple pie making shenanigans along with it?

Please and thank you 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Apple Pie Weekend

Summary: While it’s not cheaper to pick apples at the orchard, you still love doing it. Especially since, this year, you can convince Tup to come with you.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Tup x F!Reader

Word Count: 1043

Warnings: Tup is an unrepentant thief

A/N: Of course I'm going to write your request! Because I love you and I love writing for you! Anyway, I'm five sheets passed tired but I did my best! I hope you like it. Also, I went over my word limit by 43 words. That's not terrible.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist!

“Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough?” Tup asks as he critically eyes the thin jacket you’re wearing over your equally thin tee shirt, “You look like you’re going to freeze.” You're surprised that he waited until now to bring it up, honestly. After all, you just arrived at the orchard.

You grin at him, “I’ll be fine, Tup. Really.”

The look he shoots you is doubtful, and you can’t help the amused laugh as you lean over the center console of your speeder and quickly kiss his cheek. “If you get cold I’m not going to let you use my sweatshirt,” Tup warns.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Busy place,” Tup notes as he pushes his door open to get out of the speeder, his sharp gaze already sweeping the parking lot with a critical eye. 

“Well, it is opening day,” You reply as you walk around the speeder and wrap your arms around his waist. You release a happy hum as he drapes an arm over your shoulder and tugs you closer to his side, “So naturally it will be busy.”

“And why are we here?”

“To pick apples,”

“Obviously,” Tup rolls his eyes dramatically and you grin and push him slightly, not that he moves at all. “You can buy apples at the store. Why do we need to pick them?”

“Because they taste better that way.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh, come on Tup! Everything tastes better if you have to gather it with your own hands!”

“As someone who’s had to hunt for food before, I can promise that that’s not the case.”

You tighten your grip around him and rest your cheek against his shoulder, “Just two bags, Tup? And then we can go home and make apple pie!”

“Why do you need so many apples?”

You pull away from him and look up into his eyes, “To keep the doctors away.” You reply solemnly.

Tup presses his hands against your cheeks, “If you’re planning on throwing apples at Kix, please don’t. It’ll just make him angry.”

You laugh and drop your forehead to his chest, “I’m going to make a couple of pies and some tarts, and maybe some jams. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you’re going to make me treats—” Tup muses.

“Who says that they’re for you? Maybe I’m making them for Rex.”

He shoots you an amused look, even as he takes your hand and tugs you towards the stand where people are getting bags, “Then you can call Rex here to pick apples for you.”

You squeeze his hand gently, “Well, I perfect spending time with you anyway.”

“Good, I prefer spending time with you too.” Tup murmurs in reply as you drop a couple of credits in the hand of the girl manning the booth, and accept a couple of bags as well as a map.

45 minutes later, the pair of you are deep in the orchard, and Tup is sitting on a tree branch tossing apples down to you. One of your bags is already full of shiny red apples and the other is half full, but you’re beginning to think that maybe the pair of you should dip out early.

Mainly because the temperature is dropping and you’re starting to get cold. But you’re not going to admit that to Tup because then he’d toss his sweatshirt to you and you’d feel guilty.

You catch another few apples and set them in the bag, before you kneel and peer at the apples.

“Everything good, mesh’la?”

“Yeah, I think we’re all set though.” You call up to him, only to jump when you see him standing only a few feet away from you, “Don’t do that!”

“Not my fault you didn’t hear me,” He shrugs, “You sure you don’t want a few more apples?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You grab the handles of one of the bags, only to have your hand swatted away as Tup picks them both up. “I can carry one.”

“Nope. I already have them.”

You huff out an amused breath, “I didn’t bring you here to be my pack mule, Tup.”

“Keep up, mesh’la, or you’re going to get left behind!” Tup calls from where he’s walking away from you.

You sputter and then chase after him, “Hey! Wait for me!”

It’s later, much later after you’ve gotten home and the both of you changed into comfortable lounge clothes, and you’ve taken the time to wash the apples, that you start to prep to make an apple pie.

