#even when the rules of the world say they shouldn’t

[bonehead-cat]

*disclaimer, i don’t argue online so this will probably be the only time i do this.

If the label isn't helpful to you you don't have to use it, even if your experience would fit within the definition.

since you say that one doesn’t have to use “agender” to describe themselves because they don’t personally find it helpful, would you also say that one doesn’t have to use “cisgender” to describe themselves for the same reason? additionally, do you think it’s valid for one to be uncomfortable with being referred to with a label that ascribes to a belief that that person doesn’t believe in?

Honestly, every word used to talk about this "internal gender" I mentioned is just labels. In a world where we've successfully abolished sociatal gender, there may not be any labels at all for these experiences. Certainly not the current labels of "man", "woman", "non binary", "genderfluid" and all the million and one other words that exist out there.

the conclusion that “well technically everything is an ascribed label so none of it really matters” tends to be destructive to any arguments had. we wouldn’t be able to have a discussion about anything, let alone be able to communicate with any language if we shut down every conversation with “well it’s all just labels so it doesn’t matter.” labels certainly do matter if you want to argue definitions for words like “agender.”

in a post-gender abolition society, the concepts of “man” and “woman” would still exist because they refer to the material reality of, in the case of a man, being an adult human male, and in the case of a woman, being an adult human female. if suddenly every english-speaker decided to refer to women as “wompyn,” then texan wompyn still wouldn’t have abortion rights, because the law is based on their material being, not the sole label of “woman.”

You don't have to believe an "internal sense of gender" exists to respect that other people do. And that many people who believe in it's existence can separate it from the sociatal form of gender that is objectively harmful. Same way as you can criticise organised religion as an atheist while respecting individual's rights to their own spiritual beliefs.

i completely agree! and i would hope that you’d also agree that unfalsifiable, faith-based beliefs should not be lawfully enforced upon nonbelievers. if you agree with that, then you understand the ethical contention feminists, gender critical people, and apolitical people have with gender ideology being employed in law-making.

I don't think I can explain my internal sense of gender to you because you don't have one. Same way as I wouldn't be able to explain the colour red to someone with achromatic vision. Or explain the smell of strawberries to someone who was born without a sense of smell. I'm aroace, and have never had someone successfully explain what attraction feels like to me because I don't feel it, and cannot conceptualise that feeling.

actually, you can describe color to a color-blind person, and you can also describe scent to one who can’t smell, because they are material concepts, not abstract concepts. the explanation may be long-winded, because some concepts can’t be explained with a few words, but that doesn’t make them untrue. in the same vein, i will never know what it feels like to be a conjoined twin, but it can be explained to me because it’s a material concept. just because you’re unlikely to precisely replicate those senses for those who don’t have them doesn’t mean they’re incapable of understanding what they are materially. the same cannot be said for internal gender and other spiritual beliefs.

I won't dwell on this much further because it's not really the main point of this discussion. It's a question of philosophy, not something observable like societal gender or sexual characteristics.

philosophy is relevant when arguing ethics, though, so it shouldn’t be ruled out in a discussion about gender ideology and whether or not it has a material base.

now, in your first reblog to kkoffin, you explain that since secondary sex characteristics vary, that means that sex is mutable and belongs on a spectrum. i’ll pose a few questions to demonstrate why that claim fails.

are men in the year 2025 more female than men who existed in 25 a.d. because human testosterone levels have dropped since then? were the women in 25 a.d. more male than women in 2025 because their testosterone levels were higher on average? if a woman has her breasts amputated because of breast cancer, does that make her more male? are men with gynecomastia more female than men without it? are female hyenas more male than other female animals because their clitorises look like penises from afar? are male seahorses more female than other male animals because their role in sexual reproduction is to gestate and birth offspring?

as you can see, defining sex by secondary sex characteristics is not a reliable metric for determining sex across species (let alone humans), which is important because sex is not unique to humans. it’s not even defined by chromosomes, because all species that reproduce sexually do not have xx or xy chromosomes.

sex is defined by which organism produces the large gamete (female) and which organism produces the small gamete (male). and that definition encapsulates the enormous variety of secondary sex characteristics across all species.

"Brain sex" would also be a form of continuous sexual characteristic distribution (though tbh I don't love the concept. And the research I've seen shows a pretty tenuous link)

you’re right to feel that brain sex is a dubious “theory,” because brain structure emerges out of neuroplasticity. it changes with development and depends greatly on environmental factors, not sex. it’s been debunked under numerous studies and is agreed upon to be false.

The emphasis on biological sex in the gender critical community, to me, seems to be where the main disagreement with trans issues actually stems from. Since so many trans people's dysphoria stems from physical sexual characteristics, any community that emphasises that as the most important thing about a person will be triggering.

the reason biological sex is so important to feminists and gender critical people is because the society we live in is founded upon it. women are oppressed because of their sex, not because of an internal gender identity which the vast majority of women don’t have. that may trigger a trans person’s dysphoria, but women should not have to silence themselves when they speak out against their oppression because of that. honestly, people who get triggered by surface-level feminism need to do some introspection on why they feel that their personal dysphoria is more important than the global war on women.

And on a personal note, I don't understand how emphasising physical sex characteristics is progressive when biological differences between men and women have been used to justify misogyny since the dawn of time.

you’ve answered your own question. the reason feminists emphasize sex is because it’s the very reason women are still oppressed to this day. we need to be able to identify the root of the problem in order to solve it. your statement employs the same silencing tactic that racists use against racial groups who speak out against their race-based oppression: “well if they wanted to end racism, they would just stop talking about it!”

At its core, “gender critical” ideology has nothing to do with transgender ideology. There’s three main beliefs that create a gender critical ideology and none of them have anything to do with or stem from trans issues.

1. Sex is a physical and material reality. You can touch and hold a penis or vagina. You can measure testosterone or oestrogen differences between men and women. You can study any inherent differences in the brain. Yes, intersex people also exist. That difference in sex development is also a material reality.

2. Gender is a social construct. A conservative, patriarchal invention that believes (as a modern example) women must like dresses and men must like pants. Women like pink and men like blue, or in other cultures or times, other ideas. This is not a material reality, it’s only socialisation. Nothing about material reality makes women like pink. There may be some debate regarding where sex stops and gender socialisation begins, as scientific analysis of the brain has not developed enough to know exactly what is inherent and what is part of the socialisation which starts at (or before) birth.

3. The social construct of gender should be abolished, as it is the foundation of a patriarchy. Women are given gender roles which revolve around being subordinate and submissive, as to obey the patriarch, and men’s gender roles are to be aggressive and strong, as to serve in the military. Sex differences are to be respected and gender is to be abolished. Decisions regarding safety, medical care, and other treatment of people should be based on sex, material reality which effects everyone, not gender.

The issue with trans ideology only comes in where in order to transition gender, gender as a social construct must be maintained. To feel “validated” in changing gender, gender must become more important and more recognised than sex. It pushes that decisions regarding the treatment of and protection of people should be made based on gender rather than sex, entirely opposite to the gender critical belief. Gender needs to be reinforced and protected for the ideology to make any sense at all, otherwise, what are you transitioning to?

Gender critical ideology does not target trans people or ideology. It targets a misogynistic social construct. It is not about trans people or ideologies. It is about a misogynistic social construct and its abolition. It’s just that trans ideology happens to rely on that misogynistic construct which gender critical ideology aims to abolish, and thus, they are opposed.

Gender critical ideology is only anti-patriarchy and anti-conservative. Gender belongs to patriarchy and conservatism. Transgender ideology only has issues with gender critical ideology because it is built on gender and falls apart without it.

I am aware gender dysphoria exists. Gender dysphoria would not exist if gender did not exist. Would you rather children develop gender dysphoria and spend thousands of dollars attempting to free themselves of it, suffering for years in the meantime, or that that suffering not exist in the first place? You can argue all you want that sex dysphoria is the real issue, but if that’s the case, call it such and we can learn to deal with it, but for now it’s an entirely different topic since gender ideology chooses to revolve around “gender” instead.

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 7 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis:  Y/N and Giselle return from Milan, but the memories of their time there linger, deepening the unspoken tension between them.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Returning to Seoul felt like stepping back into a world that no longer fit quite right.

The penthouse was the same. The schedule was the same. Even the unspoken rules between them, when to engage, when to step back, hadn’t changed. But something had shifted.

Y/N felt it in the way Giselle lingered just a second longer when their gazes met. In how she would start to say something, only to stop herself as if afraid to give too much away.

Most of all, Y/N felt it in herself.

She hadn’t been prepared for Milan to mean anything. This arrangement had been built on careful lines and expectations. But the moments they had shared, the soft, stolen looks, the playful ease they had found, the kiss neither of them had mentioned, were impossible to ignore.

And yet, they didn’t talk about it.

They fell back into routine, pretending nothing had changed. But Y/N caught herself watching Giselle more closely, studying the way her fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass or how she rubbed her temple after a long day, tension lining her shoulders.

She told herself it was nothing. That she was only noticing because she had spent so much time with her.

But nothing shouldn’t make her chest feel tight when Giselle passed by too closely. Nothing shouldn’t make her wonder what Giselle was thinking when she sat in silence, staring out at the Seoul skyline.

One evening, the air felt heavier than usual.

Giselle returned home later than expected, her usually pristine composure edged with exhaustion. She tossed her coat over a chair, a rare sign of carelessness, and made her way straight to the kitchen.

Y/N, curled up on the couch, noticed immediately. She had seen Giselle come home tired before, but tonight was different. There was something in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way she exhaled a little too sharply when she reached for a bottle of wine.

Y/N hesitated before standing, padding toward the kitchen. She watched as Giselle poured herself a glass, her movements precise but slower than usual.

"Rough day?"

The text popped up on Y/N’s phone screen as she held it out for Giselle to see.

Giselle let out a soft, breathy laugh, more exhale than amusement. “You could say that.” She poured a second glass and handed it to Y/N without a word.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, questioning, but Giselle only lifted the glass to her lips.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of whatever had happened at work still clung to Giselle like a second skin, but Y/N knew better than to push.

Instead, she took a sip of her wine and leaned against the counter, waiting.

It took longer than usual, but finally, Giselle spoke.

“Do you ever feel like…” she began, her voice quieter than usual, more vulnerable. She stared at the deep red liquid in her glass, swirling it absentmindedly. “Like no matter what you do, people will only ever see what they want to?”

Y/N blinked at the unexpected confession. She lowered her phone before slowly typing a response.

"All the time."

Giselle glanced at the screen, her expression unreadable, but something in her shoulders eased ever so slightly.

A silence stretched between them, but this time, it felt like something shared rather than something missing.

Giselle didn’t say anything else. She simply reached for the bottle again and poured more wine into Y/N’s glass. It was a small thing, an unconscious gesture. But it was also something new, something softer.

Eventually, Giselle exhaled, setting her glass down with a quiet clink against the counter. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing loose strands behind her ear before glancing at Y/N.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the dining table. “Our sign language lessons. I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused by the hint of pride in Giselle’s voice. She grabbed her notebook and followed her, settling into their usual spots.

These lessons had started as a necessity, a practical way for Giselle to communicate beyond texts and notes. But at some point, they had become something more.

Something comfortable. Something theirs.

Y/N watched as Giselle rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck slightly before straightening, ready to focus. But there was a slowness in her movements, a weight that hadn’t been there before. Even as she practiced, repeating each sign Y/N showed her, it was clear her mind was still somewhere else, probably tangled up in whatever had happened earlier that day.

Still, she didn’t stop.

Y/N expected her to cut the lesson short, to dismiss it as unnecessary now that she was proficient in the basics. But Giselle stayed, willing to be taught.

At one point, Giselle stumbled over a phrase, her fingers moving incorrectly. Y/N’s instincts kicked in before she could think, she reached forward, her hands gently enclosing Giselle’s to correct the movement.

The contact was brief, barely a second.

But it was enough.

Giselle’s hands stilled beneath Y/N’s, her breath catching ever so slightly.

The air shifted.

Y/N felt it the moment Giselle’s body tensed, the way her pulse quickened under her skin. She felt the warmth of Giselle’s hands, cooler than hers, always so composed, but now still. Waiting.

Realizing what she had done, Y/N quickly withdrew, pretending not to notice the way Giselle’s gaze lingered on her. She tucked her hands into her lap, trying to suppress the sudden rush of heat to her face.

Giselle didn’t say anything at first. She only watched Y/N, her expression unreadable, her lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak but thought better of it.

Then, in a voice quieter than usual, Giselle finally asked, “How do you sign… beautiful?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

She blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden request. The way Giselle said it, not in a detached, casual way, but softly, intentionally, made something tighten in Y/N’s chest.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before slowly lifting her hands, showing her the sign.

Giselle mimicked the movement, her fingers brushing the air delicately. But instead of focusing on her own hands, she was watching Y/N.

Their eyes met. The room suddenly felt smaller. Quieter.

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry. She should say something. She should break the moment before it unraveled into something neither of them was ready to face.

She cleared her throat, reaching for her phone and quickly typing out a message. The rapid clicking of the keys felt too loud in the silence between them.

"I should start leaving you notes with all the new words we learn."

Giselle read the message, and the tension in her expression melted just enough to reveal amusement. She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curving slightly. “Would that be an excuse to leave me notes in general?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled as she typed.

"Maybe."

Giselle let out a quiet breath, something not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. She didn’t press further. Instead, she stood, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off whatever had just passed between them.

“Go to bed,” she said lightly, though her voice held something gentler than usual. “We both need sleep.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She stretched, waving a lazy goodnight before disappearing into her room.

But as she lay in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop replaying the way Giselle had looked at her.

Like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was afraid of what she might find.

The morning unfolded like every other.

Giselle woke before her alarm, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. Her movements were efficient, muscle memory guiding her through the motions of another predictable day.

A shower, cold to keep her alert. A crisp white blouse, tailored to perfection. A swift check of her calendar, scanning through back-to-back meetings with executives who spoke in numbers and strategies, never in emotions.

She moved through it all with a mechanical kind of grace, the same way she always did. There was a comfort in routine, in knowing exactly what came next. It left little room for doubt.

By the time she reached the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filled the air. She poured herself a cup, black, just the way she liked it, bitter and without indulgence.

The first sip was warm, grounding. The second was barely tasted. By the third, she had already placed the cup down, forgotten beside a stack of unread reports.

Her mind was elsewhere.

There was a strange heaviness in her chest this morning, though she refused to acknowledge it. Something about last night lingered in the quiet corners of her mind, the soft brush of fingers against hers, the way Y/N had looked at her during their lesson, the way she had said nothing and yet somehow understood everything.

Giselle exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought as she made her way toward her office.

Work. That was what mattered. The rest was just... noise.

She stepped inside, already mentally preparing for the first meeting of the day, until she stopped.

Her breath caught, just for a second. Sitting neatly in the center of her desk was a small sticky note.

She recognized the handwriting instantly. Y/N’s.

Giselle’s fingers twitched at her sides, a heartbeat of hesitation before she reached forward, peeling the note carefully from the woodgrain surface.

“You’re doing better than you think.”

The words were simple. Casual. But they hit harder than they should have.

She stared at the note, the world around her fading into background noise. The steady hum of the city outside. The distant ticking of the clock on the wall. The faint scent of coffee she had already abandoned.