Just the one, at first.

If you make too many at the same time, Tup will just make himself sick by eating them.

You hum a happy tune as you start making the dough for the pie crust (something you should have started hours ago, but Tup’s a menace sometimes and he distracted you), and you jump when strong arms slide around your waist.

“You sound happy,” Tup mumbles as his warm lips trail against your jaw.

“I am happy,” You reply, “I got to spend all day with you, and I get to spend all day tomorrow with you. Nothing could make me happier.”

He releases a deeply contented noise, “If I tell Rex that I’m sick, you can have two more days with me.” Tup’s lips drift across your cheek, and you just know that he’s trying to distract you again.

And, curse him, it’s working.

“If you don’t stop distracting me, this pie will never get made and the apples will start to go brown.” You warn him.

“Oh no,” He doesn’t sound the least bit bothered about it, though.

“You’re a menace.” You add, without any heat.

“And yet you love me anyway.”

“Yeah, I do.”

His fingers are gentle against the sides of your neck as he tilts your head back slightly, “I love you too.” And then he grabs an apple slice, dips it into the cinnamon sugar mix you prepared earlier, and pops the apple slice into his mouth.

You release an indignant noise, “Thief! Get out of my kitchen!”

Tup steals a kiss, and another apple slice, and then retreats from the kitchen laughing. And your heart swells at the sound. You really love him so much.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

[thischarmingmandalorian]

Like A Man Without Skin

Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Summary: Your new apartment is haunted by the ghost of the sexiest man you've ever seen. My entry for @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes Monster Smash!

Pairing: Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit!

Warnings: Just… so much dirty talk. Pet names (Sugar, baby, sweet girl, good girl), groping, fingering, oral (f receiving but super briefly), pussy pronouns, is it vouyerism if you're watching each other?, obviously monster fucking, reader very briefly pulls her own hair? Not very heavily edited, I tried my best but if I read it one more time I'm gonna get embarrassed. Also very much a believer I ghosts (ask me about my own haunted apartments!) but I don't know how that shit works suspend your disbelief, babes!

Word Count: 3.1k

The first night, you blamed the house settling.

You had just moved to a new apartment and always had a hard time sleeping in a new place. You weren't used to the shadows that danced across your walls, that just repainted "landlord special" smell, or whatever that sound was.

That incessant crack that echoed through your living room, right outside your bedroom door, for hours. Literally fucking hours. You wanted to believe it was the floorboards creaking. This apartment was old, part of a three-story row house in a big city, and if the sleaziness of your landlord was anything to go by, it definitely wasn't up to code. You'd actually be more worried if it was silent in your apartment.

But still, the crack that… cracked… just outside your bedroom door was unnerving to say the least. It didn't sound like any "settling house" noise you were used to, but any alternative scared you too much.

That night you slept with the light on and a desk chair propped against your doorknob.

You got used to the crack in the living room after a few nights. You'd resigned yourself to the fact that it wasn't the house settling, but what it was eluded you. It never stopped, but it became a normal part of your nightly routine. Every night around 10 pm, when you'd leave your hall bathroom and shut the bedroom door behind you, it would begin.

Crack

And then a pause. You'd count to 30, and

Crack

This went on until you fell asleep. You soon started to count the noises behind your door until you dozed off - your record was 20 cracks.

On day five you got curious. Why was the noise only at night? Why was it always in the same spot? Most importantly, what the hell was making that noise?

You weren't someone who found the idea of ghosts ridiculous. In fact, the thought of being haunted seemed like a fun story to tell your friends over drinks on your usual Friday night bar crawl. If it was a ghost making that noise in the living room, that would be fine. You just didn't love not knowing.

That fifth night you performed your nightly routine like normal. Skincare, brushed teeth, pajamas. You shut the bathroom light off and walked down the hall to your bedroom. Only tonight, you left your bedroom door open. It was 9:55, so you sat upright on your bed and waited for the crack.

10 pm came and went. 10:30, 11. The crack never came. Dejected and confused, you finally shut the lights off and laid down to sleep.

You fell into a restless slumber, tossing and turning. The lack of… crack… bothered you. Why did it stop? What the hell was it?!

In your fitful sleep, you were acutely aware of the fact that your hair had found its way in front of your face, tickling your nose. You woke very briefly to push it away, but stopped any movement the second you were conscious.

Because you felt the slightest touch sweeping your hair from your face. Which was troubling because you were, of course, alone.

You shot up in bed, slamming the light switch and illuminating the room in a soft glow. You were still alone. But then… who, or what, had touched you?

"What the fuck is happening?" you mused out loud, expecting to be met with silence. Except a new sound emerged from the empty room -

Shhhhh.

"Don't tell me to 'shhh!' You 'shhh!'"

You felt crazy shouting at no one. Even crazier when you heard the noise again.

Shhhhh.

You realized this wasn't just a sound; it was… a voice. So it was a ghost!

Internally high-fiving yourself for solving this mystery, you remembered it was the middle of the night, and you had work in the morning.

"We're not done here," you said to your invisible guest, "we'll talk about this tomorrow."

Somehow you willed yourself to shut the light back off and lay back down. Still uncomfortable with the silence, you set your phone on the nightstand and let it cycle through a playlist of ambient noise. You're back to dozing off when you hear it again.

Shhhhh.

This time the sound is joined by the feeling of someone stroking your hair. A gentle, feather-light touch against your head, sometimes letting a finger trail down your cheek. You didn't want to admit it was soothing, and you already felt crazy. Thinking your apartment was haunted was one thing, but talking to the ghost seemed like a bad way to handle it. But you were oddly comforted by the presence you felt.

"You can stay until I fall asleep, then you gotta go for tonight," you whisper. The phantom hand stills on the side of your face as you speak, resuming it's soothing strokes through your hair once you finish addressing it.

The touch continues until you fall asleep, and so does the new noise.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

Right before you fell into a deep sleep, you swear the noise changed a little bit.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

"Sugar."

The next morning you want to chalk up the weirdness of the night before to a dream, but you know that's not the case. You wake up well-rested and ready to start the day, and notice your bedroom door had somehow shut during the night.

"Thanks for shutting the door," you speak into the empty bedroom, opening your closet to pick out an outfit for the day. You weren't expecting a response to your gratitude, but you smile when a familiar crack sounded from the living room.

You rush to open the bedroom door, knowing the living room will be empty, but knowing your ghost was there. "Hey, crack once for yes, twice for no, ok?" You feel ridiculous until one crack echoes through the room.

While you get ready for work, you play 20 questions.

"Are you a ghost?"

Crack.

"Are you… a woman?"

Crack. Crack.

Interesting… a dude ghost.

"Did you leave after I fell asleep like I asked?"

One incredibly quick crack. You appreciate him respecting you.

By now you're ready to change into your work clothes, so you decide to up the ante. "Do you watch when I get dressed?"

The two cracks couldn't have come quicker. You grin, loving that you have a gentlemanly ghost. But you want to have some fun. It's been a while since you've met a nice, living guy, and having a ghost seems like the perfect opportunity for some built-in male attention.

"Do you… want to watch me get dressed?"

Your smirk falls when no noise is made in response. You kick yourself for scaring him away. You start to stumble over an apology when you hear the same noise from last night.

"Sugar…"

"You talk?! What the hell, dude? I've been having you crack that… whatever it is, when you could've been talking to me this whole time?"

"Sorry, Sugar."

You soften. "Why wouldn't you talk to me before?"

"Too weak."

An interesting response. "What gives you energy?"

"Your attention."

Well. That felt nice to hear. "Lucky for you, dude, I have no one else to talk to around here. If it's attention you need, attention is what you'll get! Now, back to the task at hand… do you want to watch me get dressed?"

This time, a noise you haven't heard yet. A whimper.

"Please, Sugar."