It was ridiculous, really. It was just a piece of paper, but no one had ever left her something like this before. No one had ever thought to.

People wrote her emails, long-winded proposals, formal reports. People sent her invitations, expectations, demands. People admired her, feared her, respected her.

But who had ever encouraged her?

Giselle swallowed, a tightness forming in her throat.

Her first instinct was to discard it. She had no space for sentimentality, not when her world thrived on power and control. But for some reason, she didn’t. Instead, she turned, pulling open the top drawer of her desk.

For a moment, she just stood there, still holding the note between her fingers. Then, with a small breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, she tucked it inside.

Hidden. But not forgotten.

She closed the drawer softly, pressing her palm against the surface as if grounding herself. Then, with a final glance at the space where the note had been, she straightened her posture and reached for her laptop.

By the time the first meeting started, she was back to being Giselle.

Cool. Composed. Untouchable.

But somewhere, deep beneath the layers of carefully curated indifference, something had shifted. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she could ignore it.

Obviously something had changed. Neither of them spoke about it, whatever this was. But it lingered in the air between them, unspoken yet undeniable, threading itself through the smallest moments.

It wasn’t in grand gestures or spoken confessions. It wasn’t in anything either of them could name. It was in the way Giselle’s fingers lingered a second too long when passing Y/N something. It was in the way Y/N’s breath hitched when she caught Giselle looking at her across the room, her gaze steady and unreadable. It was in the silences, the pauses where words should be, the weight of something unresolved pressing between them like static before a storm.

They were still following the same patterns, still keeping the same distance. But there was a fine line between routine and restraint, and both of them were walking it carefully, deliberately, too afraid to fall.

At first, Y/N tried to convince herself she was imagining it.

The way her pulse hitched when Giselle's gaze lingered too long. The way her breath caught when their fingers brushed, electric and fleeting, leaving an aftershock in its wake.

It was just nerves. Just the awkwardness of adjusting to this arrangement. But the more she noticed it, the more impossible it became to ignore.

Giselle had always commanded attention, her presence sharp-edged and unwavering. She was used to being looked at, but not in the way she had started looking at Y/N.

It was different now, deliberate, lingering, careful.

The first time Y/N truly caught it, she had been walking down the hallway, passing Giselle by mere inches. Usually, Giselle barely acknowledged these moments, always moving, always focused on the next thing.

But this time, she stopped. Y/N felt it before she saw it, the way the air seemed to thicken between them.

She turned her head and met Giselle’s gaze, steady, unblinking, searching. It was a look that sent a slow, twisting heat curling in Y/N’s chest, something tight and fragile all at once.

Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater, suddenly hyperaware of the space between them, too little, too much.

Then, as quickly as it had come, Giselle blinked. The moment slipped away, her expression smoothing back into its usual effortless control as she stepped past Y/N like nothing had happened.

Y/N stood frozen, heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

What was that?

She didn't know. But it wasn’t the last time.

It happened again at dinner, when Y/N felt Giselle’s gaze on her from across the table, not cold, not scrutinizing, just... watching. It happened when their hands brushed reaching for the same pen, and Giselle didn’t pull away immediately. It happened in those small, fleeting moments, the ones neither of them acknowledged but both felt.

Y/N wasn’t stupid. She could feel the shift, the way something was pulling them toward an edge neither of them was ready to name.

And yet, every time she caught Giselle looking at her, there was something else in her expression, hesitation. As if she was holding herself back.

Giselle had spent a lifetime ensuring she didn’t need anyone.

People entered her life with expectations. Colleagues, investors, powerful figures who circled her, waiting for something in return. But she had learned early on that needing people meant giving them power over you.

She had never been reckless enough to make that mistake. And yet. She found herself noticing when Y/N wasn’t there.

The first time, it was a dull awareness, walking into the penthouse after a long meeting, her mind already half-occupied with the day’s events. She had expected the usual quiet buzz of Y/N’s presence, the subtle but familiar comfort of not being alone.

But the living room was empty.

Giselle hesitated mid-step, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. It wasn’t unusual. Y/N had her own life, her own schedule.

And yet, for reasons she refused to examine, the absence felt... strange. Lacking.

She shook it off. It didn’t matter.

Except later, when Y/N finally returned, soft footsteps padding into the space, the low sound of her typing, the quiet rhythm of her existence nearby, Giselle felt something settle in her chest.

She didn’t like that. But she noticed it again. And again.

She caught herself lingering.

After dinner, when Y/N was scribbling something into her notebook, Giselle pretended to focus on a report. But her gaze drifted, watching the way Y/N’s fingers curled delicately around the pen, the way she bit her lip in thought, unaware of the way she held Giselle’s attention captive.

She caught herself standing in the entrance to the living room, watching as Y/N stretched lazily, her sweater slipping just slightly off her shoulder, exposing smooth skin and why was she still standing there?

Worst of all, she caught herself outside Y/N’s bedroom door.

Late at night. More than once.

She would stop just short of knocking, fingers twitching at her sides, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

What was she doing?

She had no reason to be here. No reason to be thinking about whether Y/N was already asleep, or if she, too, was lying awake, feeling the same unspoken weight pressing between them.

What would she even say if she knocked?

"I can't sleep." "You're distracting." "I don’t know why I keep looking for you."

She refused to believe it meant anything. It was nothing.

And yet, when she forced herself to turn away, to walk back to her own room, she felt it, the ache of something missing.

One night, it nearly broke.

The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. The skyline stretched beyond the windows, bathing the room in a soft glow, cool blues and warm golds blending into shadows across the sleek marble floors.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her phone in hand, completely unaware of the eyes on her. She was dressed comfortably, an oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder, loose strands of hair falling into her face as she scrolled absentmindedly. Her fingers moved over the screen in slow, lazy swipes, her focus seemingly elsewhere.

Giselle wasn’t sure when she had stopped pretending to read the contract in her lap.

Her attention had drifted, unwilling yet drawn, lingering on Y/N.

The dim light framed her delicately, the soft curve of her lips, the gentle slope of her nose, the shadows cast by her lashes. There was something so effortless about the way she existed, so completely unaware of the quiet way she was starting to unravel Giselle’s carefully built walls.

The thought struck unexpectedly, curling low in her stomach.

“Beautiful.” The word surfaced before she could stop it. Unspoken, yet impossibly loud.

Giselle’s fingers curled against the armrest of her chair, a reflexive grip to anchor herself. This was dangerous.

She should look away. She should leave the room, put space between them before this moment turned into something neither of them could walk back from.

But she didn’t and then Y/N looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was a second, maybe less. But suddenly, the air between them felt charged, a thread pulled too tight, straining against a boundary neither of them had acknowledged yet.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something. But she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone in her hands instead.

Giselle’s grip on the chair mirrored it. The silence between them stretched, heavy and fragile but then Y/N looked away first.

Her head dipped back down toward her phone, and she exhaled quietly, her shoulders shifting like she was trying to shake something off. Her fingers moved across the screen, tapping something out quickly, almost nervously.

Giselle’s gaze flickered downward, catching the glow of the phone reflecting in Y/N’s eyes.

A message.

Typed. Paused on the screen.

Y/N’s jaw clenched faintly, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her posture stiffened, tension written in every small movement.

Then, without warning, she erased it.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of hesitation. And then it was gone.

The screen went blank and Giselle’s chest tightened.

She hadn’t been able to read the message, but she had seen the way Y/N hesitated before deleting it, the way her breath stuttered for just a second too long.

“What had she almost said?” “What had she been too afraid to show?”

Giselle would never ask and Y/N would never tell her. The moment passed, but the tension remained.

Even as Y/N forced herself to look away, pretending she hadn’t noticed the weight of Giselle’s stare, the erratic rhythm of her heart refused to settle.

Giselle didn’t move for a long time. She remained seated across the room, fingers drumming idly against the armrest, expression unreadable. But something about her felt different, as if she, too, was grappling with something unspoken.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until Y/N finally exhaled, pressing her lips together before lifting a hand in a small, fleeting wave.

“Goodnight.”

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

Giselle stayed behind, staring out at the dim skyline beyond the window.

She should go to bed. There were meetings in the morning, calls to take, deals to finalize. She should be thinking about work.

But when she finally pushed herself up from the chair, something restless coiled in her chest.

A quiet sense of unease.

The next morning Giselle sat at the kitchen island, coffee steaming beside her, the soft glow of her tablet illuminating unread emails and half-finished reports. The city stretched beyond the penthouse windows, skyscrapers rising against the pale morning sky. Everything was calm, predictable, controlled.

Then her phone buzzed.

A small vibration against the marble countertop, sharp in the stillness.

She reached for it, barely glancing at the screen, until she saw the notification.

Concierge Desk: “A package has arrived for you, Ms. Uchinaga. It was marked urgent.”

Giselle frowned, setting her tablet aside. She wasn’t expecting anything. Deliveries had to go through security, checked and cleared before being sent up. Few people had the access or audacity to send something directly to her.

A flicker of unease crept up her spine. She pushed it down.

Minutes later, she stood by the entrance of the penthouse, the package in her hands. It was medium-sized, the brown cardboard plain, unmarked except for her name in precise, printed letters. No return address. No sender information.

Just her.

She studied it for a moment, fingers pressing against the edges, assessing the weight. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but there was something unsettling about it. A feeling.

Still, her expression remained unreadable as she carried it to her office, shutting the door behind her.

The space was bathed in soft morning light, the polished surface of her desk gleaming. Everything was neat, controlled, in its place. The package did not belong.

She set it down carefully, staring at it for a long moment. Then, with slow precision, she reached for the letter opener and sliced through the tape. The flaps folded open with ease, revealing the contents inside and just like that, the air in the room changed.

Giselle’s breath stilled.

Nestled beneath layers of protective wrapping was a photograph. Old, slightly grainy, edges worn with time. But the image was crystal clear.

Two figures. Younger. Standing in the shadows of something much larger than them.

Her. Jeno.

For a fraction of a second, she didn’t move. Her fingers hovered over the photo, hesitating, before finally picking it up. The weight of the past pressed into her palm, heavier than it should have been.

She knew this picture. She knew that night.

She had spent years burying it, ensuring it stayed locked away, nothing more than a fading memory. But here it was, dragged back into the light, placed neatly before her like a ghost waiting to be acknowledged.

Beneath the photograph, a small folded note lay nestled in the box. The handwriting was smooth, deliberate.

She unfolded it.

"We both know I took the fall for you. Time to pay your debt, little sister."

The words hit harder than she expected. Her jaw tightened. Her grip on the paper turned rigid.

Slowly, she inhaled through her nose, forcing her pulse back to its usual steady rhythm. Her eyes flicked back to the box, scanning the remaining contents.

At the very bottom, folded with care, was an old newspaper clipping. She didn’t need to read the headline to know what it was, she had seen this article before.

A scandal. A crime. A carefully crafted cover-up that had buried the truth beneath wealth and power.

The story had painted Jeno as the reckless son, the black sheep who had always been too unstable, too volatile, too much like their father.

Giselle had been the exception. The perfect heir. The one who had walked away unscathed.

Jeno had taken the fall. And now, he wanted something in return.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the note, knuckles whitening. A slow exhale, controlled and measured, as she read the words again.

"Time to pay your debt."

Giselle moved before she could think, tearing the note in half.

Then again. And again.

The crisp paper shredded beneath her fingers, the pieces fluttering onto the desk in silent defiance. The photograph followed.

She shoved it back into the box, pressing the torn scraps of the note on top, burying it beneath the newspaper clipping.

Her movements were precise. Collected. She was in control. She had to be. Her father had always told her that weakness was a choice. That emotions were a liability.

And if there was one thing she had learned, one thing she had promised herself, it was that she would never give Jeno the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Straightening, she smoothed the front of her blouse, rolling her shoulders back. Jeno thought he could rattle her. He thought he could remind her of the past and make her bend.

But he had underestimated her. She wasn’t that girl anymore and she would be damned if she let him drag her back into the past.

Giselle remained in her office long after she had sealed the package, standing motionless, hands braced against the edge of her desk. The early morning light spilled through the windows, casting long, pale streaks across the polished wood. The city stretched out beyond the glass, a vast skyline of power and progress, but in this moment, it felt suffocating.

Everything in the room was meticulously arranged, leather-bound books stacked neatly on the shelves, framed certificates and awards lining the walls, sleek technology waiting in standby mode. A curated life. A perfect image.

And yet, the package sat in the bottom drawer like a rotting core beneath the surface.

Jeno had gotten too close. Again.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides before she forced them to relax. A deep breath, measured and even, the way she had trained herself. Control was everything.

She turned on her heel, leaving the office with crisp, purposeful strides. The moment she stepped into the open space of the penthouse, the atmosphere shifted.

Everything was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate, as if the world had momentarily stilled to observe something fragile unfold.

The morning light spilled through the massive windows, stretching golden fingers across the pristine surfaces of the penthouse. The city beyond shimmered in the glass, distorted yet breathtaking, an ever-changing masterpiece that demanded attention. And yet, inside, everything remained untouched. The furniture, sleek and modern, sat as if staged for a magazine spread. There was no clutter, no sign of life beyond necessity. No lingering warmth from the night before.

Except for Y/N.

She sat curled in the corner of the couch, her knees tucked beneath her, the spine of an open book resting against her palm. But she wasn’t reading. The page had not turned in minutes, her fingers hovering just above it, betraying her distraction.

She was watching her.

Giselle’s steps faltered, almost imperceptibly, but enough for her to notice. Enough for her to know that she had been seen.

Y/N’s gaze wasn’t piercing, wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t filled with expectation or the silent pressure Giselle had grown accustomed to. And yet, it carried weight. A quiet sort of gravity that came from noticing things no one else did.

The soft crease in her brow. The way her lips pressed together, hesitant. The shift of her fingers against the fabric of the couch, as if debating whether to reach out, whether to break the silence.

She had noticed. Of course, she had.

Giselle forced herself to look away. She moved toward the kitchen with practiced grace, each motion a calculated performance of control. A hand reached for the cabinet. A glass, crisp and cool against her skin. The quiet hum of the dispenser as water filled the space.

Routine. Simple. Controlled.

And yet, the tension in her chest refused to unwind.

Behind her, the faintest rustle of fabric. A shift of weight on the couch. Not following, not intruding. Just... there.

The glass in Giselle’s hand felt colder than it should have.

Then, a sound. Soft. Subtle. The familiar rhythm of fingers tapping against a screen. A brief pause. The gentle thud of something being placed on the counter.

Giselle didn’t turn.

She knew what it was before she even glanced down. Knew what awaited her in the glow of the screen, what words had been left in the silence between them.

Still, she hesitated.

A slow sip of water. A prolonged stare at the skyline. As if delaying would make it easier. As if ignoring it would make it disappear.

But curiosity or something else entirely, dragged her gaze downward.

Three words, simple and unassuming, yet heavy enough to settle deep in her chest.

„Are you okay?”

Giselle’s grip on the glass tightened.

She had been asked that question before. Countless times. By executives, journalists, business partners with feigned concern laced between negotiations. She knew the script by heart. The right words, the perfect smile, the seamless deflection.

“Of course.” “I’m fine.” “Let’s move on.”

But as she stared at the screen now, the answer wouldn’t come.

Because Y/N wasn’t asking as a formality. She wasn’t asking out of obligation. She was asking because she meant it.

And that made it worse.