You smirk, moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom. Slowly, you bunch your oversized t shirt up over your ass, draw it above your hips, and fist the material up under your breasts, pausing to admire your own figure in the mirror. You turn to the side, watching as your reflection shakes its ass gently.

It's weird flirting with someone you can't see and barely hear. You're feeling both emboldened and shy, sexy and self-conscious. "How's this?"

"Teasin' me?"

You grin. "You said you need my attention to get strong! The longer this takes, the more attention I'm giving you! I'll ask again: this good?"

Crack. Yes.

"What the hell is that noise, anyway?" you ask, mercifully removing your shirt entirely, standing in front of your mirror in nothing but your underwear.

"Uh… a…" another whimper interrupted your ghost's train of thought. "Whip."

"A whip?!"

Crack. Yes.

"Why does a ghost have a whip?" you ask idly, thumbing the hemline of your underwear before sliding them down your legs with a shimmy.

"Long story. How long d'ya have, Sugar?"

You grab for your phone on the nightstand, realizing that if you tease this ghost anymore you'll be late for work. "No time! Last looks, dude! Gotta get dressed!" You pose for a second with your hands on your knees, bent at the waist with your ass wiggling before pulling on your work clothes.

"Really, Sugar? You're gonna leave?"

"I gotta work if I want to be able to afford this place! You don't want me to have to move out so soon, do you? There's so much more attention I want to give you," you pout into the mirror, bottom half clothed, briefly pausing to give your ghost one last look of your bare chest.

"Before you leave, Sugar, let me touch you."

You let your hands fall to your sides, remembering the featherlight touches against your cheek the night before, shivering at the thought of feeling it again. "Go ahead," you whisper into the empty room.

The touch is similar to the one last night, only now it seems stronger. This ghost wasn't kidding about attention making him stronger. Even though you couldn't see him, you can feel his presence behind you. You can feel fingers skating up your arms, stopping at the elbows and trailing back down. The touch disappears only to return on your hips, sliding from the small of your back to wrap around your front. You lift your arms slightly to accommodate him as his hands trail further up your torso, stopping just below the swell of your chest. You feel the ghost hesitate. Normally, if this were happening with someone you could see, you'd lace your fingers through his and coax his hand up to where you need to feel him, but this was all so new still. The ghost can touch you, but can you touch him? Would it look stupid to grope around for his hand? You decide your voice is your greatest asset at this moment.

"I said go ahead."

A groan erupted from behind you, right against your ear, making you shudder. You could almost feel breath against your neck, could almost feel the weight of a head against your shoulder as the ghostly hands dragged themselves up to grope at your chest. Your head falls back and you let out a sigh, your eyes falling closed. The hands tweak at your nipples before soothing the sting with a swipe of a thumb.

You're brought out of your trance when your phone rings. You feel the phantom hands retreat from your chest, a sigh heaving from behind you. Reaching to the bed to grab your phone, you see it's your boss calling. "I've gotta take this, I'm so sorry - hello? Yeah I'm just about to - oh? That sucks, what's the - yeah, no I can do that. OK, see ya!" You hang up and throw your phone back on the bed. The clothes you had yet to put on stay neglected, and what you have put on gets shucked off your body with haste. "You still here?" you call into the seemingly empty room.

Crack.

"Dude, now that I know you can talk, I'm not accepting whip cracks for an answer."

"Still here, Sugar. What was that about?"

"Good news! A pipe burst at my office - I get to 'work from home' today," you explain, making air quotes around "work from home." You know you're not getting shit done today. "So get back over here, we're not done."

You're still standing in front of your full length mirror, admiring your naked form when something starts to… happen… behind you. At first it's a thin mist, then it slowly turns into a more solid, human form. You stare in the reflection dumbfounded as your ghost materializes - he's still somewhat transparent, very obviously not human or living, but shit.

He's hot.

He's dressed in a cowboy hat and two-piece suit. And he wasn't kidding about the whip. It was curled neatly with the handle stuck in his back pocket.

"Oh my god. My house is haunted by the sexiest man alive," you muse, forgetting for a second that he can hear you. The ghost meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection, lips curling into a smirk as he tips his hat.

"Well I'm not alive, but that's mighty kind of you to say, Sugar," the ghost replies, moving closer to you again, "can I finish what I started, now that you don't have to leave? Please? It'd make me a very happy man."

You nod, watching in the mirror as the ghost reaches for you again. He skips the pretense this time, hands going straight to your chest, resuming his kneading and pinching.

"Wha- shit - what's your name? Seems backwards to let you touch me like this when I don't know anything about you," you tease.

"Whiskey. Agent Whiskey, Sugar."

You giggle. "Agent Whiskey isn't a name. What's your real name, and what are you an agent of?"

"Jack Daniels. And I'm stuck haunting this apartment, we have time to learn everything about each other. Stop distractin' me," the ghost punctuates his request with a nibble to your earlobe.

His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. He kisses down your neck and lands a bite to your shoulder, growling quietly as you moan in front of him.

"Ain't we a sight to see, Sugar? Keep your eyes forward."

Your eyes blink back open as you meet Jack's eyes in the mirror. You watch as his hands skate down your torso, hesitating close to where you want his touch the most. "Can you… will I be able to see you…?" You're not sure how being a ghost wearing clothes works, and you don't know how to ask; you hope he gets the hint.

"The suit stays on; sorry, baby. Gonna have to use your imagination. But, if it's any consolation, I used to look real nice under all this."

"I believe you. Now quit stalling and touch me," you make an experimental grab for his ghostly hand, delighted to be able to curl your fingers around his wrist and tugging it down, down to where he dips into your folds, fingers gathering the slick from your entrance and dragging it up against your clit.

"Let's move to the bed, Sugar. Need to see her."

You waste no time pulling Jack by the wrist to your bed. You prop yourself up against your pillow, legs spread wide and face flush with arousal and anticipation. You watch Jack as he stands at the foot of your bed, gazing intently at your body laid out for him.

"Jesus, Sugar. She's drippin' - it all for me?"

You give Jack a curt nod, beckoning him closer with your outstretched hand. "Come here and touch me, please." You see Jack's face change; where there was once a pained look of arousal, there's now a feral darkness that excites you.

"Since you asked so nicely, baby."

Jack puts his knees onto the edge of your bed and you feel the faintest dip on the mattress. Your breath hitches as you watch him crawl on hands and knees to situate himself between your legs. One hand holds tight to your hip while the other dips once again into your wetness, pulling away and chuckling when you try to buck up into his touch.

"Gotta be patient, beautiful. Your attention made me stronger, but I'll never be back at a hundred percent. 'm tryin'a hold you down, play along."

You agree to Jack's game and push your hips down into the mattress, curling your hand around his at your side. "I'll be good, I promise."

Jack smirks and bends his head down to whisper praise close to your ear, "that's my good fucking girl."

Jack punctuates his words with two ghostly fingers plunging into you. You moan loudly while your free hand grapples for purchase, twisting into your hair and gently pulling. "How long…"

"More than long enough, Sugar."

You swat at Jack's arm; he grins and moves his hand from your hip to slowly circle your clit. "That's not - oh fuck - what I meant. How long have you - uh huh, just like that - been stuck here?"

"Tryin'a focus, woman. Ask me in five minutes."

"Won't have to wait that long, Jack. Not gonna last."

Jack's thumb on your clit speeds up. He adds a third finger to the two working you open, the stretch delicious. Cold and warm, solid and ethereal. You could get used to this.

Suddenly Jack shifts and takes his thumb off your clit. You begin to protest, but find yourself gazing down at him, his face now level with your dripping pussy.

"Just wanna see if I still got it, Sugar."

You feel a sudden emptiness as Jack pulls his fingers free from you and you're about to protest, but before any words can leave your mouth he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, pointing his tongue at the last second and flicking it against you once, twice…

"Fuck, I'm… shit. Jack, I'm…" Your orgasm hits so hard that what you are is incoherent. So fucked out you can't think straight. If someone asked you your name at this very moment, you wouldn't remember.