The silence between them thickened, pressing in on her ribs. She could feel Y/N watching, waiting. Not pushing. Not expecting. Just there.

Giselle exhaled sharply through her nose and set the glass down with more force than necessary. Her fingers hovered over the phone for a fraction of a second before she pressed the side button, locking the screen. Then, without a word, she handed the device back.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Smooth. Composed. The perfect armor.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. And, most frustratingly, she didn’t look surprised.

She simply nodded once, accepting the response without argument. But something in her expression shifted. A quiet understanding.

Giselle should have felt relief. Should have welcomed the way Y/N didn’t pry, didn’t force her into a conversation she had no interest in having. But somehow, the ease of Y/N’s acceptance made it worse.

The phone was in Y/N’s hands again, fingers moving with practiced familiarity, quick and decisive. And then, just as before, it was placed back onto the counter.

Closer this time.

Giselle hesitated.

She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see whatever had been left behind for her. But the silence between them pulled at her, an invisible tether she couldn’t quite sever.

Her gaze flickered down.

„You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to be alone either.”

The words settled in her chest, quiet yet unshakable.

Something inside her twisted, sharp and unfamiliar. She hated the way it made her feel. The way it stripped back the layers she had so carefully constructed. The way it made her realize just how exhausted she truly was.

She hated that Y/N could see it.

For a fleeting moment, she wanted to accept the offer. To let the words wrap around her, to rest in their simplicity. To just be.

But the moment passed, fleeting and fragile, crushed beneath the weight of habit and walls too well-built to crumble now.

Giselle picked up the glass, turned away, and left the room without another word.

Even as she walked away, she could still feel Y/N’s presence behind her. Steady. Unwavering.

She had let Giselle go, but she hadn’t let her be alone.

The storm arrived in waves, the wind howling through the city like a restless spirit. Rain pelted against the windows of the penthouse, streaking down the glass in frantic patterns, illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. Thunder rolled through the sky, deep and guttural, shaking the very foundation of the towering building.

Inside, Giselle sat in the dim glow of the living room, the only light coming from the flickering city below and the soft reflection of the storm in the windows. She was still, too still, her hands loosely clasped around a glass of whiskey she had barely touched. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, with a tension that felt almost tangible, as if the storm outside was simply a mirror of what churned inside her.

Y/N was there too, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick throw blanket. She wasn’t watching the storm. She was watching Giselle.

Giselle could feel the weight of Y/N’s gaze, could sense the quiet concern in it. It was the same unspoken patience she had shown before, the same infuriatingly gentle persistence. Giselle wanted to tell her to stop looking at her like that, to stop seeing her.

But she didn’t.

“Storms used to scare me as a kid,” Y/N typed, her fingers moving slowly, carefully. A hesitant confession.

Giselle turned her head slightly, eyes flickering toward Y/N’s phone, then to her face. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, she admitted, “Me too.”

Y/N blinked, as if caught off guard by the honesty. Giselle almost regretted saying it.

The room fell into silence once more, save for the relentless drumming of rain against the glass. Y/N shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, her body instinctively seeking warmth. She didn’t push. Didn’t press for more. And for that, Giselle was oddly grateful.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The world outside was chaos, but in this room, there was stillness.

Then, without thinking, Y/N moved closer.

It was small at first, a slight shift, a hesitant inching toward Giselle as if testing the waters. When Giselle didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen or add more space between them, Y/N settled beside her, their shoulders brushing. It was a tentative touch, light and fleeting, yet enough to send something tight and aching through Giselle’s chest.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She should pull away. She should tell Y/N to go to bed. She should put up those walls again, reinforce them before they crumbled any further.

Instead, she stayed.

The next time lightning lit up the sky, Y/N’s head had found its way to Giselle’s shoulder. Her breath was slow, steady, her body warm against Giselle’s side. There was trust in that, in the way she allowed herself to rest against someone so notoriously untouchable.

Giselle swallowed hard, her throat tight.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she realized Y/N had fallen asleep.

The storm raged on outside, but Y/N’s breathing remained even, unbothered by the chaos beyond these walls. Giselle tilted her head slightly, gaze lingering on the way Y/N’s lashes fluttered against her cheek, the faint parting of her lips as she slept.

She looked peaceful. Soft in a way that made something in Giselle ache.

Carefully, Giselle shifted, lifting Y/N into her arms. She was lighter than Giselle expected, her body fitting against her own too naturally. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as she carried her toward the bedroom.

The door to Y/N’s room was already cracked open. The space inside was modest, untouched in comparison to the rest of the penthouse. It wasn’t grand, wasn’t cold. It felt... lived in. Y/N’s presence lingered here in the small, subtle details, a half-folded sweater draped over a chair, a book left open on the nightstand, a faint scent of something warm and familiar.

Giselle lowered Y/N onto the bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. She should leave now. She had done enough.

But as she turned, a small hand caught her wrist.

She froze.

Y/N wasn’t fully awake, her grip loose but insistent. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, fluttered open just enough to find Giselle’s face.

“Stay.” She signed it with one hand, the motion groggy yet unmistakable.

Giselle stared down at her. She should say no. She should walk away before the line between them blurred any further. Before something irreversible happened.

And yet. She exhaled slowly and, instead of retreating, she lowered herself onto the mattress beside Y/N.

The space between them was barely there before Y/N closed it entirely, curling against her without hesitation, head settling against Giselle’s chest. The warmth was immediate, a contrast to the cold storm outside, to the coldness Giselle had spent years perfecting within herself.

She didn’t know how to do this. How to exist in this kind of closeness. How to be wanted like this.

But Y/N didn’t expect anything from her. Didn’t demand words or promises or things Giselle wasn’t sure she could give. She simply rested against her, trusting, unguarded.

Giselle hesitated before allowing herself to relax, just slightly. Her hand hovered for a moment before settling gently on Y/N’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as if grounding herself in this moment, in the quiet, in the warmth.

The storm outside roared on, but in the safety of Y/N’s embrace, it no longer felt quite so overwhelming.

As Giselle stared at the ceiling, heart pounding too loud in her chest, her eyes flickered briefly to the diamond ring on Y/N’s finger. It was still there, still a symbol of something artificial.

And yet, somehow, in this moment, it didn’t feel like a lie.

Neither of them spoke of it. Neither of them had to.

Sleep came slowly to Giselle, her mind restless, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t break the spell.

For once, she let herself stay.

[hamburgerndsprite]

Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 9

Note: Hey everyone! Just a quick heads up: in the last seven parts of my fic recs, I included stories featuring all the members. For the next few parts, though, I have more fics that focus on just a few of them. So, I'm going to make separate lists to finish up those fics, mostly highlighting the Maknae line, Yoongi, and OT7 stories. I've already made the OT7 fic recs list in Part 8. This part will be all about Min Yoongi fics! Next up is Park Jimin.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12 (completed)

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Bangtan's Receptionist by wooataes

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Min Yoongi x Fem! Reader, implied ot7 x Fem! Reader Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: Mafia AU, swearing, Death, blood, injuries, mentions of human trafficking but nothing too detailed, guns, character death. Summary: Bangtan’s contracts are clear and concise. They are to be followed to the letter, including the most important rule, do not touch their men.

➺ Crave You by borathae

Pairing: Yoongi x f. Reader Genre: established relationship!AU, Smut, some Fluff, smol lil Angst Summary: ”You should be angry at him for breaking his promise to you, but how could you, if kissing him feels so good? Or alternatively: all it takes is a small fight to discover a kink you and your fiancé share...”

➺ Anything by jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 10k glimpse: yoongi doesn't want to move on from his ex because she's everything he's ever known, whereas you want to move on from him because he's everything you've ever loved. alternatively, yoongi's your best friend and you've been in love with him your whole life.

➺ Cuddle Noodle by redrose10

Pairing: Snake Hybrid Yoongi x Female Reader Warnings: Mentions of abuse, euthanasia, doctors office and sickness, mentions of mating/breeding but no smut, abandonment Word Count: 6,432 Summary: Since no one else wanted him, you agreed to adopt a dangerous noodle of a snake hybrid named Yoongi. And even though you were terrified of snakes, he somehow managed to cuddle himself right into your heart.

➺ Now We Reign by oddinary4bts

☆pairing: Min Yoongi x singer female reader ☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI) ☆genre: work collaborators to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff ☆word count: 34.9k ☆summary: when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

➺ Souvenir by jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 3k glimpse: shouldn’t this be the part where you tell him not to stay out too late? alternatively, yoongi thinks you hate him because you don’t coddle him after a fight.

➺ So Close by namfinessed

pairing: Yoongi x reader genre: major angst, fluff, second chance romance word count: 13.5k summary: words are not enough for people who are so close and so in love, or a fic in which yoongi loses you but will do everything in his power to win you back.

➺ How many things by myg-butterfly

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Non-Idol AU, Anti-Social Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Fluff Summary: Yoongi invites you out to a party with him, and in trust, you say yes. But what happens when you lose him in the crowd, just to find him again with someone else by his side? In the midst of panic and longing, you wonder how many things he thinks about before he gets to you.

➺ Taste Of His Own Medicine by btsficsandsuch

Pairing: Yoongi x reader Summary: You suddenly have to leave to go back to your home country for a few months. Yoongi decides to ignore you so you decide to show him how it feels when he realizes you’re gone.

➺ In an Instant [M] by hobibliophile

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, ft. Jin being a true bro Word Count: 6.5k Genre: BFF!Yoongi, Smut, College AU Summary: Dancing around each other for years, both you and Yoongi have resigned to stay friends, never knowing the others feelings for each other. However, an impulsive decision from Jin might finally push you two together. Yoongi really shouldn’t have trusted Jin with his phone.

➺ Puppy-loving by army-author

pairing: yoongi x reader genre: fluff, min holly's perspective word count: 1.6k summary: cuddling wouldn’t be complete without Min Holly, Yoongi’s dog, getting in your way.

➺ Breathe by pasteljeon

Pairing: Yoongi x wife! Reader Genre: Mafia!AU, some dark concepts (mafia/gang, hint of torture, guns), bit of implied sexual content, mostly fluff Length: 0.9k Summary: You’re the only one that can soothe his ire.

➺ Requested Drabble by redrose10

pairing: idol! yoongi x wife! reader genre: fluff, established relationship summary: since you and your daughter couldn't make in time for his performance you sent a little surprise his way.

➺ Requested Drabble by redrose10

pairing: idol! yoongi x wife! reader genre: fluff, established relationship summary: “I was just wondering…If there was a zombie apocalypse and I got bit would you still love me even though I was a zombie?”

➺ Kale'in Me Softly by jimlingss

➜ pairing: yoongi x reader ➜ Words: 17.1k ➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU ➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➺ The Final - Day 02 by yoongiofmine

Pairing: DDAY!Yoongi  x Groupie!Reader  Genre: idol au, porn with a lot of plot, one-shot WC: 16k Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

➺ Damn the Charcuterie Board [M] by bratkook

pairing: min yoongi x reader x park jimin genre: light crack, smut, pwp, warnings: threesome (obvs), oral sex, face riding, unprotected sex, sloppy seconds, stupid jokes about raw meat lmfao word count: 6.7k of pure filth

➺ I want her with me by justtextmeoppa

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Words count: 2,8k+ Genre: Fluff Plot: You and Yoongi are both idols and you’re dating. During a Music Award Show he confesses you’re his girlfriend. 

➺ A Tiger's Judgement by borathae

Pairing: Warrior!Yoongi x Princess!Reader  Genre: Fantasy, e2l!AU, Smut Wordcount: 21.7k Summary: “Yoongi was a warrior in the Queen’s army, brave and loyal to his duties even if that meant protecting Her daughter, who can’t stand his presence in the slightest and who more often than not uses him as her way of taking out her anger. As one fateful night forces them to survive together, they soon need to learn how to live with each other.”

➺ A Tiger's Empire by borathae

Pairing: Warrior!Yoongi x Queen!Reader  Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut  Wordcount: 13.5k Summary: “Yoongi returns home as the man by your side and has to come to terms with his new role as your ruling partner. It turns out to be quite the difficult task as half of the court still sees him as the unruly warrior with the ugly face. His new Queen and lover however is willing to fight the world for him and She is hellbound to show him and everyone around them just how beautiful he is.”

{SERIES}

➺ Take Five by jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 10k genre: angst, fluff, unrequited love, so much pining glimpse: dr. min yoongi’s a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand — oh and also, he’s divorced. alternatively, you’re yoongi’s nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out — he never said anything about accepting though.

➺ Oh, Baby! by honey-boyyoongi [ONGOING]

Pairing: single dad! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Fluff, angst, crack, neighbor au Chapters: 60/61 Summary: Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?

➺ Vows aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart by hamsterclaw

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader ft. Jin Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst Chapters: 2/2 + Drabbles Summary: You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

➺ So it goes by prodagustd

—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader —chapters: 7/7 + drabbles —genre: friends with benefits (kind of? they're in love) to lovers, fluff, smut, angst. —summary: You and Yoongi have been hooking up, having dates and spending most of the week together for almost seven months. He was comfortable without a title, until the last two weeks, when you couldn't see him because of your busy schedule, Yoongi can't understand why he misses you so bad if your relationship is just sex to him. Or maybe he does, but he's too much of a coward to admit it.

➺ BOO-lieve in me by jimlingss

➜ Pairing: Ghost! Yoongi x Ghost! Reader ➜ Parts: 2/2 ➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Spirit Marriage!AU ➜ Summary: A Spirit Marriage - in which two deceased people are wedded together. In your life, you wouldn’t have ever imagined yourself married. Much less to mommy’s boy, Min Yoongi.

➺ She's Testosterone by jimlingss

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Parts: 4/4 Genre: Crack Fic. No lies here. Summary: Drop-dead gorgeous, cute, and sassy - you adore your best friend. But is there more beneath the surface? Who exactly is Min Yoonji?

➺ Interlude by yoongiofmine

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader Genre: Series, fluff, angst, smut, idol au. Parts: 11/11 Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

➺ Inheritance by jincherie

Pairing: Hybrid! Yoongi x reader Genre: hybrid!au, fluff (later), smut (later later) Parts: 7/7 Summary: After your grandmother passed she left everything to you. Her house, her fortune, and apparently… her cat? The grumpy male hybrid you encounter at her house is anything but the tame housecat you’d expected to find. Fulfilling your grandmother’s last request to look after him becomes a lot harder when he seems to be avoiding you, and your dissatisfied relatives start stirring up trouble.

➺ Daddy Diaries by bts-reveries

→ pairing: singledad!yoongi x baker!reader → genre: all floof, teeny bit of angst → parts: 29/29 → summary: yoongi started blogging his life on his social medias to prove everyone who thought he couldn’t raise a child alone wrong. but as his daughter’s birthday draws near, what happens when she wishes for a new mom?

➺ No More by yuzukult

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: some angst, fluff, one-sided love (unrequited love?), college!au, secret relationship, smut parts: 2/2 prompt: yoongi doesn’t like your consistent pining, and one day, after finally coming to terms that he will never reciprocate any feelings back, you give up. yet, for some reason, yoongi is the one who can’t come to terms with the consequences of when he says ‘no more.’

➺ Pink Bird House by 54daysormore

Pairing: Single Dad! Yoongi x Reader ft. Mini Tae Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Tae is yoongi's baby Parts: 25/25 Synopsis: Tae really wants a pink bird house, but his dad is definitely too busy to make one with him.  Enter Y/N.  Then exit Y/N.  Right?

➺ Crazy Over You by kittyscupcakeandbunny

Pairing: Black Mamba Hybrid! Yoongi x Reader Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant. Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut. Parts: 8/8 SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

➺ Desolate by angelicyoongie

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x  reader — genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut — parts: 14/14 — summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

Sudsssss

Suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds

Fox Dream & Wolf Punz

Fox & the Hound Drunz

Sudsss

"We're still friends, right Punz?"

Dream's voice was low, barely above a whisper. They could pretend it was the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind, if they so chose. Dream would let them; he allowed too much.

Instead, they reached over and squeezed his hand. The SMP had changed over the years, changed its landscape and changed its alliances and changed them.

"Yeah Dream, we're still friends."

They refused to let it change this.

[alagaisia]

This is something I learned at one of the pre-op visits for my breast reduction! My surgeon was basically I think an independent surgeon (as I guess I would imagine is common for “cosmetic”/plastic surgeons?) and she was telling us a little bit about what to do for talking to insurance about the surgery and stuff, and she mentioned that for us going through insurance it would be at a particular hospital, but she also often did surgeries where people didn’t use there insurance, and she did those at some other place, and the price she charged up front was much lower, because that was the actual cost of the surgery (and equipment and everyone’s salaries etc.) and she had to raise the ticket price significantly when people would go through insurance, because the insurance company would negotiate that price down, and then keep some of the money. (Obviously for us and many others it still worked out to be cheaper for us out of pocket to go through insurance, but the amount she made was roughly the same even though it would look like she charged thousands more for my breast reduction than for someone not using insurance)

So, when you get those bills from your insurance after a doctors visit, and there’s that little table that tells you, this is the cost of the visit, this is the discount we got you, this is how much we paid, this is how much you still have to pay?

That line about “we got you this discount” is misleading. They actually caused the provider to raise the initial cost of your care by that amount, or more, in anticipation of the insurance company refusing to pay the full amount so that they could tell you they got you a discount.

"Why does a 15-minute visit with a doctor cost 150 bucks in America???" you're gonna want to read Money-Driven Medicine, by Maggie Mahar, and probably also The Social Transformation of American Medicine, to answer that question. It is not because your doctor is a greedy bastard; your doctor does not see most of that money. It is because the system is broken to a level that is truly impressive in its dedication to making a shit ton of money for insurance company executives and shareholders.

[ms-demeanor]

How to avoid sharing Social Media Scams in the Wake of a Disaster

The world is full of disasters. It is also full of people who have learned to profit off of disaster. It is an unfortunate fact of life in the modern social media/online environment that in order to avoid spreading scams, you have to make a continuous effort and you have to be cynical.

There are a lot of wonderful, well-meaning people in the world who want to help everyone who asks for it. Unfortunately, those people are easy to scam.

These are some rules to prevent you from either falling victim to scams or from passing scams along to other people.

These are not suggestions, these are not things to take into consideration, the rules listed here are RULES that you need to adopt in order to keep from spreading scams on social media.

Rules:

Never, ever share screenshots of fundraisers or resources that you haven’t verified yourself. If you see a screenshot of, say, the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds Instagram announcing that they will be accepting evacuees with RVs, you go find the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds website, you find the social media linked on their website, and you check that the post you’re seeing actually came from the entity it’s claiming to. Once you have proved that the post actually came from the entity it’s claiming to, double check that entity with a couple of verifiable sources. So, for instance, if I was checking on the Guitar Center Music Foundation I’d check Guitar Center’s website and maybe I’d look for news articles about donations from the foundation. If I was looking up the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds, I’d look for a local newspaper calendar of events that linked to the fairgrounds or would check the city websites in the area and search “fairgrounds” on them. I would not share a link to a social media page for an organization until I was 100% certain that it was actually associated with the organization. You shouldn’t either. If you see a post that claims to come from a specific group but all you have is the screenshot of the post, go find the group’s website and if it all checks out you may share it IF AND ONLY IF you add the link to the post. And if a post has a link already, click through it and STILL check that everything looks okay.

Never give money or information to someone with a free email address. This sucks. I know. But if the group you’re looking at only has a gmail address or a protonmail you have no way of knowing if they’re legitimately associated with the organization at a glance. And even if they ARE associated with the organization, the free email account demonstrates a lack of planning/commitment that has troubling implications for the handling of your money or data.

Do not share screenshots of “resources,” headlines, social media posts, or news articles. I’m done with screenshots. Screenshots are easy to fake and almost always remove context from the discussion. A standalone screenshot isn’t information, it’s a trap to get you to share something without thinking. Do not *trust* screenshots of “resources,” headlines, social media posts, or news articles. Always assume a screenshot is faked unless you have found the original post yourself. A screenshot isn’t a “resource” it is an un-source, it is intentionally removing information from the viewer and we are well past the time when people should have understood that sharing screenshots without a link to the original text in context is never, every trustworthy.

Do not give money or information to accounts without a history. This may mean individual social media accounts, or it may mean a shiny new mutual aid project that popped up near your house. It’s unfortunate that people have their accounts deleted, it’s unfortunate that new orgs have trouble finding support, but the likelihood that a new account is a scam is simply too high to trust your money or information with it. If someone is asking for money or offering help on an account that hasn’t posted for years, or that suddenly changed all its content, or that has only existed for a month with no links to other, older sites and socials, you shouldn’t trust that account.

Okay, those are the RULES. Those are the lines you draw in the sand. The TL;DR version is this:

Don’t share posts you haven’t personally verified

Don’t give money or information to accounts with generic email accounts like gmail

Don’t share or trust screenshots that have no links or further context

Don’t give info or money to brand new accounts

I absolve you of any guilt you have surrounding this. You want to share that post to help a stranger but they have only had an account for a week. You want to spread that resource, but unfortunately it is only available as screenshots of an anonymous instagram account. You think that perhaps that mutual aid group really can help people, but the only way contact them is to put your info into a google form and send an email to their gmail account. That post seems really helpful, but actually you can’t find anything that suggests that the Mt. Pacifico Aquatic Center exists outside of this twitter account. No more guilt! Guilt be gone! You do not have to feel bad for not sharing these things, or not reaching out, or not giving money because doing so would be irresponsible and would put other people at risk of being tricked by scammers or wasting what money they can donate on a potential fraud.

Now, some tips:

Always, always, always take at least ten minutes to think about giving someone money or your information online. Read the post that moved you, then re-read it, then go sit away from it for ten minutes and think about it. There’s a good chance you will still want to give, or sign up, but ten minutes away will give you a chance to consider if there are any red flags in the post that inspired you.

Independently search everything you’re going to share. Go outside of social platforms and check on search engines. Check Wikipedia. Look up the website and send a while clicking around. Go on a *different* social media platform and check their account.

Just straight up search “[SUBJECT] Scam” before you do anything. See if this thing you’re looking at is actually an old scam that’s revamped for a new disaster. See if you can find an explanation of how something might be a scam or risk in a way that you didn’t understand before.

Get used to getting away from social media. Go check websites.

Learn domain name syntax. “musicfoundationguit.arcenter.com” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenterfounditaon.org” is a bullshit scam. “guitarcenter-foundation.org” is a bullshit scam. The actual domain is “guitarcenterfoundation.org” and the link to the correct page isn’t going to be “guitarcenter.foundationfires.org” it’s going to be “guitarcenterfoundation.org/fires”  

Tips for Orgs:

If you do not want your org to look like a scam you are going to have to put some effort into it. Unfortunately this will probably also require at least a little bit of money; I know it’s hard to get money together at the beginning, but it will pay off in the long run.

Invest in a domain and hosted email. You can get relatively inexpensive hosted email through most domain registrars and even if you only get one email address for your domain you can forward it to all the free gmail and protonmail accounts you want. But buy a domain, set up a simple website, and get an  info@[yourdomain].com email set up because you don’t want people emailing “MyOrgInfo@gmail.com” because it’s super fucking easy for a 1337 hax0r like me to set up “YourOrgTeam@gmail.com” and scam the people who want to reach out to you.

Make a blog on your actual website, not on a social media site. A blog means that you can make regular posts and establish a history to prove that you are real and you do real stuff; it will also help with SEO and help to ensure that when people search for your org YOU are what comes up. Keeping up calendars of previous activities with links to those activities is also good.

Set up social handles on all the sites you use, make a “socials” page on your website, and link to your handles so that people can verify if you’re the one posting something. If you don’t make it extremely easy to find your socials, that means it’s extremely easy to set up fake accounts claiming to be you. Then put the link to your website in the bio on your socials.

If you are offering something or holding a fundraiser or doing anything on your social media page, link it back to your website. If you have an IG post offering resources, you should include a url for your site in each image. If you share a photo on twitter with the info for a march, that should link back to your website with more info about the march. If you post a fundraiser on tumblr you need to link the fundraising page of your website on that post.

If you absolutely positively cannot set up a website and a real-ass email address, set up a linktree, choose a primary social media to post on that all the others refer back to, and very explicitly state what your email address is and that you do not have other email addresses somewhere that's difficult to miss. Build a history of posts and link to other orgs that you work with or any writeups or stories about your events or projects. The point of all of this is making yourself easy to verify. "northfullertonfnb@gmail.com" sucks but it sucks a lot less if it's in the bio of "@northfulltertonfnb" and that page has a two year history of posting meal share schedules and menus.

In conclusion, don't share things that you haven't personally checked. When in doubt, it is always safer not to share.

[suguann]

FUCK IT, I WANT YOU—JJK MEN. * ˚ ✦

✎. jjk men who are infatuated with you. | wc. 2.4k+

tags. fem!reader, bsf sister, cockwarming, slightly rough sex, best friends to lovers, exhibitionism, breast f*cking, domestic nanami, pet names, praise, mild dark content, dubcon, stepcest, stuckage

featuring. gojo, higuruma, nanami, geto, sukuna

an. banner is from hare kon okawari | masterlist

↬ GOJO

He shouldn’t even entertain the thought of wanting you—somewhere in the world, there’s a book of rules that says you shouldn’t develop a crush on your best friend’s little sister. 

It doesn’t stop him from letting you talk him into shopping (as if he’d ever tell you no) and watching you try on tiny, flowy sundresses that make his jaw ache, how he’s just on the side of too-weak for those low-scooped tops you’re always wearing whenever he’s at your house. 

At first, Gojo wonders if you do it on purpose—the bashful smiles and bumping shoulders if he’s close by—but you’re painfully shy for that to be the case. It’s why a smirk tugs at his mouth after leaving love bites across your chest when he finally gets you alone in his room so that he might see the adorable little face you make as you try to cover them up afterward. 

He has you perched in his lap on the bed with an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you rooted on his cock buried deep inside the hot-wet heat between your legs. His mouth sucks marks into your skin wherever he can reach, deep groans rumbling in his chest every time your pussy clenches down on him—a sweet reminder that he hasn’t let you move for a while.

“Toru, not there,” you squeak, fingers knotting in the hair at his nape to gently pull him away. “People will see.” 

But he doesn’t listen as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, mesmerized by the sight of it pebbling into a tight peak—your thighs shaking around him when he pinches too hard.

“So fucking pretty,” he growls, biting his lip as he finally looks up at you. “Just let me play with them a bit more, and then I’ll fuck you. I promise.”

A white lie, but he’s done and said worse, and this isn’t that. This is him savoring a victory he never knew he had until you fluttered those long lashes and asked for a kiss.

You’re gasping and writhing, unable to do anything except sit there while he overstimulates you with his mouth and fingers. When he finally rolls you over onto your back, you’ve already cum twice, but that doesn’t stop him, greedy hips churning against yours and stealing another.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, loving how you quiver underneath him, your soft socks slipping where they try to rest around his waist. “You’re so sensitive, huh, baby?” he rasps, nosing the soft swell of your breast as he crowds you underneath him. 

You mewl out a broken version of his name, hot pants against his neck that make you sound so desperate—not really answering him as your nails bite into his shoulders—and he can’t get over the way you look right now, how you sound. He’ll never be able to go back to pretending that you’re Geto’s annoying little sister (as if he ever thought you were) as Gojo watches drool trail from the side of your mouth from how good he’s fucking you. 

“Do you know how filthy you look right now?” he grits between his teeth. “Been thinking about this for so long—fuck—can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

↬ HIGURUMA

It’s an accident the first time it happens. 

You’re at the beach, playing with him in the water, when a wave hits you and washes your bikini top away. You squeal, and because he’s your best friend and has always looked out for you, he doesn’t realize right away he used his hands to shield your bare breasts from everyone else on the beach—eyes round when Higuruma does.

It’s innocent—his intent—yet alarm bells are ringing in his ears.

He expects you to shove him away—you don’t. Instead, you give him a sweet smile with a soft, muttered thank you and let him carry you back to the towels. 

He’s still reeling at how you fit perfectly in his palms, skin against skin in a way he’s only ever shamefully imagined alone with his fist around his dick. It has him shifting his trunks uncomfortably, and he wants—no, needs (a definite need) more.

Higuruma spreads you out on your towel under the canopy of the large beach umbrella, the shirt he gave you pushed up and held out of the way under your chin as you watch him. His shoulders block out anybody from really seeing how he’s teasing your nipples into his mouth—your fingers digging into the hair at his nape to keep him there. 

He never thought he’d get this far after years of watching you dance around the periphery of his life without ever really being his. How seeing you like this—whimpering his name under your breath, eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks, and grinding onto his thigh pressed up between yours—only ever existed in a fantasy or two. 

There’s nothing to do but watch as the lines of an eight-year friendship crumble into the sand with your soft squeaks of more, and his low groans fuck, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a small flame doused in kerosene. 

If this is the sacrifice for holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your sweat-slick skin, he’ll gladly burn.

He’d keep you like this forever if he could, and the way you look at him, pleading with your eyes, makes him think you’d let him if he asked (or maybe he wouldn’t have to).

He releases your nipple and smiles when your shirt falls from your teeth with a whine, your foot stomping against the towel in a way that’s too fucking cute.

“Why’d you stop?”

All the blood and heat in his body rush to his dick at how needy you sound—for him, all for him—and his breath fans across your spit-slick skin shakily, pent up and overflowing with nerves he’s held onto for as long as he can remember. “Sweetheart, you have to be quiet.”

You nod eagerly, your grip tightening in his hair to bring him back towards you. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be quiet. Just please don’t stop.”

Never. 

When your leg brushes the tent in his trunks, it feels like his eyes roll into the back of his head from the contact. He greedily takes your tight, sensitive peak back into his mouth again—hardly paying attention to the wanton moans you fail to suppress as you continue grinding onto his thigh.

↬ NANAMI

Nanami stares at you more often than usual after you have his son—at how your chest fills out every top you wear, and your hips become the perfect place for his hands—a strange new obsession that develops overnight without a manual or an off switch.

One day, you’re his beautiful wife. The next, you’re his beautiful wife holding his baby, and suddenly, he’s seeing the world through a clear lens, and he can’t stop looking.

His hands are always on you just to curb the constant ache that never really fades, brushing hair out of your face, massaging your lower back, shamelessly letting them wander too close to the underside of your breasts whenever he can. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and sometimes it’s all he can think to do.