"Oh, I know you're comin', sweet girl, ain't gotta tell me. I've got a front row seat to the show. Let go, Sugar. I've got ya."

You ride the wave of pleasure for what feels like forever, hips rolling and panting, soft moans escaping from deep in your throat as you come down. When your eyes open, you find Jack staring intently at your pussy, watching it leak and pulse around nothing.

"So fucking gorgeous, Sugar. Could get used to this."

You instinctually grab at Jack's hair, gently tugging to get him to your eye level. You feel his touch against your face, gentle and cool. "You better get used to it," you smirk, "you're kinda stuck here. Don't know how hauntings work, but trust that I'm not gonna try and get rid of you. Like, ever. Not after that."

[thesirencult]

THE TRUTH ABOUT ESCAPING TWIN FLAMES AND OTHER MLM NEW AGE BULLSHIT

"You don't get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion."

L. Ron Hubbard (Founder of Scientology)

I won't lie to you. What got me into tarot was a very raw and real dream about a man I've never met in my life. I had this dream when I was 15 and it felt like I was floating in a parallel universe.

Dreams with this "stranger" kept coming and going and during a search I stumbled upon the concept of "twin flames".

As with anything NeW AgE it is nothing new. All New Age bullshit are concepts familiar to human civilizations for thousands of years. In all ancient cultures these concepts show up again and again.

Astrology, cartomancy and other forms of divination and guidance have been used by Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Greeks and Hindu people for centuries. They were villainized after the come up of Christianity.

I always have believed there is a higher power. Some name it Allah, others Moses, other Dias etc. Doesn't matter, it's one God above us. Actually contrary to what many want you to believe the Ancient Greeks didn't have "12 Gods" but 12 (and much much more) expressions of DIVINITY. Metaphors and symbolisms.

Hermes Trismegistus has written everything about "manifestation". Others just repackaged it. Some help us understand the concept and others just want to make a quick buck.

All people have some primal needs. Connection and love. Money and wealth. Wanting to be beautiful and powerful. Some people prey on that and, in my opinion, the self-improvement industry will only keep on growing.

The concept of twin flames can be found being expressed by Socrates in the dialogue "Symposium" by Plato :

“Now, since their natural form had been cut in two, each one longed for its own other half, and so they would throw their arms about each other, weaving themselves together, wanting to grow together...

This, then, is the source of our desire to love each other. Love is born into eve­ry human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.

Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole, because each was sliced like a flatfish, two out of one, and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him."

Sidenote: Obviously I used only two snippets of the dialogue. Socrates' stance on homosexuality and other matters of love can be found in there and it is a good read. It will definitely show you that some concepts have been around since humans walked on this earth.

Moving on, I want to give you some tips on how to best use astrology and tarot/oracle cards as TOOLS to better yourself.

1. First try them yourself.

Don't let others dictate how you see astrology and tarot. Go online and search up your birth chart on astroseek or visit the Light Seer's Tarot/Muse Tarot website which has an incredible pick a card feature.

Don't contact an astrologer or tarot reader before familiarising yourself with the tools and "taking the magic out" of them.

2. No one and mean NO ONE can predict the future 100%.

In our lives there are moments who seem synchronized. They make you believe in fate. I do believe that God intended for us to live through some things but I also absolutely believe in FREE WILL. I always say that to clients especially those who have tarot readings.

Tarot and astrology can help you see the paths laid in front of you. They help you dive in your unconscious mind. Don't let anyone fool you that they are magical and whatever the cards say can not change.

3. If you purchase a reading don't purchase a love/romance one at first.

Don't get me wrong. I love love and romance. I love doing love readings. They are sweet and sexy.

BUT. Even in my love readings I incorporate a "general energy of you" for the person. I do that cause I want to show to my client, who trusted me and chose me that a tarot reader can be vetted.

Sadly even with PAC readings I can see that the romance ones are read and reposted way more than ones that assist with personal development. I try to keep a balance and do both.