Some days, after a stressful work day, he’ll lay atop your chest and pepper kisses against whatever skin he can reach, wandering, eager hands getting their fill until he falls asleep. On other days, he stays up long enough—baby tucked away in his crib and the monitor softly humming on the coffee table—to peel your clothes out of the way to get the full picture.

“Just like that, darling,” he groans, watching where you’re kneeled between his legs, unable to take his eyes off the way his leaky tip peeks out from between your soft, bare breasts. 

You stick out your tongue to lick away the pearl of white drooling out of his slit, only to spit it back onto his cock to help aid your up and down movements. It has him throbbing at how messy it is, liquid-hot heat pooling in his stomach at how good it feels. He knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he’s torn on whether or not to stop you or let you keep going.

“How does it feel?” you peer up at him through long lashes like you don’t already know what you’re doing to him.

“‘Good, darling. So fucking good—fuck, keep going—pretty little wife on her knees for me,” he curses, hips shuddering when he thrusts up, watching his length disappear and reappear again and again.

The delicate smile that adorns your lips makes his heart flutter, and balls draw up to his body. “Yeah? You gonna cum, Kento?”

“I don’t—I, fuck, yes.” He’d much rather finish with his face buried in your tits, but he’s already too far gone to pull away, to shove you down onto the couch.

You hum softly. “I want you to cum on me. Please.”

That’s his final undoing, groaning at the thought of him marking those cute tits that take up his every spare thought, cumming unexpectedly in a rush of white-hot pleasure before he can stop it. His cock jerks until viscous streaks of white paint your chest, and it makes everything sticky and sloppy, sending a weak burst of liquid pleasure rushing up his spine before he slumps against the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

↬ GETO

He loves it when you’re like this. Soft and pliant beneath him, eyelashes spiked with tears.

He doesn’t know where to look—can’t decide between the smattering of possessive marks littering the inside of your thighs or the ones that travel across your chest. 

A decision easily made for him when he presses the tip of his sensitive cock back into your fluttering cunt, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts bounce with every one of his harsh, desperate thrusts. His thumb smooths over a peaked nipple—bitten raw and pinched tight—and he curses under his breath at the feel of you clenching on him like a vice.

You tell him how good he feels under a hitched breath, and his chest tightens because he can’t remember the last time someone used an adjective like that to describe him. Good. It’s weird how such a simple word can make Geto’s head spin and make him feel like anything other than the man he is outside your bed.

He ducks his head down to suck another little bruise right above your nipple, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, knowing that he’ll be the only one that’ll know it exists. 

“Prettiest fucking girl I know,” he breathes harshly, already close. “I wish you could see how perfect you look.”

Geto slips his fingers between you, playing over the tiny, sensitive bud at the peak of your thighs.

“Oh.” A soft sigh.

“Maybe I should take a picture, huh? Would you let me? So I can look at you like this,” —he thrusts deep, making sure you’ll be able to feel him afterward— “all damn day, every fucking day.”

And like a tightrope snapping loose, you fall apart around him, practically choking his cock, and he fills up your cunt for the second time that night.

↬ SUKUNA

You're cleaning the apartment you share with your step-brother until it's spotless because the guy you’ve kind of had a crush on since the start of the semester is coming over today to study, and the butterflies in your belly tell you today is the day he’s finally going to ask you out. 

What you don’t anticipate—between throwing away Sukuna’s collection of energy drinks on the coffee table and doing a load of laundry—is the possibility of getting stuck in the too-small dryer while reaching for a sock or that your brother would be the one to find you bent over with your shorts riding up your legs.

You suppress a groan at the sound of Sukuna's patronizing voice behind you. "What do we have here?"

"Don't just stand there, idiot," you hiss. "Help me."

He chuckles in that mean, condescending way that always sets your teeth on edge. "You're really bossy for someone with their ass hanging out of a dryer. Maybe I should leave you here and wait for Mick—”

“His name’s Mitch—”

“—to find you."

"No!" you say almost too loudly, wincing as your voice echoes around the dryer. With a small sigh, your head hanging, you add, "Please help me."

"That's better." 

It's quiet for a moment, and you start fidgeting again to free yourself until you feel a pair of large hands palming your hips, and you can't stop the squeak that escapes the back of your throat—not expecting the terrible-hot-wrongness of it to feel so good.

A feeling stirs in your belly that you’d tucked away long ago, and only returning to under the safety of the baby blue twinkle string lights in your room—hand in your sleep shorts and teeth digging an imprint into the palm of your hand to hold back the name you only chant in your head.

“You’re s-supposed to be helping,” your voice wavers, dizzy with what’s transpiring in that cramped laundry room.

He huffs a soft laugh behind you, pressing a kiss to the base of your spine where your shirt rode up. “Give me a minute.”

It's embarrassing when you feel wetness pooling in the seat of your underwear, heat rushing from the roots of your hair and down to your toes when his hands travel over the swell of your ass in your tiny shorts. 

You're almost compelled to tell him you’ll get out on your own because it’s the right thing to do—to put a stop to something that shouldn’t happen except in cheap porn. Then his hand comes down against your backside, hard, and every single thought in your head scrambles like an egg on hot pavement.

You whimper, the force of his slap jolting you further into the dryer, sweaty hands scrambling against the metal walls to keep your face from crashing into it.

"Fuck, I've always wanted to do that,” he breathes before tugging the crotch of your shorts and panties out of the way, and you feel something wet and slick drip against your cunt. "Maybe I'll just keep you here for a bit. What do you say, sis?"

His thumb runs along your slit and presses inside you.

“Ah. W-wai—”

“Shh. Just—fuck, so fucking tight—just let me enjoy this pussy, huh?” And quieter, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You shiver and swallow around the words threatening to escape: me, too.

[lycandrophile]

i clicked on the original tweet just to see if anyone else felt as weird about it as i did because at this point i’m just tired of seeing people going on and on about trans men dating cishet men who try to convince them not to transition as if it’s a funny joke about a trans man doing something silly and not a manipulative and generally very unhealthy relationship dynamic that can hurt the trans man involved really deeply (as forcing someone back into the closet tends to do.)

did i find anyone else feeling that way? no. there were a few people pointing out that it was weird in general, and plenty saying it’s a weird thing to say about a cis woman, but nothing expressing any sort of concern about the tired stereotype it’s perpetuating.

but you know what i did find? replies like the one in the second screenshot, using the tweet as their chance to tell the world how much they hate trans men and how repulsive they find the idea of ever being compared to us. and replies like the third one, shaming trans men in relationships like that as if the fact that they’ve found themselves in an unhealthy relationship makes them deserving of public shaming, as if their relationship is hurting anyone other than them.

stereotypes like this just feel like yet another way of indirectly calling us stupid little girls who don’t know what’s good for us, and the fact that a picture of a woman is being used (even jokingly!) as an example of what trans men “like that” look like should make the implications of rhetoric like this all the more obvious.

it’s relationships like these that keep us miserable in the closet for so long and drive up our sexual assault rates even more. they’re not funny and if anyone is going to be making jokes about them, it certainly shouldn’t be people who have never been in that situation. if you actually cared about us you’d be looking for ways to support the trans men you know who are in relationships like that instead of hopping on twitter to joke about how stupid they must be.

i don’t care if it’s a joke. if it victim blames trans men for the transphobia we face in our personal relationships, adds to the common idea that we can’t be trusted to make decisions about our own lives, and invites even more blatant transphobia against us by people who unabashedly admit they see all trans men as “disgusting and phony”, it’s not fucking funny.

(i also want to note that the people making these jokes never like to mention that this also happens to trans men in relationships with queer women. they also hate those trans men, of course, and are happy to express that when they get into fights about trans men who date lesbians, but they’ll never talk about it in the context of this particular stereotype. it’s always a man being manipulative in a relationship and pressuring trans men to not transition, as if a woman would never be capable of such a thing.

they also like to conveniently ignore the existence of older trans men who transitioned after already being in a committed relationship with a cishet man and were able to make that relationship work despite their transition, because acknowledging that would require recognizing that trans men can be in seemingly contradictory relationships and genuinely be happy with their partner. who needs nuance when you can simply choose to judge all trans men for our relationships regardless of what they’re actually like?)

do you think they also would call me “a trans man being purposefully misgendered” with this kind of vitriol because i’m still living with parents who don’t recognize my gender instead of moving out before i’m ready to be financially independent? at this point, i’m starting to feel like they might, with the way every decision a trans man ever makes is the subject of a public debate and people have decided that trans men are secretly using being misgendered as a weapon to somehow hurt other trans people.

as a general rule, i’d say the only people who should be making “X looks like a trans man” jokes about literally anyone/anything are trans men, and posts like this show exactly why those jokes being made by anyone else (even by other trans people) just isn’t a good idea.

[milkloafy]

SILENT BUT RECKLESS — TODOROKI SHOUTO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which pro hero!shouto saves you from getting run over by a car and finds himself immediately enraptured by you.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: pro hero!shouto, fluff, gn!reader ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.3k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: aka…pro hero!shouto is a pr nightmare and no u cannot convince me otherwise ! ahdjskc but frl this is so unserious but i miss the og anime loml so here we are :>

Shouto wasn’t exactly known for his talkative nature. 

It was quite the opposite, in fact, with news agencies and magazines often referring to him as the quiet one of the Big Three. Though, he supposed that was better than being known as the one with the family trauma. 

But people often mistook his silence for thoughtfulness, he realized. Or an intense observation of sorts. And while at times that was the case, most times, it was simply because he didn’t have anything to say. 

Shouto blinked as he realized the situation he was in. 

He had just stopped a villain from robbing a luxury clothing store for the third time this month, nothing too exciting, yet the journalists showed up each time for an interview with him after. 

“Sir, we are live,” the reporter reminded with a nervous laugh. “We asked if you had a message for any…”

She kept talking, but Shouto was unable to concentrate. Not because he had heard it millions of times before, but because he noticed a strange movement from the corner of his eyes. 

This was one of the times he was both silent and observant. 

Shouto spotted you crossing the street on your phone, staring at your screen and completely oblivious that a car was headed your way with little to no sign of stopping. 

Without thinking of how it would look to the public for him to ditch an interview mid-sentence, he ran over to you before he even processed his legs moving. Throwing his right arm out in front of him, he sent a wall of ice up to block the vehicle’s predicted path, reaching you just in time to sweep you off your feet and carry you away from the road as the ice began to shatter from the impact. 

The ice wall was thick enough that the car slowed before fully breaking through, but that didn’t stop Shouto from instinctively shielding you with his body in the event that ice shards propelled towards you. 

Once he heard the sound of a crash and alarms, he figured the vehicle was fully stopped and the authorities arrived to assess the situation themselves. Would he get scolded by his agency for putting up an ice wall and potentially damaging someone’s vehicle? It was likely so. But that was better than someone actually getting hit by a car instead. 

The world wanted heroes, but only when they fit into their ideal mold. And while rules and regulations helped keep order in the world, in moments like these when someone’s life was in danger, Shouto couldn’t be bothered to care.

Slowly, his body relaxed and he was able to finally take a look at you. At the person who, for some reason, was so focused on their phone they didn’t notice a car coming at them. 

Any criticisms that threatened to come out of his lips stayed there once he got a good look at your features. He found himself taken aback by how beautiful you looked, though he quickly cleared his throat and recovered from his blatant staring. 

“Be careful when you’re crossing the street,” said Shouto, walking over to a section of grass and away from the commotion that was happening on the road, with you still in his arms. “What was keeping you so occupied?” 

You looked up at him guiltily, your phone clutched between your hands. “I was trying to order my food…” 

He blinked. As a pro hero, he shouldn’t be one the judge victims. But he couldn’t help but raise his brow just a bit. 

“I was really hungry,” you said sheepishly, hiding your face in embarrassment. “But I can’t believe I was so focused on my order I didn’t realize the car wasn’t stopping!” You sighed to yourself before meeting Shouto’s eyes once more. “Thank you for saving me, Shouto. I’m sure you had much more pressing matters to attend to instead of saving some random person off the street.”

He shook his head. “That’s the most important part of the job. Saving people.” 

You smiled gratefully at him and he almost had to look away from your dazzling grin. “Well, thank you for saving this idiotic person right here.” You gestured towards yourself. “Still, I hope my order went through…”

A mixture between a snort and a laugh escaped his lips. You had almost gotten run over and your biggest concern was whether or not your dinner was on its way? 

“It’s didn’t!” you cried in exasperation as you peeked at your phone. “Well, I might as well get a convenience store meal at this point.” Sighing, you leaned your head against his chest for a brief moment of comfort. “By the way, you can set me down now. I think people are taking pictures of us.” 

“Oh,” said Shouto, “right.”

Carefully, he loosened his hold on you and set your feet carefully onto the floor. Before fully letting go of you, he made sure you were stable and steady. For some, it took a while for the events to process and the panic to settle in, and he wanted to ensure you were truly okay. 

You had a worried look on your face as you noticed the video cameras still focused on the two of you. 

“Will you get in trouble for this?” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. 

“For rescuing someone from a getting hit by a car and talking to them after?” He considered things for a moment. “Most likely. But it’s okay. The most important thing is you are safe, both physically and mentally.”

Giggling, you nodded, reaching up to pat him on top of his head. Shouto was startled by the sudden touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“Who knew Shouto was such a worrywart,” you teased. “I’m safe and unharmed, all thanks to you. In fact, to show my gratitude… Why don’t I treat you to some convenience store dinner? On me, of course!” 

Shouto was silent for a bit. There were plenty of things he should be thinking about right now. The headlines that would be made about Pro Hero Shouto saving someone and then going on a “date” with them right after. The damage it could do to his reputation. The overtime hours the agency would make his public relations team work.

Instead, his silence was used to think of what he exactly he wanted to get at the convenience store. 

“Okay,” Shouto said once he made up his mind. “I’ll take a curry bun.” 

You laughed and gestured for him to follow you to the nearest convenience store. “I like that, too. You have good taste.” 

He followed along beside you, pleased with himself when he heard your captivating laugh. 

“I think I want an egg sandwich tonight,” you stated, a thoughtful look on your face. “Or maybe some fried chicken. Or an egg sandwich and fried chicken? And a smoothie for a drink and dessert all in one item! But maybe I want a crepe instead…”

As you rambled on, Shouto suddenly understood how you were too engrossed with trying to order food on your phone that you didn’t realize a vehicle was approaching you earlier. And while that was dangerous, he found it slightly endearing. Just as long as you were away from any cars. 

Shouto was so focused on listening to you that he hardly paid attention to the look of shock on the reporters’ faces and the influx of calls he was receiving from his agency. 

Right now, he simply wanted to hear you talk more and eat a curry bun. 

The rest, he could deal with later. 

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 2

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this is sprinkled with angst and fluff

part 1

...

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

...

Part 3

[lunarsilver]

What are their kinks?

18+, minors do not interact

A tarot reading regarding your (sexual) partner - your current one (asking about their permission would be in good taste), or next one, or the most important one, or your future spouse... Whatever you prefer.

Pictures are from Perfect Blue.