The thing is a good tarot reader, astrologer even a therapist or a fitness trainer want to help you become INDEPENDENT. I don't want you to keep coming back and purchase love readings about your ex.

It's toxic. I won't accept that.

4. You are perfect the way you are.

Telling you that "yeah, you have an issue right here and it can be fixed by doing so and so" is okay.

Telling you that "YOU SHOULD LOVE YOURSELF. YOU DON'T LOVE YOURSELF THAT'S WHY YOU WON'T FIND LOVE UNTIL YOU DO THAT" is toxic. People control you this way.

It's like saying give me more money. Ask me how I can make you LOVABLE.

Your other half won't cheat, manipulate or make you feel awful. Your ex who was an asshole is not your Twin Flame.

Light up the flame within and love out your dreams. You will attract people who will adore and love you by being AUTHENTIC.

Anyone that abuses you and puts your flame out should GO.

5. All big corporations prey on your weaknesses & Do not trust anyone who tells you they are the only ones that can set you free or solve your issues.

Be disciplined. Control yourself and your mind. Read "The 48 Laws Of Power" and other books on influence and manipulation. Learn how narcissists and cult leaders operate.

All big companies do not sell you products (I will probably post this part by itself too).

They sell you emotions, feelings, status. BMW doesn't sell cars, it is selling power and prestige and confidence.

Nike doesn't sell shoes and shirts, it is selling dreams of being powerful and different, of making it in the jungle, of WINNING.

But there are some companies which I'M NOT GOING TO MENTION by name who influence you by breaking you down. Astrology apps that send you negative predictions about your day to make you anxious so you will check back every single hour. Cult like influencers who sell "How to get rich quickly" courses that cost thousands of $ and offer no value.

Be careful. Be prepared. Be strong and firm.

I hope everyone who was taken in this cult (wait ! myy username is the siren cult, lol) can find peace and the power within them.

[suugarbabe]

omg so ur mattheo one about drawing is so cute and got me thinking about how next time they met up by the lake what if he went to show them a drawing and it was of them!!!!!!! like he drew y/n and wanted to show them because they had a bad day or something!! i love ur writing and it just made me think of that and blush teehee

we love little secret creative and soft Mattheo 🖤 read part 1 here

You figured you’d find him out there, especially since he had gotten in a screaming match with Draco a few hours prior. You didn’t even bother checking his other ‘typical’ spots like the astronomy tower or the back of the courtyard, instead you went straight to the Black Lake. 

Mattheo was hunched over, his shoes and socks sitting next to him and his trousers rolled up to his knees so his feet could hang over the edge of the dock into the lake. He didn’t move or look up when you started walking on the dock, you assumed he was just too enthralled in whatever it was that he was drawing. 

You slipped off your shoes and socks, sinking down to your bum beside him and dipping your feet in as well. You sat in silence next to him for a moment before trying to peer over his shoulder to see what he was working on.

He turned away from you, causing a slight scoff to leave your lips, "Matty, c'mon. You always let me see your drawings." You were pouting and it was evident in your voice.

He peers over his shoulder slightly, a smirk gracing his lips, "I'm almost done, then you can look. But be gentle, don't judge too harshly okay?"

You ran your nails against his back lightly in response. A few moments later he turned towards you, sketch pad facing down towards his lap. "No laughing," Mattheo held out his fist, his pinky and thumb sticking out.

"No laughing," you hooked your pinky finger to his. You each took a turn pressing your thumbs to your lips before pressing your thumbs together, silently symbolizing and stamping the promise.

Mattheo took a deep breath, grasping his sketch pad on either side before slowly lifting it up. You couldn't contain the gasp that left your lips at the image he was able to portray on paper.

Instead of his usual lake drawings, Mattheo had found a different muse for this creation; that muse being you. It wasn't a magical drawing in the traditional sense, nothing was moving around, but it was magical to you.

It wasn't a portrait of you dead on, more so like a candid picture of you looking down and smiling. You don't know how he did it, but his shading and shadow work made it look like it was an actual photograph.