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2

3 ~ 4

PILE 1

The Hanged Man R - Knight of Wands - Five of Swords - Back of the Deck: Ten of Cups R

What popped in my mind when looking at the Hanged Man in reverse is that your person may like light bondage and/or pleasant to the touch fabrics. Some sensual undergarments, maybe. Moreover, the character on the card in this position brings a person having an orgasm to my mind, with their head thrown back and the general body position, which makes me think your person may like to look at their partner when they climax. I also feel like they may like to be in control; they don’t enjoy “hanging down”, doing nothing, being passive. When it comes to Knight of Wands, the meaning is pretty clear. They love experimenting. They most likely have high libido and treat sex like an adventure. Next, when I looked at Five of Wands, it came to my mind they can be into people crying, like when someone cries a little from overstimulation, for example (the card shows an eye, and it looks like a teardrop runs from it). They may also be into SM or makeup sex, as the card is often about disagreement, conflicts, winning at all costs, or defeat. For some, they may be even into CNC, though this obviously is a pretty specific kink. Lastly, there is a bottle of vodka on the Ten of Cups card (in this position of the card it is turned upside down, as if something was about to be poured from it), so they can like going at it while drunk. The card may suggest your person finds non-traditional relationships appealing. For some, the card is about how this person is into these different things I mentioned but doesn’t really act on it. As a last note, I think that for quite a lot of you, this is ONS or FWB. There’s also a chance your person can be kinda self-centered when it comes to sex. That won’t be the case for everyone, obviously, but I’m writing it down. Overall, this person looks like someone who likes having fun with sex and experimenting, and most likely is rather dominant.

PILE 2

The Devil R - The Empress - Knave of Wands - Back of the Deck: The Magician

So many Major Arcana, as well as many female/feminine-presenting characters. It makes me think that, first, they fantasize about this wonderful, life-changing sex, and second, they either are very into femininity or like to lean into it themselves. I also feel like I have a lot of queer people here, especially sapphics. And if they aren’t a woman, your person still either presents feminine (and they do so out of their own choice, as a form of expression) or they wish they could. Cross-dressing may be a kink of some here, I think. There is at least one guy here (bonus points if cis and straight) who would love to be called a princess or a babygirl lol. I don’t know, I get pretty light, positive, maybe even a little playful vibes from this pile. Like, there are some himbos here, or people who hope for something good, and there’s something pure about the way they see the world. But okay, let’s stay on topic! This person of yours for sure wants to release limiting beliefs and rules, they want to experiment with sex and have fun, the Devil in reverse says it all. The Empress is all about feeling powerful in one’s femininity, and it’s either about them wanting to feel like a princess or queen or about having a partner like this. Your person is a Knave of Wands, looking with a smile into the future, free-spirited and having so many ideas they aren’t sure where to start. The Magician at the back says they manifest all this and are ready to try the whole new world that opens up to them. For most of you, this person isn’t really experienced, or maybe they were always vanilla until recently. Your person here isn’t as dirty as some other piles, they’re most likely still in the phase of finding out what exactly they like, but oh, they’ll have fun with it.

PILE 3

The Fool - The Lovers R - Queen of Pentacles R - Back of the Deck: Nine of Wands

The Fool in this deck is so flamboyant that I instantly thought “Someone’s into twinks” lol. The Fool in the card winks, looks as if he were sending a kiss to the viewer, and dances confidently, proud of his body. The Fool is the card of new beginnings, of having the power of freedom to experience the world. The Lovers in reverse look to me like people hugging and cuddling while lying on the ground, on grass. Actually, all the cards show some place outside (aside from one card, which has a one-color background), and especially with the way The Lovers look here for me, I think your person may like the idea of outdoor sex. Moreover, because the card is reversed, your person may fantasize about having many suitors and having the ability to choose - or to not choose at all. The card also suggests imbalance, so your person can be into sexual power dynamics where one person is stronger than the other - so some BDSM dynamics, or some other role play. Moving on, we have the reversed Queen of Pentacles. The card presents a woman with long, glorious hair in bold but sensual attire. Actually, with the way The Fool and Queen of Pentacles look in this deck, I believe your person may find it hot when someone has revealing clothing or some nice undergarments. I think it’s sexy for them when not everything is visible or visible well, they find it tempting and alluring. With the reversed Queen of Pentacles, I think they are into independent people who know their value. Nine of Wands suggest they want to do it long. They also want something to be left after the experience: either just fatigue, or bite marks, or bruises, or red traces (think slapping someone’s ass, either with a hand or a toy, like a paddle). And now that I think about it, for quite many of you this is about a (sexual) relationship they would like. The reversed Lovers in the center describes the power-dynamic, and The Fool and the reversed Queen of Pentacles show what kind of lovers we talk about. There’s this Queen of Pentacles who has seen some shit, and despite that, or maybe especially because of that, they find something very alluring about the Fool being an enthusiastic, confident novice. The character of Queen of Pentacles actually looks older than The Fool. Your person may like age-gaps, or like to call someone/be called “mommy” (other variants of the name, based on the gender of people involved, are also possible, of course, “mommy” simply is the strongest here). Think about which description you fit more (either in life or just in bed) - The Fool or the reversed Queen of Pentacles. Your person is the other one.

PILE 4

The World - Nine of Swords - Four of Cups - Back of the Deck: King of Wands

The World is pretty straightforward here - they fantasize about this perfect sex, which is an almost spiritual experience; one that brings the feeling of completion, of being happy. For some reason I also think about this kind of sex where you extend the experience, having long, calm pleasure (like a person with vulva sitting on the dick of another person and just squeezing and relaxing their muscles, maybe sometimes moving a few times, just to keep it hard - that’s just an example, of course). Tantric sex. Next, with these Nine of Swords, I think your person likes the idea of someone dreaming about them or not being able to sleep because they think about them (maybe because they’re touching while thinking about your person), they find it hot. Your person may really love the idea of someone finding them so attractive, they get anxious or shy about it. The image also shows handcuffs, so maybe your person is into that. This card in the deck I used for the reading looks happier and more peaceful than its most traditional imagery, and when I look at it, I’m thinking about some romantic gestures like giving flowers. Color-wise, this card and The World both are pink and purple, and have this peaceful vibe about them. It kinda looks like the person portrayed in Nine of Swords dreams about this fantastic sex life, but they’re just lying alone in their bed. On the back we have King of Wands, which represents a passionate lover, and a good one at that. Not just good. Exceptional. For some of you, this is who your person aspires to be, but I think that for more of you, your person fantasizes about someone like this. Your person gives me the vibe of someone who dreams big; they’re into these romantic, maybe a little obsessive scenarios. Of course, it is still just a scenario they like to think about, it doesn’t mean they want to actually be with someone obsessive. Overall, I think that for most of you, this person is more on the submissive side, and they like all these classic scenarios from romance/romantasy/smut books or fics. Another thing for most of you which I see, is that your person probably doesn't have a lot of experience, but they definitely think about sex and romance, and hope for a chance to experience them.

[softbeej]

Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)

Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.

Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?

No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.

So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.

“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”

Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.

Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.

You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.

“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”

His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.

“Well, deary?”

You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.

“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”

Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.

“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”

“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”

He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.

“You know what, I should go-“

Slam. His shadow had closed the door.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”

Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.

“I was bored. Missed you.”

“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”

You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”

“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.

Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.

You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.

"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."

Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.

You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."

"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"

Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.

There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.

“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.

He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"

His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.

"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.

“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”

Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”

The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.

“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”

You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.

“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”

You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”

Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.

“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.

So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.

“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”

You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.

He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.

“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.

“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”

“I have, I think...?”

“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.

As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.

[lilacs-stars]

moon + tides

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) SUMMARY: you, ariel's daughter, find yourself in a strange relationship with the one and only infamous pirate captain, who's absolutely obsessed with you GENRE: yandere, a bit of angst, some comforting fluff here and there, especially at the end CW: a few mentions of violence, someone walking a plank, mentions of drowning, some suggestive material, nothing too graphic though WC: 4.2k

A/N: this req was really fun to write! I might have gotten a bit carried away, heh...this part includes the backstory of how you two got together and the first part of the req, and the second part will include the rest of it. hope you guys enjoy reading this cause I definitely put some hard work into it lol. also please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd really like to know your thoughts!

If you could go back, would you change what happened?

This is something that you often ask yourself. 

You think about that fateful day frequently. It was the summer before your first year at Merlin Academy. You had finally convinced your parents, the famed mermaid Ariel and her Prince Eric, to let you go for a swim unsupervised. Being half-mermaid, half-human allowed you to transform back and forth at will. And although life on land was pretty good, your heart always ached to go back to the sea, to feel the cold, salty water as it engulfs you. To race along the reefs, tail swishing back and forth, allowing you to reach speeds far past what your human form can do. To leisurely swim amongst the many species of fish and plants that created the world of the ocean. To go back home.

Your parents had already gone over the rules with you hundreds of time, to the point where you could recite each one of them word for word: “Don’t go past the boundaries,” “Don’t approach any animals you don’t know,” “Don’t go so deep where you can’t see any light,” “Come out at the first sign of bad weather,” and, most importantly, “Do not, under any circumstances, interact with any humans.”

Your mother may be renowned for rescuing a stranger from the unrelenting grasps of the sea—if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t even be here right now—but that was a very rare case. Far more often than not, mermaid interactions with humans out on the waters ended up in the mermaid being tortured, held hostage, or even killed.

You knew the rules by heart, and yet, maybe it was because of your young age, you still broke them. You weren’t really aware of your actions in the moment; one second, you were swimming alongside a pod of dolphins, racing against the currents. The next, you heard loud voices and realized that almost directly above you, yet still a good few dozen meters away, was some sort of ship.

You had ducked down next to a big sponge, peering up apprehensively. It was at that moment you realized that you were far outside of the boundaries set for you by your parents. You should have turned back, should have swam back home, but there was something about the ship, something that intrigued you so much it forced you to stay in place.

A few moments passed, and seeing as there was no commotion, you let your curiosity get the better of you. After all, that ship shouldn’t even have been out there. Slowly, you crept closer and closer to the surface, making sure to remain in the shadows. The noises were becoming clearer; you could make out people’s voices now. But they still weren’t sharp enough for you to understand what they were saying.

Finally, you took the risk and poked your head out of the water near the rear of the ship. The sight before you elicited a sharp gasp, and made you wish you had just gone back when you still had the chance. 

Extended from the side of the ship was a long, wooden plank. Standing on one side of it (the safe end), was a man, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. He looked to be no older than forty, with a scraggly beard and ripped clothes.

A pirate.

Another figure emerged, walking to the edge of the deck. Your reflexes caused you to duck down quickly, so only your eyes were barely above the water. This figure was much younger, with dark brown hair parted neatly and angular features twisted into a wicked smile. He donned a maroon blazer that covered a white shirt with an upturned collar. Something in his left hand shined brilliantly under the sun’s bright rays.

The younger figure laughed, but not in the way one would laugh at a funny joke. He unsheathed a cutlass from his side, using it to poke the back of the man on the plank. 

“You see, Mr. Jones? This is what happens when you cross the most feared pirate captain in all the lands!” the young figure roared as he yanked off the older man’s blindfold, revealing to him his fate. The fear and panic that spread across the man’s face has been forever etched into your mind, even to this day.

You heard the man beg and plea for mercy, watched as every move he made caused the plank to sway even more violently. The pirate captain simply laughed, his crew along with him. Finally, when you suppose he tired of hearing the man grovel, you watched in terror as the captain gave the man a good kick in the back, finally sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, it was like the world was spinning in slow motion. The man plummeting off the wooden platform, falling, falling, falling. His screams muffled by the cloth around his mouth. Then, all too soon, he made contact with the water with a loud splash. 

He sank quickly, devoured by the ocean’s waters within the blink of an eye. Your young, distraught face watched as a few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing. All that remained of the man’s existence, all there was to give proof that he had ever even been there, were a few ripples in the water.

That was it.

You were frozen in shock. How–what–why? Your brain could barely string together a comprehensive sentence. All you were sure of was the feeling inside you. You couldn’t quite put it into words, could barely even understand it. But it made your tail ache to move, made you feel as if you simply couldn’t stay in one place any longer.

You dove beneath the surface, frantically swimming towards the direction where you saw the man go under. You kept looking around, searching, but to no avail. You decided to dive deeper, swimming lower and lower until the water around you was near pitch-black. You were growing more and more panicked by the second, because every second you wasted was another second the man grew closer to death.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hope flaring, you darted towards it, the figure becoming clearer the closer you got.

It was him.

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to prevent him from sinking farther. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t breathing, but you could still hear a heartbeat. There was still time left.

Wrapping your arms around him, you started the difficult journey back to land. Thankfully, you knew of a small island not too far from here. Swimming with the added weight of a fully grown man was incredibly difficult, especially for a young mermaid, but you persisted. After all, this was his life on the line.

You swam as hard as fast as you could, and thankfully, by some blessing from the heavens, found a warm water current going the direction you were. You let it carry you, the rushing stream multiplying your efforts. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple of minutes, you reached the island.

Letting the wave wash you up on shore, you settled the man down on the soft sand the first chance you got. You rolled him to his front, which was quite the endeavor itself. His heartbeat had grown more shallow, but it was still there. There was still hope.

Using the skills your mother had taught you, you started to nurse the man back to health using your melodic voice. Ever since you were young, she had explained to you the gift bestowed upon mermaids, the power of healing through song. She taught you to sing before you could walk, and it was the one thing that you were sure you could do right.

As you sang your strange and melodious tune, it finally occurred to you that you were breaking the most sacred of rules. Not only were you interacting with a stranger, you were coaxing him back to life. Like mother, like daughter, you thought. I suppose healing strangers who were drowning at sea runs in my blood.

The only caveat to your healing powers is that it takes quite some time to have its full effects. You don’t know how long you sat on the beach, but it had been quite some time. You probably would have been there for much longer had it not been for the boom voice that sounded behind you, waking you from your trance of song.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t a mermaid.”

You practically jumped out of your fins as you turned around, startled beyond words. There, towering above you, was the evil pirate captain you saw earlier. He was even younger than you had previously thought. In fact, he couldn’t be much older than you. You wondered for a fleeting moment how a kid like that could command an entire ship full of grown—and scary-looking—men, but decided you have bigger matters at hand to worry about.

A few members of his crew lurked behind the captain, and you could see a small lifeboat docked to the ground near the coastline. Further beyond that, his ship swayed in the ocean waves, dark against the bright horizon.

You followed the pirate’s gaze down to your tail, which was still out. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting to transform back into your human form, being too distracted by saving the man to pay attention to your own safety.

You wanted to yell at the cruel pirate for trying to kill this man. No matter who he was, what he had done, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not like that. But the words got caught in your throat, so while a war raged inside your mind, you were completely quiet on the outside, simply staring up at the man with wide doe eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said, with a tone that you wouldn’t quite imagine a killer using. He must have overheard me sing earlier, you thought to yourself. “Tell me, little mermaid, who taught you to sing?”

“M-my mother,” you replied weakly, your voice far more meager and small than you wanted it to be. You were still staring up at him, afraid of what he’d do to you.

“Your mother? Well, that’s quite interesting.” The captain raised his left hand to scratch at his chin, which is when you realized that it wasn’t a hand at all. Instead of a hand was a curved metal hook, with a sharp point gleaming at the end. So that must be the shiny thing I saw earlier, you thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” laughed the pirate abruptly. “My name is Captain James Hook, leader of the Jolly Roger. And you are?”

You blinked, almost forgetting your own name. If it were a less tense moment than this, you would have laughed at the fact that his name is rather befitting for him. “Y/N,” you respond.

“Y/N…Now, where have I heard that name before?” He tapped his chin with his hook again.

“Sir, that’s the name of Princess Ariel’s daughter,” one of the big, meaty pirates behind him answered in a gruff voice.

“That’s right!” Hook exclaimed. “You’re the mermaid’s daughter. You know, rumor has it you’ll be joining me at Merlin’s Academy in the fall, is that right?”

For some reason, your voice seemed to not work anymore, so you settled for nodding. Join him? you pondered. You didn’t know that he was also a student at the school you were planning to attend.

Hook started pacing along the beach, arms crossed with his hooked hand extended, deep in thought. You watched him, fear growing by the second. A sly smirk spread across his face, which only served to fuel the flames of your worry. 

“You know, you directly defied my command by saving that man,” he started. Slowly. Deliberately. Choosing every word precisely and carefully, like a shark circling its prey. “Do you even know why I made him walk the plank?” You shook your head no, the panic in you reaching record heights.

“That man”—he vaguely gestures towards the unconscious body laying on the beach with his hook—“stole an entire week’s worth of rations from my ship. An entire week’s worth of food and rum for an entire crew. Had he gotten away with it, we likely would have starved to death out at sea. Does he seem so innocent now, little mermaid? So worth saving?”

Again, you shook your head no. Although you agreed he definitely wasn’t an innocent man, you still didn’t see making him walk the plank a justifiable punishment. Despite your thoughts, you kept your mouth shut. Angering the captain further was not going to do you any good.

“Now, if anyone else had done something like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head right off,” Hook said menacingly, and with a swish, unsheathed his sword once again. You flinched—hard—and scrambled to back away from him. 

Hook took note of this, and, sheathing his sword, crouched down to get on the same level as you. “But don’t worry, little mermaid. I won’t hurt you. You see, you’ve piqued my interest. Plus, it would do me no favors to have a little girl’s blood on my hands.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. So he’s not going to kill me, right?

“But, alas, you can’t leave unpunished, now, can you?” he added. Your eyes grew impossibly wider, your entire body shaking in fear. This was it. He was going to kill you, or do something equally worse.

“I demand”—you already felt a tear slip down your cheek—“that you write to me for the remainder of the summer.”

Wait, what?

“W-write?” you asked in disbelief. “As in…”

“Letters,” Hook finished for you. “Write me letters. I’ll give you the mailing address of the Jolly Roger. Write me everyday, and I’ll promise I’ll write you back whenever we dock. How does that sound?”

“O-okay,” you reply, still taken aback by the peculiar, and far more lenient than you’d expected, request. That was all you had to do? Write letters? As punishment for saving the life of someone he’d ordered to die? You must be dreaming.

“Oh, and,” Hook said, voice lowered as he leaned in close to you, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his alluring scent of salty winds and something richer, deeper, filling your lungs. “I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Don’t forget me, my little mermaid.”

With that, he stood up, smoothing out the lines on his pants. “You wouldn’t happen to need a ride back home, would you, love?”

You shook your head no, too terrified of him changing his mind to spend another moment in his presence. You glanced back at the man lying behind you, still unconscious. “W-what about him? What will you do with him?” you managed to choke out, somehow finding your voice again.

Hook pondered this for a long minute, before finally answering, “He can live.” You let out a shaky breath. “But only because of you, little mermaid. And only this time. You go against my wishes again, and trust me, your punishment will be far more severe.”

And with that, he went back to his ship and sailed away.

You still muse about that day, thinking how different things would have been if you had changed just one little thing.

You kept your promise of writing him letters, too afraid to know what would happen when you had to inevitably face him in the fall to break it. At first, they started out simple. Ordinary recounts of your day, your favorite things, what you liked to do. As the weeks passed, you started writing more personal letters. How you felt about certain things or certain people, including your parents. You never spoke a word of that fateful day to them, knowing that you’d be grounded for life and forbidden from swimming ever again if they caught even a whiff of the danger you had put yourself in. 

Hook kept his promise, too. He wrote you back, although it was far less frequent than your letters. Even though he kept his responses short and concise, you always ended up hearing his voice in your head as you read his notes. You soon found yourself checking your mailbox daily, even getting to know the mailman rather well. The rush of dopamine you got every time you opened it to find a letter awaiting you was unmatched; you would always run upstairs to your room, lock the door, and pour over the note. Reading every line, every word over and over again, committing them to memory. 

You don’t know why you enjoyed these little letters so much. Maybe it was the thrill of having a secret that no one else knew of, or the absence of your usual loneliness every time you were reminded that somewhere out there, across the seas, was someone awaiting your letters, reading them, and writing back to you. Whatever it was, your heart started to form an emotional attachment to him without you even realizing it. 

Unbeknownst to you, that had been his exact plan all along.

It’s safe to say that once you started school at Merlin Academy, Hook’s—or James’s, as he insisted on you calling him—grip on you only grew. Things started out pretty normal: light conversations in class and stolen looks exchanged across the hall, mostly initiated by him. After the first few weeks passed, things between you two only grew. Secret meetings during lunch hours, rendezvous after school, and small gifts exchanged between the two of you. From there, it became brushing your hands together whenever you passed by each other, soft pecks on the cheek or forehead where there were prying eyes, and more passionate kisses when the two of you finally found time to be alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really know what you two are now. Normally, you would consider two people that partake in such actions to be courting, and you kind of assume you are. But James has never said anything about a relationship to you, and in all honesty, you’re too afraid to ask him. You feel terribly confused at his intentions towards you; on the one hand, he approaches you every day without fail, even if you try to ignore him or when your schedules don’t match up. Somehow, he always finds a way. On the other hand, he never asked you to be his lover, never even vaguely mentioned anything of the sorts. So, you decided, with a heavy heart, to not be too confident and consider yourself his partner. And unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t yours, either.

Really, you never meant to grow so involved with the bastard pirate that threatened to kill you on the beach that day. But for some strange reason, instead of treating you coldly like he did everyone else, especially the other hero kids, he was softer with you. Considerate, even. You had half-expected him to want nothing to do with you after your first few interactions, but he kept seeking you out. You often opened your locker to a note inside, or entered your dorm to find a letter slipped beneath the door.

Today was one of those days. You had gotten a note telling you to wait for him in your usual place in the evening, after classes. So here you are, waiting, staring at the water fountain in the courtyard. You’ve always been transfixed by the way the water spurts out the center and splashes all around. It seems that whenever you’re alone with your thoughts, they always end up back to that fateful day you met James, and everything that’s happened since.

“Wait for me long, my little mermaid?” a deep voice whispers in your ear from behind. You jump only a little, far more used to James sneaking up on you now than you used to be. For some reason, it seems he loves to startle you by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close from behind, or speaking softly in your ear.

You twirl around, a delighted expression on your face, although you try to mask it with a feigned annoyance. “And if I say I did?”

“Well then, I’d have to find a way to make it up to you then, wouldn’t I, darling?” he purrs, using his hook to spin you around in his arms so you’re face-to-face. His lips make his way to yours, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to yours, not able to get enough of his touch. 

The feeling of his skin against yours ignites something in you, and you find your mouth opening to give him more access as a soft whimper escapes your lips. One hand reaches into his hair, tugging at it gently from the base of his head, while the other one trails down the front of his shirt.

James leans into you even further, your bodies flush against each other now, as he deepens the kiss. You find yourself leaning against the edge of the water fountain, the cool sprinkles providing a welcomed contrast to your heating-up bodies.

Once you’ve completely lost your breath, you pull away just slightly, a love-drunk smile on your face. “You had a request for me?” you whisper, panting, eyes full of adoration for the man you were interlocked with. 

James breaks into a grin. A genuine one, not one of the smirks he flashes to uphold his patented suave demeanor. “Ah, yes, how could I forget, my love?”

He pulls further away to give you two enough room to breathe, yet keeping his good hand on the small of your back. “I was reminded today that it's been quite some time since I’ve heard your voice, my little mermaid.”

You give a little smile, deciding to mess with him a bit. “Whatever do you mean? You hear my voice every day. I mean, you’re even hearing it right now.”

James cocks his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, clearly aware of your antics. “Your other voice, love.”

You giggle. “Fine, all right. Only for you,” you say, giving him a peck on the nose. 

You sit down on the ledge of the fountain, turning back to stare at the water again. Although it has been a long time since you stretched your tail and went for a swim, simply seeing the rushing water soothes you. It isn’t quite like being immersed in it, but it still gives you some semblance of comfort. 

You reach into the pool at the bottom, letting the cool water rush along your fingertips as you inhale a deep breath. Through your mermaid abilities, your voice twists into an otherworldly song, filling the space with a mellifluous sound. 

James takes a place on the ledge next to you, reaching into the water to hold your submerged hand. You don’t really feel it, too transfixed on the rushing waves. You don’t see the way James gazes at you, like you’re his entire world. The softness, the tenderness in his eyes, which he reserves for you only. He looks at you not as if you’re his sun, something too bright to ever stare directly at, something violent and explosive and harmful, but as if you’re his moon. 

As if you’re the figure he watches every night before he closes his eyes, and the one he wishes to see again when he wakes up. As if you’re the only thing he notices every time the darkness envelops him, your presence never falling off the pedestal he places it on in his mind. Never losing its worth. He looks at you, your soft glow and mesmerizing shimmer, as if you’re the only thing filling up the night sky. The stars and constellations pale in comparison to you, especially on your best nights, when you shine so magnificently. 

You are the moon, and he is the tide of the ocean, constantly being pulled in by you. Never being able to escape the grasp you have on him, the grasp you are so blissfully unaware of. He stares at you in awe and wonder, bathing in your gorgeous light, so close yet always so far away. Sitting all alone against the dark backdrop of the evening sky, waiting for him to come back to you. And without reason, you always disappear. Always leaving him wanting more, waiting till the moment he can bathe in your presence again. 

As you sing, the tide gets pulled in by the gravity of the moon. Your lyrical voice bounces off the stone walls, surrounding you both, just as the moonlight surrounds the waves on that mystical night. 

But the moonlight is only a reflection of the sun’s glow, is it not? When daylight comes, the moon will pull away from the waves, its absence in the sky all but forgotten in the sun’s presence. And as dawn breaks, so too will the pull between the moon and ocean. 

on to part 2! ->

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[theboywithburninghands]

Some of the themes I’ve noticed playing FromSoft Games

Dark Souls: The end of one thing is always the beginning of something else. History is always more complicated than what we initially believed. You should always think carefully about what people in power tell you, because they most likely don’t have your best intentions in mind.

Dark Souls 2: Everyone is special, but only for a short period of time, because entropy is inevitable. Memories are important, treasure them and preserve them before you can’t remember them anymore. People who do bad things are often scared and hurt.

Dark Souls 3: Sometimes it’s better to let things end rather than drag them out until they’re exhausted. When times are tough, that’s when you should be most vigilant for bad influences. Having a purpose doesn’t always mean changing the world.

Bloodborne: There are some things we don’t or can’t understand, and it’s better to just let them alone. There are good, moral people in rotten institutions. Morality often can’t keep up with progress until disaster strikes.

Sekiro: Having morals is good, but they shouldn’t interfere with love or common sense. Sometimes breaking the rules is the right thing to do, even if it means sacrificing comforts. It hurts to admit you’ve been manipulated, but it’s better than remaining manipulated.

Elden Ring: All leaders are people, thus all leaders are flawed, and anyone who says they’re perfect is lying. The ends do NOT justify the means. The cycle of violence is endless, and if you can’t stop it you should at least be aware of it.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🌟Blessings Rolling In throughout 2025 ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Labyrinthia: When a government begins to falter, its people descend to pitiful depths… Perhaps this is what the fall of a nation looks like from ground level.

Clarissa: They’re as much victim as anyone else… Victims of the twisted chaos in this kingdom…

— conversation after defeating a band of bandits at Fallen Fowl Swamp; Wild Arms XF

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

The whole world right now, apparently, is going through a massive Dark Nights of the Soul. It is apocalyptic for a lot of people…but… It is ideal. The Apocalypse essentially denotes the end times for the ruling class ha ha and indicates a new era of liberation for Mankind. Well, in reality it's a bit more complicated than that...but let this perspective suffice for the time being. Normal peeps shouldn’t fear the end times, but uhm, not—not saying this with a religious spirit🙃

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Charlton: Force can destroy a nation, but it doesn’t make building one any easier, much less maintaining order once it’s built.

Rupert: Is that so?

Charlton: It is the ability of the princess mediums to connect with the Guardians that keeps Elesius stable and strong. The very existence of that power sends an unmistakable message to the people about who is the ruler, and who is being ruled. Clear stratification based on one’s inherited gifts is a tradition that has preserved Elesius since the time of our forefathers.

Edna: But now that system is breaking down.

— conversation about the importance of princess mediums (pssst High Priestesses) of the Kingdom of Elesius; Wild Arms XF

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

An Apocalypse is happening for the ruling class, but unfortunately—and hopefully soon enough you understand this—such a destruction is just the very thing they want to happen; all so they can build anew upon the ashes of the deconstructed establishment. In reality, it’s an ugly Hyper Game of which rules most peeps can’t even begin to comprehend.

But then…if the normal peeps are losing either way, what’s the Game Plan? Is there even one? There is something you can try to comprehend for the time being: to make apolitical of every decision you make in this world.

The problem with Gen Z (Sagittarius Pluto generation, which is 9th House aenergy, which is the House of Philosophical Foundations for Politics) and every other wokist from every generation, is that you make politic of every single thing that you do or think. You think it's the right thing to be this much politically awake in today's world, but with most people's level of exposure (or lack thereof) to real truths of Mankind's history... this is actually how you become a most effective generative pawn to the ruling class.

What if the most effective way to ‘dissolve the Matrix’ is to ignore its social engineering? ha ha

This year, what if you chose to live fully in your own Zero Point Awareness? From a plane of consciousness that feels most natural to you, when you're most in your element, true heartfelt Creation begins. Before you can save somebody else, you gotta make sure your bed is comfy and all the time tidy. Let the blessings roll up like tidal waves to pamper you this year, babe. You've survived too much all on your own~♦︎

This year, it's about YOU~\`★_★`/ Commence the personal miracle~!!

mind barricade: Apocalyptic Survivor Subliminal by DrVirtual7

evolution: Your Consciousness Can CHANGE Your Genetics by Dr Bruce Lipton

deck-bottom: I The Magician, Silver Astrologer (John Dee), Priestess of Success

[PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Prosperity Abound, Beauty All Around

field: ★Green Aventurine Frequency★(Luck, Money, Wealth, Joy, Good Fortune, Abundance) by Quadible Integrity

direction of sounds – V The Hierophant

First of all, do you have a strong Saturnian/Capricorn placement? Or maybe you’re right in the middle of a Saturn Return period upon reading this? Or, it could be that you’re freshly out of a heartbreaking, bone breaking Saturn Return moment that almost killed you! Yeah, whichever the case, with The Hierophant being here, and it being a major arcana, know that whatever hardship is or has transpired in your Life was sorta…designed that way to strengthen the foundation of your incarnation this time.