"Mattheo..." your voice was barely a whisper. Mattheo, who was holding the sketch pad directly in front of his face, peered around the side, "It's terrible isn't? I'm sorry, I really did try I swear but then - "

"It's gorgeous," you cut him off, taking the drawing in your hands, "Can I have it?" You looked up at him from the drawing with hopeful eyes, you didn't want to overstep, but you also wanted to display it for everyone to see how talented he really was.

Mattheo nodded, giddy smile now displayed on his face, "Y-yeah, of course, I mean, it's you for Merlin's sake."

You know you two were just friends, but you couldn't help yourself, leaning over and grabbing his face, kissing his cheek gently and sweetly. Mattheo's face was on fire, burning a deep shade of red, obviously not expecting the display of affection. He made a mental note to draw more things that would get that reaction out of you soon.

[tanya56]

RELIGIOUS ASPECT IN BILLFORD

Since the book of bill came out, I've been once again dragged into a rabbit hole that is billford and it made me recontextualize a lot how I viewed this ship. Back in the day I was way too young to ship this pairing, so obviously half of the fanfiction on Ao3 (especially non-con ones) left a scar on my tender soul, not able to deal with "mature themes", so I ended up shaming myself for "gloryfying abuse and stuff".

Now when billford shippers are no longer hated for "proshipping", I decided to give myself a chance to simply enjoy all the content we have. Unfortunately now I created a new reason why I can't enjoy billford which is a religious aspect in this relationship.

The thing is that a lot of fanfics I've read lean into god × follower dynamic, in which ford is on his hands and knees for bill, doing his bidding. Although I find the whole "he was a god and he was a one-man church" thing interesting, I feel like this trope does ford a disservice as a character.

Having said that, it's stupid to deny all the evidence like tapestries and statues, but please bear with me, I'm having a hard time rationalising all of this.

The thing is that god × follower dynamic has a very telling power imbalance, stripping "follower" of basically any agency. Can you say Ford has no agency to himself? Yes, Ford eventually built the portal for Bill to use, but it wasn't MEANT for Bill. The portal was a way for Ford to achieve HIS goals like success in his theory and fame. Followers do everything for their god, without any ulterior motives to get something in return, but this isn't the kind of relationship Ford and Bill had.

Bill presented himself to Ford not as a god, but a "muse", someone who is there to inspire and help him in time of need to achieve success. In this whole portal ordeal they were partners, not an employee and his boss. Gods are supposed to be aloof and above everything, their only interaction with those below them is through worship. Furthermore, nobody would name his God a partner. Why would a god play chess, have a chat, act friendly, help with research, do other million things I'm too lazy to write about, with his worshipper? Pre-betrayal description of Bill is that of a friend, someone of higher plane but in some ways equal to Ford. God could never be an equal, but a Muse, someone with whom an artist works, can be.

The way I see it all this business with tapestries and statues weren't 100% about worshipping.

First of all, Ford mentioned them as artifacts, not a shrine. This makes sense since while Ford was definitely fascinated by Bill, he is still a scientist, he studies obsessively anything interesting to him, and boy, was Bill interesting.

Secondly, the "shrine" in question could have been a way to show reverence to his Muse, but I really doubt that there was a full on worshipping actually going on at the moment. I don't know why I think so, it's just I can't see Ford being so religious, being a man of science and all. Or maybe I'm having problem with mixing both romantic and religious aspects.

This whole rant is basically me deluding myself into writing out religious aspect of billford in my head because for some reason I'm just uncomfortable with that, so points I've made here are as stable as a house of cards. Maybe it's because Ford really resonates with me as a character and I don't want to imagine him being more of a puppet to Bill than he already was, but that's my problem, maybe I just refuse to appreciate the ship as a whole because of some uncomfortable themes.

If someone has a different opinion about this, please feel free to bash me, because I'm too stuck in my head to enjoy shipping fictional characters without shaming myself for ridiculous things, that's exactly what I need right now