It's because you have a massive, very important mission with your incarnation—what with having two major arcana back-to-back. You, are, intended to be very powerful and abundant in this lifetime. Some of you reading this are probably on your way to becoming some kind of a public figure. It could be anything, really. Influencer or thought leader or celebrity of some sort. You’ve known it since you were a wee kid that you were meant for something much, much, much bigger than the mundane Reality you were born into~♪

And when you consider that, maybe, just maybe, your path was that much harder, that much more restricted, because the Universe needed to test your innate goodness—whether or not you’d fall victim to the world’s greed and evil whatsoever. But you being YOU~ My gosh, you proved yourself, didn’t you? That in spite of everything, you’ve remained pure of heart and intent. I see you’ve devoted so much of yourself to the service of Love and Light. You know you were put here to make the world a better place with whatever natural talents you were bestowed with~ \`★_★`/

lights of intent – III The Empress

And so, what’s next? What’s in store this year for all of you powerful Souls in the world? If you’ve been around, maybe you’ve heard or read other readers say: ‘You’ve shifted paradigm!’ Or something along the lines of: ‘You’ve jumped timelines!’ Yes, all of this is very much true for you! I get this feeling that you may have felt ‘different’ in the sense that your manifestations are trickling in more effortlessly. The way that you work; the way that you walk; the way that you engage in your day-to-day tasks; even the way that you breathe and how your body feels…somehow everything is more aligned, effortless, and you feel safe.

You have manifested a world of your own design, babe~ All this time, all these painful years, you were building a world of your own ideal, brick by brick, with what little guidance you heard from your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides. Within your Team and Crew are your Cosmic Ancestors who are making sure that none of that devotion goes to waste. You have to have your abundance and happy ending lest it beats the purpose of you being born. Got it~? Where your abundance and financial security are concerned, this quote sums it best for you this year:

‘I know why most people never get rich. They put the money ahead of the job. If you just think of the job, the money will automatically follow. This never fails.’ – Hedy La Marr

Your greatest blessing this year, if we could sum it up with this major arcana, is the freedom to engage in whatever creative pursuit is aligned with your Highest Intended Destiny. With The Hierophant accompanying this Pile, I’m sure you’re amongst those who’ve worked for a very long time for the manifestation of this great blessing. With that said, know with every single cell of your body that you deserve the peace and ease you’ll be swimming in this year~★

Highest Intended Action – 7 of Pentacles

I know that you know in your heart of hearts that this calm period is at best temporary—and that’s exactly why it’s exciting~☆ Where you are right now upon finding this reading, you’re already this wee close to a BIGGER manifestation what will propel you into the spotlight (do you see the lights shining upon this man in the card?) and with that, some rest period is needed just because you DESERVE it!! Do you have any idea the load of your spiritual work that’s given birth to this new timeline for a chunk of Mankind? I don’t even think you give yourself enough credit, boo!♥︎

This year, you’re being prepared for a call or an opportunity that could be classified as your main Soul Mission—if there ever was such a thing ha ha Souls usually carry a multitude of missions with their incarnations, especially the very, very advanced Souls. But anyway~

Of all the piles, this one is the most varied in terms of what kinds of blessings are rolling in for you. This is because your blessings are highly individually specific to the spiritual work you’ve done on your terms. What’s certain though, is that an element of destined orchestration is huge at play for you. So that’s literally saying that there’s practically nothing you need to do at this point in your Life. All that’s left for you to do is enjoy your peace, abundance and creativity~\`★_★`/

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻❤️

catching the Future Express – Green Magus (John Dee)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Contemplation

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – All Shackles Dissolved, an Uncontrollable Revenge Glow-Up!

field: ★"The Elite" Mind Control Detox★ 264.377 GHz + 439.3920 MHz + 1111Hz + 139.6Hz by Quadible Integrity

direction of sounds – Ace of Pentacles

Ow yeah, baby~! Of all the piles, yours indicates the strongest a real physical glow-up~★~ This could be in the form of a beauty glow-up, but for many of you it also involves financial/career glow-up, house/apartment glow-up, country/city glow-up, and many other forms of real-living improvements that I feel you’ve been manifesting for quite a while! Honestly, you’ve worked so hard on this, practically all by yourself, with a tonne of shadow work!

Some of you probably resonate with having ghosted so many people so as not to get distracted by their low-quality frequencies and opinions. You hustled in secret, and you hustled motherfuckingly hard. Your health—mental and physical—is returning and improving this year! That’s the number one blessing you’re totally receiving this 2025~\`★_★`/

I’m hearing: when your finances and living situations get better, it would be wise to start ‘investing’ in higher-quality produce and eat cleanly and healthily. What is healthy for you may differ from the common narrative, so you may need to R&D yourself the ‘healthy dietary habits’ that work for you by reading and learning a lot! Naturally, as your diet gets cleaner and ‘healthier’ for you, it’s only a given that your physical beauty and energy improve as well. Babe, that’s just logic~😉

lights of intent – XV The Devil

If this is your main pile and you resonate with having struggled with health in some way—be it mental, physical, emotional or spiritual or all at once—this would do you good to acknowledge that some bad spells had been sent your way by some demonic entities. I really mean demonic as in the intents—the negative thought forms—were so bad, so evil, they sought to (possibly) even murder you.

This could’ve been done by an ex-lover, ex-fake ass friend, even relatives and ‘family’ members. Yeah, we don’t call those ‘family’ in this household but you know what rings true for you~♦︎ There’s also a possibility of an envious ex-worker or even…some of you will know this for yourself if this is your message…you could’ve been specifically targeted by some negatively-polarised e.l.i.t.e groups, yeah? Whichever the case may be for you, this year is all about a much deeper purging of the layers of negative effects from all this karmic trauma bullshit.

You’re guided to further separate your Reality from those who’d burn in the 3D-hell version of Earth, aight? Closing karmic cycles comes in…cycles LOL I feel that so much of your karmic burden wasn’t even yours to begin with. But your Soul may simply have volunteered to be born under such circumstances to end all forms of curses and break bloodline chains for many Humans in this world. It is a great, noble sacrifice, so your Cosmic Ancestors would like you to acknowledge that~!

Highest Intended Action – 6 of Cups Rx

You may want to check out other piles or readings on this blog if you want to truly get a sense of what kinds of ‘blessing’ or ‘action’ are available to you at the time you’re reading this, but for the most part, if this is your main pile, I’m getting the sense that you’re being guided more towards protection and the shedding of past karmic ties before you can even jump to your next chapter of Life~\`★_★`/

Any possession that you’ve had for a long time, if it doesn’t aenergetically feel good anymore to be wearing/using it, get rid of it. We’re Kondo Marie-ing shit in this household this year! Where it’s possible, get rid of old things that have some emotional or karmic ties to your Old Reality—they have no place in your superfluously abundant future, OK? If the items/gadgets are still good enough to be used by someone else, try this ‘burning ritual’ so you don’t accidentally pass on negative aenergy to the next recipient:

Imagine the item(s) burning in Violet Flame and make a clear intent to never have any connection to any past person or place tied to that item(s). If you’re burning a memory or a place, burn that motherfucking bridge, burn the whole city or house in your mind’s eye. This way, you will never be pulled to that bandwidth of Reality anymore~♥︎ Honestly, you can do whichever ‘cleansing ritual’ you know of that works for you—the intent is the KEY~★

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻💚

catching the Future Express – Gold Physician (Hippocrates)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Ritual

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – They All Knew You’d be This Big, That’s Why They Cursed

field: ★Leadership Gene rs4950★ [Advanced Genetics] by Quadible Integrity

direction of sounds – XIX The Sun

When I tap into your aenergy, there’s this notion that dings clearest as a crystal: Child of Light~★ You are an Ancient Soul with immaculate purity and massive powers. Many individuals within your ‘family unit’ knew of this since your birth. Maybe there were unusual—cursed or miraculous—happenings and events surrounding your birth. Immediately, you already had opps since you were practically a wee baby. There were individuals who saw your ancientness and instantly felt threatened by your immense wisdom.

It could be that the ‘family unit’ you were born into dabbled in black magick or some underground criminal shit of sort, and they knew that one day, one way or another, you were going to discover and uncover their bullshit—effectively disintegrating their entire ‘empire’ made of pure manure. There’s some dark shit in that sick family unit like maybe there was an ancestor who went mad or there was somebody who was a serial killer or a drug dealer, what have you. The aenergy not only is bleak but incredibly dark and evil.

It's unbelievable that a Soul as pure as you would sacrifice your Light by integrating into a bloodline like this tsk tsk… Are you a Blue Ray Starseed? he he you could be. Anyway, some fucks within that insane family unit knew that one day, a power—and beauty, and intelligence, and purity—as witnessed exuded by you would make you VERY big and important on a community scale, even world scale. They hated that. They wanted that for themselves ugh…

lights of intent – King of Wands Rx

Do you daydream a lot, luv? If you feel that you often drown in fantasies, like excessively to a point where you find it hard to even cope with physical Reality, I’d like you to understand that it’s only an effect of never truly living a Life of your ideals. Your Heart is yearning to dwell in the Higher Timeline you know deep, deep down you’re meant to traverse along~♦︎ And yes, you’re absolutely capable of living the life you can’t stop thinking about. Aaand…that’s where your opps came in, right?

Not sure if you’re aware of this yourself at this point in time but all of the passion and intelligence that you are, those are the very things they never wanted you to nourish. But goddam, silly them—they underestimated your sheer willpower! Your opps are insanely illogical; as much as they wanted your power for themselves, they didn’t want you to ever realise your true potential. It’s such petty envy, all things considered. But hey, all of this is in the past if you’re tuning into this aenergy as your main pile~★

You’ve uprooted yourself from that false Reality where your Light wasn’t loved. But you were just doing your Lightwork there akin to training at a military camp. And you survived, goddamn hoe, you’re a Dark Feminine Goddess. This year, or whenever you find this reading, you’re fully grown and ready for your greatest Soul Purpose for being born at this passage of time~ Know that this whole blueprint was created by not only your Higher Self but also all of the Cosmic Ancestors who wanted to bring down this dark bloodline. In the grand scheme of everything, hoe is you da VIRUS within their System LMAO

Highest Intended Action – 10 of Cups Rx

The family unit you were part of, whether you were born or brought into it, operates like a cult. This is an entirely ‘insane family unit’—yes, it’s a thing. I see feminine figures akin to the members of Bene Gesserit from DUNE. These were most likely femcel mothers, aunts or grandmas that were operating like cult leaders. Before we continue, try to understand that we’re talking about ‘femcel psychology’ from a sociology perspective, which can be an entirely different discussion from ‘girls that ain’t getting laid’ XD

Check out Exoticals United on YouTube to learn valuable gems of societal observations~\`★_★`/

Anyway, these dusty ass femcel fucks loved power with a sick mind and when they saw your birth, they couldn’t stand the potential of THE FUTURE LEADER THAT YOU ARE DESTINED TO BECOME. They saw and knew that when you grow up, you’d have the natural talent to attract a large audience—babe, if this is your main pile, I KNOW you’re gorgeous for daaays~♥︎ The way you attract attention by your natural beauty and sweetness, my gosh, they sought to destroy that very thing which they covet: people’s admiration!

It was apparent to them since your birth or at least from when your puberty started, that your greatness comes from the ‘other side’ of the bloodline. By that alone, they knew they could never be what your Ancestors were preparing you to become. Your superior DNA from the ‘other side’ appeared like bright wings from heavens which they knew would overshadow their ‘cult-like’ influences on everything good and harmonious which they sought to destroy!

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻💙

catching the Future Express – Green Astronomer (Nicolaus Copernicus)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Prosperity

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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[pressureplus]

Yandere Sebastian Solace Headcannons

Warning: Blood, Light gore, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Marking/Biting, Actually Delusional, Like he’s actually crazy, It’s a Yandere…they’re not Sunshine and Rainbows

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

The moment he saw you, he knew he just had to have you. As if some kind of switch had flipped on in his brain that he didn’t know existed

Suddenly you were the center of his entire world. Every inch of it.

Everything you did became the reason he lived and breathed, following you became the only thing that kept him sane. Attempting to stop was detrimental to his mental health

So he settled for a healthy medium when he could, sneaking pictures of you while your back is turned

Finding that old camera has led to some very…interesting pictures of you being pinned onto a cork board in his room. Sometimes just standing, sometimes your face, sometimes your body.

Not that you know these pictures exist, of course

Sometimes he just stares at them, almost entirely unblinking, and runs his hands over the pictures like he can feel your skin

Sometimes he can’t help but to kiss the pictures of your face like you’re really there. Silly little thing, isn’t he?

In person? He doesn’t treat you any different at first. Though he gets noticeably more aggressive with people that get close to you

One day, trying to avoid Eyefestations gaze, you bumped into a desk really hard and your pants got caught on it. It left a sizable bruise and a tear in your pants

A jar of familiar eyeballs is left with your name on it outside the room you’ve been staying in down here

You never see Eyefestation again.

He insists on helping whenever you’re applying new bandages or using a medkit, the smell of your blood practically getting him drunk

He wants to bite you. He wants to eat you. He wants to kill you. He just wants to be a part of you, or inside you? As close as he can get to being you.

He loves you so much he wants to tear you apart limb by limb, wearing your bones like a crown and your beating heart like a necklace

He wants to be so entirely soaked in the smell of you, your blood, your clothes, that he cannot tell where he ends and you begin

But he could never dream of hurting you, not really, not like that. No, he’s better than the monsters down here, no matter how sweet your blood smells.

The odd version of cuteness aggression he has tells him to do all sorts of terrible things, it’s a good thing he has self-control

Keeps your used bandages. Dont ask what he does with them, you don’t want to know.

Probably steals clothes you’ve worn recently too if they smell like you…

He’s always watching you, and while you didn’t know about his little habits before, you probably catch on the first time he shoots one of your new friends

They hadn’t hurt you, yelled, they’d only tried to touch you. It was so quick too. The loud bang and a ringing in your ears as his gun produced a bit of smoke. He blows on it for a moment before holstering it. A mess of splattered remains on the ground as he smiled at you.

“My apologies, what were we talking about? Oh yes the batteries you wanted. That’s going to be about 50 data.”

“Y-You just killed someone right next to me. What was that even for?”

“Oh that? You’re right. You shouldn’t have had to see that. How about 30 instead?”

He’s started to pick off the people you talk with, the people you hang around. Leaving you in complete isolation from anything that isn’t him.

Don’t flash beacon him. He’ll say that it’s alright. That you’re just confused! He’ll crush it in his hand. The second time, however, he’ll leave the bruise of his hand wrapped around your arm when he tugs you forward and bites you

Some kind of punishment, you suppose, but it does leave a scar

One he’s going to obsess over

If you love him back that’s great! You’ll be treated a little nicer so long as you follow the rules. Nobody can touch you, nobody can be close to you, you’re not to make eye contact with anyone but him- oh and you must always sleep in his bed!

Despite what you may believe, it’s not for sexual purposes, he just wants his bed to smell like you

Still unstable and still an asshole, but on the plus side? You get babied and given gifts and kissed and protected!

You are his little treasure after all! Which means you get special perks

But if you don’t love him back, well…he doesn’t really care. It’ll just take time, soon you’ll see things his way, that’s all.

At least that’s what his delusional ass believes.

If he has to leave you chained up somewhere to keep you from getting hurt then he will. He’d hate to watch the light leave those beautiful eyes of yours.

And when he finally manages to escape he will drag you along whether you like it or not. Alone together out at sea, probably on some remote island.

Never letting you die. Never letting you leave. Never letting you be seen by the world.

His little treasure, forever, until the day you both die

Isn’t that romantic? He sure thinks so.